#Bear Hands with X Ambassadors

[joansjusticiar]

Consecration | Grayson x F!Reader

Summary: Grayson gets needy after a certain someone flirts with you at a gala. Or, service top! Grayson with a breeding kink. 18+

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Finally finished my @arcanefans4gaza piece for @linbeifongismywife . Hope you enjoy!

Every annum Piltover holds a gala, inviting ambassadors and rulers from every nation; a way to enhance trade and strengthen relationships Grayson has told you once. Grayson was invited solely due to her status and sheriff and you, her wife, invited as her plus one. She had bought you a deep, sapphire blue dress for the occasion- a perfect complement to her suit of the same shade.

You had lost Grayson somewhere in the crowd a little while ago, it wasn’t as if your presence would be missed by the elite, so you enjoyed the moment of solitude by the bar. Your eyes watched the scarlet liquid swirling around in your glass, before raising to scan the room for your lover once more.

Although, your search was disrupted faster than it had started when a rich voice greeted you. You turned, then, to peer at the woman who had disturbed you. A burly woman twice your size towered over you, dark eyes watching you, sizing you up as if you were mere prey. She grinned at you, a lazy, wolfish grin that had you faltering slightly.

“Hello. And you are?” You questioned lightly, hoping she wouldn’t get offended at you not knowing her name.

“Medarda.” She replied, extending her hand towards yours. Although her hands were more like that to a bear's paws rather than human. “Ambessa Medarda.”

“Ah right. You must be Councillor Medarda’s mother?” How could she not be, they radiated the same energy.

“That’s right. And you?”

“Oh, nobody of importance really. I’m here with my wife.” You explained, hoping that the mention of your wife would get her to back off.

“I don’t see your wife anywhere. What kind of woman leaves a pretty lady, such as yourself, all on her lonesome?”

You glanced around the room once more, desperately trying to spot Grayson amongst the masses of people. Her eyes locked onto yours, smiling slightly before her gaze locked onto Ambessa. Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, not enough for anybody to notice, but you weren’t just anybody.

“Interesting.”

“What?” You replied, forgetting your manners for the time being. Your patience with the warlord was swiftly thinning. Why couldn’t she just take the hint that you weren’t interested?

She just hummed at you, the corners of her mouth lifting up into an all knowing smirk. You scoffed slightly at her antics. How could one woman be so insufferable? Grayson was making her way towards you, parting the sea of bodies that kept you separated with her presence alone.

You couldn’t help but smile softly at your wife’s approaching form; believe it or not, you had missed her dearly in the mere moments that you were apart. Her hair had recently been cut, falling just above her the tip of ears, the odd strand of grey contrasting against her mass of inky hair, in a way that somehow accentuated her handsome features even more.

“Gray.” You breathed in relief once she settled by your side, her hand snaking around you before it rested over your stomach. Her nose brushed against the side of your head in greeting, a smile of her own casted right back at you.

Ambessa cleared her throat to gain your and Grayson’s attention. Grayson looked at her then, her eyebrow raised in question. That sly grin contorting her mouth upwards once more.

“Sheriff Grayson,” she drawled, a hint of mockery underlying her saccharine sweet tone. “It’s always a pleasure to see you. Although, I’m afraid it is my first time laying eyes upon your sweet wife.”

Grayson chuckled lowly, a gravelly rumble that caused your cheeks to heat with a soft flush as soon as you heard it. Countless years married and her voice still had that effect on you. “Yes well, you’re usually too busy… what do you say? ‘Sampling the local cuisine’ to pay much attention at these events.”

Ambessa laughed at that, loud and boisterous. You cringed slightly as those near you forwent their mindless chatter in order to zero their eyes upon your group. Medarda didn’t seem to mind though and Grayson stood stoically at your side. Perhaps your lack of exposure to the public eye made you more vulnerable to the judgement of others.

You tuned out the rest of the conversation. Instead focussing on the steady beat of Grayson’s heart beneath your ear. Her hand unoccupied by her glass of whisky drew mindless circles into the flesh of your hip as she continued her, albeit unwanted, conversation with Ms Medarda.

A tug on your arm drew you back to the present. Steely grey eyes looked down at you through hooded eyelids, a pleasant smile curved upwards on her face. She whispered, low in your ear, her rumbling voice sending shivers down your spine. You found yourself agreeing, although you can’t exactly be certain about what you had just agreed to. But, Grayson was your wife and you would agree to anything when it came to her.

Her large hand clasped your own, grip firm but soft; pulling enough to get you moving but gentle enough not to harm you. Once again, the sea of bodies parted for her and you found yourself enraptured with the sheer confidence your wife oozed. Out here she was respected, feared even, the residents of Piltover quaked in her stead; her hard gaze was enough to shut anyone up instantly, but with you, with you she was stripped bare. Her emotions were yours to see, yours to cherish and the kind look in her eyes was directed at you alone.

If her officers saw how she acted at home they’d definitely consider her absolutely smitten with you- wrapped around your finger and unable to deviate from your will.

———

Grayson’s crisp shirt sleeves were pushed up, crumpling at her elbow as she kneaded the squishy blob of dough on the kitchen countertop. She had been oddly silent as you had walked home together- the event not being too far from your shared house. You figured she had to be tired after all that socialising … and that would probably be the truth if only she’d look at you.

You sidled up behind her, snaking your hand around her midriff, hugging her larger frame from behind. Short strands of hair tickled your face as you rested against her. She hummed lowly at your presence but made no effort to spark up a conversation.

“What’s made you so quiet?” You mumbled against her back, thumb brushing against her stomach in an effort to coax the answer out of her.

You squeaked in surprise as she suddenly turned around- the dough long forgotten on the counter. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly but soon, along with the rest of her features, schooled themselves into the indifferent facade she often wore around her officers. To say you were bewildered would be an understatement. “Grayson?”

“Would you have taken her up on her offer if I wasn’t there?”

“What?” What on earth was she talking about? You frantically wracked your brain, scouring it for any information that may help you in this conversation; ultimately finding nothing, rendering your search fruitless. “What offer? What are you talking about?”

Her hands grasped yours, thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Medarda. You never gave her an answer.”

Great. Very unhelpful. “Uhm- an answer to what exactly?” You trailed off, voice unsure. You had clearly missed something vital.

Grayson stared at you as if you had a second head. Her look incredulous. “What do you mean, what do I mean?” Her accent was getting thicker, the deep rasp poorly hiding the emotion that lay beneath. “You were right there!”

“Well- I must admit I wasn’t paying any attention after you saved me from her horrendous flirting.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Her eyes fell to the floor with a soft sigh. You lifted your hands upwards, cupping heated cheeks in the palms of your hands. Oh… you realised, albeit foolishly late. Medarda must have said something that ignited your poor wife’s insecurities, and your silence must have given fuel to the fire. “What did she say?”

“Nothing important…” Grayson grumbled into your hand, pressing a quick kiss there before nuzzling her nose into it.

“It’s important if it’s upsetting you.” You whispered.

She said nothing more, instead opting to shut you up with a searing kiss. Her mouth slotted against yours, needy and desperate as she gripped your hips. Your hands left her face, following the sharp line of her jaw until you reached wisps of hair. She whined into your mouth, attempting to pull you even closer as you scratched your fingers through her hair. You huffed out a breath- half laugh, half sigh. You adored her like this; a whimpering mess desperate for your love and attention.

All for you and you alone.

“What do you want, baby?” You husked into her ear, biting its lobe before soothing over the area with your tongue.

“Please..”

You chuckled at her neediness. Not wanting to make her wait longer than she had to, you pushed her in the direction of the bathroom, ordering her to wash the flour off her hands whilst you got ready upstairs.

She finished washing up faster than you had expected her to. You watched, through hooded eyes, as she approached your form. She slotted herself between your thighs, pressing herself against you in a frantic attempt to get closer. Her mouth found yours once more, kiss after kiss pressed against your lips as she sought the comfort she needed.

The bulge in her trousers rubbed against your clothed core, fuelling your arousal even more. Multiple years of marriage had made this dance second nature. Her hands gripped your hips, vice-like in her desperation. You mewled into her mouth, hips gyrating against hers in an attempt to heighten the small amount of pleasure she is granting you.

She pushed you down with a firm hand resting on your sternum. Your dress rode up, exposing your soaked underwear to her lascivious gaze. You roped your arms around her neck, pulling her down so that her body weight rested on top of you, blanketing you in a comforting warmth that only she could provide.

Her hands moved down to your hips once more, stilling at the hemline of your dress. She looked at you, then, fingers playing with the fabric as she sought your consent. Your quick ‘Go ahead, baby.’ was the only confirmation she needed and her hands made quick work of your dress.

The speed at which she undressed both you and herself never failed to impress you. Although, her dedication to achieving what she wanted has always been one of her most admirable qualities- and so what if that translated well into the bedroom? Her boxers were the last to go, silicone cock springing free as she ushered them off.

You meandered your way backwards on the bed, blinding orienteering yourself so that you were in the centre; she soon followed you, her knees bracketing your own. She kissed you softly, the earlier eagerness melting away into an easy tranquillity shared between the two of you. Calloused hands, rough from years of manual labour, explored your body. Her lips followed in their wake, pressing kiss after kiss to anywhere she could reach.

You gasped in surprise as her mouth laved at your nipple, the other tugged and pinched between her fingertips. She locked eyes with you, that insufferable, cocky smirk she often wore when getting her own way shone up at you. You ‘tsk-ed’ slightly, pulling her head back up so that you could nip at her neck. Each suck and bite was soothed with a kiss, a firm hand in her hair kept her still while you had your way with her. You paused, eyes flicking to hers once you heard her whimper- a quiet sound, easily missable if you weren’t paying rapt attention.

“What was that, my love?” You teased, laughter bubbling as she hid her face in your neck in response. Your laughter was cut short, however, once her hips grinded sloppily against your thighs; whimper after whimper sounding out into your ear. Thank heavens for hex-tech and their straps.

You hushed her slightly, pushing her off you just enough so that you could grab her strap. “Shh, it’s alright, baby. You’ll get what you want.” You mumbled in her ear. A soft kiss was pressed to the top of her head, a slight apology for making her wait so long, before your hand stroked up and down her shaft. She pumped her hips against your hand, chasing the pleasure you were allowing her. It always amused you how awfully desperate she got.

You shushed her whining as your hand retreated. Re-adjusting your legs, so that they were opened wide enough for her to fit comfortably. Her cock was guided to your entrance, the cool material gliding through your slick folds a few times before she finally met her target, bottoming out into you in one thrust. The groan in your ear was heavenly, her arms that had previously been holding herself up hooked under your shoulders, hugging you close to her.

“Can I move?” She asked, voice higher pitched than usual and trailing off into a velvety moan.

“Just a minute, Gray.” You whispered, nails gently raking down her back.

A few moments passed in a comfortable silence, the quiet of the room disturbed by your shared breaths. You gave her the go ahead, causing her to pull away from your neck in order to position herself, and you, how she wanted. She smiled down at you, thumb brushing over your lip a few times. Silly woman, offering herself up for you on a silver platter. Your tongue, warm and wet, kitten licked at the pad of her thumb before drawing it into your mouth. A strong suck had her eyes blown even wider. Her breath hitched as she watched your hollowed cheeks, mind quickly turning to the gutter, thinking of other things you could wrap your soft, pillowy lips around.

Her hips grinded against yours, moving against you before she pulled out, inch by inch. She paused halfway before pushing her length back inside you. She continued like this for a few moments. In and out. In and out. Until she finally pulled out to the tip, shoving herself back into your velvety walls with a sharp thrust. Her pace is punishing and with each heavy punch of her cock, you’re gasping for air; moan after moan tumbling from your lips.

She always gets like this when she’s jealous- pleasure driven and wild with need. Her grunts are quiet. Her chest rising and falling rapidly with the amount of effort it takes to claim you so thoroughly. You made a keening sound, low in your throat, as you arched up into her, grasping at her hair so that you could address her. “Faster. Go faster, my love. It’s alright.”

