#rip sand blind

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ DREAMING OUT LOUD

pairing ꒱ྀི al haitham x bunny!fem reader — warnings ꒱ hybrid au . bath-time with haithy ! fingering. subtle hand kink. fluff / wc ꒱ 2.4k / 18+

al haitham finds himself lost in his own musings more often these past moons. instead of his mind circling around any new wonder of the world, he’s recalling small moments enough times that distract him from his usual thinking.

at first, he tried to organize such thoughts into some semblance of order and question why they appeared in the first place until he realized for once, that he didn’t need an answer. he didn’t want one.

while peeling apart that revelation— scraping away at the edges, he wondered if doing so would give him that same sweetness or grant him the seeds to plant more. somehow it was the latter.

the seeds sprouted prickly vines that sunk into both his heart and mind.

now al haitham spends his walk home just remembering tiny exchanges down to the most minute detail. the meeting of fingertips, eyes squinting from the blinding warmth, sleep woven into each wrinkle, frown, and soft giggle.

the scribe had become even more reluctant to be pulled away from his own thinking, but he makes an exception when the one occupying his thoughts excitedly appears before him.

just seconds after he steps through the door of his home, he’s ripped away from his reverie. al haitham is nearly sent back into the outdoors from the solid weight that collides against him. he uncharacteristically loses his footing and the hardwood floor might’ve been his fate if not for his fast reflexes.

pillowy arms latch tightly around his slender waist and fluffy ears tickle his abdomen. face nuzzling into his lower stomach, carelessly grazing his groin, you whine, “haitham . . . you’re finally back.”

the smell of his scent mingled with the aroma of the desert warms your senses. leftover speckles of the granular sand on his clothes poke at your skin, and yet you pull him closer.

“I missed you sooooo much.”

he nods, “I’ve returned.”

you tilt up to look at him with your dolly eyes that enamor him. eyes that once belonged to a creature that only sparked his curiosity was now a companion.

his hand rests on your head, careful to put it between your floppy ears. the tip of his fingers scratch and caress the surface and he’s rewarded with your expectant purr.

your tail flits from the bubbling eagerness to receive more of his affection. he recalls his roommate chiding him for not being soft enough with you, but he begged to differ.

reminded of the blonde, he wonders aloud, “is kaveh here?”

al haitham doesn’t make a habit of thinking about the architect, but he’s grown wary. it seemed like kaveh had also fixed his attention to you. a ribbon unfamiliar to al haitham adorns your hair and there could only be one person responsible.

“mhm! he’s in his room.”

eyes run down the curves of your body. his oversized shirt did nothing but define the slopes of your breast and rise above your tail perched above your butt.

“what did I say about your clothes ?”

arms falling to your sides, your lips jut out into a tempting pout. “I know what you said, but I’m wearing panties this time,” you petulantly mumble.

you had a terrible habit of walking around completely bare. while the loose shirt was a step up from complete nudity, he didn't need kaveh to see anything else. he recalls the architect walking in on your naked body on multiple occasions.

“I suppose,” he hums. “still, I’d prefer if he didn’t catch any more glimpses of you.”

you chuckle lightheartedly at the man displaying clear signs of jealousy, but it’s interrupted by a yawn. your head shakes reactively trying to rid your body of the drowsiness and play it off in an effort to fool the scribe into letting you stay up later but, nothing made it past him.

“it is rather late. let’s get you to bed. '' he reaches out to hold your hand, but you don't take it.

head tilted to the side you ask, “I need to take a bubble bath first ! are you gonna come?”

you lean closer to him, fullest parts pressing against his athletic frame in a cute attempt to entice him , but he shakes his head. ever the busiest scribe.

“I have some paperwork to finish and I wanted to catch up on some light reading before I retire for the night .”

your ears droop.

“but–”

your ears perk back up.

“I could help you, if that’s what you want,” he offers.

you instantly spring back to life. “oh yes, please!” you squeal excitedly, grabbing his hand to lead him noisily up the stairs. nearly tripping over yourself, still you drag him to the bathroom.

“be careful,” he scolds, but you just laugh at his tense and worried expression.

shutting the door after you both enter, you hop up on the counter and wait patiently.

al haitham shakes his head, a ghost of a smile forming. he takes off his gloves and rests them on the cluttered sink. this mess was undoubtedly your doing, and he makes a note to bring it up later. he turns on the hot water and when it rises a bit higher, he dips his hand to feel the temperature and he's quick to pull it out. he preferred the water to be much more tepid while you liked it to be boiling.

he senses your eyes on him watching as he pours the vanilla-scented soap into the water waiting for the bubbles to form into clouds.

when he finally turns to face you, he’s met with a bright smile only you could own. not a word was spoken. silence was enough to consume the delicate air between the both of you .

you decide to hop off the counter and pull the cotton t-shirt off your body. al haitham moves to crouch, resting on his knee to pull down your underwear. your hand leans on his shoulder as you take your time to step out of the undergarment.

left foot first and then the right.

you do a little hop when you almost lose your balance, but he steadies you, staring at your bare cunt.

you turn your back to him and he ogles at your ass before standing to his full height. towering over you and standing close behind, you feel his breath grazing your neck. agile fingers sweep your hair towards your shoulder blades, tickling the warmth of your skin to unhook your necklace that acted as a collar. he places the fine jewelry on the sink and extends his arm towards you once more.

you place your hand between his and he leads you to the tub. you submerge yourself completely in the water and al haitham plays with the bubbles before washing you up.

you both use the moment to admire each other's features. gray-ish hair hovers over his eyes that betray no emotion and still you can make out his affections. your gaze trails down to his nose, lips, and wide shoulders. the muscles in his arms flex as he drags the soapy cloth along your body and you bask in the moment before he decides to break the silence.

“what did you do today?” the cloth glides over your chest, easily soothing you.

“nothin’ much. kaveh came home early and he bought me a slice of cake.”

of course he did. kaveh always had a tendency to obsess over pretty things so it was only natural that he’d flock to you– a cute and helpless bunny. ever since this place has equally become your home kaveh wasn’t good at being discreet. his touches lingered for far too long and al haitham became keen on how much time kaveh spent with you while he was away at the akademiya. but he could at least feel secure knowing you were safe.

hybrids, a species often neglected and exploited needed to be protected, and he guessed he could rest easy knowing he had another pair of capable hands to rely on.

“h-haithy !”

your sudden cry lures him out of yet another daydream but this time he’s flustered. he understands the alarm in your eyes when he realizes how close his hand was to your nether regions, crassly nudging your cunt for the past few minutes.

he exhales and sputters at the sight and he’s quick to pull his arm away, but you stop him. it’s the first you’ve seen him taken aback and you want to tease him like he does to you , but you can’t—not when desire engulfs you to the point of ruin.

“n-no ! . . . leave it please ?”

both of your hands tug his further into the water, knees coming closer together around his his limb, just until you feel that graze against heat.

al haitham remains quiet, closely watching your next move to see what you’d do now. your head reclines back to rest on the tile wall, your fingers guide his own to your middle, and with steady humps against his wrist you feel relief that rids that redundant ache.

“. ‘haitham, can we? . . just for a little bit ?”

he didn’t think he could say no even in a light-hearted jest.

you nearly collapse in on yourself when you finally feel him becoming receptive to your inclination.

his fingers feathers at the seam of your lips. instead of making it easy for you, he’d rather give you the tools to bring yourself to your own high. he would only give you a running start.

his palms slide up cupping and then squeezing the plumpness of your cunt. it fits perfectly in his hand, hot and sticky even when submerged under the water. a finger slides down to settle on your clit, circular rubs turn into slow strokes. if you wanted to feel more, you’d have to work for it yourself.

your small hand wraps around his wrists trying to feel more of him. “hnnn . . want them inside, haithy.”

he’s deliberately pressing down on the sensitive bulb hoping to draw out your cute moans, ignoring your simple request. al haitham's gaze is glued to your tummy folding over and your spread legs. between them is perfect pussy spoiled and eager to receive more of his touch.

his digits slide down your outer lips to press down on your hole. probing it, teasing it until it twitches greedily for more. he moves around the orifice collecting slick that struggles to disperse in the water.

“ haitham . . .” you beg. his eyes flicker to your pleading ones. lip tucked under your teeth and brows drawn tight, your chest expands as you greedily suck in air, hips gyrating into his palm hoping for him to satisfy you. “please.”

he smirks and to your luck, two fingers enter and stretch you. long and nimble things your pussy takes the shape of. they scissor and separate to feel the heaviness of your walls clamping down.

“so tight.”

the veins in his flexing arm are prominent. you see the force behind his movements as well as feel it. his biceps bulge while his fingers jerk you to completion . the sounds of you the splashing water and your whiny moans further arouse you

“you’re close to cumming already ?” he provokes. “ from just my fingers, too. it seems I must train you just a bit more.”

the bass in his voice sends a tremor down your spine. his words of encouragement provoke more of your thoughtless pants and the swivel of your hips. just a bit more—more of his knuckles stretching your walls, more of those eyes you fell in love with looking back at you with an unspoken, ravenous haze.

it makes you bashful. your damp bunny ears fall over your eyes, shielding them from his hungry stare.

“oh?” his expression darkens and his tone drips in a taunting and authoritative tone.

“are you hiding from me now ?”

it should make you quiver, but you know him well enough by now. as stoic as he may appear, the caress of your folds tell a different story.

you foolishly part your mouth to audibly confirm but a broken gasp escapes at the coil slowly winding up inside of you.

“you shouldn’t be so shy. wouldn’t you rather see who’s making you writhe? don’t you want to see how you’re fucking my hand like a wild bunny rabbit in heat?”

your hair sticks to your face from the steamy room and the sweat that gleams your skin. you pull your floppy ears away from your eyes and you’re met with the sight of his handsome face. contrary to his expression, the sight before him acted as a fire, melting him into remnants of himself.

his cock twitches against his snug pants, itching to enter your gooey cunt. how well you’d behave— how obedient you’ll be when he seats you on his member and you’ll hop up and down like good bunnies are supposed to.

with how generously your pussy has been tugging on his fingers, he’s more than willing to test that theory.

your eyes are tempted to screw shut but you want to watch. sensing your conflict, al haitham nods in approval to coax you.

“that’s more like it. you’re hard to resist when you’re so obedient.”

his fingers work themselves inside of you, precise thrusts, muscles defined and on display. he’s so . . . big, so filling and you might just lose it.

a prolonged gasp echoes as your thighs squeeze around his muscular arm. the continuous strokes of your sticky walls forces you upright into a sweltering mess. your pussy’s throbbing quickens erratically until he feels the rhythm steady out into a slow pulse— suckles that pulls his digits deeper toward yours sacred spot until you couldn’t anymore.

your senses fail when his thumb rubs your little clit to help drag out your end. you were nothing but a drooly and overstimulated shell of yourself, with meek moans falling from your mouth.

“yeah, that’s a good girl.”

he doesn’t stop milking you. his other hand reaches out to scratch behind your furry ears in praise while you crumble to pieces. he carefully removes his fingers from inside of you and pats your pussy that puffed from his ministrations. it pulsated around nothing—twitching like a bunny’s nose.

“I’d say you’re more than satisfied.”

you’re exhausted and still you nuzzle into his palm. what was once supposed to be a relaxing bath was now a drawn-out session of your dear owner playing with your sore cunt. still he admires your tired and spent state moving to actually get you clean this time.

“let’s get you to bed.”

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #al haitham x reader #al haitham x y/n #al haitham x you #al haitham x reader smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x reader smut #genshin impact smut #hybrid reader #hybrid au

[celestialwhoree]

More Simon X Single mom!Reader💕🌙

Based on this drabble😚

wc: 1.1k

You're so, painfully reluctant to ask Simon for help. He offers, frequently, to help you get bedded in to your small flat, which only now, finally free from the clutches of your desperation, do you understand why it was so cheap. The first time he comes over for dinner he notes the way your kitchen faucet takes ages to put out hot water, and honestly, it took a fair bit of blindly tapping (smacking) random pipes to get any water at all. He seems to take issue with not only the lack of amenities that could help you get settled, but also the fact that the few basics that you do have access to don't work. You're a single mom, with a three year old daughter, and his sense of justice has always been at war with his longing search for peace and isolation.

Simon doesn't have much to do when he's not deployed, Price putting him on some kind of mandatory break after the last mission went south, as did his mental health. Because of said lack of hobbies, work and education, Simon finds himself doing literally whatever he can think of to occupy his mind, to forget about what happened in October - if that means helping you string a wreath on the front of your apartment door and lugging a christmas tree up the stairs for you, that's what he'll do. You'll be the first to admit that you're cash poor - buying this house ate up the majority of your savings, and the rest you're currently blowing through supporting your daughter whilst also trying to get a job, very contradictory to the fact that you're also trying to lay low.

The man that lives next door to you is no fool, not as blind and imperceptive as you wish he'd be. You see the way his eyes occaionally shoot to the fading tan line on your left ring finger and the small, raised scar on your bicep. Occasionally, he himself wishes that he wouldn't see the bags under your eyes or the way you clutch onto your daughter like she'll be ripped away from you - maybe then he wouldn't feel such a sense of duty to you. Maybe he wouldn't lie awake at night thinking of the fact that he's spent his life plagued by gunfire to protect innocent women and children, and now faced with the people he vowed to lay down his life for, all he can do is offer to fix your blocked hot water pipe.

So, when you stand on his doorstep, sniffling down fat tears threatening to spill, apologising profusley when you look up to see his confused expression, he can't help but to engulf you, and your wailing daughter at your hip, into what he can only hope is a comforting embrace. "Y' a'right? Whats goin' on?" He murmurs, a hint of panic in his voice. Simon knows the feeling of your past coming back to haunt you all too well.

"I'm sorry I just - the oven is broken, and I need to make her dinner and bath her and put her down to bed -" Is all you can manage before you're hiccuping into the hand not supporting your equally as distraught baby girl.

For a second he just stops, his brain short circuits as he struggles to comprehend the fact that you're coming to him for help. He can't understand the way you lay your soul bare before him, not when he's so distant, so intimidating, and you're oh so soft, lovely as a morning songbird and as warm as sun soaked sand.

"Would you mind looking at it?" Even you recognise how pathetic you sound, standing here practically grovelling at your neighbours door, but apparently it works when he's guiding you back to the front door you stupidly left open in your panic, pulling out a kitchen chair and easing you down as you sit between utter misery and the panic which filled your lungs like a puncture in a life raft when one little part of your routine you'd become so reliant on fell out of place.

"Gas's out." He tells you softly, like any more bad news might make you shatter completely, and the thought of delivering that blow makes him feel physically sick. "Right - Right, no gas." You murmur, brain whirring at a million miles a second in order to work out what to do next.

"You could use my oven? I'll call the gas company in the morning and have them install a new bottle."

His words make you stop, processing his offer, his generosity, the generosity of a man who's never once been cruel or rough or mean to you, and you give a little grateful nod, cooing to your daughter about how you're going on an adventure to Simon's place. The way he scoops her up so that you can stuff a bag with all of the things you need to make dinner, bouncing her on his hip to stop her wailing makes your insides warm in an unfamiliar way, one that you promptly shake off as you follow him across the threshold of his undecorated apartment, trying not to stare at your surroundings as you're guided to a kitchen that you're sure is far more functional than your own.

The way Simon doesn't have any cartoon channels on his TV, so he grabs his laptop instead, plopping your daughter down on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders and some kind of kids show playing on the screen makes you ache, and you can't imagine how a man with no kids of his own could be so good with yours. There's a softness to him despite his physical body being comprised of muscle and sinew and scars, his soul is gentle. He's gentle with you, and he's gentle with your daughter, and that's all that you can ask for.

You make enough dinner for the three of you, mostly to thank Simon for his hospitality, but also because you're starving and the meat needs eating. When you ask where the cutlery is, he gives a little chuckle, grabbing out two sets for you and him, as well as your daughter's little blue Peter Rabbit spoon and tray. He helps you dish up dinner, and when you go to sit at the table, he steers you into the lounge.

"You're not worried about food on the couch?" You squeak in utter confusion, to which he gives a laugh and plops down on one end, placing your daughters tray before her where she sits in the middle of the two of you, happily scarfing down her dinner and watching whatever Simon could find on such short notice.

When you inevitably fall asleep on his couch, your daughter doing the same, Simon sets a blanket over the two of you before going into the kitchen to call the gas company, putting down his card details to pay for the new bottle. He's happy to cough up fifty quid that he's sure you don't have if it means not seeing his girls cry again.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #tf 141 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x f!reader #Simon ghost Riley x yn #Simon Riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #Simon Riley x yn #Simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x y/n #ghost simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #cod #cod simon riley #ghost #ghost riley #call of duty #celestialwhoree #Single mom!reader x Simon Riley

[huntersrequiem-if]

Hunter's Requiem

demo [tba] | forum [tba]

dark fantasy, horror (?), romance

You are a minor deity of the Hunt, known by your followers as The Hunter, used by the other Higher Beings as The Hound. The All-Seeing Sun had given you countless tasks over your existence.

Yet one day, while on a mission sent out by him, you were summoned and judged for treason. The punishment left you mangled; your magic ripped off.

