#and needles are sharp and pills are round

[pastorpresent]

Just Let Me Adore You.

[ you can't watch what their doing to him any more. He's overworked. Exhausted, and pumped full of pills to keep awake. ]

TW: mention of drug use, vomiting, blood, mild sexual content.

Elvis/YN, or Austin!Elvis/YN if preferred

"Where is he?"

Your voice is sharp, demanding, and Vernon looks fearful almost as he takes a small step behind the colonel.

"Don't get all twisted up, sweetness. He's resting, was a big show tonight."

You didn't think you could hate anyone quite as much as you hated the man in front of you. From the minute he stepped into the picture, he only had one intention: bleed Elvis dry for everything he had.

It didn't matter how much you tried to warn him. Elvis saw him as a second father figure of sorts, and refused to say a bad word about the old bastard.

You had no such qualms.

"I want to see him, you twisted monster," you spat, glare hardening.

The ridiculous show schedule they had him on was taking its toll. Tonight more than ever. He looked awful up there, even if he did sing and perform just as perfect as ever, but even that made your chest ache. He would kill himself before he would let down his fans. You could see it backstage, between songs, where he would all but stumble to the waiting chair, letting them slip him pills and needles and shoving his face in ice water until he was gasping for breath, hurriedly reapplying his eyeliner before the next song.

He was dead on his feet. A puppet on strings doing everything he was told, consequences be damned.

"Now listen to me-"

"Let her in," that was Vernon's tired voice cutting in, avoiding your face, but you could see the guilt there anyway. "She might be able to settle him down," he continued, even softer, and you felt your concern grow worse.

Parker huffed, muttering something incoherent but stepping aside away from the door to the penthouse. You kept your posture tall, giving him a brief nod before pushing past and locking the door behind you.

There was silence for a few moments, and then a half moan, half sob. It was unmistakably him.

You followed the noise to the bathroom, and found your lover on the floor covered in vomit, sobbing dejectedly over the bathtub.

"Elvis, sweetheart," you gasp, dropping to your knees. He recoils almost, curling in on himself miserably.

"You need to go, mama. Can't- Can't be having you 'round when I'm like this," he moaned, burying his face away in his legs.

"No, baby. This is exactly the times I should be around," you say, moving close enough to wrap your arms around him. His reaction is almost automatic, even if he does try to fight it. His arms curl desperately around your waist, face buried in your chest as he cries, begs for unnecessary forgiveness.

"Hate myself, baby. I'm- I can't- I need to let you go, mama. You need'a run. Run far a'ay, you hear me?"

You shook your head, rocking him and pressing kisses to his damp hair, running your fingers over his back.

"Don't say those things. Please, Elvis. Don't say those things. You're amazing, baby. You did so well up there tonight," you knew it was what he needed, ultimately. He was so terrified of failing, of disappointing those flocks of people who scream and cry for him, as if he ever even could. You were convinced he could sit and talk for a few minutes about the blandest topic in the world and they would still go wild.

It was his greatest fear. That's why he let them fill him with drugs and take half his money. Consequences be damned, as long as he was making the people happy.

He all but mewled against you at the praise, slumping further into your warmth, mumbling a broken "you rea'ly think so?"

It shattered your heart, and you nodded, kissing his forehead.

"So good baby, but you need to rest now, for a little while. Till you're all nice and better, sweetheart."

Predictably, he shook his head, although anything he planned on saying was cut off with a harsh gag, and he was pulling away from you quickly to cough up a sickly mix of bile and blood over the tile floor.

He was pale, skin clammy, and while you winced in sympathy you couldn't help but be slightly relieved at the ejection of those horrible pills from his body.

He was apologising again, words slurred and body wracked by violent shakes.

"'Nother show, a-at t-ten. Colonel said demand was enough for it, I'm gettin' two shows a night," he sounded proud, despite being half dead on the floor like a weakened animal, eyes half shut and muscles tense, twitching incessantly.

"No," you spoke firm, leaving absolutely zero wiggle room for compromise, "you can't go back out there tonight. A few nights, maybe even a few weeks. You're going to kill yourself," it was brutal, perhaps a little harsh, but what else could you do? How else would he ever come to accept how bad the situation was, if not even one person in his life could be honest?

"If it's how I go, it's how I go."

Anger fluttered in your stomach, and you pulled him up to sit against the wall, sitting directly in front of him, hands clamped on his shoulders. You watched his eyes drift and struggle to focus on your face despite the close proximity.

"Don't you dare! What about Lisa, huh? You gonna have me explain to her where her daddy's gone? Want me to tell her how he loved them more than her? The Colonel, the fans, whoever the hell else! And- and what about me?! You just- you just gonna leave me, like that? After everything?!"

You didn't realise quite how worked up you had gotten, nor the tears streaming over your face, until he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, trying to thumb the wetness away as if he could make it all better just by cleaning up your hysterics.

It was him pulling you in this time. You wanted to fight. You were so damn furious, still - but his hands left you powerless, reducing you to a palatable mess who sunk against him in a bone heavy heap, hiding your face in his neck.

"Sorry, mama. Sorry. Not leaving either of yas, what kinda man would that make me, huh? What kinda daddy, or husband? Needa look after ya better, don't I? Look after my best girls."

You nod against his damp skin, a mix of tears and sweat as his body struggles. Your breath hitches when you feel how shaky his hands are running through your hair, and you pull back enough to wipe at your eyes.

"Let's get you to bed, baby. Let me look after you this time," you say quietly, running your thumb over his jaw. He blinks at you, a small smile tugging his lips, even if it is a little forced.

He looks pained and so, so exhausted. You never thought yourself capable of violence, but you wouldn't hesitate to kill Tom Parker for what he's done to your man. You remember those early days, back in memphis, back when his momma was alive. He was so bright then - so happy and carefree.

The years since had only served to beat him down. The shows and the fame and the fucking colonel- they only ever served to break him, and here he was now. Broken. He would never again be that nineteen year old starry eyed boy you first met, but that was ok. You loved him no matter what, just like you always swore.

You help him to his feet, and between yourself and the bathtub he makes it up on trembling legs. You wrap your arm secure around his waist, and you notice his slight wince, an insecurity spurred on by those awful pills. You tighten your grip, kiss his cheek to reassure him you don't care in the slightest.

It's slow, but you get him to the bed. He all but collapses into it with a groan, eyes already fluttering shut.

"Let's get you some clean clothes, baby," you encourage, and he obeys so easily as you strip him out of the soiled jumpsuit, tugging on some briefs in its place and some softer sleeping pants.

"Shirt, mama?"

It's not cold in the room, and the vulnerability in his eyes makes the shattered pieces of your heart burn.

"Don't need one, baby. I promise. You're gorgeous. All my gorgeous man, daddy," you assure, kissing his collarbone all tender and letting your hands move careful over his sides.

He shivers, squirming a little on the bed under your touch.

"You sure baby? Not quite as pretty as I useta be," he mumbles, and you huff a little, continuing to kiss downwards, on your knees all but worshipping every piece of visible skin.

"So gorgeous, daddy."

"What'd I do to deserve ya, huh?" Elvis whispers, and you chuckle a little against his skin, and his smile this time feels much more real.

"Somethin' diabolical, I'm sure," you tease, pushing him gentle until he lies down.

"Think I must'a been a saint or somethin," he drawled, and you smile.

"Or somethin."

You dip to press a kiss to his forehead, which still feels awfully hot. You decide a cold towel might help, but as you go to grab it he grips your hand.

"Where ya goin?"

He's giving you those puppy eyes, fingers linking with yours.

"Gonna get a towel, try to cool you down some. You're burning, baby," he shakes his head, whimpering a little, pressing his lips to your hand.

"Stay, mama. Ya all I need, you'll fix me right up with ya pretty lips. Just wanna hold ya, is all. Ya my medicine," he murmurs, and you sigh softly, perching on the bed and running your fingers through his hair.

"I'll only be downstairs, baby. Just one moment, ok?"

Reluctantly he loosens his grip, pressing a weak kiss to your thigh as an almost wordless agreement.

You rush downstairs and search for a towel, wetting it with cold water. You grab a bowl from the kitchen incase the nausea hits again, and a glass of water. You're just gathering up the things to take upstairs when you hear voices from the bedroom.

You quickly grab the supplies and go up, only to find Elvis now half sitting, struggling to get all the way up, breathing rough like he's panicking and trying not to cry. The colonel stands at the foot of the bed, cigar between his lips puffing clouds of smoke, arms folded over his chest as he watched, almost bemused.

"What the hell are you doing?" You spit, almost dropping the glass in your haste to reach your man. You place the water on the bedside, the bowl on the floor, and ease the towel around his neck, whispering reassurances as you direct him to lie back down. You can see in his eyes that he doesn't necessarily want to, but his body is far too weak to fight your guiding hands, and his head lands back onto the pillow with a soft thump.

"He's got a performance in a half hour. We need him downstairs for sound check and wardrobe," Parker states, voice void of any sympathy. He's looking at the sick man with something akin to frustration and anger, and you can see how it hurts him, can feel him try to sit again under your hands only to be physically incapable.

"He's not going on that damn stage," you growl right back.

"It's none negotiable, little girl. He signed a damn contract, he honours it!" Tom hissed, getting into your space.

You didn't back down, grabbing your lovers hand to assure him you were ok when you felt him try to struggle to his feet again.

"He's half fucking dead, you dimwit! You're working him to death, can't you see that? He's a human being! You can't just stuff him with drugs and push him onto a damn stage night in night out! He needs rest!"

The Colonel shook his head, chuckling. He looked at Elvis, who was glaring up at him now.

"You letting your girl fight your battles now? Letting her make the rules?"

He glances your way, tightening the grip on your hand.

"She's right. It's too much," it felt almost relieving to hear him finally say it. "Tell them I'll resume I'm a few days but not tonight."

You hoped you could convince him for a little more than that, but it would do for now.

The colonel seemed to of realised he lost, storming out with a promise to make us both pay.

The door slammed, and you climbed onto the bed immediately, wrapping yourself around him and kissing his lips sweetly, letting your hands draw patterns over his bare arms.

"I do good, baby?" He hummed quietly, and you nod, the tension melting from your body as he nuzzles into you, linking your legs and bringing his arms around your waist to tug you closer.

"The best. I'm proud of you," you murmur into his hair, peppering his face with gentle kisses.

You both lie like that for a little while, and eventually you can feel him snoring softly against you. You let yourself drift off too, feeling impossibly safe in his arms.

#elvis #elvis presley #austin butler #elvis 2022 #elvis/yn #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #austin butler x you #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis smut

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Somebody to Heal, Somebody to Hold (Joel Miller x dispensary! reader) 🍃 🔥 💨

Chapter 1 : Moonberry

Chapter 2 here || Chapter 3 here || Main masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x dispensary! reader, AU no outbreak Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap) Summary: Joel can't rely on pills anymore for his back pain, so his doctor prescribes him medicinal marijuana. But he's not happy about it. Word count: 6.6K A/N: This is a shameless indulgence because I wanna see PEEPAW get HIGH. He needs it, his BACK needs it. He's not gonna like it at first though 🌚. A thank you to my literal heart and soul @iamasaddie who listened for hours on end to my rambles and creative word vomit about this idea, I love you forever. I will add the tag list later tonight. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

“God fucking damn it.”

Joel’s resounding growl reverberates throughout the empty house as he slams another kitchen drawer closed with a loud thud. He impatiently rifles through the drawers one by one in a failed attempt to find any pain killers, any fucking pills he can get his hands on, really. His hands flit through stale takeout menus, spare remote batteries, streamers, matches and other miscellaneous odds and ends with no avail. 

He even went so far as to look in Sarah’s bathroom cabinet above the sink and her dresser drawers too. The pieces of furniture in her room somberly coated with a thin layer of dust, marking her absence ever since she left for college a couple months ago. He didn’t have any success. No Advil, no Tylenol, not even any RUB A535 or joint pain creams to be found in any corners of the seemingly empty Miller house. 

Damn. 

She must have taken anything she had with her off to college when she moved into her dorm, Joel surmised. The dresser’s groan as he shuts it close rivals Joel’s, that rips  from the back of his throat as he feels another sharp, needling pinch in his lower back. It eventually subsides into a dull ache but he knows he doesn’t need to move in any abrupt or particular way to trigger the same said infuriating pain, sending shockwaves down his back, through his spine. He grits his teeth and rests both of his palms on the textured surface of the wood, trying to ground himself as his back rounds and he hunches over. Looking up into the mirror attached to the dresser, he grimaces. Recoiling from the image of an old man with hollowed circles under his eyes, grey hairs littering his head and his permanent scowl. 

Joel is old. He knows that much. The years on him are telling.  Aside from his physical looks, his knees are shot and there isn’t a day where he has to physically brace himself to bend down, swing his legs out of bed, or hoist anything above his head when he’s out on jobs. Even his ability to pick up jobs and swiftly finish them as if he was a sprightly 35 year old with a slightly athletic build has slowed down tremendously. It takes him twice as long to seemingly do anything nowadays, regardless of whether it’s physically laborious. 

Hell, he even struggled when it came to moving Sarah into her college dorm room. Even though she remained in state and her campus wasn’t more than a 2 hour drive away, and multiple trips could be made, Joel steeled himself to ensure he would be there to do the heavy lifting, and only have to do it once. Enlisting Tommy’s help would have made it easier as well but of course his younger brother was too gregarious for his own good. Aside from showing up 40 minutes late, with a 6 pack of Lone Star in his hand and forgetting the tools he was supposed to bring, Tommy was more easily preoccupied setting up the mini fridge he bought for Sarah, Which of course Joel scolded him for, and joking around with other freshmen in the dorm. 

The harsh reality is that the harder he tries to forget about it and ignore his persisting aches and pains, the more his body and mind humble him without fail that he is old. Broken. Might as well be, seeing as he’s about losing his damn mind without having any painkillers to pop and wash down with a glass of whiskey. 

He recalls the fruitless conversation he had with the doctor two weeks earlier which had placed Joel in his current predicament. 

“Getting older is a facet of life Joel, I’m not gonna lie to you about that. And you’re an otherwise healthy guy, aside from your cholesterol creeping up a bit high and the occasional spike in your blood sugar.” His doctor told him frankly as he flipped through Joel’s medical history.

“Unfortunately your body is just responding to the stresses of doing physically intensive work, as it does with any other person when they age.”

Joel opens his mouth, already ready to refute the doctor's next words, when the doctor holds his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know, you’ve been doing the same job for years. Nothing about being a contractor has changed. The fact of the matter is the job remains the same but you have changed Joel. Your body just can’t keep up as quickly, nor can it recover as quickly anymore. All that heavy lifting, straining the same muscles over and over in fixed positions, it’s just catching up with you now.”

Joel crosses his arms over his chest and grinds his jaw. “I’ve been managing just fine,” he grunts, not trying to hide his annoyance through the lie. 

He had been trying to take it slower in the past couple months. The key word being trying. 

Sending Sarah off to college was no easy feat financially, especially as a single parent, but Joel wanted to give his daughter the best chance at a college education, knowing how bright and determined she was. He worked hard to save for her tuition, the first two years that is, but he wouldn’t admit he was running himself into the ground trying to pick up more jobs than he could handle on his own, in order to save up for the rest. Forget the tuition, there was also the cost of residence for living on campus, her textbooks, a laptop, student association fees and a whole bunch of other crap he couldn’t wrap his head around.

“Back in my day you just went to your lectures in the same building, wrote in the same notebook, and used the computers on campus,” he grumbled as he squinted at the tuition balance outlined in the letter sent by her college. There were more zeros than necessary behind said balance that already had Joel’s mind spiraling into a panic.

“I thought you only did like, less than a year of college before you dropped out to start working in the trades Dad,” Sarah quirked her brow at him smugly. 

“It was nine months,” he corrected her, “long enough for me to realize that it wasn’t for me.”

“Not long enough for you to learn how to properly use a computer though,” she smirks as she watches Joel start scribbling numbers down onto a piece of paper, reverting to mental math instead of using a calculator. 

“It was a long time ago smart ass,” he chides her despite the warmth in his eyes. “Besides, you were still so young. I was spending more time outside of the home, working and trying to juggle school, away from you and your mother. It wasn’t ideal. The trades allowed me to be flexible with my hours, while being able to spend more time with you”

His doctor gave him a sympathetic look and sighed. “If that were the case, I don’t think you would be here and we would be having this conversation right now would we?”

He sits down in his chair and wheels over to the computer sitting on the desk, clicking this and clicking that as he filters through the previous medications that had been prescribed to Joel, before he turns to face him.

“Now in any other instance, I would prescribe you slightly stronger painkillers than what you’ve received in the past,” Joel subconsciously starts nodding along, ready for the spiel about his prescription dosages and what not. “But, because your cholesterol is a little high right now, I can’t do that.”

The crease in between Joel’s eyebrows deepen as he tries to anticipate what the doctor tells him next. 

“The side effects from an over the counter painkiller could spike your cholesterol even higher, which is what we do not want,” the doctor continues, unaware of Joel’s steadily boiling frustration. “Which is why I wanted to suggest an alternate method for pain management, something more natural.”

For fucks sake. 

He thought this would be a simple appointment. Show up, get a new prescription for whatever magic pills can help this pain in his back to dissipate, and go home. Not look into ‘alternative methods’ that undoubtedly wouldn’t work.

Joel’s gaze narrows and he huffs, leaning back in his seat. “Natural? Like what, seeing one of those hokey practitioners that read your energies and use natural herb remedies and all that crap?”

“Not quite that per say but it is natural medicine. Medical marijuana to be exact.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry as his jaw hangs open. Weed? Nope. Not the solution he was looking for. 

Maybe what he should be on the market for is a new doctor at this point. 

“Uh listen, I appreciate the suggestion doc, but I don’t think that’s gonna help me at this point. I don’t do that kinda stuff,” he waves his hand dismissively. “If it gets to that point I’ll crack open a beer.” Joel leans forward in his seat and he starts to get up.

“Just a second, hold on. At least let me write you a prescription for it today and you can choose whether or not you want to get it filled at a dispensary.”

“I don’t think-” Joel continues to protest but the doctor cuts him off.

“It’s medicinal marijuana Joel,” the doctor says plainly, as if that’s supposed to calm his nerves. “It has opiate-like properties, which means it’s similar to a pain killer, just without all the usual side effects that come with over the counter medicine. Lots of individuals, older and younger,” the doctor pointedly emphasizes, “use it to help with aches, pain, anxiety, even mental health issues. Not just the physical.”

Joel continues to eye the doctor warily, his spine now stiff as he sits up in the chair. Even now, he can feel his body protesting his upright position, the inkling of that pinched phantom pain coming back slightly. 

“Does it get you high?” he asks the older man. 