Her pace picks up, sweat slick skin slapping against your own, the obscene sound of sex and your soaked cunt sounding out into the room. She kisses you, all teeth and tongue, as the tip of her strap nudged against the spongy spot deep within the walls of your inviting heat. You indulge her for a mere moment before pulling away from her, laughing as she chases your lips with a whine. Like a dog being denied a treat.

Deciding to placate her, you leant up to kiss her once more. The coil in your stomach tightened, and by the stutter of her hips you knew that she was close too. Your kiss was broken by her whimper, quickly followed by rope after rope of her seed spilling inside you, filling you thoroughly. She followed her release with a pump of her hips, keeping her come plugged inside you. The last rub against your walls sent you tumbling after her, moaning into her mouth as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your body.

Her muscled back flexed beneath your touch, her face finding solace in the crook of your neck once more. “You did so good, so perfect for me. Are you feeling better now, hmm?”

An affectionate smile broke out on your face at her muffled confirmation. You pressed a soft kiss behind her ear, her body a comforting warmth blanketing your form. After a few sweet words whispered to her, you attempted to move her off you, wanting to run a bath for the two of you and change the sheets. A muttered ‘no’ was all it took for you to falter in place, deciding that it could wait a few moments. After all, how often was it that you could just cuddle with your beloved wife?

[midnightarcheress]

Simon travels with you.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: mentions of stalking/threats 3 | gold rush masterlist.

the flight is strange. he was used to flying on an excruciatingly loud helicopter, with adrenaline overflowing on his bloodstream as he prepared to jump in the field, or in a simple commercial plane back to Manchester after a long deployment, dwarfing on cramped corridors and elbowing people sitting beside him. a private jet was far too removed from his reality.

but not from yours. from his seat on the back of the plane, he would glance at you from time to time, crossed thighs on the soft cushioned seats like you were simply lounging at your own sofa, not cruising miles up in the air, with eyes attentively going over the plans for the next few days with Daniel. 

he doesn’t understand half of it, but you’re some sort of spokesperson? ambassador? of cosmetic’s brand, whatever that’s supposed to mean. everything he hears just passes straight through his brain. he just cares about what he’ll have to do – follow you around like a guard dog who’s not allowed to bark.

“last time you promised me a day off, Dan. what’s the point of all this travelling if i can’t even explore the city i’m in?” a huff escapes your lips, utterly annoyed by the limitations of your schedule. a life too micromanaged to bear any autonomy.

“i told you there’s no time for a day off, you have back to back appointments–” the man stops, staring at the puppy-eyed gaze you give him, the magical pout that would get anyone on their knees, “fine. i guess i can arrange a free afternoon before we leave.” Simon can’t help the hint of a smirk forming under his mask after you got what you wanted, internally commending your ability to bend any resolve without lifting a single finger.

after landing, you head directly to the hotel to get ready for the big event. Simon’s stuck with you in a room that’s almost as big as his entire flat, bored out of his mind watching frantic people dolling you up – activity he sees no purpose in, since you couldn't get any prettier in his eyes. his eardrums are already hurting from the constant noise in the place, but still functioning enough to pick up the double knock on the door. 

you also hear it, shifting on your chair and glancing around the room as if you were looking for someone, until your eyes land on him. “Ghost?” you say, head tilting in the door direction, “could you get that, please?” he sighs and nods, pushing himself away from the wall to answer it.

the hotel employee hands him a bouquet of white lilies, courtesy of the brand, the man says. as soon as the lock clicks again, Simon notices your beaming smile at the arrangement in his possession, eyes shining like a child in the toy section. he passes you the bouquet, not missing how your smile fades into a frown the second you skim through the small card hidden between the flowers, raising an alarm flag in his brain. “something wrong?” 

“what?” your eyes dart between his and the paper in your hands, quickly tucking it in your robe pocket, “oh, no, it’s nothing.” your lips curve, barely so, tentatively brushing off the topic as you finish getting ready. his brows furrowed, not fully accepting your dismissal and sensing that you’re covering something, but he doesn’t want to press you in front of everyone. he just hopes that you’ll trust him enough to come to him if it’s another threat. 

he’d seen the content of a few of the letters you received, as a part of his briefing, just to understand what he was dealing with. some of them were pathetic expressions of emotion, serving you undying devotion and promises of eternal love, but some were filled with a predatory fury, a mixture of jealousy and hunger, visceral descriptions of how they wanted to rip you apart. all with the same signature. you never talked about the situation, never addressed to him the necessity of having a bodyguard. he could only imagine the turmoil of fear inside your chest.

a couple hours later, much to his relief, the event ended, allowing him to take you back to the hotel without having to hear any more french buzzing for the rest of the evening. 

“Ghost?” he stops on his way out, hand hovering on the doorknob and face turned to you. every time you call him, he feels a piece of his defence wall crumbling, determination to keep his distance slowly disappearing due the sweet sound that travels through the air. “can you, uhm, help me?” you look over your shoulder to the back of your dress, the zipper being impossible to reach without dislocating a joint. 

his brain momentarily freezes, scrambling to form a quick and coherent yeah, sure, or to simply shake his head in agreement. he takes a step closer, letting you turn around and move your hair before daring to touch you.

“funny how after the party there’s no one to help you clean up, right?” your eyes roam around the empty room and you chuckle, but the saddened tone of your laugh is easily recognizable, “so different from earlier.” his large digits find the invisible zipper in the fabric, slowly tugging it down as his other hand stays on your lower back for support. 

his heart is thumping loudly, the gradual exposure of your back being sufficient to divert his blood flow and make him feel something that he definitely shouldn’t. despite the profound temptation to trace your naked spine with his fingers and to lean closer to your soft neck, he steps back, clearing his throat and going back to the exit, “so, uhm, goodnight then."

you turn slightly, holding the gown by your chest and gently grinning in gratitude, “goodnight, Ghost.”

lol took me so long to write this, i'm still scrambling with the ideas/scene sequences for the story (but now it has a name)

[back2bluesidex]

Where Do Broken Hearts Go (18+) - Masterpost

Pairing: Model, ex-boyfriend!Jungkook X Child psychologist, Fem!Reader X Lawyer, Single Dad!Hoseok. 

Summary: Jungkook stripped your emotions naked, left you bare in the chilly wind of despair and self-doubt with an unending heartache. You tried your hardest to move on from him, to live for yourself but failed miserably. Each night you had to come back to your empty home where memories and broken dreams were scattered all around the floor, until one day a little angel and her unbelievably beautiful father came into your life. Finally, when you find yourself healing, maybe falling too, Jungkook had to show up! Again!

Theme: Angst, drama, eventual smut, fluff. 

Warnings: mentions of infidelity, mentions of cheating, broken relationship, reader is suffering so bad, pining, more will be added to each part. 

Word count: will be mentioned in each part. 476 for the prologue.

Listened to: Where Do Broken Hearts Go by One Direction

Taglist requests are closed!

Minors and karens are not allowed in this blog

A/N: First of all, Happy birthday to Jungkook. Secondly, I finally grew enough balls to start another legit series after a damn year. And obviously it had to be angst. Hope you guys like this attempt of mine.

Disclaimers: Pictures are taken from Pinterest.

Chapters:- 

Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 - Finale

Drabbles: Daydream, Incognito

Prologue under cut

“No. No. This is not true. This is not true.” Your murmur under your breath. Clenching your phone hard, you try to keep your breathing stable. 

“Calvin Kline Ambassador Jeon Jungkook is rumored to be dating actress Han Jiwon.” you read the headline again and then dive into the article. It explains how your boyfriend had been seen leaving his hotel with one of the most popular actresses of the industry. 

There is no mistake, it is Jungkook indeed. You would recognize his bunny features even in your deep sleep, no matter how many hats and masks he uses to conceal his identity. In the picture, he is tightly grasping the hands of the actress as both of them are caught by the camera. 

The picture was probably taken last month during Jungkook’s overseas schedule. He didn’t mention having a “friend” over there. He never mentioned anything about meeting Jiwon there. But again, he hardly ever mentions anything anymore. 

You put your phone upside down. Inhaling a deep breath, you shut your eyes. 

Your body feels heavy, your heart twists in a fear of uncovering a truth that will leave you broken, will leave you stranded on a lonely island all by yourself. 

You knew he was changing, you knew he was drifting apart, you know he doesn’t look at you with the same glint in his eyes. You know it all and yet you kept your fingers crossed. 

A tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp the lump that formed in your throat overtime. 

The door lock chimes in signaling someone has just punched the key-code. You know who it is but you stay in your place, eyes closed. 

Soft thud of foot-steps echo in your otherwise silent apartment. You still don’t budge. 

He slowly walks closer to your body, stands right beside you, and places a hand on your shoulder. 

“It is not what you think it is, Y/N” Jungkook speaks with a barely audible voice. 

“I know.” you reply while standing up from your seat. 

“I didn’t cheat.” he explains again. 

You come face to face with him. His face bears no sign of discomfort, pain or guilt. It’s just… blank. His eyes are so blank that you think he is actually sorry for not cheating on you. 

“I know.” you offer again. Walking forward towards your boyfriend, you wrap him in your embrace but… he doesn’t hug you back immediately. 

When he places his hands flat on your back, not totally wrapping you up the way he used to, you know it. You know it’s gone. 

The familiarity of his warmth, his scent, the feeling of being home, is gone. Even if your body is touching his, you know he is actually miles and miles away from you. And you have doubts if he is ever going to return or not.

--

Taglist:-

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel

[stariikis]

maybe i lost myself (i don't think i'm okay...)

desc ; inspired by jake's cover song, 'i don't think i'm okay', i wrote this drabble about jake comforting you when all hope is lost.

pairing ; idol!simjaeyun x fem!reader genre ; hurt/comfort, fluff, established rs wc ; 571 warnings ; written in lapslock! probably pretty depressive but at least jake's here for you?

“i don’t think i’m okay…”

you press your nose against the window, raindrops trickling down the other side as you do so. like a curious, wide-eyed puppy, jake scoots up to you on the bed and joins you to look down at the bustling streets of seoul. he’s been so busy the past few days, with their upcoming albums and being ambassadors for so many companies. he’s tried to call you for nights, but when you didn’t pick up, he took it upon himself to visit you at your loft apartment. 

your apartment a complete mess of unfolded, crumpled clothes, textbooks, worksheets.. when you opened the door and saw jake, you weren’t surprised, but he was. he gasped and pulled you into his arms. he didn’t care about your disheveled appearance. he didn’t care that your hands were trembling from forcing yourself to stay awake. he took them in his and squeezed them so hard you swore they were going to break off. 

with tired eyes, you invited him in without a word said. you figured he didn’t need words. 

and he really didn’t. 

when he finally coaxed an explanation out of you, a reason as to why you wouldn’t answer his calls, you couldn’t bear the awkwardness and turned towards the window that stretched all the way from one edge of the wall to the next. it was raining, soft rumbles of thunder rolling around as you and jake spoke in the dim light of your lamp.

you sweep translucent curtains to the side, praying the scenery provides you some respite. any form of peace, to get away from the craziness you’ve been dipping your toes in recently. the hustle and bustle of life that never seems to end, no matter how many tears you shed, hairs you pull out, and all-nighters you pull. it never seems to get better, and you’re losing yourself. 

a blurry image of yourself flits into view as jake gently pulls away from the window, and you look down. onto the rumpled covers of your bed, unwashed and unclean because how could you ever have the time to do house chores? you don’t even have time to touch up on your personal hygiene, evident in the reflection you can’t bear to look at. 

“i don’t think you’re okay…” 

“it’s going too fast. everything is.” 

sweetly, jake pulls you into an embrace that dulls your sense of hearing. his words fade into an oddly calming hum in your ears. your mind starts to whisper again, a spark of inspiration ignited from his mere presence. 