Cast away, you went into a deep sleep to recover.

After centuries you awoke to find your name spoken in whispers in the darkest nights. The Traitor. The world has changed, yet you still have true believers who await your awakening.

Will you be successful in your revenge? Will you be able to topple the gods or will you try to live in peace?

Features:

Play as male, female, nonbinary.

Your choices will affect the fate of your followers.

Befriend, romance or even antagonize a wide cast of characters.

Have a loyal shadowy companion by your side.

Astaroth [M]

"And to think I hated you. Now I can’t imagine living a single day without you.”

Your “other half”, attached to your psyche. He is content to stay in the backseat and offer comments. Tall and lean with gray skin. His face is sharp and angular, eyes with black sclera and white iris. Long black straight hair parted only by his antlers. His hands are black, tipped with long claws. The gradient loses color the closer it gets to his elbow. When he grins at you, you see beast-like teeth glinting in the light.

The Beloved Moon [F]

"That was the worst mistake I ever made. Please, I will do anything you want for you to forgive me.”

Moon has a curious interest in you. Since the moment she saw you, she had sought any chance to talk with you.

A short woman with deep blue skin and freckles that shine like stars. Her skin is shifting between deep blue and purple. She has a round face with full lips and a button nose. Round eyes with black sclera and bright blue iris stare at you with curiosity. Her long curly hair is white with pale blue streaks. Massive white feathered wings cover her back, sometimes used to cover her body like a cloak. Her smile might be gentle but the sharp fangs showed less so.

The Eternal Night [NB]

“I have turned a blind eye to the world far too long. I will no longer allow anything to happen to you.”

The Eternal Night is a distant person. Even more towards the other gods, yet for you they show a kinder side. They are tall and slender. Their sharp face is softened by full lips and expressive eyes. They have dark grey skin paired with stark white hair, that reaches their chin. The wavy strands frame their face nicely. Their eyes-- black sclera with crimson iris—are often covered by their mask. Massive black wings sprout from their back, and then the light catches the feathers right they look more blue than dark.

Santana [F/M]

"Why is it that every time I look at you I feel that I have known you for lifetimes? Why does my soul yearn for you?"

A priest you met in your past, a rather interesting person with a stubborn brand of kindness.

Tawny skin sprinkled with freckles. Golden hair is kept in a braid, far away from their face, yet a few strands escape and frame their heart-shaped face. Expressive eyes look at you, their blue gaze shining brightly.

They stand at an average height, donning the white and golden robes of the priests of Sun. Over that, they wear a chainmail.

You thought you lost them to the sands of time.

??? [F/M]

“Do you have any idea how long I prayed to see you, to hear your voice?”

Every day, they're slipping farther, their grip on the edge of the chasm growing fragile. Can you drag them back or will you shove them off?

#interactive fiction #if: intro #if game #if wip #interactive novel #interactive game #hunter's requiem if

[bruciemilf]

“This reminds me of playtime back home,” Diana’s smile is pearly and smudged with blood, and Bruce struggles not to stare.

He won’t point out that she just ripped an alien apart with her bare hands and way too little effort.

He wants to. Anyone would have words faced with gods, but he doesn’t trust his conversation skills.

“Hn.”

“Boy, you’re a chatty one,” Green Lantern is positively insufferable.

He’s whip-smart, dangerously brave, selfless and tactical when needs be, but insufferable all the same, “ Also, cool boomerang.”

Defensive, Bruce grips the gadget a little closer to his hip, “It’s a batarang.” And it was my son’s idea. Of course it’s impressive. 

The brunette snorts, Diana chuckling alongside him, both entirely too bright for the gore on their clothes, “Oh yeah, that sounds so much better. But you obviously know how to handle it, I’ll tell you that much,”

inwardly, Bruce frowns. Why would he design a weapon he couldn’t use? 

“Yes, your combat skills are impressive! You must do your tribe proud,”

Involuntarily, his head lowers in embarrassment. The cowl feels ten times hotter now, and he wants to snarl at Superman for tugging at the pointy ears. His smile just blinds him too much, that’s all.

Aquaman picks body matter out of his hair, beach sand blonde, sending The Flash a smirk Bruce assumes is teasing.

He can’t quite tell. They’ve known each other for 10 hours, 20 minutes, and 32 seconds, and an odd, familiar energy had settled. “At least you’re not the only nerd in class.”

The Flash is young; Bruce notes the eagerness in his footsteps, the reckless courage, the perseverance to fight for the world and against it;

More than anything, he notices pride sparking a light in his chest.

“Not a nerd!"

"Whatever, speedy,"

"This nerd saved your well-conditioned ass! But anyway, DUDE, – I mean, can we talk about the tech? Just, – I need to know how you designed that utility belt, because holy FUCK, -,”

There’s a full minute of just animated hand gestures, plentiful explanations, queries, and Bruce of course pays attention to all of it. 

The Flash, – Barry, as he accidentally revealed five minutes in, too lost in excitable rambling to notice, – stops, frowns,

“Uh, dude? I mean, obviously, the whole,” he gestures to the entirety of Bruce, “Man Bat thing, that rocks,  but isn’t it easier to just use your powers?”

Superman’s fingers snap, “I was wondering about that! Why didn’t you?”

But there’s an underlying hint that the man already suspects it; It makes Bruce’s teeth grind anxiously, looking around expectant, curious eyes, 

“I don’t have superpowers,” the truth spills in a rush, and Bruce doesn’t take it back in time. 

They share stunned looks between them, but sky-blue eyes, peppered with a ring of brown in the left one, those stay on him. He’s uncomfortable with the appreciative gleam. 

Superman smirks, “We should do this again!”

#do you ever go crazy insane over bruce being the only human - mortal - member of the JL and not only keeping up with LITERAL OTHERWORDLY #super beings. and demi gods. and metahumans that bend and break the law of physics #but actively shocking them with how capable and resistant and enduring he is #cause i do. i am INSANE abt him actually. but also!! your honor they are FRIENDS #the justice league #dc #dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #barry allen #arthur curry #hal jordan #diana prince #wonder woman #clark kent #superbat #text

[emilio-the-dumb-wrestler]

Weight Gaining Surgery

Thomas looked over the sunset beach. He loved the feeling of sand between his meaty toes. He has to get back to the gym though. It was time for workout #3. Everyday he went to the gym 3 times in order to maintain his fit and athletic physique. As we walking back to the gym he passed an alley where he heard some shuffling and then without warning. Everything went dark.

Thomas could hear beeping and what sounded like a drip. His head was killing him. Opening his eyes he was blinded by the fluorescent lighting above. He squinted and brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed them. But when he done so he felt something heavy. Something wasn’t supposed to be there. He popped his eyes over and under the hospital blanket there was large protrusion that was rested on stomach. When he tried to move it. He began to panic. It was fleshy and had hairy on it. Ripping back his blanket he was in horror as a gut was sitting out from his body!

He heard some people talking and he looked at the hospital curtain. And without warning it was quickly yanked back. “Ok residents. This is our subject who just went through the weight gaining surgery. You’ll notice the distended abdomen of the subject. This patient has been given injection that alter how the body gain weight. Our subject here will only gain visceral fat now. And because of the nature of this surgery, we have also irradiated the thyroid so it will not work in the highest capacity that it had previously. And you’ll see the progress this subject has already made ..”. One of the residents piped in “holy moly this guy will be huge !” Thomas was so shocked. What was going on!? Weight gaining surgery!! Irradiation!! He never signed up for any of this !!

“What the hell is going on here !! I never signed up for any of this !!” Everyone turned to look at him. “Ahh. It seems our patient is awake. Don’t worry everyone this is a common occurrence. When waking out of the medically induced coma.” The dr turned and began to talk to his residents again. “ and remember students. With a weight gaining surgery the patient has to be at the new healthy weight for their body before discharge can occur.” Thomas began to shout “I’m fucking huge ! What have you done to me !” He attempted to get up from the bed but found his arms and legs restrained. Thomas began to sob. What was happening. What is going on!?

The dr led his team to the door and dismissed them. He could hear the same resident in the hallways still saying “damn that guy is going to be huge!”

The doctor turned back to Thomas. “Well Ali, it’s time to get you out of bed so you can walk! We can have you just sitting around around all day.” Thomas was shocked. “Who is Ali?! My name is Thomas!!” The dr chuckled at him. “ it’s ok Ali. You’ll start feeling better one week get you up and start moving around.” The doctor I strapped his ankles and his wrists. Thomas looked at his right arm and seen a medical band around his wrist said “Ali Manoli”. Thomas scream “this isn’t me!” The doctor just looked at him and said “well the wrist says your are. Now come on get up!” He grabbed Thomas by his wrists and pulled him out of bed. Thomas moaned and grown feeling how much weight was hanging off his body. He was breathing heavy and when he looked down his stomach bulged out big.

The doctor made Thomas was round the room. The whole time the large stomach leading the way. When he was done he flopped down on the bed. The doctor brought him two bottles. “Ok Ali. Part of your treatment for the weight gaining surgery is you have to drink these.” Thomas shoved them away. “I’m not drinking that! I told you! I’m Thomas!” The doctor got a stern look on his face. “Listen I know you think you’re someone else. But you’re not. And you can either drink this willingly. Or I can put a feeding tube in you and have you restrained.” Thomas had tears coming his pumper cheeks. He picked up the bottle and began to drink the thick fluid. It was sweet. When he was done with one he was handed the other by the doctor and he drank it all. When the bottle began to make an empty sound Thomas dropped the bottle and belched loudly. “Good man. You see it wasn’t so bad.” Thomas felt so full. He let out another belch. “W…what…” he was breathing have. Trying to catch his breathe. “What was that!” The doctor was throwing the bottles in the trash can. He picked up the paper work on the board and without looking at Thomas said “they were mass gaining shakes. 2500 calories a peice.” Thomas’ mouth fell open “WHAT!” He screamed. The doctor just giggled under his breathe. “Ali. You got the weight gaining surgery. And because of the surgery we have to make sure your body is at the new healthy weight that your body will need to be at because of this surgery.” Thomas became belligerent. “You mean you’re trying to make me fatter !!? What are you thinking! I told you I never signed up for this!” The doctor just held his hand up. “And once you have gained the required weight for discharge. The required weight you need to be at to be healthy again. You will be discharged.” Thomas was shaking with rage. “Oh yeah? And how much exactly is that !?” The doctor looked back down at the clip board. “Hmmm looks like you’re around 245 right now. So another 55 pounds.” Hearing this Thomas blacked out. 300!!

The next few days weren’t easy for Thomas. He refused to drink anymore of the shakes. It ended up with him being restrained. A feeding tube put in place. When he woke up after he blacked out there was a full meal tray waiting and he refused to eat it. They were expecting him to eat a ridiculous amount of food ! But this baby of defiance ended with being forced to have 3 of the gained shakes a day. Thomas was always full and moaning from the weight of stomach.

The doctor had started injections as well. Thomas asked what they were for when he seen the doctor approaching him. Work several syringes. One injection placed in each foot the doctor explained was to encourage sweat and hair growth. Another injection in the pubic area. To increase sweating and an injection in both pits. All designed to make him sweat like crazy. “These are long lasting extended release injections. 1 injection guarantees results for 10 years. 3 more rounds and you’ll be finished!” Thomas sobbed the entire time this happened. And one final injection shot into his hip 4 times a day that he didn’t know the reason for.

After 4 more weeks the came into the room and beemed with delight. Thomas was waking up from sleep and noticed his restraints were gone. And his feeding tube had been removed. He struggled to sit up. Immediately moaning from how full he was.

“It looks like you’re finally healthy enough to go home Ali. It looks like you actually went a little over the mark and hit 307!! I’m so proud of you!” Thomas couldn’t beleive what he was just told. He had been restrained and force fed for the last month. This was the first time he was able to see his feet when he kicked them out. Standing up and laying down he would never see them from the size of the tank he now has. And he was shocked to see how hairy they had become. And over the couch of the month. The injections had even darkened his skin and make him extremely hairy everywhere else.

Thomas moaning as he stood feeling the full 307lbs on his body. His back even popped. The doctor came at him with another syringe. Breathing heady he managed to ask what the shot was. “Oh just the thing standing between you and your release.” The doctor injected him and felt a sense of euphoria momentary. His body tingled. “There. You see that wasn’t so bad. This final injection was as designed to keep you healthy. With your weight gaining surgery completed we have to make sure your body stays at this new healthy weight. This shot just made it so that your permanent minimum weight is now 307 lbs no matter what you do. But with that thyroid obliterated. You’ll be gaining even when you don’t want to.” Thomas was resigned. He couldn’t fight anything that had been done to him. When he was taken to the check out desk the receptionist asked what his name was and he responded “Tho…A..Ali Manoli”. He was resigned to his fate and discharged under a new name. A new race. And much heavier different life.

———————————————

This story was inspired by an amazing story written by @fatisthenewshape

#surgery

[kittycatcaptive]

Light Yagami is the kind of monster that you don't really see until it's too late, the kind that will smile so brightly and hold your hand and walk you to a beautiful cliffs edge just to push you off. Or sometimes you do catch a glimpse of him, the real him, out of the corner of your eyes, but when you turn to look the mask is back and he will smile like he knows something you don't. Light is a monster, but you find yourself drawn in with honeyed words that feel just a bit too sharp and a smile with a few too many teeth. Light mimics the kind of person everyone wishes they could be, at least on the surface, but if you just watch long enough you can see something dark writhing under the surface. Light is some terrible thing caged in a human body, writhing and raging and screaming underneath perfect hair and clear skin and falsely warm eyes. 

Light Yagami is the sun, bright and beautiful, he is the warmth on your skin after a long, miserable winter. he brings life, feeds and nurtures what he believes is his. But just like the sun he is capable of burning the very same skin he warmed, destroying it from the outside in and the inside out. capable of causing droughts that lead to famine, capable of starving and destroying. He can dry and crack and crumble the very same earth that once bloomed with new life at whim and he does, simply because he can, and he wants too. Light, much like the sun, knowingly or unknowingly, intentionally or unintentionally destroys everything that gets close to him and fundamentally changes every person, every surface he touches. 

L Lawliet is the kind of monster who doesn't ever try to be anything other than what he is. L is the ghost you see out of the corner of your eyes, even if he's gone by the time you turn your head. L is the feeling you get when you know your being watched even when you can't figure out who's watching and from where. L is the kind of monster whose eyes seem to peel you like an onion, examining every layer as he goes, sees parts of you that you didn't even know were there. L is the kind of monster who's every look will rip you apart piece by piece just because he wants to see what makes you tick, what makes you who you are. And when he has stripped you bare, ripped holes in your flesh and prodded at your mind and examined your soul, will simply move on. when his eyes leave you with your now cracked mask and tattered soul you understand what it is to be an ant under a microscope, to have been swallowed whole, to be seen and known right to your core and that is truly terrifying.

L Lawliet is the moon, usually quiet and calm but still capable of moving whole oceans. He is the pull of gravity, The cycle of the tides, feeding and nurturing whole ecosystems. He is a pearl in an inky ocean of stars, lighting your path in the night. But the moon, just like the sun is capable of starving and destroying. Capable of eating things whole, capable of flooding whole areas and swallowing swimmers into the depths. He can erode earth and rock into sand, can swallow whole sections of earth to keep within himself forever at whim and he does, simply because he can, and he wants too. L much like the moon, is ever changing, one day he may be there to light your path through the night and the next he will be gone, leaving you lost and blind in the dark. 

#l lawliet #l lawilet #death note #deathnote #dn #yagami light #light yagami #lawlight #my ramblings #i just vomited this up out of no where #and im not sorry #l and light are both monsters to me #different kinds sure #but monsters nontheless

[cabotwife]

i saw that u r taking johanna mason request :3 how abt a fluff where reader is finnicks younger sister u can make ur own plot i dont mind!! have great day/night<33

Enchanted

-> thank you for your request !! i hope you enjoy it 💗

warnings: ooc Johanna(?), poorly written fluff, almost kiss?, not proofread

word count: ~1,012

a/n: sorry if this isn't very good, i wrote it while in school😓

“Johanna.” you breathe as you see the three silhouettes emerge from the forest in the distance of the beach.

“Johanna!” you yell, sprinting towards the girl. you can see her head shoot up at the sound of your voice, you can't hear it but you can see her mouth move as she says your name.

the wind blows your hair back as you run, as you get closer you notice she's drenched in blood. immediately your heart drops.

you stumble into her as you reach her finally, your hands cup her cheeks.

your face is full of worry as your eyes jump all around her face.

“it's not mine.” Johanna says simply, you could audibly tell she was relieved to see you.

you finally meet her eyes, the others walk behind the two of you, going to Wiress and Beetee, but you don't really notice them, your focus fully on the bloodied girl in front of you.

“it's not mine.” Johanna repeats, her hand cupping your waist to soothe you.

suddenly, Johanna spins away from you, now addressing your brother. “well, i got them out.” she says flatly. her eyes moving to Katniss, who is standing behind Finnick, “we were all the way deep into the jungle, where i thought it was gonna be safe..”

you all listen to Johanna, you more than the others evidently.