Aside from the stories he’s heard, he’s had his fair share of buddies who used to toke up back in the day. Hell, they didn’t even know what was in it back then, they just smoked as a distraction, something fun to do, to take the edge off after a long day's work. Joel tried it once and didn’t like it at all. The hazy, fuzzy feeling not mixing well with his frayed nerves, glassy eyed and out of touch with his body. No, he would much rather crack open a beer or pour himself a whiskey neat to kick back and relax when he was stressed.

“Not necessarily, some strains, or some kinds of weed have a higher content of THC, tetrahydrocannabinol, the psychoactive component that makes you feel high or ‘out of it,”’ the doctor explains with finger quotes. “Some medicinal marijuana are low in THC but high in CBD, the relaxing component of marijuana. CBD acts as a relaxer, and it can ease physical pain. So depending on what you’re comfortable with, you can opt for the kinds that have a high CBD but low THC content, which will help with any pain issues, without causing you to experience the high.”

Joel’s mind whirls around the acronyms. THC, CBD, ABC. Christ. Does it have to be this fucking complicated? 

He knows his doctor is only trying to help at this point, basically just doing his job, but this is way beyond Joel’s comfort zone. He inhales deeply and leans back against the chair as he resigns himself to this conclusion. Seeing as there are no other options.

Picking up on Joel’s internal freak out, the doctor explains. “It’s a lot of information to process, I know. But like I said, take the prescription and think about it. There’s a new dispensary in town here where you can go and take the prescription, have them fill it, chat more about the options and see how you feel. If you’re still adamant about the painkillers then come see me in a couple weeks and we can discuss it more. I want you to try a few things to lower your cholesterol in the meantime.” 

His doctor writes the prescription on the office letterhead, and hands it to Joel along with a card for the dispensary in town.

Fast forward to the present, Joel turns around from the dresser and leans back against it. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the prescription slip, the paper now visibly creased due to the number of times he had folded and unfolded it in contemplation. Of course it was near impossible to make out the doctor's chicken scratch handwriting.

Must be a requirement of all medical school grads. Step 1, learn to write illegibly, step 2, graduate

He is able to make out the other writing further towards the bottom of the slip, where the doctor haphazardly scribbled out ‘cholesterol’ and underneath it read ‘less red meat and beer, more omega-3’s (fish and eggs), and more fruits.’

“Might as well buy a fucking casket at this point,” he grumbled to himself. If there was a world where he couldn’t enjoy a juicy ribeye steak along with a cold beer anymore, well, he had pretty much resigned himself to the conclusion that that was not a world he wanted to be in.

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Alright so we have the Pink Kush Indica loose leaf at 3.5 mg, at 19.7% THC, and the Strawberry Rain hybrid pre-roll pack at 22.4% THC, a very good choice by the way. Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

You smile warmly at the customer you’re cashing out at the front till. He’s a young guy, no older than 19, maybe 20? Legal age, but with the way this kid’s eyes are nervously darting around the store, looking at everything but your eye line, you correctly assume it’s his first time buying marijuana products. 

“No, nothing else, thanks,” he mumbles as he fidgets with his coat pockets, before paying and quickly snatching up his purchases and shoving them in his pocket, briefly turning to exit the store. 

You chuckle to yourself internally and shake your head, remembering what your first time was like when you legally bought from a dispensary after the government legalized marijuana. 

Despite its legality, you were a fucking deer in headlights as the dispensary worker tried to explain to you the differences in strains, types of weed, paraphernalia that you could use to consume it. Wholly consumed by the guilt of acknowledging you were purchasing illicit (yet completely legal) drugs, you scurried out of the store as quickly as you could after getting what you needed. What would your parents say if they found out? Not that they ever would, but the ever present shame that needled and cracked through the facade of their wholesome daughter, their good girl, consuming such a horrendous drug, the devil’s lettuce, now that shame loomed over your head constantly for a long time.

You sigh and turn to go into the back storage room. Only 1 hour left until close luckily, yet somehow the last hour of your shift always seems to go by the slowest. Go figure.

“Let me guess, 19 ?” Your colleague Josh guesses with a presumptuous smirk on his face, as he continues to count the inventory of vapes in your storage room.

“Try 21! I believe you owe me dude,” you hear a chirpy voice chime in, as you look to see your other coworker Stef strolling in right behind you. 

She holds her hand out expectantly as she approaches Josh, as he slaps a $5 bill into her up-facing palm, a smug grin plastered across her face. Stef usually worked the front door so naturally she would remember the ages of most customers that walked in, after scrutinizing over their ID and making dismissive comments about their appearances and age. Sometimes she was too blunt and outspoken for her own good, but you would call her out on it, all good natured. She was your best friend from elementary school. So naturally when she began working at One Plant and a part time position opened up, she hounded you about it constantly until you came into the store with a copy of your resume, briefly chatting with the manager at the time. 

You gasp with feigned sarcasm as you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a supply shelf.

“You guys said you would stop betting on the customers last week! C’mon now.” You reprimanded them lightly, a half hearted attempt to be the voice of reason, despite the smile on your face. Stef and Josh both outranked you in terms of seniority as they had been working at the shop longer, but it didn’t stop them from concocting new shenanigans every fucking week to make the time go by faster and make your shifts more entertaining. 

“What? The kid looked like he damn near was having a fucking seizure when I was checking his I.D.. Yeah he’s technically ‘legal,’” she emphasizes with air quotes, “but he looked like he got lost on a fucking field trip, poor baby.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head once again. Stef may be blunt and take the mick out of customers with a thinly veiled sense of self restraint, but you loved her. She made the days go by faster, as did Josh, lord knows he put up with so many of your antics. It’s a miracle he kept you both in the store at all, despite his threats to take you both off schedule because you couldn’t contain the bullshit amongst yourselves. He joined in on the fun once in a while, giving you a break and empathizing. 

“They’re getting younger and younger everyday, I swear.” Josh chimes in as he does a double count of the inventory before logging it into your system. 

“I suppose back in your day, you just bought whatever you could from the local dealer who lived in his mother’s basement, right grandpa?” Stef poked at him, as she sat down and propped her feet up on the table used to package orders, scrolling on her phone.

You snorted as you began to tidy up and organize the stock for the following day, preparing any orders that were due for an early pick up. Grabbing a pack of indica pre-rolls here, a couple vape cartridges there, putting away the bongs and pipes that were out on display.

It’s true, that despite the government legalizing marijuana over a year ago, there was still a large influx of customers who were new to consuming the herb, in the face of its notoriety as an illicit street drug. The dispensary saw all manners of people who came in seeking relaxation, calmness, appetite inducing, sensory heightening products. You almost couldn’t believe it when you started working here. 

Customers ranged anywhere from barely legal college kids, who couldn’t tell the difference between sativa or indica and couldn’t roll a joint to save their lives, to young parents needing a break between the monotony of daycare and diapers, as well as trade workers coming off a long day at the job, or even seniors looking for a mild pain relaxer. 

“Everyone’s got a vice, everyone is looking for a piece of that relaxation. Not all stoners look like typical stoners,” Josh quietly reminded you as he trained you during your first week on the job. 

You took his comment in stride and tried your best not to judge the customers when they came in looking for their vice. Everyone had their reasons, undoubtedly, and those reasons were absolutely none of your business, Stef had so compassionately reminded you, despite your bristling at her blunt words.

Today would turn out to be no different, you realized, as you went back out to the front of the store, and began locking up the display cabinets, putting the weed samples back in their glass cases. You hear the bell toll of the front door opening and you call out to Stef in the back, but it doesn’t reach her ears over the sound of her chattering with Josh. 

You glance at the clock. 4:32 pm, less than half an hour to go. Steeling yourself, you walk over to the entrance, where the double doors are that let customers into the store. An added measure for security, despite the so-called front ‘checkpoint desk’ where customers had to show their I.D. before walking into the main store that contained actual products. 

“Thanks for coming into One Plant, can I see some I.D.?” You parrot the painstakingly rehearsed greeting as you round the corner to the desk at the front. You look up to see an older guy standing there awkwardly, between the exit door, and the front desk, almost like he’s not sure he wants to really be in the store. 

He looks around suspiciously at his surroundings, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. 

“Uhm, can I see your I.D. sir?” You ask him again, mirroring his confused expression as you appraise his demeanor. You tap your knuckles on the laminated sign on the desk that states  I.D. MUST BE SHOWN, ONLY 18+ PERMITTED ENTRY to emphasize your point.

The man blinks once or twice, then shakes himself out of whatever daze he was in, as he fumbles into his back pocket for his wallet, fishing out his license for you. 

“Yeah sorry, here you go.”

You don’t pay much attention to the picture on the license, you never usually do, as bad as it is to say. As far as you were concerned, if the mental math added up in your head, and they were 18, you let them in. This time you take a bit more time to analyze this man’s ID card. You poorly attempt to hide the raise in your eyebrows as your gaze scans his year of birth. There’s no way this guy is over 40. He can’t be. You look from the stiff plastic card in your hand, back up to the man towering over you at the desk, taking in his slightly greying hair and his sparse beard. The crows feet etched on his face, and his seemingly permanent scowl gave away his years without fault. 

You look down at the card again. Joel Miller. Huh. Just as you look back up at him, he raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. Realizing you have been holding onto his card for far too long than is appropriate you hand it back to him quickly.

“Sorry, can’t be too careful,” you say playfully, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade his nerves as he puts the card back into his wallet, back into his pocket. Hands shoved into his coat pockets as he stood frozen to the spot.

“Come on in,” you gesture for him to come in as you press the button to open the interconnected door that leads to the shop.

He follows you in, continuing to look around the store anxiously, stiff as a board. 

You make a beeline for the register counter, secretly praying that this guy knows what he wants to order so that you can all clock out in time. Usually, you didn’t usually mind staying behind late most days but you had been feeling burnt out between school and the hours at the dispensary lately, and you were all too looking forward to going home, smoking a fat joint and unwinding with some drag race. It didn’t look like that would be happening any time soon though, much to your dismay, as you notice the deer in headlights expression on this poor guy. His gaze darted from the display cases to the glassware, despite his broad stature he was clearly overwhelmed by everything in front of him. 

You clear your throat in an attempt to pull him out of his current state of fight or flight.

“First time here?”

His gaze snaps back to you, and for a second you genuinely can’t remember if you asked him the question, or if he asked you something, with the way his huge brown eyes widen and soften slightly before he furrows his brows. 

“Is it that obvious?” The deep warmth of his baritone voice betrays the gruffness in his response and you chuckle. The corner of his lips curl into a lopsided, sheepish smile. 

Bless this first timer and his apprehension. You take pity on his naivete. 

“Not to worry at all. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” You match his small smile in return.

“Uhm,” he furrows his brows again and starts to peer around the store anxiously again, as if he was being watched. “Something for pain management?” He quirks one eyebrow at you, in question, almost as if he’s unsure if that’s the right answer. He fidgets a bit, shifting his weight and then sighing while pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. 

He squints at the paper briefly. “At least, that’s what my doctor has written here. I think. Can’t be sure with this damn chicken scratch.” He scowls slightly, clearly irritated he is in this predicament.

Again. Bless this first timer, old man. Well, not really THAT old, but still. 

“I can help you with that, as for the legibility of doctor handwriting, I’m afraid that’s a lost cause,” you quip. Much to your surprise, he huffs out a laugh in response.

“Yeah no shit. It’s a good thing I clocked what the doctor said before relying on the written prescription.”

“Well, you’re in luck because we have lots of options to choose from in terms of pain management. We have anything from herb, to edibles, to pre rolls, to drinks. Anything really, you name it.”

You chirp off the options, in your customer service voice. Although it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to sell him something at this point, moreso that you’re educating him on what’s available.

It’s a good thing too, with the way his soulful brown eyes continue to get wider, and the crease between his brows deepen with each option you mention to him. 

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, “how about something to smoke?”

“For sure! If you’re looking for something for pain management, that’ll likely be higher on the CBD end, with less THC, more relaxation based.”

“That sounds good,” he gives you another small smile. You start to search for CBD dominant strains in the register database as he shifts a bit closer to the counter, resting his hand with the prescription slip in it, on the countertop. 

He has nice hands. Big hands. With nice long, thick fingers. Like really fucking thick. And his thumbs are perfectly curved. You also notice a faint tattoo that's fading, hovering just above the webbing between his index finger and thumb, of… a bullseye? Interesting.

“Alright so we have a selection of pre rolled joints as well as loose herb for CBD, depending on what your preference is. Some people like to roll themselves, plus it’s a bit cheaper to buy it loose and roll it yourself, compared to buying pre-rolled, but it’s up to you.”

Still, he looks at you with a lost expression, but ultimately says says “Let’s go with the pre rolled ones.”

“Sounds good. Any flavour preferences? Or dislikes?”

He furrows his brows again and frowns slightly. God help this man. That should not be as endearing and cute as it is.

“Flavours?” He looks downright bewildered, as if you asked him when he’s going to jetspace off to Mars, that or to sacrifice his first born child. It could very well be both at this point. This poor old man. It must be his first time buying weed in general, not just coming into the dispensary.

Understanding his predicament, you backpedal a bit. At this point you might as well be getting commission on top of the ludacris minimum wage you receive, seeing as how eager you are to assist this man. Normally you couldn’t be bothered to be so thorough and patient with customers when it was nearing closing time but this guy is so lost, you take pity on him. It had nothing to do with how attractive he is. 

“Yeah! Weed products come in all different kinds of flavours, depending on the strain. It’s more noticeable with edibles and drinks, any products you consume orally, but loose leaf herb, or the actual weed buds, have different flavours too. If you like fruity stuff there is Mango haze, or strawberry sativa, or if you like a more sour savoury palette, there is sour diesel or lemon haze. Or there are kinds that don’t have a distinct flavour profile or smell, they smell and taste pretty generic when you consume or smoke them.”

“Uh, I think those might be my best bet,” he chuckles hollowly.

“Alright, sounds good.” Going off his limited knowledge and inexperience, you pick a pack for him that is a hybrid strain, light on the THC and heavy on the CBD. Usually it’s pretty good for beginners who aren’t looking to get stupid high and not too expensive.

You turn to the back wall window behind the countertop, and knock on the glass, catching the attention of Stef and Josh.

“Hey, can one of you guys grab me the 5 pack of Moonberry pre-rolls for this walk in order?”

Stef conveniently taps her index finger on her nose and looks presumptuously at Josh, making no effort to get up from her seat, who rolls his eyes and goes over to the inventory shelf. No sooner does he walk back over to hand you the pack, does Stef tear her glance away from her phone, and peek up at the register counter, clocking the man. Her jaw drops and she instantly wiggles her eyebrows at you. Before she can put her open mouth to use and make a smart ass comment, you grab the pack of joints from Josh and pivot back towards the register. As you turn back around, you just barely catch the man’s gaze snapping back up to yours, as if he was looking somewhere further south down your body. 

No. You’re just imagining that. Your brain running on fumes as the last remnant of your shift dwindles down.

“Okay, this is a 5 pack of pre rolls. It’s called Moon Berry, it’s a hybrid, but it’s very light on the THC and heavy on the CBD. Good for relaxation and it helps with pain. Try ‘em out and see how you like them.” You put the pack in a small bag and ring up the cost for him. 

After he hands you the cash and takes the small bag into his massive hand, he hovers a bit. Shuffling awkwardly as he waits for something else.

“Uh, is there anything else you needed today?” you ask him after a beat. His hand clutching the bag twitches by his side, and his lips part slightly. 

Okay this man is cute. More than cute. He’s ridiculously attractive in an aloof sort of way. His disheveled curls, prominent nose and chocolate brown eyes have you short circuiting, as if you were the one purchasing something from him. Still, you reassure yourself it’s the delusion of it being the final minutes of your workday, not the handsome stranger. Not at all. 

Say something. Say anything. Jesus.

At this point you’re not really sure if you’re telling that to yourself or silently pleading to him.

“Need a lighter?” you blurt out in an attempt to break the silence. 

“Uhm. I-.” He puts his hands in his pockets as if he was going to retrieve a lighter. Your malfunctioning brain persists though.

“Here, take it,” you grab one of the lighters with the generic dispensary logo on it, off the 

display on the counter and hand it to him. “It’s on the house,” you state as you see him start to shake his head, “we don’t make money on these anyway, so they always end up as overstock.”

His large palm nearly engulfs your hand as you drop the lighter into his hand. He looks up at you and gives you a boyish smile again.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, enjoy the pre rolls. If you need anything else, feel free to give us a visit again,” your customer service voice chimes in again as you flash him a warm smile. 

Trepidation sweeps across his face for a brief second before he nods and ducks his head, and as he walks out of the store. You check your phone, 4:56, thank God.

You head back into the storage room to grab your things and clock out, only to be met by your co-workers staring at you. Both with shit eating smirks on their faces.

“It’s on the house?” Josh repeats your earlier sentiment to you with a raised eyebrow. 

Rolling your eyes instantly, you sigh. “Josh, you and I both know those stupid lighters rarely ever sell out. Or sell, period. It’s not like the occasional few put a dent in the weekly revenue. Plus, there’s lots of other crap in here we sell with the store branding on it.”

He continues to look at you expectantly, his smirk growing bigger. 

“You gonna make me watch one of those ridiculous loss prevention videos from HR? Or can we let this go? C’mon it was the last customer of the day and we’re closed now.” You plead with him hoping he will drop it.

“If he wanted to cause you actual pain and suffering he would make you watch those HR videos again,” Stef quips cheekily. “We both wanna know why you wouldn’t just ask for that guy's number, it would have been a lot easier than committing theft as an employee.”

Your mouth gapes open as you look at her indignantly, then to Josh. Screw your best friend for knowing you all too fucking well. You couldn’t hide your poker face from her even if it was surgically constructed. 

“Why would I-” you begin your protest but Stef steam rolls over your words in her true form. 

“Oh, come ON, babe. I may only have eyes for women but I have to admit, he was fucking HOT and you know it. Those broad shoulders and puppy dog eyes? Probably one of the few attractive middle aged men I’ve seen come through here.” 

Josh wrinkles his face in disgust. “Seriously? The dude is probably pushing fifty. He looks like he’s never gotten high in his life seeing as how he was gawking at everything in the store. You included.”

Stef hums in agreement. “Fifty or not, he’s the hottest virgin stoner I’ve ever seen in my life. And I didn’t see a ring on his finger sooo…”

“Okay, that’s it,” you cut her off before she can blurt out any more incriminating things “Let’s implement a new rule, no BETTING on the customers, and no gossiping about how attractive they are.” You huff and grab your things, before dragging your friend towards the store exit. Josh follows in tow, locking up the entrance behind you all. 

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Josh mutters as he fixes you with a knowing look.

“I’m just saying,” Stef keeps going as you all walk towards the parking lot, “where else and when else are you going to meet someone with all the shit you have going on right now? Don’t you wanna get out there eventually?” 

She gives you a playful shove with a bit too much force behind it. “Don’t you at least wanna get laid again? Poor gal probably has cobwebs down there,” She throws out the crass remark nonchalantly as you sputter with your jaw dropped open. Luckily, she just narrowly avoids the slap you aim at her arm.