“gwaenchanhayo. daijoubu. you’re okay.” 

for the first time, you just don’t have the energy to cry. you just fall into jake’s arms and let him pluck away your worries one by one. he’s the only one who gets to see this side of you, vulnerable and broken. you don’t want anybody to see you like this but him. 

jake, who knows exactly what you’re going through because he’s experienced just the same. jake, who only needs to be around for a moment for you to feel worlds better than you used to. jake, who would follow your head into the clouds, would follow you even if you’re floating off to space. he doesn’t let go, and it feels like he never will. for a second, you wish he never would. 

“you’re not okay.” 

he pauses to kiss your cheek. 

“and that’s okay.”

[lemon-russ]

I have no excuse for this.

Have some non-fic related Cato and ambassador porn. Not the same timeline this is just absolute straight smut.

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: straight smut with no plot, degridation, praise, size kink, semi-public sex?? Think that's all

Did not run it through any spellchecks/ grammar checks besides my phone keyboard so may have mistakes

“Unhg-” you gasp, grasping at the sheets.

“Shhhh, shhh…” Cato cooes into your ear, “You said you'd be quiet, right? Hush now, we cant have anyone finding us…” he murmurs sweetly as he bucks into you again.

You try to muffle a whimper, legs shaking and fists balling around sheets. “C-Cato-” you gasp as he thrusts again, “Yes- like that-” you whisper moan as his fingers reach under you and find your clit, circling it in languid motions as he pumps into you with a matching tempo.

He hums a pleased noise into your ear and uses his free hand to cover your mouth. You hear people walking past the door and talking as he does.

He'd led you into a spare room and told you if you were very good and quiet, He'd fill you with his cum. You couldn't pass that up, even though you were supposed to be on a ship to a meeting right now, with him as your escort.

He burys himself in you again, so deep you feel him fully pushing your cervix forward, distending your stomach around him a bit. You let out a muffled whimper against his hand as he shushes and soothes you, picking up the pace of his fingers around your clit and the pace if his hips burrowing his cock into your stomach.

“Good girl, so quiet and obedient today” he purrs in your ear. “No more stubborn fighting and whining, just taking your place as a good little cocksleeve, hmm?” He murmurs as he slams into you a bit faster.

Your eyes roll back. You know in the back of your mind how he's treating you is wrong and degrading- but right now you are his fuck toy, and its all you want to be. It wouldn't be so bad if he kept this mindset strictly to the bedroom…

You moan into his hand as he starts speeding up his attention on your clit, massive fingers increasing their pressure every circle. “You like that, little toy? You like being pushed into dark rooms and used?” He growled quietly, his hips making wet slaps as they met yours now.

You whimper an *mm-hm* against his hand, legs trembling and walls fluttering around him with each new push. He growls and removes his hand from your mouth, pushing you down against the bed with a strong hand between your shoulder blades.

“Good girl-” he grunts, “taking me so good-” he thrusts harder, “Such a sweet toy-” he starts hammering into you, and you have to muffle yourself with a pillow, desperately trying to hold back your cries of ecstasy.

His finger presses your clit harder and speeds up, and you lose yourself, coming hard. You soak him and the sheets, gasping and moaning into the pillow as your legs shook so hard they threatened to give out. You spasm around his cock, making him groan and move both hands to hold you around the waist and hold you up.

“Thats it- come for me- come little toy-” he growled as he fully pulled you forward and back onto him. After a few more pumps using you like a cock sleeve, he hilted himself so deep in you your vision blurred a moment, slamming hard against the opening of your womb. He twitched in you, and slammed a couple more times as you felt him fill you with his cum.

It was all you could do to stay concious as he filled you, and after a few more hilting thrusts, he groaned and fell over you, pulling you down onto your side, his cock still burried in you. He hugged you with one arm arounf the waist to his chest, shuddering out a moan of your name. “Good girl…” he murmured, leaning down to nibble and kiss your ear.

You whimpered im satisfaction, comfy in his arms, held like a teddy bear and stuffed with his cum.

As your eyes fluttered closed and drowsiness took you, you tiredly decided you'd make an excuse as to why you missed that meeting later.

[starsurfacemortalkombat]

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Regressor Mileena w/ CG Tanya (Fic)

"Mileena? Are you free, my dear?" Tanya asked, knocking on the door.

"Come in!" Mileena shouted.

Tanya slowly opened the door, smiling as she saw Mileena sitting at the desk. She was writing something. Tanya set the gift on Mileena's bed, walking behind her girlfriend and kissing her head.

"What's this about?" Tanya asked. The letter seemed . . . Well, the tone was more than displeased.

"It's a letter for the Zatareans. They . . . Are less than willing to accept Syzoth as my ambassador," Mileena frowned. "I am hoping this will help improve their treatment towards him."

"On Christmas? You are cruel sometimes," Tanya laughed, kissing Mileena's temple. "Now come, I have something for you."

"We already gave Christmas gifts," Mileena looked confused. "Johnny said they're usually given during the morning time. Plus it's after dinner."

"Well, this one's a special gift," Tanya said, grabbing Mileena's hand and leading her toward the bed. Both girls sat down and Tanya handed her the gift. "Open it. I think you'll like it."

The gift was wrapped neatly, with a ribbon and bow and all. Although the wrapping was different than the normal wrapping they used. Mostly snowflakes or Christmas designs. This wrapping, however, was pink, with unicorns on it.

Mileena wanted to laugh at the wrapping. It was childish, but adorable. Obviously Tanya had put thought into getting it for her.

She tried to neatly unwrap it, not wanting to destroy Tanya's hard work.

It only made Tanya more anxious.

Mileena gasped as she opened the box. It was a stuffie!! A brown stuffie with a pink ninja suit on. With jagged teeth, and a yellow eye, and an X on the other eye. It was adorable, in other words.

Tanya watched as Mileena stared at her new gift. She wanted to get her a friend for when Mileena was small. Not all the time could Tanya watch after her. And there were times that Kitana or Syzoth wasn't free either.

Plus, Syzoth had recommended getting her a toy. Apparently, Mileena had a habit of playing with his stuffie. And while Syzoth didn't mind sharing, he would like his stuffie during nap time. Ashrah got it for him! It was heatable!

Tanya didn't get her a heatable stuffie. But she hoped Mileena liked it. Liu Kang had actually suggested how it looked. While Tanya wasn't sure about the face, she did think the idea of making it look like Mileena was nice. At least with the pink outfit.

". . . Do you like it?" Tanya asked hesitantly. "I can get it returned. Or get it a new face. Or-"

"I love her!" Mileena giggled, hugging the bear tightly. "She's so cute!"

Tanya breathed a sigh of relief, she was glad Mileena liked it. She had gotten it custom-made, and returning it would have been a bit of a hassle.

"I'm glad you like her," Tanya smiled. "Are you gonna name her?"

"Uuuuum, I dunno what," Mileena pouted. "Can't think of a name, Mommy."

"Mileena, are you feeling small right now, Sweetheart?" Tanya asked. Mileena pouted more at her words. Tanya chuckled, opening her arms for a hug. "Come here, Angel."

"Not lil," Mileena whined, almost tackling Tanya with a hug, sitting on her lap. "But I dunno what to name her!"

"Well we can think of a name together," Tanya said, scratching Mileena's hair. "Do you wanna name her after her color? Cause she's pink?"

"Hmmm, no," Mileena shook her head, sitting back up. "Wanna just name her."

Tanya pulled Mileena onto her lap so the little could sit on it. Mileena giggled, snuggling against her. She continued to hold her new friend close.

"Well it looks like you, we could call her Mileena Jr," Tanya suggested. Mileena gasped, shaking her head. "No? Why not?"

"Me Mileena," Mileena pointed to herself. She then pointed to her teddy, "Not Mileena."

"Rasphberry?" Tanya suggested.

". . . Maybe," Mileena huffed. "But it could be better."

"What about a flower type?" Tanya asked. "We could find some pink flowers we could name it after?"

". . . Maybe," Mileena whispered.

"What about . . . Dahlia! You like those ones, right?" Tanya asked. Mileena gapsed, nodding happily. "Dahlia it is!"

"I like dahlias," Mileena hummed, playing with Dahlia's arm. "We need to introduce her to Sissy!"

"I'm sure Kitana would love to meet Dahlia," Tanya laughed, kissing Mileena's temple. "Did you have fun at the party tonight?"

They had a Christmas party, with all their friends invited. Johnny did something similar at the mansion. Christmas wasn't something celebrated in Outworld. There was usually a festival of some sort near this time, but not Christmas. Mileena wanted to introduce Christmas, through a party! Johnny helped her with the decorations and planning. Food types, and even some gift suggestions. It was funny, watching people run around on such short notice.

"Liked the music," Mileena giggled. "Like the song Jingle Bells! Me and Tomas sang that together."

"Yes, I heard," Tanya laughed. "His reindeer outfit was very nice, he and Kenshi almost matched. Did you like Syzoth's outfit?"

"Mhm, he was silly," Mileena snickered. "And he jingled when walked!"

Syzoth had been . . . less than willing to wear the elf outfit. But the happiness on Mileena's face convinced him. Plus the compliments from his friends, and how young children ran to hug the elf got him through the night.

"And Sissy was really pretty!" Mileena awed. "Johnny looked silly, but Sis was very very nice."

Kitana had dressed as Mrs. Claus, and had gotten many compliments. Johnny came as Santa, which went well with Kitana's outfit. Kuai Liang was suppose to be Santa. But he would do anything to desperately get out of the outfit, so Johnny was more than willing.

"But this my favorite gift," Mileena smiled, holding her teddy bear for Tanya to see.

"Oh? Even better than the jewelry Bi-Han gave you?" Tanya asked. Mileena freaked at the jewelry, and Bi-Han even let her give him a small hug.

"Mhm!" Mileena nodded. "Best gift yet!"

Tanya smiled more, holding Mileena closer as she prepped kisses all over her face! Making the young one giggle and squeal.

Maybe she'd get her more stuffed bears. Perhaps one with Kitana's outfit, or even herself. Or a tea party set! Christmas always came next year. Tanya liked this new holiday. Although she liked seeing Mileena's happy smile more.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Fun Fact: This was the fic that started my entire Mortal Kombat Age Regression stuff. I had been doing Spiderverse but I said I wanted to do Mortal Kombat and somebody requested this. If I hadn't done this, this blog wouldn't exist. Not my best fic, but definitely my favorite. <3

[elen-aranel]

All Work

For: @youvebeenlivingfictional Comfort Prompts, 11: Stopping by their workplace on your way home late at night with the hunch that they’re still there. Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Mention of canon-typical violence WC: 790 Rating: Teen Notes: tfw you have to post immediately before you lose your confidence... it's been a while!

When you press the chime for the door of the ready room, you hope there won’t be an answer.

You hope the captain is in his quarters, cooking, perhaps, or reading a book, or watching one of those black-and-white movies he enjoys. You would like it if he were working out in the gym, or maybe taking a walk in the arboretum amongst the trees.

But based on how he’s looked when you’ve seen him hurry down a corridor, when you’ve handed in a report on the bridge, he hasn’t been doing any of those things for a while. And right on cue—

“Enter.” The familiar voice sounds subdued as you step through the doors. Your eyes sweep across the mostly empty room, from the red armchairs, over the conference table and the display still showing the disputed border that the Enterprise had found herself in the middle of, to the desk at the other end with the captain sitting there, poring over a PADD.

And it’s more than just the stubble that’s there at the end of a long day. It’s the hunch of his shoulders. It’s—it’s not defeated, that isn’t the word, but the almost resolute look in his eyes. The way they’re narrowed slightly, just at the corners. You’ve known him for years, and it isn’t a good sign.

“He just has to get through it,” Una had said in an undertone, glancing round to make sure you weren’t being overheard at dinner in the mess hall. “He’s signing off on all the fitness evaluations, and he is personally going over every single repair log. I would’ve insisted, but when he’s in this mood—” She had given a small shrug. “I pick my battles. But you’re welcome to try…”

And so here you are.