“that's when the rain started.” she takes a step towards Finnick, glancing at Katniss before returning her gaze towards him.

you can see his face contort into confusion, right as he opens his mouth Johanna continues, “i thought it was water.” she chuckles as she speaks, as if it was humorous what's happening, but you know better than to believe that.

“tick tock.” it's a faint whisper coming from the older woman sitting it the water behind Johanna. you spare glance in Wiress's direction before pulling your eyes back towards Johanna.

“it turned out to be blood. hot. thick. blood.” Johanna grits, turning on her feet as she reaches where Finnick is standing.

“Tick Tock, tick tock,” Wiress continues to repeat, now out of the water and standing beside Johanna, gripping onto her bicep.

Johanna lets out a chuckle, “it was choking us. we were stumbling around, gagging on it blind.” your hand rests on Johanna's shoulder, unlike Wiress's touch, she didn't push you away.

“that's when Blight hit the force field.” she says, her tone saddened. “he wasn't much, but he was from home.” she looks towards the sky, blood still running down her cheeks to her neck.

Johanna glares at Katniss as Wiress grips her bloodied shoulder, but she doesn't fight off the touch this time.

“tick tock, tick tock.”

as the brunette attempts to walk to towards the water, most likely to rinse herself off, the deranged woman follows, tugging at the former's arm.

eventually Johanna loses her cool, turning around to face Wiress, “listen-” Johanna begins, her arms on the older woman's shoulders as she pulls her away from herself. Wiress though grips the back of Johanna's neck, causing the latter to struggle in the grip, “stop it!” she growls as she finally shoves the woman off of her and onto the sand.

her words never stop, not even when she falls, “tick tock, tick tock” it's starting to frustrate you as well.

“hey! leave her alone!” you hear Katniss yell as she steps towards Johanna, about to lunge at the brunette.

“hey- you two!” you shout as Finnick pulls them apart, your words fall upon deaf ears though as they continue.

“i only even got them out for you! be fucking greatful!” Johanna growls as she rips herself away from your brother and the other woman.

you watch as Johanna storms towards the water, you and Katniss's eyes meet in confusion. you offer her a shrug before chasing after Johanna.

the brunette heavily seats herself, the waves brushing against her as she begins to scrub the blood off of herself.

you seat yourself next to her, no words leave either of you as you begin to wash her hair gently, making sure to get all the blood out.

when you're finished and she's finally void of any blood, you slick her wet hair back to keep it from her face.

when you look down she's already looking up at you with an undescribable look on her face. “thank you.” she says, uncharacteristically soft.

i chuckle as i nod, “course, how're you feeling?”

“better,” she hums, never breaking eye contact with you.

you can feel yourself leaning in slowly, sparing a glance to her lips. she parts them in response, her tongue darting out to wet them.

her breath fans against your lips, you're so close you can practically already feel her lips on yours. just as the gap is about to be closed, your brother calls you.

you sigh as you pull away, looking over to where Finnick and the others are seated on the beach.

Johanna groans at the loss of contact, throwing her head back in frustration before she turns her head to look at the tall bronze-haired boy, her eyes squinted in a glare.

“Katniss has something!” he shouts, ignoring Johanna as he waves you two over.

you watch as Johanna pulls herself up, she pushes her hand out towards you, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

you chuckle as you roll my eyes, grabbing her hand and allowing he to pull you up

“lets go see what the girl on fire wants..” Johanna says in a sarcastic tone you can't help but smile at.

you both make your way to the others rather quickly. by the time you get there, though Katniss was already deep in her explanation.

as she speaks, it suddenly clicks for you. the arena is a clock. “oh my god.” you whisper as you spin around to look at the cornucopia.

Johanna turns to look at you, then looks in the direction you're looking, and before you know it, you're all making your way towards where you were once looking.

#johanna mason #johanna mason x reader #the hunger games #catching fire #send requests #requests open

[quosterswampdregs]

personally I'd love to see Kei with like the sneeziest, messiest cold ever. Does he try to keep it contained with tissues or thick handkerchiefs, he'd probably need some considering how stuffy his trunk must get when he has a cold

Art done by PupperStar on Furaffinity

Heeeere we go!! Keirie wakes up with a nasty head cold, and it’s made their nose hypersensitive to everything. Normal tasks become more difficult than ever, and they might end up calling for the assistance of their partner…

Loooads of nose/trunk related nonsense with this one, and a lot of desperation and mess too!

Doubling Down.

Kei tugged on their large, African elephant ears at the shrill cry of their phone alarm. It was piercing, louder than usual, and the weight of sleep was growing more and more inviting with every ring. Their trunk snaked out from under the duvets, and began to brush along the nightstand in search of their phone. Its tip shuffled around at the phone’s home button, but as they went to pinch down on it, the phone tumbled off and under the bed.

The sleek, polished surface of the nightstand went foggy from an annoyed sigh: “…damn it.”

Damn it, because now they had to do more blind searching. Keirie’s brows furrowed as their trunk urged away a few blankets, and rubbed along the floor. Hmm, to the left? Those were shoes…that was the safe box, and that had to be a t-shirt they were feeling…what was that??

It felt like a mix between rubber and velvet. Their trunk grasped at it, identifying a handle—oh! That was one of Kei’s dumbbells. They forgot they even had those, going to the gym more often meant less use for them at home…just the thought of having to work out today made them slump their shoulders with a huff.

“h-HHh!!”

Oh gods, that’s a lot of dust. Their nostrils flared, feeling all of the disrupted dust under the bed billowing around their damp septum. The dust would settle again, only most of it had already gotten sucked up into their trunk. It was like breathing in a bag full of craft feathers..!!

“H-hhUEH—!!” In any other circumstance, Kei would be a natural at keeping their sneezes under control. However, this feeling rushed over their eyes and nose faster than they could comprehend. “Hhh-hhHEESHHhhhHHW!!”

The first of many, doubtlessly. Dust exploded in thick clouds from the dormant, untouched nooks and crannies under the bed. Their nostrils gaped and trembled, while a second chorus of hitches drew in more dust towards it. Keirie, laying on their stomach above the bed, opened their eyes tearfully. “SnK-! SnrkK- snF! HHahh-! Add’DTTSSSchhuuw!!”

The phone still rang and demanded the elephant do something about it. It stung their head, they could feel it hammering at a festering headache. They finally fumbled their septum against the screen, and with a snort, the phone was grasped by the edges. With all the mess slowly trickling from both nares, the phone slipped and glided a few times. Eventually, however, a strong snort sucked the surface of the screen to their left nostril. It was masterfully lifted to their bleary eyes to check the time.

9 am. Well, 9:03 now. Their alarm was set this early to remind them of Colorguard Practice this noon. Auditions were coming up, given it was the start of the season, but something deep down was warning them not to attend today.

Once they sat up, it hit them. All of the weight in their throat dropped to the pit of their chest. All of the fatigue in their shoulders pulled their posture down like bags of sand on their back. Their nostrils, once dripping like a loose tap, began to drool in a massive amount of runny mess. The dust they inhaled was being flushed out too, visible in speckles of brown and grey.

Unmistakably, a head cold. A thermometer check in the bathroom confirmed it. Kei looked sadly to themselves in the mirror, and ripped a few tissues from a box on the shelf above them. Holding the tissues up against their trembling nostrils, they blew shakily, wincing at the thick sounds of congestion rushing forth. Dust and gunk, all built up from the morning—their nose stung intensely with the feeling, and they were soon hitching before they realized it.

“hH-! hEH! hHAHh!!” They staggered back clumsily, and aimed their trunk away from the sink bowl and towards the shelf. Their breath wavered dangerously, teetering a few bottles and boxes with the unrestrained energy of their hitches. “N-nDoe!! HUH-UPPSSshhww!!!”

Crash! Clatter! A cacophony of sound flooded the master bathroom as toothbrushes and medicine bottles and rolls of toilet paper went scattering. The mirror was splattered with water and mess, which sadly ran down the surface of the wall. Just as a knuckle rubbed cautiously under their trunk, one of the toothbrushes on an upper shelf rolled and fell, landing in one of their two upturned nostrils—brush side down.

“iHH-!!” Their left nostril trembled and the toothbrush rattled against their inner nose. Their nostrils flexed and it sank, completely disappearing from view. “H-hhhiih! EHH-! HEEISHhuhhw!!”

A sharp, open sneeze scraped their throat, and the toothbrush ricocheted off the sink bowl and smacked them between the eyes. “-dOwh!! Gah!”

Ugh, just thinking about going to practice like this made their stomach turn. Spinning flags through hitches, or sneezing mid-toss! They would send a text later this morning for certain, but the least they could do was start their day a little better than this…chaos.

A little breakfast could help to lift the spirits—it was the most important meal of the day! Only the fridge looked a little on the bare side; a bowl of veggies here, assorted carrots and celery that had yet to be cut, a head of lettuce, some onion…Hey! It wasn’t like they were going to fix up anything too fancy, so a salad would do them nicely. Slowly, they stumbled into the kitchen, hugging close to a strawberry-patterned bathrobe.

“I thing’k I need the greens,” Kei reasoned aloud as their trunk clutched a cluster of celery. Their hands reached In after collecting the various root and leaf vegetables. Once thoroughly washed under a tap, the ingredients were set aside, and Kei took a moment to bring their trunk under the warm water. The nostrils had grown a distracting shade of pink, flaring as water flooded them. Their small eyes watered, and both hands reached up to grab the base of their trunk—it truly took everything in their power not to snort or sniff!

“Stupid ru’ddy n’dose…” grumbled Kei stuffily, who turned off the tap and pointed their nostrils downward. Water came gently trickling out both of their slowly-widening nostrils. The rush was beginning to tickle, and the water didn’t show signs of stopping any time soon!

“Ih-!! It just won’t st-stop runninghHH!!” Keirie gasped, curling the base of their trunk upwards, “hRGGSHHhhhuuhw!!”

Water sprayed into the kitchen sink, splashing up and back to drench their shirt. Despite the exhausted sigh, their eyes revealed a smile—it was practically comedic at this point, wasn’t it? They shook their head and snuffled. “Mngh- snffk-! So sensitive today…headcolds, man…”

Oh, how Amalie would be racing to poke fun at them!

The thought alone seemed to quickly lift their spirits—wasn’t Amalie off work today? After alerting their group to the fact they wouldn’t be there, a quick text would confirm it; and was swiftly followed up with a request to come over. Of course, Amalie joyously obliged.

The salad was finished and eaten just as Amalie opened the door with her own key. In her hands were two compostable plastic bags, filled with goodies and care items. Her tail wagged quickly at the sight of Kei, and the wagging’s intensity seemed to increase after the sound of a waterlogged sneeze. Ah, how golden retrievers were as subtle as a freight train.

“Keirie! You should’ve told me you were sick, I had to run and get all of this on my way here!” She gasped, rushing over to set down the bags on the island, before leaping up to hug her partner.

“I did as soon as I could, I just w-woke ub’p like…a’d hour or two ago…”

“Poor thing, look at your nose…”

Kei’s beady eyes trailed down as Amalie held their trunk in cupped hands. The nostrils were slick and twitching, and Amalie extracted a box of tissues from the bag to begin patting away at the wetness.

“Gosh, gift-giving is your love language…” Kei chuffed out with amusement, looking through the bag themselves. They gasped as they made contact with a bag of de-shelled peanuts and pistachios, too! Among the two bags there were tissues, cold medicine, chills medicine, a restock on pain medication, a stuffed microwavable teddy bear, soup ingredients galore, just to name a few.

“H-hHUH-! Hey!!”

Kei felt their nostrils begin to tremble as they looked back at their girlfriend. She was busy stuffing a tissue into their left nare.

“SuhH-! Stop you’re gunnAH- AHHh—!! hAPPSCHHhuuhw!!” They paused with a chesty sneeze, “…gonna make me sneeze…”

“Oh, my apologies,” Amalie spoke knowingly, pulling out the tissue to reveal that the end was coiled tightly to a definite point. Kei squinted critically, matching the coy smile.

“You’re cheeky—don’t get yourself sick from this, you hear?”

“Promise I won’t…has this big old thing been bothering you?” She gestured lengthwise to their trunk.

“Trust me, I’ve been sneezing since I opened my eyes…”

“Oh what a shame…” sighed Amalie sarcastically. “Who knows? Maybe it’s just a sign to get some out…?”

“Sure, cure my sneezing with more sneezes, sounds logical to me!” Kei rolled their eyes. They took the tissue box from Amalie in their hands, at least to hold it idley amongst their girlfriend’s antics. The twisted tissue rummaged invasively at their flaring nostrils, and they felt tears overwhelming their eyes in moments. They felt so incredibly full with mess, it had been giving them a headache. It wasn’t necessarily a stuffy nose, but rather a constantly runny one. Such a runny nose was utterly shameless in revealing itself before Amalie.

“hhuh…hHEH!”

Amalie’s tail lowered to wag, and she held the tip of their trunk steady in a firm grip. There was something that was so instinctively enticing about watching Kei’s nostrils flex and flare so wide. However, they let out a huff and a violent snort, and to Amalie’s surprise, the tissue slipped from her fingertips. She fruitlessly attempted to reach after it, but Keirie’s hitches were wildly blossoming out of control.

“EHH-! HEHH—!! hH-hAAAtshHHUUUHh!!” Amalie angled their trunk over her shoulder as she ducked. A few plastic dishes went clattering off of the kitchen island, too. Despite this, Amalie could tell with a glance that her partner wasn’t done. For one, the tissue was still stuck in their trunk, barely poking out of their wide and gaping nostrils. Amalie had the sense to let go of their nose, and tentatively duck behind the island themselves!

“HbBTSHhhuh- hAAHtshhHkk!! Heh-HHSHhhuuh!!”

“Bless you—! Bless! Bless you again…!”

“hehH!” Was all they could manage, “hhihs it still in’d my n-Nuh-!!?”

The elephant pointed to their trunk, where the soggy tissue still clung to their inner septum. Amalie nodded, but upon realizing they couldn’t see her, she approached. “Here, hold still!”

Keirie stiffened to the best of their ability. The tissue was extracted with ease too, and their next string of hitches died down into watery sniffles.

“Bless you, Keirie,” she chuckled, rubbing her partner’s drippy trunk with a palm. “Feel any better…?”

“Ehh,” spoken before a violent blow of their nose into a fresh tissue, “kinda, it definitely cleared my trunk, but I’ve got a headache…thanks for the meds too, I was running low…”

“No worries…let’s get you back in bed, then. It should be easier with someone looking out for you!!”

It was barely noon, and yet Kei found themselves getting tucked right back into bed! They unceremoniously flopped onto their back as they laid down, looking at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Their large ears shielded the beams of light from the nearby window, waiting quietly for Amalie to eventually come around and shut them. Once done, she shuffled right beside her partner, curling up with the small warm teddy bear between them.

“Th…thanks for coming over,” Kei yawned slowly.

“Mhm..!” The golden retriever’s tail began to wag gently, “let me know if you need anything, mkay…?”

“Mkay…”

Perhaps it was the mere prospect of Amalie’s presence that helped Kei doze off, but they soon found themselves drifting to sleep with relative ease. They were doubling down on this cold, and that much was for certain!

#kei the elephant #furquo #snzblr #furry snz #furquo mess #furquo fic #snz art #kei is non binary by the way! they use they/them

[yanderenightmare]

NSFW ABC's

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: NSFW

part J, K & L

Junk

what’s their private look/feel like?

He’s thick and heavy-hung. Ripped the same way the rest of him is – muscular – with fat veins like cables pumping power. High-strung with a sturdy spine, lifting it up like a cannon ready to fire. A plump tip with a deep slit shaping it where beads of white pill – like fine pearls running down the length of it into the ash-blonde wisp bearding the beast – growing lightly upward in a happy trail towards his navel – upon finely cut muscles, steering clear of his larger scars, and spreading even further upon his pelvis to his chest in short circular curls – contrasting the tan sand color of his skin the same way the stubble on his chin grows – scratching you every time he gives you a kiss.

Kinks

what turns them on?

Katsuki's kink is consent – hearing you tell him to go faster or harder or deeper – feeling you claw your nails into his skin while your legs pull him closer, wrapped tightly in a lock around his torso – how your own hips move impatiently against his – desperately begging for more of him.

He also likes hearing you tell him to be gentle, to go slower, to make his digs longer – how you moan sweetly for him and caress his body with gentle touches, all smoothly in soft small hands – how your lips press against his neck and blow on his ear – when in the absence of skin harshly smacking skin the two of you hear the schlick all to well as you mold into the other’s embrace.

Really – just anytime you ask for anything – when you show him you want him. When you ask to ride him and when you tell him to take over. When you tell him to kiss you and when you’re too caught up in it to understand what or how to ask so you instead just say his name with a moan.

Location

where do they like doing it?

Katsuki likes going at it anywhere at home in the comfort of your shared house – with the exception of his car if he’s feeling impatient – his sofa, his kitchen counter, his dining table, his tub, his shower, his windows, his home-office desk, his bed, on a pile of his dirty laundry. 

It’s in those intimate places that he can really let loose, leave the worries of the world outside and keep his focus on you and all those innermost personal ways he wants to ingrain you in his life – root you in his privacy – tattoo you into his skin.

