#100 baby warehouse

[100babywarehouse]

(Transcript at the bottom, under cut.)

What is 100 Baby Warehouse?

It is exactly what it sounds like - it's a collection of sims that were the results of 100 baby challenges. In other words, this is a warehouse of sorts, and the only thing stocked here are sims. If you are looking for a spouse for your legacy, and you know exactly the kind of sims your heir likes, you may be able to find exactly what you're looking for here - if you're looking for a family-motivated male young adult, browse our selection to see if there's someone who fits your parameters. If your NSB rose gen needs some cute sims to woo, you can find those here!

Are there only "The Sims 4" sims here?

Absolutely not! You can play a 100 baby challenge in almost every sims game - I'm not sure about The Sims 1, but I know for a fact you can in 2 and 3. So, in our navigation page there will also be sections for sims strictly in TS2 and TS3.

I'm playing a 100 Baby Challenge right now. Can I submit a sim?

Yes!! Please! This blog will be EMPTY if no one submits sims, because I simply cannot play that many 100 baby challenges at once. I'm playing 2 right now, and that's hard enough.

Will you have sims for download if no one submits any?

Well, yes. But not very many, and not a good variety. There will be no TS3 or TS2 sims if no one submits any, because I don't currently have either installed. So please, if you have sims you want to share, please do!

Can I just make a post and tag you so you can reblog it, instead of submitting my sims?

That's perfectly fine too! I just have the submission page to make things easier on everyone, but if you want to make the post yourself and tag me, that works just as well. Just add @100babywarehouse anywhere on your post, and I'll see it and add it to the sim collection.

I don't play 100 baby challenge, but I want to submit a legacy spare. Is that okay?

While this is called 100 Baby Warehouse, this is also fine. I will have a specific category for legacy spares on the navigation pages, because I know that most people play legacies more than 100 baby challenges (including myself). Otherwise, this blog might be rather empty, and I don't want that! Either way, as long as the sim would normally be kicked out of the main house and forgotten, left to the whims of story progression, the sim is welcome in this collection.

If this is the 100 baby warehouse, does that mean there are only babies/infants, toddlers, and children here?

No! Definitely not! Sims of any age can be added to our "inventory." Even adults and elders. So if you want several teens for the teen angst story you are wanting to write, have a look around our teen category.

Can I download Aeli?

Not right now, sorry. Maybe later.

If you have a question you want me to answer, please feel free to send it to me! And if you're shy, feel free to ask it on anon. Just know that if too many people are nasty, anonymous asks will be disabled.

Transcript for picture:

"Hello there!

My name is Aeli, and I am the matron of this place. "What is this place?" You may ask. That's why I'm here - to guide you.

This is officially a "warehouse," as some may call it, but I think of it as an adoption center of sorts.

Here, you will find sims that have been forgotten, or abandoned, and left to the whims of fate (or story progression). Specifically, these sims were used strictly as stepping stones in a 100 Baby Challenge - in this challenge, the children are simply a means to an end, unless their challenge is done using the multiple matriarch rules, in which case the only child that matters is the final daughter of each matriarch.

And that's just unbearably sad to me.

All of these wonderful sims have such potential, they could have whole futures ahead of them, but they are denied that simply because that's how the challenge works. They are kicked out the instant they are no longer teenagers.

So here, we have a collection of many of these wonderful sims that Watchers in need may take in and care for, themselves. These sims can have any life they may dream of - or, well... have nightmares about.

Whatever life they end up with is up to you, the Watcher."

[cyazurai]

Back when I frequented Gaiaonline, a LOT (literally was my favorite website for many years), my cousins and I ran an adoptable pet shop - one of those places online where if you paid the Gaiaonline gold, you could buy a piece of art that was officially your pet. As time passed they'd "grow" from their egg stage, to a child stage, then to a teen stage, and then very very rarely, they'd grow into a fully fledged adult stage - in other words, if someone paid us a lot of gold, if someone won an event, or if we just really liked that particular pet.

They were called Chiangils, and it was really silly, but we had angel chibis, demon chibis, mermaid chibis, cat chibis, dogs chibis, etc. And we had a joint account that was called Seraphaeli that collected the gold, then we'd split it between us, or use it for Seraph herself. But the point I'm making with this is this -

Since my 100 Baby Warehouse is similar in concept, with a bunch of sims being collected in one place for people to "adopt" (though anyone will be able to download them), I decided to make a sim of Seraphaeli to be the mascot of 100 Baby Warehouse. Though I named her Aeli Seraph because that sounds better (to me).

She'll be the face of the warehouse.

[rinhaler]

DEATH IS NO MORE !

you know you shouldn't be here, right? what would possess you to visit an underground fight club? one of the fighters is kinda cute though...

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: ty penny for beta reading again! picturing sukuna like this art by @innaillus bc i have had nothing else on my mind for days. Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, violence, blood ♡, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy spanks, dacryphilia, finger sucking, vaginal sex, choking ♡, creampie, squirting ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby). Words: 10k

As your heels snap against the pavement, you can almost feel the pulsing bass from the music surge from your toes and throughout your entire nervous system. The music is loud enough to hear, even from a distance, and it only gets louder as you step closer and closer to the abandoned warehouse.

You shouldn’t be here.

The voice is yours, internally. Though it feels like an out of body experienced as you venture head first towards a destination you have no business being anywhere near. The music muddies your thoughts. It’s confusing you, deeply.

Is there a dress code?

That doesn’t matter, because you shouldn’t be here.

The bass is hypnotic. That pounding bass that makes you feel weak and ethereal all in one dizzying bout. It’s like you’re going to a rave, though you’re not even close to being dressed the part. You’ve been at work all day. The last thing you should be doing is trespassing into a building that has been off limits for five years.

You just couldn’t resist, this.

Not with the rumours flying around and the hushed whispers of secrecy luring you in to investigate for yourself.

With the double doors in sight, you finally see that the entrance is being manned. Is it security or just a ticket holder? You aren’t sure you want to find out. They might take one look at you and shoo you away. There’s no way you can leave until you get what you came for.

You slip out of sight as you see another pair of men get out of a car parked near the entrance and approach. Your breathing is egregious, though you try to calm it. The adrenaline swirling through your every vein and muscle is enough to make you pass out. But the agonising desire to enter and see the truth for yourself is holding you steady.

$100 for a ticket.

“Christ.” you whisper to yourself.

You put your hand in your pocket and fish out your purse. As you open it and begin to look, you halt. The way your hands are trembling is abnormal, even for being this worked up. The pumping of your heart transfers to your brain. The pink, mushy organ pounds dramatically against the inside of your skull, and really, you think melodic beat of the music inside must be slithering its way into the creases of your braincells.

There’s a pain behind your eyes. You feel a migraine coming on and you’re all too familiar with the agonising feeling as you often leave your work days suffering from them.

You deepen your breaths in a bid to steel yourself. And eventually, you find the money to pay the fee. So you wait, patiently, for the other two men to enter the warehouse before you reveal yourself from the shadows. There’s an air of confidence to you as you approach the entrance.

Though it fades, slightly, as the man holds his hand up like a crossing guard.

“Women don’t come around here,” he starts, checking a clipboard that looks too small in his comically large hands. He flips through the pages and then looks at you again. “You’re not on the list.”

“I have the fucking money.” you tell him, slapping it on top of his stupid clipboard hard enough for him to almost drop it. He tries to stop you as you attempt to barge by him, though it isn’t a strict action.

More like a warning.

“It’s not a sight a lady should see, I think.” he tells you, still putting your hard earned money into a tin of other generous donations, you expect. His eyes focus on your own as he continues to speak. “You’re rich. Expensive clothes… shouldn’t have worn those here. Gets messy. Be careful.” he tells you. And with that, you enter the warehouse and heed his warning.

You walk slowly, but with purpose. A chill stabs down your spine as you approach a flight of stairs a group of men are running down. They wolf whistle upon seeing you and it curdles in your stomach. You try to keep your head held high as you climb and follow the sound of that intoxicating bass. Wherever the music is coming from is surely the source of the action, too.

The time of day is indicative of the lighting. It’s pitch black outside and it it’s even darker, still, in the warehouse. Though the moonlight manages to break in through the shattered windows enough to illuminate your path.

There’s a smell that you’re beginning to notice that invades your senses. A potent stench that is so specifically masculine and territorial. It’s sweat. Blood, too.

Once you get to the top of the stairs, there are double doors with a red light bleeding through the cracks. The music is louder, too, as well as the vociferous shouting being contained solely by the big, heavy duty doors.

And now, truly, you worry things have gone too far. The doors part and you slink into the shadows, still approaching without hesitation. You’re scared. God, terrified, really. But the adrenaline keeps you from retreating. There’s one goal you have in mind, and once complete, you can return back to your peaceful, suburban life.

A man holds the door as he waits for a friend to leave with him. You watch them walk away together, bragging about their earnings before you slip inside inconspicuously.

The red light contrasts from the rest of the building. And you think your retinas might explode from the change, you don’t let it divert your attention, though. But it’s hard to deny how distracted you are.

As the atmosphere has changed you begin to feel heady from the scent of sweat and testosterone. You do your best to continue undetected as you try to keep to the edges of the crowd. But a few eyes find you. Nudging and laughing when they see a woman, God forbid, enter their sacred male space. You notice there’s no malice mostly. It’s more leering and ogling despite doing all you can to not give them any attention or feed into their sex drive.

But you scream.

Scream could even be an understatement as you feel a tight squeeze on your upper arm flesh yank you away from the crowd and into the background of the room. Your adrenaline seems to die the instant one red eye matching the ambient lighting filling the room like a brothel in a red light district stare into yours.

Half of his face is covered by some sort of black mask.

Protecting his battle wounds, you assume.

There are a few laughs and stares before they’re pulled back to the main attraction. There’s a feeling of embarrassment rushing through you, but you can barely dwell on it as you look up at the man who had dragged you away so carelessly.

He’s easily the tallest man you’ve ever met. At least 6’5 and towering above you like you’re a puny child as you try and stand confidently beneath him. But the little gasp you emit when he bends down to whisper in your ear gives you away, instantly. He smirks, knowing just how scared you are. He knows just how worried you are and how out of your depth you are.

“And just what is a fragile little thing like you doing in my club?” he asks, a tantalising lilt in his words that would have your knees folding like outdoor furniture if you didn’t have one reason and one reason alone for being here. He pulls away from your ear, an intimidating glare staring back at you as he waits for an answer. “You don’t look like you can fight. Not that I’d allow it, anyway.” he tells you.

“I’m looking for someone.” you blurt out, unsure if you should have said that or kept it to yourself. It’s too late, now, and you see a sadistic smile transform his ravenous expression into one of sheer entertainment.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend you’re worried about fighting here.” he laughs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his eyes move from your face to your breasts. They’re covered, entirely. The decision to wear a turtleneck for work has come back to bite you as the sweltering heat feels enough to knock you unconscious.