“What can I do for—oh, hey,” his face relaxes a little, and the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly. Not quite a smile, but it’s a start. “It’s—I guess it’s late, huh. Did you need something?”

“No, nothing. I don’t need anything. But…” You pull the last chair from the conference table, spin it round, and sit down so you’re more on his level. “It’s nearly gamma shift, and I wondered…” your eyes stray to his PADD.  “Do you need to be doing those reports right now? I have it on good authority that they’re not due in for another month. Surely they’ll keep ‘till tomorrow.”

He shrugs. “As a captain you stay on top of the paperwork, or you drown in it. But… I could take a break. Drink?”

“Sure.”

He stands, walks round the desk, and heads to the other end of the room to pour two glasses of whiskey. He holds one out toward you, question in his expression, and you get up and join him. You sit together in one of the alcove sofas.

“Cheers,” he says, and you clink glasses. You enjoy the bite of the alcohol, the complex flavours on your tongue.

“So you spoke to Una?”

“She told me you were working through something. I just think you’re working too much. You know what they say…”

He rolls his eyes at that. Which you deserve.

“I just… I remember Rigel VII, Chris. And those months before. This… this conflict? It wasn’t that, but I worry, you know? I know being captain is the loneliest job and blah blah blah… but… sometimes I think you hold onto that load?”

He regards you with those pale blue eyes, softened now.

“When I gave the order to fire on that Zenali ship… I know it was the only order I could have made, and I don’t regret it, not for a second… but…” he tilts his head, takes another sip of his drink. “Meeting the Zenali ambassador, who lost his son... he was so gracious. He didn’t bear us any ill will. Just wanted to work towards peace.”

“Yeah.” You know that you can never fully understand the weight of those decisions, and those consequences, but at least you can be here with him. You lean back against the sofa, and after a beat, Chris mirrors you.

“I guess Number One could take a look at the repairs for me. Perhaps I will call it a night,” he says after a while.

“Yeah?” You try to play it cool, but you’re pretty sure he can read your relief.

“Yeah.” He smiles properly this time, downs the rest of his drink, and puts his glass up on the side. “So, any suggestions on what one can do around here to wind down?” He stands, and offers you his hand.

You take it, letting him pull you up. “I may have one or two…”

[deepspacedukat]

Who Reads The Mind-Reader? - Part One

I’m not tagging any of my usual suspects for this one, because this is a Babylon 5 fic. The people on my taglist are primarily here for Star Trek (or at least I think you are) so if anyone wants to be tagged for this (and possible future) B5 fic(s) or any of my ST fics, message me/send me an ask and let me know.

Originally posted to AO3 here.

~*~

G’Kar (B5) x Olivia Lane (OFC)

[A/N: There will be eventual smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: None that I can think of for this first chapter. Language, maybe?

~*~

“Ms. Lane?” A voice called over the station’s bustling crowd, and I turned to find an Eath Force officer giving me a warm smile. “I’m Commander Jeffrey Sinclair. Welcome to Babylon Five.”

“Thank you, Commander. I was just on my way to try and find you to report in,” I said giving him a polite nod.

“Well, I’m happy to have saved you some trouble,” he said taking a small step closer and offering me his hand. How odd. Most people weren’t comfortable touching telepaths, even when we were wearing gloves. I clasped his hand just as a man in a grayish-brown uniform hurried over. “Ah, just in time. This is my Chief of Security, Michael Garibaldi. Mr. Garibaldi, our second commercial telepath, Ms. Olivia Lane.”

“Nice to meet you.” The new arrival smiled and not-so-stealthily let his eyes wander down the length of my body. His thoughts were so loud that I couldn’t avoid hearing a few things he doubtless wanted to conceal. Who used the slang word ‘rack’ in this day and age?

“Mr. Garibaldi will show you to your quarters then escort you to see Ms. Win–”

“Commander!” A rough bellow drew our gazes to a Narn storming our way. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. This is simply outrageous! Surely, you don’t mean to allow Mollari to get away with–”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, give me just a moment,” Sinclair said before turning to the raging Narn. “G’Kar, if you have a problem, we can discuss it in the council chamber. I will not have you accosting me while I’m welcoming a new resident to the station. Is that understood?”

The man blinked and glanced over at me, seemingly noticing my presence for the first time. His lips parted in surprise, and his shoulders relaxed by a small measure.

“My sincerest apologies. I hope that I have not given you a negative first impression of your new post.” His voice had lowered to a slightly more normal level from his previous irate shouting, and when his blazing red eyes skimmed over the Psi Corps badge on the lapel of my blouse, he looked at me curiously. “Perhaps I could buy you a drink to make up for my unseemly behavior, Miss...?”

“Olivia Lane,” I offered, and the corners of his mouth drew up into a small smile.

“Ambassador G’Kar of the Narn Regime,” he returned with a polite inclination of his head.

“As soon as I’ve got my bearings, I’d be happy to take you up on your offer, Ambassador.” Looking inordinately pleased and less tense than before at my acceptance, he turned to the Commander and gave him a sheepish sort of look.

“I trust that I shall see both you and Mollari in the council chambers?”

“I’ll go grab Londo and meet you there in an hour,” he confirmed, and the Narn walked off, seemingly satisfied by the answer.

“Never a dull moment,” the Security Chief muttered, and I couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “Ah, you’re laughing now, but just wait. He and Londo are constantly at each other’s throats. You’ll get sick of it eventually.”

“Ms. Lane, I should probably warn you about Ambassador G’Kar. He’s tried to proposition every telepath who’s boarded Babylon Five. If you do take him up on that offer of a drink, I’d recommend you keep your wits about you.” Commander Sinclair sounded a little worried for me, and while I was touched by his concern, I shook my head quietly.

“I’ll be perfectly fine, Commander, but thank you. Now, you were saying something about an escort?”

--

“Are you certain about this?” G’Kar’s aide was clearly skeptical about his latest idea given his prior two failures, but she dutifully watched him walk back and forth across the length of his quarters.

“Na’Toth, I know I haven’t had success yet, but that does not mean every attempt will be as fruitless as the first two. It only takes one ‘yes’ to give us the result we need,” he murmured as he paused in his pacing. “Besides, this new girl seems less prickly than Ms. Winters. She almost seemed amused by my anger. Courage is something we can’t hesitate to grasp at when we find it–”

“You just think she’s pretty, don’t you?” Na’Toth’s deadpan inquiry was met by a pair of widened red eyes.

“...She is quite attractive for a Human female–”

“You should know, you’ve mated with enough of them,” she muttered almost under her breath.

“–But that does not change the fact that this is our chance to reintegrate telepathy into the gene pool! My attraction to her, or lack thereof, is irrelevant,” he said straightening to his full height. His aide rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Ambassador.”

“Good. Then I shall propose the idea to her when I feel the time is right. I think my problem with Ms. Alexander and Ms. Winters was that I was too abrupt in broaching the topic. Perhaps a more subtle approach would yield better results...” He trailed off, thinking back to the amused expression peeking out from beneath her copper hair. It was slightly closer to brown than the station’s first telepath, but somehow that made her all the more alluring. If she agreed to mate with him, then he would have to allow himself the luxury of caressing it. As he mused, he glanced at the time. “Oh, I’m due in the council chambers. time to give Mollari the pasting he deserves!”

The Narn allowed his anger to filter slowly back into him as he turned toward the door of his quarters, but Na’Toth’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Sir, before you go, a word of advice,” she called. “I know you have an affinity for Human females, but...don’t allow this one to take up more space than she deserves.”

“Are you implying that I would let my emotions get in the way of my job?” His deadly quiet question cut through the room like a knife after a brief hesitation. Turning to face his aide, G’Kar gave her a stern look.

“No, sir, but Humans have an odd way of getting under peoples’ skin. It would be unwise for you to allow your guard down, especially given her abilities.” He hated that she was right, but he couldn’t admit that. He couldn’t allow himself to appear weak.

“I am Narn. It would take more than a few smiles from a pretty girl to win me over, Na’Toth. I would’ve thought that you’d have realized that by now,” he stated puffing his chest out slightly to project strength. She nodded her head in deferential acknowledgment, and the Ambassador swept out of his quarters. He scoffed as he strode down the hallways. A Human female worming her way into his heart? Ha! He’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his life.

--

“I think those are all the major areas, but if there’s something you need help finding, don’t hesitate to ask me, security, or one of the Earth Force officers. Some of the Ambassadors can be quite helpful, too,” Talia said as we drew to a stop outside a casino in Red Sector. “It’s good to see you again, old friend. I’m so glad the Corps decided to honor my request to have you here.”

“So am I. Ten years is way too long to go without one of our late night chats.”

“We’ll have to catch up once you’ve gotten some rest. Don’t think I didn’t see you yawning when we were walking through Blue Sector,” the blonde smirked as she spoke, but something caught her eye over my shoulder. “Uh oh. Here comes trouble.”

“Why, hello there, ladies,” a familiar voice greeted, and Talia rolled her eyes. Did she not like him? But he seemed so charming...in a dorky kind of way, of course.

“Mr. Garibaldi.” She ground the words out as if his mere existence bothered her. “Can you find your way back to your quarters on your own?”

“I’ll make sure she gets there safe and sound,” the Chief said, and Talia made her escape.

“Thanks, Mike,” I murmured, and he gave me a warm, lopsided smile. “I take it Ambassador G’Kar and whoever that Mollari person is didn’t come to blows?”

“Nah, with a little assistance from Jeff - Commander Sinclair - they were able to resolve their differences peacefully. More or less,” he said as we walked a little deeper into the casino. I assumed he was making his rounds, because he gave a few of the more raucous patrons a stern look. “Have you met the rest of the Ambassadors?”

“Well, I have yet to meet the Vorlon, but Ambassador Delenn was very cordial. So was her aide - Lennier, I think his name was. You know I’ve met G’Kar, but the Centauri Ambassador is also a no-show,” I rattled off, and the Chief nodded his head.

“I think I can help with that last one. Come with me,” he said ushering me through several groups of people until we caught sight of a man in dark purple finery. A green drink was perched half-empty between his fingers, and a scantily clad dancer was sprawled across his lap.

“What a fortunate man I am to have such beautiful company,” he growled as his lips split into a devious grin. Two sharp fangs served to make him look rather intimidating. My escort cleared his throat, and the man looked up. “Ah, Mr. Garibaldi! How are you this evening, my dear friend? And you’ve brought a charming young lady with you! Excellent! Join us, join us!”

“I can’t, actually, I’m on duty. I just thought I’d introduce you to our newest commercial telepath. If you’re busy, we can do this later...?”

“No, no, no, not at all! Run along, beautiful. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” the Centuari murmured to his companion, and she slid off his lap and over to another table of patrons. The Ambassador stood and gave me a small bow. “Londo Mollari, of the Centauri Empire. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

I introduced myself, and to my surprise, the Ambassador lifted my gloved hand to his lips.

“The honor is mine, Ambassador Mollari,” I murmured, but he made a disapproving sound.

“I will not hear of such formality from you, Ms. Lane. Please, call me Londo. Forgive my curiosity, my dear, but has something happened to Ms. Winters?” He sounded genuinely concerned for her, so it was a happy task to set him straight.

“No, she’s perfectly fine. The Corps assigned me here at her urging. She was receiving so many service requests that she was having to turn down more jobs than she accepted. I’m just here to help lighten the load a bit.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I hope you will enjoy your stay on Babylon Five,” Londo said with a fanged grin. “If you will take some advice, I’d recommend you stay clear of the Narn Ambassador. He can be a bit...abrasive.”

Huh. First the Commander warned me about G’Kar, then Talia, and now Londo. Goodness, the Narn Ambassador had certainly managed to garner a reputation. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was warranted. Sure, he’d been irritable when I first met him, but he was rather charming when he calmed down. The vibrancy of his spots didn’t help matters...