“Alright, and on THAT note, goodnight to you both. Get home safe.” Josh shakes his head as he gets into his car.

You turn and face Stef, letting out the deepest breath you’ve probably taken all day. 

She’s not wrong. It’s been well near a year since you split up with your ex.  Ever since you started school and got the part time job at One Plant, you really haven’t had time for anything else. Despite being best friends and living close by, you rarely saw Stef outside of your scheduled shifts together. Relegating yourself to the hermit life, you kept busy with studying, writing papers, going to class and showing up for your shifts at the dispensary. 

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do after becoming single? Better yourself? Have new adventures? Or some shit like that.

Sure, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss being with someone. Miss the companionship. But dating in this day and age was fucking exhausting. Even though things between you and your ex ended amicably, you were still very much in your ‘men are trash era’ and the thought of going on dates and getting to know someone again nauseated you.

Annoyingly, Stef wasn’t wrong about the getting laid part. Nearly a year post breakup for a relationship that consumed 6 years of your life didn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things. But being touch starved for nearly a year? That fucking sucked. And you wouldn’t deny missing the intimacy of cuddles, forehead kisses, and feeling close to someone. That and getting railed as if your life depended on it. Toys were nice and all but fuck you missed the feeling of having someone manhandle you, the feeling of someone giving you pleasure, winding you up. You just haven’t put your focus on that very stale and dry aspect of your life.

Stef gently grabs you by the shoulders, squeezing them. “Look, you know I love you hun, I just want you to be happy. That’s all. You gotta give it a chance again.” 

Her words pull you out of your dissociation and you blink hazily a few times. You shake your head briefly and pull her in for a hug. Stef may be too outspoken for her own good but she knew you inside and out. Ater becoming best friends in grade 7, you wouldn’t expect anything less from her. But you couldn’t lie that a part of you hated when she was right.

“I know you do, and I love you for it. Even though you’re a pain in my ass. Now get home safe.” 

She squeezes you at that and tells you to do the same, before you both go your separate ways.

Finally home, you trudged into your empty apartment, the weight of day’s work finally easing off your shoulders, as you kicked off your shoes and dumped your keys on the coffee table in the living room. As was your routine, you plopped down on the couch, reaching for your grinder and papers on the table, as you started to roll your joint, contemplating on what to have for dinner.

Still, the image of deep brown eyes, and that warm southern drawl ricocheted through your mind as you densely packed the grinded herb into the joint, folding the paper in on itself and twisting off the end.  He was just a customer. You saw hundreds of them a day, he was nothing new. As you lit up and inhaled deeply, you felt the warm, molasses-like haze seep through your bones, clouding over your thoughts, as you melted into the couch. He was just a customer. A handsome stranger. 

Despite the excuses you gave yourself, you couldn’t help but feel that wouldn’t be the last time you saw that man, or the virgin stoner, as Stef had so bluntly called him. At least you hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

TAGLIST:

@xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @morallyinept, @atinylittlepain, @amanitacowboy, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, @pr0ximamidnight, @wannab-urs, @beskarandblasters, @jksprincess10

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #petition to GET THAT OLD MAN HIGH

[sharpsafe]

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[goreador]

testosterone is available in needle because it is bouba and estrogen is available in pill because it is kiki hope this helps

#edit dec. 28: if you tag this with a booba joke i will block you #do you see how many notes this has? your joke is not original and it is not funny. #edit dec. 28: i got an angry anon over this #edit dec. 29: im still thinking about that. they called me a dingus. you hear me? #a dingus. im so hurt. they couldve just called me a slur. #edit dec. 30: to all of you who see these tags and laugh at my misery...thank you #i made this post 2.5 hours into a car trip while stuck with my entire family #this was not a post of joy #the post is also not funny. but im happy my misery gave you some enjoyment i guess #edit dec. 30: OH SOMEONE CAME INTO MY INBOX AND CALLED ME A BOZO #im assuming its because of this post because no one really sends me anons except for the person talking about circumcision divorce #but no one really insults me with words made for vitriolic 10 year olds so im assuming people got really bent #over a kiki bouba hrt shitpost ? idk. im just the messenger #edit dec. 31: happy new years eve #because of the constant attention this post is getting im opting to use this as a to-do list #edit jan 2: happy belated new year #the post is currently at ~14.7k notes and someone finally got the initial joke i was trying to make #i am not reinventing gender roles i am just...consonants are sharp and vowels are round #and needles are sharp and pills are round #edit jan 2: THERES A TAG LIMIT? #ill stop when this is filled. thats when i will stop. #ive always been this annoying but its in the tags of my own post so......if you dislike it get over it lmao #'why do you keep updating the tags' its not like they work for any search functions #this was initially a blank shitpost anyways i could just delete it if i wanted to stop getting notifs #edit jan 3: today we broke 15k notes. we are slowing down 🎉 #edit jan 4: no fun allowed #EDIT JAN 4 THIS IS IT THIS IS THE TAG LIMIT!!!! BYE #edit feb 20: its picking up again. i thought i was safe #edit jul 19: people keep reblogging this let my shitpost die please crying & begging

[hawksugarbaby]

Bakudeku- tongue tied

Lime + Tattoo/piercer Au

A/N: TO BE CLEAR. I don't ship toxic bakugo who told Deku to kill himself with baby deku who can't stand up for himself. I ship emotionally mature, developed, redeemed bakugo who is helping deku become a hero (more evidence in the manga than anime right now) with a strong independent deku who can stand on his own feet now.

It was a slower day for the parlour today than typical but this early in the year less people were interested in getting tattoos or piercings since it was cold and people would be wearing fleecy layer over layer and covering every stretch of skin on their bones to keep warm. What was the point in permanently altering a part of you if most of you was covered up?

Of course the tattoo side of the department had it harder than the piercing side as the piercers had enough options on the face and ears to keep them going. And that was where the great Katsuki Bakugo came into play. Hovering around the parlour like a moth waiting for the lights to flicker on, the annoying buzz of his angry voice that never shut up infiltrating Izuku's ears without of a choice making him unwillingly blush whenever he said anything that caught the freckled boy off guard.

The blonde barged into the shop like he owned the place and tapped his foot at the front desk ringing the bell for service continuously until someone paid attention to him. Izuku looked at his colleagues who all turned around and pretended to work, drawing scribbles on their page for new designs which looked like toddlers artwork until it was refined and then, if they felt like it, coloured.

The green haired boy stood begrudgingly from his desk and sauntered over to the front desk to greet his most common customer. "Afternoon Kacchan" he faked a smile and ran his hand through his curly emerald locks grabbing a pen from the pot, flicking the cap off so forcefully it flew across the room like a rocket for someone else to deal with. "It's evening deku" he argued and leaned his bulging arms on the counter smiling irritatingly at izuku. "Sure whatever. What are you here for" he asked, chewing the end of his pencil and glancing from the blonde's face to his muscular arms without a second thought.

Bakugo stuck his tongue out laying it flat against his chin and stared seductively into Izuku's green eyes. His face lit up red and he closed his eyes ignoring the taller man's angry flirtations. "A t-tongue piercing then?" he stuttered, turning around to face the wall and scribble on the clipboard. "Date of birth" he asked, not looking back at the angry customer being ignored by the reason he was there in the first place. "20th of april 2037" "making you 22" Izuku muttered filling in the information on the sheet. He knew Bakugo's phone number and email by heart by now, in case the courage ever took over to message him.

"Sign here" izuku said, turning and handing the clipboard to bakugo who was cracking his fingers as if it was a time killer and pointed to the line for bakugo to sign his loopy name on. For such an aggressive personality his handwriting was saccharine, it felt ungenuine watching the way his wrist flicked so smoothly with each curve connecting every consonant and vowel. "Can I get a hole in my tongue now or?" he asked placing the board on the desk and leaving the question open ended.

"Is everyone else busy!?" izuku shouted to his coworkers who all shouted yes back not wanting to deal with bakugo's attitude when he wasn't being pierced or tattoo'd by izuku. Izuku didn't have a problem around Bakugo, the problem arose when he couldn't focus on the work because his customer was seemingly attempting to seduce the poor artist. His insistence to be with Izuku was also an issue because god forbid he be with another customer when he came in, the indistinguishable groan when he was told to wait was enough to make the customers waiting to book flee the establishment.

"I guess it'll have to be me then" he sighed and walked to the back of the shop expecting bakugo to just follow behind (which he did). Izuku spun a wide leather seat towards the blonde and slapped the seat making a loud thump and he rolled his neck cracking the bones like loud enough you'd assume they broke. "Y'know for someone who's done this too me a bunch of time's i thought i'd know you better" bakugo sighed slumping into the seat while Izuku stretched a pair of latex gloves over his thick fingers, pinging the band against his wrist then pulling the other one on fiddling with the blue rubber.

Izuku his his blooming cheeks unable to tell if bakugo meant for his words to have a double meaning or if Izuku's mind was just all the way in the gutter. "What could you possibly want to know?" he grumbled looking to bakugo from his peripherals. The red eyed male fiddled with his ash blond locks of hair trying to spike them back up but they were flopping down and plastering to his forehead. Izuku's mini studio was ludicrously warm for the beginning of the year when it's supposed to still be winter, but his box felt like a trip to hawaii! "I dunno, why'd you start tattooing and piercing and shit" he asked gulping nervously at the needles laying out on the metal counter.

Izuku turned with the clamp looped on his fingers, a sure way to shut him up and scooted his own chair forward. "Tongue out" he ordered and bakugo smirked leaning forward "very demanding of y-" Izuku rolled his eyes and caught bakugo's tongue while his mouth was open talking and pulled it out by the clamp. "Eenngg! he huuh?" ("heey! The fuck?") bakugo began to gripe incoherently and izuku pressed harder making bakugo gasp and wave his hand "eh ehh ohay ohay" ("eh ehh okay okay"). He stopped attempting to talk but rested his warm hand's just above izuku's knee's making the green haired boy burn pink.

He fiddled with the needle and held his hands in front of him until they stopped shaking and held the clamp firmly grasped on bakugo's tongue "I started tattooing because my mum was struggling with money and I wanted to help her so I found an apprenticeship. Piercing just came easy after tattooing" izuku explained thinking about his mothers partially impressed, mostly shocked when izuku came home with his first tattoo. But she never stopped him if it was what he enjoyed. "Then you became obsessed with me and now I can't leave" he chuckled.

Bakugo's eye's rounded at the sound of Izuku's sweet laugh he'd never heard before. He would have smiled if he could have but there was a needle encroaching slowly. The tip of the sharp metal balanced on his tongue and izuku checked the placement again and nodded to himself "okay i'm going to count to 3 and on three take a deep breath through your nose okay" he quirked an eyebrow and the blonde nodded hesitantly.

"Okay 1... 2... 3 deep breath" he instructed and katsuki inhaled sharply as the needle went through the pink flesh a tiny dribble of blood and izuku switched in the jewellry so quick bakugo hadn't even realised the needle went through. "And you're done. You can exhale now by the way," izuku said, keeping the clamp on his tongue for longer than he needed to just for the satisfaction of silence but of course he had to take it off sooner rather than later.

"Did' ethen hur. Fuck i hath a lithp" he rolled his eye's and wiped away the drool at the corner of his mouth. "Hard to be sexy with a lisp," Izuku threw him an icy bottle of water he barely caught before the words caught up to him. "You think i'm thexy?" "not right now I don't" he laughed and sat back in the chair leaning over the back and hanging his arms over the armrest. "In about 5 minutes when your not afraid of moving your tongue, probably" he glimpsed at the blushing blonde and sighed. "Not afraid" he mumbled "then why do you have a lisp?"

Silence.

"Exactly." izuku retorted quickly and pushed bakugo into the leather seat climbing onto it himself and sitting between bakugo's thighs and grabbing his face. "I hate you you know that" the green haired male pushed bakugo's hair out of his face giving him a clear view of his sparkling red eye's and leaned into him pressing his soft lips against bakugo's rough, cracked ones. Bakugo's hand's hovered around izuku but izuku's gloved hands pushed them down so they rested on his waist gently.

He kissed back softly trying to pull izuku back so neither were in danger of falling of the chair and nothing could be heard except the heavy breathing and their hearts hammering rapidly in their ears. Izuku pulled away resting his forehead against bakugo who was intoxicated by his lips. "I really hate you" the freckled boy muttered and put his hands on bakugo's chest separating them slightly. "Can I come back for a tattoo?" bakugo mumbled not sure what to say and Izuku snorted sliding off the chair and standing up putting his blue gloves in the bin. "Just a tattoo?" he flirted and bakugo, still trying to reboot his brain just blinked and nodded dumbfoundedly.

"Sure come back for a tattoo" izuku laughed and showed him to the door trying too brush his hair down so he wouldn't draw any attention from his coworkers. Bakugo finally formed coherent thoughts and at the door leaned next to izuku's ear "you know why I really got my tongue pierced?" izuku shook his head and bakugo dug his hand into his pocket pulling out a pill sized piece of metal and held it in front of izuku's eye's. Clicking a button on his phone it started to buzz lightly and izuku shoved him out the shop. "GO. NOW. HERE'S YOUR CARE PACKAGE" he shouted shoving a small poly-bag in his hands and slamming the door shut behind him, hard enough an earthquake line ran up the glass.

His brunette coworker bounced up to him, "SOOO" her sweet voice started and izuku shoved her away jokingly. "Get away!"

#bnha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #wattpad #boku no hero fanfic #mha #bakudeku #katsuki bakugou #izuku midoriya #bakugo x deku #bakugo x midoriya #izuku x katsuki #deku x kacchan

[yeojaa]

in the night.

blame john wick for this.  i may or may not do accompanying pieces but it was very fun to write, in any case.  yay, assassin!kook!

pairing.  jjk x reader.  rating.  ... general-ish?  tags.  this doesn’t fit in the usual three categories but leans more fluffy than anything.  includes mentions of blood, vague descriptions of suturing, and kook being a little sassy shit.  wc.  1.1k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​ 💜

You’ve taken care of him more times than you can count, sewn shut more holes than any normal person ought to have.  You’ve salted his wounds and stitched his skin, provided pills and patchwork.  You’ve seen him at his very worst, beaten and broken, barely coherent against your doorframe as if there was no other way he might remain standing. You’d even saved him once, sheltered him when you shouldn’t have, and put a bullet through the man chasing him. 

He owes you his life at least five times over.  He knows that.

It doesn’t stop him from knocking loudly, with knuckles stained ruby and the same colour seeping through the white of his Oxford.  It takes longer than it normally does - a beat of one, two, three - before the small three-by-two window slides open.

He’ll never get over how beautiful you are, even caged behind bars and with a look of complete distrust in your eyes.  They soften at the sight of him.

“Again?”  It’s lyrical - music to his ears.  

“Again,”  Jungkook confirms around a mouthful of blood.

You heave a sigh - a low, drawn out sound he recognises for its endeared amusement - and he hears the different mechanisms click out of place.  First, the deadbolt, followed by two barrel bolts, and lastly, the chain lock.  

The door swings open, just a hairsbreadth, enough for him to glimpse a sliver of your face, your neatly knotted dark hair that sits in a low bun against your neck.  You’re swathed in a lightly rumpled shirt - too large in the shoulders, undone indecently down four buttons.  He wonders, for a moment, whether he’d woken you up.  It would make sense, given the god forsaken hour.

“What’s the magic word?”  

He scoffs then, the motion agitating the wound further against his clothes.  Even as he tries to hide it, bite the sharp sting back with an equal bite of his own - teeth over tongue - he knows you see it.  You see everything.  “I’ve got no apples for you, Doc.”  

You relent before the words have fully formed, stepping back to allow him passage into the only place he might call safe.  “Come in anyway, I guess.”  

Shirt and coat are stripped the moment he crosses the threshold, discarded in a heap on the far table that houses too many loose sheets, all covered in chicken scratch that carries no meaning to his untrained eye.  He feels a little bad when a grisly streak of colour lends itself to a formerly pristine piece of paper.  

He settles into the familiar chair - head back, knuckles white over the edge of the armrests - and exhales a deep sigh, breath whistling past his teeth. 

“What happened this time?”  You’re asking even though you shouldn’t, even though it’s best that you don’t know.  You knowing only puts the same mark on your forehead - a bull’s eye right between the eyes - but you’ve always known that and you’ve never seemed to care, presenting questions as easily as you breathe.

He swallows a hoarse whine when liquid splashes across the damaged skin, sodium chloride bringing forth a different kind of sting.  Rivulets run the length of his abdomen, pooling in the dips and divots before soaking into the black waistband of his briefs.  

“Mistake.  Stupid mistake.”

“You’ve gotta stop making those,”  you hum with a little laugh and a glint in your eye.  It distracts from the first thread of the needle through his weeping flesh.  “Nicked the artery.  You’re lucky you got here.”

“Isn’t that what you say every time?”  It isn’t easy to smile through the pain but he manages, offering a goofy grin that edges on disturbing by the Joker-esque red that paints his cheeks and jaw.  He thinks you’d hit him, if not for the fact your hands are far too occupied.

“Which part?”

“Not making mistakes,”  he returns, watching with morbid fascination as you stitch him back together, thread looping over and into his skin with each pin prick.  

“I mean - you make me say it every time.”

“Maybe I just like hearing it.”

“Then you’re a masochist, Jeon.”  The last knot is secured into place and you nod, small and nearly imperceptible.  “You’re all done.  Let me bandage it up and I’ll give you some meds for the pain.  Try not to make any more mistakes that might open it up again.”

Sterilized bandage is applied, pressed into place with firm, unyielding hands.  Everything spins at the contact - a shade rouger than he’d expected - an explosion of white against his eyelids before it’s gone.  One inhale, then another, head lolling against the worn leather headrest.  “I swear you fuck with me every time.”

You swing a smile in his direction, coquettish over your shoulder.  “How else would you learn your lesson?”

He supposes you’re right. 

“Take this.”  Something flies in his direction and by the grace of god, Jungkook manages to catch it with the hand attached to the arm attached to the shoulder that isn’t crying out in blinding pain.  “Three now, then two every six hours until you feel like you can go without them.”

“Thanks, Doc.”  Said three go down the hatch dry, swallowed thickly before he tucks the bottle of little white pills into the front pocket of his pants.  “I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than one.”

“Okay, okay - we’re not keeping track.”  Well, he’s not, at least.  He thinks you must be, by the way you’re levelling him with that stare, heavy-lidded and half-hidden behind the glare of your glasses.  You’re watching his every move, studying him as he pulls his stained shirt back on and makes for the door, tuxedo jacket laid over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He blinks owlishly, expression betraying nothing as he rounds on you.  You’re close, hardly any space held between the two of you.  He can see your eyes now, how they twinkle up at him and steal his breath more than any injury could. 

“Ah, right.”  The distance closes then, bloodied fingers seizing the collar of the shirt you wear so well.  His shirt, he’s come to realise once he notes the embroidered initials along the cuffs.  “How could I forget?”