Though there have been times when you’ve visited him at his hero agency – bringing lunch – where he’s been too riled up and tattered from huge wasteful meetings with other pro heroes who’s all had their head’s too far up their asses to come to any agreement regarding anything – when seeing you has been such a blessing that he just hasn’t been able to keep himself from grabbing at you – desperate for comfort and some consolation in burying his frustrations deep inside your tight cunt.

Where due to his occasional raging fits and his own personal need for privacy – his office is both soundproof and fitted with airtight blinds – therefore, nothing to keep him from making you scream when he takes you hard against his desk.

And aside from the office, there have been times you’ve stayed with his parents where he’s not been shy of getting frisky with you in his childhood bedroom.

So, in correction, maybe it’s closer to anywhere he feels at home – and not restricted to the house.

tip-jar:Kofi

#smut alphabet #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere katsuki #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere my hero academia #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugou smut #bakugou smut #boku no hero academia smut #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo my hero academia #katsuki bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader

[loveissupernatural]

···

**read chapter one here** - **read chapter two here** - **read chapter three here**

Morpheus/Dream x fem!reader

In Your Dreams

Chapter 4

“A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien

It was like a bomb went off.

Blinding blue light, a suffocating vortex of wind, a bone-shattering tremor of ancient power that sought to pull you apart at the atoms.

You tried in vain to shield your eyes with a shaking hand, hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of something, anything, to ground you. The basement was shaking. It felt like the floor had been ripped from beneath you, as if some primordial force of nature was drawing every ounce of oxygen from your body. The blustering, lashing gusts were making it almost impossible to breathe.

But then, whipping turned to a gentle touch.

You slowly opened your strained eyes to see glimmering white sand barely shifting in the now-tender breeze. A luminous blue sky opened above your head, dotted with fluffy white clouds and brushes of glowing pink. A gem-colored ocean lazily lapped at the soft sand and a waft of salt water tickled at your nose.

You knew this beach.

You had daydreamed many times here in your youth, using it to escape the confines of your increasingly dull reality. You lost count of how many afternoons waned away in this place with a book of unusual subject and a sleepy smile. It was exactly as you remembered, maybe even more colorful.

A seagull called overhead. But the sound was wrong, forebodingly sharp.

The bird flew over your head and carried with it a dark sky, full of swirling grey clouds. Distant thunder rolled and the landscape began to fade away. The beautiful sea vanished and was replaced with dunes of rough, unforgiving sand. The breeze, no longer a featherlight touch, was dry and strong. It told of a storm coming.

The chill of fear trickled from the top of your spine and creeped underneath your skin. It was ice freezing in your veins.

A figure was beginning to emerge from a wave of reflective heat and blinding light. Its silhouette was growing closer, its gait graceful but powerful. As it drew closer, you recognized the head of wild dark hair and the outline of bone and sinew.

You could see him clearly now – imposing, ethereal, and still gloriously naked.

Your eyes raked from his sharp collarbone and defined shoulders to his icy blue eyes. He was terrifying, but still so beautiful. Your mind was having trouble wrapping around him. He reminded you of a fallen angel, dangerous but with a rippling undercurrent of seduction.

The otherworldly man bent slowly, dark eyes never leaving yours, and stretched his long fingers through the coarse sand beneath his feet. His palm closed, grasping onto the grains with a clenched fist. He rose again to his full height, slow but purposeful, and took a step toward you. For the first time since seeing him inside of that glass prison, you were truly afraid.

···

His power was radiating through the air, through every modicum of sand. It was unfettered. It felt limitless and boundless in your bones. You were feeling the brunt of it, not filtered by a binding circle or glass orb, and it felt so incomprehensible that it scared you.

He stopped a few paces in front of you, eyes unblinking and fathomless. Your breathing was shallow and your chest was heaving. You were dizzy.

His head lowered so that his face would be closer to your level. His dark brows were furrowed and framed his penetrating stare in a way that made you gulp.

His full lips parted.

“You have freed me.”

His voice was amber and honey, soft but rumbling like a distant summer storm. The sound poured over you in a warm wave, leaving your skin prickling.

A very uncomfortable combination of fear and awe had congealed in your throat, capturing all of the words that you longed to say. One question finally made its way out of your mouth.

“Who are you?” you asked. Your voice was small and breathy.

He took another step closer, only a few feet away now. His shoulders squared and he drew to his full height, sharp jaw clenching with thinly-veiled pride.

“I am the King of Dreams,” he breathed, his tongue caressing every syllable like a sonnet, “the Ruler of Nightmares. I am Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless...”

You swallowed hard, so hard that it was painful.

You hadn’t just released any dream creature, any old manipulator of nighttime fantasies—no, you had released a god.

“That’s…” you gulped again, your gaze struggling under the weight of his, “that’s a lot of names.”

His expression was impassive, but he saw something in yours that made him take another step closer. He could not be any closer now without touching you. Was this it? you thought. Was this the moment he killed you?

“You need not be afraid,” he said, voice gentle but flowing with quiet authority. Your heart was thundering painfully in your ears at his proximity, at the pull of his voice. It ghosted across something deep within you.

“Okay,” you whispered. The word was trembling, struggling to break through that lump in your throat.

The king’s head tipped to the side, eyes studying you in a way that made you feel like the exposed one. He was standing so close that most would consider it socially unacceptable even if he was clothed. The Lord of Dreams was so regal, and still so strikingly naked. Your face felt so hot that your cheeks were tingling with numbness.

“You showed me kindness when I had become quite convinced that humanity was incapable,” he breathed. His eyes had been wandering your every feature, like it was some kind of puzzle that he was trying to solve. He was still confused by your empathy.

You couldn’t help it, your gaze darted to his lips before settling on his incredible eyes again. He was so close that you could feel his breath ghosting across your face.

“I… I just did the right thing,” you replied. Your voice was finally starting to return, as pitiful as it sounded. “It wasn’t a hard choice to make.”

The air was filled with a thick silence. He regarded you, head still cocked, bold gaze searching your eyes for anything deceitful. After a beat, he let out a breath through his nose and straightened again to his full height.

“I am grateful,” he stated. His tone was measured, like he was being careful not to come across as emotional, but there was an undercurrent there of feeling that you were sure you weren’t imagining.

The air was charged, the ashy clouds swirling faster. Your fingers itched to touch his alabaster skin, now so very close and unobstructed by glass. You wanted to somehow show him, through your touch, that you expected nothing in return. That you simply cared.

Morpheus moved back, as if he could sense your intentions, and dropped his stare from yours for the first time. Something in your chest deflated. It felt like you had been unplugged.

He turned away from you, heading back toward the direction from which he came. You were stunned by the intensity of just how much you wanted him to stay and you couldn’t stop the plea that burst from your throat.

“Wait!”

He stopped, back rigid and ramrod straight. He did not turn toward you.

“Where – where are you going?”

It came across much more desperate than you would have liked. How contrite your emotion must sound to a god.

“I must attend to unfinished business.”

His tone was full of vengeful promise, the clouds above your head darkening from grey to black. A very ancient human instinct squeezed your stomach, warning you of the danger in the air. You sincerely hoped that one day you would never be on the receiving end of his wrath.

He was walking away again, strut full of menacing purpose. So many questions and pleas burned in your chest: Don’t leave me, Take me with you, Will I ever see you again? But you shoved them down.

Instead, you called out, “Will you be alright?”

He stopped again. This time, he fully turned toward you, something swirling in his icy orbs that took your breath away. He didn’t answer your question.

He breathed your name, his tongue twirling around it and lips caressing it in a way that sent a jolt of heat through your insides. The foreboding landscape dissolved away around you and was replaced with the scorching blue light and thrashing gales.

Through the howling wind, you heard it. So soft, so seductive.

“Sleep.”

The King of Dreams raised his closed fist and opened his long fingers with gentle care, revealing the mound of sand that he had taken from the desert inside of your head. His lips formed a perfect ‘O’ as he blew it out of his palm and toward you. The sand expanded and became a dark cloud against the blinding blue light, dancing and snaking around your body with ease.

It touched your skin like a lover, poured into your mouth like warm syrup, and you were fading from the world. Happily.

Your knees buckled, your body ready to drop to the hard concrete floor. But it didn’t.

Two strong arms caught you.

The hard outline of his body was the last thing you remembered before being lost to that tempting pull of darkness.

___________________________________

Your sleep was the deepest you experienced in years.

It was almost dreamless.

It was so very warm, so very pleasant, until you were plagued by terrifying visions. You saw it like flashes from a camera bulb, quick but intense. A black cat, a journey down a dark hallway, and a menacing black silhouette with the glowing eyes of a stalking predator.

“Alex! Alex, please! Wake up, darling!”

You were jolted from your sleep, gasping, disoriented. You were in your bed.

Paul’s screams were echoing down the hall in the early morning light, desperate and panicked. You jumped out of bed as fast as your unsteady feet would allow, a choking feeling of despair in your chest. Something inside of you told you what you would find.

You bolted into the master bedroom, hair flying and a sob on the edge of your lips. Alex Burgess was lying in the bed with eyes darting around inside of his closed eyelids. His head was moving back and forth, as if he was fighting something, disturbed whimpers escaping from his lips. The emerging light of the sun through the bedroom windows shined on his sweaty skin.

“He – he won’t wake,” Paul sobbed to you, turning to meet your concerned gaze with eyes full of tears. You gulped back the cries that wanted to rip from your throat, immense guilt enveloping you like a suffocating blanket.

“Paul, I – I’m so—”

You stopped yourself. What were you going to say? Paul, I’m so sorry for releasing the vengeful God of Dreams from your basement that I wasn’t even supposed to know about in the first place? Or what about, Paul, I’m so sorry, but I’m the reason your husband is gone forever?

You exhaled shakily. “I’ll call the doctor.”

The doctor confirmed what you knew in your heart. Alex Burgess had fallen into a coma that he would never return from. An inconsolable Paul looked sick when the basement guards told him that Edwin had quit the night before and never showed up for his shift. When Hattie and Randy saw his tear-streaked face, they knew. They blamed themselves, but Paul, in his infinite grace, did not.

He descended to the basement with you in tow, telling you hoarsely that he wanted to show you something.

Paul opened one of the glass doors for you. You stepped into the dark room slowly, guilty tears stinging your eyes. The binding circle was blurred, the glass was shattered, and the familiar hum that you’d grown to love was gone. The room was empty, dead.

“I should’ve known,” Paul’s sorrowful voice echoed through the shadowy room. “I knew it would happen one day… just not today.”

Your gaze dropped to the glass-covered floor, blinking back the tears that were begging to fall. This was all your fault. You knew, deep down, that this would happen if you released the Dream Lord.

“Those – those guards, they feel awful,” you said hesitantly, unable to meet his eyes. You had been formally introduced to them that morning. You felt awful is what you really wanted to say.

“It’s not Randy or Hattie’s fault,” Paul sighed, taking a step toward the broken orb of glass. He kicked a shard on the floor absentmindedly. “It’s ours. Mine and Alex’s.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because, Roderick Burgess trapped something in this cellar that was never meant to be held,” he replied almost instantly, forlorn. “And we… we were too afraid to fix his mistake.”

You knew in your heart that this was true, that the ultimate fault really did lie with the Burgesses. But you had played your part, and for a kind heart like yours, it was a heavy burden.

“I wish… I wish there was something I could do to help you,” you offered, heart breaking for Paul. The love that you observed between him and his husband for the weeks you were there was truly beautiful to witness.

Paul gave you a watery smile and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Maybe help me with – with some preparations?” His voice broke on the last word.

“I’d be honored.”

___________________________________

After Alex Burgess’s funeral and a heartfelt goodbye to Paul, you left the Burgess house for good. Not quite ready to go home, you rented a small cottage in a nearby town from a kind elderly lady. Flying back to the States already meant that you would be returning to your old life, the one with something seriously lacking, and you didn’t want to do that. Not yet.

Something inside of you wanted to stay here, in England, at least for now. You wanted to be close to where you met the otherworldly man with eyes that told of universes. You were afraid that the further away you got from the Burgess home, the further away the memories would drift from you.

You never wanted to forget him, the King of Dreams.

You closed your eyes and remembered Alex’s casket and Paul’s tear-brimmed eyes. Don’t forget, you told yourself, he’s the King of Nightmares too.

Despite now knowing who he was—what he was—you couldn’t just let him go. He was powerful, dangerous, something other, but to the despondent ache in your chest none of that mattered. That hum, that vibration that resonated in your very cells… you missed it. Now that you’d experienced it, you weren’t sure that you could ever live without that feeling again.

But you were only human, and he… he was something so ancient that words couldn’t do justice. You were but a blip on his radar, a tiny ant in an ever-expanding universe that he would surely forget if he hadn’t already.

It had only been a week since you released him, but it felt like so much longer. Every time that you fell asleep, you appeared in a world that you recognized as your beloved dream universe. You hadn’t been here in ages, especially since you’d arrived at the Burgess house. Your sleep was fitful, fleeting, and dreamless while Lord Morpheus was locked underneath your feet. Now, it was like a veil had lifted and you were able to return home.

But your haven of escape had changed. Something was different.

You could see past the borders of your own dream now. The hills of tall, green grass that danced in the fragrant breeze ended abruptly, revealing a wasteland of dark rock and churning clouds. Previously, you never even noticed that your dream had a border. But now that you could see the desolation stretching on in the distance, you wondered how you had ever missed it in the first place. It was like someone had removed your rose-colored glasses.

Every night you ventured closer and closer to that border, working up the courage to breach it. You were a consistent lucid dreamer and you were always aware that you weren’t in the real world the moment you closed your eyes. You would fabricate flowers and trees, rivers and brooks, beaches, even small creatures that would roam your little stretch of dreamland. But every time you tried to create something to root beyond the border, it would dissipate into a pile of dark sand and blow away.

You chewed on your lip and twirled the cup of Sleepytime Tea in your hands. It had grown cold. You must have been daydreaming.

The one thing that you longed for more than anything else was to see Dream again. It was a pull in your gut that made you want to sleep every hour of the day. Every night since his release, you called to him in your dream world, but he never came. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was beyond that imposing line, that if you finally had the courage to go poking and prodding into the dark that you would find him.

As you settled into your small bed, you decided that you would venture into the unknown. You would tread the soil untouched by you and test its limits. The emptiness of what lay beyond that border reminded you of a nightmare, but you would search there anyway. Your unbridled curiosity always won over in the end.

You turned off your bedside lamp and closed your eyes. You made a conscious effort to slow your breathing when you noticed swirling shapes begin to dance behind your eyelids. This was always how your dreaming started.

Those shapes flowed, fluttered, and changed colors. They stretched and molded and glimmered until they began to settle at your feet, turning into lush green grass and pirouetting butterflies. The familiar scent of white poppies tickled your nose and you opened your eyes. The two suns that kissed in the sky moved, bringing swaths of pink and orange light with them. They began to set on the horizon of the ocean you’d created the night before, casting vibrant hues that danced in the water.

You turned around.

Behind you, only a few steps away, was the border. Lightning struck in those curling dark clouds, a warning.

Even though you felt like this was something you shouldn’t be doing, that you weren’t allowed to do, you took a deep breath and held it as you scooted a toe past your remaining grass and into the black sand. Thunder rolled over your head, like a growl in the chest of a beast. With bated breath, you moved your other foot away from the soft carpet of green and into the ominous grains.

You stood there for a moment, waiting for lightning to strike you dead or for a gaping mouth of sand to swallow you whole. But nothing happened.

Hesitantly, you stretched your hand out in front of you. It was shaking and damp with sweat. You steeled yourself, then with everything you could muster, you visualized a winding road taking shape before you. You wanted bricks of white, smooth marble to cut through the bare landscape and lead you to Morpheus.

Slowly, so slowly at first that you thought it was just a gust of wind tickling the ground, the sand began to move. It was stubborn, like it didn’t want to move for you, but you just focused every thought on Dream, on how badly you wanted this, of that intoxicating quiver that encased your bones when you were near him. As if giving up, it parted like water, revealing a path of snaking black marble cut with veins of gold.

Well, you were going for white marble. But that’s okay.

You let out a gleeful giggle of disbelief and placed a bare foot onto the road. The golden veins glistened to greet you, as if saying hello.

“Wow,” you sighed appreciatively. You brought you other foot to rest on the marble. It was cold.

You cautiously moved one foot in front of the other, eyes in front of you taking in the ever-parting black sand and stormy clouds. With every step you took, the sand parted a bit more, as if where it was leading you was a secret that would only be revealed once you reached your destination. You felt powerful, but also a bit like you were sticking your hand in a proverbial cookie jar.

You weren’t sure how long you walked through the endless dunes of black, but after what felt like an eternity, an ocean appeared and stretched in front of you. The water was almost as dark as the sand, but it glittered with bits of dancing purple and starlight. The streams of glistening color moved through the calm waves as if alive, as if waiting to shape themselves into something once commanded.

It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

The dark sea sleepily licked the black sand that blew toward it, dancing out of your way. The path was beginning to curve into the water.

