#(they can be very slimy sometimes)

[bunnis-monsters]

Alright, so like the bee eggs, can reader feel the siren eggs moving too?

They move a lot more actually! They’re very slimy and jiggly, so they squirm and wiggle and move around a lot in your belly! They also start out much smaller so they’re easy to take. It’s pushing them out when they’ve grown that’s hard.

It makes it a lot more… uncomfortable, especially when they gush out of you when you’re going about your daily life. You feel a little bad but there’s so many inside you that losing a glob of eggs doesn’t make much of a difference.

Once they start to grow and get bigger, your tummy stretches and struggles to hold them in. The little sirens inside wiggle and squirm.

You definitely end up cumming a lot during your pregnancy.

Most of the time they’d usually hatch inside then eat their way out of their victim, but since your siren pod loves you, they help you birth the eggs right before they hatch and then feed them so they don’t cannibalize you.

Some siren pods do the egg birth and some use a disposable female that the hatchlings can eat. Pretty brutal, thankfully this pod really likes you!

Once the lil fishies eat, they are super attached and swim by your side, their tiny hands holding onto your bathing suit as they suckle on your fingers and any bare skin they can get to.

They’re very attached to the mother of the pod, which is usually the female that births them if they haven’t eaten her. They’ll cause mayhem if they aren’t allowed to follow you around.

They’re tiny for the first few weeks, so sometimes you scoop them up into jars so they can accompany you.

Baby sirens look like little babies but also lil guppy fish? They’re very small and chubby at first, around the size of a strawberry. But they grow quickly!

By the first month they’re around the size of a catfish!

[princessbrunette]

so i know i always say that rafe is strictly a girl dad. well, he is. but sometimes i like to humour myself with the universe where he’s the father to the sweetest little boy ever.

the universe would be ironic like that. rafe foolishly knocked you up when he was 22 — the boy still having alot to learn. he was still walking around with that pistol tucked into his waistband, fighting pogues, mouthing off and going on coke rants. you had been terrified, wondering what kind of a father rafe was going to be — even when he promised time and time again, “i’m — i’m getting my shit together alright? i can, hey — we can do this? okay?” with sweat gathered at his hairline and tears in his eyes. thus, when the universe decided to play the hilarious prank which was having the doctor tell you ‘its a boy!’, your first thought was ‘shit.’

because he was bound to be just like rafe, right?

you had seemingly prophetic visions, a spoiled little brat — just like his father was, thundering around in a brightly coloured ralph lauren polo from the baby range, demanding the teet when he saw fit. a girl would have been fine — you’d seen wheezie grow up around rafe and turn out totally fine (aside from the likely trauma.) but a boy? what did rafe cameron know about raising a boy? was your son next up to become a drug slinging, pogue hating, maniac? (with no offence to rafe of course, you were unfortunately very much in love with him but contrary to popular belief that did not disrupt your common sense.)

rafe was over the moon about you being pregnant with a boy too, which did little to comfort you.

the anxiety subsided the second that baby was out of you, his sticky, slimy little body placed onto your chest with rafe crowding your space — his bravado dropped for a second to reveal a childlike awe. his own baby. you could tell it was only now that things became very real for rafe. his eyes well up, covering his shaky grin with an even shakier hand, saying stuff like “shit, oh uh nah i probably shouldn’t cuss infront of the baby anymore right? yeah… my god, you did it baby. brought me my boy. should be so god damn proud.” he croons as his hands dig affectionately into your sore shoulders, smearing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “ahh, aha — what the hell kinda man am i cryin’ at this huh? shit.” he sniffles as he wipes his eyes but you’re not listening. you’re staring at your perfect boy.

he grows into something perfectly reminiscent of both you and rafe’s features, all whilst smushed into the cutest baby you’ve ever seen. you were aware every parent said that about their child, but no — you were certain. he was pampers commercial level cute. ‘top ten cutest babies’ buzzfeed article level cute. sarah would often hold him to her chest and something would be healed as she’d whisper “i can’t believe you came from my brother.” into his wispy hair. he was a true blessing.

with big doe eyes that took up half his face and an appearance that somehow replicated a baby lamb that had been turned into a human on the basis of a magical spell — you had long forgotten about your worries regarding having a boy.

a few years down the line and not much has changed. your baby boy is three years old, chubby fists clutching his empty plastic lightening mcqueen plate as he toddles out onto the porch where rafe sits spread out opposite barry, sipping on a can of beer in the early evening. your son is distracted by a decorative plant, and the two men pay him no mind as they continue talk.

“but — but that’s the thing, right, barry? i dont do that shit anymore and… and i sure as hell am not looking to start again.”

“man i get that rafe you a father now, all serious and shit but think about the money. you thinkin’ with your husband head and not with your cameron head. your daddy was a piece of shit but he had that business mindset that you gotta adopt, bro.”

rafe’s expression flattens, finishing his can before leaning forward onto his elbows. “well uh, newsflash — i don’t wanna be anything like my dad. now if we’re done here…” rafes attention is caught by the mini him waddling into view, holding his plate infront of him.

“more please?” comes the sweetest voice in the world, blinking up at the man he viewed as his entire universe, much like you at times.

“finished your icecream already huh? where’s your mom?” he cranes round, but doesn’t bother searching much further when he hears the padding of your footsteps.

“aye buddy, you know we was just talkin’ about you.” barry leans forward with a smarmy grin and your son gets shy, lifting his shoulders practically to his ears and looking down, glueing himself to rafes leg.

“conversations done, actually.” rafe reminds him, lifting the boy to sit on his hip as he hoists himself to stand. as he does so, you appear in the doorway to the patio— sundress clad belly swollen with another baby.

“rafe could you bring him in? it’s too hot out there for him without his hat.” you furrow your eyebrows, deciding to ignore barry’s presence all together, which of course doesn’t stop him from conversing.

“shit, i ain’t seen you in a while mama. he got you again? you two stay busy, huh?” rafes oldest ‘friend’ chuckles, gold tooth glinting in the sun light, and like your only child — you shy away, sending rafe a parting glance that said ‘just hurry up and rid of him.’

rafe adjusts the baby boy on his hip, now staring down at barry.

“talk to my girl again n’i’ll bring out the old me alright, you don’t want that. go do somethin’ barry, i don’t care what it is just get off my goddamn property yeah?” rafe drawls tiredly, crushing the can in his hand and dropping it carelessly into the wastebin beside barry before heading inside, your son turning to stare sweetly at the dark haired man over his dads shoulder, offering a sticky, wide fingered salute in parting.

atleast rafe was still his usual charming self, son or not.

[the-xolotl]

A Taste of Darkness Itself

Alastor x fem!Reader x His Shadow

ᯓღ Filthy one-shot of Alastor’s shadow railing reader.

ᯓღ a/n: i have been rotting on this idea for like literal weeks and i finally had the willpower to write it. idk how it got to 3.5k but it did. ENJOY !

SUMMARY: You hate being away from Alastor, but at least the silver lining is that Al’s shadow is nice company while he’s away. Today, though, it was a little more needy than usual.

ᯓღ CW: biting, licking, belly bulging, slight voyeurism, accidental exhibitionism, slight dub-con, no use of y/n, fem reader, size kink, monster fucking?, some aftercare, squirting, overstimulation, cumflation.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IN SIGHT. Thank you~

Waking up without Alastor is always a bummer; turning over to find a cold, empty spot where your lover should be have been isn’t a great way to start the morning. Being understanding of how busy he is and that sometimes this Overlord duties take him away from the hotel and essentially from you doesn’t take away from how much you dislike it. At least when he had trips to the other side of the pentagram he often left his shadow behind to look after you and keep you company.

The shadow you had affectionately named Shade often attempted to keep you entertained or went with you about your day. Shade has always been pretty docile with you, at least when you are in his care. Sometimes you wonder if it’s capable of its own feelings or if Shade is only nice to you because Alastor tells it to, or because being part of Alastor means he also loves you somehow. You’ve never discussed it with your lover but you like to think it’s the former simply because it makes it more special and cute.

Today, especially, you think about how that works because Shade had been especially clingy and… a little needy. In a way, as clingy as a being that can’t talk or isn’t really tangible can be but he keeps distracting you by making you pay attention to it; showing you little trinkets (don’t have the slightest idea where it got them), turning on the nearest radio to play smooth jazz to dance to. It took your shadow’s hand to twirl you around and dip you down or wrap itself around your shadow.

“You’re acting like me when I’m being clingy with Alastor,” you giggle, petting the top of its transparent head. You get the sensation that it leans into your touch even when you’re not really touching it. Shade has its charm, the shadow is definitely sentient and thinks on its own outside of Alastor’s orders.

You start retracting your hand but Shade snatches it with a somewhat tight grip, something it doesn’t really ever do. “What’s wrong?” your voice filled with a mix of concern and confusion. His expression is indiscernible with a wide grin still edged on its flat features and being that it can’t speak you can’t expect a response either. However, your confusion turns to absolute bewilderment when Shade intertwines your fingers together with it, actually seeing and feeling a cold touch wrapped around your hand.

It sent a shiver down your spine, it was like touching a corpse; cold and clammy. Slowly, Shade emerged from the wall. It’s a little funny the way it looks like a sentient sticker pealing itself off a flat surface but as it left the wall of Alastor’s bedroom its form changed into something akin to materialized dark matter. Not quite slimy or gooey but also not entirely gaseous; just pure darkness in the silhouette of Alastor and just as tall.

Shade is still holding your hand and not letting you go, smile even wider, one that reaches the blank holes of his eyes. While it didn’t feel menacing it’s off-putting seeing and being grabbed by a tangible shadow. You’re looking up at it with wide eyes, blinking owlishly, “Shade…?” your voice cracked. Again, you weren’t scared but very shocked as it had never shown you this form before. Shade draws closer to you excitedly, enveloping your entire body in its chill embrace. “Oh, oh you’re cold,” you laughed nervously, “Since when can you— Oof,” you’re caught off by Shade lifting you up and taking you to Alastor’s bed in a blink of an eye. Even more confused and a little concerned now you attempt to free yourself from his grasp but it only tightens as Shade nuzzles its face against your cheek and neck.

“A-Alright buddy, haha. What are you doing there?” Shade is harmless, and there’s no doubt in your mind it would hurt you. Not with Alastor being his master and you being the love of its master’s life. It’s an odd sensation having the manifestation of darkness pinning you down onto the bed with a bit of rough force. Even still, you can’t help but be endeared by the affection the creature is giving you.

It’s innocent enough until you feel ghostly lips pressed against your neck, trailing up to your jawline and then to your cheek and stopping at the corner of your mouth. You’re frozen for a few moments, eyes wide, and you swear you hear a record scratch. “Shade…?” you whisper again but it doesn’t move. You hear it make a noise that sounds like a laugh or a chuckle. It’s something between radio static and demonic growls. Before you have another moment to process, the shadow is stealing your lips again in a hungry kiss.

You surprise yourself by returning it but are unable to keep up as Shade robs you of all the air in your lungs rather quickly as the kiss deepens. It’s heated and has you gasping for air soon. You have to fight to breathe between the savage kisses it seems to not get enough of. The darkness of its lower body starts wrapping around your thighs parting them to better accommodate itself between them.

Gasping you pull away from the desperate lips to finally fill your lungs with proper oxygen with big gasps. Icy fingers travel up your thighs digging its sharp claws and making you hiss. “Shade!” you yelp its name when it decided to shove its entire hand up your skirt and past your panties to give experimental rubs at your pussy. You arched and squirmed under its touch as he watched your reactions with rapt enthusiasm and attention. Heat begins to creep up your face, red dusting your cheeks in embarrassment. But you can’t help your hips bucking into its chill touch, “More,” you moan.

Shade tilts its head to the side, the holes of his eyes still boring into your face. You nod at it, breathing heavily, and grinding your hips up again, “Please, more,” you mewl again enjoying the contrast in temperature between your warm folds and the coldness of its slender fingers.

Shade presses further then, rubbing your folds up and down, your pussy is quickly becoming increasingly wet under its attention. The shadow lets you grind against its fingers, occasionally rubbing at your erect clit. Soft moans and heavy breaths spill from your lips as you let the sentient being have its way with you. His mouth returns to your skin to kiss and nip at it creating a path of blooming red marks across your collarbone and chest.

Once your juices are practically dripping down to the sheets, Shade decided to dip in two fingers. It’s a tight fit that has your back arching and eyes rolling back but you welcome them spreading your legs even further inviting it in. He makes what you can only assume is a pleased low, reverberating growl. Your soaked cunt makes it much easier to slide them in despite the resistance, and oh how or where did this being of darkness and magic learn how to finger fuck so good?

Even with the frosty presence over your entire body, you feel the temperature rising around you, the room quickly growing hot and stuffy. You needed out of your clothes, except Shade still hadn’t let go of your hands yet, it held them up with one of his as he devoured the rest of your body with love bites and kisses. “Shade— Clothes, off. I need—” and just like that your clothes went up in smoke leaving you completely naked and more of your body exposed to the shadow’s hungry eyes. Its eye travels over your every curve, mapping its ups and downs, every groove. Finally, its hand releases your wrist in favor of touching your skin, especially your plush chest. It grabbed and squeezed at your tits feeling the size and weight of them. The contrast of the heat of your skin felt delightful against his cold one.

Shade pinched at your nipple, tugging it earning more moans and pleas. You’re losing yourself bit by bit, succumbing to the pleasure not even thinking about the consequences—would there be consequences?— you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “C’mere,” you whimper, a hand coming up to cup the side of his head and guiding him down to eye level with your chest. Shade didn’t resist and went down willingly, “Suck,” keeping its eyes on your face he obeyed willingly taking the hardened bud in its mouth sucking and digging little sharp teeth into the soft flesh. Meanwhile, his other hand hadn’t stopped, in fact, its fingers sped up in scissoring motions to coax your cunt open. Both your hands are on his head now holding on for dear life while you allow it to take you however it likes. And maybe you didn’t have a choice, you aren’t really calling the shots, but it didn’t matter. Not when you can feel your first orgasm building in your core.

Shade is oddly good at pleasuring you, in the back of your head you still wonder how, a morbid part of you think it’s from it possibly watching the way Alastor touched you. It’s then the fleeting thoughts of missing your boyfriend float momentarily in your lust-ridden mind. As your moans got more frequent and louder, your fingers digging harder into the shadow you felt yourself an inch away from coming. You cum with a scream and your orgasm wrecks through your entire body but Shade doesn’t miss a beat. It doesn’t stop, it doesn’t pause. The shadow continues to assault your g-spot while he alternates between biting and sucking at your breasts, even planting its palm against your clit while it continues to finger you to add even more stimulation.