The kiss comes as if it’s his last, lingering and longing swept into every pass of his lips, each delicate swipe of his tongue.  He swallows every sound you make, holding them somewhere deep in his chest like a treasure.  It’s nothing like you’d expect from a man like him, brooding and blunt in all other aspects.

“Don’t come back,”  you tease, breathless.

“I will,”  he returns, beaming.  And then he’s gone, with only the blood on your front to remember him by.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​

#thebtswritersclub #ficswithluv #heartsforbts #magicshopnet #goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #cypherwritersnet #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts fic #bts drabble #bts jungkook #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #work.zip #drabble.zip #jungkook.doc

[haro-whumps]

Can I possibly get each of the group whumpees reaction to being sedated/drugged by Galo or someone they think is Galo?

CW: drugging, needles, AU!Galo(?)(We just don’t know)

-

Nyla trotted after Master Galo obediently, if confused. His large hand was warm and gentle around her wrist, and then around her waist as he firmly coaxed her into sitting on the couch. Next to him. touching thigh to thigh.

She did not shake, nor did she protest, but every nerve in her screamed that she needed to get down, down onto the floor. “Master?”

“Hold out your arm for me and roll your sleeve up, okay sweetie?” Master Galo ordered congenially, and Nyla felt her eyebrows dip together briefly before she smoothed her face back into a smile. She did as she was told, nerves rising as Master Galo snapped disposable gloves onto his hands and opened some sort of plastic packaging.

“Master, may I know how best to assist you in... this?”

“Nah, it’s pretty straightforward. You just keep being good.”

“Yes sir.”

Nyla held herself very still as Master Galo rubbed an alcohol wipe over the meat of her upper arm, feeling very much like she was getting a vaccine in the doctor’s office, except she wasn’t due for her yearly checkup for a month yet and Master Galo was not a doctor, nor was this couch an office. “S--” she cleared her throat, “--Sir?”

“Easy, Nyla,” Master Galo said, tapping the syringe so any air bubbles would float to the top and pushing the plunger so a little of the yellow fluid dribbled out. He then braced her arm with one gloved hand and lowered the syringe to her skin, the small prick seeming much louder in her mind than it should have. “There’s my good girl. Don’t worry, things are gonna feel much easier here in just a minute.”

Nyla understood, abstractly, that she’d just been drugged. He’d drugged her. With something. She should be frightened by that. But her mind, her emotions, they weren’t processing that, it was like her brain had run up against a blank wall, some invisible obstacle it couldn’t move past. Master Galo cleaned up the materials and removed his gloves, seeming entirely unbothered, and maybe that was why she couldn’t push her brain past whatever barrier it had smacked against.

She continued to feel nothing but a distant, formless confusion as the fog settled into her bones and she slumped, heavy and immobile, into Master Galo’s waiting arms. He pet her hair and kissed her hairline, crooning out one last, “Good girl.”

-

CW: drugging, pills, learned helplessness

-

Greyson took the two little pills in hand and stared at them, almost contemplatively for all that he didn’t really have many thoughts about the matter.

Mistress Bethany had played this game a few times, when he was young; he’d nearly forgotten about its existence. But he knew what the pills were, well enough. 

He couldn’t really imagine why he was being given them now, when his default mental state was about equivalent to what the pills would drag him down to, but maybe that was the game. To see what effect they would have, if any at all, on someone who was, more or less, already there.

It wasn’t his place to ponder, though. He set the pills on his tongue, took a sip of water, and knelt, waiting for his refreshed purpose as a mindless pawn to settle in.

-

CW: drugging, pills, force-feeding, crying, AU!Galo/Imposter!Galo

-

“S-S-Sir?” Sasha asked tremulously, backing away from the giant who was her master. Her back hit the wall unexpectedly, she jolted, and she squeaked when Master Galo grabbed her by the wrist. He wasn’t hurting her, but he wasn’t letting her go, either.

“Sasha, either you take these yourself, or I make you take them.”

Sasha felt herself start to hyperventilate. She--She couldn’t--She didn’t even know what they--

“Sasha,” Master Galo warned, and Sasha began to cry, trying to stop breathing so hard so she could obey, she wanted to obey, why couldn’t she just obey for once?!

“Aww, Sasha,” Master Galo clicked his tongue, “See, that just seems like you’re trying to get out of this, now.” 

Sasha shook her head frantically, trembling in his hold, her other hand over her mouth as she tried to stop panicking. 

“And resisting,” Master Galo stated, grabbing her other wrist and pressing both above her head against the wall.

“No! No, I w-w-w-wasn’t res-re-r-resis--”

“But see, it looked like you were,” Master Galo stated, one large hand enough to keep both of hers pinned. His other returned to the pills, which he forced past her lips. “So now we do this the hard way.”

His massive hand was large enough to cover her mouth, keep it shut, and pinch her nose at once. Maybe she could’ve given him trouble if she struggled, but she didn’t want to struggle, she wanted to be good. The lack of air rapidly made her dizzy, though, her lungs screaming for air to fuel her panic, but her tongue was sluggish and clumsy and it took her three tries before she finally managed to get both pills down.

She collapsed when he released her, sobbing and shaking and trying to wipe away her snot and tears before her hideous face could add to the trouble she was in.

“There, see?” Master Galo asked cheerfully, hoisting her up over one shoulder. “That wasn’t so bad.”

-

CW: drugging, needles, defiant whumpee

-

“Fuck you!” Evan shouted, thrashing uselessly against the wall of muscle now currently pinning him down. “Fuck you you fucking bastard!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Master Galo grunted, struggling to get Evan in his grip. Evan kneed him just below the ribcage, and nearly wriggled out from under him before Master Galo caught his breath and pinned him again.

“You shit, you fuck, you know I hate needles, I fucking knew your niceguy routine was just an act! I fucking knew it!”

And if Evan had only just started to believe in it, well, he wasn’t going to admit to being hurt.

“I know! I know, I’m sorry Evan, if there was literally any other way to do this believe me I would prefer it.”

“Drink piss and die!”

Master Galo got Evan flipped onto his belly and Evan wailed as he successfully twisted one arm behind his back. Now feeling just how thoroughly he was losing this fight, Evan’s movements lost any semblance of coordination and he clawed frantically at the carpet, flailed, attempted to inflict any damage he could against the man on top of him.

“I’m sorry,” Master Galo muttered, foot pinning Evan’s other hand to the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for this and you’ll be right to never forgive me.”

Evan keened as he heard the plastic crinkle, and Master Galo switched the hands he used to pin Evan’s wrist behind his back. He did not let out a raw, terrified sob when the needle sank into his arm, and if anyone else said otherwise they were a fucking liar.

-

CW: drugging, high stakes hide and seek, AU!Galo(?)(Not sure on this one either)

-

Lilah was good at stringing clues together, and this time, she was lucky. She wasn’t really meant to see what Master Galo had bought, but she had, and two and two had added up and she determined it was for her.

The fun thing about being small in a hedge “maze” was that half the plants in the garden were bigger than her, when she crouched down. And by fun, she meant frequently useful. And by frequently useful, she meant the only thing standing between her, and whatever was going to happen to her if Master Galo got that dart in her.

Was this one of his games? Was she being hunted for sport?

...If she told Nyla and the others, would one of them take the fall for her?

Master Galo’s footsteps were getting too close, she needed to move again, switch hides before he checked this one. He’d already checked by the fountain, she could probably dart behind the trellis and sneak over there. He wouldn’t think to double check it for a while yet, right?

She was light on her feet, silent in the open breeze as she moved, very swiftly, to her hide behind the vining plants. Her heartbeat was in her throat, and the holes in the fence meant she was more exposed, but his back was to her, and soon she’d have a chance to check her breath. Which pathway would leave her the least exposed--?

A sharp prick in her shoulder, right next to her neck, informed her she’d lost the game. She pulled the dart out with shocked fingers, and turned as Master Galo rounded past the fence. She tried to summon her courage, the bravado she’d been able to carry lately, as his shadow blocked out the sun. But as her knees began to buckle, all she managed to feel was small.

#gw #galo #nyla #greyson #sasha #evan #lilah #writing #mine #answers #thanks! #this was fun #drugging #whump #slave whump #slavery #needles #lady whump #Anonymous

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Closer (August x Reader)

Author’s notes: so this is both my entry for Steph’s birthday writing challenge AND her second birthday present. She gave me: August - fuck or die situation. My brain came up with the rest and the lovely @meetmeinthematinee was my beta. So @toomanystoriessolittletime I hope you enjoy this filth as much as I enjoyed the one you wrote for my birthday!

Summary: you and August go undercover to dig information on a Donaka Mark, but get caught and end up in a very unsual situation.

Pairing: August/Reader; Donaka

Wordcount: 5k

Warnings: suggestion of violence and electric shocks; smut (unprotected sex; oral (male receiving); fingering; penetration; voyeurism and exhibitionism; power play; degradation; squirting; overstimulation; choking; tiny bit of breeding kink). Yes, I did go wall out with this one. I think it broke my smut brain. LOL. Now, I tried to make sure the consent was very very explicit, but the fuck or die situation is dub-con-ish, so be warned.

It was the pounding of your head that woke you up, the headache so intense that it pulled you from unconsciousness almost like a flick of a switch but your vision was blurry, and your focus was slippery. All you could process at first was the bright morning light bleeding through the wide window panels and the softness of the bed beneath you. The sheets silky soft and smelling of fresh laundry.

“You’re awake, good.” His voice was low and gravelly, surprisingly soothing but a far cry from August’s smooth baritone so you shot to a sitting position, forcing your senses to apprehend your surroundings despite the throbbing in your head.

Sitting in an armchair only a step away from the bed was Donaka Mark, sharply dressed in dark trousers and a dark dress shirt, the first two buttons undone. His sharp brown eyes watched you with unsettling interest and suddenly your mind was flooded by the memories of the night before.

You and August were supposed to infiltrate Donaka’s illegal fight club. CIA and Interpol weren’t all that worried about the fighting itself, but there was evidence that Mark might be financing a few militias in the Middle East and providing some other unsavory services through the Silk Road. You had been the intelligence agent that picked up Donaka’s trail and Sloane had agreed that it would be a good idea for you to join August in this undercover mission. Donaka might have promising information that could aid US troops in Iraq, and it wasn’t as if August would know what to look for or even how to breach Mark’s files.

Something went wrong though. Maybe someone leaked information about the operation because before you could even try to sneak out to check the servers, Mark’s security team caught up with you and August and the last thing you remembered clearly was August trying to fight them off while you got knocked out by a prick of a needle on the back of your neck. Now here you were, apparently the morning after, still in your satin red dress, mostly likely in Donaka’s compound God knows where faced with the man himself.

You had seen pictures of him before. He was, for all intents and purposes, a real businessman in the entertainment business. You knew he was of Chinese heritage, born of a Chinese father and British mother, but grew up in the US, where he made his fortune. He was a handsome man, but there was an air about him. A certain frost in his demeanor, but mostly in his eyes that sent chills down your spine.

The way his brown gaze pinned you down, tracking your every move made you feel like prey being stalked by a dangerous predator and despite any logical reasoning, there was a throb in your center that made you deeply embarrassed.

“How’s your head?” he asked, voice perfectly pleasant, movements deliberately slow as he reached for the bedside table and picked up a glass and round pill waiting there, offering them to you. “The sedative I use tend to have some undesirable side effects.”

You didn’t reply but took the aspirin, swallowing down with the water before returning the glass to him, following his movements as he set it aside and returned to his seat, his gaze settling on you once again.

“Where’s August?” you had to force your throat to work, terror clutching your gut, especially with the smirk that surged on Donaka’s face.

“He’s somewhere here,” he gestured vaguely, and you followed the direction of his fingers towards the door.

It was ajar and for a second you wondered if you could make to it before Donaka caught you but as you shifted on the bed, your limbs seemed to be made of concrete so you very much doubted it.

“Would you like to see him?” Donaka offered in that same placid tone. You decided you hated it, still, you nodded. “I’ll take you to him, but first…” he indicated another door that stood just a couple feet away from the exit. “I’d like you to change.”

You hesitated, but did you really have a choice? Donaka might be alone with you here but he was twice your size and an apt fighter according to his file. Even if you somehow managed to take him down, he would have security around the compound and you had no idea how big it was or where August might be. Best to play along.

With slow, careful steps you walked into the bathroom, finding a pale pink lace nightgown hanging behind the door. The fabric soft and silky but completely see-through. It fitted your body perfectly, like a second skin and as you stood in front of the mirror looking at yourself, a flush rushed to your cheeks. You could see the smooth skin of your belly and the shadows of your panties beneath it.

You wondered why Donaka wanted you to wear this. Was it another form of humiliation, to make you parade around in sexy lingerie like a kept pet that he could display to the world? Well, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing your shame. With your chin held high, you stepped out of the bathroom and he looked up from his phone to glance at you, his smirk widening at the sight of you.

“Beautiful,” he moved into your personal space and his size made you swallow thickly as you had to tilt your head up to keep your gaze at him. “So, so beautiful. Turn around.”

You hesitated, of course, every inch of you opposed to giving your back to this predator but once again you knew you had no choice so you complied with his order and nearly jumped when he touched you, his calloused digits a strange contrast against the softness of the nightgown. His fingers traced a path from your shoulder to your nape, before he gathered your hair and with dexterous fingers, Donaka braided it tightly, letting the tip fall at your back.

“And for the final touch…” you heard his shift and the rustling of fabric before you were startled by the cold silver surrounding your neck and clicking close at your nape. “Now you’re perfect.”

Donaka guided you to a mirror and you swallowed the lump of desire in your throat. There you stood in flimsy lingerie, a choker of diamonds around your neck, his large hands resting on your shoulders, warm and surprisingly pleasant. You looked hauntingly beautiful and you hated it.

“Come.”

He offered you a hand and this time you didn’t even bother hesitating. Letting him guide you through the long halls of his villa, down a few stairs until you two reached an underground floor. The walls were made of bare concrete and the air was cold and damp, raising goosebumps on your bare arms.  

Down here you saw some of Donaka’s men stationed around and you could see exactly who they thought it was the real threat between you and August and you couldn’t say you didn’t agree.

At a nod of his head, one of the men pushed a door open and Donaka waited for you to step in first before he followed, the heavy metal plank clicking closed behind him, surrounding you with darkness, the damp stench here was heavier and while your eyes adjusted, the only thing you could really see was shadowy shapes.

Bright light inundated the room suddenly and your ears caught a soft wince. For the first time, you realized that slumped form in the center of the room was August, battered and bruised, hands and legs tied behind his back, breathing ragged,  cuts and wounds dotting his face; dry blood caking his hair, mustache, and stubble.

You whispered his name softly, falling to your knees to reach for him, but at the first touch of your hands he growled like a rabid animal and you pulled away startled.

“I’m afraid he put up a bit of a fight, unfortunately,” Donaka spoke from somewhere behind you, but you ignored him, too focused on the man in front of you.

“August…” you called again, inching carefully letting him see your hands until you rested it against his cheek and he let you, his blue eyes trailed on you as if he was finally processing who you were. “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

Slowly he edged closer towards you, letting you cradle his head in your lap as you brushed the hair away from his face and tried to assess the damage. August was in bad shape but nothing seemed to be particularly fatal, thankfully.

“May I have some water for him?” you asked, finally looking over at Donaka, surprised to see he was sitting on a chair watching you and August. “Please?”

There was a moment of silence and then the door opened again, another one of his men stepped inside with a bottle of water and set by your foot before leaving again. You unscrewed the cap, bringing it to August lips and helping him to drink slow sips. You had no idea how long he was down here. Probably as long as you were in that room.

“You truly care for him, don’t you?” Donaka spoke and that flush raised to your cheeks again, heating your chest and neck. “Don’t bother to deny it. I see it in your eyes. Are you in love with him?”

You looked down at the man below you that seemed to be a little more awake now, his gaze steadier and less hazy as he took in his surroundings and you. Even in this terrible state, August was beautiful and your heart thundered in your ribcage. How could you answer without compromising yourself or August?

“Does he love you?” Donaka asked and you didn’t even realize he moved until he crouched to enter your line of sight. “I mean, you know what he is, don’t you?”

Biting your lip, your attention shifted to the man on the ground again. You knew some things, having read his file. Most of it was blacked out so you knew it was bad. There was a reason he was called The Hammer after all. You knew how Sloane liked to operate. You knew that you sent in this mission to collect the data while August was sent to eliminate the threat.

“They say the prettiest faces hide the worst monsters,” Donaka ran a finger from August’s temple to his jaw and you could see the way the agent tensed under the touch. “And he sure is beautiful.”

A bright flick of metal appeared in Donaka’s hand and it took you a second to realize it was a blade. Your heart stopped for just a second as he traced the tip over August shoulder, but with a quick motion he cut off the ropes bounding his hands and legs. Just as fast as the blade appeared, it vanished and August was free. In a flash, August was on his feet, crowding Donaka against the wall of the bunker, one thick forearm pressed against the older man’s throat and the knife in his hand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Donaka warned, seemingly completely unaffected by the threat of the blade.

“Why not?” August growled.

You screamed as sharp, electrical bolt ran through your spine, blinding you to everything around you. Good thing you were already kneeling because the shards of pain raking your body would have made you fall gracelessly. Your body was overtaken by seizures and you shook on the ground like a fish out of the water.

As suddenly as it started, the shock receded, leaving you gasping and sobbing, tears hot on your cheek; blood metallic on your tongue; muscles as if made of jelly, completely unresponsive. You could only look at August’s stunned expression and Donaka’s cold amusement.

“That was level one, and that pretty collar goes to eleven. Want to see what two looks like?” You tensed in fear, curling into a ball like a little mouse waiting for their punishment.

“No!” August shouted, letting go of Donaka and through your glassy eyes you could see the fury in his cold blue ones. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I guess he does care about you, sweetheart,” Donaka said, his smirk widening, and you could only whimper in response.

“She’s nothing,” August hissed, and his words felt like acid in your ears, making you curl into yourself even more. “She knows nothing. Let her go.”

“That I believe,” Donaka replied, and you could feel the heaviness of his stare on you. “That she knows nothing about your extracurricular activities. That she’s nothing…”

Donaka clicked his tongue and his shadow fell over you, his strong hands forcing your muscles to uncurl until you were sitting up, his hand wrapped around your neck, holding your chin up so you could look at August.

“You like her,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple and you could see August’s jaw clenching. “You like her naivety and purity. You crave her innocence. We’re not too different, Agent Walker.”

“What. Do. You. Want?” August asked through clenched teeth and Donaka stood and moved away from you. You didn’t turn to look, but you heard the scrape of metal against concrete and knew he must have taken a seat again.

“What I always want. I want to watch.”

There was a long pause and this time, you dared to look over your shoulder and there was Donaka on the metal chair, legs spread apart, and you could see the volume in his trousers. It made you swallow and blush, looking back at August.

“You’re going to ruin her and I’m going to watch.”