With slight trepidation, you edged your big toe into the waves. It swirled around you, tickling your skin, and began to part as well. You placed both feet into the dark ocean with more confidence now. The waves began to divide like the Red Sea. The colorful slivers of starlight were an aurora, swaying through the walls of water. Suddenly, the path dipped deeper into a descending crevice. You couldn’t see the bottom. The edge of sea floor ended abruptly.

Well, you’d made it this far. It would be a shame to turn back now.

With bated breath, you gathered every ounce of courage that you possessed and took the leap. Literally.

You were falling, but it was gentle. The lightless air swirled through your hair like water, but then you realized, it was water. An invisible chord pulled you by your ankle. You were sinking further, further. Your world was shifting and spinning and you didn’t know which way was up.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

You were emerging from the depths, floating into the air, gasping for cool and forgiving oxygen. The sea dripped off you quickly, as if it couldn’t wait to leave your skin, and you were instantly dry. Gently, almost kindly, the dancing air lowered you onto a dark wooden dock.

The sight that met you was unbelievable.

A gargantuan wall of horn and ivory towered in the distance. It was laced with the most beautiful and intricate carvings of faces, creatures, and landscapes that you had ever seen. Even from this far away, you could tell how utterly massive it was. It stood, erect, in the middle of the black sand beach. Unwavering and unmovable.

The moment your foot kissed the black sand, it twisted and separated for you, revealing the same black marble. The golden veins snaking through the stone glimmered again in greeting, like it was happy you’d made the journey.

A childlike smile tugged at your lips. This was more beautiful than even your wildest imaginings.

You followed the welcoming path all the way to the gates, absolutely enthralled by their sheer size the closer you drew. You noticed a massive carving in the middle of the doors, of something resembling a spine connected to the head of an insect. The image reminded you a bit of an antique gas mask.

With tentative but curious fingers, your touch brushed a white gate door, featherlight. You pulled your hand away to find that golden sand was stuck to your fingertips. It glistened in the faint light of the cloudy night sky.

The sound was so deep and trembling that it made you jump back in surprise. It reverberated through the immense ivory walls, making them shake loose more golden sand. You were afraid that you’d broken something, that a giant monster was finally coming to swallow you for wandering outside of your dream, but the sound stopped.

The echo of an enormous bolt unlatching vibrated through the gate and through your body. The marble beneath your feet hummed. The gates were separating for you.

An ever-widening sliver of a view appeared as the doors continued to open. Expecting to see mind-blowing beauty that you couldn’t formulate in your craziest fantasies, you held your breath and resisted an excited giggle.

The sight that met you stole the breath from your lungs.

It was hollow, dark, desolate; an endless stretch of colorless grounds covered in murky water. And at the middle of it all, a once-glorious castle that was crumbling before your very eyes. Gaping holes sat where towers once stood. Spires were bent and decayed. Arches that spoke of past splendor were disintegrating as you watched. Thunder rolled somewhere in the foggy distance.

You had never seen this place before and you didn’t know how long it had been like this. However, something in your gut told you that this was the ultimate tragedy, that this place was once a shimmering gem in the center of this land. A piece of your heart fell into your stomach like a piece of stone falling from the castle wall.

Your quick footsteps echoed around you in the eerie silence. You were certain that if anyone still resided in that castle, without a doubt, they would hear you coming. You were the only speck of life on this bleak stretch of swamp and sand.

You were overcome by a sense of urgency, a need to enter the castle. Would you finally find him, the King of Dreams that overtook your every waking thought? Your chest ached with a longing that felt quite pitiful, really. You were a bit embarrassed by its intensity.

You walked through the decaying threshold. The castle was falling apart just as much on the inside as it was on the outside. You had to keep your eyes on your bare feet to avoid sharp stone and shards of broken glass.

“Excuse me.”

You jolted in surprise, panicked gaze rising to see a figure approaching you from a cracking entryway. She stood at your height, clad in a neat dark suit with coattails. Her brown skin was smooth and almost glistened. She had no hair to hide her pointed ears or her deductive gaze. Her brown eyes were full of intrigue as they assessed you over the top of her circular spectacles.

···

“And who, may I ask, are you?” she questioned. Her tone was business-like but not unfriendly.

You felt like you’d been caught doing something naughty.

“I’m, uh, I’m Y/N,” you replied meekly. The woman’s gaze continued to study you.

“Well, Y/N, I’m afraid you must be lost,” she said, taking a step closer to you, “for you are not supposed to be here.”

You gulped, feeling admonished. So, that gut feeling of doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing was right on, then. The woman’s eyes narrowed curiously and she tipped her head to the side, still reading you.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

You looked down, shyly pushing a dull piece of rock around with your foot. You shrugged.

“I just wanted to explore,” you admitted quietly. “Something told me to venture out of my dream. A path led me here.”

“A path?” she repeated, perfectly shaped brows rising in surprise.

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes rising from the floor to meet hers. You felt a spark of pride in your chest. “I made one. If you look outside of the gate, you may still be able to see it.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered in disbelief, taking another step closer to you. She was reviewing you closely now, like if she looked hard enough she would see a clue on your skin.

“You – you created something here in The Dreaming?”

Your brows knitted, confused by her shock.

“Sure. I change things around in my dreams all the time,” you replied, not understanding what the big deal was. You chewed on your lip thoughtfully. “Today was the first time I was able to make something outside of that border, though.”

“Border?” Her voice dripped in incredulity. “You were able to see the border between your dream and another?”

“I haven’t always been able to see it,” you said quickly, like a child trying to placate their parent. “It only started a week ago.”

The woman seemed equal amounts shocked and concerned. Embarrassment poked underneath your skin at her astute stare. She regarded you with a look that made you wonder if you were growing a second head.

“You should not be able to leave your dreams,” she said finally, shaking her head. You thought you detected underlying fear with her concern. “And you should not be able to create whatsoever, let alone a path through the waters to lead you here.”

“Where is here?” you asked, swallowing down your prickling sense of shame.

The woman adjusted her spectacles, sighing. “You are in the heart of The Dreaming.”

“This is the heart?” you asked, looking up at the disintegrating ceiling and destroyed stained glass windows. “It looks… broken.”

“It is,” she said solemnly.

Your reason for being here prodded at the base of your neck, imploring you to ask her what you wanted to know more than anything else.

“Can – can I ask you a question... I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Lucienne,” she replied. Her eyes were suspicious but not unkind.

“Lucienne,” you repeated, giving her a kind smile. “The only reason I left my dream was because I was looking for someone. Hoping to see someone, actually.”

You had piqued her curiosity. She watched you over the edge of her spectacles again.

“And who, pray tell, would that be?”

“Morpheus.”

She blanched, but recovered quickly. “You know Lord Morpheus?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, a bashful smile overtaking your face at the very thought of him, of those eyes that seemed to peer into the depths of your soul. “I released him.”

Lucienne gasped. The sound echoed through your head like a ringing church bell, and suddenly she was gone. The castle melted away and you were surrounded by black nothingness. It was cold. A force pulled at the back of your navel and you were falling, falling, falling…

You shot up in your bed, breathless and gasping for air. Your wobbling hand reached up to your forehead and wiped away a thick layer of sweat.

You collapsed back onto your wet pillow, clamping your eyes shut and punching your soaked sheets.

You were so close.

**read chapter 5 here

#the sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #morpheus/dream x reader #morpheus/dream #dream x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream #dream of the endless #tom sturridge #neil gaiman #reader insert #in your dreams #the dreaming #the endless #dream the endless #x reader #fem!reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #slow burn

[chronicowboy]

all that we intend is scrawled in sand (and slips right through our hands) | 7k

"Buck," he tries, his voice nothing more than a breathy groan. Several of his ribs are definitely broken, something might be pinning his left hand too, but he doesn't care about the agony on every inhale when Buck is laying still and motionless and just out of reach. "Buck," he tries again, this time a wheezed out sound. "Buck."

Eddie reaches out blindly with his right hand, fingers scrabbling over sharp debris and choking dust. Eddie reaches out desperately, gritting his teeth through the pain because the only thing worse than dying alone is living long enough to watch Buck die again. Eddie reaches out with all his strength, fingertips just barely brushing Buck's turnout coat.

"Buck," he chokes out again. "Buck!" A little louder this time, broken off at the end when the concrete shifts on top of him. "Buck!"

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick—

A shift. A pained moan. A huffed breath.

"Eddie?" Buck slurs. Eddie drops his head back against the stone and laughs in relief despite the pain it causes him, tears springing to his eyes.

"Yeah, Buck. I'm here," he grits out. Buck rolls onto his back, and Eddie grimaces at the movement. "Careful. Slow, Buck. We fell."

"Shit." Buck scrambles upright, heavy breathing blending with the ticking clock, a click and the space is illuminated with a sharp shaft of light. Buck swings the flashlight around until it lands on Eddie who turns away from it with a wince. "Shit, Eddie," Buck breathes out. Eddie squints up at him just in time to see the blinding fear seep into Buck's expression.

"Buck, look at me," he pleads, already seeing the way Buck's mind begins to tick over in time with the clock trapped inside Eddie's chest. His frantic eyes land back on Eddie's face, mouth twisted into something ugly that Eddie would still kiss if given the chance. "I can't reach my radio. So, you need to see if Bobby can hear us before you try anything, okay?"

"Radios," Buck murmurs to himself. "Yeah, yeah, okay." He fumbles around his turnouts until his hand lands on the radio strapped to his chest and he holds the button down. "Bobby, do you copy?"

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick—

"Buck?" Bobby's voice has them both breathing deeply. Buck smiles down at him, and Eddie smiles right back, wondering if its too late for him to ever taste the sunshine of that grin. "I saw you and Eddie fall. You guys okay?"

"I..." Buck's eyes drift down from Eddie's face to his chest hidden under the concrete. "I'm okay, but Eddie's pinned by a chunk of the bridge. Its settled on his chest. He's responsive, but his breathing doesn't sound good."

"Okay." Bobby is silent for a moment, and Eddie listens to the steady tick tock of time. "Can you put him on the radio?"

"Yeah." Buck unclips it from his lapel and holds it to Eddie's cheek.

"Hey, Cap," Eddie manages to get out before a cough rips through him.

"Good to hear your voice, Eddie," Bobby replies. "How you feeling?"

"Oh, swell," Eddie sighs. "Frank suggested I try pressure therapy a while ago." For a solitary moment, Buck's quiet chuckle is all he can hear. "This is way better than a weighted blanket."

(OR: buck and eddie get trapped together, time is running out, and eddie doesn't want to die alone)

#sami rambles #trapped dads truthing even tho my heart is only half in it #now deathbed love confession truthing. that shit im down for #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #buddie #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #911 spec fic

[breeofbree]

The Beast Within

Gaara x f!reader

Summary: with the inability to control the sand demon Shukaku, it’s up to Y/N to bring Gaara and the demon back to peace

Warnings: injury, self harm, angst, swearing, topics may be sensitive

With the pressure of my lids bearing down against my eyes in an attempt to shut out the scene in front of me, hoping, praying that it was a horrible dream… the guttural screams of Gaara still pierce my ears and drop to a sickly feeling in my stomach. My hands clench over my ears as the screams die off to a dull ringing noise. I find myself shouting, but I can’t even hear myself anymore, forcing my eyes to witness Gaara worn out and barely conscious as Shukaku begins to take his final form. I’ve never seen the horrid beast first hand, I’ve never wanted to either to be honest. An ambush against the sand that had resulted in a particularly strong rogue summoning the sand demon had blind sided us all. Just as Shukakus tail slams down ahead a strong set of arms wrap around me and pulls me back under the shelter of a building. When I turn I see Temari shouting at me, but I only hear snips of her words over the ringing,” Go…. Run… Shelter… Gaara… Help…Possum…”

I shake my head violently, shaking away the ringing as the rumbling ground takes over the sound in my ear, watching as Temari turns back to me,” Y/N, I said you need to go and find shelter. We need to find a way to get Gaara help before he goes Possum.”

She blocks my view of the scene in front of me as Kankuro swings down from the balcony above us and jabs a finger upwards towards the chaos,” not gonna to happen. We’re too late. We have to find a way to wake him up… quickly.”

Shukaku’s horrendous cackle sends a shiver down my spine as we watch him trample almost dead center through the village.

“We have to reroute civilians, this is going to get very messy if we don’t get them to safety.” Temari huffs out, quickly grunting in frustration,” Kankuro, take the left side, I’ll get the right. Y/N, find Baki… anyone that can help. Send word to the leaf if we have to.”

“Temari, we don’t have time to request help from a village that’s days away. We need to focus on waking Gaara up.” Kankuro lashes out, starting towards Shukaku.

“Civilians first, Kankuro.” Temari seems almost hurt putting the village before her own brother. It was understandable, the last thing any of us want is to lose Gaara.

“I’ll work on waking him up.” I pipe up, dusting the sand from my vest and standing wobbly from hearing loss vertigo. Temari stutters in her steps, shaking her head in worry… maybe even disbelief,” Y/N, it’s too dangerous. You can get hurt or even killed. Going up there is a death wish.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re willing to sacrifice our lives for someone we love.” I muster out, internally panicking at the risk and my legs quickly becoming like rubber at the thought. But it was a risk worth taking if it was for Gaara. To him, I may just be an advisor or a paper pusher, or a Jonin of the sand village that was his neighbor. But Gaara… he was everything. The man who has rebuilt the village in morale and trust. The awkward neighbor who would drop off a cactus that reminded him of me, or even bring extra food Temari made for the night when I’d come back from missions. Even the person who just happened to be outside late at night when going for a stroll to clear my head. He saved me from my own demons. He owed me nothing, yet I feel like I owe him my life.

I take off towards Shukakus tail, seeing it was the best vantage point to get to his head where Gaara lay comatose. My vest is ripped backwards from Kankuro behind me,” are you sure you’re prepared to physically hurt Gaara to save him, or do I have to do it myself?”

“I can do this, Kankuro. Now get off me!” I shout out, tearing his hand from my vest and continuing on. I make it to the base of Shukakus tail, focusing chakra to my feet to climb the erratically moving tail, whipping back and forth in to lower buildings and leaving a path of rubble. A shock of pain spreads through my back as I’m slammed against a porch while gripping tightly at the sand like texture of Shukakus armor.

“What is crawling on me? Do I have pests?!” Shukaku bellows out, slamming his tail down in quick strides and almost knocking me off. I can’t help but shriek as his tail crashes down one last time, sending debris crashing down on top of me. I can only cough air in to my lungs and continue on as the beast becomes severely agitated, leaving no room for thinking as he falls forward in to more houses. When he stands, it seems he’s distracted elsewhere to notice me,” who would’ve thought puppets would be such an inconvenience! I finally have time to shine and you try to take me down with a puppet? You’re ridiculous!” Shukaku lets off a horrifying shriek of pain as I see the glimmer of blue threads weaving crow back and forth as a distraction to lure him away from the village. I can only manage to hold on to the demons lower back as he waddles in to the arid desert sand. I watch as he slams crow to the ground and find Kankuro shaking his head. He mouths a few words to me, but it’s a horrible day to not be able to read lips. I find my foot throbbing and dare to look down at the blossoming purple streaks that peek out from above my sandal. But I still push forward, finally making it to the back of Shukaku’s head.

“You’re a persistant little thing aren’t you? Nobody is home up there, it’s just me twerp.” Shukaku laughs out, tilting his head back.

My good foot slips, sending me sliding backwards a few feet before I can find my grip. My legs dangle above the rough sand below as my one hand holds against whatever it can grab. Wincing out, I thrust my other hand to reach for the serenity of some solid mass beneath it. The first try I slip off, yelping as both hands almost lose traction. The second try is a complete miss, but I finally manage to strike gold on the third. My abdomen burns as I pull my full body weight upwards, finally getting a view of Gaara, dangling loosely almost dead center of Shukakus face. I swing my bad leg over and manage to find my feet steady to walk over to Gaara.

“Gaara, anything I’m about to do to get you to wake up, I’m apologizing for now. This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you… maybe.” I ramble out nervously, watching as Shukaku’s eye focuses on me.

“You’re little for how annoying you are. He’s asleep. Leave him be so I can have my fun already!” Shukaku whines out, similar to the toddlers that play in front of my balcony every evening.

“Listen buddy, you’re making my job a lot harder than it needs to be. You’ve had your fun destroying half our village.” I yell out to his eye, not quite sure where to even look.

“A feisty one. What’s your name pest?” He grumbles out, shaking beneath me as he tries to prevent another fit of laughter.

“Y-Y/N.” I stutter out, confused. His laughter can no longer be contained as he whips his head backwards again, sending me crashing towards Gaara,” Y/N is it? I’m going to have fun killing ya!”

I cling tightly to Gaara’s morbidly lifeless form tilting my head up to confess upon unhearing ears,” Gaara, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what I got myself in to… but I’m going to wake you up if it’s the last thing I do.”

“He can’t hear you! You’re so pathetic it’s almost cute!” Shukaku yells out, twisting his head around to try and shake me loose. He stabilizes quickly as a rush of wind flashes against us. I turn to the direction it came from, seeing Temari’s fan fully open. Wind slices against us harshly, creating small tears in my clothes and even knicks on my face. In the moment of steadiness, I steel down, gripping Gaara’s shoulders to hold him steady. I can only freeze in the moment, seeing the tired rings around his eyes as his hair dangles loosely over them. It was almost serene that in a moment of chaos, he seemed to finally be at peace. I hesitate, quickly deciding to try and slap him awake. Shukaku only laughs at my attempt,” a measly slap won’t do a thing. I like the dedication though little pest!”