Your body is shaking uncontrollably and the only thing keeping you in place is its grasp over your body. “Fuck me, please fuck me. I can’t take it anymore, fuck. I need your cock inside me,” voice desperate, as if your livelihood and sanity depend on being stuffed. You didn’t have to wait long for that request to be fulfilled either. The removal of his fingers from your wet pussy had you whining and clenching around nothing but almost as soon as they were gone they were replaced by something bigger pressing into you.

A tendril is teased along your folds with curiosity, as if copying movements and your suspicions that Shade is following Alastor’s actions in bed click subconsciously in your head. However, you’re too busy focusing on the tentacle between your legs now pressing its way inside you. Shade makes a noise and radio static spreads across the room, it makes a whiny sound along with your loud moan at the feeling of the thick length stretching you out. Your nails made their way to its back scratching at pitch darkness.

“Shade, don’t—” you tried to warn it to be gentle but it was too late. The shadow followed the tight heat of your dripping pussy and sheathed itself in one thrust making you cry and scream out. Tears slide down your cheeks, your body trembling already, writhing and trying to pull away from the fat tendril penetrating you. But it wouldn’t allow you, Shade only pinned you harder against the mattress with shadow tentacles and lifted your hips up to begin thrusting into you.

The shadow clearly had never done this before, given the sloppy way it’s thrusting into you with little rhythm but, it’s hard and it’s intense. The radio static buzzed across your skin rising goosebumps, Shade’s own moans increased; they sounded deliciously demonic. It picked up the pace before you even had time to adjust, “S-Slow down, too much,” but it didn’t listen. The restraints only got tighter, Shade didn’t mean to but it’s losing itself to the immense pleasure your body is giving it. The shadow continued to lick and bite anywhere it could, adding claws to the mix; its hand began to roam across your curves committing them to memory and dragging sharp nails that nearly broke skin anywhere it touched.

You felt Shade all around you overwhelming your senses and caging you on the bed. There’s no escape, not that you wanted to really, the mischievous shadow has you screaming and moaning its name wantonly. Despite begging it to slow down the pace you’re still wrapping your legs around its shadowy torso brining him closer to you.

“Kiss me, Shade. Kiss me again.” you plea between sobs of ecstasy. Its mouth leaves your tummy where it had been passionately sucking hickeys to comply with your request. It’s hot and heavy with a long tongue prodding your mouth, moaning loudly you enthusiastically accept the ravenous kiss. Shade’s hand in the meantime takes purchase on your hips for the purpose of guiding you up and down its cock and using your body as a life-size flesh-light. The shadow is still hammering into you and bullying your cervix with every rock of its hips, being mean about it by pulling all the way to the tip just to slam you back down for your ass to meet its hips.

You’re unsure how many times you’ve cum by now, it’s certainly been a couple times but you’ve been completely unaware because your mind is on cloud nine and the difference between pain and pleasure has been blurred. Right then, a particularly hard thrust straight into your sensitive bundle of nerves makes your body go limp, mouth hung open in a silent scream, no sound coming out but your body convulses within the dark grasp of its massive hand. Your eyes had rolled back so far only the whites of your eyes were visible and you swear you died again right then. Shade’s pace didn’t falter, fucking you straight into overstimulation, fucking you dumb, drool dripped from your agape mouth.

Shade is becoming increasingly feral with his ministrations, you’re to the point where you can’t hold a single thought for more than a second, not being helped by Shade maneuvering your body to turn you over so your chest is being pressed against the mattress and your ass is high up in the air. It doesn’t miss a beat thrusting into your spent cunt to continue right where it left off. Its pace doesn’t falter for a second no matter how arduous it’s been fucking into you and you’re not better than a rag-doll being used for the shadow’s pleasure. Your throat is raw and sore from all the screams, moans, and whines.

You’re tired, possibly nearly unconscious, and completely drunk in pleasure. Pleas of mercy have turned to begs of more, don’t stop, harder over and over like a desperate prayer. Even your cheeks are raw from the tears, every little caress makes them sting but you take it. Your hips are pushing back against its cock, off rhythm but the effort is there. There’s no matching the shadow’s inhuman pace even if your stamina could. Barely. Shade tangled a shadowy hand in your hair to press your head into the sheets, using its weight to cage you down.

You feel its long, icy tongue lick a path from the bottom of your spine all the way up the nape of your neck, tasting the coat of sweat over your body. It sends a full body shiver and for once you actually feel yourself cum. Sinking further into the mattress your hands cling onto the sheets tightly, “Shade, no more, no more please!” you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse, barely audible. The lewd, squelching sound bounced off the walls, and the sounds of your bodies rang loud in your ears making the blush of your face an even brighter red. Its thrust is brutal and unrelenting. It’s beyond you how you can withstand being split open by such a beast without breaking. It seems to obey you for the first time since it started having its way with you body.

However, in the next moment, it’s pulling your hair to bring up against his chest. Leaning back against the headboard and laying your back against him with its cock still nuzzled deep inside you. You look down to assess the damage, your tired eyes go wide seeing all the bloody bites and scattered bruises, there are finger pricks around your hips and thighs where he gripped you. The thing that really draws your attention is the prominent bulge in your tummy and the sheer size of the stretch of your hole. There’s cum and juices dripping down to your and Shade’s thighs too. You relax into the embrace, exhausted even if you’re still being made to cock-warm it, at least it’s no longer moving; you’re far too overstimulated and doubt you could handle any more.

The Shadow, though, had other plans. Shade appears to have infinite stamina already grabbing the underside of your thighs to lift you up and down his girthy length. You have neither the will nor the strength to combat it, only tightening around it and holding on to its forearms for dear stability. Shade used its tongue to lick away stray tears as one of its ghostly hands pressed on the bulge on your belly. It made you yelp, every inch dragging along your inside felt like your insides were on fire. Your eyes are fixed on where its cock disappeared inside you mesmerized by the way it parted your folds and your body accommodates it. “S-Shit you’re— so fucking big.” your voice is small, pathetic, barely audible. But your hips are still moving, you’re still ready to cum for the umpteenth time today.

Head swims with lust, you’re reaching highs of rapture you never thought possible; Shade has pushed you to your absolute limits miraculously without breaking you. It growls again, louder this time, and its hold on you clamps down like a vice. It makes you wince in pain before you feel a hot liquid spill and cover your insides. It came, finally, triggering your own orgasm with a shrill scream. You squirt involuntarily just from the overstimulation alone. The sheets soak and make a huge mess from the spray of juices, making a mess on your own legs, and Shade’s as well. This time it actually stops thrusting now that it has reached its release but doesn’t pull out, you lay there completely limb in his arms. It goes back to nuzzling your face sweetly, making a purring sound, and caressing your stomach softly. You could barely keep your eyes open at this point from sheer exhaustion.

Hearing a familiar voice yanks you out of your blissful trance, “I see you have been quite busy today, my dear.” A silky smooth voice resonates across the room making your head whip around to find the source. Alastor steps out of the shadows with a wide, wicked smile. You try to find your words but it’s futile. You’re too far gone and there’s no way you’re able to speak now. However, Alastor doesn’t press further, nor does he comment on the cuddling. He knew already, of course. For now, he’d let you rest and have a stern talk with his shadow later. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up, hmm?” he offered with a soft voice and a gentle hand. Shade lifted you into his arms and disappeared back into the shadows suddenly leaving you feeling empty and copious amounts of cum spilled from your pussy, making you wince and grimace. Alastor stayed silent as he carried you to the bath, running warm water before easing you in.

“I missed you today.” were the first words you managed to croak out. Your throat is still fucked, it likely would be for some time. Alastor is careful cleaning your body and rolling up his sleeves to be able to wash your hair. You’re not quite meeting his gaze, which he found amusing.

“Did you now? You seemed a little preoccupied when I came back— In fact you didn’t even notice when I had arrived.” the lilt in his voice is teasing, you can hear a chuckle.

You groan softly, “You watched?” you ask with embarrassment written all over your face. He silently continues to massage the shampoo into your hair without answering the question. You didn’t know what made it worse; the silent confirmation or if he had admitted to watching you get absolutely wrecked by his shadow.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll have my turn with you and you can have the real thing. See how you manage then.”

Your thighs clenched at his statement. Your whole body ached painfully, there’s no way you’ll be partaking in any strenuous activities for at least a week; there’s no way you’re walking for a couple days either. Alastor chuckled at how easily he could rile you up even after getting absolutely destroyed by a demonic entity.

“Just so you know, me and that shadow are connected,” he brought the shower head to rinse the shampoo off, “It’s a part of me, its thoughts are my thoughts, what it feels I feel.” It almost seems like an offhanded piece of information but this makes you realize something. Shame, embarrassment, and horror make your body stiffen.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[faefrosting]

OMG QHUOL THIS IS SO COOL AAA,, I can't wait to see what you do with this and I would love love love to test run the mod if you need test runners (Trust me I am great at breaking things- I mean finding silly oopsies) Eyeball flowers or balloons with eyes on them would be cool, augh I could sketch up so many ideas like error code noodles in a cup, neat paintings, ooo a caterpillar with a head on each end and moths with wings that reflect the opposite sky (day wings at night and night wings at day)

Because I'm a dork I started working on a Minecraft weirdcore/dreamcore/kidcore decoration mod- and obviously i made my boy whimsy into a plush >u> Feel free to drop suggestions for stuff I could make/add to the mod~

This is my first time making a mod so we'll see how it goesss

[hedgehog-moss]

Look at the delicious sushi for llamas I made today:

It's courgette stuffed with deworming paste and thanks to Poldine my plan went swimmingly. Pampelune is sometimes distrustful on deworming day, but when they saw Poldine get a treat then try to steal the other treats which were obviously meant for them, the other animals hurried to claim their own medicinal courgette as well.

Except Pampe. (How many times have I written these words.) She looked at her sushi, looked at me, sniffed every side of the courgette, decided it smelled like deceit, and walked away.

I felt daft for not going the muesli route straight away. Like all great tricksters Pampérigouste is suspicious by nature but she can't resist muesli. So I un-stuffed the courgette and used the sticky deworming paste to fashion a little muesli ball.

It was gooey and not very appetising but it's muesli, right? I camouflaged the muesli ball in a dish of innocent muesli and offered it to Pampe, but unfortunately she was now very aware that I was up to something. Instead of mindlessly vacuuming the contents of the muesli dish as she usually does, she examined the strange slimy little ball, pushed it away with her nose with obvious contempt, then ate the normal muesli. I tried (with increasing insistence and frustration) to convince her to eat the damn muesli ball, but no.

New idea: I went to the kitchen to get some pumpkin rinds, and squished the muesli ball between two small pieces of pumpkin skin like a Choco BN (if you're from the US, picture an orange worm-killing Oreo). Pampe likes pumpkin skin! I tried to explain to her that she would be punishing only herself if she refused the (admittedly deceitful) offering out of principle.

Somehow she managed to eat the outside 'biscuits' and spit out the stuffing.

At this point I had to shame her. (I told her to look ashamed for this photo; not sure she understood the assignment)

I had exhausted my creativity and had nothing left but the mean method. I got Pampe in llama jail, aka the school room where I spent many hours trying to teach her to wear a halter and be a good docile llama when she was little, while she spent many hours trying to escape by any conceivable means—high jumps, bribery, tunnels, you name it.

(In the background behind Poldine you can see the bag of hay that I used to get the llamas to follow me into the corral. Pampe naively thought I had given up on trying to make her eat gross slimy things and was about to give her a normal meal)

She tried a strange kind of escape this time around, which honestly might have worked if she were a swift salmon returning to her natal river to spawn, slicing against the current in a series of graceful, forward-arching curves. But she's a llama. It's like she forgot she wasn't all neck and also had a body that needed to clear this obstacle.

I sang her a little song to soothe her, and scritched her face, and managed to get a llama kiss which is more affection than I've ever received from a currently-jailed Pampe—her daughter really is a good influence on her!

So of course I took advantage of this moment of calm and trust to stick my hidden secret syringe in the corner of her mouth and push 2cm of deworming paste onto her tongue.

She was VEXED and WROTH.

We were talking about learning poetry by heart the other day; well, if Pampérigouste did that, "I am rowing (a hex poem)" is the poem she would have invoked in that moment.

After I left, all the other animals hurried into the corral to eat the hay I had used to get Pampe in, while Pampe turned her back on the meal and walked away a strategic distance, far enough to show me that she felt betrayed and would never eat any food I bring her ever again, not so far that she couldn't go back in and fight the donkey for what was left of the hay as soon as I stopped looking.

[yestrnight]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ POCKET SLIME ! 

FROM: kaveh, alhaitham / gn! slime! reader

SUBJECT: you used to be a docile, little thing. a blob of extraordinary cuteness that just follows them around wherever they go. but how in the world did the pet slime they took in turn to be some sort of cum-hungry demon?

( this shit reads like a doujinshi, so don’t even bother using braincells; feels like im committing some sort of crime against the cute widdle slimes of genshin; unhygienic slime usage; reader has a diçk AND a pússy, reader also has a humanoid form don't worry; best of both worlds; urethra play (kaveh); dubcon; nipple play (alhaitham), throat fucking (haitham); they’re ALL on their receiving end; ahégao; )

✧.*  KAVEH 

KAVEH who takes you in while you were plopping sadly around in the rain, sad little rumbles and bleps from your jelly body. he’s not so heartless that he’d kill some poor slime who doesn’t even have any interest in attacking him, only nudging its pudgy body against his shoes and looking pleadingly at him.

he likes to watch you eat the treats he brings home. it’s a stress reliever to see you munch on some sumeru roses he brought home, and he pats your blob figure fondly while you squeal in delight at his treats. you’re not a very picky eater, he finds out, but you’re more delighted whenever he feeds you something with elemental energy. once he learns of this, he brings home more and more elemental energy stuff, just to be on the receiving end of your cute lil snuggies.

KAVEH who lets you sit on his head whenever he’s working on his projects. while he sketches and measures, your cool jiggly body feels so comforting on his hair. sometimes he even falls asleep with you on him, and you slowly make your way to his cheek so you can protect him from the hard wood of his desk.

he genuinely brought you in because he thought you were cute, nothing more than that. he’s gotten fonder of you ever since the days pass by, and you thought of him the same. however…

KAVEH who wakes up to something warm and gooey sucking on him down there. as he squirms under the blankets, tiny little moans and whines escape his pretty little lips. the pink blush on his cheeks seems to brighten when he slowly opens his bleary eyes and sees his adorable slime sucking on the tip of his pretty cock. imagine the shock of seeing the pet he was so fond of doing nasty things to him!