It’s suffocating.

He isn’t really looking at your tits, however. His eyes instead seem to hone in on the silver necklace you’re wearing. And you can see how his eyes squint as he tries to think of anyone fighting here who’s initial begins with M before letting his dirty mind race at the thought of the letter slipping between your cleavage had you opted to wear something a little more revealing.

“You look like a cop, sweetheart. Not a good place for you to be all by yourself.” he informs you. A cop? You hadn’t even thought about how you’d stand out in that way. “I don’t need the fuzz poking around here, what do you want?” he asks, his voice a little more pointed and venomous as he raises your necklace with a single finger to toy with it.

If you weren’t so frozen in fear, you would have backed away and hid your necklace down your sweater. But you were scared, statuesque. The only movement you were able to perform was moving your lips.

A pretty trait for you to possess, he thinks.

“My brother is here, I think.” you tell him, calmly, hoping your honesty will earn you some favour in his eyes. His eyebrow quirks as he thinks about you possessing a family resemblance to anyone here. “He’s underage.”

He smiles at that. The pieces suddenly all fall into place as he knows exactly who you’re talking about. And he parts space between you both, grabbing the collar of your white, wool coat and pulling you along with him. The two of you get through the crowd with ease until you’re standing at the front.

A shriek leaves you as the losing opponent hurtles towards you, though your self-appointed escort gets in his way before your clothes can become ruined by the blood that has now smeared on your saviour’s skin. You’re sure he’s thankful that he wore a black vest so that you can’t really see the stains on it. Realistically, he probably doesn’t care, you think.

He wouldn’t be running a fight club if he cared about something as tedious as stains.

As he moves out of the way to reveal the victor, your own blood begins to simmer and spill from you. Megumi raises his arms triumphantly, spitting a glob of blood onto the ground next to the wounded man he’s evidently just beaten to a bloody, unconscious puddle. And you could tear his head off with your bare teeth with the rage that you feel.

But you can’t.

Not when the man who led you here steps into the makeshift ring of people surrounding them and hands him his earnings. And your brother smiles, gratefully, as he accepts and counts it.

“There’s someone here to see you, kid.” he tells him, tilting his head in your direction. Your foot taps against the dirty warehouse floor as you wait for him to notice you. And boy does he notice you. “Oh, are you that scared of her?” he laughs, noticing all of the colour draining from Megumi’s face as he processes the fact that you’re here. That you’re really here.

“The fuck are you doing here?!” he asks, running up to you and attempting to conceal the money as best he can. But it’s too late, you snatch it from his hand and look at him with contempt.

“Me? What are you doing here?! You’re seventeen! You’re not Tyler fucking Durden, Megumi.” you slap him upside the head and drag him away from the crowd. “I’m furious, I don’t even know where to start with you.” you tell him as you approach the heavy doors that are keeping this disgusting little community trapped in the sweaty, blood soaked room.

“Get off.” he shakes himself loose. “I left my stuff in Sukuna’s office.” he announces, leaving before you give him permission. You huff, following him up the steel stairs as you continue your onslaught of verbal abuse and anger at his sheer stupidity.

He should see a doctor, really. But you worry he’ll get in trouble if the police get involved. And he might end off worse, still, if he rats out this place and gets everyone else in trouble. It’s too much, you know you’ll have to cover for him.

You could cry, now. But you aren’t sure if it’s anger or genuine upset. And honestly, you don’t want him to see you cry over this. Weakness is not something you need him to see right now, you want to keep it together. You’re his guardian and you can’t be soft with him just because he’s your brother.

He picks up his gym bag from a locker in the room. Your eyes are laser focused on him, all of the trust you felt towards him is long gone. And now, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to take your eyes off him again.

“Megumi… how did you even get involved with this?” you ask him, earning nothing more than an infuriated grunt as if you have no right asking. How dare you care about him and his wellbeing when you’re all each other have? You want to scream, to fucking scream at him for being such an idiot. “I thought you were getting bullied at school. I asked you if—”

“Drop it. Can we just go?” he asks.

“Tsk.” you kiss your teeth. Your gaze suddenly stolen as the man you can only presume is Sukuna walks into the office like he owns the place. He does. You close the distance between yourself and Megumi as his sadistic boss sits on a comfy looking chair behind an old battered desk. “Give me your phone. Go wait in the car. Do not go anywhere.” you warn him as you hand him the car keys.

He sighs, placing his phone in your hand before turning to leave. You don’t look at him, though, too focused on Sukuna to even pay him any mind.

Your blood continues to boil, bubbling under the surface of your skin as you look at Sukuna. A smarmy smirk plastered on his face as he kicks his feet up onto the desk. So, Megumi leaves. He knows better than to push you when you’re this pissed.

“Before you start, princess,” Sukuna stands back up and circles around the desk. Your eyes vibrate with fury as you watch him, backing up as he gets too close. “I didn’t force him to do this.”

“Don’t call me princess.” you tell him, shutting down the cutesy pet name in an instant the minute you get an opening to speak. You rest you hand on your hip as you point at him furiously. It’s rude, you know it’s rude, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not after seeing your little brother like that. “He’s just a kid. I don’t want him involved in this stuff, I’m trying to be a good role model and you’re fucking everything up. He’s not coming back, ban him.”

“Fuck no.” he chortles. “He might be a kid but he’s good. I pay well. ‘n I like him, I do. He’s a moody little brat but he makes me laugh and earns me a shit ton. I’m not banning him for you. Or anyone.”

“Maybe I should call the police, see what they have to say about all of this.” you threaten, immediately regretting it, when the smile drops from his face and is replaced with something akin to bemusement. He hadn’t expected you to threaten him. But the incredulous stare is soon replaced by another smile.

“You wouldn’t risk getting Megumi in trouble… nice try though.” he speaks, leaning back against his desk and crossing one ankle over the other as he folds his arms. He’s thinking. Genuinely thinking of a way to compromise. “What do you do?”

“I’m… a doctor.” you tell him. Earning a set of raised eyebrows and an amused scoff as he looks you over once more. He supposes it explains the fancy clothes and snooty attitude.

But—

“You’re too young to be a doctor, aren’t you?” he wonders.

“I’m a primary care physician.” you tell him. He nods in understanding, but you’re confused now. You shake away his questions and his interest in you before staring at him again with intent. “This needs to stop. I’m not going to call the police but I’m not letting my brother come back here, it’s too dangerous. He’s a child.”

“He’s a man, you’re babying him. He made three grand tonight, he’s earning money and staying out of trouble because he has an outlet for his anger.” Sukuna tells you. The amount of money he’s made surprises you, and you’re holding it in your coat pocket right now. He’s going to be down $100 after you take it out of his earnings, though. But still. Even you can’t deny that it’s impressive. “Stuck up princess. Snooty doctor. Think you can come in my fuckin’ club and tell me what to do? Fuck that.” Sukuna claims.

He doesn’t say anything else as he waits for you to speak. But, truthfully, you’re still thinking about Megumi. The fact that he needs an outlet for his anger is worrisome. You’ve tried to get him to see a therapist, but he isn’t interested in the least.

It’s been hard being a single parent to him when you’re too selfish and irresponsible to even look after yourself, let alone a teenage boy. He probably thinks you’re useless. You have no control over him, really. All you do is make sure he’s fed and has a place to sleep and get his school work done.

But after discovering this, you’re sure he hasn’t even been bothering to attend school.

“Oi.” Sukuna speaks, stealing your stare again as you’re finally brought out of your troubled gaze. “You’re a sheltered little princess, aren’t you? A place like this is just full of scum to you.”

“I don’t care about this.” you laugh, minimally, not really seeing the funny side but you have nothing else to offer by way of expression. He hesitates a little, seeing the defeated look in your eye. “The injuries and psychological damage these places can cause…”

“Not everyone’s got a fancy college education like you, girl.” he tells you, patronisingly, as if you don’t know that. But he doesn’t let you interrupt. “Some people need a quick buck to get out of trouble. Other’s like the thrill. But who the fuck are you to come into my club and tell us all we’re wrong? Comin’ in here in your doctor clothes… looking down your nose at us.”

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doin’, sweetheart.” he continues. “You get to sit behind a desk all day and tell people what pills to take to feel better and then go home to your cosy house in the suburbs without a care in the world.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me.” you warn him, though you don’t have the muscle or means to back it up. He reminds you a lot of how your dad used to be. You didn’t particularly take shit from him, and you certainly won’t be taking it from Sukuna if you can help it. “If you’re letting a seventeen year old walk away with three grand, I’m sure you’re making a lot more money than I am behind my desk. I work hard. You’re lining your pockets from other people’s pain.”

“Only a little,” he smirks at that, knowing you’re right but not entirely. “I fight. I bleed.”

And you scoff. It’s so fucking archaic and you can’t help but pace around with your hands on your hips as you try and decide where to even start with that. What can you say, really? Congratulations? No, definitely not. You stop in your tracks as you realise how close he is to you, now, deciding he wanted to close the gap between the two of you while your mind was elsewhere.

You breathe a little heavier as you fall backwards onto the couch behind you while he towers above you. His eyes rake over your body as he drinks you in. The slight fear lingering below the surface, shrouded by a cloud of false confidence as you do all you can to not succumb to his intimidation.

His arms almost cage you in.

Almost.

He’d let you free yourself if you tried to escape.

But you aren’t trying.

You’re just staring into his eye.

And he likes that.

“Watch me.” he orders. The sentence is soft but with a hard, seductive edge. It’s an offer despite it sounding like a command. You aren’t sure what he’s asking you to watch but your heart rate is imploring you to decline, whatever it may be. He tilts his head, it’s barely noticeable, and somehow you do notice. You notice the way his eye flits from your eyes to your lips. Not once, multiple times. He has no shame, he doesn’t care that you know he’s looking. He doesn’t act on it, anyway. “Watch me fight.”

“Pardon?” you ask, instantly. Bewildered that he would even dare to dream that you’d do something so idiotic. Your brother is waiting, patiently, for you to take him home. Unless he’s stolen your car, of course. But you’d like to think he knows he’s in enough trouble than to do something so stupid.

“You’ve never seen a fight. Watch the best at work, you might change your opinion. Watch me.” he repeats.

He watches as your eyes glaze over with a watery sheen, smirking. There is a breeze left in the wake of him quickly freeing your body from his caging arms and heading towards the entrance to his office. Your breathing is intense and your hands begin to shake. You think to text Megumi and check he’s okay, before remembering that you have his phone.

You look over your shoulder to see Sukuna leaning over the railing. He’s yelling about something but your ears are ringing in your confusion. The music isn’t helping, either. You look down at your phone to check the time, not even really taking it in before you place both Megumi’s and your own in each of your pockets.

Sukuna returns, entering with a cool swagger before leaning on the edge of his desk again.