I mentally shook myself out of my thoughts just in time for Londo to bid us both good evening before walking off to go find where his lady friend had gone. Despite the cacophony of the crowd, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that this was going to be an interesting assignment, if nothing else.

~*~

@horta-in-charge

[starleska]

which song would the fandom choose to make vids with you and your f/o? 👀

the absolutely lovely @jennajaeger tagged me in this very fun ask game 💖 as someone who loves to make silly OCs to ship with my f/os, i thought i’d tweak it in an OC x Canon direction!! 🥰 

i tag @iriso-page, @heavensong, @venuss-ambassador, @femaleganondorfdragmire and @mollicutes - but everyone is invited to do this if they’d like to! 💖

Augustus St. Cloud x Quint S. Henchall - Partners in Crime by Set It Off

ah, is there a romance more palpable than that between an utter joke of a villain, and his seasoned, bloodthirsty henchperson? 👀 Partners in Crime is a great choice for these two, and for any V Bros selfshipper with a villainous fave!! i always saw Quint and Augustus developing a very ‘Jesse and James from Team Rocket’ kind of relationship: outwardly obnoxious and bullying (you can’t fix personalities like that 🙈) yet fiercely protective. it’s by no means an easy bond - after all, within 24 hours of meeting Augustus, Quint does what any of us would do and tries to kill him 😂 if they were in the show, i adore the idea of Quint, with years of experience and 12 other henches under their belt, picking up where The Monarch left off and attempting to turn Augustus into a semi-competent villain! imagine it: bringing the neck-snapping, covert-ops specialism of a highly trained professional into the absurd realm of pop culture collection feuds 😭 that’s not to say Quint is successful in coaching him...but Augustus and his uniquely petty, bitchy approach to villainy are not without their uses 😉 

Wally Darling x Cynthie Scribe - Fireflies by Owl City

oh, let’s inject a little whimsy into the world with this one - a love story between an artist and a writer 🥰

Fireflies is a song that evokes all this wonder and delight at the world...and i think that’s something Wally and Cynthie would instantly bond over 😖 Cynthie’s infectious enthusiasm charms Wally, and acts as a perfect foil to his relaxed, soft approach to life. much of their time is spent out in nature, finding fun things to look at and draw and write about - all whilst singing and giggling and occasionally letting their hands touch 💖 if Cynthie were included in the Welcome Home canon, i like to think they’d both be incredibly excited to watch the fireflies together. perhaps they creep out in the dead of night, hoping not to disturb any of their sleeping neighbours, and lie down next to each other on the soft grass banks. the blanket of the night sky, perforated with stars, shimmers above the cosy yellow flickering of the fireflies. entranced, Cynthie barely notices when Wally slips his fingers between theirs...but when they turn to look at him, they can see the fireflies’ glow reflected in his large, black eyes 🥺

'Big' Jack Horner x Aspen Branch - Fairytale by Alexander Rybak

the choice may be an obvious one, but i like it anyway!! 💖😊

Fairytale is told from the point of view of a passionate, emotionally volatile person - and what is ‘Big’ Jack Horner if not a man consumed by fairytales? 🔥 Aspen is initially only Jack’s mark: someone to capture and force the use of her magical, wound-healing voice. yet Aspen’s sweet, simple nature - so contradictory to everything Jack is and has forced to be true about himself - has Jack falling hard 😖 it’s Aspen’s consummate gentleness which leaves Jack caught between adoration and rage. he really is, ‘...in love with a fairytale even though it hurts’, because Jack can’t be in love - that’s a stupid, weak, small thing to be, a distraction from his goal of world domination. but Jack can’t deny himself: the painful twinge in his chest when he sees Aspen smile hurts more than he can bear. if he can’t beat this feeling, well then...he simply must have her 😳

that’s all for now!! let me know if you’d like to hear anymore - i have a few other choices for my other OC x Canon ships :3c

[nautilusopus]

like even without googling anything and finding out about the fucked up shit with the jackals and the snakes and the god knows how many other animals died or were injuried, there were a lot of red flags right off the bat. these are good things to look for in general when trying to glean what rehabilitations centres and sanctuaries are worth their salt. this is all stuff i noticed in the videos without digging deeper, and that you can keep an eye out for in other organisations too:

it's repeatedly mentioned that most of the foxes they have are purchased from fur farms. not rescued (though they keep saying rescued), purchased. setting aside for the moment the ethics of funneling money back into a practice that will ultimately just lead to more foxes being bred for fur farms, rather than doing anything that would bring about structural change, the fact that they keep trying to prompt people to purchase these animals that were not bred to be pets as pets is massively irresponsible. these animals 1. DO NOT MAKE GOOD PETS no matter how cute they are, 2. were bred to be big and have good coats and not to have long lives with any sort of quality, and quite often have to be put down, making them a bad pet experience for not just the animal but the owner, and 3. will often have behavioural issues due to the conditions they were raised in. they might not be releasable because of this and that's always sad, but that doesn't mean the opposite of "non-releasable" is "well-suited to be a pet".

fund allocation seems questionable? they claim to be constantly on the bring of bankruptcy as they repeatedly take foxes back in for more and more surgeries, and buying foxes from fur farms does not seem to be a good use of that money, once again setting aside the issue of this just funneling massive amounts of cash back into these unethical breeders that you claim to be combating. also at one point there was a line about "i was supposed to get x many foxes and i came back with two extra, my husband doesn't know" that made me do a huge double take because what do you mean he doesn't know??? you're taking these animals with intent, right? you allocated the space beforehand, right? how do you impulse-rescue a fox like it's a root beer in the fridge right by the checkout counter?

CATS AND DOGS AND FOXES KEPT TOGETHER IN THE SAME SPACE NO NO NO NO NO. i may have never rehabilitated a fox before much less over 500(???!?!!!??!) but absolutely no this is my number one pet peeve in Cute Animal Videos, you don't fucking mix animals in those circumstances at the BEST of times because it can lead to unintentional injury, and you ESPECIALLY don't fucking mix animals with traumatised fur farm purchases that probably have behavioural issues. i kept thinking "oh man this is a recipe for disaster" even before i googled it and got that basically confirmed.

as mentioned the comments are full of people going "omg i'd tolerate the smell just to have an animal this cute" and "omg i want one ❤️❤️" and normally in these kinds of videos there's an emphasis that "yes they're cute yes they're in my house, THEY DON'T MAKE GOOD PETS, LOOK AT WHAT THEY WILL DO TO YOUR HOUSE" and there's just none of that mitigation happening here, in the video itself or in the comments section. this is a huge failing on the part of any sort of rescue. i know the line between "showing off this ambassador animal to raise awareness and generate sympathy" and "glorifying owning a bear" can be tricky to walk at times, especially with a pet surrender that doesn't know anything but being a pet, but this i think is over it.

i'm not going to comment about things like diet and shelters because i mostly worked with birds and reptiles and a handful of native mammals, but i will note that despite the fact that there are litterboxes available in the animals' rooms, they rarely seem to actually use it, and that's all i'll say on that.

there were warning signs the whole way through and you can train yourself to notice them.

watch one cute video of an animal shelter, go looking at the others, notice some odd red flags in how she refers to and treats some of the animals and where they're coming from (almost none seem to actually be pet surrenders or wild rescues?). i've worked with non-releasable wild animals and former exotic pet surrenders before so a lot of it felt REALLY off from my own experiences, but i haven't worked with foxes specifically so i brush it off and assume she knows better

but also the fact that there are so many people in the comments going OMG I WANT ONE and there's no visible effort on the part of the shelter owner to get people to stop saying that because it's one of the biggest threats to animal welfare, is people thinking that and encouraging the exotic pet trade. no comments in the video about how these things don't make good pets, no corrections in the comments section itself, nothing.

eventually i get curious about where the fuck she got that jackal and why it sleeps in the owner's fucking bed and she keeps bottle feeding it and eventually i google it and HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY

[themusicenthusiast]

Bear Hands to Support X Ambassadors on 31-Date Fall US Tour; Includes Stop at House of Blues in Dallas on October 15th

On the heels of their extensive tour with twenty one pilots, today Bear Hands confirm a 31-city tour supporting X Ambassadors. The tour will kick off on October 8 in Tucson, AZ, with shows in cities including Atlanta, Richmond, New York City, Seattle, and Los Angeles. Tickets for all dates are on sale NOW. Bear Hands, comprised of vocalist Dylan Rau, bassist Val Loper, and drummer TJ Orscher,  recently released their fourth studio album Fake Tunes, a deep dive into a twisted modern era, paranoid yet hopeful, celebrity obsessed and introspective, and an unmistakable sign of troubled times. Written and recorded in the plastic warmth of Los Angeles, Fake Tunes marks an evolution for the band, whilst drawing upon newly formed collaborative relationships with producer Christopher Chu of POP ETC and outsider artist Ursula Rose. Fake Tunes finds Bear Hands exploring new sounds and new themes with fresh wit and vulnerability, and is anchored by Rau’s sharp, incisive songwriting, tackling the challenges of relationships, dependence, acceptance, and uncertainty.

From the “metronomic electro-pop” (New York Times) of album opener "Blue Lips (feat. Ursula Rose)," a song about listening to someone's problems over and over until it drains you completely, to the dreamy lilt of "Clean Up California," a song about finding salvation (or not) across state lines, Fake Tunes traces the anxiety of life and love in America today. The album’s 11 tracks veer from the meaty, rhythmic indie anthems the band cut its teeth on to digitally-infused numbers that swerve across stylistic lanes. The result is a fitting statement of what a band can be—and the expectations it can defy. “It feels like this record is grateful,” Loper says. “We feel lucky to be here, to have the chance to keep making music together. It feels lighter. The songs are shorter, they’re pretty poppy, and they’re to the point. And that’s where our music is most impactful.” Tour Dates Supporting X Ambassadors 2019 October 8--Tucson, AZ--Rialto Theatre 9--Albuquerque, NM--Historic El Rey Theater 11--Denver, CO--Mission Ballroom 12--Kansas City, MO--Arvest Bank Theater at the Midland 13--Oklahoma City, OK--The Jones Assembly 15--Dallas, TX--House of Blues 16--Houston, TX--House of Blues 18--Atlanta, GA--Tabernacle 19--New Orleans, LA--The Fillmore 20--Birmingham, AL--Iron City 22--Lake Buena Vista, FL--House Of Blues 23--Fort Lauderdale, FL--Revolution 25--Charlotte, NC--The Fillmore 26--Richmond, VA--The National 27--Norfolk, VA--The Norva 29--Washington D.C.--Lincoln Theatre 30--New York, NY--Terminal 5 November 1--Portland, ME--State Theatre 2--Philadelphia, PA--Franklin Music Hall 5--Cleveland, OH--House of Blues 6--Detroit, MI--The Fillmore Detroit 8--Grand Rapids, MI--20 Monroe Live 9--Indianapolis, IN--Egyptian Room at Old National Centre 10--Nashville, TN--Marathon Music Works 12--Omaha, NE--Sokol Auditorium 15--Portland, OR--Crystal Ballroom 16--Boise, ID--Knitting Factory Boise 17--Seattle, WA--Showbox SoDo 19--San Francisco, CA--Warfield Theater 20--Los Angeles, CA--Palladium

[happymeishappylife]

Concert #9 of 2019

The Orion Tour with the X Ambassadors

Featuring Bear Hands and LPX

The Fillmore, Charlotte, NC

October 25, 2019

🎵We'll be the last ones dancing, when the lights go out, when there's no one to hold you, I will still hold you down 🎶

[thebadgerclan]

The Princess’ Birthday

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Requested by @mrs-brekker15

Summary: It’s not every day the princess turns 1...

It wasn’t every day that the Princess of Ravka turned 1, that was your reasoning for all of this.  Well, that and you were Queen, and if you wanted to throw a massive party for your daughter, then who could stop you?  Nikolai felt the same, doing as much of the party planning as you had, resulting in a lavish, over the top party for little Katrina.  The ballroom of the Grand Palace was draped in Ravkan blue and gold, hors d'oeuvres  prepped and ready, beverages on trays being carried by servants.  The only thing missing was the little Princess.