��nnh–! [y-your name]! what are you– ahh ♡!” he tries his best to cover up and pull you away, but with no such luck. in fact, you suck even harder, the wet noises of his cum and your squishy body echoing throughout the room. you suck even harder, and the pleasure makes kaveh’s body jilt and shake every rhythm and pulse.

“angh… t- too much…!” he sobs and pushes you away, but his hands only sink into the slime. it’s only around this time he suddenly realizes the slow expansion of your blob body, slowly morphing into something familiar… something humanoid… something… cuter.

your wobbly smile looks so innocent even as you tongue the veins across his dick, and it sends blood to his head until he feels like he’ll pass out from a nosebleed. you gurgle something that sounds faintly like ‘master’ and ‘kaveh’... and gods does that make his dick hard.

“a s-slime turning into a human?” he gasps, sitting himself. “i must be going– ngH! c-crazyYY ♡ stop! s-stop!” using the dexterity and fluidity of a slime, your tongue compresses into something thinner. you ooze your way in into his urethra, the slimy thing bumping against the edges and leaves his toes curling and fingers gripping the sheets.

“ughk, mmh~!” he throws his head back, dick humping into your slimy mouth. “m-more ♡ k-keep going~! agh, ah, ah~!” your delighted gurgle sounds faint in his ringing ears, but he still manages to smile fondly. “g- good slime ♡ s-sucking on your master’s dick so h-ha-hARD! fuck!” he hisses when your tongue presses against his prostate. he pats your hair with one shaky hand and you nuzzle into it. “so ♡ cute ♡ you got even cuter ♡”

“‘m gonna blow! [your name]! ggh [your name]!” he whines and desperately grasps on the hair-like jelly. “s-slow down~♡! gh, nwah!” he wants to attribute your lack of understanding to your inability of comprehending human languages, but he swears he sees the shadow of a devilish smirk on your cute face before you griiiind your tongue right against his prostate.

as his climax hits him, KAVEH’s eyes roll and his back arches into the air as he shoots his seed into your mouth. the tears blur his vision, but he can see his white seed spurt into the jelly. satisfied with your meal, you finally pull out your tongue– getting some pretty screams from your master at the added simulation– and his body falls limp. you smile and giggle at him, kissing away the tears from his eyes, and slumping your cool body against him. 

“th– thanks, [your name],” he smiles at you, kissing you briefly before sleep takes him away again. “do that for me again, ‘kay?”

✧.*  AL-HAITHAM

HAITHAM who is skeptical of the slime his fool of a roommate brought home. he raised an eyebrow when kaveh came home wet with a pudgy slime in his hands. “you know that can dissolve you, right?” he points out, ever the smartass. 

kaveh snaps back. “of course i know, idiot. but look at them! don’t you feel bad for them?” he raises you high and you give a warbly greeting, but alhaitham is far from impressed. his dramatic roommate rolls his eyes at him and kaveh carefully tucks you away. “let’s go, [your name]! this callous idiot isn’t worth your time!”

HAITHAM who didn’t pay you much attention, only ever seeing you while you drape off kaveh’s head when he enters for breakfast. you were well-behaved for a slime, anyway, so he shouldn’t concern himself much with you. but his interest is piqued when one day he hears devilish noises from kaveh’s room, sounds of slurping and sucking while kaveh whines pathetically muffled behind the door. clearly, it’s not kaveh doing the sucking and slurping, but…

HAITHAM who sees you again the next day at breakfast, draping off kaveh’s head as usual. he greets kaveh with his usual coolness, but kaveh, for lack of a proper word, looks completely fucked out. his legs shake as he pulls his chair, and when their hands touch while reaching for the food, he pulls back with a lip-bitten yelp. all the while, you garble incomprehensibly on him.

yeah, no. his roommate is definitely fucking his pet slime. haitham’s not chatty, but he’s got a million words for how fucked up the entire situation is. once kaveh is out of the house, he corners poor little you and stares down into your vacant little slime eyes. he won’t admit that he actually cares for his… once friend, so getting rid of the thing that has tempted him into immoral acts will be the best next thing.

“mm- mmgh?!” haitham doesn’t know how he ended up like this, gagged and bound by your slimy tendrils. while he tries to break free, he stares in astonishment as the blob slowly expands. the torso starts first, before extending into limbs, until the head takes shape and a very, very pretty smile is smiling innocently into haitham’s face. 

“☆♡♡?” your gurgles continue to be incomprehensible, despite the humanoid form. slowly, your cool hand caresses his face, holding his chin while your tendrils lift him ever so slightly up the ground. you kiss him, like how a lover would, the slightest bit of tongue swiping over his lips, but then you pull away— and he catches the devilish smirk before you lean in again and start fucking his mouth.

he thrashes in your slimy hold, slipping away only for the slime to thicken and tighten their hold on him. he glares at you with look of indignation as he tries his best to keep his mouth shut, only for you to slip your tongue between his lips and curl around his tongue. he shakes as you bring him closer to you so you can properly fuck him in his throat. you curiously watch as he gags and splutters on the length of the tendril, his glare never ceasing even though he looks like a proper slut with that dark red blush on him.

replacing your pseudo tongue for another tendril, you pull away from his face and eye his thin shirt. your curious hands roam over the expanse of his chest, and you delight in the softness of his pecs. feeling a bit too eager to get your hands under his shirt, you dissolve the cloth away and quickly reach up to rub his two pretty nipples. you roll them around in your fingers, giving each one a tight squeeze before going back to massaging them. 

HAITHAM, behind the slime gagging him, yelps when you lean in and bite one. you run a tongue over his wide areolas, studying his expressions to make sure you’re pleasing your master’s best friend properly. his glare is more subdued, the wriggling has lessened, and there’s an… anticipation in his eyes as he stares down at you. you’re more than delighted at the progress. this means he likes you, right? you always felt a little sad when haitham would glare at you, but now you can feel getting closer to him! best friends, even, just like him and your master!

and like every best friend does, you should make him feel happy too! lowering one gloopy hand down to his pants, you waste no time melting away his pants and underwear and morphing your hand into something akin to a suction cup. little tentacles line the inside of the cup, and a muffled groan from haitham convinces you to finally ungag him. he gasps for breath, staring at you with wide eyes and a fucked out look. “what… what are you waiting for?” haitham grits his teeth, trying to hide the desperation he’s feeling when you’re so, so close to finally giving him the relief he wants. “put that on me. now.” a pause when you don’t do anything, and the last left of his dignity leave him as he gives you a pleading look and buck his hips up. “please.”

you know from experience that that one syllable is the go ahead, and with enthusiasm and vigor, you put the cup on him and start sucking. “mmm! ngh, ah, too much! ah!” you think his moans are pretty. huskier and deeper than your master’s soft and light whines, and that only makes you sucke even harder. the stimulation forces him to bend his back as he dangles in mid-air, forcing his fat cock deeper into your suction-hand. the dizziness of the upside down world makes the blood rush to his head, and he feels his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tickle the throbbing vein running the downside of his cock.

“ah, sh-shit, you’re taking me all in ♡” sweat makes his skin glisten, highlighting even more his soft pecs and his abs. tendrils reach out from your back as they glide themselves around his waist and guide him back up. he’s positively shivering as you continue pounding his cock in and out of your hand, and his tongue is shivering when you pull him in for another kiss.

somewhere in the back of his mind, haitham swears he’ll make a research paper on you– on how intoxicating and aphrodisiacal you can be.

✧.* IT’S A THREESOME!

KAVEH bounces himself on your dick, your squishy body serving as his cushion as he lets his limp body get absolutely wrecked by a thick and veiny cock you fashioned from your ever-morphing body. his pretty dick slaps HAITHAM’s muscled torso as the younger one slaps his heavy balls against the pussy just underneath your balls. 

your slime encases the both of them flicking haitham’s nubs up and down and fucking kaveh’s urethra open, just the way they like it. it should be humiliating, the two roommates who could barely stand each other now open and so vulnerable to each other. but kaveh’s face is contorted in a lewd expression, eyes crossed and tongue hanging out of his mouth as he gets his ass destroyed, and haitham can’t find the energy to even insult him.

well, maybe a little bit. “you– ngh! – you really brought a beast into my home, huh?” he pants out, grabbing kaveh’s waist for stability as he thrusts his dick into you like a beast in rut. “you really couldn’t resist the chance to get yourself fucked silly, huh, my dear senior?”

kaveh whines when he feels haitham going even faster on you, and he tries to cover his face with his arm. “sh– shut up, okay?! i– a-ah ♡ i didn’t knooow! i thought they were a c-cute l-little thing ♡ but now they’re–” a sob escapes him as you abuse his prostate. “they’re just bullying me e-everydayyy ♡”

haitham locks eyes with you, innocent and vacant, not a single thought behind them. but it’s hard to see you as anything but innocent when you’re offering up both your cock and pussy to your two masters.

“you’re one crafty thing,” haitham bites out. but all you offer to him is a happy little noise when you think that you’ve made your two masters happy and fulfilled. just like how that man taught you to.

[moonstruckme]

im literally in lovee with your writing of sirius black id love love love more of him x reader pleasee [my favourite is friends to lovers or just being super domestic but tbh I'd read anything u write with him in lmaoo]

Thank you for requesting lovely! It worked out that I'd just written this when I got your ask, so I hope it fits what you're wanting!

cw: reader has hair long enough to tie back

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 833 words

Sirius finds you out behind Remus’ house, sitting in the grass and, by all appearances, playing with mud. 

“Hey there,” he says, “did you manage to find the bathroom?” 

You have a tendency to wander off. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes you get lost, and Sirius can never tell which is happening at any given time. As much as he’d like to tie a string between you so you’re never very far, he’s learned to let you go where you will; you always end up where you want to be anyways. 

“You were talking about football,” you say by way of answer, the slightest hint of sheepishness in your sweet voice. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I went off for a bit.” 

Sirius hums and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, stretching his legs out. The sun is warm and welcome on his face, just enough breeze to keep it from getting too hot. 

It’s a beautiful day, you’d noted upon waking up this morning, already opening the windows in his bedroom. 

Looks like it, Sirius said from bed. He smiled wryly. It’ll probably be the last decent one we have all year.

You’d frowned. That’s not a very nice way to manifest the weather. 

While Sirius is upturned, you’re bent over, messing with something in your hands and dipping your fingers occasionally into a pail of water. 

“What’ve you got there, pretty girl?” 

“A mug,” you say simply. You thumb concentratedly at the slimy thing in your hands, lips pursing. “Or, a soon-to-be-mug.” 

“And you’re making it out of…mud?” 

“No,” you laugh, looking up at your boyfriend in that fond, indulgent way you have. Like he can be so silly sometimes. “Remember how Remus said there was clay by the stream back that way? I’m using some of that.” 

“Ah.” Sirius tilts his head, studying the misshapen lump in your hands. “I see. And this is going to be a drinking mug?” 

You hum in affirmation, and he leaves it at that. He’s not terribly sure whatever you end up with will be able to hold water, but he knows better than to try and dissuade you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe he can sign the both of you up for a pottery class sometime. 

A piece of hair falls from behind your ear, and you blow at it, trying to keep it out of your face with your hands occupied.

“Here,” Sirius offers. He takes an elastic off his wrist, gathering the hair away from your face and tying it back loosely the way you like it. 

You gift him a sideways smile in return. A bit of dried clay on your cheek cracks with the movement. Evidently, this isn’t the first time you’ve had to push your hair back. “Thank you.” 

“Baby,” he says, voice laden with fondness. He steadies your face with one hand, swiping at the clay with the other. “You’ve got it all over you.” 

It’s true. It covers your hands up past your wrists, and several places on your legs have pale gray tracks where you’ve wiped your fingers off on them. 

“It’s a messy business,” you say matter-of-factly, “but it dries sort of pretty, I think. Do you want some?” 

He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you mean?” 

You set your soon-to-be-mug down gingerly, extending a hand to him. “Give me your arm.” 

Sirius suppresses a sigh. He didn’t really plan on getting dirty today, but he’s hardly in the habit of denying you anything you ask for. He sets his forearm in your hand. 

You dip a finger into the wettest part of your clay, setting it to the skin above his wrist. Your touch is cool and slick on his sun-warmed skin. You draw a little star like you’re fingerpainting, the clay a funny contrast to the dark tattoos surrounding it. 

You look so pleased with your work that Sirius can’t help himself. He leans forward, giving you a drawn-out, amorous kiss. 

“Thank you,” he says in his most saccharine voice. 

Your lashes flutter prettily as you blink, a rare shy smile taking you. “You’re welcome.” 

Sirius dips two fingers into your pail of water, using them to wipe the remaining clay off your cheek more thoroughly. When he’s done, he spots another smudge on your shoulder, inexplicable. He tsks. “When you’re done with your mug, we might have to ask Remus if you can use his shower, lovely girl. You really do have it all over you.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to trouble him,” you say airily. “The stream’s not very far, and it’s flowing rather quickly with all the rain we’ve been having.” 

He blinks. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”

You look at him bemusedly. “No. Why?” 

Sirius bends his head, letting his hair fall like a curtain to conceal his smile as he kisses the clean part of your shoulder. “I think it’d be better if you used Remus’ shower, sweetheart. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

[the-enchanted-mistakes]

"Names can be caught? Where do you fish them?!?!?" @u@? Think she means that litterally.

"I never captured my own name. It's only been given. Or called out." >.>

"Do you have something that will help reduce the constant *slime* my body produces?" :o

@the-enchanted-mistakes

"Oh hello again...I don't think I caught your name." Dr. Wormwood says as she is approached by Misc.

"Your body produces slime? How interesting." She tilts her head and scratches the back of her neck. "And you're looking for something to reduce it. Hmmm..."

"I don't have anything like that, but I could see about cooking something up for you." She tilted her head as she looks at Misc.

"I will need a sample of said slime though."

@the-enchanted-mistakes

[burstinn]

Bro..I love your blog already

Can you please do CoD (Ghost, soap, nikto, roach, könig, price, Gromsko(if you write for him) with male reader who has mouth like mileena from mortal combat 😵 you know..sharp ass teeth, Long slimy tongue and shit

Can be nsfw if you want👀

MALE READER WITH A MOUTH LIKE MILEENA

(Headcanons/ short story?)

People shown: Ghost, Soap, Nikto, Roach, König, Price,Gromsko. As per requested.

Warnings: body/face disfigurement?,small mention of experiment and torture, mentions of slight depression/ mental breakdowns.

Themes: fluff, slight angst, comfort, no nsfw for now ain't feelin the groove can be read with mutual or start of a romantic relationship. Just wanna be held and comforted fr fr 😞😞���🤚

Note: I never wrote about Gromsko but I do know him. Had to do a research into him. So this is my interpretation of Gromsko hope I got him right.

Also these Headcanons ARE FUCKING LONG. so I hope you saved room for breakfast, lunch, dinner, appetizers, and dessert with complimentary drinks too.