The silence was heavy in the room. Enough that you could hear the drumming of your heart and August’s deep exhale he contemplated your captor. For a moment, you wondered what Donaka meant by ruin but all it took was a quick look at yourself and you knew.

The worst thing was that you wanted it. A little dark seed had settled itself deep in your heart and mind the first time you saw August. The first time you contemplated those solid muscles and the menace that he exhaled.

You were always attracted to violence, that much you knew – but August was something else. Something primal and dark and every time you let your thoughts turn to that, you felt your body igniting with that forbidden desire that you usually kept completely hidden.

Against your better judgment, you let your gaze settle on August and you saw the darkness in his eyes but also the blaze of want as he contemplated you, taking in for the first time your flimsy attire and you could see it affected him, just like Donaka expected.

“It’s ok,” you whispered getting up. Your limbs still felt unsteady as you moved closer to him, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the slow and controlled beat of his heart as you gazed up at August through your lashes. “I want this.”

Those words seemed to snap the last shred of control in him because he caught you by the nape and smashed his lips against yours. The kiss was brutal, all tongue and teeth, and your knees nearly gave out from the heaviness of your desire, the coiling tendrils of your pleasure making your core throb and your panties soaked.

His other hand found its way to your thigh and ass beneath the nightgown, kneading and massaging the supple flesh, pulling you tighter against his chest and you could feel his rock hard erection against your belly, making the heat inside you increase.

You had caught glimpses of August in his underwear back at the hotel. You knew he was massive and you wanted him. You wanted him inside your mouth and inside your cunt, spearing you open in the most savage of ways.

The last rational part of you might have taken notice that you were not alone, that Donaka was still lurking behind you but that thought just made the want in your gut increase. You wanted him to see August taking you. The animalistic part of you even wanted him to take you too.

“August…” you whimpered softly and was surprised by a slap across your face. Why that made desire throb inside you even more you didn’t know, but your whimper turned into a wanton moan.

“Sir or master, girl!” August hissed and you nodded obediently, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Know who owns you.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s better.” He gripped your jaw, his hold like iron as he looked at you with a glare. “You look like such a good girl on the outside but you’re nothing but a dirty little slut. I bet right now you’re dripping, wanting my cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled as best as you could as he kicked your legs apart, cupping your sex and you jolted, excited and ashamed because he could feel the dampness of your panties, his fingers rubbing you roughly against the lace, making your head spin with the overwhelming sensations.

“You think he can smell you from all the way across the room?” August asked, releasing your jaw and spinning around to face Donaka, his lips against your ear, one hand down your panties the other alternating between squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples. “Are you this soaked because you know he’s watching?”

Your answer was a pathetic little whine as you caught Donaka’s dark stare, his large palm cupping his erection through his trousers. August forced you to walk forward until you were standing right in front of the other man, close enough to touch but Donaka made no motion to reach for you, just inhaled sharply.  

“She smells sweet,” he said, his voice lower, sultry, and sending shivers down your spine. “Like ripe cherries.”

August hummed in reply, one finger dipping into your panties and running up your folds as if he was gathering the nectar of a honeycomb and you gasped at the overwhelming tingling of your swollen clit. He brought his glistening finger to his mouth, sucking it in like it was the most delectable delicacy he ever tasted and you had to press your legs together against the quivering of your cunt, clamoring to be taken.  

  “You taste so good, pet,” August huskily whispered against your ear.

His hand returning to your core while the other exposed your breasts, the sound of the ripping lace loud in the quietness of the room, punctuated by your breathy moans, August low grunts as you rubbed your ass against the volume in his pants and Donaka’s soft hums of appreciation.

In seconds August had you listening to nothing but the sound of blood rushing through your ears as his fingers worked faster and faster against your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure starting at your center. They spread through your entire body and it only got even more intense when he pushed two fingers inside you, crooked like a hook and rubbing that perfect spot over and over as he fucked you, making you whimper and shake as if your insides were being completely consumed by pleasure.

“Sir, I’m gonna…” you hiccupped, tears in your eyes, and that only made August chuckle and redouble his effort, his thrusts so hard now you felt his knuckles hitting your pelvic bone uncomfortably but you couldn’t care less.

Your entire body tensed and arched as the coiling knot snapped and your cries reverberated through the bare walls of the bunker as your cunt fluttered and you gushed warm, clear liquid all over August’s hand. He laughed against your bright red cheeks.

“Bad girl…” he tsked, pulling his soaked hand away from your cunt and panties. “You got me all wet.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mumbled, eyes on the ground and nearly jumped when August shoved his wet fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself and it was enough of your core to throb and pulse once again, apparently yearning for more.

You swirled your tongue and sucked his fingers, cleaning every drop of your juices from his skin; picturing something else instead of those thick digits. Picturing the hard edge that was pressed against your ass, hot and pulsing.

“On your knees,” August ordered, pulling his fingers away and you didn’t have to be told twice, hands eagerly going to his waistband and you noticed that his belt was gone. Pity, it would have been nice if he could tie you up with it. Or even spank your ass with it, leaving bright red welts on the soft skin of your ass.

You made quick work of his buttons, pulling the pants down along with his underwear, releasing his long and thick, glorious cock. Just the sight of it had your mouth watering. You desperately wanted it; to feel it filling you and coating your tongue with his cum. Stroking the back of your throat, making you choke and cry.

Before you could reach for it, August took a hold of your braid, holding your head still and away from him. He smirked at your hitching whines as you looked up at him with a pout while he kicked his pants to the side and started to undo the buttons of his shirt, letting go of you only long enough to shrug off the fabric.

Now he stood before you completely naked. A work of art by God or something more devious because his thick thighs and solid torso, along with the sculptured chest and chiseled features could only speak of temptation of the darkest kind.

“Sir, please,” you begged, crawling forward, your knees wet from your previous release, your cunt still dripping. “Let me taste you.”

“Dirty little cock slut,” August whispered, hand twisting around your braid until it was wrapped around his palm tight enough to make your scalp burn, while he stroked himself until his tip was glittering with his precum.

“Please.”

He took a step forward, so close you could smell his sex, musky and heady and it only made you want him more. You licked your lips and watched him through your lashes, waiting for authorization. You were a good little girl, you took what your sir gave you. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Finally, August let the tip of his cock rub against your lips, coating them with his essence and you traced and gathered every drop with your tongue eager for more, until he pushed the head past your lips, invading your mouth with a hard thrust that had you gagging almost immediately.

“Is this what you want, slut?” August growled, fucking you hard and fast, holding your head still as he took what he wanted from you, making you choke and sputter, tears leaking from your eyes, spit running down your chin as he brought you nearly to his pubic hair, holding you there as your throat worked around his head before pulling back and finally allowing you to breath.

You watched him through tearful eyes but August wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was on the man behind you and you wondered what Donaka was doing. Was he touching himself? He did say he wanted to watch August ruin you and here you were, being completely wrecked by the man in question. As he took every inch of pleasure from your mouth, you could feel the gathering waves at your center again, preparing for a new tide.

Another pathetic little whine escaped you when August pulled away from your mouth, allowing you to breathe fully and finally looking down at you as he rubbed your spit over his length, his eyes a dark pool of something that almost made you afraid.

He tugged you to your feet again. His lips were bruising and biting against your swollen mouth, his tongue unrelenting as if he was chasing his own taste. The reprieve to your raw knees was short-lived because August was pushing you down again but this time he followed, maneuvering your body until you were on all fours, spine low, ass up looking at Donaka as August knelt behind you.

You held your breath in expectation watching those haunting eyes, like a bottomless pool of darkness taking you in, the bulge in his pants evident but he didn’t make any motion to take care of it and you would admire his self-control if your mind wasn’t pulled away from that and shifted back to the way August yanked your panties down and rubbed his cock against your folds teasingly, the tiny sparks of pleasure barely enough to soothe the burning volcano of want deep inside you.

“Sir, please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me.”

The words were out before you even registered them but they were obviously the right thing to say because you felt the first press of his cock against your slit, stretching it almost painfully and you gasped and moaned, wanting to rock back but August kept you still with an iron grip on your hips, painting bruises on your skin as he pushed inch by agonizingly slow inch, filling you up like never before.

You could feel every single vein and ridge of his cock. The pulsing and twitching of his length filled you to the brim and the sensation was impossible to describe. A sort of completion that you had never experienced in your life and that would only be made more perfect when August finally decided to move.

It was like he could read your mind because he started to rock his hips in tiny little thrusts at first, the friction driving you insane with wanting and all you could do was chant more and harder and faster, please now, you need it so bad. August chuckled against your ear, his body covering yours as he ground his hips.

“You want more?” he grunted, licking the sweat dripping down your temple and wrapping the braid around his hand again, pulling your head. “You want me to use that pretty hole so he can watch?”

“Yes, please,” you whimpered almost hypnotized by the intense gaze that locked you in place as August’s thrusts started to gain speed and strength, rocking your body forward with its force and reducing you to a moaning mess. “Oh yes, sir. Just like that, please.”

Any rational part left of your brain was completely turned off by the primal call of desire. Your entire body was alight with pleasure like your nerve-ends were little fireworks just waiting to be kindled. From your mouth spilled the most obscene sounds. Moans and hitching little gasps and cries, as fresh tears blurred your vision.

Could you cry from feeling so good? So perfectly completed and raised to the heavens almost in a trance-like state of rapture? You didn’t know and you honestly didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to you was the growing pleasure in your core, threatening to spill and overtake you completely.

It seemed to swallow you whole, especially when August started to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, his grunts and groans becoming louder and louder as the lewd words poured out of his mouth.

“Such a delicious cunt. Holding me tight. Pulling me deep. Trying to milk me dry. Do you want me to fill you up with my cum, huh?” he asked, his sharp thrusts hitting your cervix and making you cry out. “Paint your pussy with my seed, maybe even put a piece of me in there? Does my pretty little whore want me to put a fucking baby in you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please, sir!” you whined, beyond coherence now, already submerged in the midst of your second world-shattering orgasm. August could be asking you to set the world on fire and you would gladly agree so as long as he kept fucking you.

Just. Like. That.  

“I want everything. Please.”

The hand on your hair let go only enough for August press a hand in the middle of your back, pushing you face down on the concrete, your cheek pressed against the damp floor and your ass raising higher, changing the angles and now he was hitting your sweet spot with every violent ram of his cock. The second wave of pleasure didn’t even have time to subside for the third one to crash around you.

Now you were sobbing, the ecstasy and bliss becoming too much to your oversensitive sex, especially as August kept rubbing your clit, pressing harder and harder, making a new flow of liquid to gush and soak down your legs.

It was deliriously good, but also almost like torture, your walls clenching and quivering. If trying to hold his cock in or push it out you didn’t know, but it didn’t deter August from his salvage thrusts that were slowly losing their rhythm, but going deeper and harder, pushing you forward and scraping your cheek as much as your knees.

You were crying now, pain mixing with pleasure, your thighs quaking, tired of keeping you up. Your lower back hurt from the awkward angle, your knees cut to ribbons by the rough ground. Your cunt ached from the constant slam of his pelvic bone against your swollen flesh and all you wanted was to let go and sleep.

August’s tug on your braid made you scream and you forced your torso up to preserve your neck. You were looking at Donaka once again as August gave his final thrust, burying himself to the hilt and letting out a loud growl as he spilled inside you and you nearly sobbed because it was finally over and you could finally rest.

When you August finally pulled out of you, your limbs gave out completely and you fell in an awkward heap on the ground, too exhausted and sore to move a muscle. Your mind felt untethered and floating, unable to register the words being exchanged by the two men.

All you wanted was to curl into a ball and forget everything and it was so easy to let the darkness snaking in the corners of your mind claim you. It whispered seductively at you, like the warm hug of a caring lover, the perfect contrast to the violent fucking you just endured.

Before you slipped away completely, you felt two strong arms surrounding you, picking you up from the cold, hard ground. Even your lashes felt like lead otherwise you would dare to force them open to see who was carrying you away.

“You did very well, pet,” a voice whispered, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. “You might just survive this.”

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#henry cavill fanfic #keanu reeves fanfic #august walker x you #august walker x reader #donaka mark x reader #fanfic #stephsbirthdaywritingchallenge

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (1/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Domestic abuse – parent on child; parental neglect; mentions of abortion.

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Forged Through Fire

One

From the moment Riza woke up, she knew that it was going to be a bad day. Her back felt like it was on fire, and she wondered if this was how the mannequins that Roy used for target practice felt like once he’d finished with them.

If she was being completely honest with herself then she wasn’t even surprised that this had happened. She’d been expecting it at some point; she was lucky to have made it this far into the process before it had happened.

Or, of course, she was extremely unlucky.

She got out of bed, looking down at the damp patch of sweat staining the sheets. Laundry could wait until she’d assessed the damage. Her nightgown was sticking to her, and she winced as she inched it up over her head, craning over her shoulder to try and see what was going on in the mirror.

As expected, the tattoo was horrifically infected. Considering her father’s penchant for getting the array down on her skin without much thought for anything else, including the cleanliness of his needles, it was only a matter of time before it happened. She reached round and touched the worst-inflamed parts of her skin, the final pieces of the array that he’d added a couple of days ago. The pain brought tears to her eyes and she clamped her jaws tight shut to avoid crying out.

Maybe she could just let the infection run its course and it would be fine. Riza shook her head. She didn’t really have much choice in the matter. It wasn’t like she could go to a doctor. The minute anyone saw the tattoo she’d be thrown in front of a firing squad.

Sometimes she wondered if her father even realised what he’d been condemning her to when he’d started to etch his life’s work onto her so indelibly. She’d known. She’d always known. She’d just never been in a position to contradict him.

Somehow, Riza didn’t think that it had ever crossed his mind. The most important thing in Berthold Hawkeye’s life had always been his research, and he’d always walked the line between the legal and the forbidden, never trusting the government with the full extent of his work.

Like all licensed alchemists, he had dutifully submitted his arrays for recording at the central library and received permission to use them and teach them to others.

The array on Riza’s back, however, had been put there and not on paper for the precise reason that he did not want anyone else to get their hands on it. Never mind that creating arrays and not submitting them for governmental approval was illegal and could carry a death sentence depending on the potency of the alchemy involved. Never mind that even though Riza wasn’t the one to mark her skin and couldn’t see the array to use it, she’d be the one to suffer.

There wasn’t really a lot she could do about it.

Still trying not to cry with the pain, Riza made her way to the bathroom, scrambling through the cabinets for antiseptic. There wasn’t any. Why wasn’t she surprised? At least there were bandages; although she wasn’t sure how much good they would do, they’d be better than nothing.

She heard the knock on the door below her, and then Roy’s voice as her father let him in. Of course this would have to happen on one of the days that Roy was due to come for a session, because her skin couldn’t have seen fit to start trying to kill her on a day when she didn’t have to worry about strangers in the house potentially finding out about the elephant in the room and on her back.

Not that Roy was really a stranger, though. Riza reflected on their strange relationship as she cleaned up and bandaged her back as best she could. They’d been practically living in each other’s pockets for the last two years ever since her father had taken Roy on as an apprentice, begrudgingly accepting that caveat of keeping his state license and finally realising that all the research into flame alchemy in the world would be for nothing if he simply took it with him to his grave.

Riza still didn’t really know what that made them to each other, though. She liked to think that they were friends, although he spent most of his time these days holed up in the study. The more secretive her father had become about the full array, the less time the three of them had spent together in a more social setting; Roy was no longer welcome to stay for dinner, as much as Riza was ever desperate for a conversation partner and someone to deflect her father’s attention onto.

Her father was yelling at her to brew some tea and get breakfast ready, and Riza sighed, trying to adopt as normal a stance as possible, not letting show that something was wrong and that she was in pain. Not that her father would care (although perhaps he would – if her back got really bad then it might ruin his array, after all), but she didn’t want Roy to worry about her.

She downed a couple of painkillers – government issue and barely better than sugar pills but she could hope for a kind of placebo effect – and made her way downstairs to start the day. She could hear Roy and her father arguing over his decision to join the military academy. It was the same argument they had every time. Riza had never questioned Roy’s decision; his life was his own and in a place like a Amestris, the rigid life of the military was ironically the best place to gain a modicum of freedom. If you can’t beat them, join them and all that.

“Riza? Are you ok?”

She jumped at the voice and immediately spun round; she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Roy follow her out of the study after she’d collected the tea things.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? There’s blood on your back.”

“What? Shit!” She tried to look over her shoulder, finally catching a glimpse in the shiny metal of the oven door. Sure enough, spots of blood and fluid were seeping through the bandage and onto the back of her shirt.

“Riza?”

For the first time in her life, Riza could only feel utter blind panic.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Riza, you look like you’re in pain. What happened?”

“Nothing!”

“Are you…”

“MUSTANG!”

Roy rolled his eyes at the summons. “You’re not fine,” he said, with a tone of stern finality that Riza had never heard in his voice before. He turned to leave the room and return to her father, and Riza felt herself sag, leaning back against the oven. Everything had just got so much worse.

Still, at least the cold metal was nice and numbing against her back.

She wasn’t really sure how long she stayed there, back pressed against the oven door and knowing she’d leave a wet smear there when she moved away. She should probably go and hide in her room so that Roy couldn’t question her again when he left, but at the same time, there was something in the back of her mind that wanted to speak to him again.

He was concerned about her. Riza couldn’t remember the last time that someone had been concerned about her, but now that she really thought about it, Roy had always looked out for her ever since he had first come into the house. The small part of her that had not completely given up all hope was nudging her to take the potential lifeline that might have been offered and cling to it. Surely Roy, of all people, would understand. He wouldn’t shop her to the military police if she told him about the tattoo. He knew her father, after all, knew what kind of a man he was even as he continued to learn under him.

She could trust Roy.

She hoped she could trust Roy. Roy trusted her, after all. She was pretty sure her father didn’t know that he’d grown up in a speakeasy and knew more about dodging the law than any nineteen-year-old should.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why he’d chosen to join the military. It was easier to protect the people you loved if you had inside knowledge of when the raids would be going on.

Roy trusted her. Roy knew all about living in less than legal circumstances beyond your control.

She could trust Roy.

Eventually, she could hear the sounds of the day’s session coming to a close, and her father yelling for her to show Roy out. She crept out into the hallway, waiting until he’d vanished back into his study before grabbing Roy and yanking him into the kitchen, barricading the door with a chair for good measure.

“Riza? What’s going on, are you ok?”

She shushed him.

“I need help,” she admitted. “I have no idea how you can help but I’m just hoping you might be able to give me some advice.”

“OK. You’re scaring me a little. And why is the door barricaded?”

“My father.”

“Right. Enough said, sorry. So, how can I help?”

Riza took a deep breath, turned her back and took her shirt off, crossing her arms over her chest even though she knew Roy couldn’t see anything. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he looked at the stark black ink and the wet and bloody bandages.

“Oh my God, Riza… How could he have done this to you?”

“What’s done is done.”