“You’ve got ten minutes to decide.” he tells you.

Decide?

You’ve already decided. There’s no way you’re sticking around to watch him beat someone within an inch of their life. Or vice versa if his opponent proves to be too much. But with his physique and confidence, you doubt he’ll lose. And almost as if he’s read your mind, he smirks.

“I’m going to win.” he informs you, a cocksure grin saturating his lips as he drinks in your reaction to his words. You cross a leg over the other and fold your arms, still determined to remain and appear defiant as you listen to him. He can sense you’re weakening resolve, though. “I always win, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” you remind him, and he tuts in response. You can’t tell him what to do. You can try, but he won’t listen. And he hears the wavering in your words. Your desire to appear cold and callous towards him crumbling the longer you spend time in such close proximity to him.

“I think you like it.” he tells you, smiling. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m thinking.” you tell him in turn, scowling as you decide whether or not to leave right now or actually think this through. If you leave, you know your pride won’t allow you to change your mind.

“Don’t have all night for you’re thinkin’, doll.” he speaks. “Oh… I know, how about we make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon, live a little.” he laughs, menially. He smirks as he hears you gasp whilst lifting you up like you’re nothing. He sits you down on his desk and for some reason you find yourself tightly wrapping your legs around his waist. Your chest heaves, panicked from the process. You aren’t sure how that happened and you can’t seem to shake any of it away. Not when your fingernails are digging into his biceps and your lips are ghosting each other’s. What is he doing? “How about if I lose, I’ll tell Megumi he can’t come around here anymore.”

“You said you’ll win.”

He smirks, at that. Scarred hands nip and grab at your entirely covered flesh. He wishes he could just rip the material off you right here, right now. But he wouldn’t feel right about sending you to your car in torn clothing, telling your little brother exactly what kept you busy for so long.

“That, I did…” he speaks as if recollecting an ancient memory. But he looks at you, eyes traversing your body again. “So what—”

“’m not betting with you. I know you’re gonna win.” you tell him, moving your head back slightly so your lips are no longing tracing each other. Instead, you’re looking at him intently. “You’re just trying to get me to agree to something that I won’t be able to back out of. ‘m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not stupid.” he agrees. He tucks some hair behind your ear and grabs your chin so that you can’t break your stare from his own. “I know we both want the same thing right now, though. That pride will do you no good, y’know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, feigning ignorance as the heat between your legs begins to pool and seep into your panties. You hope he doesn’t notice. God you hope he doesn’t fucking feel it. You hope that your trousers will protect you, the fight should be starting soon. “I’m taking my brother home… but I hope you enjoy your little fight.”

“You’re not going anywhere or you would have left already.” he tells you, matter-of-fact. “The things I could say… I’m gonna say it all after I win.”

“I won’t be here. ‘n I’m not giving you my number.”

“You’ll be in the front fucking row watching me.” he sneers.

You inhale a sharp breath as he forcefully moves your head. A finger hooks into the collar of your turtleneck, lazily pulling it downward to reveal the bare skin of your neck. His lips are close, breath dancing over the expanse of your skin. It’s a battle to withhold the shudder that is creeping through your veins. It makes your eyes water, a tear threatens to spill but you refuse to let it. You weld your eyes shut as he continues to torment you, and they appear even more watery when you open them again. The way your body trembles is harder to mask, though it’s nearly imperceptible as you accept you need to release it. All you can do is hope that he hasn’t noticed.

But he does.

The intensity of your breathing increases as you think he might kiss your neck. Your eyes flutter shut in preparation, but all he does is tease. And when you feel a near empty chuckle fan across your neck, your eyes widen once more.

“It’s time, princess.” he tells you, pulling away completely. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, heading towards the exit to his office before turning back to face you. “Come.”

And like you’re a voice activated toy, you follow him. He quick steps down the stairs while you struggle in your heels. You cling to the railing as you descend, and he waits patiently for you at the bottom.

He’s agnate to a God in this warehouse. You see how people respect and admire him as he enters the room. People part for him so that he can walk through with ease with you in tow. You’re really going to watch an authentic fight.

You wonder how different it will be in comparison to movies. You’re scared, shaking, but part of you is telling you that you need to see it. You need to see the state that Megumi could one day end up in if you don’t scold him correctly.

“Should I go easy on him, sweetheart?” he asks, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “She’s going to decide your fate tonight, listen up.” Sukuna tells his opponent. You want to kill him yourself for drawing everyone’s attention to you. You struggle to find words, mouth drying every time it opens.

“Just… don’t kill him.” you shrug. “But don’t get yourself killed, either.”

He laughs, shrugging his shoulders too. Neither of them look scared, though you suppose that’s the point. Neither of them would be doing this if they didn’t think they could win. They wouldn’t be here if they were afraid of getting hurt.

“She wants me to go easy on you…” Sukuna smirks.

You watch, nervously, as they circle around the ring for a while. He looks at you, briefly, as you fiddle with your necklace as you try and occupy your mind.

A ragged breath leaves you as they both lunge at each other. The way Sukuna dodges and weaves away from each and every attempt that should be hitting him is almost like watching a beautiful ballet.

It’s art, here.

Between these walls and amongst this audience. It is a true art form that is celebrated and enjoyed. The casualties don’t matter, not even a little. Everyone is a willing participant, even you, now. You could have left but decided not to.

It’s for Megumi, you tell yourself.

You need to be better and act better for him. And you can’t possibly do that without the knowledge of how truly dangerous this can be.

But now, seeing it for yourself, you’re starting to understand.

Sukuna is strong. Heavy fists affix themselves to his opponents face again and again until he’s on the ground. Blood pours from the man’s nose and you think he might suffocate from lost teeth and gurgling blood pooling in his throat.

And Sukuna… he’s been starved of this.

You start to think that maybe he doesn’t fight as regularly as he claims. It seems too easy for him, now. No one can beat him, so what’s the point? But he has missed this feeling. The feeling of seeing blood gush from an adversary who whole-heartedly believed they could take him on.

He takes pleasure in it, violence. Particularly the brand inflicted by him. He profits from it regularly, but this is a rare treat nowadays. He’s happy to sit in his office and let idiots do what idiots do as long as his pockets and wallet fill with each event.

This fight… it was on a whim.

Was it just to impress you?

He straddles his opponent as he repeatedly smashes the same fist into his face again and again and again. And he’s laughing. It’s maniacal, borderline insane laughter as you see blood spatter and clots form and congeal against the poor man’s skin.

And why…

Why are you loving this?

You can practically feel hearts and glitter adorning your eyes as you watch on in horror, unable to turn away. You’re mesmerised by it. You should be ashamed, really, you’re meant to be a doctor.

If you were a good person, you’d be breaking this up. You’d be rushing to the man’s side and calling an ambulance to help him. Instead of watching on in astonishment, you should be doing all you can to keep him alive after such a vicious assault. But instead, you’ve sunken to the balls of your feet so that you can be on their level and watch each and every punch land with excruciating detail. You don’t want it to stop. You could watch this forever.

Watch him forever.

You’re sick.

This is sick.

“Sukuna!” you yell, standing upright again and looking down at him. He stops short of landing one final blow to his opponents bulging and split nose so that he can look up at you. There’s worry in your eyes, and it makes his brows furrow. His eyes squint as he examines you. He isn’t sure how to read you or what you might be thinking. But he realises worry isn’t the only thing lingering behind those glimmering, wide eyes.

Something else entirely resides there that he’s longed to see since the moment he set eyes on you.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” he speaks down to the near dead man beneath him. “Were you done or did you want to keep going?”

“D… Don—”

“Thaaaaat’s great.” he responds to the man’s choked attempt to end the fight. Sukuna jumps to his feet, barely a scratch on him, and walks by you without looking back. You hasten behind him, almost unable to keep up in your stupid shoes. You see a man hand him something before walking away. You scrunch your brows as you look between them both.

Oh, he’s been paid.

He reaches the top of the stairs to his office and holds the door open for you to pass through. You duck by him, hiding in the room like you shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t. You feel so small and inconsequential when you’re near him.

It’s his height, you realise.

It’s effortless intimidation. He’s a giant and you have to crane your neck just to look up at him when he’s close to you. His giant frame and bulging muscles don’t put you at ease, either. If you make him mad enough, you wonder how far he’d go. Would he use his strength to his advantage? Maybe he’d just take pity on you.

“You’re still here.” he rasps, locking the door behind himself and closing the blinds to the room. He likes the privacy as he counts his money. It excites you, for some reason, to see so much in a big fat wad. He looks up at you briefly before focusing back on it. “You liked it.”

“No.”

“Yeah ya did,” he laughs. You watch him as he collects a heavy looking bag from another locker in the room. It’s different to the one Megumi used. It looks shinier, newer. Sturdier. “I can tell you liked it.”

“Well, I’m going now.” you start, turning to walk away before he stretches out an arm to stop you in your tracks. He walks you backwards until your ass collides into the edge of his desk. He doesn’t pick you up, though. He just sizes you up, slowly, purposefully. And what a pathetic size you are in comparison to him. “Megumi needs me…” you whisper, meekly.

His presence is truly all consuming as he lords above you. You’re trapped between his large frame and the tattered old desk that resides in this seedy office. He could afford something nicer. But what would be the point if the place gets raided?

“We wanted the same thing earlier,” he starts. His voice quiet but commanding, still. You look between his lips and his pressuring gaze. He smiles, at that, he can see the way your mind is running rampant with thoughts of him. The dirty criminal who wants to fuck you on his desk. “Bet ya want it even more now.”

“N-No.”

“Yes.” he argues, placing a bloody hand on your pristine coat and making a mess of it. His hand snakes around to your waist, eventually. You gasp when you feel him tug your body closer to his by your belt loops, grinning as the little noise you make hits his ears. “Stutterin’ over yours words and making pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Did you get all excited from seeing the blood? Bet ya did… bet you’re wet from seein’ daddy get violent.”

You gulp, heartily, your breathing gets heavier the more he speaks. His words rush straight to your cunt and you can barely ground yourself. The only thing keeping you from floating is your fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he continues to tease you.

“You’re fucking frigid.” he continues. Your eyes begin to water as he undoes the button on your pants and goes to pull down the zipper. You grab his hands to stop him, though it’s in vain. “Why are you so frigid, huh? When was the last time you had a good, hard, fuck?” he asks you, each word dripping like venom in a bid to make you squirm.

“That’s none of your—”

“Stop being such a bitch.” he tells you, slight laughter leaving him as he speaks. “Let me guess… got too occupied with your career, right? Bet you had a long term boyfriend who wouldn’t know how to fuck you properly if his life depended on it. ‘n then you got saddled with the kid… bought a vibrator and a plastic cock ‘n thought that would make do… you’ve never been fucked before.”

“Stop it.” you tell him. You turn your head away but he quickly forces it back with one heavy, dominating hand. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” he agrees, not letting go or moving aside for you to leave.