Also this is kinda rushed? I didn't have time to proofread this. So like. Yeah..

You (M/N) had a very disfigured mouth a big slash across your lower face. Making it look like your lower face have been burnt in half. Showing sharp teeth protruding out accompanying it was your long sharp tounge. Your face adorned with scars and bruises you managed to collect through your time in the military. But when you had this type of injury..Where your mouth looks so horribly scarred you had to leave the military.

Due to how long you've been in the military. And how you've been tortured and experimented on making your face look like..this. You hated it. But you wanted to be back in the military for your own personal reasons.

Now since your back in the military you've kept your face hidden. You didn't want your new team to look at you in disgust and horror. They always used to be so scared. But it's a new team! You just have to keep your mask on and none would be the wiser.

GHOST

-Ever since Ghost saw you he always felt something was..off about you. It's not like you kept to yourself no you were sociable sometimes.

-But he kept his doubts about you to himself. You were a soldier. And just because he felt off doesn't mean he had to treat you differently

-He wasn't prodding or asking you about why you kept wearing you mask.

- You have your problems on why you wore your mask, He has his problems. It's like a little understanding why you kept your mask on 24/7.

- Then that one faithful day when you both were paired on a mission and you were caught by an enemy dragged to a building.

- Ghost was quick to follow you. He was nearby and saw you get dragged.

-He made his way silently and quickly through the building. Slipping in through a cracked window as he searched around cautiously.

-A bang could be heard, then a scream. Then silence.. That wasnt good. He swiftly ran over to where he heard the scream. And he found you..you weren't dead no. The enemy was. A big gnash on their neck as they slowly bled on the cold floor.

-And you were there. Coiled into a ball quietly sobbing, shaking your head. He glanced at the bleeding enemy one more time before he ran over to you immediately making his presence known as he gently grabbed your arms covering you face.

-When he pried your hands off and saw your face. He only sighed his eyes softening in small realization. Before he hugged you. As you continue to sob. He knew why you covered your face now... And he won't hate you for that.

SOAP

- He immediately took an interest towards you when he first saw you for the first couple weeks.

- He would stalk you for a bit. Realizing you never took your mask off..like Ghost.

- He didn't mind as well. Maybe you had a similar reason to Ghost. Although that didn't stop him to ask you to take off your mask.

- You took it well. Really just teasing him that you totally would show Soap your face.(you wouldn't, never)

- That only made Soap think that you would someday show your face.

- You both grew close. Always hanging out, making jokes, hell even sleeping in the same room.

- Although he would keep pestering you about your mask.

- You trusted him deeply and he trusted you.

- Then one day you pulled Soap in a closet.. Although he was a bit suspicious asking you slyly why you brought him here. Before you shut him up.

- It was serious.. you trusted him so so deeply.. maybe..he wouldn't judge you if you showed him..your face? And that's what you did. You explained why you called him here. Hus face bellowing with excitement. As you slowly took off your mask showing. Your face.

- You looked worriedly at him. Soap had gone silent. And he was just staring wide eyed...oh no..no..no.. that wasn't the reaction you wanted.

- You tried to explain..or try to convince Soap to not make you look like a freakish fool. But Soap just..ran out of the closet.. leaving you there dumbstruck..

- It was only later in the night. Specifically midnight. You couldn't forget how Soap looked at you it was heart wrenching. That was it. He thinks you look like a freak now.

- You hold your face in your hands. Sobbing about your friend.. that now thinks your disgusting.

- Then 3 knocks came at your door. You dawned your mask wiping away your tears before opening the door. Before you even react Soap pushes you in your room and closes the door.

- You don't respond. He whispers something to you then he removes your mask. Making you panic..Then he holds your face. Gentle and soft as he looks at you with a solemn smile.

- "M/N..." He whispers your name again as he rubs your lower face. Holding you in his arms as he whispers praises.. and apologies. For you.

NIKTO

- He wouldn't care about you

- He really didn't like or want any more new recruits. He found new people annoying. So when you first bumped into Nikto. He gave you a glare before he shoved past you.

- When he overheard people talking about how you never removed your mask. He got slightly curious so whenever you were nearby he would watch you. And they were right. You never took off your mask.

- One day he got frustrated with you. Do you think you're special for not taking off your mask?

You think you are cool? He seethed.

- Although he was a brute to you he was at least modest well.. modest to not pull your mask out of your face Infront of your teammates.

- Instead he cornered you somewhere private. Gruffly asking then commanding you to take off your mask.

- When you disagreed he ripped it off your face. And saw..your.. face. His eyes slightly widened.

- And when you started to panic trying to grab your mask while hiding it. Til' you eventually snatched it out of his hands when he was frozen with shock. You wore your mask and ran out.

- That's when Nik knew he fucked up. He knew he needed to apologize. So he went to search for you after he processed what happened now the guilt weighing down on him every minute he couldn't find you.

- When he finally found you probably hiding off somewhere, most likely avoiding Nik. He sat down next to you. Unsure how to start with his apology.

- When he finally blurted it out. Looking at you with obvious guilt in his eyes. But he knew sorry wasn't enough. So he took his mask off himself. Showing his own scars and bruises. Scooting himself closer to you still with that apologetic look.

- You talked for a while maybe about how you got your scar or not. About anything else.

ROACH

-Hes quiet around you. Once he first saw you he didn't really react much. It's just a new recruit nothing special.

- You never takes off your mask? Nothing special to him.

- He kept to himself you kept to yourself.

- he was just crawling around one day. Hiding up in small spaces and just idk stayed there.

- And when you bursted in closing the door behind you. He hid himself further in that corner he was in. He's not confronting you..nuh uh..

- He watched you stand there for a few minutes before you took of your mask. Showing off your lower face. Which made him go closer to see.

- Woah.. He watched you intently without your mask. Taking in every detail. He thought you looked cool. Didn't understand why you hid your face. Looked kinda sick tbh.

- That's when you felt someone watching you and you lock eyes with Roach. Your eyes widening hastily grabbing your mask and running off. Leaving Roach there with his thoughts. He must've understood enough you don't like being seen with your mask down.

- So the next few days. He watched you looking at you with a knowing look. While you looked back nervous and full of embarrassment?.

- And one of those days he was watching you. He walked up to you without saying anything and handed you a piece of ripped paper only reading

" You look cooler without your mask ".

KÖNIG

- He raised an eyebrow when he saw you. Almost already knowing you were the type of person who would keep him mask on.

- Not like he cares or anything

- He would though keep an eye on you. Just in case.. Not like he's interested in seeing your face or anything.

- From watching to discreetly following you around. Just to make sure okay? It's nothing else.

- When he was following you today. He watched from the side when a few other soldiers with the same rank as you walked in beside you. Poking and prodding on why you have to hude your face in a mask? Did you look sexy bad you had to hide it?

- When you ignored or scolded them. They quickly got annoyed with you and tried removing you mask. Even when you tried to shove and fight them off they would eventually take off your mask anyway.

- König knows he should stop he was about to when they finally managed to take off your mask. And they all backed away from you in disgust evidently on their face.

- If you got angry or sad they would just back away from you again. They don't care you looked disgusting. If you tried to grab your mask from someone they'd back away from you while screaming at you to get away from them.

- König didn't notice your face. Well not yet anyway. He made his presence known in a booming voice as he dismissed the people who just assaulted you. They're still holding your mask

- You try to hide your face but. That didn't work. Even when König saw you. He saw your face. His face softening when he saw you.

- He walks up to you. Going on his knees to take your hands off your face. As he looks up at you softly. Holding your hands in his.

- He shouldn't judge. He didn't really care. You are his soldier and you took his interest. He talked to you softly sprinkling in praises about your face while he tries to comfort you.

PRICE

- He knew about your face. It was already mentioned in your information when he read your file. He was the one who let you in 141 anyway. And he didn't mind

- He had seen lots of injuries all varying in scales. So he didn't really mind your face

- Wether you knew that Price knew about your face or not. He would be the first to call you everytime in his office to talk.

- Just discreetly talking about you. Maybe get you to open up to him. Which would then eventually lead to you opening up to the rest of the team.

- He wanted you to feel comfortable and feel part of the team. Always.

- He told you he knew about your face. Any reactions from you would just let him make you sit down as he tries to be your personal therapist. Assuring you that no one would judge you. If anyone did. He would make sure that they would be punished.

GROMSKO

- He would eye you at first before trying to impress you. Well trying to impress all the new recruits. Always showing off how good he is in what he does.

- When he noticed you never got rid off your mask. Not even talking to anyone why you take off your mask. He had a great idea.

- His first plan with you was to get you to take off your mask to him. Just so he could show off that he was the lucky guy to see your face.

- So he made himself get comfortable with you. Hanging around you, talking to you, trying to scope you out so he could get your trust and take your mask off around him. Maybe he could get a sweet picture so he could have proof.

- He would talk to you alot. Almost everyday actually, he would make himself hang around you. Maybe even begging to be in the same missions with you. Just so he could....why'd he hang out with you again??.. ahh he forgot!

- He just suddenly.. started wanting to be close friends with you. Forgetting his original reason.

-That was when he only remembered his initial reason why he was friends with you. When you pulled him somewhere private and you asking him if he wanted to see your face.

- He got excited. Even more when he remembers why you guys were friends. But a slight guilt stung him when he remembers why. His first intentions were.. really selfish. But now he was really fond of you.

- But he nodded and when you took of your mask seeing your mouth. Of course he got shocked and to your dismay backed away from you.

- He cleared his throat when he realized that wasn't really.. a good reaction really..

- So he moved closer to you. Admiring your sharp teeth and mouth.

- He even asked you to show your tounge. Just as impressive.

- He grew even more and more fond of you. You let him touch your lower face. He takes off his own as well. Showing his face. As he held your face.

- He whispered something polish about you looking so unique.. so special?...

- Then he didn't know why but. He just..I dont know.. pressed his lips on yours.. Not like it meant anything..or something.. (it totally meant something)

[solarmorrigan]

Tastes Better on You

For the @steddie-spooktober day 3 prompt: Apples Rated: T | Words: 736 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, fluff, Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson have a sibling relationship, modern AU, it barely matters though, it's mostly just so we can worry a little less about homophobia Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Cold weather agrees with Steve, Eddie thinks.

He stands back and takes a moment to appreciate it: the color in Steve’s cheeks, the sweater pulling snug across his shoulders, the way the breeze ruffles his hair. He stands at the edge of the pumpkin patch, arms crossed over his chest, a little smile on his face as he watches the kids pick the field over for victims to be carved later that afternoon. He’s limned perfectly in afternoon sunlight, golden and shining and beautiful.

And all Eddie’s.

Eddie shakes himself out of his reverie and heads back over with the spoils of his trip to the refreshment stand.

“Your drink, milord,” he blusters, holding a cup of hot cider up for Steve to take.

Steve blinks in surprise at the cup suddenly thrust into his field of vision before he takes it with a smile and a “thanks, babe,” further rewarding Eddie with a kiss on the cheek.

Eddie beams. He hadn’t wanted anything from the concession stand himself—he knows they’ll be roasting the pumpkin seeds later in the evening and he knows he’s going to eat a metric fuckton of them, so he might as well save room—but this right here is exactly why he’d volunteered to go get something for Steve. He settles back into place next to him and looks out over the field.

“Are you going to pick out a pumpkin, too?” Eddie asks.

Steve, caught mid-sip, hums and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he hedges once he’s swallowed. “I don’t really like cleaning them out, getting all that slimy shit on your skin. Feels weird.” He gives a theatrical little shudder, and Eddie grins.

Back in high school, everyone had been able to see the deliberate care Steve had put into his clean-cut appearance, but Eddie never would have guessed that he could be downright persnickety at times. He loves being privy to it.

“How about I help?” he offers. “I’ll deal with the slimy shit, and we can carve it together.”

Steve sends him a sidelong glance, cautious and considering; he’s still thrown sometimes by how genuine Eddie is in his interest, in his affection. He isn’t used to having people meet him halfway, but he’s getting there.

“We could do that, yeah,” he finally says, hiding his smile in another sip of cider. “This is really good, by the way, thanks.”

“The cider?”

“Mm,” Steve hums around the rim of the cup.

“Mind if I try some?” Eddie asks.

Shaking his head, Steve swallows and offers Eddie the cup. Eddie has other ideas.

He gently pushes the cup to the side and leans in, catching Steve’s mouth in a kiss. His tongue darts out, sweeping across Steve’s lips, and he tastes like crisp apples and warm spices and bright sunshine.

“You could’ve just tried some from the cup,” Steve murmurs when Eddie pulls back, even smiling as he is.

“Tastes better on you,” Eddie says, before pressing back in for another kiss.

Steve opens right up to him, and Eddie chases the taste of sweet-spiced apples right into his mouth. Steve’s free hand finds purchase on Eddie’s waist while Eddie reaches up to cup Steve’s jaw, tilting his head just so, searching for a better angle, when–

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice cuts across the field, pulling both Steve’s and Eddie’s focus from the kiss. “Quit sucking face and come help me with my pumpkin!”

Rollin his eyes, Steve huffs out a sigh and, regrettably, pulls away from Eddie.

“You want to stick a ‘please’ in there, Henderson?” he calls back.

“Please stop being gross,” Dustin snarks.

“What’s that?” Steve cups a hand behind his hear. “Sounds kind of like someone who doesn’t want help carrying their stupidly huge pumpkin.”

Dustin, stationed in front of what is truly a very large pumpkin, lets his head fall back with a groan. “Steve,” he intones, “will you please come help me with this pumpkin.”

“Yeah, alright,” Steve calls back. He turns to Eddie and presses the cup of cider into his hand. “I’ll be back. Pick a good one for us while I’m gone.” He pecks another kiss to Eddie’s cheek and sets off across the field.

Slowly, Eddie sips from the cup and watches as Steve and Dustin argue about the best way to get the pumpkin to the van, a smile and the taste of apples lingering on his lips.

[smuthospital]

⭐️Yandere Kylar x Reader⭐️

Premise: You're a streamer, and your biggest fan really really likes you

Warning: Non-con, kidnapping, gn reader

Minors DNI

Bright lights flash in your eyes, your fingers rapidly bashing buttons on your keyboard, your other hand furiously clicking your mouse. You whine as your character suddenly falls to the ground, dead.

"Ok, guys! Ok, I get it! I know I'm not that good at this game! No need to tease me!" You laugh. Inside, you're a bit peeved. These stinky bastards aren't here for your gameplay so they better shut up. Shut up and enjoy their eye candy. You're currently streaming an online first-person shooter. You made your little hobby into a little side hustle not too long ago. Guys love watching hot people play games and it's proven to be profitable. "I'm cute? Well thank you, Mr. Husband!" This guy is a regular. Gotta give him those shout-outs he practically pays for.