He shakes again, trying to reach an arm towards me that’s quickly deflected by another slice of painful wind. I reel back, gripping against Gaara’s sleeve as I send a fist flying to his forehead. I can only wince as bone meets harder bone, a trickle of blood coming from each of us. He only juts forward from the impact, causing my frustration,” come on! Come on, wake up damnit!”

I send fist after fist to different areas, his shoulder, the side of his face and even a cheap shot to his stomach. Nothing had worked. The uneasiness at the thought of using any jutsu works its way to the front of my mind. It had to be last ditch with the risk of burning Gaara, but I was running out of time. I manage to link my arm around Gaara’s to keep hold as Shukaku begins to rumble once again, conjuring balls of flames around us. Quickly unfurling from his arm, I tumble down and roll towards Shukaku’s eye, smacking the back of my head hard against the lower surface of his face as the balls of fire make impact against Gaara and Shukaku’s other eye.

“Now you’ve gone and done it! You’ve pissed me off!- w-what’s happening?” Shukaku bellows, tumbling back and reaching to cover his eye. Swiping my hand against the back of my head, it comes back bloody and my vision hazes. But I’m snapped back to wavering consciousness as a moan sounds faintly from Gaara.

“Gaara, Gaara wake up! Please!” I whimper out, crawling towards him, keeping one hand steady to weakly attempt at healing the back of my head and avoiding any pressure on my fully purple ankle.

“Y/N? … is that you?” Gaara coughs out, eyes still clamped shut and body flailing.

“Y-yeah. It’s me, I’m not going anywhere until you open your eyes, okay?” I yelp out as Shukaku’s hand manages to clip at my feet.

“Y/N, where are you? Are you hurt?” He breathes out, eyes beginning to flutter open and wander around.

“I-I’m fine. Just look forward and try to find Temari. Don’t focus on me, damnit!” I shriek in pain as Shukaku shakes once again, angered at seeing Gaara regain consciousness. I meet Gaara’s frightened gaze upon seeing me, my breath hitches at the pain constricting his face,” Y/N-“ he tries grasping at my now outstretched arm, disoriented by another assault of wind from Temari. Shukaku bows forward as she finishes the previous injury to his eye. My own eyes grow in horror, stretching out to try and grasp Gaara’s outstretched hand as my body slides forwards. Our fingers brush before I feel any solid ground beneath me disappear.

“Y/N!” Gaara shouts, becoming fully aware at this point as I look up, plummeting the long distance to the ground quickly. As I close my eyes in acceptance, a strong force tackles in to me from the side, laying me down gently as Kankuro’s voice wavers in and out,” I guess you really were prepared, huh?”

That’s the last I remember before waking with a dry throat and aching body. My eyes slowly adjust to the pulsing white lights signaling I was in the hospital.

“Take it easy killer. We don’t need you almost killing yourself again.” Kankuro huffs out from the doorway. I look over to see him posted against the frame, watching inside and out of the room like it was his duty to guard me instead of visiting.

“Kankuro! Gaara, we need to get ba-“ I begin, abruptly cut off by Kankuro’s sigh of annoyance,” you knocked yourself silly for a few days after trying to play hero. It’s over. He’s alive.”

“Alive doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt. Why are you being so bitter?” I spit out, staring back to the ceiling.

“Bitter? We could’ve lost both of you. You should’ve let me do it. Now look at you, it’s pathetic.” Kankuro growls back. I chuckle slightly, feeling the pain wrack against my ribs,” you’re mad because you couldn’t be the hero? I’m sorry but the village would miss me a lot less than they would miss you.”

Kankuro exhales heavily, sitting next to the bed to whisper harshly,“It’s not the village I care about missing you. The village is important, don’t get me wrong. But the thing that separates you and me… even Temari. My family comes before this village. It could burn to the ground for all I care if it means my family, and the ones they love… Live. It’s not about being a hero. It never was.”

“Good news, Gaara is alive. And so are you and Temari. You look to be in perfect health, so stop being so damn angry over something we can’t change. I’m just an advisor, Kankuro. If anything I mean more to the Kazekage than Gaara as a person.” I whisper back to him, wondering at this point why we were even whispering in a room that contained only us. I continue on after turning away,” sometimes love is a one sided story, Kankuro. You wouldn’t know that. If I can’t love them personally, I can at least sacrifice myself for the ones I love. I’d rather die heroically, than be known as someone who was head over heels about someone they meant nothing to. Now get out of here. I’m sick of your attitude.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I-“ Kankuro begins. A tear trickles down my cheek to my pillow and I stifle the silent sob,” Please leave Kankuro.”

“Am I… interrupting anything?” Gaara pipes up sheepishly after brushing clumsily against the open door.

“I was just leaving. She fell back asleep.” Kankuro huffs out. I can hear him stand and a clamp against clothing, I’m guessing patting Gaara on his way out. Thin plastic ruffles against the bedside table as Gaara sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed,” it’s not a cactus, but flowers. I heard you like camellias. That’s what Temari told me anyway. A million of the finest flowers couldn’t express my gratitude for you Y/N. I once thought it was pointless to talk to others while sleeping, but I find this comforting. I left a note in the flowers for you… so you know they were from me. Temari left you flowers too.”

I listen, frozen as Gaara spills out jumbled words. He sounded nervous even. But I didn’t dare move. After Kankuro, I wasn’t in the mood to face anyone with a tear stricken face. But Gaara continues on,” Kankuro can be abrasive, i hope he didn’t force you back to sleep with his harsh words. I seen him cry for the first time since we were children the night of the incident. He was worried for me… worried I was about to lose someone outside of our family that I loved without being able to confess. I feel like I just did, in a way… but you aren’t awake thankfully. Otherwise this would be really awkward.”

He finally trails off, and I can feel his weight shift. I quickly close my eyes as he leans down towards my face before he backs away bashfully,” that would be rude. I could never take advantage of my desires while you lay unconscious. I would want us both to remember the feeling of something as simple as a forehead kiss.”

He sits straight again, deciding to raise my IV riddled hand to kiss that instead,” thank you, Y/N. Truly.”

I Hope he doesn’t look back to my face as it quickly heats from my neck up at the intimate touch. My eyes decide to flicker against the adrenaline of my racing heart regardless, fluttering open to gaze upon his paler than normal face like a deer caught in light in the dead of night. He drops my hand anxiously and stands quickly, brushing his disheveled jacket back to tidiness and coughing,” Y/N- I-“

“Gaara… I would like nothing more to experience something as simple as a forehead kiss with you.” I giggle out weakly. He shuffles forward awkwardly, bending down tightly and internally fighting with himself before finally placing a ghostly soft kiss against the middle of my forehead. My hand catches his jaw before he can move away, causing him to freeze yet again as I sit up,” I nearly died saving you… I think I might deserve a real kiss for that at the least.”

I meant it as a joke, but he slowly leans in, brushing a gentle hand through my hair as my hand travels smoothly against his jawline, settling below his ear to cradle his head. We take it slow, looking in to his wandering orbs and down to his rose tinted cheeks. Finally landing on his slightly puckered lips that wait nervously. I bite my lip and nod as encouragement for us both. His kiss is soft, barely touching until I lean further in. His other hand finds its way around my waist to steady himself. I’m sure he hasn’t taken a breath and force myself to pull away. Gaara stares blankly at me, eyes wide open and cheeks becoming an even more furious shade of red. I see his chest rise and fall before he swoops back in, coming back for an even deeper kiss.

“Y/N, i brought you some flowers, I’m sorry I was rud- I’m gonna go.” Kankuro coughs out awkwardly, dropping yet another bouquet of flowers in the doorway and sprinting down the hall screaming for Temari. Gaara pulls away and sheepishly stands to place the bouquet Kankuro had dropped at my side,” I should go after him. I’ll be here tonight when you’re discharged to make sure you safely return home… I saved what I could.”

The memory of Shukaku’s tail plummeting across the row of houses that included mine pops back in my head. I distract myself and look over to the bedside table. A glass vase sits with vibrant sunflowers and a little paper placard

You survived. ~ Temari

short and sweet, the way we always conversed. I look down at Kankuro’s recklessly picked Iris’s

I trespassed to get these for you. I’m sorry I’m mean sometimes ~ your second favorite

He was possibly my third favorite after this mess, but he still held a place in my heart with his effort. Lastly, my eyes focus in on the largest bouquet. Full of stark white, vibrant pink and deep red camellias. I search for the placard, but find a folded note deep inside the petals in the center. I unfold it slowly and hold my breath.

To the ones we get can’t yet admit our personal feelings towards, we cherish them in flowers and small gestures such as a night time stroll. Your strong will and heart overshadows the most beautiful flowers in these lands. Any flower you pass here on out, is a symbol of my dedication and undying love I hold for you. ~Gaara

My heart skips a beat, and a tear drops down my cheek. I wipe it away as a stupid grin plasters itself across my face. The most troubled man I’ve met, happens to also be the most poetic.

Hours pass, filled with long unblinking moments of staring at the wall and struggling to put on clothes until finally a soft knock announces Gaara,” if you’re ready, I’d like to walk you home.”

I nod with a toothy grin, attempting to stand. The cast around my foot causes me to fall forward as Gaara catches me effortlessly. He lets out a soft chuckle and scoops me up from behind my legs,” I suppose I’ll be the one doing the walking.”

“I can manage.” I wince out as he adjusts me closer to his body,” I can’t miss our nighttime walk. It’s been lonely without you.”

“I’ll go wherever you take me.” I yawn, quickly tiring and looping an arm around his neck to curl in to him. He places one last kiss against the crown of my head and turns to walk out,” I’ll gladly lead you to whatever your heart desires.”

I smile and let the tiredness take over with the calming motions of his steady walk. This man could lead me to insanity, and I’d still cross over any obstacle to follow him.

#Gaara #kazekage gaara #gaara x reader #gaara fanfic #gaara sabakuno #gaara x y/n #gaara imagine #gaara fluff #gaara x you #gaara of the sand #sabaku no gaara #naruto fan fiction #naruto oneshot #naruto imagines

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Seeing all these asks about Geneyen giving bitches backshots/breaking backs then taking off with panties and debit/credit cards makes me want a fic about Geneyen giving backshots taking panties and stealing debit/credit cards lol

Ask and you shall receive.

Fool Me Once - Chapter One

Warnings: Theft, smut. Word count: ~1200

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Main series masterlist

Genyen awakens, sticky with sweat, an acrid taste in his mouth and a hangover lingering behind his eyes. He silently curses himself for not splurging the extra cash for a place with air conditioning, not that’d be sticking around long enough to appreciate it, but the humidity here is unbearable.

He fled to Thailand after clearing out the donations from the Buddhist centre, along with Jinba’s bank account. He has kept moving since arriving, never staying in one place for more than a week, it’s too risky to settle anywhere when he makes a living from robbing pretty, gullible tourists.

His grifting has taken him to Krabi, Pattaya City and Ko Pha Ngan. This week he finds himself in Pa Tong. No matter the city or district, the situation always plays out the same way; he dons his Buddhist monk robes, heads to the nearest beach and spins a pretty girl a line about how he’s left the monastery because he wants to experience a day in the life of a tourist. By nightfall he’s spilling himself into a condom inside of her, then rifling through her purse once she’s asleep.

He has no idea what possessed him to start tearing the ID pages from their passports. The first time it happened he’d found it as he’d rummaged through her handbag. He’d flipped to the back, curiosity leading him to want to look at her photo. Before he had time to think fully about what he was doing, he’d ripped it out, pocketing it along with her knickers and all the cash she had.

He has quite the collection now. He rolls over in the bed, draping a long, lean arm down the side to rifle through his duffel bag. Underwear of all colours, cuts and sizes is stuffed inside. He thumbs through the stack of ID pages; Sweden, Australia, South Africa, Canada.

Would be cool to have one for every country, he thinks to himself.

He pushes the passport pages and panties to the side, plucking out the wad of banknotes rolled up beside them and counts through it. Shit. Less than two thousand baht left. He’s only been in Pa Tong a few days, but partying all night, every night burns through money fast. He’s going to need to find another target today, or he’ll run out of cash.

After dragging himself out of bed, chasing painkillers with the dregs of the previous evening’s final beer, and showering, Genyen finds himself strolling the perimeter of Pa Tong beach. He is glad that his robes are relatively lightweight, the heat of the sun feels oppressive. He shields his eyes from the blinding rays, surveying the hordes of people soaking up the Thai heat.

That’s when he spots her. His eyes are immediately drawn to the curve of her arse, peeking out from a tiny pair of bikini bottoms as she lays face down. She’s immersed in a copy of The Secret. Oh, this is fucking perfect. 

He saunters over to her and she immediately looks up as his shadow is cast over her. He smiles as her eyes widen in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any cash on me if you’re looking for donations.” She smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, I’m not here on behalf of Wat Suwan Khiri Wong. I’m actually trying to get away from that.”

“Really? And why is that?” She asks curiously, closing her book.

He settles cross legged on the sand in front of her. “I’ve dedicated my whole life to the monastery and practicing the teachings of Buddha. I’d like to know what life has to offer outside of that. I’m Genyen, by the way.”

“Genyen.” She repeats, eyeing him curiously. “Makes you sound important.”

He laughs softly. “It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice. You can call me Shawn, if you’d prefer.”

He spins her his entire lie and she falls for it. He tells her his mum passed away when he was ten, that his dad married a woman called Mary and when his dad then passed away just before Shawn was due to go to university, Mary had contested the will. She’d gotten everything, the house included. He went away to university, but had nowhere to go once he graduated, so he went travelling and ended up here, in Thailand. He was taken in by the Buddhist monks and renamed Genyen, which means ‘approaching virtue’.

She pays rapt attention, her face softening in sympathy for him, and by the evening they sit in a beach bar together, their knees brushing as she sips a strawberry daiquiri.

“So if you want to experience life outside of the monastery, why aren’t you drinking?” She says, playing with her staw.

“Better to take these things slowly, just talking to you today was a big enough step.” He lies. He knows better than to get buzzed. Drunkenness leads to sloppy mistakes.

He barely has to make an effort. Two more cocktails and her eyes are glazed as she leans in to kiss him. Her lips taste like rum and he kisses her back hungrily.

He follows eagerly when she leads him back to her hotel room. They make quick work of undressing each other. His eyes dart around the room, making a note of where she discards her bag.

It’s not long before she’s on all fours, his hands kneading the fleshy globes of her backside that he’d spent most of the afternoon admiring, as he snaps his hips against her. She clenches around him, warm and oh so tight. He can feel how soaked she is even while wearing a johnny and the sensation causes him to groan as he speeds up his movements.

She moans, arching her back, pushing against him and he slides a hand up the smooth skin of her back, grabbing a fistful of her hair, biting his lip at how this makes her squeeze him harder. She may be a dupable airhead who stupidly believes in the power of manifestation, but she is undoubtedly one of the best lays he’s ever had.

He isn’t sure if she comes, he doesn’t care. His grip on her hips is vicelike as gives one final thrust, shuddering as he pulsates and spends himself into the latex.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep. He lays there, waiting for the sound of her breathing to deepen and even out. Once she starts to snore softly, he creeps out of the bed. He dresses before looking through the handbag he’d seen her drop to the floor earlier. He pulls all of the banknotes from her purse, pocketing them. No cash on you? Bloody liar.

Her passport sits on the vanity table and he grabs it, flipping to the back page. He smiles as he looks at her photo, illuminated by the moonlight that streams through the window. She looks so dorky, it’s actually kind of cute. He almost feels bad for robbing her.

He tears the page out, wrapping it in her discarding bikini bottoms, then pockets those as well.

Slipping out of her room, he lets the door click softly closed behind him, walking out into the balmy night air of Pa Tong. He was going to miss her. Well, he’d miss her air conditioning, that’s for sure.