Nothing is said, not another word. Several beats of silence pass by as you stare at each other. The hypnotic music continues to play outside, though it’s muffled slightly by the locked office door. It isn’t enough to mask how hard either of you are breathing. Panting. Unable to break your stare from each other as the silence, that cogent fucking silence gets louder and louder.

Not another word is spoken as his lips press roughly against your own. You kick off your shoes and he kicks them aside as you continue to kiss him. Your hands are all over his body, grabbing and squeezing his skin as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips. He forces down your trousers so that they’re resting around your thighs before lifting you onto the desk. You moan, desperately, as he breaks the kiss to fully remove them from your legs.

He lets them fall and kicks them away in the opposite direction of your shoes. The kiss breaks once more as he laughs lightly as your hips begin to rock eagerly for him.

“Knew you were wet for me earlier, y’know.” he tells you, kissing you briefly before deciding to tease you further. “Felt how your cunt was droolin’ when I lifted you on here before.”

“You’re vile.” you tell him, not caring that much as you lock your lips with his again. His attitude, the way he talks, the way he is. It’s all so nauseatingly macho and you thought you were better than this. You thought you knew better and wanted better for yourself. But having it presented so perfectly for you… you were always going to succumb.

“You like it, you like me.” he continues, forcing your snow-white coat down your arms and off your body. The way his knuckles continue to gush blood, you expect the liquid to seep and stain the white material and paint it the same red as his eyes. “Mmmm, I’m right. Why else would you be so wet?”

The air is snatched from your lungs as he pushes your legs apart from each other one at a time. You don’t dare close them as you watch him pull his vest over his head and reveal his perfectly chiselled body in all of its glory. It’s pervasive. It’s gorgeous. You aren’t even sure it’s humanly possible to look this good.

A soft ‘unf’ sound leaves you and you feel him sink his bloody knuckles inside of your panties. Deft fingers swirl and tease around your firm clit, and your mouth seals shut.

“Tell the truth, princess.” he swipes two fingers over your clit at a heightened pace, desperate to coax another utterance of admittance from your soft lips. “You wanna get fingered by a dirty old man. Go on, let me be your bit of rough, sweetheart.”

“Fuck.” you breathe, unable to withstand his filthy mouth. You’re truly powerless to being spoken to like this. Maybe you’re tired of people speaking to you so politely day in day out.

He doesn’t respect you, though.

Right now you’re nothing but a wet, desperate hole, with a pretty face attached.

“Let daddy finger you, yeah?” he asks, and you can’t stop your eyes from filling with water. He thinks it’s adorable. How the mighty hath fallen for nothing more than a few little rubs on your neglected clit. It makes him sick, truthfully, how many precious little things like you go without being touched properly. You’re about to learn, now, just how quickly you can become addicted to a person and the way they touch you.

“I should- I r-really have to go!” you tell him, still so desperate to remain defiant to the bitter end. He knows you’re bound to crumble any second. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, but it will do you little good. Not when you are instinctively widening your legs for him. Wider than you knew they could go.

He pushes a single finger into you, hissing when he feels just how tight you really are. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume you were a virgin. He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, constantly adding pressure to the needy nub as he continuously pumps and curls his finger in and out of your sopping hole.

“Sukuna! I can’t d-do this, I shouldn’t be here.” you tell him as you wrestle with your guilt.

“This is exactly where you should be,” he tells you. “You’ll feel better when you cum f’me. Maybe you’ll stop being such a stuck up bitch.” he laughs, again, because you don’t dispute it.

No, instead, you lean back and rest your hands on the desk. Your hips roll urgently against his hand, chasing the stimulation to your clit. He looks down between you, tugging at your panties with one hand until you take the hint. You stop rutting against him, closing your legs so he can pull them down without stopping his rough touches.

They come down enough, the white lace dangling on one ankle as he forces your legs apart again. His vision meets your cunt. The way you’re swallowing one finger with ease now calls him to add another.

And you hiss from the stretch, but your humping doesn’t relent. You’re taking his fingers all of the way to the bloody knuckle until your eyes cross from the pleasure. And he grunts, at that, an attempt to conceal the moan lodged in his throat.

He revels in the way your cunt clenches as he allows a glob of spit to drip to your clit. His jaw hangs low as he massages the heel of his palm into it harder. The way you wriggle from his touch is better than any drug he can imagine existing. It’s addictive, seeing a once so proud woman regress to a needy little pet from the touch of a common man.

“D-Don’t stop.” you whisper, unsure of where that even came from. It was entirely involuntary. Your brain begins to fog as he repeatedly batters your g-spot again and again until your vision turns white. “Fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming, Sukuna! Ah- aaah~!” you cry out.

And just as it was getting good. Just as you were about to topple over the edge, he withdraws his fingers.

“You’re a real slut when you get going, aren’t you?” he smiles, landing a wet slap on your twitching pussy. You yelp, but don’t speak. “Barking orders at me like you’re in charge. Remember who’s office you’re in, now. It ain’t yours, princess. You’re spread open on daddy’s desk. Know your place.”

“I’m s-sorry.” you whimper, trying to focus and ignore the aching pulse you feel between your thighs. You need to cum, now. You need him to make you. It’s not fair, you can’t comprehend how close you were before he stopped you from reaching your high. “I’ll be good, d-daddy, just don’t… please don’t stop.” you beg, the title feels foreign on your tongue. But you don’t hate it.

He tuts, slapping your cunt again and again, repeatedly striking until tears spill from your pathetic, wet eyes.

“Fuckin’ love it when you look at me like that. Needy little whore.” he chortles, moving away from you entirely as he goes to grab something. “I’m gonna do something no one else will ever be able to do for you, jus’ because you look so pretty.”

“Wha—?”

“Lose the sweater, now. Wanna see your pretty tits,” he commands, lifting up the bag he grabbed from his locker earlier. “Hurry up. You need to be naked for this, you’ll enjoy it more.”

You do as you’re told, hurrying to strip yourself of the restricting material that has been suffocating you all night. And you toss it God knows where, breathing a sigh of relief as you feel cooler despite the sweaty heat that is trapped in the office with you.

“Good, good girl.” he smirks, unzipping the bag. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to pull out. Some kind of sex toy, you assume. Knowing his ego, it’s probably a mould of his cock, hoping he can double stuff you.

But he doesn’t pull anything out.

Instead, he tips the bag upside down. There’s no time to think about what horrible things he could be pouring onto you. Because it doesn’t happen. Instead, you’re showered in bank notes. You laugh, excitedly, as you feel a never-ending stream over hundred-dollar bills pour over your body and onto the desk.

Sukuna laughs, too, admiring the sight of you dressed in nothing but money.

His money.

And it’s everywhere.

You writhe around on the desk before looking at him. He pulls down his sweats, hungrily, just enough to free his length. And, fuck, he’s huge. You knew he would be just by looking at the rest of him. It’s a scary sight, but you don’t care. He was right, no one else will ever be able to do this for you.

“Fuck me.” you request, opening your legs for him again. “Want daddy to fuck me stupid.” you finish.

And he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His fingers are shoved between your lips for you to suck as he lines his threatening cockhead up with your throbbing cunt. You’re too distracted by the taste of his fingers to properly react to how he stretches your hole.

The taste of copper stains your tastebuds along with the flavour of your essence. He watches you, intently, as he bullies his cock all of the way to the hilt without remorse. Though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath while examining you, panting desperately when he’s fully sunken into your restricting walls.

“Took that like a champ,” he praises you, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and opting to squeeze the sides of your neck instead. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, swallowing me like this.” he smirks, thrusting his hips shallowly to help you adjust. But the composure is lost when he feels how tight you’re wrapped around him. Like you’re claiming what yours as if he belongs inside, buried deep in your cunt to depths no one has been before.

He's yours.

“Fuuuu—” you start, cutting yourself off as you pout and groan through every pummel of his hips against yours. “Daddy! D-aaddy!” you wince, unable to believe how perfectly each vein adorning his cock stimulates you so beautifully. His leaking tip serves as a painful reminder to how irresponsible you’re being to fuck a literal stranger raw.

But you don’t care.

You honestly don’t care as you think about the desperate desire you feel burning between your thighs for him to fill you up like you’re his. To be claimed in such a disgustingly primal way by this behemoth of a man while you just lie there and take it is the only thing higher on your list of priorities than actually getting to cum yourself.

“No one will fuck you like this again, hear me? No one.” he reminds you. And all you can do is nod dumbly as you can’t even find it in you to formulate one word on your tongue to say in response. “Not a doctor, not a lawyer. No one will fuck you in the money they earn like this. And you look so pretty, princess. Knew you’d like it, can act high ‘n mighty all you like, but you like the blood money, don’tcha?”

“Y-Yes.” you barely managed to squeak out.

“Yes what?” he repeats.

“Y-es, daddy,” you pant, forcing yourself to fix your eyes on him as you speak in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. “I l-like the money.”

“Little money slut.” he chuckles, the angle he fucks in you seeming to hit deeper and deeper the longer it goes on. “I should fuck you up against the window, let everyone see how fucked out you are. Hah? Show everyone you’re not such a stuck up princess after all.”

“N-No, please, don’t.” you beg, gasping as he pulls his cock out of you and drags you away from the desk. He pushes your face against the window and you instinctively close your eyes. Your back arches as he slots himself into you from behind, powerless to his body as he starts fucking into you again. And you’re so thankful for the blinds, despite the fact the ridges dig into your skin as he ploughs you. “Fuuuuck, ‘Kuna, fuck, s’big!” you tell him, feeling him deeper still as he hits you from behind.

“I should let them all see what a whore you are.” he laughs, fingers gripping deeply into your sides as he uses you for leverage to pull you down on his length whilst battering into you. “Pretty mouth is droolin’ for me, look like you’re gonna break.”

Your heart begins to race as he reaches for the cord to open the blinds. There’s no doubt in your mind that it’s something he’d do. You brace yourself, preparing to be put on show for all of the lecherous men below to see.

But instead, he picks you up and forces you to bend over the table again. Your feet don’t even touch the ground as rams his cock into you again and again and again.

“Megumi wouldn’t be able to live it down if everyone knew how much of a slut his sister is,” he tells you. “He’d get the shit kicked out of him every time someone described what your face looks like when you cum.”

Fuck, Megumi.

You’d forgotten all about him, waiting in the freezing cold car for you while his pseudo-boss fucks your brains out.

“Don’t,” you huff, “tell him, about this.”

“Of course not, I’ll be your dirty little secret.” he laughs. “You are a vessel for my cum and nothing more.”

You’ve never felt such self-hatred for yourself as those final, scathing words have you cumming violently around his cock. You tremor and shake as you finish, collapsing entirely onto the desk as he continues to plough into you.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cry, feeling even more embarrassment wash over you as you think you might have pissed yourself. But he gasps, amazed, admiring the stream of clear liquid gushing from your cunt drenching him and his money on the floor.