Katrina wore a dress of pale pink, the hem meeting her ankles, as she wasn’t too skilled at walking just yet, a tiara pinned into her blonde hair.  You wore Ravkan blue while Nikolai wore his dress uniform, your crowns on your head.  Guards pulled open the doors to the ballroom, and the three of you were announced.  “Her Most Royal Highness, Princess Katrina Lantsov, Her Most Royal Majesty, Queen Y/N Lantsov, and His Most Royal Majesty, King Nikolai Lantsov!”

Protocol was pushed aside tonight; announcing Katrina before her parents, but it was her birthday, and you did, after all, make the rules.  “Go on, darling,” Nikolai coaxed, and Katrina walked forward, slowly and unsure on her feet.  You bent and took her little hand, steadying her as the three of you walked to the dais, where a miniature throne, identical to yours and Nikolai’s, sat between them.  

The procession was slow, but Katrina walked the whole way, pausing to smile and wave at everyone along the aisle.  Your daughter enchanted everyone she met, not even Fjerdans didn’t adore her.  Finally, you reached the dais, and Katrina sat herself on her throne, as if she knew it was meant for her.  Nikolai pressed a kiss to your cheek and waited for you to sit before turning to address the guests.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said.  “As you all know, one year ago, my beloved Y/N did what I thought was impossible and gave me another girl to love.  My sweet, precious Katrina was born today, and every single day since then, she has made me fall even deeper in love with her.  This little girl will wear my crown one day, and even now, I know she’s more than up for the job.  So now, I propose a toast.”

Everyone raised their glasses, and Nikola beamed. “To Princess Katrina.  May she never doubt her parents' love for her, and her country's faith in her.”  “To Princess Katrina!”  Everyone toasted her name, and Katrina clapped, a toothless smile on her face.  The guests returned to their conversations, and one by one, various ambassadors presented Katrina with gifts.  The Zemini ambassador gifted her a crystal aster flower, symbolizing royalty, the Shu presented a calligraphic rendition of her name in the Shu language, and the Fjerdans gave a plush wolf.

Nikolai was immediately suspicious, but Katrina had the wolf clutched in her arms, and he couldn’t bear to take it from her.  So, he whispered “Have it examined after she’s asleep,” to his advisor and let the issue drop.  For a few hours, Katrina danced, laughed, and enjoyed herself, but when 9 bells hit, she was yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Aww, darling, are you tired?”  Katrina nodded, and Nikolai lifted his little girl into his arms.  You were at his side, smiling at the two loves of your life together.  “May I have everyone’s attention?” you called, and the room went quiet.  “It seems our guest of honor is ready for bed, but please, stay and enjoy yourselves.  Thank you all again for coming, we truly appreciate it.”  The guests toasted Katrina once more, and you and Nikolai left the room, carrying your daughter to her room; having enjoyed the party, but looking forward to a little family time all the same.

[griseldabanks]

Answering this over here...

I have sooooooo many OCs, so maybe I'll just pick the primary one from each of my stories.

Jake Rogers (Take Me In): Depends on when in the story you're talking about. At the beginning, it would be 0/10. Doesn't know what hugs are, probably thinks you're doing a weird grapple or something, will stand there rigidly and quietly panic until you leave. But by the end of the story, he's a full 10/10 who loves hugs, kisses, and snuggles of every kind, all the time, everywhere ^_^

Shard (The Ambassadors): 7/10 Not super touchy-feely when it comes to himself, but with a baby dragon on his hands, he quickly learns how to show his affection with touch. When he's small, Shynael is always jumping into his arms or draping himself over Shard's shoulders, and even when he gets much bigger than human-sized, Shynael will still regularly wrap his neck around Shard in his closest approximation of a hug. Shard is happy to give him this kind of affection, and soon learns the pros of snuggling up with a huge fire-breathing lizard during the winter XD But personally, his favorite thing is not the snuggles or hugs, but rubbing the smooth scales on Shynael's nose until he starts to purr.

Aiden Averrod (The Arcblade): 3/10 Pretty much the only cuddling he does is, um...in bed, shall we say? <_< At the beginning of his character arc, he's pretty selfish and is more apt to kiss a girl, spend one night with her, and then never speak to her again, and wouldn't really think of showing physical affection in any other way. But even towards the end of his arc, after he's done a lot of growth and come to appreciate his friends more, he'd be more likely to just...hang out with them, rather than get all "mushy."

Timor (The Four): 5/10 This was the best I could come up with, because it really depends on who it is. If he's comfortable with the person, he will latch onto them like a barnacle. But unless he's absolutely, 100% sure they're not going to hurt him or scare him, he'll shy away and probably flinch if they make any move towards him.

Bob (unnamed bartender story): 4/10 He's really more of a "clap you on the shoulder and say something encouraging" kind of guy. While not averse to physical touch, he doesn't really have much occasion to cuddle much. Which is a shame, because he is very friend-shaped and would probably be a very cozy person to hug.

Sophie (unnamed superpowered siblings story): 5/10 Really doesn't care about touch all that much, and is convinced she could probably last a year without so much as brushing shoulders with someone and she'd be fine. But all of her siblings are more touchy-feely, especially her youngest sister Grace. So she's learned to pay attention to when the others need a hug, and is fully willing to give them that.

Lily (unnamed clone sister story): 6/10 Does she like to cuddle? Yes. Will she cuddle? Debatable. I wouldn't be surprised if there was no cuddling until the very end of the story, considering the difficulties in her relationships throughout.

David (unnamed brother story): 8/10 Very cuddly, like a little teddy bear. Unfortunately, he's also getting into that age where he realizes other people think it's "weird" or "gay" for him to hug people, even his mom -_- So he would probably be too self-conscious to do much cuddling outside the home.

This was fun! Tagging @bunnyscar, @authortobenamedlater, @dairogo, and @x-i-l-verify if you have any OCs you'd like to do this with ^_^

Tag Game: How Cuddleable Are Your OCs?

Thanks to @willtheweaver for the tag here and @fourwingedwriter for the tag here!

Rules: Answer the above question using a scale from 1-10 and include context!

For the main cast of The Watcher and the Thief:

Hector: 3.5/10 Not a touchy-feely sort of person, the closest he'd get is a surprise hug from his apprentice.

Luc: 7/10 Depends on the person he's cuddling with, usually family like his siblings or close friends.

Octavian: 2/10 Avoids unnecessary physical touch if he can help it.

Rift: 8/10 He'd give a hug so he could pickpocket the person he's hugging.

Kaira: 6.5/10 No concept of personal space, but usually backs off if she senses discomfort. Usually.

Tagging @chronicallydragons @spitefulbull @gummybugg @thethistlegirlwrites @stargazer-luna

@theeccentricraven @elizaellwrites and anyone else who wants to rate their ocs' cuddleability! :D

[ltwilliammowett]

Bluenose, the pride of Canada

Bluenose was a deep- sea fishing schooner that won a special place in the heart of all Canadians during the depths of the Great Depression, an admiration that continues to this day. It all began with a small item in the sports page of New York paper in 1919 announcing that the America's Cup race had been postponed because of a blow that would barley tickle the sails of a saltbank schooner. The men of the fishing fleets of Gloucester in Massachusetts and Lunenburg in Nova Scotia were outspoken in their scorn. Competition between the two communities had always been fierce and here was the perfect excuse to have a race between real working schooner. In 1920 the International Fishermen's Race was organised, and that year the schooner Esperanto out of Gloucester defeated the Delewana of Lunenburg and took the trophy to New England.

The Bluenose schooner at the 1921 Nova Scotia Elimination Trials, held off Halifax in October (x)

No one in the north wanted to let that sit on their hands and hopes of a victory were raised in the following spring. Named after a legend that fishermen had blue noses because of the cold weather of the Grand Banks where they worked. The Bluenose entered the race under Captain and part owner Angus Walters. She was constructed by traditional methods using local timbers, and had, of course, the sturdy build of a working schooner. Her lines were sweet, however, and she was fast, with a 386 m² big main sail, achieving her best speed under a strong blow beating to windward. In 1921 she raced twice against Elsie in the waters off Halifax. Bluenose took both races with a good margin and even reduced sail to match the American vessel during one race when her opponent temporarily go into difficulty. Bluenose was a witch in the wind and nothing could catch her. Btw Walters had only master's papers for home waters, Bluenose in some international races was sometimes under the command of the deepsea Lunenburg captain George Myra until the schooner reached the racing port.

Drawing of Bluenose by William James Roué 1920 (x)

Undefeated in all the International Fishermen's trophy series held between 1921-1938, she became an enduring symbol of Canada's maritime spirit. In 1929 the Canadian Postal Service issued a distinctive blue stamp to honour the vessel's racing record, and in 1937 she appeared in full sail on the Canadian dime.

Canada postage stamp, "Bluenose" 1929 (x)

Bluenose's fame was not confined to Nort America and Canada. She officially represented her country at hte World's Fair in 1933 and the Silver Jubilee of King George in 1935. 1938 was a difficult year for her and even lost two out of five races against the Gertrude L. Thebuad. The last race, however, was finally won by Bluenose.  Unfortunately, Walters had to sell her in that year due to the emergence of motorised trawlers. She remained in Lunenburg until 1942, when she was bought by the West Indies Trading Company. Then her masts were cut and an engine installed. She was then used to transport goods between Canada and the Caribbean until she ran onto a reef off Haiti on 28 January 1946 and sank, some say due to voodoo.

1937 - 1952 George VI Ten Cent / Dime (x)

But her name still lives on. The reverse side of the Candian dime still proudly bears her image. In 1963, a replica of the Bluenose was built in Lunenburg from the original plans of the Bluenose and named Bluenose II.  Theese was sold to the Nova Scotia government in 1971 for the sum of $1.

Bluenose II sails off the Peggy’s Cove lighthouse (x)

The replica schooner was used as a sailing ambassador for tourism promotion. This vessel was decommissioned and broken up in 2010, and an entirely new Bluenose (also called Bluenose II, as she is classified as a "reconstruction" ) was built as close as possible to the original schooner and launched in Lunenburg in 2013. After attempts had been made since 2007 to build a new Bluenose IV (III was already occupied elsewhere), which was not successful.

[poursomesunaonme]

chapter four

pairing: jean kirstein x fem!reader

summary: the true nature of jean’s illness rears its ugly head, leaving you with deep physical and emotional wounds.

cw: dark content ahead - please proceed with caution! graphic depictions of ptsd/night terrors, graphic depictions of choking, near death experience (reader), heavy angst and not an ounce of comfort, a verbal argument, it’s a wicked heavy chapter

wc: 5.8k

author’s note: and here’s where shit hits the fan:( please bear with me (and jean n the kiddos) through this, and i’m sorry in advance. please heed the warnings as this chapter is really heavy and can be triggering. the extended notes provide a lot of insight into this if y’all are interested in reading more.

songs: “i saw you in a dream” by the japanese house, “st jude” by florence & the machine, “pink lemonade” by yva

extended notes💫

series navigation

chapter three -> chapter four -> chapter five

Nothing was the same after that godforsaken trip to Paradis. Days turned into weeks, and weeks morphed into a whole month before the ambassadors returned to Marley. The atmosphere around them was that of soldiers returning from a war, despite how the mission was supposed to be a peaceful negotiation.

And as usual, you were left in the dark. The ambassadors were simply exhausted. They could barely hold a conversation, barely keep their eyes open, when you and the others went to greet them upon the return. So naturally, all the information that held in its hands the cracking foundation of your family was withheld from you.

Jean himself walked into the door, went upstairs, and slept for three days when he had returned. There was barely any detectable sense of life within him. His feet thudded heavily against the ground, as the weight of the world pushed him further and further into the ground. He moved like a ghost. He was the definition of ephemeral. And you were worried that he would fade faster than expected.