#genyen #genyen doctors #ewan mitchell #genyen x reader #genyen smut #genyen fan fiction #genyen fanfiction #genyen fanfic #genyen fan fic

[tremendum]

twin suns ; your shadow at morning

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

part three of the Twin Suns series  ;  prologue  ;  part i ; part ii

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc) rating: eventually explicit in future chapters. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, themes of hunting/being hunted, fear, a brief mention of vomit twice, pretty bad injuries and descriptions of reader's blood/injury,, temporary blindness still, mean!Mando, lots of sand description like anakin would h8 this, slightly possessive themes

synopsis:  “the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing. 'good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation.'” 

word count: 4.7k. 

notes: hii :) silly how i haven't posted in months??? sorry ive been away, just having a hard time rn. but here's part 3, it's still going a bit slow because i love a good slow burn but we're getting to some yummy parts in the next few chapters ;) lmk if ive missed ur tag, i lost my taglist.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

for what may be the first time in years, you don't wake up with a start.

this visit to consciousness is pulled rather slowly from a lone yearning sensation. you're not sure what it is - or if it's even real - a feeling deep in the corner of your brain that urges something along the lines of wake up! wake up! 

and when your brain finally starts to stir, it's with a heaving breath of pain from deep within you, as if someone had taken the spongy material and hurled it against the dartboard of a cantina.

your face twitches against something gritty. oh- there's kriffing sand in your teeth. on your tongue.

it feels heavy, dusty. wake up! 

your eyes open slowly as you let out an exhale into the rusty ground. 

they slide open like dry, grating sandpaper against your tired irises, but to your shock, you're met with nothing - nothing changes, besides a shift from black to mauve. 

in a moment of sheer panic, your head reels upwards from the sand and, despite the screams of protest within your throat, you twist your head around.

wait- wait! you can make out a bit of light. there's... two faint dots in your vision, faint and searing at the same time. 

twin suns. 

you resist the urge to scream or gasp in fear - yet the burning sensation from holding back both still evokes your body to twist slightly from your stomach to your side. it is mere seconds before you are expelling all the remnants of fear and confusion and rage from your stomach to splay across the small mountain ranges of eroded sand carved by wind. 

the ringing in your ears ebb when you can finally make out a squeal, a cry - something between the two - less out of pain or horror, but of concern.

green comes into your mind, for whatever reason - then shortly and likely consequently, the faint realization that you cannot fucking see a thing. 

oh. oh. 

the suns. the miserably lonely nights. stale wind whistling through empty valley corridors. a lonely girl in an abandoned apartment ripped open by the forces of galactic war years ago; blaster at your hip, blades on your thigh. 

unfriendly company. a vision of your own face plastered on a holo just to the side of a Neerok table. 

that strange metal hunter and his little green accomplice. a tickle of excitement in the shadow that followed you for weeks. a cat and mouse game. 

happy hunting, Mando. 

a lasso. the headscarf wrapped around a small baby. the carbonite chamber. 

maker's mother - Maracavanya. 

they'd shot you back down into Tattoine's dunes. 

oh Gods, you're wrecked, with the hunter, back on Tattoine. 

perhaps your eyes roll back into your head as you slump back - no way to know for sure - a gasp of pain from the left side of your skull. you weakly pull a hand to your brow and it's vaguely warm, wet, sticky when it pulls back. oh. 

you wince, your nostrils flaring as you pick up the thick smell of smoke and sharp jetfuel burning. 

kriff, those suns are searing behind your unseeing eyes, your legs are still pins and needles, you're- oh, your face is throbbing dully with the numbing agent. maybe carbonite wasn't the worst thing to happen to you in the last thirty minutes. 

your hands grasp at the ground, handfuls of sand which slip right through your dry fingers as you keel over again, expelling nothing but bile and then after a few moments nothing but choked, burning air that you fight to suck in and out of your lungs. your head doesn't feel right; be it the blindness or the crash? 

the bounty hunter calls your name from far away, as your ears buzz - but the grip you have with your right hand sends a shooting agony through your entire being and a yell of pain ripples through the air. 

crying, after that - the baby. you startled him with your roar of pain. fear strikes you - is he okay? he wasn't strapped in when you crashed, was he? you can't remember.

leathered hands wrap around your chest and for a split, childish moment, your arms twitch; almost as if you were about to grab him back. but it's not an embrace, you chastise your foolish, betraying mind.

the Mandalorian wraps something around you, a rope. around your waist again. 

it clicks in your head, fuzzy from the crash. how'd you even get out of the ship? 

"wh-" you croak, unable to form words as you grapple with your mind for something to ground yourself. "are we back on Tattoine?" you ask, voice much too meek; the blistering heat sure feels like Tattooine. silence, besides a grunt of his own pain from the man who tugs you up onto staggering legs, leading you up through what you imagine is the hull and past the thick burn of smoke that cause you to cough so deep your body starts to sway.  

his hands are sturdy and unforgiving on your upper arm until you're guided to what feels like a cot, a severe absence of light causing your mind to panic, heart beating wildly at the sudden loss of sensory cues. it's all black, now.  

"is..." you sound so unlike yourself it almost knocks you off your feet. "is the child okay?" you ask, throat burning. it's silent for a moment too long and fear strikes down on your heart, assuming the worst.

"yes." the Mandalorian finally confirms. you let out a shaky sight of relief, nodding as your body is then pushed until you sit on weak legs. "if you're going to pass out, try to stay upright." the voice says, unforgiving. 

his footsteps are heavy as he stalks away, your lips screaming silently for water.

a hesitation in the footsteps has your heart thundering in fear, your arms swallowing yourself until you're curled in on your chest. you're too weak to try and protect yourself from him.

the gaze you've come to know is burning though your unseeing eyes; you can almost see that glint of the helmet in your mind. he says nothing, just stares.

you wish he would just leave.

the quiet is so absorbent, it hurts your numb mind. the baritone breaks the silence, again. 

"-and if you're going to throw up again, do it on the durasteel." 

you're not sure how long you sleep for. 

when you wake, you're on your side, slumped against the side of the cot; your neck creaks as you slowly stir upwards, eyes cracking open slowly. 

a peek of light creaks in through the hull as you groan, eyebrows furrowing as far as they can. you're puffy, you can feel it. your brow and temple are swelled and likely bruised. looking down out of habit, you can tell that the aching, searing pain in your hand has only worsened - the numbness of the carbonite chamber wearing down too soon.

you're fucked when it's completely gone, realizing now that not only do you likely have a broken hand and several broken ribs, but that your brow bone is surely chipped, your brain bruised from knocking too much against your skull, and you're right and proper screwed. 

there's a gash on your thigh that has since stopped bleeding, but you're sure if it's not dressed and attended within forty eight hours, you'll succumb to the sand mites that infest the plains outside. you're too busy assessing your injuries to realize it; when you do, you let out a sharp screech, shaking your head as your hands fly up towards your cheeks. 

you can see again - sort of.

light sources peek out at you through a blanket of thick fog. 

it's as if you'd taken semi-translucent paint and slathered it over your retinas - especially in the low light, it's hard to catch anything besides a faint glint and the outline of metallic shapes in the hull. still, it fills you with some sort of giddy elation; perhaps spurred on by your head trauma and the sheer shock of the events, you huff a short laugh to yourself. your fingers on your good hand wiggle slightly, you can see the motion as you wave up at yourself. 

maybe this isn't a permanent blindness, then. 

but a twitch from your bad hand has you gasping in sheer pain, biting down on your lip to keep quiet in fear of stirring the Mandalorian from whatever corner of the ship he lurks in. your stomach flips at the fleeting thought that he could have been there, watching you this whole time in the darker shadows of your sight - and you'd have had no clue. 

your moment of joy is over when reality washes over your entire body: you're stuck with the Mandalorian with a severe disadvantage: sure, his ship is wrecked, but you have impairing injuries and little to no sight. 

he's likely injured, too, but not enough so that he's unable to use a hand - or his brain- like you.

you deftly get to work, your movements like a well oiled machine after months of repairing yourself on your own. you can't shake the creeping fear that the Mandalorian is watching you; you swear a movement from the corner of your limited sight moves and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

if he's there, he doesn't move a muscle as you slowly start to tear at the material of your tunic, ripping the bottom hem until there's one long strip. biting down on your lip, you apply pressure to the points in your hand that you're sure are broken, knowing the better wrapped it is, the better it will be for you.

the hardest thing you can find on the floor near you to bite down on is shoved between your teeth as you swiftly start to push your fingers back, aligning knuckles that'd been sprouting from your hand like gnarled tree branches. 

you groan out anyways - muffled, yes, but only by the long, cool, durable object between your teeth as your head falls against the wall in pain. 

fuck. 

as you assess your wounds in the dark, trying futilely to wipe the blind fog from your eyes, the thoughts swirl around your mind. 

doubt creeps into your head from the cracks in your resolve; because you're not a fool. there's no true way that you could warble your bottom lip a bit, blindly insisting that you were innocent, and the Mandalorian would just fold when faced with an entire ship of pirates who were willing to pay him his entire weight in credits for you. there's no way you were that good. 

so what was it that'd snapped in that emotionless helmet of his that prompted the escape attempt?

the money? the Maracavanya clan is not nearly as trustworthy as whoever casted a puck to the bounty guild for you; he has to feed himself and the child, maybe he really is strapped for cash. sure, the beskar goes for a very pretty pence or two nearly anywhere in the galaxy, but you're also fairly sure there's something very sacrilegious about a Mandalorian selling his own armor. 

so you're the means to an end - not the first time, and probably not the last, given that you somehow escape the Mandalorian's grasp alive.

there's no way, as a rational person, that you can realistically imagine beating the Mandalorian in combat in your current state. he'd throw you down to the sand within seconds; you can try to outsmart him, considering you've been evading him for weeks up until this point, but it will be much more difficult to do so in the middle of the desert plains with such injuries. 

you're fucked. 

and you realize, as you dap away at the wound on your head with a strip of cloth, that if it's the child's mouth you're indirectly feeding by being turned in, then that's an externality you aren't terribly furious about... but the Hunter, on the other hand...

you're feeling less dizzy as you finish doctoring yourself in the dark of your blindness, but the numbing agent is surely wearing off; aches and stings and gasps tear from you as the minutes wear on. you're too weak to stand. water and food would go miles for you right now- maker, if you could just- 

you shift accidentally and a searing pain rips a tearing yelp from your raw throat. the object you'd shoved between your teeth falls with a cland onto the durasteel floors.

your hand flies to stabilize yourself on the object you'd let fall - a vibroblade, the hilt wrapped in a sharply oiled leather and blade serrated; oh. 

at least you'd had the wherewithal to stick the hilt side of the blade between your teeth. thanking your lucky stars, you quickly move to sheath the blade in the waistband of your pants. you'd felt less than whole ever since the Mandalorian had taken your blades; you'd only ever carried a small blaster.

you wonder where he'd discarded them absently - clearly, he was not one to waste a weapon, had he taken yours and added them to his arsenal? a trophy, for one more notch on his ammo-belt? bitterness floods your mouth as your lips shape into a scowl - in a world full of blaster pistols and rifles, you'd preferred a more agile melee skillset when training. it wasn't well equipped for the rolling and harsh isolation of the sandy wilderness; arid and desolate just as the people you've met here. it was much more suited for where you grew up, and maybe you were too.  

nonetheless, this vibroblade feels like coming home and your heart cools as you feel the cold of the blade against your spine. 

"don't." 

you jump out of your skin in shock, hand instinctively flipping the blade until it's concealed up your forearm, the hilt upside down against your palm. 

you resist a growl of irritation at his slinkiness; when did the Mandalorian show up? you crane your neck upwards towards where you'd heard the word, your jaw tightening. "do you have any other words in your vocabulary?" you snap. you feel as though you've said this before.

"give me the blade."

he's not asking- he seems like the kind of man who's never had to ask for anything in his life. you roll your eyes out of habit, shaking your head. 

what are you going to do, anyways? swipe blindly towards a man covered head to toe in impenetrable metal? you have a decent grasp on up and down purely based on gravitational pull. in a moment, you consider spitting, like you were taught to do in the rumbling avalanches of the cold season back home to orient yourself, just to spite him - you bite your tongue in fear of losing a hand lest your spit graces the Mandalorian's sacred armor. 

a moment of panic sends you into a desperate lurch to plead with the Mandalorian. "I don't have a weapon," you insist, "if I could just-"

roughly, his gloved hand pries the blade from your grasp with a harsh tug. "what makes you assume you deserve a weapon? you're my prisoner. just because I didn't freeze you doesn't mean any different."  

his words are final; besides, you're reeling through pain on most surfaces of your body and many spots internally; there was no chance for you to put up a fight, so you drop it.

for a moment you expect him to whirl around and disappear from your faint field of vision - but there's a faint motion; a shine above your eyeline and then too soon, a click. 

kriff. 

you don't have to see to know the click of a safety when you hear one. 

"I'll only ask one more time." the Mandalorian's slow, cold voice crackles through the static of his modulator. "who else is after you?"

you can tell this is not turning out to be the bounty capture he'd anticipated - you feel half triumphant but half regretful. 

upon first instinct, your mouth creaks open to spew some half-planned lie, but knowing better, you just grit out, "why were you after me?" 

he's a statue of a shadow in your faint sight - body large enough to cover most of the cot's lights as he towers over you, staring down the barrel. "what else aren't you telling me?" he asks, voice crackling with danger and frustration. 

defiantly - as if you aren't incapacitated in his broken ship, barely able to breathe without yelping in pain - you sneer back at him. "why do you care?" 

"I'm trying to make sure I don't get shot out of orbit again." he snaps, hips moving as he shifts, blaster still pointed at your forehead. "there are far worse people in the galaxy that could have gotten to you."

who is he to tell you that? he tried to freeze you in carbonite. you can't help as your brows furrow in skepticism, "well, forgive me if I don't take your word for it." your voice drips in sarcasm. 

he shifts, starting to rustle with some blaster pistol on the side table, finally moving his weapon away from you. "you should've told me about the others. I could've prepared better."

a bitter, ironic laugh tumbles from your raw throat, "oh, and what? you would've graciously shared your bounty with me?" you mock, rolling your eyes. his grandiose attitude is grating deep into your nerves. 

the Mandalorian's voice is firm. "I protect my assets. it ensures you're alive to give me what I need." 

your veins light as you hiss, furious: "I'm not some object you can just take!" you snap. you're aching, furious.

you're sick of people in this galaxy stepping their boots over your spine and trading you around. 

"if you're so sure you're not, why do I have this?" he retorts, sarcasm slipping through his mask. 

he tosses a small object just to your side onto the cot and the mere shape of it makes your mouth sour. you don't need to see it to know what it is.

your puck. 

you exhale harshly, feeling angry, cold, in pain, and miserably alone in the universe. once again proved wrong in your short string of optimism of the good in people, you deflate.

"I'm not someone you can deceive. I took this job because it's my Creed, not for personal gain." he adds after your silence.

the tension in the room is palpable - you feel as though you could pass out in any moment, and Maracavanya, the Mandalorian, your old partner... a cell, guards with vibro-clubs,  galactic court - all of it beats down on you, striking freezing fear into your heart.

it is perhaps through this fleeting weakness that you allow yourself a small whisper to him, "you don't understand what's at stake for me." 

"you're right." he says.

he walks away silently, but you can tell he's gone. the words he doesn't say linger still, cold and lonely and harsh in his wake. you close your eyes, knowing only rest could help you heal now - but the unspoken words of the cold man haunt you waking and asleep. 

you're right, I don't understand - and I don't care.

he arrives just as quietly as he did the first time. 

your sight is coming in slowly - it's been hours, likely, of you lying still in the rock-hard cot, staring at the nothingness, willing the sparse bacta spray and ointments you'd kept saved on your person to kick in and relieve you. 

he says your name. 

it startles you. 

you don't dare respond, not nearly bothering to rise and welcome your captor into your (his, your mind reminds you) quarters. he comes in anyways, walking with a stiff, uncomfortable swoop. 

"we have a follower." he states, leaving you to pull up your brows, sitting slowly. your shock must be evident on your face. a sleeve falls over your shoulder as you sniff, "we?" you mock.

he doesn't take the bait, as always; turning on his heels, the man stalks out of the cot, down towards where rusty, hot wind blows sand over the dilapidated entrance to his ship. he must've just returned.

the entrance to the ship had taken just as bad a beating as you; more than once in your miserable moments of recovery you'd wished quite bitterly that the Mandalorian had considered upgrading his ship with the same precious metal shell he wrapped his nearly-unscathed self in.

you have to scramble to follow him, squinting as if it will help your impaired vision. a dark wall of metal moves just out of your field of vision, and you chase it. "where have you been?" you ask then, not nearly as concerned by his first sentence as you are with his sudden arrival. 

when you'd woken, you'd crept out of the small cot, feeling with your hands on the walls to keep you upright and trying to avoid your hips from encountering a spare corner. it was then, with feelings of both relief and anxiety, that you determined he wasn't anywhere on the ship, and neither was the Child. 

"in town." he sounds impatient, urgent. "w-" 

you're shocked. "-you left me alone?" you ask, incredulous as your brows raise. the shine of his beskar can just barely be made out through your blindness. you nearly laugh - at his stupidity, or of the irony that you had your chance to escape and slept through it. 

"the Crest locks from the inside." he retorts. your brows furrow, "what?" 

"when I tell it to, it locks it from the inside." it's clipped, his voiced laced with irritation and a hint of condescension. your blood boils, but he has no time for your mocking tone. 

"listen." he utters, voice closer than you expect - instinctively, you jerk back, widening the space between Mando's helmet and your face. "I was in town buying parts. a man followed me back here - about a click away. saw him in the cantina a while ago, and again at the market the other day. he's been following me, so I led him here. you are to stay on the ship." 

it's the most words you've ever heard from him - if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was doing this to protect you. bitter fear curls into you as your brows furrow under your scarf, twinging in a bit of pain from your healing injuries. he's not protecting you - he's protecting his assets. making sure he's the one to win the prize of your capture. 

and he doesn't seem like the kind of person who keeps as many friends as he does enemies.

it's like clockwork - a slamming noise shuts off whatever retort was building on your lips.