“Awe, baby just squirted. What that your first time?” he laughs, fucking into you harder so that he can follow you along in your bliss. He bends over, his mouth lining up with your ear so he can whisper more of his rendition of sweet nothings into your ear. “You’re shaking ‘cause of me. A-And now, you’re gonna have to drive your little brother home with every drop of my cum in your cunt.”

“Please, please fill me up. Need it s’bad. Wanna be full of you…” you babble, reality still not fully resonating with you as he carries on fucking into you at a brutal pace.

He grunts and moans as he cums deep inside of you. You’ve made some mistakes in your life but this has to be one of the better ones. Despite your healthcare knowledge telling you that you should know better, you’ve never felt so content as you feel him shoot rope after rope of searing hot cum into your womb.

He pulls out, wiping his dick off on your ass cheek before fingering you slowly.

“Keep my mark inside of you.” he utters, forcing you to squeeze your thighs together so you don’t waste a drop while he gathers your clothes for you.

He hands you your underwear first while he keeps looking, and you pull them up quickly. It feels so revolting and lewd as his cum leaks into the seat of your panties. You sigh as you feel the cold letter M on your chest before you can dress yourself.

“I don’t have a first aid kit here.” Sukuna speaks, not looking at you as he hands you the rest of your belongings.

“I’m fine.” you tell him, quickly pulling on your sweater and instantly feeling sick as the warm material meets with your hot, clammy skin.

“I’m not.” he tells you, watching as you pull up your trousers and fasten them in a hurry before slipping into your high heels again. “Bet you have one at home. You’re a doctor, you’ve gotta look after people.”

You eye him up, cautiously, before your expression changes to a smile. “You’re asking to come home with me?” you wonder, pulling on your coat and making sure you still have two phones in your pockets as well as your purse and Megumi’s wad of cash. “But Megumi will—”

“I’ll drive behind you. C’mon, princess, don’t want my cuts do get infected, do ya?” he asks.

You cannot believe you allowed his dirty fingers inside of you. As good as they felt, it was so stupid. You’re sure there’s probably blood stains on your inner thighs because of him.

Though the thought of him all over you makes your cheeks fill with warmth.

You just nod, opting not to speak as you head towards the office door. You walk ahead of him, finding confidence in your strides again. He puts his vest back on and makes sure he’s decent before leaving the office. He watches you leave ahead of him and stops to talk to his favourite subordinate.

“Clean the mess up there. And I’ve counted the money so don’t get cute.” he says, handing the key to the office over before following your path out.

He’s a little surprised how far ahead you’d gotten. Long gone from the building as you approach your car.

The guilt of leaving Megumi alone for so long got to you, he thinks.

“Hi.” you say, simply, sitting behind the wheel of your car and hoping not to have to talk much for the ride home. He’s a moody teenager who rarely has a word to say to you. And for once, you’re hoping it’ll stay that way. You adjust yourself and quickly put on your seatbelt so that you can drive off without another word.

“What took you so long?” Megumi asks, huffing as he looks at you. His eyebrows knit as he sees his bossapproach with a confident swagger. He wonders if he forgot something or he didn’t pay him the right amount.

Sukuna leans into his open window with a shit eating grin on his face. He wants to question it, to question you. But his eyes meet your not so pristine white coat as he turns to look at you again. “Is that blood?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as he waits for an answer.

You look down at your jacket, holding your eyes closed with a sigh as you realise what a nightmare it’s going to be to remove the stains. Megumi leans in closer to you, moving your hair out of the way as he examines you.

“Um…” you mutter, too frozen to even continue starting up the car.

“It’s on your face and neck too. What did you—?” he stops, turning around to look at Sukuna and see if he can fill in the blanks in his mind with any form of answer. But they’re filled, instantly, as his eyes fall to see Sukuna’s bloody knuckles. “For fuck sake.” he speaks, quietly, covering his face with both hands as the revelation dawns on him.

“I’ll be right behind you, lead the way.” Sukuna winks as he walks away from your car and heads towards his own.

You don’t say anything, copying your brother’s action as you both sit in silence and absorb the never-ending supply of cringe filling the atmosphere. Until eventually you decide, this won’t do. Sukuna honks the horn of his Mercedes to signify that he’s ready.

So you start to drive, fleeing the scene while your partner in crime follows behind.

“Fucking good role model you are.” Megumi speaks sarcastically. “I can’t show my face there again. Why do you ruin everything?”

“Nothing happened!” you lie, earning a scoff from him.

“Let me get this straight. You came here to tell me to stop fighting, and then you fucked the man who pays me to do it. So, am I allowed to fight or not?”

“Obviously not, Megumi.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” he scathes, turning his head to face away from you while he sulks. “You can’t tell me what to do after this. Some fucking moral compass you got there.”

“Oh shut up.” you respond, trying to keep a cool head as you continue. “Nothing. Happened. I watched him fight and I hated it, we talked it out and here we are. Stop being so pissy.”

“Why’s he following us home, then?” he wonders, turning to face you and see if he can detect an honest answer or a lie from you.

“He doesn’t have a first aid kit.” you tell him, which is true though it isn’t really an answer. And you feel his green eyes burn into the side of your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “I’m a doctor, he needs his wounds tending to.”

“… Oh my God.” he starts. “Oh my God you actually fucking like him. You’re so embarrassing.” he huffs, pulling a cigarette out of his jeans. He closes the window to light it and opens it again just as quickly. You’ve never liked that he smokes, but you know nothing you say or do will stop him.

Just like the fighting.

And then, you find yourself laughing. Unable to stop yourself as you think about what a stereotypical angsty teen your little brother is. And, God, you’ve made yourself into his biggest enemy just because you care about him. But now… Christ, you’ve gone above and beyond.

“I lied. We fucked. And it was great.” you laugh harder when you see Megumi’s horrified expression the longer the conversation goes on.

“I can’t stand you.” he sighs. “He’s never gonna let me forget this. What is wrong with you?”

“Serves you right, you little shit. Lie to me again and see what happens.” you warn him, your laughter lets up a little as you try and focus on being serious.

You’re never going to be his mother, and you’d never want to be. But what you can be is his big sister. You can be an annoying pain and embarrass him whenever he acts up. But you’ll always be here to take care of him and keep him on the right track when needs be.

“I love you, shit head.” you smile, and he sighs.

“… love you too… bitch.”

© 2023 rinhaler

m.list | chapter two

[starkenobi]

For the 100 followers celebration, could you do a ficlet of Logan Howlett + reader kidnapped or hostage?

Congratulations and thank you 🥳🫂❤️

Gif by @richardgrimes

masterlist

thank you, sweetie! hope you enjoy the reading 💜

pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader

warnings: violence description.

The warehouse was cold and dark, water pooling on the floor, and a terrible smell of something rotten. But you're trying hard not to focus on that last detail because it's definitely a dead body. Strapped in a chair, your wrists ached from the tight rope.

The least of your problems, the worst part was being captured by a group of idiots. They actually thought that demanding money in exchange for your safety was a smart move.

Sighing, you observe in silence your captors.

They had no idea who they were messing with.

No, not your biological family. Rich filthy people. They abandoned you a long time ago when they discovered your mutation.

Fuck them.

If you captors were trying to get money, it was a waste of time. Your biological family would laugh and ask them to kill you.

But your real family? They won't be happy.

No, scratch that.

Before they even know what's happening, there's one person that you know it's already on their way.

So you sit there, bored.

In your cute bloodied pijamas.

With a split lip, a swollen eye, a stab in the abdomen, and a sprained foot.

Well, you couldn't use your mutation to fight seven men at the same time, but you give them hell.

Cowards.

The first sign that the rescue had arrived was the loud sound of a motorcycle engine.

Rescue for you. Nightmare for them.

"The fuck was that noise?" One of the captors grumbled.

Then a loud bang sounded and the warehouse's door blew in pieces.

Show off.

Logan walked with his claws ready to fight.

He was furious.

The captors didn't stand a chance.

The two stupid enough to get closer were slashed by Logan's claws, red blood spilling everywhere, and yells became gurgling.

Frightened by the horror, they began to shoot.

Logan didn't seem that fazed by the bullets, gruting because of the impact, but he kept walking. With a high jump, Logan fell on top of a captor, the claw hitting square in the head.

Like a blur, Logan decimated the rest one by one. The screams and chaos were soon silenced.

Standing in the middle of the bloodied warehouse, Logan was beautiful and in all his glory.

Dammit, you loved him so much.

"I told you to stop looking for trouble, princess," Logan said as greeting, retracting his claws and approaching where you were tied to the chair.

You pouted. "I'm innocent this time, baby."

He chuckled. "If you say so. Let's get your wounds treated, yeah?"

"Are you gonna kiss it better?" You flirted but soon groaned in pain when Logan released you and picked you up. "Ugh, it hurts."

"Sorry, bub." Logan kissed your forehead, walking out of the warehouse.

"And the kids?"

"They're fine, Jean and Ororo are with them."

"Cool," you mumbled. Now that you felt safe, the pain and tiredness were catching you up. "Glad the plan worked."

Logan stopped for a moment, an incredulous look on his face. "You're prohibited from being bait again."

"Just jealous that I'm the famous one in this relationship." You retorted.

"Princess, shut up."

[hearts4chriss]

Fresh love for the fit.

Boyfriend! Chris x poc! Girlfriend

prompt: chris asks you to sit on his lap while he’s working only to discover ur only wearing panties

Part 8

Contains: cockwarming, mentions of reader having a fat ass, p in v, backshots, creampie, dirty talk, dom!chris pet names, ass slapping/grabbing, dirty talk, semi public, warehouse sex, caught??

Chris had draggedddd me with his brothers to the warehouse because he insisted I be with him.

They all had to sign their 6 million cards for their merch and I was sitting at the table with them as music played , I was wearing his oversized pink freshlove hoodie and a pair of panties which is not what I had intended on wearing but Chris didn’t know so I decided not to change.

I watched how they all worked taking breaks every so often trying their best not too as they had a lot of cards to sign.

that didn’t stop Chris to glance over at me with a smile pretty often resulting in his brothers groaning telling him to focus.

eventually he took his phone out sending me a text

my man😛💋

come sit on my lap baby

my girl����🏻

Chris no😭

my man😛💋

pleaseeee😁

I’ll behave

Now he was gonna realize I only had panties on and I was screwed, quite literally he would fuck the shit out of me for only wearing panties.

I roll my eyes and sit on his lap and he shifts his hips before pausing and whispering in my ear.

“are you only wearing panties?” His raspy voice rings in my ear allowing my pussy to react to his words and feeling his bulge through my wetness.

“God you’re such a whore, should’ve known.” Chris mumbles in my ear seeing his brothers completely in their own world.