“Riza, I’m not a doctor but this is really bad, you need to see someone.”

“How can I, Roy? It’s an unregistered array, no doctor would touch it with a bargepole, they’ll just call the cops.”

There was silence for a long time, and Riza glanced over her shoulder at him. His brow was furrowed in deep thought, looking down at his spark gloves and the simplified flame array – the legal flame array – dyed into them.

“Please don’t kick up a fuss,” she begged. “If he knows you’ve seen the full array…”

“My lips are sealed, I promise. I think I know how to help you. Can you get out of the house tonight?”

He moved past her towards the fridge and Riza scrambled to put her shirt back on, ignoring the pain as the damp fabric brushed her inflamed skin.

“Have you got anything you can use as a cold compress until then?”

“No.”

“OK, well, try putting a couple of towels in the fridge or something to try and help keep any swelling down. If you can get out tonight, meet me by the phone booth in the park at nine o’clock, I should have got something organised by then.”

Riza nodded her understanding and removed the chair from under the door handle, letting Roy out of the house. Her father would probably have passed out by then, and it wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out after dark for a breath of fresh air and freedom.

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the front door with a sigh. If Roy couldn’t come through for her she didn’t know what she’d do, but she trusted that he’d think of something.

She trusted that he cared enough.

X

“Roy, this is your aunt’s speakeasy. When they said alcohol can be used as a disinfectant, I don’t think they were talking about bathtub moonshine.”

“Madam Christmas does not serve bathtub moonshine. I’ve never pried into where she gets it, but I know it’s not out of a bathtub. Anyway, we’re not here for the alcohol.”

Riza shivered in the cool night air, looking around at the deserted street. There were never many people around after dark. There wasn’t officially a curfew in Central City, but the police presence on the streets always doubled once the sun went down, and people weren’t inclined to hang around. Not that they were inclined to hang around much in the daytime, either. Even just going to the market to get groceries, everyone walked with purpose, eyes down.

“It’s a double front. Aunt Chris rents out a couple of the back rooms to an unlicensed medical alchemist. He’s not the cheapest, but he’s the safest. And he’s kind.”

“I know what that’s code for. Great. Now everyone’s going to think I’m here because I got myself in trouble.”

“Hohenheim does a lot more than that. Actually the thing he does most is stab wounds, as you do. But I won’t deny he does do a lot of that. Is that a problem?”

“Having my illegal alchemy tattoo treated by an illegal abortionist? No, Roy, that won’t be a problem.”

They entered into the quiet bookshop that served as a front for the speakeasy. Officially it was closed, although the lights were still on in the back and there was a girl sitting behind the counter, looking bored out of her mind by the pulp fiction romance novel she was reading. She just nodded at Roy, a regular visitor enough to be trusted without getting the third degree from the doorman, and he went through to the back room, opening the door to the basement and gesturing for Riza to go through.

“After you.”

She’d been in here once, a year ago now. It had been the middle of the day at the time and the bar hadn’t been properly open, just a few die-hard regulars in the corners. It had still been an experience though. Anything that wasn’t the four walls of her house was an experience. Her father had passed out and Roy had invited her to come for a walk with him, and they’d ended up in the speakeasy. She’d just turned seventeen and her father had just started to mark her back, and she’d been feeling rebellious – if I have a tattoo that might get me killed, might as well go to a place that might get me killed too.

Despite everything, including the undercurrent of fear at being caught either by the police or by her father, Riza still felt a certain warmth towards the place. It felt like more than just an illegal bar to her. It felt like a home. Maybe because it had been Roy’s home for so long, and he had seemed so at ease and alive in there.

He wasn’t quite as easy today, but he smiled at her when she looked back over her shoulder at him as they descended the stairs and entered the bar itself. It was busier tonight, in the height of its peak time, and Riza felt extremely self-conscious as Roy guided her through the room, bypassing the bar entirely and going towards the draped off area on the back wall.

He pulled back one of the curtains to reveal a suspiciously ordinary looking door. The door itself wasn’t suspicious, it was a normal wooden door, but there was something about it that made it look out of place, as if it shouldn’t have been there – like it hadn’t been there one moment and had mysteriously appeared the next. Maybe it had. Alchemy could do all kinds of things, after all.

Roy lifted his hand to knock but stopped short and turned to her. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Riza shook her head. “No. I’ll be ok.” Honestly, she wanted nothing more than for Roy to come in with her, because whilst she definitely trusted him, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted anyone else in the establishment; but since she was already paranoid about people getting the wrong impression as to why she was visiting an unregistered alchemist, she didn’t want them to think that Roy was the one who had potentially got her into that non-existent state.

That said, no one in the bar seemed to be paying them any mind, all too focussed on their drinks and on each other. They were in an illegal speakeasy after all, so they didn’t have all that much room to judge her.

“Ok. Well, Trisha can always come and grab me if you need me.”

Riza didn’t ask who Trisha was, and Roy left her alone, letting the curtain drop back down behind her and cutting her off from the heavy smell of alcohol and the muffled music.

She knocked timidly.

“Come in.”

Like most average, law-abiding citizens, Riza had never been to an unlicensed doctor or alchemist before, and from the gossip she’d heard flying around about them, she’d been expecting a scene from a horror film.

She was a little taken aback when she entered a clean, well-lit room with a couch covered in crisp white sheets, no sign of bloody surgical tools anywhere. The alchemist was washing his hands in the corner and he turned as she entered.

“Hello. Riza, is it? I’m Hohenheim, pleased to meet you. Roy said something about a skin problem, but he didn’t give me any details.”

Riza nodded. “I have a tattoo on my back, it’s infected.” She paused. “It’s an illegal alchemy array. My father is licensed, but he likes to experiment.”

Hohenheim’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “On you?”

“No. Well. Not exactly. I’m just the notebook. He needs to write it down and he figured this was more secure than putting it on paper.”

“Hmm.” Although he said nothing more on the subject, there was sympathy in his golden eyes as he gestured to the couch. “If you take your top off and lie down on your front on the couch, I’ll take a look. Are you all right on your own? My wife’s just next door in the dispensary; she’ll happily come in if you would be more comfortable having another lady with you.”

“No, it’s ok.”

He turned his back as she pulled her coat and shirt off, and she saw him twitch as she let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

“I’m ready.”

His hands were warm on her back as he removed the dressings; she’d changed the bandages twice throughout the day, but she didn’t think it had made all that much difference to the infection.

“You’re in a lot of pain.” It was a statement, not a question. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, you managed to catch it early. If you’d left it any longer it might have caused some real damage.”

He draped her coat back over her. “Sit up a moment, I’ll need to draw the array.”

Riza watched as he worked straight onto the sheets with blue tailor chalk, marking out an intricate circle.

“That doesn’t look like alchemy.”

“It’s Xingese alkahestry. Far more widely used for medical purposes than destructive ones and sadly far more illegal in Amestris.”

“You’re from Xing?”

Hohenheim laughed. “No. I just spent a lot of time there.”

He glanced sideways at her and Riza noticed the golden eyes again. He might not be from Xing, but she didn’t think that he was entirely from Amestris either. Eye colour was usually a good indicator.

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere.” There was sadness in the eyes now. “Lie back down, this won’t take a minute. It might sting a little.”

It was more like an electric shock than a sting, the lightning crackle of alchemy dancing over her skin, but when it was over, there was just blissful, blessed relief.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hohenheim went over to the door in the corner as Riza got dressed again, tapping lightly. “Is it ready, Trisha?”

“Yes, love.” The door opened to reveal a small room barely bigger than a closet, filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of jars and bottles. A young woman wearing an apron came out and pressed a small pot into Riza’s hand.

“It’s a tea-tree salve, a natural antiseptic,” she said. “Rub it in every night before bed for a couple of weeks and everything should clear right up.”

“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?” She’d raided the housekeeping and the scant savings she kept under her bed; she knew how much medical treatment cost ordinarily, but this was very different.

Hohenheim shook his head. “Roy paid in advance; didn’t he say?”

“Oh. No. Oh. Well. Thank you.”

She left the room, fighting her way through the curtain and out into the main room again. Roy was sitting at the bar waiting for her.

“All sorted?”

Riza nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

“Great. Can I get you a drink to calm your nerves?”

“Roy, she’s only seventeen.” Behind the bar, Madam Christmas gave her nephew a pointed look, before heaving a long sigh. “I guess there’s no legal drinking age in a country where no one’s allowed to drink anyway. Pick your poison, hun, but I’m not serving you spirits.”

Riza shook her head. “If he smells it on me there’ll be hell to pay. I should probably be getting back before he realises I’m out.”

Roy nodded, and the brief flash of sorrowful sympathy in his face did not go unnoticed. He slid off his bar stool, walking through the bar with her.

“I’ll walk you home in case of patrols.”

They didn’t speak for a long time after they left the shop, both of them lost in their thoughts. It was only once they were nearing the Hawkeye home on the outskirts of the town that Riza remembered she hadn’t thanked Roy properly.

“Hohenheim said you paid for my treatment.”

“Yeah.” Roy’s smile was sheepish in the dim moonlight. “I figured it was only fair. It’s not your fault the tattoo you had no say in getting got infected. Why should you have to pay the price for it?”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

They stopped at the gate, and Riza knew that if this was a romance novel of the type that the bookshop front sold, now would be the point where they would kiss and declare their undying love for each other.

It wasn’t really undying love, per se, but there was definitely something there, something that Riza could not quite define yet.

Feeling emboldened now that she was no longer in pain, she darted in and pressed a peck to Roy’s cheek. Even in the darkness, she could see the beginnings of colour coming up in his face, and she could feel that hers was just the same.

“Good night, Roy.”

“Good night, Riza.”

#FMA Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

[fishybehavior]

:| I have a request for you to continue that fic about Jay + Kai with the White Coats and Blue Mask and all those fun people because you have peeked my interest 👀

So I already had some ideas and this paper napkin of a plot thought out. So here is (chapter?) 2. 

 [1,151 words]

Part 1 . . . 3 . . 4 . . 5

Kai was very worried, not only about waking up on a table in a dark room, surrounded by stoic doctors. But when a very thin and glazed Jay was wheeled into the room. He looked somewhat aware of what was happening, glancing sluggishly across the room. Until he finally looked at him, and he didn’t seem to recognize him. He saw some sparks as Jay looked at him, but Jay looked more annoyed than happy to see him. 

And the rage that filled him was unbearable. Jay has been gone for over a month, and he’s been here, drugged, and tested on like a monkey. He tried to summon his fire again but the drugs they gave him seemed to dull his connection. All he could do was warm the table, as they strapped the strange machine and moderators to him. He looked to Jay who was next to him, begging him about what was happening, but his weak smile was not comforting as they turned on the machine.

The air was filled with whirling as some motor started, the humming and some low cracks were heard within the machine. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as a sharp cry was ripped from his throat as electricity filled his bones. Shooting down to his fingertips, burning its way back up and down his muscles. The intensity increased until unbearable, causing the fire in his chest to seize as if cramping, and then just as quickly decreased to buzz. Kai was crying as the shocks left his body, coughing the tightness and smoke out of his lungs.

The doctors above him muttered to one another looking at their screens as another round of shocks started again. Causing Kai to scream as he felt them ricochet through his spine as the shocks made a round, setting his skin on fire, making his eyeballs buzz, causing his body to shudder and jerk uncontrollably. His chest seizing once again, and he started feeling feverishly hot. The shocks lasted for a few seconds but it felt like minutes, as the shocks left again. Kai was gasping for breath, holding back tears as he heard the machine hum and snap, looking over at Jay he could see the discomfort on his face, but the overwhelming pain he was feeling wasn’t mirrored on his face. Of course, his element was lightning this shouldn’t hurt him at all, but he still seemed to be in pain. What the hell were they doing to them?

--- 

Kai woke up with a splitting headache, and the light of the room quickly turned it into a migraine. He curled up in the bed he was in, as everything seemed to make it worse. The buzz of the A/C, the brightness of the room, the smell of humid air. A loud snap echoed through his head as he heard the door open, along with footsteps and a cart. Kai grunted as the disturbance overloaded his head, causing his stomach to twist.

“How are we doing today?” The person asked, making Kai groan in discomfort and curl up tighter. He heard the person move in front of him and he dared to crack his eyes open. He first saw the concerned eyes of the nurse in front of him, their features hidden behind a red mask. “Hello, how are you feeling?”

“Awful. . .” He spat, squeezing his eyes shut again as the migraine increased, hissing at the pressure behind his eyes.

“Migraine?” The nurse asked, and Kai nodded shallowly, “I have something here for that.” The nurse muttered, and Kai heard the cart rattle as something was moved, “Here take this.” Opening his eyes again he saw the red masked nurse offering some pills and water. Two red tablets and a big black pill, he took them quickly, desperate for any kind of relief.  and Kai yelped as he felt the sting of a needle. The cold fluid entered his veins, already dulling the throb, as well as his head.

“There we go, is that better?” The nurse asked, rubbing Kai’s back as he laid back down, feeling incredibly tired.

“Where am I?” He slurred, the past 24 hours were pretty fuzzy.

”You’re where you’re supposed to be.” The nurse replied, “Are you hungry?”

He rubbed his head, trying to remember what happened. “No, where am I?” He ached everywhere, and his head still throbbed, his chest hurt as if he got punched. 

“Don't worry about that now, just know that you’re where you need to be. How about you eat something.” The nurse said stepping away and messing with something on the cart.

“I’m not hungry.” He muttered, digging through the thick fog that’s settled in his brain, trying to remember anything.

And he shot up, remembering someone he saw, “Jay! Where’s Jay! Where is he, what have you been doing to him!” He asked, trying to get up. But the drugs in his system coupled with the throbbing head made him dizzy.

“Kai, breathe. You’re ok, Kai. Jay’s ok, too.” He calmly stated, grabbing the struggling boy and keeping him in his bed, “You’re both where you’re supposed to be. You’re sick, you need help. Let me-” 

“Shut up! Where is Jay!?!” Kai yelled his voice cracking, swatting away their arms, he tried to summon his flame, his fists heating up but no fire igniting. 

The masked nurse took a step back and continued to talk calmly, “Kai, you need to breathe. I’m not going to hurt you, Kai, I’m on your side. I do know where Jay is.” Kai lowered his heated fists slightly, listening to the nurse. “But he’s asleep. I can take you to him, but not now, ok?”

“But I will see him?” He asked, hopeful to see his friend after being gone for so long.

“Yes, but not now. We need to make sure you're ok first.” The nurse moved slowly towards him, and Kai lowered his fists, feeling exhausted and cold, as his hands drained of heat. The nurse grabbed him as he swayed and shivered, feeling drained. “There we go, you're still a bit out of it, aren’t ya?”

“What did you do to me?” Kai croaked at the red masked nurse, he felt cold as the fire in his chest dimmed. He started struggling again but was quickly subdued by the nurse hugging him, pinning his arms, and shushing his whines of discomfort.

“Shh, you're ok. We’re just trying to fix you. I need you to trust me, ok Kai?” The nurse was hushing him as he rubbed his back again.

Kai didn’t know where he was, only vaguely remembered what happened, and his fire seemed very weak. But he was tired, cold, and still had a splitting headache, so against his better judgment he relaxed into the warmth of the nurse and let the drugs take their effect.

#ninjago #fic #kai #jay #mostly kai tho #tw drugged #now there's a red mask #uwu special #im trying #angst #tw pain #memory loss #oof #im tryin my best #i hope this is good #zebra-all-the-time #ask prompt #white coats

[alice1290]