Mando whirls around, whipping his blaster out as he stalks towards the entrance to the broken ship. as quiet as possible, you slide down the rungs behind him, blatantly ignoring his orders; just then, a voice calls out. 

"Mandalorian?" a moment of hesitation in the hunter's shoulders. then, chillingly, you gasp as the voice calls out a second name. 

yours. 

from what your weak eyes can make out, the man standing outside the wreckage of the Razor Crest is a Rodian - his emerald skin contrasting sharply with the desert. you stare in shock from behind the Mandalorian's frame, hoping you're far enough away that the large, multifaceted eyes of the man can't detect you. 

he wears earth-toned robes that blend with the desert surroundings, a testament to his familiarity with the unforgiving terrain; peculiarly, his attire is practical, with layers of fabric offering protection from the twin suns' scorching rays and the harsh winds that sweep across the dunes, but upon his waist, a belt secures a small satchel - and, more bizarrely - and an emblem for the city of Mos Espa.

his movements are deliberate and measured - posture unwavering despite the blaster pointed towards him. a few feet down the ramp from you, the Mandalorian stands vigilant, his beskar armor glistening under the twin suns and reflecting into the sensitive layers of your eyes.

"who are you?" he asks, voice low and chilling. 

the desert winds howl, carrying whispers of the unforgiving sands across the barren dunes of Tatooine and your weak skin tingles against the particles. finally, the man speaks.

"I come on behalf of my master. he requires your presence at his palace."

palace? your bones chill; what palace in this miserable rock would have business with the Mandalorian? his helmeted gaze bores into the messenger, giving you a split moment to take a deep exhale.

"who is your master that he can't come find me himself?" Mando's voice is gravelly, edged with caution, though he lowers his gun with a hesitant recognition in his voice. 

the messenger's eyes flicker, betraying a trace of unease. "not just you. he requests both of you."

your stomach flips. oh, Maker. 

before you can stop yourself, you take a staggering few steps until you're next to the Mandalorian, who gives you a cold stare. 

with your eyes narrowed against the faint sights in front of you, the gears of your mind whir. "and if we refuse to go?" you ask, voice scratchy. fear pounds in your chest like a wild beast needing escape. 

the man folds his hands diplomatically. "the Daimyo has requested your presence at his palace, both of you. he does not extend such invitations lightly - he has his reasons, and you would do well to hear them from his own lips."

oh. oh, kriff. recognition floods through you - a combination of relief and utter fear. 

your brows lift, "the Diamyo?" 

an old friend, your mind whispers, sardonic and teasing. 

a tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the distant cries of native creatures and a cooing at the Mandalorian's side. a breath of hope is breathed into your chest at the realization that the Diamyo's palace could be just what you need to escape this metal shadow; a shift in the breeze sends your hair around your face and you're soon filled to the brim with anticipation - you need to do this. no matter the danger it entails, what tricks may lie within the halls of the palace... 

it's your only hope. 

out of pure accident, your eyes land on Mando in what is a fleeting glance, a silent conversation that neither of you intended. it's as if both of you know that this meeting could change the course of both of your journeys, somehow - a threatening veil soon placates your mind, knowing the Mandalorian has surely already considered your plans for escape.

with a sigh heavier than the beskar he shrouds himself with, Mando nods. irritation is laced through his voice. "fine. we will go to the palace."

the messenger nods, his expression revealing nothing but a slight air of relief that notches a bit of anxiety into you. "good. prepare yourselves. the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation."

and with that, the messenger turns and retreats into the unforgiving expanse along with the dying suns, leaving you to face the remnants of Mando's ship and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

the man is long lost to the fading horizon of the desert when slowly, the hunter pulls a pair of cuffs from his belt; your stomach drops as you hang your head in frustration. 

"may I at least use the 'fresher, first?" you snark, sending the cold statue a false smile. you haven't bathed in days - your hair needs a cleanse desperately and you're sure there's more than enough blood, dirt, and grease caked into your skin. 

his grunt is angry as he slams shut the ramp, sealing you into complete blindness in the lack of bright lights. despite his anger, the Mandalorian pulls your incapacitated self into the fresher and slams the door shut. 

as you shower and relish the last moments of what little, bizarre freedom you had since being captured, you wonder if he's still right outside, waiting for you to step out. 

he is.

it's with a pit of misery at the bottom of your stomach that you sit in the corner of the cargo bay with your hands bound together and watch him clean and prepare every single weapon he can fit on his person.

whatever reason the Mandalorian has to listen to the request of the Diamyo, he doesn't tell you. he doesn't do much except run his gloved fingers slowly over the vibroblade you'd tried to steal - the glint of your harsh teeth marks barely detectable to your impaired vision. he sheathes the blade on his hip, to your surprise. a daunting reminder of his power over you.

and as much as you try, you can't ignore the feeling that the fate of your soul is about to rest in the hands of Boba Fett and the mysteries that await you within the walls of his palace. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

taglist (message to join). @silkiers @leithatnight @totallynotastanacc @afandomidiot @bbyanarchist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @notsosecretspy @djarins-cyare @satireclub @famefoxx @sunnywithachanceofjavi ​

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian smut #the mandolorian x reader #mando smut #mando x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction

[hyuuukais]

.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :-

pairing • bang chan x fem reader

synopsis • fiction or reality? y/n preferred the former, escaping into another world, escaping her problems. so what happens when reality takes that away from her; wiping her own story-in-progress off both her laptop and beloved usb? and what happens when she opens the door in the middle of a crisis to none other then the love interest of her novel... and he's holding her usb?

warnings • general, blood, descriptions of wounds, ivs

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER THIRTEEN • BACK INSIDE (2K)

Dark, cold, alone.

The only sound to be heard is his wheezing, a strong hand still clutching his chest. Phlegm coats his throat, attempting to clear it several times before he can breathe normally again.

Where is he?

A soft light comes up from the edge of the floor he's sitting on, up to his waist completely soaked. His hands lie underneath the surface, but he can't see them in the dark, murky water. Slowly, he pushes himself up, frozen joints groaning, a new sensation for him. His back hits something as he stands, stumbling forward and getting a face full of water. Panic jolts him up and out, using whatever hit him as support.

It's firm, leathery, worn. He drags his fingers over it, feeling the angles and cold metal bits, dangling wires brushing against his right arm. It feels like some kind of chair or upright bed, his eyes straining to make out the edges in the dark.

Dull pain radiates down his neck as he looks around, taking in his surroundings. Bringing a hand up, he can feel circular wounds about the size of a quarter, three on each side. They're still slick with blood, and he notices the dangling wires left a similar substance on his arm. He grabs one, examining the end covered in what he's concluded is, in fact, his own blood, with small hooks at the end all broken. He must have ripped them out before passing out on the floor.

Now, where's the exit?

The light is broken for about three feet of the wall, which has to be the door. Minho sloshes toward it, weariness dragging at his bones. He stops, hand outstretched to open the door, and looks back at the chair. Wouldn't it be better to just lay down, rest a while first? He's so tired.

"No," he croaks. "No, I can't."

There's a reason he's here.

Keep going.

"Hello?" His hand slips away from the door, backing up against it. "Who was that?"

Silence. Cold, cold silence thick and suffocating until he just about rips the door off the hinges to get out.

Light blinds him, shielding his eyes with his forearm. He attempts to find and shut the door, but behind him is open space, not even a wall. Bright, white curved walls surround him, now standing in the middle of the room. There's a mirror directly in front of him.

"Holy shit."

Dried blood has trailed down his neck, soaking his white shirt almost completely. No wonder I passed out. His skin is ghostly pale, lips dry and chapped, skin around his nose and on his hands not much better. Dark purple circles line his eyes. Veins pop in his arms, surely from dehydration with the way his mouth feels full of sand. Hunger starts setting in, a sharp pain in his stomach. Where was he supposed to find food and water in a place like this? Especially when, looking around, there's no exit.

"No, no, no, no." Minho jogs away from the mirror, ignoring the pain flashing in his knees, the cramps forming in his abdomen. "Let me out!"

Shouting, fists hitting the wall, leaving specks of red behind. In the moment he should be thinking of his own survival, he thinks of Y/n; how scared she was, and no doubt still is. He thinks of her hands on him as he walks the perimeter, thinks of her words of comfort she once offered. Thinks of her bravery, her resilience, as he crumbles to the floor, back in front of the mirror. Minho stares, empty, at his reflection; who is he?

You're still in there, a voice comes from behind him, but no one appears in the mirror.

Find yourself. Now, it's comes from above.

Who you were before Y/n left, it speaks from all around, from every inch of the room. When you were happy. Before you lost yourself in finding her.

"I can't."

You can.

"He's gone," his voice is quiet. "I don't know him anymore. I don't know how to be him anymore."

You don't have to be him, just don't forget him, the voice turns softer. Don't leave him behind.

•

"Shit," you groan, eyes squeezing in pain, a wave of nausea running through you.

The last thing you remember is getting in your car. How you ended up back in this place is beyond you, but you knew you needed to find the person who helped you leave before. If you could find them.

Looking down, you see the wire- no, IV- taped to your arm, connecting you with the young man sitting in an identical chair across from you. Like the main characters in movies you've seen, you claw the IV from your forearm, dark red blood spurting out. You quickly slap your hand over the wound, but the blood continues to spill out through your fingers and onto your stark white clothes. Your only option is to try and rip part of your shirt to use as a bandage, but the material is thick and you're too weak.

Screw it then. You'll just walk around bleeding out. Not like you haven't before.

You snort at your thoughts, swinging your legs over the edge and hopping off the chair. The wires that should have been in your neck hang in the air, not yet attached. Whoever is overseeing this must have figured you wouldn't be awake so soon.

Yeonjun lies unmoving, and you approach him with a tired smile. Did removing the IV from your arm affect him? There's no way of knowing. Maybe he's bleeding out in the comfort of your shared apartment, wondering what the hell is going on. Or maybe he's getting ready for the night, arm intact. You hope it's the former.

Just like Chan, his skin is near translucent, with blue and green veins prominent in his arms and neck. You cup his jaw, tracing his dry lips with your thumb. This man who you loved, this man who hurt you, completely at your mercy. His face is relaxed like he's dreaming, mouth parting when you remove your hand, letting it fall to his neck. The thick wires there are hot, working hard at whatever their purpose is.

You wrap a hand around one, giving a light tug. It's tough, and the movement causes Yeonjun's head to roll to the side. Another tug and you can feel it budge. Placing a hand around the entrance, you pull as hard as you can.

The wire comes out easier than you expected, making you stumble back slightly. Blood shoots out, lines of it decorating your shirt, slowing down to a trickle out of the hole you've created.

His eyes fly open.

This was a bad idea.

•

Minho's phone rings on the bedside table, lighting up the dim room and effectively waking up Chan. The name and number are blurry to Chan's freshly opened eyes, barely making out the contact name of the local police department-

What?

Chan scrambles for the phone; there's no way they should have his number unless- "H-hello?"

"Am I speaking to Lee Minho?" A gruff voice on the other side asks.

"No, he's-" Chan looks down at his unconscious body. "He's, erm. Unavailable at the moment."

"Can I ask why you're answering for him?"

"Yes, yes, of course." He clears sleep out of his throat, sitting up in his chair, pulled from the kitchen table. "You see when the police are phoning your friend, you assume it's important. And since he can't answer for himself right now, I figured my answering would be better than letting it go to voice mail."

"Okay... we're calling on behalf of L/n Y/n. She's been in an accident"

"That's impossible- she's- she should still be home?" Chan talks as he walks to your room, opening the door roughly.

"Well she must have left and didn't say anything."

You're not in bed like he thought, and he sees the empty spot where your car used to be through the window. His heart plummets, mind rushing to everything that could have happened to you.

"She's okay for now, mostly bumps and bruises," the man is becoming irritated, Chan can tell. "Bad hit to the head though. She's at Yellow Wood Health Centre. Goodbye now."

"Wait- seriously?"

It takes everything in him not to run outside, get in his car, and go, instead going into your office where Jeongin has nodded off on the couch. The bruise on his face has darkened, purples and red and blues decorating his left cheek and temple. Up close there's a small split in the skin Chan hadn't noticed before, the redness blending into his painted cheek.

"Jeongin?" He stirs, eyes opening just barely.

"Mmmh?"

"Y/n is hurt, she's in the hospital." At this, he sits up, catching the arm of the couch to steady himself with the sudden dizziness. "I'm going to check on her-"

"Let me go with you."

"No," Chan says firmly. "No, you have to stay with Minho, okay? We can't leave them both unprotected."

"But-"

"No buts." Chan puts an arm on Jeongin's shoulder. "I'll keep you updated."

Leaving no room to debate, he exits the room swiftly. The thought of you in pain, all by yourself, has Chan moving at the speed of light. His chest heaves, exhaustion seeping through his skin as he runs out the door and into his car. Vision still blurry, but he can't risk you being alone for so long. Chan's head pounds, a splitting headache awakening underneath his brow bone.

It's not long before he has to pull over, still far from your location. Pulling out his phone, he searches for Jeongin in his contacts.

"You're there already? Didn't you just leave?"

"About that." Chan leans his head back, seeing black dots enter the edge of his sight. "I'm gonna pass out. Can you drive?"

•

They arrive at the hospital in record time.

"Do you need me to get you a wheelchair?"

"What?" Chan gives the kid a confused look, then remembers the whole reason he's here. "Oh, no. I don't want to draw attention. Let's just go."

"But- aaand you're leaving the car." Jeongin rolls his eyes, exiting the driver's side. "Are you gonna be stumbling like that the whole way in? Because that will draw attention."

He watches Chan steady himself against the wall. "I'll be fine."

Of course, Jeongin doesn't believe him, but getting to you before anyone else can is more important than a few missteps. It doesn't take long to locate the front desk of the small hospital, Chan posing as your boyfriend and only family to gain access to your room. It shouldn't be so easy, and that worries Jeongin, no doubt worrying Chan as well.

They enter your room, closing the blinds immediately. Chan swallows, leaning over your body with a delicate hand tracing your bruised jaw. There are bandages on your nose and wrapped around your head, a cast on your right wrist.

"She doesn't look as bad as I thought she would." Jeongin takes a place on the chair next to your bed.

Something feels like it's covering you, the air thick around your body. If he looks close enough, he can see the edges of the bubble keeping you down. Keeping you asleep.

Keeping you inside.

"You've got to be kidding me," he groans, pushing Chan's hand away from you to place his own on your cheek.

"What are you-"

"Shh." He closes his eyes. "I need to focus."

Darkness swirls, difficult to penetrate. There's the faintest light, and Jeongin focuses hard on that, assuming it must be you. The light grows bigger, more blinding by the second.

"I think I see her... there's a white room." Jeongin knows he's overexerting his ability, blood trickling down his lips. "So close..."

And the pain is gone, leaving him standing in a white room in front of a mirror dressed in plain white clothes to match. There's someone behind him, facing away from the reflection, but it isn't you.

He turns around, startled by the appearance of another human. "Jeongin? Kid, what the hell are you doing here?"

●

notes • sorry for no update last week! i hope you enjoy this switch of pov though :)

taglist • @yongbbokkie @chaeryred @tenebrisirae @toplinelix @chansdoll @amaranth-writing @3rachachoo @linosjureumi @thebrownemo @tfshouldidohere @channie-143 @frogieeheart @kangaracharacha @skzswife @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

TAGLIST CLOSED ^^^blue means i can't tag you

#.・゜-: ✧ :- FICTIONAL REALITY .・゜-: ✧ :- #bang chan x reader #bang chan x fem reader #bang chan #skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz au #stray kids au #bang chan au #bang chan series #bang chan fanfic #skz series #stray kids series

[yuurei20]

Twisted Wonderland Game vs. Novel, What is the Difference, Book 2, part 6/8

Novel/Game 2-25: Leona summons his unique magic.

Novel Only: Lilia observes that Leona can both transform things into sand and manipulate that sand at will. Ruggie confronts Leona and Leona grabs him by the neck, causing his skin to dry out.

Riddle attempts to rein Leona in with his own unique magic, which fails. Leona tells the gathered Savanaclaw students to give up on their dreams, but they all remain silent. Only Ruggie responds, saying that he will never give up.

Novel/Game: 2-26: Jack transforms into a wolf, breaking Leona’s concentration so that Riddle can collar Leona.

Game: Deuce helps Ruggie.

Lilia mocks Leona for being less of a leader than Malleus.

Leona breaks free of Riddle’s collar and overblots.

Lilia goes for help, but in both the game and the novel he never comes back.

Novel Only: Silver helps Ruggie, who has collapsed, unconscious.

Lilia sends the Diasomnia students away to help students whom Leona has caught in quicksand and are choking on sand in the air as they try to escape.

Riddle confesses that he has always admired Leona and wanted to be a leader, beloved by all, like Leona is.

Lilia mocks Leona for being less of a leader than Malleus. Leona’s face loses all emotion (in the game he begins to laugh).

Leona breaks free of Riddle’s collar and overblots.

Ruggie wakes up and joins the battle. The monster is defeated by Ruggie using his unique magic to take over Jack’s body—as Jack was blinded—to rip out its throat.

#twst translations #twisted wonderland #novel summary