He lifts my hips up and slides my panties down to my thighs and removes his sweatpants allowing his cock to rest on my ass.

“Chris no-“ I whine and he stops me by lifting up my hips slightly sinking me down onto him allowing him to be fully inside me, his balls resting on my clit as I tried not to moan.

“Stay quiet sweetheart.” He kisses my head beginning to work on the cards again as I tried my best not to shift on top of him knowing one singular moment would’ve sent him into a spiral and he’d bend me over this table right here.

The head of his cock rests against my g-spot making me bite my lip feeling the tears in my eyes from how desperately I wanted him to move and just fuck me.

Chris knows how easily it is to make me sexually frustrated and he seemed to notice by my quiet whimpers.

“hey Nick and Matt can you guys go grab us food? We’re gonna be here for a while let’s take a break.” Chris smiles warmly at them as if he’s not buried inside my cunt.

“yeah sure we’ll be back in like 30 minutes?” Matt says grabbing his Keys nick following him as they exit out the back of warehouse. The second that door closed Chris slides out of me standing up pressing my stomach on the table bunching up my ( his ) pink freshlove hoodie completely ripping my panties making me yelp.

“Chris I liked those!” I whine and he slaps my ass rubbing over the soft skin before rubbing his dick in between my folds making my legs quiver at the feeling and wet sound it made.

“I’ll buy you 100 new ones.” He chuckles resuming that same action

“Please baby- fuck me-“I moan pushing into him and he bunched up the hoodie against my back before slowly sliding inside me making my voice cry out.

“shhh baby we gotta be quick yeah? I’ll make you feel good I promise.” He whispers before beginning to thrust inside me at such pace I couldn’t keep up with.

I choked on my moans as my body rocked against the table, my ass meeting his pelvis making a clapping sensation sound from the size of it and how hard Chris was fucking me.

“oh fuckk! Chris feels so fucking good-“ i throw my head back as he gripped my ass rocking me back and forth on his cock roughly, his tip abusing my g-spot.

“shit- been waiting to fuck this pussy all fucking day”-he groaned slapping my ass again and I shudder but moan in response from his thrusts.

Chris slid out an inch or two then ramming back into my pussy causing him too knock the wind out of me every time, the sounds of us fucking only rising by each passing minute.

“shitt so deep Chris-“ I squeal feeling him so far inside in such way I wanted this to last forever, if I let him Chris could go round for round without tapping out.

“yeah? Like feeling my cock inside ur tight pussy? Like a slut? Couldn’t fucking wait His his snap with mine and I let my jaw hang open at his vulgar words unable to form a sentence

“Answer me sweetheart or I’ll stop and you won’t cum.” He smacked my ass and my head props up and I throw it back as he waited for me.

“Fuckk! I love ur cock in my pussy baby-“ my legs shake at his touch and his words alone seeing starts from his pace.

“mm that’s a good girl gonna stuff ur pussy with my cum, would you like that? Wanna be my cumslut?” His raspy groans and filthy wording shoots directly too my abused cunt clenching around his thick cock in desperation to cum.

“Fuck Chris! I-I wanna be ur cumslut- please let me cum-“ I sob helplessly feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes my lash extensions poking into the corners of them and he gripped my ass tightly.

I lost all control and his hands attached to my waist forcing me too take all of him to drive me to a mind blowing orgasm.

“Fuck- that’s right baby cream my dick.” Chris lays another smack too my ass reaching down to rub my clit chuckling when he feels how swollen it is.

“god Chris I’m cumming!” I cry out hoarse and I creamed his cock in a matter of seconds after that sentence left my lips him soon following behind stuffing my hole with his hot liquid.

“Fuck-“ I pant as he carefully slides out of me, us wincing at the feeling and loss.

“damn mama look at the mess we made.” Chris pants grabbing napkins to clean me up for the time being and I smile along with him realizing my handprints and body print were on the table.

“you okay? I wasn’t too rough was I?” He says pulling me up to look at him.

“No I’m okay- my legs just hurt.” I flush a bit and lean on the table.

“need these?” Chris smirks holding a thin lace material in his hand in a pinkish color matching the hoodie I’m wearing.

“Are those my- Where’d you get those?!” I say snatching them sliding them over my legs.

“I was planning to jerk off with them but, you definitely fixed that problem.” Chris says going in for a kiss before Nick and Matt walk back in with two boxes of pizza.

“Y’all did NOT fuck in here did you…” Nick says questioning us both inspecting for anything weird.

“Alright shut up I’m superrrr hungry.” I groan sitting on Chris’s lap like before and they just look at each other.

Remember what got us in this situation before sweetheart.

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chris

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @ratatioulle @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch @rubyjaneaxx @love4chris @breeloveschris @meetballmatt

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ��sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[andy-15-07]

hii, you could do something for Paul Mescal, where he realizes that the reader likes him to choke her with his bicep while they have sex

I feel like a depraved person requesting this 😭😭

Unspeakable pleasures

PAIRING:Paul Mescal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2001 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Paul Mescal Masterlist

warning:smut

It had been weeks since you first hinted at your secret desire—a longing that had simmered beneath every lingering glance and soft word exchanged between you and Paul. Tonight, after a quiet gallery opening in a converted warehouse space downtown, the charged atmosphere that had permeated the art show now followed you both back to Paul’s apartment. The cool autumn air was heavy with promise as you stepped through the door of his modern loft, where soft lighting and a carefully curated playlist set the mood for what was about to unfold.

In the living room, Paul closed the door behind you and smiled, his eyes warm and inquisitive. “I could tell all evening that there was something more you wanted to share,” he said, moving closer so that his hand gently brushed your cheek. “Something… secret.”

A flush spread across your face as you nodded. “Yes, Paul,” you murmured, your voice wavering with equal parts nerves and anticipation. “I want you to know that I need you to take control tonight. I love it when you use your strength on me… when you choke me with your bicep while we fuck.”

Paul’s eyes darkened with desire and concern all at once. “Are you sure, baby? I need to know you’re 100% comfortable with this,” he whispered, his hand sliding to cradle the sensitive spot at the nape of your neck. In his gaze, you saw not just lust, but an abiding tenderness that reassured you completely.

“I’m sure,” you replied, your voice low and steady now. “I trust you, Paul. I need to feel your power, your control—and I need to hear you tell me I’m yours while you do it.”

Paul’s smile deepened into something almost predatory as he softly traced your jawline. “Then let’s not waste any more time, beautiful,” he murmured. “Tonight, I’m going to make you beg for every single command.”

He led you into his bedroom—a spacious sanctuary bathed in the warm glow of candlelight and the subtle scent of sandalwood. The bed was piled with silky sheets and plush pillows, inviting you to surrender completely. As you sat on the edge of the bed, Paul closed the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Tell me exactly what you want,” he demanded in a husky tone that left no room for hesitation.

Your pulse quickened as you began, “I want you to use your strength on me, Paul. I want you to choke me with your bicep as you fuck me hard. I want you to dominate me until I’m nothing but moans and dirty words on your skin.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he replied, “Fuck, baby, you have no idea how much I crave hearing you say that. I’m going to make you scream, I promise.” With that, he slowly began to unbutton your shirt, each discarded piece of clothing stripping away the barriers between fantasy and reality.

As the fabric pooled on the floor, you lay back, feeling both exposed and empowered. Paul knelt beside you, his hand caressing the sensitive spot at your throat before positioning his flexed bicep there. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice soft but commanding.

A shiver of pleasure raced through you as you nodded and whispered, “Yes, Paul. I need it—take me, show me your control.”

Paul’s grip tightened just enough to send a delicious jolt through your body while his other hand began to explore your curves. His dirty talk started low and rough, mixing with the sounds of your shared breathing.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed his bicep into your skin, “you’re so fucking sexy when you let me take charge.” His voice was both tender and dominant. “I’m gonna make you mine tonight, and you’re gonna love every second of it.”

You moaned, arching into him as the heady mix of pain and pleasure built. “Yes, Paul, yes—harder!” you gasped, your words desperate and raw.

Paul’s fingers trailed along your neck as he intensified the pressure, his tone growing even rougher. “That’s it, my little slut,” he murmured, his words punctuated by a mix of desire and command. “You love it when I get rough, don’t you? When I use my strength to drive you wild?”

“Fuck, Paul,” you panted, “I love it! I love hearing you say those things—being your dirty little plaything!”

A slow, hungry smile played on his lips as he shifted behind you, his hands gripping your hips firmly. “Then beg for it, baby. Tell me you need me to choke you, to fuck you hard until you can’t think of anything but me.”

Your response was immediate and fervent. “Yes, Paul, I need you—please, choke me with that perfect bicep of yours while you fuck me until I’m screaming your name!”

His eyes glinted with satisfaction at your words. “That’s it,” he growled, and in that moment, the room filled with the sound of your mingled moans and his steady, commanding dirty talk. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight, baby. Every time I press my bicep against you, I want to hear you beg. I want you to scream, ‘Paul, fuck me, I’m yours!’”

Your moans came in a rush as his hands roamed over your skin, every touch igniting a fierce blaze of desire. “Yes, Paul, fuck me!” you cried out, your voice trembling with need. “I’m your dirty little slut—please, take me, own me!”

He obliged without hesitation, moving in a rhythm that was both methodical and wild. As he continued to apply just the right amount of pressure with his bicep, he whispered dirty commands that sent shivers through your body.

“Feel that, baby?” he hissed. “Every time my bicep meets your skin, I’m claiming you. You’re mine, and you love it when I take you like this.”

“God, Paul,” you moaned, your words overlapping in a chorus of desire. “I need to feel you—harder! Don’t stop… don’t stop until I’m begging for more!”

His dirty talk escalated with every thrust. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned. “I love how you cry out every time I use my bicep on you. It makes me so damn hard to hear you beg for more.”

His words sent a shudder racing through your body. The room pulsed with your combined breaths as he resumed his rhythm—each thrust measured, each press of his flexed bicep against your throat an assertion of the power exchange you craved. As he continued, his dirty talk escalated, the raw language mixing with your moans in a heady cadence.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing your ear as his hand trailed down your spine, “you’re such a dirty little slut for me. I love how you take every command I give. I love it when you surrender completely—when you tell me you need every part of me.”

Your voice, thick with arousal and need, came in ragged gasps. “Yes, Paul… I’m yours. I need you to own me. Tell me I’m your slut—tell me how much you want me!” Every word was a desperate plea, and every word made him push further into the depths of your shared desire.

“Beg for it,” he ordered, his tone both commanding and tender. “Tell me you love it when my bicep holds you like this—tell me you love the way I fuck you hard until you can’t think of anything but me.”

Your response was immediate and fervent. “Fuck, Paul, I love it! I love every moment of this—being your dirty little plaything, feeling you dominate me, owning every moan that escapes my lips!” The intensity in your voice spurred him on, each thrust more passionate than the last as his eyes burned into yours with an unmistakable hunger.