As much as it hurts to deal with these weirdos, It helps with expenses. You've even seen Robins username pop in and out quickly, probably hoping you didn't see. At first, you were uncomfortable with acting all sweet for your audience, but you warmed up to the idea when it started staving off your bastard Landlord at the orphanage you live in, Bailey. You play games dressed sexy, say sweet dumb things and the money comes pouring in.

These poor, lonely guys send you money in hopes you'll give them a crumb of attention, and you do. Sometimes, you say their names. You don't exactly care that you're taking their money at all. It's a gift! It's not like you forced them to give you money, nor did you even ask. They just want a chance to get in your pants and you're not gonna stop them from dreaming. You can't count the number of times people in the chat have asked if you have an onlyfans.

You'd never, of course, date one of these pigs. You imagine your viewers are stinky, slimy, greasy and would cum in their pants at just seeing you in person. Their whole body is probably sticky to the touch and shower maybe once a month they probably have piss filled mountain dew bottles on the floor next to their pc and shit stains on their seat. You're pretty sure a few guys in the comments are jerking off as you stream this very second.

A few times, you've received ominous messages in the comments from different users, almost threatening you for some ridiculous problem they have with you. How you play, what you're wearing, or just your face, so you make sure to always hide your location and are very vague about your personal life. You're used to them being weird, saying things about what they'd do to you if they were alone with yo- Just have to learn to ignore it. You calm yourself down.

"Well, that's enough for today, I'm getting sleepy! It was nice playing with you today. I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight, love you!" You blow a kiss at the camera. You see people commenting their 'i love you too's and whining about how you could stay a bit longer' in the chat before you disconnect. You made $540 from that two-hour stream. You received most of it from the same person. Mr.Husband. Not one minute after closing the stream, you get a message. You thought you disabled direct messages? You notice that it's to your personal account that's open on another tab from an unnamed account. No bio, no profile picture.

New user: Hey

New user: Do you want to meet up sometime? For coffee?

You: Who's this?

New user: I'm Kylar. You can get to know me when we get coffee.

You: Uh no? How the fuck do you know me?

New user: I love your streams, pretty. Drop the fucking attitude before you piss me off. I knew you'd be more of a bitch off-camera. You just look too good to be good hearted. You have to be taught obedience. You're lucky I care about you so much.

You: Keep your tiny prick away from me. I never want to see you in my presence. Disgusting. Ugly pig. Do me a favor and never ever leave your dirty cave. Go fuck yourself

New user: Wanna watch?

*New user has now been blocked*

You stand up and walk away from your computer. how the fuck did he find your actual account? You don't even have your real name anywhere. You start to undress, not noticing your computer's camera has flicked on again.

In a dark room, a man fists his massive cock slowly, eyes trailing up and down his obsession through the screen. His mind is filled with all the things he wants to do to a little cock tease like you. Ruin you, break you, crush you under his weight, teach you a lesson for whoring yourself out. A cute treat like you should have better manners "Pig...tiny prick. Ah, (y/n) I can't let you just say those things to your husband." he watches as you slide your underwear down, eyes zeroing in on the crevice between your thighs as you bend over. He shudders as hot baby batter coats his chest and thighs, continuing to roll down his cock in fat globs.

Two days later, you're walking back home from a late shift at the cafe. You plan to stream when you get home.

Something is watching you.

Cold sweat dribbles down the back of your neck. You shiver, the cold night air doing nothing to calm you. You can feel eyes drilling holes into your back. You picked up your pace, your eyes darting all around. Who is it? What do they want? You think you can hear footsteps not far away. They're getting closer. You break into a sprint and make it to Danube street before you're tackled to the ground. All air is pushed from your lungs, depleting you of oxygen. You do your best to fight against your unseen attacker, but they're far too strong. You try to scream, but only a wheeze comes out. The man roughly picks you up like a sack of potatoes under his arm and carries you into a mansion nearby.

He walked down a flight of stairs and threw you to the ground. You tried to scramble away, but he grabs your ankle and drags you back to him. You get a look at his face in the dim light. He's handsome, but his expression strikes fear in your heart. Fury is the only word you can think of to describe it. You scream and flail your limbs wildly, trying to get him the fuck off of you. You hear a crack and before you realize what happened, your cheek is burning. "Shut." Smack "The." Smack "Fuck." Smack "Up." He's seething by the end. Your head was knocked back into the ground by the last hit. A dribble of blood runs down your nose, your cheeks completely red and moderately swollen. You're no longer trying to fight him, head far too foggy to do anything but lay there in pain.

"I'm sorry, baby." He huffs, calming down a bit. "Don't fight me and that won't have to happen again." He wiped at the blood on your face with his thumb, cradling your cheek. A blush creeps over his face along with a deranged smile as he stares down at you with his unblinking eyes. "You're just so perfect. Everything." You feel a bulge forming atop you where he's straddled. He pants heavily as he looks you up and down. Hot tears slip down your swollen cheeks at the realization that you can't get yourself out of this one.

You lie completely still as he palms his crotch in front of you. "I...I'm kylar...you said I have a small prick, (Y/n)... That wasn't very nice. You should say things like that to your husband." You stare at him in awe...it's..the guy from the chat. did he find you? He's crazy. He's insane. He's gonna kill you. Your chest heaves up and down uncontrollably. You feel blood rushing to your ears, feeling the most fear you've ever felt in your entire life. He takes notice of your panic attack and tries to calm you. "H-hey! Shhh, it's ok, just breathe!" You don't hear a word he's saying and thrash wildly again. Your legs kick underneath him, but his body doesn't budge an inch.

You freeze when you feel his lips smash onto yours. He grabs your wrists in one hand above your head, effectively immobilizing you. It feels like he's trying to eat you, no longer caring about your little tantrum. "Just stay still." He mutters as his large hands roam up and down your body like he's waited his life for this moment. You feel his ever growing bulge rub against your stomach. He grabs your hands before you could try to fight him again.

"...You know...I've been giving you my good money, (Y/n). All because I knew how hard it was to live on your own. But now you're here with me. You'll be my personal house whore." You feel his breath hit your cheek. "Please...let me go. I didn't do anything to you!" You're full on sobbing at this point and to your horror, you feel his cock twitch against you.

"Oh fuck! Keep crying for me like that, baby." He's clawing your pants. Your eyes dart around the room for anything that can help you, but your blood runs cold when you just see hundreds of photos of you plastered all over his walls, some even on his ceiling. You hear a loud tear. This animal ripped your pants and underwear in the process of ridding them from your body.

You're a shaking mess as he cups your sex in his hand. "K-Kylar, please!" You cry, trying to appeal to his humanity. He groans, a little wet spot of pre cum appears on his crotch. "Say my name again." He demanded. His fingers rim around your hole, threatening to dive in. You quiver at the feeling. He unzipped his pants and you feel something impossibly large, heavy and hot slam onto your stomach with a thud.

He releases you momentarily and moves himself lower on your body, his head between your legs. His arms circle around your thighs in a vice grip. He takes a strong whiff and lets out a moan. You feel his tongue slide up and down your sex as his fingers plat around with your hole before dipping half a finger in. You're too dry, it hurts! You whine and struggle, uncomfortable. His finger dips all the way in, uncaring for your pleasure. You scream as he continues to thrust his finger inside you as his mouth engulfs your sex. He removes his finger and lifts himself off you. You sigh in relief.

That relief dies as you feel his meaty cock push at your hole. He begins to push in, but your hole resists. It's too big. He lets out a sound of annoyance before spitting on his hand and rubbing the liquid up and down his cock. It does little to help aid in his entrance. "This may hurt a bit…a lot actually." He wicked grin stretches across his face before he rears his hips back and forces his cock through. You let out a blood curdling scream he rips through your insides. He's only halfway in, your walls desperately trying to push him back out. He holds onto your waist and pulls you into him, bottoming out. You feel like you're bleeding, but you're too afraid to look down.

You can hardly breathe. His cock feels like it's in your stomach. Your body twitches, hot tears slipping past the corners of your eyes as you wheeze out please for mercy. He only looks down at you in awe at your beauty. "Oh, you're so cute like this! I knew you could take it! I know it hurts now, but just give it time." His thumb rubs at your tears. There's nothing you can do to get out of this. You feel completely helpless.He pulls himself out, and slowly goes back in, groaning. "Fuck, you're so tight" he grunts. You close your eyes and hear a flash. Your eyes snap open to see he's holding a camera. A blinding light fills your vision along with a 'click'. This sick fuck.

You let out an involuntary moan when he shoves himself into you at just the right angle. He presses himself deep inside you, holding himself there, his cock hugging your sweet spot. "Ah (Y/n)! (Y/n)! (Y/n)!" He chants your name like a mantra at each thrust, but you can barely hear him. All you can do is feel him. Hurt hurts so bad but feels equally as good.

You can't help but let little sounds of pain and pleasure spill from your lips as his hips ram into yours. You look up to see his eyes are completely rolled back. His lips press wet kisses to your cheek. You feel a knot start to build in your lower stomach without your consent and you feel yourself lift onto cloud nine. "Oh (Y/n), cum for me! Cum for your husband!" He moans. You feel shame and pleasure wash over you as you do just that. You clench around him, his breath hitches in his throat at the feeling. He slams into you harder and harder. The over stimulation is killing you now. It's too much!

You think he might break something inside you, you think his dick might knock your brain out of your skull with how hard he's pounding. You feel like your organs will never be the same. "Gonna get you pregnant, gonna breed you again and again. Gonna have my babies. We'll be great parents!" His muttering awakens what's left of the fight in you. "Ah! N-no, stop! I-I can't!" His hand slams over your mouth, his bottomless green eyes staring directly into yours. He lifts your legs up and puts them over his shoulders in a tight mating press.

He hits your special spot and your eyes roll back. He can reach far deeper like this. He slams into you with one final thrust, pressing into you with his full weight. You can't breathe. The over stimulation finally comes for you and you cum all over his cock again. You feel his cock twitch before unloading what seems to be an endless supply of semen into you. You can almost hear the wet sound of him cumming inside you. Your lower stomach rises by the sheer volume of cum produced. You wonder if he used to be a bull at Remy's farm or something. That thought quickly vanishes along with your whole mind as your brain is unable to produce anymore thoughts.

With a satisfied sigh, he pulls his slipping wet cock out of you, a rush of lightly pink cum following after, quickly stopping when he plugs you up with a small plug. His cock isn't even fully soft. You pray he doesn't decide he wants a round two. "That wasn't so bad, now was it? You were crying for nothing." He pants. He kisses your temple before picking you up by your waist, once again like a sack of potatoes in one arm. He walks over to a mattress on the floor and drops you on it, your body softly bouncing on top before settling in a heap. He had a mattress the whole time and still fucked you on the cold, dirty cement floor!? You hear a click and see he's chained your right angle to the wall. He smiles at you and pevks you on the lips the way a husband would before leaving to work. His mood did a 180. He's so very cheerful, his handsome face cheerfully grinning down at you like you're a cute little kitten.

"You did really well today, (Y/n), my love. I'll be back tomorrow. You won't get dinner tonight because you fought me so much, but you'll learn to behave. I want to treat you better, so please be good for me. Goodnight." With that, your new 'husband' stands up to his full height and walks upstairs, leaving you in the cold pitch darkness of the basement.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 11)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 10, Part 12

summary: You and Miguel spend the day together. You get a surprise visit.

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of microaggressions and racism in the workplace (projecting bc my ass is tired)

a/n: uhhhhh. heyyy.... so i took a cute little break 👉 👈

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

cracks in clay, poured over

Cold. The slow drip of an IV seems to echo in that little room. 

She feels cold; the kind that drapes over her like a second skin - slimy, slick, and it makes him shiver. Pale; her hands barely have enough strength to curl around his anymore. His little girl, and he watches as she takes shuddering breaths. In, out. In, out. The shaky rise and fall of her chest and it’s all he can do to watch, hunched over metal railing with a certain kind of dedication. His eyes creak. His back groans. 

There’s an emptiness to hospital hallways, he thinks. That thought comes with traitorous relief - balled up like chewed gum at the pit of his stomach. He wants her to rest; to take a breath that isn’t heavy with the weight of living. Even in a tangle of wires and tubes, and the steady metronome of a heart monitor to punctuate a mess of thoughts, she still looks like his. When he blinks, he sees her: rosy cheeks and chubby fingers entwined with his. He curls into them now, with rough palms softened by love - which he will dirty just to keep her safe. 

Gabriella is a force of nature. A supernova: bright, bright light at the corner of someone else’s universe - but certainly the centre of his. And when she smiles; oh God, when she smiles; he sees his mama, he sees Gabi… and sometimes, he sees himself.

It’s not a case of roaring thunder in place of quiet sky. A flash-bang in the night felt more like a whimper: hushed tones in a doctor’s office that came with a wringing of hands. And dread - settling amongst the room like a lead balloon - that was what he remembers the most. It's a feeling he'll never quite forget. The doctor; a genteel, younger man with more worry lines than Miguel himself, he had thought. Gabriella was prone to poking at the folds beneath his brow, at the sides of his mouth that curled around the very same nose he had passed on to her; smoothing them out like lines in the sand. 

Like pockmarks and furrows in sand washed away by the sea. El Mar - but Gabriella had trouble rolling her Rs. She would get there, he had always thought. He would not brandish a wooden spoon or chancla as his mama was prone to do. He would be different. Better - provide her with the space to make the mistakes he never could. If it meant a lifetime of forehead kisses and boiled candy stuck to the roof of her mouth, he wouldn’t mind.

The sea. Maybe he should take her to the beach - a proper one, not the murky waters he had grown up with. Her hand is too pale, and Miguel can already hear his mama complain; fussing over his little girl. Has Gabriella been eating properly? Has he? She would pinch his cheeks and squirm, hissing at their sallowess. Too much like your father, Conchata would say. 

He's decided. Yes, that's just what they need. White sand stretching out as far as the eye can see - azure and turquoise and deep, deep blue. 

He blinks. Miguel, ever perceptive, swipes it away from your skin. A sliver of bare flesh against his, your arm across the couch as you lay across the pillows. He woke up to this, to you; a fleeting nap that takes you both to a bright midday. Tangled up in blankets, a mess of his limbs and yours; and yet, you still feel…

Cold.

You stir. Like a lamb woken from fresh grass, he watches as you stretch; shaking away gentle sleep. At least Miguel has the sense to look away, to pretend as if he hasn't been staring at the gentle rise and fall of your chest, nor the stray hair that peeks out from the nape of your neck. He traces it with his thumb, with a tenderness that makes his head hot and heart heavy. A warm blush spreads across his face as you huff, blowing air that makes his curls jump. Despite himself, Miguel smiles, feeling the warmth. It's lop-sided, gentle where his face is sharp and he allows himself to soften - if only for a little bit.