Read All About It - Ch. 20 Snippet

It’s another snippet from Chapter 20, but really, this chapter has some of my favorite scenes in it. This one being one of them!! 

~~~~

Ashina rolled over with a groan. It was if she could feel each sway of the ship with every wave that beat against them. What was normally a relaxing rocking, was currently nauseating. It wasn’t the first morning that she felt like this. She stretched, pointing her toes and reaching her hands up in the air before she relaxed into the soft bed, trying to fight back the urge to vomit.

Ace was still on his mission. He was due to return in a few days, rounding out the estimated two-week adventure, and she missed his warmth and heavy bulk of his body in the bed. As another wave of nausea rolled over her, she was silently thankful for the current lack of extra heat he gave off.

Ashina slid out of bed and made her way carefully into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. It was still dark outside, the cabin barely lit with strands of moonlight coming through the window. Ashina turned on the sink faucet and splashed cold water on her face. She cut the water off and leaned against the sink, holding onto the edge for support.

When she felt like she had her balance once more, Ashina returned to the bed. She had a fitful hour or two of sleep before she gave up and dressed for the day. She made her way to the kitchens, joining the few crew that were already milling about, beginning the tasks to start the day of cooking and feeding the crew.

The smell of the baking bread smacked her in the face and Ashina turned to the nearest trash can to empty the contents of her stomach.

“Woah!” Thatch exclaimed coming over to give her a cautious glance. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. The smell hit me all of a sudden. I didn’t feel great last night either. It comes and goes.”

“No, you go. Out of the kitchen. You get the day off from this job. Take care of the Commander’s hallway and whatever else you do during the day, but stay out of the kitchen.”

“Thatch I don’t think I’m sick. I don’t have a fever, no aches or pains, I just got… seasick.”

“Seasick?” He scoffed. “You’ve been sailing for over a year now. No way. Go, it’s fine Ashina. I’ll handle the kitchen.”

Ashina sighed and gave up the fight, leaving the kitchen. The fresh air felt good on her face as she stepped out onto the deck. Deuce was at the rail on the starboard side, so she crossed the ship to stand with him.

“Morning. You look pale.”

“Good morning to you too, and thanks? I don’t feel so great.”

“I can see that.” Deuce pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re not warm.”

A wave of nausea washed over her again and she dropped her head to rest on the smooth wood of the railing. She groaned softly. “This sucks.”

“Yoi, what’s wrong with you?” Marco asked, coming up behind Deuce and Ashina.

“The Missus doesn’t feel good. I think she’s getting sick.”

“M’not.” The words were muffled by her folded arms.

Marco raised a brow, studying Ashina, who eventually looked up and over her shoulder at him.

“What?”

“Come on. I want to run some tests, make sure you aren’t catching a virus.”

Ashina groaned, but followed Marco to his office that was connected to the medical room. Ashina plopped down in one of the chairs and leaned back, crossing her arms over her stomach and closing her eyes. She was tired. She was sick to her stomach. She missed Ace.

“How long have you been feeling nauseous?” Marco asked, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms over his chest, studying her.

“Every now and then for about a week now.”

“Sleeping well?”

“I’ve been having weird dreams. Thought it was just because Ace is gone, but I’m tired all the time too, even when I do manage to sleep well.”

Marco hummed. “When was your last menstrual cycle?”

Ashina’s eyes snapped open and she raised her head to stare at Marco. “No. What?”

“When was your last menstrual cycle?”

“I… um, two, no three… not last month…” Ashina sucked in a sharp breath, wide eyes looking up at him. “Marco, no. No, no, no, no, no. I take that little pill every single night, right after dinner. I never miss a night. We can’t. I can’t. Fuck, Marco.”

“Let me take a blood sample and we’ll find out for sure,” he said calmly, shoving off the desk and moving to collect the needed supplies.

Ashina frowned and whined, “I don’t like needles.”

“You have a tattoo, yoi.”

“That’s different. Ugh, fine. Just do it quickly.” Ashina turned her arm palm side up and rested it on the arm of the chair. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes again.

“Marco,” she whispered, as he drew the blood. “What am I going to do if it’s positive?”

Her eyes opened to meet his blue ones when he remained silent. He finished his task and then crossed the room, going through the swinging door and into the lab.

He came back a few minutes later and sat beside her. Turning his head to look at her, he answered her question that had been left hanging, “We’ll think of what to do after we know for sure.”

“How long will that take?”

“About five more minutes.” Marco was silent for a moment before he reached over to clamp a hand gently on her shoulder. “No matter what, it’s going to be okay.”

Marco didn’t know. He didn’t know how much Ace still hated his father, hated his lineage. How would he feel to pass it on? The Gol D bloodline. He proclaimed himself Portgas, but his father’s legacy would haunt him until he could one day overcome it, if that day ever came. He loved her though, and she loved him. Ace was not his father. She remembered how he was with Tama, how fondly he talked of Luffy and Sabo, his brothers. He teased and played with Tenshin and Yukichi, but also scolded them and reminded them to use their manners. Ace would be a good father. Ace was everything she never knew she dreamed of in a man, until she stumbled upon him on an island in Paradise. After that fateful day, she never wanted to leave his side.

She was young, too young to start a family, but she couldn’t control fate. Her father and mother were young when she was born. Ace’s parents had been older, or at least Roger had, she was unsure of Rouge’s age. Ashina felt the wave of nausea roll over her again at the thought of her father. How the hell would she tell him about a baby?

How was she going to tell Ace? Marco’s question sparked a thousand others to race through her brain. Would Pops ground her? Would she be confined to an island? Would Ace stay with her? She would not want him to. She did not want to be separated, but if it came down to it, she would send him off to the sea with the crew. He had a dream, he still had a goal to be a great pirate, and this would not hold him back. She would not let a family do that to him. She wanted a family with him, imagined children of their own, but she dreamed of having them in the future. A baby now… Ashina wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

Marco stood and Ashina sat up, watching as he retreated into the lab. She was anxious, and her leg bounced nervously in anticipation. Marco returned and gave her a smile. “Congratulations, Ashina. You’re roughly two months pregnant.”

“How?” she breathed out. “Marco! You told me the pill would be ninety-nine percent effective!”

“Yoi, don’t shout. You may be the one percent. Nothing is a guarantee, but it works for most people, most women.”

“But it didn’t work,” she snapped.

“Sometimes it’s from getting sick, changes in other medication, if you forget to take the pi-”

“I didn’t forget,” she hissed. “You know I haven’t been sick, nor have there been any medical changes. Marco wh–”

Marco yanked her out of the chair and pulled her into his chest, his arms going around her in a tight embrace. He’d never hugged her like this before and she was frozen in his hold. “It’s okay, Ashina,” he said reassuringly. “It will be okay.”

She relaxed in his arms and her own arms wrapped around his torso, accepting his calming comfort. If she had a big brother, she thought this is what that kind of hug would feel like. Marco was a strong, reassuring presence, but it didn’t change the hard facts they had to face.

“Marco, we’re pirates,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, you are going to stop taking the hormone pills, I’m going to run some more tests and start you on a vitamin boost. Oh, and you’ll think of how to tell Ace, and Pops.”

#read all about it #portgas d ace #ashina #ashina the revolutionary pirate #ashina the red haired revolutionary pirate #spade pirates #whitebeard pirates #marco the pheonix

[sourbat]

He’s Just Tired

Words: 1780

Rating: T

Pairing: Toki Wartooth/Magnus Hammersmith 

Summary: Toki arrives one afternoon to find Magnus on the couch, asleep. 

Magnus mentioned a change in dosage a week before their scheduled date, and made another remark about “being out of it” five days later, but neither text scared Toki away from visiting. After several months of touch and go, he mastered the art of patience and reading the room, and made a note that they might have to change the plans for that day to something far simpler and homey.

It’s late in the afternoon when Toki arrives. Magnus doesn’t answer his phone, so Toki drops everything to locate the spare keys that are in the very bottom of the over-stuffed bag he’s carrying. He stows the keys into his pocket while grabbing his things, pushing the door open with his foot. He drops his duffle bag when he hears snoring, skin unsticking itself from hefty, worn fabric, and scampers into to the living room, where he finds Magnus half-asleep on the couch.

The scene, though oddly precious upon first glimpse, does pique Toki’s interest, and as he brings himself down, his eyes wander to the coffee table situated close by, and he checks for signs of depression, of unaccounted mania long since passed, or other troubling figments that often took the form of litter, filled ashtrays and empty bottles, half-consumed food, and the rare indent in the wall. But when he checks, he sees nothing more than a few receipts and a bottle of water, and even speculates that table has been recently cleaned.

Past interactions keep him on his toes, and Toki rests on his knees, bringing a finger over to rearrange some silvery strands that obscured Magnus’ face. He tries lifting a few, watching in mild amusement when the light hits Magnus’ good eyes, causing his face to harden and stir, and for the older man to twist and raise a hand to block the light. Though he worries about the consequences, he catches Magnus’ hand in his, letting his fingers intertwine with the older man’s while Magnus stirs himself awake. Toki observes each knuckle, relived there’s no fresh cuts or bruising, and pushes his lips against each one before Magnus grunt a complaint.

Magnus scowls when he opens his eyes. “What time–?”

“You okays?” Toki asks instinctually, figuring there must be something. The texts from before make him want to jump to conclusions, blame the pills for putting him out, but he waits for Magnus to give his side.

Magnus squints, picking out Toki’s silhouette against the blinding light, then groan. “M’tired,” he murmurs, earning a soft noise from Toki, who dips down, blocking that troublesome light, and kisses him gently on the forehead. The act lulls Magnus from whatever haze he’s in, and he extends his hands out, tracing the shape of Toki’s jawline and trying to persuade it with a ticklish drag to bring attention southward. 

“When did you get here?” Magnus half-asks, half-yawns.

“Just nows,” Toki answers. He watches Magnus stretch underneath him, spots his ribs ripping under his skin, and hears the soft pop of a few cramped joints. Toki thinks about the texts again, and he wonders if this is merely a case of Magnus’ brain restarting, readjusting to the decrease or increase of medication. He casually asks, “You needs to goes to bed?”

Magnus shakes his head at the idea, brings his hands down on the furniture, and begins dragging himself up. “You just got here.”

It was a mistake to turn it into a question. Toki doesn’t give Magnus much of a choice once he’s up. “C’mons,” he says, guiding the man further, letting Magnus put some of his weight on top of him to make the travel to the bedroom easier.

Halfway into the hallways, Magnus says, “I’m not that tired, bud.”

“Then rests just an hours.”

“And what will you do?”

Toki sends him a delicate smile. “Always somethings for me to do whens you ams out.” 

The bedroom’s not as messy as Toki remembers it. There are jeans piled on a chair, a mirror resting precariously in the middle of the floor, and the small bin piled up with plastic bags, napkins and cigarettes, but the room is greater shape than the last time Toki visited. The blinds are aligned, black tapestry lifted and allowing some light into the room, and the only aroma Toki detects are warm spices of dragon’s blood intermixed wonderfully with tobacco and Magnus’ natural scent.

Magnus picks up on this and becomes grabby. As soon as he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, he snatches Toki, resting his heavy head against the young man’s chest. There’s a tired embrace, Toki dropping his head to breath in the clean smell of Magnus’ hair, a low sigh and a second where Toki almost contemplates joining him. A hand slips under Toki’s shirt. Cool fingertips rest on the base of his spine, then began traveling up and leaving behind desire’s strong impression, a call for intimacy before the exhaustion really begins to settle. It’s a tempting offer, one Toki is thankful he’s able decline. 

Toki frees himself from Magnus, then drops his eyes down to the man’s wrinkled jeans. It’s one thing for them to pass out drunk, still-clothed, another when rest and wellness was a priority, so Toki takes it upon himself in trying to undo the bad habit.

“Takes off your pants.”

Thinking he’s won, Magnus manages an adoring grin. “That a ‘yes’, or…?”

“Laters.” Toki dips forward, meeting with Magnus and welcoming the sharp contours of his face, the scratchiness of his stubble as their lips brushed over the other’s. Toki stops himself from getting lost, pushes Magnus deeper onto the bed. “We’ll haves more funs when you ams fully wakes.”

“Give me a minute, and I’ll show you–”

“Magnus,” Toki playfully warned. There’s a slight smile in his eyes, but the message is clear, and Magnus sighs out some words before kicking off his pants, briefly exposing himself and throwing one last look towards Toki before reaching for the comforter.

Toki picks up the pants and tosses them inside of the closet. He reaches for other articles, not everyone, just those that look a little too dingy, too over-worn and used. That’s only two pairs of pants and a single shirt, none of which are so bad that Toki minds. He searches for some clean undergarments, but the sounds of Magnus murmuring something into the pillow stops him. When Toki checks, he sees Magnus already dozing off, eyes heavily lidded, and barely able to catch up with his movement.

He returns to the bed, watching Magnus’ good eye try and fail to effectively chase after him before fluttering and coming to a slow close. There’s nothing quite like Magnus falling asleep on his own, and Toki takes a minute to admire and memorize the instant Magnus slips away, and waits an additional before attempting to readjust the covers. He lifts the top, catches a glimpse of Magnus’ bare chest and waist, and is about to pull the covers when he notices his ribcage looking far less prominent. He’s still lean, but there’s less bones standing out, and when Toki covers Magnus, sees that his shoulders are starting to round off more.

Toki refrains from petting, kissing, or any other contact that might risk disturbing Magnus, so he tip-toes out and closes the door behind him.

The first thing Toki does is slip out from his boots, taking them with him into the living room before dropping them near the door. Once it’s done, he heads to the kitchen and opens the fridge. Surprisingly no rotten food, save for some wilted vegetables tucked in the far recess of the fridge. Contents were well-stocked, and although there was still a few boxed leftovers, Toki didn’t see aside from lettuce that desperately needed to be tossed. The rest of the kitchen further drives it home: Toki sees that the dishes were already washed and drying, and only needed to be put away, and that the floor didn’t have any stains or too many scuff marks, and the trash had been taken out before his arrival.

He returns to the living room which is, upon second glance, looking better than he imagined. The floor is clean. There’s no real need to sweep or vacuum. He wonders if Magnus has been keeping the windows open, because he realizes that the air only smells a little of stale cigarettes, and that’s all. He thinks about the bedroom, turns and realizes that all windows, no matter the size, all adjusted to let some light in. Not a whole lot, but enough. Enough to make the rooms a little brighter, more spacious and lived-in. Warm. Welcoming.

Toki double-backs to the kitchen. He stops at the fridge and doesn’t see any bills or late notices hanging on any of the magnets he bought. He walks over to the counter, sees a small pile of ripped up junk mail that needs to be tossed, but no notes, tickets, threats or other written warnings from the landlord, officer or neighbors.

The bathroom looks good, too. The shower could use a little work, but even Toki had to admit that bathroom chores suck the most. The mirror is clean, reflecting Toki back at himself without a single blemish, and the wasn’t a single sign of any mishaps: nothing sharp, no needles, or any signs of blood.

It’s all gone, Toki realizes. Or most of it. Maybe just some. Whatever the amount, Toki’s grateful, and he has to hold his breath and stop himself from getting too emotional, from making too much noise and waking Magnus up.

Toki reenters the hallway, spots the closed door, and deliberates going straight back in, taking Magnus as he was and crushing their lips together, whispering suggestive ideas while also telling him how proud he is of him, how nice everything looks, and how much he loves him, but Toki stops himself because he knows how tired and irritable those meds can make him the first few weeks, and he already made such a big deal about Magnus getting his rest. But for the first time ever, there’s nothing for him to clean up, nothing that needed fixing, no excuses or anything. No bills. Nothing broken. No servant with a list of concerns. There’s just a warm, lazy afternoon, and not nearly enough distractions to keep Toki entertained on his own for an hour, maybe longer. It’s a beautiful thing, and it also sucks balls, but Toki takes it for what it is, and he whips out his half-charged phone, drops on top of the sofa, reclining into the warm light of the sun, and starts texting.

#fanfic #metalocalypse #toki wartooth #magnus hammersmith #fanfiction #unbeta'd

[starrywhump]

Tw: slight, SLIGHT, noncon a character has to get undressed but it’s not at all sexual.  

First | Previous | Next

“Caspian,”  Cole gently prodded at the sleeping form before him.

It had been 4 days since Cole began staying here, this was the first time he had been down to Caspian’s cell since the very first day.

“Caspian, wake up,”  Cole spoke a little louder.

Caspian woke with a start, eyes wide with fear.  Seeing it was Cole, relief washed over his face, quickly replaced with anger.  

Caspian was sitting against the wall, his arms were cuffed to the wall, a gag kept him from speaking.

“I, uh, was sent down here to get you ready,”  Cole said awkwardly, “I’m going to undo these ok?”  Cole reached up, taking the key Damien gave him, he undid the metal bands around Caspian’s wrists.  

Cole stepped back quickly.  Caspian stood up, on shaky legs, leaning against the wall to support himself.  He pulled the gag out of his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“We have to, uh... go out to the bathroom.  It’s just down the-”

“Why are you here?”  Caspian’s voice was hoarse, hardly the sarcastic, strong one that Cole remembered. 

“Damien sent me, to get you ready,”  Cole tried not to look at the bruises decorating Caspian’s arms.

“For what?”  

“A party, I think he said.”

“Then tell him I decline the invitation.”  Caspian snapped.

“Caspian you know I can’t-”

“Don’t say my name like that!”  Caspian exploded, “Like we’re friends.  We’re not.”  

“I’m not trying to be your friend, I’m just doing my job.”

“You call this a fucking job!  Torturing people?”  

Cole felt small, “I never tortured you.”

“Oh good for you!  Do you want a gold fucking star?  For only kidnapping and drugging?  That’s a pretty low fucking bar!”  Caspian’s voice broke as he yelled.

“I never wanted you to get hurt Caspian.”

“You’re fucking delusional.”

“I need to get you ready.”

“I’m not going to a fucking party!”  Caspian pushed himself into the corner of the room.

“You are actually.  If Damien wants something he gets it, either let me get you ready or he’ll get a group of, much rougher, people to do it.”  Cole took handcuffs off a hook on the wall, “Put your hands out.”

“Haha, no,” 

“It’s not a question Caspian,”  Cole said sadly, throwing them over to Caspian.  Cole pulled his gun from his belt, “Put them on please.”

Caspian caught the cuffs, looking at them “I don’t think you’ll actually shoot me,” his tone betrayed fear he was desperately trying to hide.

“Willing to bet your life?”

Caspian glared angrily as he clipped himself into the cuffs, he held them up to show Cole.

“Ok good, now come on.”  Cole gestured towards the door.

Caspian didn’t move.  

“Can’t anything be easy with you.”  Cole sighed.

Cole went to grab Caspian’s arm, Caspian flinched away, he tried to hide it, but Cole still felt bad.  He pulled Caspian out the door, walking him down the hallway.  Caspian dragged back, but let Cole lead him to the bathroom at the end of the hall.  

It was obvious this bathroom was built specifically for captives on this level.  The walls and floor were clean white tile, there were loops and cuffs littered around the room to secure captives in different places.  A shelf with assorted whips and knives was placed next to the mirror.  

Cole wondered how many people were down here now.  There were more than 20 cells, but Damien rarely let any of them live past a few days.

What made Caspian different?

Cole let go of Caspian and closed the door behind them, locking it and placing the key in his pocket.

“What are we doing in here,”  Caspian growled.

“You need a shower, can you get undressed with the cuffs on?” 

“Are you going to leave?”  

“I-uh I can’t um..”  Cole felt his face flush

“I’m not getting in the shower while you watch you fucking perv!”  Caspian yelled.

“I’m not allowed to leave you alone.”  Cole wished he didn’t have to be here, “I’ll turn around ok, and I’ll let you out of the cuffs.  Just don’t try to kill me, ok?”

“You’re not allowed!  I’m sorry are you the captive here?!  Doesn’t being a fucking mob boss mean you can do what you want?”

“I’m not in the mob, and I’m certainly not the boss of anything.  Just be happy it’s me and not someone who would make this a lot more intimate.”  Cole shivered, remembering when he was in a very similar situation to Caspian’s only a few years back.

Cole walked over and unlocked Caspian’s handcuffs, he retreated to the other side of the room.  

Caspian gritted his teeth, “Fine, turn around.”

Cole did.  He heard clothes hit the floor and the shower turn on.

Caspian tried to relish the few moments of peace under the running water, but all he could think of was Cole, only a few feet away from him.  His face burned with embarrassment and anger.  Caspian was very thankful for the warm water that hid the few tears that slipped out of his eyes.

Caspian turned the water off,  dreading whatever was going to come next.