“Good girl,” he whispered harshly between thrusts, his grip firm yet caring as he maintained that perfect, electrifying pressure against your throat. “You’re mine, every single inch of you. I’m gonna make you scream my name so loud that everyone will know just how much you crave it.”

“Paul!” you cried out, the sound a mix of ecstasy and raw desire. “I’m your slut—I’m so fucking wet for you. Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop until I’m begging for more!”

The air between you vibrated with the combined force of your voices and the relentless cadence of his movements. Paul’s hands moved with precision, exploring every sensitive curve of your body while his words painted vivid pictures of dominance and pleasure. “Every time my bicep meets your skin, baby, I’m claiming you. I want to hear you say, ‘Paul, fuck me harder!’ Let me know you need me like this, every thrust driving home that you’re mine.”

“Fuck, Paul… yes, harder!” you moaned, your words tumbling out as your body arched into him. “I need you to own me completely. I need to feel your strength, your power—and I need to know that I’m yours, every time you press into me.”

With that, his pace intensified. Each thrust was punctuated by his gravelly, commanding whispers, “That’s it, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight. I want to hear you beg—tell me you love every second of it. Tell me you’re mine and that you love the way I make you feel.”

Your moans filled the room as his hands roamed, your responses a symphony of desire and raw need. “Paul, I’m cumming—don’t stop! I’m so fucking wet for you!” The fervor in your voice was mirrored in his own as he pushed you further, every command and every touch weaving you deeper into the moment.

“Good, baby,” he murmured, his dirty talk merging seamlessly with the sound of your shared passion. “I want you to come for me, to drown in the pleasure of knowing you’re mine. Let every thrust remind you how much I want you—how much I need every bit of you.”

The intensity built, every word and every movement drawing you closer to that precipice of overwhelming ecstasy. “Paul… I’m yours, I’m all yours,” you gasped, the rhythm of your breathing matching the tempo of his determined thrusts. “Fuck me like I’m nothing but your dirty little slut—own me until I can’t breathe!”

In that charged moment, every explicit command, every whispered dirty word, and every electrifying touch melded into a singular, raw expression of passion. The room seemed to shrink around you both, leaving only the language of desire—a language that spoke of trust, of surrender, and of a connection so deep it transcended the physical.

As you neared the peak of your shared ecstasy, Paul’s voice dropped to a husky murmur, “I’m gonna make you cum so hard, baby. I want to hear you scream my name with every wave of pleasure. Let go for me—let yourself be completely mine.”

With one final, shuddering cry that echoed the intensity of your desire, you did just that—every nerve ignited, every breath a declaration of the unbreakable bond forged in this moment of raw, explicit passion. The room filled with the aftermath of your shared climax—a testament to a night where every command, every caress, and every whispered dirty word carried the weight of trust, surrender, and an insatiable hunger for more.

As the fervor slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a tender afterglow, Paul eased his hold and cradled you close. The heated rhythm of the encounter gave way to soft, lingering kisses and gentle reassurances. “You were everything I needed tonight, baby,” he murmured, his tone now tender and soothing. “I love you, and I love how you trust me completely.”

With your breathing gradually returning to a gentle cadence, you whispered back, “I’m yours, Paul—completely and utterly.” In that quiet, shared moment, the explicit language of desire transformed into an unspoken promise: that every secret, every boundary pushed and explored, would forever be a part of the intimate world you shared—a world built on passion, trust, and the willingness to be exactly who you are.

[gangrenados]

Mala sangre

Yandere!Miguel O'Hara headcanons ft. Fem!reader

@liurnia is owner of the gifs, they're not mine

•I 100% belive this man got some yandere tendencies going on. He's obsessive and determined and will not hesitate to fight for what he wants or believes (even if it means body slamming a poor guy into a train but ayways)

•Miguel it's the type of yandere who won't show his love, he's not verbal, you won't even realize his feelings till he acts on them.

•He might not be the hopeless romantic type, but he cares deeply and believes that he knows what's right for you. So yeah, Miguel doesn't really care about what you have to say.

•Is he violent towards his darling? Well, not intentionally...you see, he gets riled up easily and when he gets angry he doesn't really measures his actions.

•The only way he could potentially hurt his darling is if she tries to escape. Spider or not, Miguel would haunt you down and drag you back to him no matter the cost.

•During the chase he acts crazy, rabid. He's the predator and you're the pray; so good luck hiding cuz the thrill of the chase gets him going.

•Towards others then yes, there's not if or buts. Miguel it's aggressive towards those who harm you or try to take you away from him, he has no mercy or control with them.

•Miguel is down to kidnapping, he might keep you locked up in that techno-bubble trap or perhaps go as far to get a little warehouse for you to live in.

•Also I feel like he would go as far as web you to the bed to prevent you from even thinking about running away.

(In a nsfw take he might web you to the wall or even the ceiling to get his way with you and act on his low desires)

•Whatever the decision might be, Miguel it's going to have his eyes on you 24/7.

•Listen, he's aware that his behavior it's fucked up and all, but deep down his delusional too.

Miguel calms down his anxiety by thinking that maybe this was supposed to happen, it's the right thing to keep you close and safe.

•He has seen too much and knows that the world it's an unforgiving place where anything bad can happen at any time. Miguel doesn't want you to be at risk, he can protect you from all that, he knows he can.

•He's just doing what heroes do, it's his duty as a Spider-man.

•Sometimes, Miguel let his mind wander through all his delusions and daydream a bit.

• Is it selfish to want a peaceful life full of love? He knows he can give you a beautiful life, he can be a good lover, a good husband, a good dad.

•Being this close to finally reach happiness and get his own family makes him have a little bit of hope for the future.

•To be able to have his pretty wife and a baby. Maybe with a bit of luck he'll be able to have a daughter of his own, his Gabriella.

•Yeah, Miguel would surely try for kids. Deep inside he truly believes he can be good, that you both could have a good life

•"Esto es lo mejor para ti, trust me." Miguel repeats that phrase over and over again like a mantr, at this point he's not even sure if he's still trying to convince you or himself.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

social media question got me thinking and tim is only popular out of gotham for his grwm's. his story times ones are especially popular only because it's the usual trope of non-gothamites horrified that gotham even exists.

tim: grwm for work as a teenage ceo while i tell the story about the time me and my friends had to run away from scarecrow goons because we accidentally broke into a warehouse they were using while scouting for empty warehouses to have a party.

tim: grwm for bruce wayne's gala. so the theme on the invitation is green and i know i say this every time i get invited to one of his galas with a colour as a theme but i know he's adopted another child. he only does colour themes so often so we don't think they correlate with his children eye colours.

ーーー

and ofc his tiktok gets unready with me's where he spills tea about what happened

tim: get unready with me as l explain how an over 3m tall champagne fell on top of me and how i learnt that Bruce Wayne isn't allowed to drive anymore according to him anyway.

(this is obviously false but whatever comes out of tim's mouth during these are not his fault)

all in all tim embraces his inner nepo baby showing off expensive shit that he's wearing idk man

Canon TDSB Tim isnt NEARLY as active on socials (because once he starts, thats too much spotlight and he can never pull back or itll be suspicious and thats just- too much for him)

But if he DID try and uphold the full influencer aesthetic this would 100% be his full page and you got "Timothy" down to a fucking T

[100babywarehouse]

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[priyajoyy]

i would love!! to hear more about your ocs, specifically elena martinez and jeff sadecki's sister!! i love the idea of her being apart of a hunt, id love to hear more about that

Omg ofc ofccccc I love talking about my ocs <3

So the Jeff sadeki sister isn’t actually a proper oc it’s just an idea I had that I thought I would post as a face claim in case someone else wanted to steal it

These two look so insanely alike so my idea was that it was Jeff’s sister, who Shauna was with/in love with or something and is the reason she died

Or at least feels guilty for it even if she’s not the direct cause

And then, alike Jackie, goes on to haunt the narrative and follow her around in her adult life

And to make it all so much worse, she sees the woman she loved everyday in the form of her daughter

The daughter she already has her issues with, holding her at arms length after what happened to the oc, Jackie, and her wilderness baby

Her growing up to look just like Jeff’s sister only made it so so much worse

Now elena is deffo gonna be a proper oc for me

I’ve only just started coming up with stuff for her

But the general gist of her character is that she’s one of the younger girls from the flight

She’s technically good enough to be in the varsity team and her dad coach Martinez wants her to be, but her mum is concerned she’s too young and needs to focus on her studies (one of the many things the two adults argue about) so she’s on the junior varsity team

She’s besties with mari and robin who are like the little babies of the group (mari isn’t one of the younger girls she just acts like it lmao)

A lot of the girls baby her because they know her better than a lot of the other junior varsity girls and she’s obviously younger than them all

Robin is one of the love interests, as well as Lottie

I’m not 100% sure yet but I also think I wanna add in a little Natalie romance 🤭

Travis and her don’t get along brilliantly at the beginning of their time in the wilderness

She’s always been a golden girl with her dad and so she takes his death really hard and Travis, alike how he was with Javi, deals with that in a pretty difficult way

But after they’ve settled and especially everything with Javi happens, he gets very protective of her

Elena becomes really influenced by Lottie in the later months of them in the wilderness, following all her teachings and listening to her every word

In season 3 she’s one of the main people Lottie gives drugs to, taking her to the cave and nearly killing her one time when she passes out and cracks her head on the rocks

After this point Travis tries to put a stop to it, keeping the two apart and eventually, digging the pit

He plans to kill Lottie off for the greater good, the woman who’s stopping all their chances of going home, manipulated him and now, is killing his little sister

However Lottie doesn’t die

(Obviously there is some aspects we don’t know yet cause the eps aren’t out)

But eventually

Elena becomes the pit girl, Travis ultimately causing the death of his younger sister by building that pit

After they were rescued

Lottie and Travis both blame themselves for elenas death

She haunts them both till the days they die

Lottie try’s to make a sanctuary for herself and Elena, even if Elena wasn’t there to enjoy it. She would make a safe space for people like them

She feels protective of Travis because of Elena, like she has to help the man because of what she did to her

However the day he dies, she sees Elena in the barn (or warehouse type thing whatever the building they were in was) which distracts her, and lets Travis die

She also 100% sees Elena the night she dies too

[frownyalfred]

"His scent pooled around them both like a cape" YOUR BRAIN IS STABBING MY HEART

(Also. Jay. my boy. baby boy. please don't do what I know you're 100% going to do because of course you're gonna go save your carrier figure from a Joker warehouse. There totally isnt a precedent for that)

Noooooooooo Jason don’t fall for it! Listen to Lex god damn it. LISTEN TO LEX!!!

Every time I write Thomas in this series I lose my goddamned mind a little bit. He’s just SO powerful in this narrative he’s haunting. Mythical to poor Alfred, at this point. The only one who can come close is Clark, of course.