“You okay?” You croak, voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiles, daring to curl his fingers around yours. 

“M'better now.” It's barely a whisper, and so he clears his throat. “You still seem tired, sweetheart.”

When your face scrunches up into that adorable pout, he laughs the kind of laugh that echoes throughout his whole body; deep and sonorous.

“What’s so funny?” You're whining, but your face cracks into a small smile. And like the sun peeking out from the horizon, he feels its warmth spreading from his side; onto everything your light has touched.

“Nothin’” 

His breath hitches as you come closer, placing your head on his chest.

“You're a fat fucking liar.” 

Yep, he thinks. And you don't even know the half of it. 

There's something about domestic bliss that twists his heart into knots. Most of it is you, of course, neatly pressing him out and spreading him on wooden pegs like fresh laundry. A life together, like this…? 

Fuck. Maybe he hasn't had enough sleep.

Miguel hums, quietly turning your palm in his, tracing its lines like a lovelorn sap. He likes your hands, for some reason. They are smaller than his, gentle in their curve and crackle, fitting exceptionally well in his own.

He frowns. 

“I think I'm happy.” 

…and then he's biting his lip like he's said something he shouldn't. What should be an off-hand comment, swept away by the tide, makes you sit up abruptly.

“You think?” There's no malice in your voice, just confusion.

“It just feels…” He can't even look you in the eye, deciding to inspect your hands instead. 

“Different?”

You finish his sentences now, great. Miguel feels like a walking cliche; all butterflies and shaky hands and cotton in his mouth. 

In an attempt to sound indifferent, he hums. If you can see through his paper-mache facade, you don't show it.

“Different.” He rolls it around on his tongue, wanting to know its taste. If it fits, how it fits, and where you come into the equation. Different. Good different? It's a tentative thought, creeping into the back of his mind like a thief in the night. Whilst he wouldn't usually entertain it - as it was a dangerous thought, the kind that leads to others, thoughts of skipping through meadows with his hand in yours, or picnics on the beach, or–

“You think that might be because you had a full 8 hours of sleep?” You snort, stretching out. More thigh peeks out from under the covers.

His throat goes dry. Focus, Miggy. Yes, he wouldn't usually entertain it, but it felt far too good to think about the both of you, together, under different circumstances. 

He would've met you at an overpriced coffee shop on his way to work. Or maybe he would catch your eye on the subway, and you would flash him a smile too beautiful to ignore in return. One to keep, like the expectant one you give him now.

You're waiting, he realises. Waiting for him to say something; something that gets stuck in his throat. He hopes not to spill his guts like this: a tangle of maybes and might'ves. The reality is less exciting. It comes out wrong - flat and pathetic and lifeless.

“7 and a half.” He says, shaky. Sleep, right? You said something about sleep? “The other day, I had 7 and a half.” 

Miguel forces down the person-sized lump in his throat. You are stunning; sleep-rimmed and tangled up between his legs and that worn blanket.

Maybe we could've been more.

~~~

He’s an idiot, you think.

“And what good did that do you?” You retort, still sharp despite a blossoming headache at your temples. 

“And what good did that… you're the last person to talk.”

For all his degrees, his accolades, his middle-school-science-fair-certificates; he could barely manage to take care of himself. It worried you in a way you were sure was common decency, like the pang of sympathy one would regard a puppy too tired to keep its head up. 

“You look like shit, Mig.” And he did. In that frustratingly perfect way he was prone to, of course: rugged and ragged and handsome; messy, but without a hair in place. An oxymoron. A paradox. A fool with 2 degrees pending. A loveable idiot - certified, absolutely.

“You look like shit–”

You put your hands over your eyes like glasses, like a child on the playground. “Only one of has eyebags the size of Mars–”

“ –and only one of us has a hangover the size of Mars,”

“I do not.”

“The 3 tequila shots you took last night say otherwise.”

You descend into a heap of giggles, unable to refute his claims. Goddammit, does he have a point. You hate him for it; his smug tone, wagging a knobbly finger in your face; but you know there's no malice. What might've been turned into an argument oh-so long ago, stays childish and playful and maybe even a little… fun? There is a shine in his eyes that you have so dearly missed, and a hint of a smile you know he is barely clamping down on. It brings a warmth to your chest far greater than any alcoholic buzz - tequila shots or otherwise - ever could.

Wait. How did he know you had—

“Took you long enough.” 

He's chuckling, reaching over for his phone discarded on the rickety coffee table. With a couple quick swipes you're greeted with a plethora of drunk messages sent by Lyla; the majority of which are unintelligible. He hands the phone over, seemingly more interested in satiating his appetite as he heads for the kitchen, leaving you ample time to scroll through. You recognise one or two videos from Lyla's private story, and sure enough, there you are - knocking back shots offered to you like it was your job. Watching it back makes you wince. You were so sure of yourself last night, chock-full of liquid courage, it almost seemed like water in those dainty glasses. There’s more, as you scroll up: including candids of you at the club, some you don't quite remember posing for, others with Lyla's slim arm draped around your shoulders like they belong there.

Unsurprisingly, most of them are of Lyla; drunken selfies sent with a string of messages you were barely able to make out. It all makes you wonder just how well Miguel knows his friend, able to respond accordingly to her nonsense string of characters and emojis. Considering it had taken you this long to be barely conversational in Miguel-ese, Lyla would prove to be something else entirely. 

There's a peek of something as you scan through last night's messages. You don't mean to pry, but one thing leads to another, and you get stuck on a conversation that occurred not too long ago.

[Sent: 15:32]

Are you guys still on for tonight?

[Received: 15:32]

👍👍

[Sent: 15:3]

Okay, cool. I won't be home to drop her off, though. Is that okay?

[Sent: 15:32]

👍👍

“I messaged her this morning,” You start, making space for him on the sofa. “No response. Do you think I should give Lyla a call?”

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Sometimes she falls off the face of the earth and then you find out she’s in Indonesia with a cocktail by the beach.”

You must make a face, because Miguel comes closer. It’s tender, and much more intimate than it should feel; and all you can do is short circuit as he brings his hand to your cheek.

His thumb rest at the cleft of your chin, gently moving your face to look him in the eye.

“I’ll give her a call, if you like.” He presses a gentle kiss to your furrowed brow, and you can barely breathe. “You’re much too pretty to worry. I’ll sort it out.”

When he pulls away, all you can manage is a weak nod. All that pomp and self-rightousness that filled you not even 5 minutes ago dissipates like a limp balloon with just a flash of his smile. 

“You hungry?” He asks.

“Starving.” You say with a grin.

~~~

You hear his voice first, the mellow timbre and its slight twang rumble through the walls. Your door is open in the hope that Miguel will saunter in and… and do something resembling earlier on in the day. Considering the time, it was little more than delusion - you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen Miguel up past 11pm. Whether it was work, or studying, or a popcorn movie on the couch, he could never make it through the night. More and more, you’ve found him passed out on the couch, one arm slung lazily over it’s back - but that was another matter.

Now, your door isn’t too open - you wouldn’t want to seem desperate - but wide enough that you can catch whispers of his conversation. Miguel seems to speak in more grunts and huffs; and you can almost see his scrunched brow and crooked grimace. The other voice is tinny, but clearly male - spouting garbled, frantic words that you can’t quite catch. It’s odd; whilst you were no stranger to late nights, your roommate started fighting sleep at 7pm sharp - so what exactly was going on?

You creep towards the door, snaking your head around its edge. There he is; down the hall and shadowed by the doorway with his phone flat on the dining table, perched on its lip with nothing but a plaid pair of pants on. He looks bedworn and exhausted, sure - but gorgeous in the kind of way only oils on canvas can capture. With his hand scratching at light stubble, you watch as he takes a deep sigh.

“It’s– Pete, it’s–”

More jumbled words from the phone.

“I know, man.” He pauses, hesitant. “Are you… have you guys tried Lyla?”

He says the words like they’re bitter, acrid on the way out, eventually producing a deep frown as he listens. The image sticks with you, for some reason: hunched over, shoulders slack like a ragdoll, and picking at the loose black-and-red threads. There's a flash of something you can taste - like blood  after a sucker punch - and he flattens, roughly swallowing as he rubs his temples. There’s an ache, there - and it wasn’t just a migraine from all that salty junk. His eyes are sallow, without the lustre you had grown so accustomed to. Where did he go? Your Miguel, saccharine and sickly-sweet? 

A trick of the light, you decide; just the morning sun. 

You are too lost in your own thoughts - vivid ones, of takeout noodles and orange chicken - that you barely notice him move. Almost a second too late, it registers, and you scramble to your bed in a flurry of limbs, managing to close the door just in time. You hear heavy footsteps, and there’s a knock at the door. 

“Come in!”

Miguel pops his head through the door, shirking away from the bright light.

“Jesus, you need all these lights on?”

You roll your eyes. Laptop on, a desk lamp, a standing lamp, etc etc. Warm lights, made even cosier by pillows and plush bedding. The very same bedding he fucked you in the first time, and the next, and the next. Clearly, he couldn’t recognise ambience if it whacked him in the face.

“Did you want something?”

When once he would’ve been taken aback by your gall (and you too, you suppose, as Miguel had never been the most tactful), he simply purses his lips.

“I… I'm babysitting for Peter.”

“May's coming over?” You visibly perk up, and it makes him smile.

“I wish you got this excited when I come home. Yeah, she is.” He’s still picking at the loose fibres of his pants. “I'll try to get her to bed as soon as possible, but she's a little hurricane, so be wary of the noise.”

“It’s pretty late, Mig. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah; something came up and their usual sitter isn't available. It's the least I can do.” He gives you a weak smile

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up.” 

Despite this, he lingers for a bit, clearly antsy. “With traffic, I’m not sure when they’ll get here. Pete lives just across the way, but...” 

“But?”

“I’ll probably have to stay up for a bit.”

“I can keep you company.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“Alright, alright!” You throw your hands up, huffing dramatically. “Mig, there’s no need to beg. Give me five minutes.”

He gives you a weary smile, before turning to leave. But he pauses at the doorway, and as if in a trance - tightening grip, clenched jaw - 

“You look nice.” He says, low and slow.

“Thanks.” You manage to squeeze out. Ever so slightly, you squeeze your thighs together too, for good measure.

With one last look he drags that heavy gaze away from you, giving your room a once over. 

“...now I know why the light bill’s so fucking high.”

~~~

The doorbell rings when the two of you have settled in - head on his broad chest and something on the TV. Whilst you don't know how you ended up here, you do know how it ends; he puts a boring documentary on, you proceed to fight sleep before hands wander, the room gets a little heavier, and…

The doorbell, right. He shuffles out of your grip, gently placing your head on the sofa. You feign a yawn as you shift, watching the wide expanse of his back as he answers the door. Unfortunately, he's put a shirt on, but you are still mesmerised by the way that baggy t-shirt clings this way and that. You sigh at the sight - it’s much too late for unabashed yearning - burying your cheek into the pillows.

The door opens. You manage to spot a flash of red peeking over your roommate.

“God, we are so sorry. We don't know what's gonna happen to my Dad and–”

Miguel brings a hand up to stop her. She is clearly exhausted, eyes-red rimmed like she's been crying; with a tight hand around the strap of a sling bag. It's full to bursting, likely haphazardly prepared - stuffed with diapers, snacks, toys and God knows what else. She scratches at the nape of her neck, pulling at choppy hair scraped into a bun. With her bangs pinned back, you can't help but think she looks less like the character she plays on TV and more like a person - experiencing the kind of grief made less glamorous by makeup and bright lights. 

“It's okay, Em.” 

Em. You can't see his face, but you can see MJ's; and you notice the way she softens at the nickname. 

“I haven't heard that one since college. Thank you, Miguel.” She gives him a watery smile.. “I've got some food for her in the bag, extra milk, those peanut cups she likes, my personal and my work phone number, my mom's phone number in case you can't reach me or Pete, diapers, wipes – hypoallergenic, she can be a bit sensitive – a-and we are trying self-soothing with her stuffy because she can get antsy before bed.”

Her eyes are a little bloodshot, but she manages to hand off the bag, before turning to talk to a little mop of red that peeks out from behind her. May's chubby fingers are clamped tight around her leg, but with some gentle coaxing, the little girl steps into your apartment.

“Hi, May.” Miguel smiles, one you imagine is dazzling kryptonite from her favourite uncle, and she puts her small hand in his.

“Bye, honey. Be good for your Uncle.” MJ gives her daughter a gentle hug, brushing back her hair for a kiss. Little chubby fingers try to do the same, and it's a display that makes your heart melt.

“Stay safe, MJ. Say hi to Peter for me?” You call out over the lip of the couch.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She flashes you a smile, and you are windswept by its candour. 

Once she leaves, May is uncharacteristically quiet. She seats herself on the sofa, little legs dangling, unable to reach the floor. Miguel slides off her backpack and jacket - brightly coloured plastic adorned with a kid's TV show - with an ease and gentleness you didn't quite know he was capable of. There's something to be said about a man of his stature - tall and hulking, with hands that could easily palm a basketball - using those very same hands to carefully unbutton the loops on May's jacket. Despite her muted panic; the gradual kind, the kind that wells up like the tide before a storm and comes with a wobbly lip and balled up fists; his voice stays calm and soothing in the walls of your little apartment. It is well-practiced and unfazed, exceedingly gentle in his approach. He'd make a good dad, you think. 

She's restless. You both try your best, coaxing her to eat mushy peas and applesauce, with little to no success. May clearly isn’t pleased - scrunching up her face with disgust.

“I feel you, kid.” You sigh, plopping the dinner spoon into the green mixture. “Not the most appealing.”

“But it’s good for her!” Mig yells from the kitchen, digging around for something in the cupboards.

She makes a face, looking to you for some comfort. All you do is shrug, tugging at your collar in an exaggerated manner. She almost smiles, and so you make your eyes go wide - pulling a peal of laughter from the little girl. It is contagious, and makes you beam from ear to ear.

“That doesn’t sound like dinner.” Miguel breezes past with something in his hand.

“I think they serve prisoner’s better food. Or food that looks less grey, anyways.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He hisses, seating himself on the other side of the little girl. In his hands are a cute little bowl - pink plastic and toddler sized. It comes with a spoon that fits in Mayday’s palms just-right, and he scoops up some of the mixture the bowl. 

You’re a little confused. “Where did you fi-”

“She’s a big girl.” He says simply, facing her and mimes taking a spoonful. You watch as her eyes get a little rounder, shining and intelligent. You can almost hear the gears moving in her tiny little head. “She can feed herself. Can’t you, May?

“Mig, I don’t know if that would work.”

And like a curious little dove, her head cocks this way and that, with a deep frown on her face. Pudgy fingers wrap around the neck of the spoon, and clumsily, she brings it to her lips. It falls with a clatter, and mushy peas splatter everywhere. 

There’s an I told you so on the tip of your tongue, but he tries again; cooing at the little girl, encouraging her to take the spoon once more. He’s gentle, but doesn’t talk down to her - and like she can understand every word, her eyes shine with recognition. Now, you’re not the best with kids - a baby cousin or two notwithstanding - but its hard to believe he hasn’t babysat before. Miguel O’Hara; lab tech, masters student, and clearly, world class Uncle. You’ve got a million and one questions, but you are unable to do anything but watch - all the while, gears turning.

She gets increasingly frustrated. In an adorable, gap-toothed way, but the toddler can’t seem to get a good grip. You watch as the spoon falls: clatter, hollow clang, conk; and every time, Miguel picks it up, wipes it off, and encourages her to try again. 

Clatter.

“One more time, sweetheart,”

Clang. 

“You were so close! You want to try again for me?”

Thunk. You've got an idea.

“She’s not going to eat, Mig.” 

He looks up. You’re handing him her jacket, and pulling on a long-discarded sweater. 

“Let’s go for a walk.”