The bulge in your belly reminded you, while you stood in the doorway of the bedroom, that it had been a month since his return. The restless little person had become your anchor. The constant stirring in your womb was an assurance that nothing else in your life could give to you in that time. And secretly, you had decided to call the baby a “she,” knowing that it was what felt right.

Cupping the curve of your stomach, you padded over to the bed. The heavy breaths of Sasha and your husband drifted around the room as they both slept soundly. Jean’s side rose and fell with the inhales and exhales, and you watched, taking a seat on the cold side of the bed. It was one of the only times that you were awake and were able to observe him resting without experiencing a night terror.

The awful nightmares had begun the moment that Jean stepped foot onto Marleyan soil once again, plaguing him nearly every night. You had asked doctors for information about the phenomenon, and they gave harrowing facts concerning the physical manifestations; which often involved sleepwalking and sometimes violent behavior.

But Jean hadn’t exhibited any of the more malevolent symptoms, occasionally shifting in bed, but it was mostly him crying out for his fallen comrades. Whenever they were more intense and woke you from your slumber, the sight would be so upsetting that it would even bring you to tears, knowing that your husband wasn’t calling out for either of his children, but rather his dead friends that they were named after.

Jean rolled over, sleeping somewhat fitfully, as you settled into bed next to him. The baby bump allowed you to sleep with your back to him, something that you had already grown accustomed to. The contact of his chest pressed against your body was a ghost, buried long ago. Settling under the covers, you allowed a light sleep to dust your eyelids, just barely drifting off into the land of dreams.

But you were easily awakened from your fragile slumber by Jean’s nightly flailing. Staccatoed whimpers broke forth from his lips as your eyes cracked open, squinting in the darkness of the room. His body thrashed about, in movements more exaggerated than you had ever felt them before.

You sat up, leaning over his frame to investigate. And your husband’s face - it portrayed a misery and despair like you had never seen before. His brows furrowed together in a deep sadness, lips trembling, wanting to scream forth words unspoken. His jaw set, gritting his teeth. You wondered what he was dreaming about.

The doctors that you consulted about the night terrors had told you that it was essentially impossible to wake up from an episode once he was in it. So, you laid down on your side, watching with a heavy heart as your husband suffered in such a state that was supposed to be a rest from the terrors of life.

Your eyes had drifted shut, having become accustomed to his sporadic movements, when you heard your name uttered from his lips. A glimmer of hope flickered in your chest. Those syllables that hadn’t been expelled from Jean’s mouth in weeks tore your eyelids open, begging an examination of your husband. The corners of his eyes glimmered with unshed tears. He whispered your name once again.

The sound was so natural, so effortless that it broke your heart imagining the length of time you’d gone without hearing it. Upon returning from Paradis, Jean had become a hermit, essentially. He would barely force out a word to anyone, and that included your children. He existed as a statue carved out of pumice; at surface level, the stone looks like any other - it would seem that it would be dense and heavy, but in reality, it’s one of the weakest substances.

At another iteration of your name, your heart skipped a beat upon confirming that you weren’t crazy. One of your hands reached out to touch him. However, you stopped yourself, knowing that the effort would yield no results. So you watched, with a broken heart, as your estranged husband suffered with your name like a prayer on his lips.

After a few moments, the dream seemed to take a darker turn. His movements were more potent, face more contorted to show an immeasurable amount of anguish, and the volume at which he spoke your name increased. He yelped, his voice laced with longing and regret, as if he was telling you in his dream not to leave him, not to abandon him when he needed you most.

Your heart shattered into pieces as you threw caution to the wind, launching yourself onto his sleeping frame. You held him close with all your might, squeezing him so tightly to tell him that you would never leave. His chest heaved against you as the tears fell from his eyes, pearly drops of a depression that you would never even begin to comprehend.

Even in his sleeping state, the contact felt familiar. His body still was still the same, albeit he had lost a few pounds due to a lack of appetite. But, you still fit against him like a glove. The musky scent wafted into your nose from his soft shirt, warming your heart with its comforting smell.

“I’m here,” you whispered to him. “I won’t leave. Jean, I’m here.”

Every doubt that you had during the last few months had dissipated, and you could see it clearly. Jean needed your support and companionship during his most trying times. As much as he didn’t seem to express it when he was awake, seeking solace in your name during his night terrors was proof enough that he still loved you.

You remembered your wedding vows, those words that you had so painstakingly put together to promise your heart to Jean.

“I promise to fortify your soul when your walls have broken down, to nourish your spirit when all seems lost, and to dry your tears when they fall like rain.”

Those words bound your souls together, and you couldn’t break your oath to the one your heart had always desired.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

The syllables rolled off your tongue so easily, having remembered the reasons why they were being uttered in the first place. You loved Jean. He was the whole reason you were breathing, why your heart was beating, why your life was so wonderful. Why you lived in a world that (for the most part) was peaceful, and why you had three children that were everything you had ever dreamed of.

Jean stilled, just for a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief at the conclusion of his night terror. Your heart skipped a beat, ready to tell him all of your realizations upon his awakening. But a cry that emanated from the crib next to the bed halted your profession before it even left your lips. Sasha had been roused by Jean’s loud nightmare.

With a sigh, you sat up to peer at her through the bars of the crib, finding that she was sitting up, crying. You turned back to give one last look at Jean before going to feed her. And a fear you’d never known struck you.

Jean’s hazel eyes glazed over. They seared through you with an expression of hatred that rendered them completely unrecognizable. He panted like a rabid dog, glaring at you like you were his worst enemy. The film over his eyes indicated to you that he was still in some cycle of sleep, but that’s when you realized something that the doctor had told you.

You had to be careful with Jean when he was having a night terror. And even though it was nearly impossible to wake him up from an episode, do not do it.

“Jean?” you whispered, tears filling your eyes before the unthinkable happened.

Your husband lunged at you, arms outstretched.

His war torn hands wrapped around your throat with a practiced ease. You didn’t even have time to cry out before he pushed you onto your back and knocked the wind right out of your lungs.

And his grip tightened immediately.

What were once long, deep, even breaths was forced into shallow gasps. A drop of water splattered onto your face. Jean was crying. He still whispered your name. He still whispered your name as if he wasn’t choking the life out of his soulmate at that exact moment.

A pressure started to build in your head. Your lips felt swollen. A heat rushed to your face. The blood had started to build up where Jean’s fingers blocked the outward flow.

“Jean.”

His name rasped from your lips. There was no tone to it. Jean’s iron grip was actively crushing your vocal cords. There wouldn’t be any way to get his attention. He was too far gone.

Your hands slapped at his arms, one, two, times before they began to feel heavy. In fact, everything felt heavy. How long had it been since he first started? Your vision started to unfocus. It was good. You didn’t have to see your husband killing you.

Nails sunk into the flesh of his arms. Little pools of blood welled up underneath your fingertips. It was warm. Everything felt warm.

But Jean hurt you. And the chemicals released by your brain numbed those feelings, maybe you numbed yourself to ignore the fact that your worst nightmare had come true. But this couldn’t be the end. You could have more time. You could be the mother and wife you needed to be. So despite what the doctor had said, you would do everything in your power to save yourself and the baby growing in your stomach.

Your baby.

Your gaze darted downwards to the bump that hid your legs from your line of sight. Jean was on his knees above you, thankfully leaving the space untouched. In the blurry haze, the fluttery, tickling sensation of the baby’s kicking resounded in your abdomen. She couldn’t breathe either. But she was going to fight as long as you were.

A rueful smile forced the corners of your lips upwards as your eyes found Jean’s face again. It had only been a moment since you resolved to stay by him forever, and now he was killing you. The world was truly an awful place. It was cruel. It was unfair. How could you have waited for him for your entire life and finally had a taste of a true love, how everything that you had hoped and dreamed for finally came into fruition, only to be destroyed.

Everything that you both had fought tooth and nail for began to dissipate. All the exhaustive work, those nights spent in agony, each gentle kiss, you were going to lose it. Maybe it was for the best, that two broken souls wouldn’t end up together. Maybe it was for the best that you wouldn’t see what Jean would devolve into after he had killed his wife.

“No,” Jean suddenly whispered, catching your attention. The deprivation of oxygen began apparent as you sunk into your subconscious. A memory from long ago appeared, blurry around the edges. A flower crown you made for Jean. A warm feeling began to set itself inside your bones. “I won’t let you take her from me.”

You wondered what his dream was about for a split second until Sprout leapt and bound within your womb. It wasn’t a tickling feeling anymore - she was hurting you. She was doing everything in her power to claw her way to the outside world, to get a breath of fresh air.

And that resolve to survive lit a fire in your belly. Hands moved with an increased fervor, fighting in unison with Sprout. Harsh slaps resounded throughout the room. Pink welts bloomed over Jean’s skin under your nails. And this time, you didn’t hold anything back from aiming at his face. A few scars here or there would be a worthy trade for your life.

By some miracle, his grip loosened ever so slightly, enough for you to unleash a bloodcurdling scream. It tore through your throat, and you could’ve sworn you felt blood fleck up into your mouth. Sasha’s cries still echoed around the room, albeit muffled traveling through the cotton stuck in your ears. But she needed you. Those sounds spurred you to cling to some semblance of consciousness. But that was difficult, seeing as the sound that you bellowed irritated Jean so much that his fingers constricted as tight as they could.

Your trachea threatened to collapse under the pressure. Breath rattled from your lips. Sprout thrashed inside of your belly. And the warm feeling spread throughout your whole body.

Like the tide, a dreamy sleepiness washed over you. The iron grip that had come to sink into Jean’s biceps loosened; and your arms fell limply to your sides. Your face was covered in droplets of Jean’s sadness, from whatever terror seized him.

At least you wouldn’t have to die alone. Jean wasn’t in Paradis, he was here with you. You wouldn’t be by yourself, even if it was your husband killing you.

It was a shame that Marco and Sasha would grow up without a mother, that Sprout would never experience the joy that a beautiful life could be.

And Jean loved you. You know he did. You wondered, for a split second, what would happen to your children upon authorities finding out that your husband was the one who killed you. What a travesty to be pasted across the headlines of the paper.

The contrast in your vision began to fade, and everything was unusually blurry. Maybe it was the tears that slipped unfelt down your cheeks. But all the shadows dissipated, and everything got lighter and lighter. Color seeped from every corner until all that you could see was a blinding white.

Your heart beat erratically in your chest, in a perfect discord with Sprout. You wondered if she saw the same things. You wished that she was there, that you could hold her in your arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But when you reached down to pat your bump with maternal reassurance, it was gone.

And you faced nothingness alone.

That was, until, you turned around and your mother and father smiled at you, all the past having been forgotten. Their faces were slightly distorted and fraying around the edges.

You wondered about them back in Paradis. Were they still alive? Would they be in the next life, waiting for you with open arms? It was a naïve thought, but it was something to cling to while you felt your heart beat slower and slower with each second.

You reached out to them, but were quickly plunged back into reality. The only thing you felt was your heartbeat; everything else had gone numb. It was just you and Jean. You stared into his eyes, having lost the ability to fight. You just wanted to rest in those last moments.

Darkness crept up from below your eyelids. Jean’s twisted, contorted face was the last thing you would see, his glazed eyes spilling over with tears, dreaming of someone trying to hurt you - when he was the one draining the life from your veins.

The door creaked open.

“Daddy?”

Marco’s voice trembled with fear as his footsteps toddled over to the bed. He didn’t say anything, just laid a tiny hand on your still body. A heaving breath entered and exited your frame, you guessed one of the last. A heaviness settled upon your chest.

“Daddy?” Marco repeated. A moment of near silence passed, interrupted solely by Sasha’s cries.

You wanted to yawn, wanted to close your eyes and give into the warmth that lapped at your consciousness. Now everyone was here, and you would be able to pass on with as much peace as you would acquiesce from this fucked up situation. You gazed at Jean, unable to speak, but told him over and over again that you loved him for the rest of your life and beyond. It was just a matter of him believing it when he woke up from his nightmare with your lifeless body underneath him.