[darkbluekies]

hi hi how have you been if it's no trouble and if you are taking requests can I request your ocs with an artist reader that gives them a painted picture of themselves, If it's too difficult pls ignore this. Thanks and have a great day/night♡

(sorry if my grammar is bad)

A/N: I'm so sorry, there might have been some translation error in my brain that said that yn gave the yanderes a picture of themselves, not of yn! I'm still not 100% sure what you mean, but I wrote this. I hope you'll like it even if it's the wrong interpretation :(♡

Warnings: a bit suggestive parts in Edmund's and Silas’s

Silas:

You’re quietly coming into his office with something behind your back. Silas looks curious, asking you what you want since you never come down to his office. Youquickly give the paper over to him and attempts to run, but he lets his men lock the doors before you have the time to reach them.

“Now, now, don’t run. Let’s see what you’ve given me … wow, baby, this is magnificent. You drew me? Why haven’t you told me that you have such a talent, little thing? Now, don’t get all shy now. I really like it. I’ll keep it right here on my desk. Come here now so I can give you a kiss.”

Dr Kry:

He can tell that you’ve been drawing something for over an hour by now, but you haven’t let him see it. Everytime he comes close you pull the paper away. He’s growing curious, he can’t deny that. By lunchtime, you give him your artwork. He scans it with a small smile on his face.

“You made this of me? How sweet of you. I will cherish this dearly, I promise. Do you like to draw? Do you want me to buy you some supplies?”

King Edmund:

He has hundreds of portraits from all ages. Every year there's a new portrait of him (and you) hung in the throne room. But when you give him a messy sketch of him that you made while waiting for him to finish a meeting, he's mesmerized. You've caught something that the other painters haven't. There's something real about your sketch. Something human that has gotten erased in the official portraits.

"This is so beautiful, my jewel. You have a wonderful talent. I want you to paint my next portrait. And I'll do whatever pose you want, wearing whatever you want."

Jerry:

She likes to make some sketches too. But nothing professional. Just some doodles when she's bored. She has let you borrowed her sketchbook while she's gone in a warehouse to retrieve stuff you want nothing to do with. You draw her from memory and when she returns you hand the book back. She catches a glimpse of the small cartoonish sketch you've made of her.

"Is this supposed to be me? Why did you make my face so round? I have a jawline, you know. I'm just teasing, I know it's an art style. It's stupidly cute somehow. I'll make one of you later and then we'll keep them in our phonecases, got it?"

Hedwig:

You're not paying attention in class again. It's okay, though! Hedwig will give you her notes. You're leaning against the wall, doodling. You start to draw your girlfriend, picturing her side profile magnificently.

"Y/N, we'll work in pairs now- … oh, is that me? Wow, you're amazing! You have to show me more later, I didn't know you had such good talent! Can I keep it? Thank you, I'll hang it in my locker and get reminded of you every time I open it!"

[vaingod]

you better be stealing shit during any holiday sale btw, black friday isnt real. 90% of these prices are genuinely fake, items that were usually $40 put on sale for $39.99 with a "was" price listed as $60 and a black friday sale banner put above it will get sold out within the day, there are no sales no deals nothing is currently being sold at a crazy good price just save your money and steal all year round! theres your deal! 100% off all the time forever baby stop being tempted by artificial sales meant to empty out corporations warehouses just to refill them with shit for the next capitalism holiday i know its hard but steal that shit instead of spending any money on it

[seramilla]

Okay Vaggies emotional turmoil I 100% understand and I am LIVING for the angst but can we touch on Carmilla, Clara, and Odette? They just learned that their daughter and sister, their BABY sister is not only alive but also a full grown adult at this time.

They missed everything. All of her firsts and all her heart breaks. They weren’t there when she needed advice. Or for any of her awkward questions. They missed getting to grow up with her. Getting to raise her. Getting to know her. I KNOW they want some way to get that family back together.

And she missed having a family. Having anyone. Unless you count the exorcist cause in a way they are her sisters.

Either way more angst for your mind. And if you write about it more content for me to consume.

Carmilla does meet Vaggie at the door to her compound this time, just as she'd promised. When the angel arrives, the district of warehouses and workers loading and unloading trucks is deserted. The street is still empty and eerily quiet. Vaggie suspects Carmilla’s people are still stocking up from the Extermination. Not much manufacturing to be done while fresh angelic weapons are still lining the streets, waiting to be salvaged.

Vaggie doesn’t even need to buzz the door — as soon as she comes within sight of the camera, the door lifts, and Carmilla is standing there. Just as tall and intimidating as ever, especially compared to her, but her eyes communicate the exact opposite of the impatience they had the last time she'd been here. Now, she really seems like she’s trying to see Vaggie, see into her, instead of like the intruder she'd been before. Vaggie shifts between her feet awkwardly.

“Umm, hi, Carmilla,” Vaggie says, making a waving motion with her hand. What was that, idiot?! Vaggie screams at herself. Why are you such a fucking putz?

"Hello, dear," Carmilla greets her, warm and inviting and so unlike that fierce warrior that taught her all that fancy footwork a week prior. Now she's looking at the angel like she has something to prove. "I'm glad to see you again. Would you come in?"

"Yeah." Vaggie agrees, rubbing the back of her head nervously, and following her inside. The warehouse is just as dark and depressing as the last time she'd been here, and just as empty. No one else is around, and Vaggie wonders why Carmilla is here on her own.

They don't go far. A short trip up the elaborate staircase, and Carmilla turns them toward a small office space at the very top. She opens the door, letting the little angel head inside first, before entering herself and turning on a light. It's much more inviting in here, with big windows and lots of natural light. The space is meant to look like a small apartment, maybe one Carmilla stays in when she's overseeing her workers. A futon and coffee table sit in the corner, with an industrial-sized desk on the other side of the room, covered with papers.

"Sit anywhere you'd like, dear," Carmilla instructs. There's really only one place to sit, other than Carmilla's big executive office chair, so Vaggie takes one edge of the futon. Suddenly, Carmilla reappears with two cups of tea in her hand. She gives one to Vaggie. "I made some tea for your arrival. Hope you like chamomile."

"Th-thank you," Vaggie says, taking her cup. She doesn't drink right away, just rubs her fingers against the rough ceramic surface for a moment, before finally taking a sip. Carmilla sits on the opposite end of the futon beside her. Both women just co-exist in the space for a while, letting the silence permeate, unsure of where to begin. Ultimately, it's Vaggie who breaks the silence.

"I was hoping I could talk to you about...the other day," Vaggie admits, still not able to meet Carmilla's gaze. Carmilla doesn't have that problem. She's staring straight at Vaggie, overly hopeful, fighting the urge to reach over to her, and grasp her shoulder. Vaggie notices the subtle shift in her movement, like she's trying to hold herself back. She smiles...it's a sad smile. One that speaks of unspoken feelings rather than genuine happiness. Vaggie wants that to change. Why is this so difficult?

"It's okay," Vaggie says, finally able to look Carmilla in the eye. "I'm not really a touchy-feely person, except with Charlie. But you can hug me, if you want."

Carmilla had gotten so used to doing it that first day in the hospital. Vaggie can tell she wants to do it again. They'd both been so confused, and desperate for one another's affection. Leaning toward Vaggie slowly, so as not to scare her away, Carmilla scooches closer to her on the futon, and puts one arm around the angel.

Like she'd said, Vaggie is not normally a touchy person, except with Charlie. She gets the impression Carmilla isn't either, except with her daughters. Even so, Vaggie turns her small body into the older woman, and falls into her embrace. Carmilla moves in even closer, short of wrapping herself around the girl again, and starts stroking her long hair, like she'd done at the hospital. It had helped calm Vaggie down then.

For some reason, the movement sets Vaggie off this time, and she struggles so badly not to cry. Pushing away slightly, she rubs her good eye with the back of her hand, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Vaggie says, ashamed at how easily she crumbles in front of this woman. She's normally made of better stuff than this. "I didn't come here to do this again. I really wanted to talk."

Vaggie keeps rubbing at her good eye, and then at her eyepatch, as if it's hurting her. She does so until the skin on her face and arm starts to turn red and raw. Carmilla pulls Vaggie's arm away, placing it between them in her lap.

"Don't." Carmilla says, squeezing Vaggie's hand. "Don't hurt yourself. I've been doing a lot of that the last few days, too. It's okay. You don't have to hide it."

"It's not okay!" Vaggie exclaims, getting frustrated with herself again. "I came here to ask questions, and maybe give you answers, too. This isn't how it was supposed to go."

"We've got time," Carmilla says, pulling her closer again. Vaggie is thankful for it. At least she can hide her embarrassment in Carmilla's chest, where she doesn't have to acknowledge her tears. "We can just sit here, and talk some more. We can do whatever you want."

Then, hesitating, not sure if Vaggie is ready yet, but Carmilla adds the caveat anyway, "My daugh--Odette and Clara will be here shortly. They've been out gathering supplies. You don't have to, but would you...want to meet them?"

Vaggie remembers Carmilla's other girls. They'd delivered Sir Pentious' weapons that day, when he still found everyone at the hotel so untrustworthy. She'd never given the two women much thought before at all, but admittedly, she is very curious now. She doesn't know what they will make of her...but if they're also family, if there's something she can learn about her would-have-been life from before...there's a part of her that really wants to know.

"Would they...be okay with that?" Vaggie asks. "Do they even know about me?"

"They know about you, yes," Carmilla answers. "I can't...say with certainty how they'll react. They are their own people. But if we want to try and make this work...?"

Carmilla leaves the statement open-ended. Vaggie gets it. These one-on-one rendezvous with Carmilla could go on ad nauseam, and a part of her is okay with that...but another part really wants to know all the extended members of her family. She's not unfamiliar with having sisters before. In a sense, all the Exorcists had been her sisters. They worked together, and trained together. Made small talk, and had each other's backs (most of the time). Maybe this wouldn't be much different.

"Yeah," Vaggie says, acknowledging what Carmilla had been trying to convey before. It won't be easy, but...maybe it's another step they can take together. "I am nervous, but...I'd like to meet them. If that's okay with you."

[lingy910y]

Galladrabbles

post 11x05? prompt is “Loser, Baby” from Hazbin Hotel by @depressedstressedlemonzest, for @galladrabbles. man is it hard to let them have a conversation under 100 words 😭

“You alright?” Mickey glances at his husband with his head down. And he’s definitely not looking at the route.

“Yeah, I’m just…still grieving losing my job. Feel like a fuckin’ loser for not keeping it and stomping outta there.”

“You’re not, man. At least you tried. Better than me.”

“…Proud of you too. You’re better at illegal but smart shit.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Look, you got a job since you were 15. Did so many odd jobs even when your brain was against you. Became an EMT. You lost your shitty warehouse job, so? Now you’re with me.”