~~~

It fills you with a certain amount of delight to say something that surprises Miguel.

“I know a place.” You say, somewhat smug.

“What do you mean, you know a place?”

You shrug. After a couple of quick phone calls, you did, in fact, know the perfect place for a late night wander.

“The park on 10th?”

“Nope.”

“If it’s The Rec Centre on Chelsea Ave, it’s closed. I grew up with the guy who runs it, and–”

“Nope.”

“Where are you taking us? May, she’s going to kidnap us and sell our organs on the Black Market.” She’s got her little palm in his, and gives you a look that says ‘Him first’.

“Don’t want your organs. You’re Mexican and lactose intolerant; can’t imagine the damage you’ve done to your gut.” You stop them, crouching down to speak to May directly. “Do you like animals?”

Her face shines with recognition. She nods profusely. Miguel seems somewhat horrified, but it just looks cute, to you.

“That doesn’t reassure me, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You give Miguel a dazzling smile. Somewhat smug turns into very smug, very quickly. “We’ll take the subway!”

~~~ 

The Nueva York Research and Conservation Centre is quite the gem, Miguel quickly realises. It's the kind of thing that predates him, and even his oldest neighbours; immigrants that came to Nueva York in the 60s and 70s. He remembers a handful of school trips in elementary and middle school - traipsing around the old building with a clipboard and stubby pencil in hand. Even when he was a kid, the centre had paled in comparison to the Zoo up in Central; that was shiny and modern, with actual lions (plural) and giraffes. Of course, his school couldn't afford the accompanying exorbitant fees, so they settled for the converted municipal building and grounds; housing less exciting animals.

But he still remembered the first time he had walked through those double doors, and past the little ticket office after being handed the paper stub. 

He liked that there weren't any cages. At the time, there was thin plexiglass separating the people from the animals, but they had space to roam, and were never the flashy sort - meerkats were the highlight of one trip, and an alligator snapping turtle the next. The centre was temperature controlled and meticulously maintained despite the clear understaffing; he always enjoyed the trek on cobbled path, and the insect building and reptile room never failed to disappoint. 

There were always researchers hanging about there. Not in white lab coats and clicky pens like he had once thought; but sturdy trousers and frazzled smiles. They were kind, and easy going; always happy to talk to the little boy in clothes two sizes too big. 

Maybe May was too young to understand, but he felt it immediately. That rush of excitement as you lead them on a long forgotten path, and pull out a key that unlocked those very same double doors. Nostalgia, perhaps, bubbles up from his fingertips.

“Hey, Ernie.” You nod towards a night watchman, perched at the reception desk. With his head buried in a magazine, you are satisfied with a nondescript grunt. Security clearly hasn't changed. 

May gives a little wave, and Miguel can't help but coo. She's squirming, feeding off of his clear excitement and dragging him towards you with a surprising amount of force.

You lead them to the outside park. The Centre is dark, for a while, and after some rattling, and the careful click of a few switches; Miguel feels like a kid.

The lights are on, illuminating an acre or two of land, and he is transported to being 6 and then 7 and then 11 - clipboard and pencil in hand.

May is agape, eyes wide at nothing but fenceposts and plexiglass. The enclosures are empty with the majority of the animals asleep; yet she is fascinated with the landscape, so much so that she paws at Miguel to hoist her up. She's on his shoulders before you can orient yourself.

He hears you laugh first. Bright, gorgeous laughter like morning rain on a warm day. You laugh and clap with wonder, and pinch the little girl's cheek good naturedly. She returns it with her own, pointing at ‘funny trees’, their green tongues lapping at the bright light.

“We'll need to be quick.” You finally say, leading them once again. He catches a sliver of neck, pretty and supple as you turn your head towards them. Fuck. 

“How do you have access to this place?”

“I know a guy.”

“Not a chance.” A guy, sure. It sounds like bullshit, but he can feel the confidence radiating off of you. It makes him wonder… is this another ex? Someone who works here, no doubt, but with so much pull you can walk straight through after closing hours?

“We'll meet ‘em, in a bit.” You trail off towards a plaque, reading out the inscription. “The Giant Armadillo, Priodontes maximus, is a giant insectivore – that means eats insects, May – characterised by its hinged bands and pale head. Found in much of South America, this – oh, look!”

Miguel follows your line of site, to some movement within the enclosure. Between large, grassy mounds, sure enough he spots the pale snout of the animal. May squeals with laughter, pointing toward the movement.

You put a finger to your lips, and ease her out of his grip. You get closer, whispering excitedly in response to the little girl's babbling. He doesn't follow, hands buried deep in the pockets of a brown leather jacket. 

We'll meet him. He plays it over and over and over in his head, letting it rattle and clank before sinking to the pit of his stomach. It tastes familiar: heavy and bitter. He's thinking of a man from a nicer background; kind, maybe, and softer. Walks around in suits and shiny shoes; who owns shit, who doesn't rent. Someone with softer hands than his own. 

“Mig?” 

Your hand is on his cheek. He’s pulled out of that haze, and straight into the warmth of your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.” He croaks.

“You okay?” Your brow is scrunched up adorably, little Mayday hanging off of your arm. He can't make you worried.

“Just fine, sweetheart.”

“Well, come on then. I’d like you to meet someone.”

You pull him towards the Reptile Room; a brick and mortar building with the metallic sheen of a lizard on its face. You pull out more keys, sifting through a whole jumble. Before he can stop himself, he's staring at you; intense and stormy. That sinking feeling deepens. You look up, and give him a smile. Like emerging above troubled water, he takes a deep breath and feels a little lighter.

“Liv?” The door is open in no time. You're calling out into empty space, boots click-clacking on tile. These lights are on, but dim, matching the hot and humid air of the building. “Liv!”

Miguel pulls at his collar, following you deeper inside. A service door; amidst enclosures of leafy green, pebbles, sand, and more; leads to a modest lab. Amongst vials labelled ominously and rows of benches that smell like disinfectant, lies a nest of hair crudely tied back.

Liv pops out from behind a clunky monitor, beaming from ear to ear. They're older, with a sharp jaw and soft features framed by wrinkles and smile lines. 

“Doctor Olivia Octavius,” You smile, “Meet Miguel.”

Hand outstretched, Liv clears a path of pens and junk to reach his hand. It’s firm, he notices; with inked scribbles on the underside and a stack of bracelets at their wrist. They look familiar, but he can't quite place the name.

“How do you two know each other?” It spills out like May's mushy peas, and he hopes his sweaty palms aren't too noticeable.

“She used to work here - night shift.” Liv adjusts octagonal glasses, jewellery clinking.

“I was only a janitor, Mig.”

“The best damn janitor around. And good company during late nights.”

You get a playful nudge in the side for your trouble, and the two of you share a knowing look. 

“And who's this?” Liv crouches, attention turning to May who is engrossed by a tangle of colourful wires. 

“Her name's May.” He grunts.

“Your….” Doctor Octavius looks between you both, choosing their words carefully. “Daughter?”

“No, no.” You laugh - a little too much, for his liking. “We're babysitting - Liv, he's just my roommate.”

Miguel winces. Twice. He chooses to ignore the raised eyebrow and pursed lips, lest it blossom into any awkwardness.

A beat passes. “Does May like lizards?” 

She nods enthusiastically, hissing like un vibora. She’s almost there, he thinks, and Miguel can't help but smile.

“We've got some speckled lizards in tank 3 and 4 - donations from our freshwater contacts in Panama. You want to show her around?”

“Sure, but what about–”

“You guys head off, I've got some paperwork to finish off. 10 minutes? If she's gentle she can touch one or two.”

Satisfied, you nod, looking at him expectantly. Your eyes shine just like May's, and like his once upon a time, with a childlike wonder that makes his heart ache. You look happy. God. He'd do anything to keep you smiling like that.

But he's tired. Finally, the night has caught up with him, and he just doesn't have the energy anymore. 

“I'll stay.” He says gently. “Need to sit down for a bit anyways.”

He must imagine it, but for a second, you falter. Big, round eyes that shimmer in the harsh lab lights; and for a millisecond, he sees it dull. It’s gone in just a moment. And then you give him a warm smile, with a touch on his arm that seems to linger. The two of you beam, and you bound off with the kind of vigour he hasn't felt in years.

The click-clack of keys fills the room. He takes the opportunity to look around, noticing plaques upon plaques in the little corner of the lab. PhD. Masters. Accreditation from organisations with long, winding names. Doctor. Bioengineering. A foray into experimental physics. Pictures of her shaking hands with flashy names - and he recognises one with wide eyes.

“That's Marcus Kirby.” They barely look up.

“I… I know.”

“I worked with him before he headed up Alchemax, and well before the position was passed onto his son.” There's a hiss, and Miguel hears the violent rattle of the keyboard come to a stop. “I remember when he was still a kid, actually.”

He hesitates. “I watched one of your talks in Prague…. the one on metaphy–”

“Metaphysical dimorphism? Or was it the metagenesis of the perpetual plane? I can never remember these things.”

“Something like that.” He grunts.

“You were there? Should've asked for an autograph. Wouldn't be worth much, though.” A little snort catches him off guard, but he shakes his head.

“I was 17 - so, no.”

“Ouch.”

Ouch, indeed. He had loaned that particular talk from the library, a tape played over and over until Gabi had thrown a spoon at his head for the crime of astrophysics at breakfast.

“Do you still work with them?”

“Oh, I've been back there a couple of times; despite the complaints otherwise, mind you; their conference centre is world-class –” They stop themselves. “You meant–”

“I meant Alchemax.”

They snort. “We went our separate ways.” 

Why? He can't help but wonder; considering the equipment and brilliant minds the company has access to. Especially someone with the tenure and experience of Doctor Octavius - he could only dream of that kind of influence. Imagine the good he could do, the lives he could change…

Wonder turns to indignation, which turns to unfair assumptions; he looks around at the dingy workspace and curls up his nose. Disgust. From a well-respected, world-renowned bio-astrophysicist to this. Without the rose-tinted goggles of his youth, Miguel can't help but feel the walls closing in - a future career flashing before his eyes. From a dim rent-controlled apartment to an equally dingy desk in the corner of nowhere. He can't have done all of this for nowhere.

Doctor Octavius squints. The click-clack of keys stops. The air leaves the room, leaving only a cold chill.

“What exactly do you do?”

“Genetics and Bio-engineering department.” He puffs out his chest, but is unable to hide a slight shake to his voice. “I'm a lab assistant at Alchemax.”

Liv gives him a blank expression.

“So you're young.”

“I guess.”

“Unexperienced. You've barely taken your first steps into this world. I bet you still have dreams of saving the world. What are you working on, a cure for cancer?”

His jaw shifts.

“A joke.” They smile stiffly. “Research isn't like that. It's stuffy and bureaucratic and painfully capitalist. Everything requires a thousand yards of red tape until it doesn't; until they ask you to fudge numbers for the sake of shareholder value. Until they axe vital projects that affect the bottom line.” 

They step closer, boots thudding on cheap linoleum.

“It’s hard, to get them to see you. It's even harder when they've already made their mind up. I gave 12 years of my life to that place and you'd be wise to quit whilst you're ahead. Whilst you're young.”

Their eyes are empty. A quiet, cold rage swirling for the last 10, 15 years. He recognises it, of course he does; it's the very same rage that sits at the pit of his stomach - with the dense heat of a white dwarf. In that way, he thinks, he's collapsing in on himself; one that precedes an abcess into the very same perpetual plane Doctor Octavius built their career on. 

“Alchemax is doing things no one could've predicted 10 years ago - our genetics trials are world-class -” He starts a spiel he is well versed with – but it sounds hollow even under these dim lights. 

“Is that what Marcus is going with these days? Plasticky and insincere?”

“I–We are saving the world.”

He's met with a withering look; that echoes the indignant sighs from teachers of his youth.

He remembers small squares of paper, handed out to kids in the Reptile house. Brightly coloured facts pasted along its route; detailing the kind of research undertaken at the conservation centre. For a 7 year old Miguel, he was wholly absorbed with the worksheets - three words at the top of a blank table. Hypothesis. Observation. Analysis.

Hypothesis.

“If this a personal gripe–” 

“Of-fucking-course it's personal.” It was spat out, with more emotion he thought they were capable of. A pause. “Did you know Marcus Kirby commissioned the research for near-unlimited nuclear energy? Did you know we actually built it?”

“You're–” His throat is dry. “You continue to make claims without evidentiary basis. 

Observation.

A slight bobbing of an Adam's apple. The tightening of the invisible string that slowly winds their shoulders back.

“We could have powered hundreds of thousands – millions of homes. For much cheaper and cleaner than what we have now; clogged up by fingers sticky with oil money, most likely. And the proprietary technology is collecting dust, somewhere in that fucking building. Knowing Marcus, he's using it as a paperweight.”

And his head is a blur. Miguel isn't stupid; he sees Alchemax for what it is. A business, at the end of the day. He thought childlike naivete was a distant bygone but for some reason, he's shaken.

Can he believe what he hears? Is it just personal pettiness at the root of all this venom? Sure, he doesn't get invited to after work drinks. Sure, he isn't involved in the office gossip; in signing birthday cards and impromptu lunches out. Sure, just once, he'd like to get more than lab reports and risk assessments dumped on his station. He even finds himself missing stilted small talk; picking his fingernails as his coworkers talk around him, like he isn't even there. No man is an island in his field of work. For every discovery and pseudo-cure-for-cancer there are hundreds of lab techs doing the grunt work. So he knuckles down and does the only thing he knows how to do. He keeps his head down; because he already has a job to do, he doesn't need to be liked.

Analysis.

He sees it now, clear as day. A coffee cup gripped too tightly, a flash of fear when he clears his throat. Little comments, and then big ones: 

Drug tests at your stage are mandatory, O'Hara. 

Ronnie’s been working here a long time. There's no need to be aggressive, O'Hara. 

We want you front and centre in this picture, O'Hara, but don't forget to take out the trash on your way out.  

But what he has always attributed to the status quo, to his prickly personality, to his distinct lack of charm and unwillingness to be loved - could it be something else? When they look at him, who do they see? Is it O'Hara, the underpaid, awkward intern - or Miguel, brutish and brash and scary?

A great crash and in its crescendo is Doctor Octavius, hand outstretched, half bitten fingernails and papercuts all the same. He's different, he knows that. He's intimidating and gruff with a slight propensity for violence. But he's saving the world! He’s making a difference, one meagre test tube at a time.