“There is a towel hanging to your right,”  Cole said while still turned towards the door, “Then um, these are for you,”  Cole held clothes out, keeping his eyes closed.

Caspian took them, scowling.  He dressed quickly, there were boxers and white, linen pants, no shirt.  Caspian quietly tried to walk to the shelf of torture implements, he picked up a small knife.

“Are you done?”  Cole asked, turning and peaking through his hand, he saw Caspian holding the knife, “Caspian what the fuck!” Cole drew his gun, “Put it down, you idiot.”

Caspian thought for a moment, then dropped the knife, knowing he didn’t have a chance.  

“Come here,” Cole ordered.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Considering I’m holding a gun I think I can.  Now come here.”

You can shoot him if you need too.  You’re not his friend, this is just another job.

Cole clenched the gun tightly.  “If you don’t come stand here and put your hands up in those cuffs,”  He gestured to the shackles built into the wall across from the mirror, “I will shoot you in the leg and drag you over here.  You have three seconds.”

“Stop being crazy Cole.”  Caspian’s voice wavered.

“One.”

You can do this.

“Two.”

“Cole stop it!”

Just another job.

“Cole stop!”  Caspian’s voice broke.

Just another job, just another-

“Ok fine!”  Caspian walked rigidly to the wall, standing on his toes to reaching up to the cuffs.  He closed one around his left wrist.

Cole holstered the gun.  Walking over and closing the cuff around Caspian’s other wrist.  

He took a deep breath, glad he didn’t have to shoot Caspian, but mad he felt that way.

Just finish what Damien told you to do.

Cole surveyed the damage to Caspian’s torso, now the blood was washed away Cole could see each individual cut and bruise littering Caspian’s body.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer, you fucking creep.”

“I’m not- just be quiet.”  Cole turned to the bathroom cabinet getting out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton rounds.  He poured the alcohol onto a cotton round and gently began to swab the smaller cuts.  

Caspian took in a sharp breath, “why are you bothering with that if your boss is just going to fuck me up again.”

Cole ignored him, he pulled two pills out of his pocket, “Open your mouth.”

“Do you think I’m going to take a random pill from a fucking psychopath!”

“It’s for the pain, this is going to hurt.”

“No!”

Cole sighed, “I’m trying to help you.”

“You know your whole righteous thing is getting old, you realize you’re the bad guy here right?”

Cole felt anger build up inside him, “you have no idea how complicated this is.”

“Really?  Let’s review, you’re the one who’s kidnapped me, got me involved in some fucking mob bullshit.  And, oh how could I forget?  A little thing called murder!”

Cole’s blood boiled, Caspian had no idea what he had been through, who he had to protect.

“Shut up Caspian,”  Cole said in a dangerously calm voice.

“Or what?  Are you going to torture me?  Gonna shoot me?  Add me to your list of bodies!”  Caspian wouldn’t back down.

“I said shut up!”  Cole exploded, splashing the bottle of alcohol over Caspian.

“Fuck! Nggh- ah.”  Caspian called out in pain as all his wounds stung as if they were on fire.  He struggled weakly in his cuffs, his face scrunched up in pain. 

”Cole-” 

“What!? If I’m the bad guy why would I worry about doing it so it won't hurt you?”  Cole was the one to yell, for once.

Cole dropped the pills on the counter, “Now you're going to do this without pain meds and it’s going to hurt, a lot, think about it next time before you act like such a dick.”  Cole turned to get the needle and surgical string from the cabinet.

“Stop- fuck, not a needle, no- Cole, don’t-”

“No, I’m the bad guy remember!  I don’t care about you remember!”  Cole turned his attention to a deep cut on Caspian’s lower abdomen.  He poured alcohol into it, knowing it probably wasn't the best way to do this.

Caspian yelped in pain.

“Now hold still or I swear to god I’ll get one of the shock collars from upstairs.”  Cole threaded the needle, then knelt down so he was level with the cut.  He felt a wave of nausea as he pierced the skin.

“Ah-h-h...stop-”  Caspian whimpered.

Cole stitched, pulling the sides of the cut together.  

“Cole!”  Caspian cried in vain.

Cole ignored him, stitching the cut rougher than necessary.

“s-stop, stop... nononono pl-”  Caspian tried to keep from begging. 

Cole made the final few stitches, tying a knot to secure it.  Blood dripped onto his hands.

Caspian couldn’t stop tears from seeping out, he struggled desperately to get away from pain he couldn’t escape.  Any false bravo had left him.

“p-please stop... Cole, pl-lease..”  Caspian begged tearfully, the fear of the needle only added to the pain.

Cole suddenly paused, he dropped the needle, looking into Caspian’s eyes.  Eyes that were terrified, pleading with him.  Cole looked down at his blood-covered hands, he felt sick.

What have I done?

Cole sprung to life, unlocking the door, slamming behind him before he could hear what Caspian called out.  He ran to a bucket left next to a supply closet.  He held his head over the bucket sobbing, feeling like he would throw up.  

Cole couldn’t believe he had done that.  Damien had finally gotten what he wanted.  

I’m a villain, I’m disgusting.

Cole wished he would just vomit and get this feeling out of him, but nothing happened.  

Cole kept replaying Caspian’s begging in his head, his cries of pain.

Cole couldn’t believe he had done that to another person.  Worse than that he hadn’t even been forced to do that, he could have given him the pain meds, he could have been gentle.

I chose to hurt him.  I was angry so I did.

Cole sobbed, alone in the dark hall, leaning over a bucket trying to vomit out the pain inside of him.

#whump #oc: caspian #oc: cole #pain #shower #tw: noncon #not really #but better safe than sorry #tw: needle #guns #torture #painful healing #reluctant whumper #whumpee #defiance #begging #angst #tw: nausea #crying #sobbing

[pleasantwolfdaze]

How to Replace or Change a Sewing Machine Needle?

Replacing your needle may seem a little irritating, but really is an easy process.  A blunt needle is a thread of your machine. Usually, a blunt or broken needle can harm your fabric, machine, and finger. If you are experiencing these problems, it would be a great idea to change your needle!

This is a simple guide to replace a Sewing Machine Needle. After completing this process you can start a new project with a fresh, sharp needle and prevent any destruction to your machine. Moreover, if you are experiencing a lot of problems,  it's better to service your machine professionally. Go here to hire a Sewing Machine expert.

Essential Tools:

A new needle 

Screwdriver

Needle insertion tool 

Paper or index card

Needle Selection:

You may get different types of needles but it's good to buy a special one. Such as a Stretch/Jersey or a denim needle. Generally, it is best to use a universal needle. You have to find out whether your machine requires a flat shank or a round needle. Go here to buy your needle.

Instructions for removing an old needle:  

Step 1: Insert the needle into the hole of your needle insertion tool.

Step 2: Now, you’ve to pull it up over the needle

Step 3: Tighten the blank space using your finger.

Step 4: When you are done with this, do a quarter of a turn with your screwdriver.

Step 5: Finally separate the tool from your needle.

Tip 1: A needle insertion tool will help you to lose down your needle into the machine.

Tip 2: Keep your screw a small piece of paper or an index card, and it will save your screw from falling into the machine.

You can also change the needles using your finger. Using the finger pull up the screw clamp. You have to pull it up until you have seen the portion to cling on the needles. Now put the flat part of the needle and make sure it has been placed tightly. And make sure the thin side is faced upside down to make stitches on the fabrics.

There are some more ways you can consider trying while changing the needle of the machine. Like using a clearance plate. Besides using the tools, this is also a famous way to change the needle.

Note: During insertion time the flat space on the needle has to go to the back, it also has a rounded area. Your needle will be inserted properly when you feel the groove in front of the needle.

It’s a great idea to replace your needle every 5-10 hours sewing or every 3 projects or whenever you feel needles become a blunder.

After removing the needle, dispose of your old needles properly. You can use a prescription pill container, or a film canister inasmuch you dispose of your needles in a safe place. Go here to watch a video tutorial

[bitofthisandthat]

@heedingcalls​​ said: “You can look but you can’t touch.” Kitty @ Negs >_>

GARBAGE  Lyrics

It’s not like he hasn’t been down this road before; he barges into her dressing room, makes himself comfy-cozy, and watches her get ready like the drooling wolf in duck’s clothing he is. Banter ensues, bitter jokes at each other’s expense go back and forth, and then she yaps at him for distracting her from getting ready on time. The same dance, the same go-round every Friday and Tuesday night. This time is a little different, seeing is how it’s the ‘holidays’ and ‘theme’ getups are the door-busters for this stinky club. Espresso eyes watch as she hoists an overdone feathered.....THING onto her back and over her head, shoving her chest upright and forcing her into prestine balance. He could be a gentleman and help her with it, but nahhhhhhh he’s waiting to see how this turns out. He gives a gruff chuckle at her expense as she struggles for a minute, but then gets her costume perfect. “Oh-hoo-hoo. Close one.” His elbow drapes casually over the back of her chair, ankle crossed over his knee, hooded eyes raking over her Vegas-style getup.

“I don’t get it...what the hell does that headdress do for the act? Distract the blue-pills from the fact you’re mostly naked? I don’t know about any of those other limp, needle-dicks out there, but,” A low wolf whistle, “Baby, I ain’t lookin’ at your forehead.” China blue eyes roll as she scoffs, her attention back at the vanity mirror to pluck at the rhinestone encrusted top. Of course, he’s leering, and as soon as her eyes cast down to adjust her belt, his hands are already tugging on the clasp at her back...His knuckles sting with a sudden sharp SLAP! against his hand, only daunting him for a moment before he goes in again. This time, he gets it across his bill. The surprise growl turns to a dastardly chuckle as he makes for a third attempt, but she holds true, and grips his wrist backward.

 “You can look but you can’t touch.” 

Calmly, he pulls free, and steps back a bit, dipping into his breast-pocket, to pull out a mass of green. He cards through a wad of cash, maintaining perfect composure before tossing the stack at her vanity like a deranged baby. 

"There! I paid for the damages ahead of time! Problem solved.”  Annnnnd he goes in a FOURTH time.

#heedingcalls #asks #GARBAGE meme! #C: Kitty #💣NEGADUCK 💣 #V: I THRIVE ON YOUR DISGUST; IT’S KINDA MY THING || GMD & DWD #I’M YOUR JAZZ SINGER AND YOU’RE MY CULT LEADER || NEGADUCK X KITTY #{ He's getting a black eye tonight & it's not from a bar fight LOL }

[normalgirlnextdoor]

Strong, little Omega~ Alpha! Sam x Omega! Reader

Finished version

You couldn’t believe this. THIS had to happen now when all you wanted to do was take a break, relax, maybe go to an all Omega beach, and let Drag rest his strong Doberman jaw from all this times he protected you by ripping the monsters that go bump in the night necks out… but no, you got a call from a friend whom also happened to be a hunter. They called about multiple body’s showing up with their hearts ripped out. Your first obvious thought was werewolf, but with the amount of body’s you knew it had to be a pack.

Pulling up to the newest crime scene in your, silver 1997 cadillac deville. Getting out of the slick vehicle, you turned opening one of the passengers doors open allowing Drag to get out and stretch his legs. Once he was out you closed the door with a creek.

“Come on boy,” you called out walking towards the yellow caution taped house, instantly pulling out your fake FBI badge flashing it to the outside officer guarding the scene.

As you enter the scene you take in the scent of the multiple Alpha officers, glad that you took scent hiding pills before you left the ‘cozy’ hotel you are staying at.

“Miss, how can I help you?” A man whom you can tell was the head detective asked you. In an instant you pulled out your badge.

“Good evening detective I’m special agent Jared and this-“ you point to Drag who has happily stayed sitting by your side, “is my partner Drag. Where here investigating the multiple murders that have been spreading through this town.”

The detective shook his head in understanding.

“If I may, I’m going to take a look around,”

“Please, go ahead,”

You thanked the detective before walking towards the body that laid cold on the ground. Drag walked up to the the body sniffing for any sign of werewolf or any monster really. Once he was done he threw his head up and gave a dark quick growl indicating werewolf. Dropping to your knees you pet your dog, “Good boy! Now let’s go talk to the detective and leave,” you cooed standing back up and heading outside to the detective.

You were finishing up with your question when the sound of a car pulling up on the graveled path filled the air, turning your head you saw a black 19somthing impala pull up hosting two men. Just one glance at them even if they were still in their car told you they were hunters. You sighed, you hated to work with other hunters because they thought you were weak. You knew you were not the strongest biologically, but when you were young your father trained you in hunting and the different types of monsters, so you were pretty experienced. Turning your head back to the detective thanking him before heading towards your car, that the hunters decided to park by.

As you walked, Drag happily skipping by your side, the two men got out.

“Sorry boys, but I already took this case,” you told them once you got close enough. The two men looked at you surprised, the smallest of the two smirked before opening his mouth.

“You a hunter?”

“ I am,” you walked closer to the two opening the passenger door to your car allowing your dog to hop in. After closing the door you turned taking in the shortest man scent secretly, alcohol, blood, and apple pie filled your nostrils not intoxicating like a true mate but comforting like a good friend.

“What’s your names boys?” You said walking toward the drivers side of your car, looking up you meet the eyes of the taller man.

“...Sam and Dean Winchester,”

“Oh! Your the Winchester brothers, neat. Well I’m (Y/n) (L/n). It was nice to finally meet you two-” you opened your door before climbing in, clicking the buckle across your chest. Rolling down the windows,

“Oh and if you really want this hunt, the first one who finds and kills the pack had to buy a round of drinks,” you smirked before driving off.

‘Odd,’ you thought to yourself. You were never the talkative type unless it was someone you felt close to, plus you normal don’t talk to strangers unless you have to… and another thing that man, Dean, his scent didn’t repel you it was soothing almost comforting, like your Omega half just knew it could trust him. Then the other man, Sam...well you didn’t get his scent. A frown came to your face at the thought, which was also strange. Deciding to ignore all of which happened in the last five minutes, you got back to the case.

A few hours later you arrived at an abandoned warehouse.

“Typical,” you muttered under your breath, as you shuffled through your trunk pulling out a gun filled with silver bullets and just Incase your silver switchblade. Turning your attention to Drag who say patiently by the side of your car inspecting the warehouse, his pointed ears up checking the sound of the area. You smiled pulling out a silver spiked collar, farmers use these types of collars so wolf’s can’t bite the weakest point of their dogs.

“Drag, come here boy,” you patted your thigh. The dog turned his head before strutting over to you, getting down on your knees you gently wrapped the collar over the top of his existing one.

“Okay, lets go kick some bitches ass,” You smiled walking into the building, gun up and ready. Bad idea. You only killed three when a sharp needle like pain shot through your neck.

Your eyes fluttered open, a small room with a dim light bulb being your source of light. You looked around noticing your dog in the corner a muzzle tightly strapped around his jaw, his eyes shut in pain.

“Fuck! Drag,” You tried to get up but the cold metal chains wrapped around your wrist and ankles kept you in your spot. You jumped when the loud screech of your ‘cell’ door opens allowing a bright light to flood into the small space. The figure of a man showed in your vision.

“Ahh, little Omega your up! You’ve been out for about two days now, my bad, that little scent blocker of yours wore right off by the way,” his voice was dark and leaving you feeling sick.

“Any way I brought you some friends,” he threw two body’s into the ground, both of them grunt as they hit the floor. Now that your scent blocker wore off your scent enhanced and your scenting ability all Omegas have was enhanced, allowing you to catch the scent Dean, and a mysterious scent that sent you overboard, coffee, sandalwood, mint and alcohol. True mate was your only reason for why the smell was intoxicating.

‘it must be Sam’ you thought to yourself.

“Sam, Dean. Please wake up,” you didn’t mean for it to come out desperate but the Omega and yourself where scared out of your mind. Why the unconscious Winchester didn’t respond or wake silent tears started to fall down your cheeks. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, just the fact that your true Alpha sat on the floor made your Omega go crazy and freak out.

“Alpha please wake up, Alpha!” Your body was shaking now, terrified.

“(Y/n)?” A raspy voice asked.

“Sam? Alpha?” Your voice came out raspy.

In a quick motion Sams head raised up talking in your rich, terrified Omega scent. Without even thinking Sam crawled up to your chained body, pulling you close up against his chest.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you ‘mega,”

You sniffed pushing your head more into the man you know nothing about chest.

“I’m so sorry I’m nothing like this,” you stuttered out with a sniff. Before Sam could say a word a gruff groan echoed in the small space.

“Sammy?”

“I’m here Dean,” his voice was muffled by your hair, his head on top of yours.

“What’s going on? Who’s that? Why does it rek of Omega in here?” The oldest Winchester questioned, freaking out slightly.

“This is (Y/n), Dean. She put scent blockers on so no one knew she was an Omega,” Sam said brushing his fingers through your matted hair, his head no longer on top of your’s.

Dean looked at you before putting his focus on his little brother.

“Can I talk to you Sam,” he tilted his head to the side indicating he wanted to speak to him alone.

“Fine. I’ll be right back,” Sam sighed gently releasing from you before heading over to his brother. You watched them talk in hushed whispers before the cell door opened once again, allowing three men to enter the space. Two of the men grabbed Sam and Dean smashing them into the wall while the last man walked to you twirling a key ring around his pointer finger. When the man was beside you he started to unlock the chains from the walls, as the last chain was unlocked you twirled your body around kicking him hard in the groin hoping to catch him off guard. Thankfully your plan was a success as the man fell to the floor with a yelp. You tried to get up to help the brothers, but the drug they knocked you out was still in effect causing you to fall to the floor in pain. The man you kicked got up anger written all over his face.

“Bad idea kitten,” he snarled pulling the chains around your wrist, dragging you out of the room. Closing the large metal door, leaving the two other werewolves with the Winchester’s, without a word. Your limp lifeless body dragged on the hard dirty ground, pebbles digging and cutting into your skin. Your eyes slowly closed with pain as you fell unconscious, once again.

________________________________

You woke up for the second time that day with a raspy gasp. Your eyes where covered by a blindfold preventing the slightest bit of light to seep in. You noticed that your body was chained to a metal chair, the cold surfaces sending chills down your spine alerting you that you where declothed.

“Ahh, good your up, again,” the same male voice meet your ears making you wimpier and push your body further into the chair. Your nose twitched as the werewolf -man- stood in front of you pulling your blindfold off. You cried out in fear, the Omega in you taking control, your newly exposed skin sending her into a spasm of fear and anxiety. The man moved his hand down your face to your collarbone where he paused.

“Please. Please stop,” your voice came out defeated, pained and scared at the same time. The man only smiled grossly before speaking.

“No, bad pets get punished,” he continued to travel his hands down the valley of your breasts, once again your Omega let loose.

“SAM! Alpha, PLEASE!!” Your plea sent even shivers down the Alpha whom sat in front of you. In only seconds a loud bang echoed through the walls of the warehouse.

“Gra, Fucking bitch,” he growled, swinging his hand down landing it on your cheek with a crack. He turned his body walking towards a table that you noticed was scattered with hunting weapons. He grabbed a blacked out handgun checking for bullets before walking out of the room.

Taking a deep breath you used your sweat covered hands slipping them out of their chained confinement. Next you focused on your feet, painfully pulling them out as well. Once your nude body was free you wobbled to the table picking up your switchblade. Then you wobbled once again back to your spot wrapping your ankles around the front legs of the chair and placed your hands behind your back twiddling with the knife. The man returned again bruised and bleeding, dragging Sam behind him whom was also beaten and chained. He lifted Sam up by his handcuff chains placing him on a hook attached to the wall.

“Now, where was I?” He snarled, walking up to you. Your eyes where on Sams worried ones as the disgusting Alpha neared you. He reached his hands out for your breasts, saliva practically dripping from his mouth. Before he could reach you, you grabbed his head standing up on your feet. Lifting your leg you smashed his head into your knee making him crumple and fall to the floor where you landed on top of him bringing the blade of you knife down onto his chest stabbing his heart, killing him.

“Omega,” Sam whispered out making you jump up from the body picking up the key ring he attached to his hip. Scrambling to Sam's body you unlocked the chains that confined him, allowing him to drop his hands and wrap them around your body. Your head rested firmly to his chest while his left hand rested on your waist, while his other hand tilted your head up allowing him to gently kiss your lips in a sweet but reassuring kiss. When you two parted for air Sam unbuttoned his plaid button up, on instinct you lifted your arms allowing him to pull the shirt around your body buttoning it back up, hiding your nudity. You smiled bashfully wrapping your arms around his waist, tilting your head up allowing the two of you to meet for a kiss.

“My strong little Omega,”

Please do not copy and repost, you can reblog though thank you

Tag list:

@tuliptx

#alpha x omega #alpha! sam x omega! reader #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #supernatural x reader #fanfic #x reader