And then there’s that voice again, hoarse and buried deep deep down at the pit of his stomach. With all that they've asked him to do… what does he have to show for it?

You come to mind. Kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The way you look at him, the way you touch him - like he's delicate, like he's capable of breaking. He thinks of soft nights spent in your arms and between even softer sheets… and not once have you shirked away or asked him to flatten. Acceptance; whole-hearted and unconditional; tastes much too sweet between your thighs.

“Mig!” He hears a squeal from out and down the corridor. Footsteps on the linoleum are followed by a pitter-patter, before you and May arrive at the door giggling uncontrollably. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” He softens like butter under a hot knife, because of course he does. It’s you.

“Come look, come look!”

He throws a glance to Liv, their white hot grip on the desk relaxing. They tuck a strand of loose hair back and sit down, shuffling through papers like nothing had happened. The tension dissipates - that was your doing, he thinks.

“It's a… Mig, God, there's a tank with an oc…”

“Cephalopod, actually.” Doctor Octavius smiles, picking up a battered coffee mug to lead the way. “You would not believe the hoops I had to jump through to get her here, but isn't she a beauty…”

He trails behind, flashing you and May a shaky smile. The frazzled scientist is knee deep in another story - betrayal, heartbreak, a tentacled hero, and more. But when Liv looks back, for a moment, he sees it: the very same look he had given unapologetically just a few minutes ago.

Pity.

_

_

_

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[sillygoosealert]

Daisy, hi! How did you come up with the user sillygoodealert? Bc that concubine fic had such a silly ending 🥲🙂 lmao jk but seriously I was thinking what if before the maid concubine reader offs herself, we see her side of being treated like shit by the other girls and staff and sukuna himself during the day and then trying to not be shell shocked when he treats her so sweetly in his chambers. especially when he continuously humiliates her and one day eve punishes her extra harshly in front of everyone after she makes a mistake and then he still expects her to pretend as if it didn’t even happen when he wishes to spend time with her that same night.

Who knows just thinking further about the story you created, ty for sharing your work it’s so delish 🤤

In the morning - Just a week later

That's my legal name because i am the mayor of silly town

I had a BAD day so ANGST NO COMFORT NO COMFORT 😠😠

Dub-con(so there is a little bit of smut 😲) he's kinda abusive?? uhhh mention of blood

If someone asked Sukuna if he was ever satisfied with everything he had, the answer would be no. But once, he got very close to it.

To be satisfied is to settle, and Sukuna never settled. Not for anything or anyone. However, one night, while you laid next to him, it almost felt like he would be okay with living like that.

Knowing he could have more than what he had at the time stopped him from deeming it satisfactory.

So he strived for more. A more significant and fulfilling feeling, more.

What waited for him in the morning was a clean room and a cold bed. Although you were supposed to be beside him as of now, there was a cold, neatly made spot in replacement.

After 8 minutes of stretching, 2 minutes of sitting and silence, and deciding what kimono he would like to adorn today- he came out of his enclosure.

Standing just a few feet from his door, you were unhurriedly dusting off the chandeliers scattered across the ceiling- on a ladder, without anyone supporting it from the bottom.

After a few quick strides, he kicks the ladder from its place. There isn't a real reason why he did it. It was more impulsive than anything. But as he watches your body hit the floor, blood dribble out of your nose, a feeling of superiority overcomes him.

Even though he was the one to do this to you, he still helps you up and carries you to bed in his arms. Your blood is smearing across his arms and hands as he wipes away tears that come out as you shake and beg for him to stop. It's no longer a quiet morning, but he got what he wanted- a warmer bed and a more obedient woman.

Nothing good comes out of upsetting Sukuna- or sometimes just being around him. He doesn't have to be in a bad mood to take things out on you. The bruises on your body should be enough evidence of that. Sometimes, you question if it's enough to feel pity on you, though.

There will always be someone to ask what you did. Occasionally, that someone is you. Late at night, curled up listening to him treating another woman with something similar to adoration.

His voice isn't necessarily loud, but it's the only thing you can hear when it is well past curfew.

He coos encouragement and praise while gentle skin-on-skin can be heard if you listen for it.

At the moment, you're jealous. That should be you. When that is you, though, you dread walking into his enclosure.

The day after you watched him toss away any love or respect he had, for 15 minutes of sugar-coated sex, something changed with him.

He held your waist as he guided you to the edge of his bed, an eager grin plastered on his face. Lifting you and laying you on the one-too-many pillows he suddenly had.

One hand found yours as something wet licked your pussy. It was slimy and unwanted, and you kept quiet because you were in complete shock.

You saw how clean the sheets were when you walked in. You hoped it was a sick coincidence. But the feeling of Déjà vu sank deep into your body, as well as his tongue did. And as you checked to make sure- the pillows were fluffed up. The smell of a specific woody soap was stuck to him, and he was gripping your hand a little harder each time your breath started to increase.

"My Lord-" You wanted to ask him to stop, but the words couldn't come out as fluently as your tears would.

When you started to sob, he pulled away and looked at you with disarray. All you could do was shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.

He sent you back to your own room without a word.

The other concubines must have noticed the shift in your status- or maybe he complained to them about you. That is one of life's great mysteries.

They treat you noticeably differently than they did before- for the worse. A thought that crosses through your mind is they were scared to be anything less than indifferent to you before, for they would most definitely receive a punishment. But now? The treatment of your counterparts and the King of Curses is almost equal- with him being the only one to break your trust, as the other concubines made it clear they were not your friends from the start.

As of now, they weren't afraid to push you aside in the hallways or scold you for nearly slipping on the freshly mopped floor.

Your new nickname is Lummox- which means a clumsy, stupid person. That's not too far off from what you are, so you don't take too much offense.

But people now use it to call out to you and grab your attention it becomes all you can use to describe yourself when you think about what you did to get here.

Even now, as you curl into yourself late in the night, what keeps you up is what will now wait for you in the morning.

I have such a massive hatetrid for my own writting it's almost astonishing I put anything out. I can't re-read anything I put out because I get so upset that I can not put into words how I feel- the one thing people expect of me.

Tag List- @mangiswig @rubyrubyruuu @maskedpacific @bbysnw @belluuu @cindywasneverhere @uniquenicefangirl @m0rganit3 @jinniebby2 @babyblexu @connierk690 @suguru-nugget @geniejunn @astro-stars @honeybee54321

[pillowspace]

Listen to me, boy. You will hear about sea slugs. You will enjoy sea slugs

Costasiella kuroshimae / leaf sheep. Discovered off the coast of Japanese island Kuroshima in 1993, they can indirectly perform photosynthesis by absorbing chloroplasts from algae

Cyerce nigricans. The cerata can be easily cast when disturbed. They can also swim by powerfully flapping said cerata when strongly stimulated. I think they look like butterfly wings!

Jorunna parva / sea bunny. They are covered in papillae, which are fleshy protuberances used for sensory functions. It looks like fur!

Glaucus atlanticus / blue glaucus. They are rarely seen, except during periods of on-shore winds which brings them and their prey into coastal waters. They are the most dangerous sea slug to handle, able to give humans a very painful and potentially dangerous sting

Chromodoris lochi / loch's chromodoris. They are spongivores, and prefer being on the underside of overhangs on rocky reefs. Their distribution is widespread in the Indo-Pacific. Everyone I show sea slugs to seems to love this little guy

Dirona albolineata / white-lined dirona. A translucent predator that often eats bryozoans and small snails. They generally reside on rocks and sometimes mud in the intertidal. Pretty little things, they remind me of shards of glass

Phidiana hiltoni / Hilton's Aeolid. They are known for being quite aggressive, often biting and fighting other aeolids, which is so real of them. They always reminded me of lit matches

Acanthodoris lutea / orange-peel doris. Its bright aposamatic colouration is a warning to predators of its distasteful toxicity. They also notably smell of sandalwood! You don't understand. I NEED to hold one

Nembrotha kubaryana / dusky nembrotha. They use the toxins in their prey ascidians to defend themselves against predators. The toxins are stored in their tissues then released in a slimy defensive mucus when alarmed. Nembrotha kubaryana are well-known for their neon appearance

Phyllodesmium poindimiei / Spun Of Light. It's primarily nocturnal and can cast its cerata for protection. Anyway, can we all agree that Spun Of Light is the most awesome name for a sea slug ever? I mean, look at it. That's a sea slug spun of light if I've ever seen one

Conclusion: sea slugs are the creatures ever

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Swirlypod

Debut: Super Mario Bros. Wonder

YIPPEE YAHOO! A brand swirlin' new snail fresh for 2023! It has been quite a long time now since we've gotten a new Mario snail, and even since I've posted about one, since I covered all the snailiest Mario snails a while ago. But lookie here! Snaily snaily snail for me to see and for you to view!

Swirlypod is so delightful! To get this out of the way first, yes, its eyes are not on the ends of stalks. Yes, this is good and okay. Some snails are like that! Especially freshwater snails. And that's the kind of snail that this snail seems to be! While sometimes seen on land, it is also seen emerging from (poisonous) swamps. It can breathe that!

Swirlypod's face is just so, so precious. Its big, innocent, curious eyes experiencing the world in the way only a snail could! Its big ol' bulbous antennae, more bulbous than they have any right being, more like a nudibranch's than a normal snail's! And its mouth! I think that's its mouth? It's like three scrumbly tentacles ready to scrumble down some delicious fungus!

Did you know that the salt marsh snail Littoraria irrorata is able to FARM fungus? They damage marsh grasses to create large wounds for fungus to grow in, and even use their own poop as fertilizer! Snails can FARM!

Yes, indeed, what a wonderful snail we have here! Thank you, Super Mario Bros. Wonder!

...Hey! That shell comes right off! Now it's all Pod, with no Swirly! Does this mean Lime is The Impostor? I may have just asked you, but that was rhetorical. Don't ask me, because I don't know! Removable shells are a common ability for cartoon snails, and of course, the turtles of this world also have removable shells. I think it doesn't really mean much at all! Though, the idea of a "hermit slug" is very amusing. A snail who can't be bothered to grow its own shell. Maybe it wants to switch shells for different styles sometimes. A slow victim of fast fashion!

Wonder is one of those games where Koopa Troopas retreat into their shells when stomped, so Swirlypod is sort of a way to have Beach Koopa in the same game as the more standardly-behaving Koopa! Once it gets back on its foot, it will try to squirm back into a shell, if one is available. You can give it back! Just drop it down at your feet, and Swirlypod will have a home once more!

Another thing that sets Swirlypods apart from Koopas is that they are sticky slimy and can slither up and down vertical surfaces! Just like in real life! They don't only climb on the left and right sides of surfaces, either. They can even go on the surface facing the screen! Not just anyone is allowed to do that!

I am saving what may be the best tidbit for last! There is a good chance Swirlypod's bulbous antennae look familiar to you. That's because they look just like Leucochloridium paradoxum, the green-banded broodsac, everyone's favorite snail parasite! The flatworm that inhabits a snail's eyestalks, making them look more like caterpillars to get a bird to eat them so they can continue their life cycle! Swirlypod definitely isn't supposed to be like, ACTUALLY infected by this funny worm, but I think the resemblance is very much intentional, between the shape and coloring. And that is so awesome to see! This isn't even meant to be a scary snail or anything, but they represented a freaky parasite anyway!

[strwberri-milk]

can i req love and deepspace boys gossiping to us or us gossiping to them, I wanna hear whatever juicy gossip you got lol I hope this isn't to much lmao

LMAOO i read this request as you want the gossip that I personally have which i do have tons of i LOVE gossiping its so bad my prev manager had to do a callout on the staff bc we all gossiped way too much but like. if you dont want us to gossip about you maybe dont be married SEVEN times??? /lh ofc idgaf

Zayne isn't much for gossip. He doesn't mind listening to you if you've got something to say but he doesn't ever seek out tea unfortunately. You know there just has to be some juicy gossip at the hospital - and you're not even talking about the patients you tell him whenever he talks to you about medical confidentiality - but he refuses to indulge you.

However, that doesn't mean he's safe from it at work. The other staff get bored and things get messy sometimes! He ends up passively absorbing gossip through the others, coming home and giving it to you in small doses.

You can't believe that he's gossiping - even if it's more like he tells you something then goes to do something else because as far as he's concerned he doesn't really know anything else about the situation so he can't answer your questions. That doesn't stop you from theorising with him, asking him what he thinks is more likely as you run through a bunch of theories.

Xavier doesn't gossip actively with you but if you start pointing things out to him he starts paying more attention. If you mention something seems suspicious the next time he's near that person he'll gently pry information out of them, providing you with the answers that you so desperately crave.

He doesn't mind it at all when you tell him the gossip that you've collected. He'll respond with the information he's pulled, you very happily taking in all of it. He just likes the fact that it makes you happy - and the fact that he doesn't have to learn a bunch of new people's names since most of the gossiping you do is about people from work.

He finds himself looking at everybody with a different perspective, especially if he's learned something especially salacious about them. He won't make it obvious that he knows something so nobody would even know it's happening, but he definitely has his thoughts on certain things.

Rafayel LOVES gossip. He LIVES for it. You don't even have to say anything for him to be calling you over because he heard something SO slimy while he was at a show today.

He gets bored of the regular scandals - cheating spouses, hidden assets - he loves hearing the messier things and getting details if he can. He's very good at pulling information out of people so he also secretly gets all the tea so he can come home and give it all to you.

If you have tea then he wants to hear everything about it. He doesn't care if he doesn't know these people and never will - he wants you to pull out photos and give him real names. He will also ask about how things develop if it's an ongoing story. The only time his memory works well is if it's something about you, or some new gossip you've given him.