But upon hearing Marco’s small voice, by some kind of miracle, clarity seized your husband.

Just as your eyes threatened to glaze over for good, light returned to your husband’s.

He let go of your neck.

A refreshing breath of fresh air shot straight into your lungs, reviving you from the certain death that had you in its grasp. Awareness began to slink through you again as you stared at Jean in those few moments before you were able to move again. Pins and needles prickled every inch of your skin as you struggled to wiggle even your toes.

But in the atmosphere that hung pregnant with tension, Jean stared down at you, down at the pink welts that your fingernails had established on his skin, sprinkled with blood. He didn’t need you to tell him what happened. The defensive wounds were enough.

And with each breath, you became more sure of your clinging to life.

So as soon as your motor neurons would allow it, you shoved Jean off of you, not paying attention to his disfluent attempts to soothe you. Without a word, you grasped Marco’s hand and pulled him along. He followed, confused as could be, and watched as you put Sasha’s sash around yourself, preparing to load up your daughter.

With one last sniffle, you turned back to the man you did not recognize as your husband. He sat dumbly, staring down at his hands as if in disbelief that they were wrapped around his wife’s throat just seconds before.

Jean’s eyes darted in your direction and widened upon seeing your preparations. He sprung up immediately, rushing to meet you. With a deep breath, you composed yourself as best you could. Your hand pushed Marco behind you to keep him safe. The poor thing was then crying uncontrollably at having finally understood what had just happened to his mother.

“Y/N,” Jean whispered. You didn’t respond, just picked up Sasha to place her in the sash. Her cries subsided slightly being pressed against your chest as you threw a bag together, but once she found that she wasn’t getting fed, she began to scream again.

“Y/N, please,” Jean pleaded. He reached out to feel the warmth of your skin, to feel that reassurance and anchoring knowledge that you were real and present. But as he was a few centimeters away from his tether, you recoiled, hiding yourself and your children from him.

“Get the fuck away from me!” you commanded, slinging the bag onto your back as fast as you could. Marco stumbled behind you. He winced at how tight you were holding his little hand, but you didn’t pay any mind. All that you needed to do was get out of that house, get away from that man.

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand, I-” Jean’s attempts to explain himself were dismissed by your rueful laugh. You didn’t want to sound scathing or apathetic, but those menacing undertones still weaved themselves through your voice in a terrifying coldness.

“No, Jean, you don’t understand. You nearly fucking killed me just now.”

His face paled at the words having been spoken. He knew exactly what he had done the second that lucidity reclaimed him. How his arms were a bright pink, warm and sensitive to the touch from your blows. The jagged lines of blood indicating that you had truly fought tooth and nail to escape his grasp.

But nonetheless, he still tried to assuage your fear. He wasn’t conscious when the incident occurred, but that was the scariest part. He couldn’t control himself, let alone know that he was acting until he woke for the aftermath. It didn’t matter that he loved you and wanted to fight for you.

“Y/N, I…”

“Do not say another word to me. I’m leaving.”

To emphasize your point, you picked up Marco to give him a reprieve from your iron grip and made a beeline for the bedroom door. At first, Jean didn’t make an effort to follow. But once you were halfway down the stairs, the reality of what was happening hit him.

His footsteps echoed behind you. You were almost to the front door, almost out of the house that hung around you with such a heavy and suffocating aura, until Jean’s hand clasped upon your upper arm. Attempting to escape was no use.

“Please, don’t go.”

Your heart stopped beating, breath lodged in your throat. The muscle sank, buried in your chest, pulling you all the way into the ground and deeper and deeper still until you were submerged in a dissonance that threatened to drive you mad.

You didn’t want to. The words that you had told him before he tried to kill you echoed through your mind. But that promise that you had made was easily superseded by showing what he was capable of - by nearly doing what you had been afraid of all along.

His skin burned against yours as you attempted to pull away, thankful that he had grabbed the arm that wasn’t supporting Marco.

“Jean,” you said, enunciating each word for emphasis, “let go.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I need you. Please, don’t go.”

The words tore your heart in two. You wanted to stay, you would have stayed - if only he hadn’t been choking you moments ago. You needed to keep your promise more than anything in the world, but you wouldn’t do it as long as you felt unsafe in your own house.

But Jean, he had those puppy eyes, that look that shattered you to disobey. But for the sake of your children, it needed to be done.

And you cried.

Sobs clawed their way out of your raw throat. It fucking hurt - everything fucking hurt. You cried because this night needed to disappear. You cried because you needed your husband and he needed you. You cried because you needed to live the life you used to have, not the one that beat you down day after day with your husband a shell of who he used to be.

And you wept because you beheld your husband, the man who, just a few moments before, had his hands wrapped around your neck. Because he looked so small and so broken, the person that you always held in your heart as the strongest human to walk the earth. Because none of this wouldn’t have happened if the parasite in his mind hadn’t made its home there in the first place. If he had only listened to you and talked to someone, this wouldn’t be happening.

You wondered why you and your family couldn’t be happy after everything they’d gone through, after all that the world threw at you. You all deserved a break, some kind of reprieve that would give you faith that the world wasn’t such a dim and dark place.

And why would the world be so unkind to Jean? All he wanted to do was fix it. And he did, he still was. He had been the husband and father of your dreams, one of the most beautiful people in the world. He had been so gentle, yet the world was anything but to him.

And everything was for the kids. You needed to protect them, and your gut screamed to get as far away from him as possible.

But you still wondered why. Why did you have to abandon him at his lowest? Why did it all have to be so hard? Why did he have to look you in the eyes with that wounded puppy look while you put a bullet in his head?

“Jean, if you love me, you’ll let me go. I don’t feel safe here anymore.”

Tears streamed down your face at the finality of it all. You had even warned him before he left that he needed to go see someone, but you didn’t expect an ultimatum to come out of it so soon thereafter.

“I do love you, Y/N, I do. But I need you here with me.”

His grip tightened, enough to top the force at which he had choked you. The blood threatened to stop under his white knuckles. You jerked your arm away, finding that it was no use against his resolve.

“You’re hurting me! For fuck’s sake, let go!”

Your voice was hoarse from screaming, from crying, as you ripped your arm away from the broken man who stood before you. His shoulders slumped downwards, he collapsed to his knees, almost lying prostrate before you to keep you there with him. But no amount of groveling kept you from walking out of the door.

The wind whipped through the night sky, bullying the clouds to move at a tumultuous pace before rushing down to the ground, lashing at your exposed skin. The chill of the night air threatened to freeze the tears to your face as they continued to fall in large, fat droplets. Sasha’s cries punctuated the air, carried far down the street by the gale.

Marco was silent with his head buried in your shoulder. Tiny fingers clung to your neck in an attempt to steady his body as you powered your way through the storm. The wind pushed and pushed against you. Tiny grains of sand from the beach far away were embedded in the tempest, which was evident in the way that they buried themselves in your eyes.

But no matter what nature created, you bashed a way through it without a second thought. You were the force of nature, with every ounce of adrenaline contained in your body pumping frantically through your veins. The liquid energy heightened your senses, probably made you a little too jittery, but that was a welcome feeling in knowing that the lives of your children were in danger.

The path to Léa’s house was mere feet from the front doorstep of yours, but the gale force winds pushed against you with such force that your usual walking speed was cut down to nearly a quarter of its usual pace. Lights from inside her house dappled the dark street, despite the late hours of the night.

Before your knuckles could rap a second time on the oakwood door, Léa was throwing it open to meet you. Her face fell at the sight of you. How disheveled your hair was, the puffy redness of your eyes and the wet streaks that tumbled from them. Your lips trembled uncontrollably. But what concerned Léa more than your crying children holding on for dear life to your shaking frame was the purple handprints that enclosed your neck.

“Y/N? What’s going on so late? I heard screaming and-” Her attempts to gather information were cut short by you. As much as your heart longed to seek solace in the woman that you would always be able to call mother, she was too close to Jean. You couldn’t bear to be on the same block as him.

“Can you please tell Jean that I’m leaving?” you interrupted. Léa’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. “I don’t feel safe anymore. We can talk about it later but I just need to get out. I’m sorry for waking you.”

Every sentence was punctuated by a hiccuping sob and was barely intelligible to the untrained ear. Léa, however, knew your heart better than any other person; and the sorrow that radiated off of you with a suffocating mass broke her heart into pieces.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she tsked, reaching out to smooth your hair, “of course.”

Her tender gesture didn’t go unacknowledged, at least not in your heart. A fresh batch of tears fell from your lashes as you turned away, beginning the long journey to your next destination. Your muscles became attuned to moving through the tempest, much like you thought your heart had during the last few months with your husband.

The porchlight buzzed with an amicable greeting as your feet finally landed upon the doorstep of your destination. Strength was draining rapidly from your body in tandem with the adrenaline’s effects fading. And with the loss of that chemical, the pain that was previously dulled sunk its claws into you.

The phantom pain of Jean’s hands wrapped around your neck once again, and the sensation felt all too real. Fighting through the ghost of fresh trauma, you banged a closed fist to the door. And when it refused to open even ten seconds later, you continued to hit it until Annie’s face appeared in the doorway, eyes bleary with sleep.

Armin stood behind his wife, and together, their expressions changed as they beheld the sight in front of them. The puffy-faced, bruised-neck 27 year-old mother toting two kids at three in the morning was not a normal sight for the couple.

“Can I stay with you for a few days?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, barely able to be heard over the raging winds, but the couple understood immediately. You could’ve sworn that Annie’s eyes glinted with unshed tears as she opened the door to allow you access to the warm home.

Your mind started to get fuzzy. It tried desperately to numb the pain, numb the sadness, numb the reality that your marriage was in shambles, by putting you right to sleep. Your feet stumbled over each other as Annie and Armin all but carried you to the guest bedroom, where Armin left you and his wife to get ready for bed as he went downstairs to make a cup of tea.

Marco had asked to sleep in Armin’s bed since Annie was going to stay with you. As much as you wanted to hold your son close all night long, you couldn’t say no to his puppy eyes. The change in scenery helped him repress the traumatizing events of the night, and you would play along to keep him soothed. You and Annie sat there in a heavy silence.

Sasha’s cries had finally subsided while you fed her. But with that came the unbearable silence. A ringing in your ears threatened insanity, threatened a maddening vortex of pain and suffering that wouldn’t let you out of its grasp.

Annie took your baby from you once she was finished eating. The air hung pregnant with words unspoken, of which Annie was determined to express.

“Y/N,” she whispered after making a pallet for Sasha and gently laying her down upon it, “I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

The tears that were previously beaded along her waterline tumbled freely down her cheeks at her remorse. The cotton that stuffed your mind threatened to dull the experience of the moment while it roped you in further and further to sleep.

But you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. The pressure on your throat kept you from speaking, kept you from begging Annie not to believe that any of this was her fault. But the words wouldn’t come out.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around her in a huge hug.

Tears poured down both of your faces as the night crashed down upon you. An unbearable weight sank upon your chest. It forced every breath out of you, every hope you had for the future, all the faith you had in Jean; it was all gone.

Your husband had tried to kill you.

And you had only been trying to help him the entire time.

You couldn’t help the wails that rang from your throat like sirens. A hot knife had been plunged into your heart and was twisted, twisted, twisted, until the pink muscle was pouring crimson, torn into mangled shreds.

And Annie felt powerless to stop your agony. All she could do was guide you to lay down and press into your back. Her arms wrapped around you, too afraid to let go in case you couldn’t handle the pain anymore. And you were grateful for that secure embrace, for that tether to your world, which only now consisted of your children.

A fresh batch of tears rolled down your cheeks at the finality of it all. Your heart was sealed against the man you once thought held it in the palms of his hands. And there was nothing he could do to reverse the damage he had inflicted on it. He had tried to stop it with his bare hands.

You couldn’t help that you would love him till the day you died. You couldn’t ever hate him. But you were terrified at who he had become, terrified that you would never be able to sleep soundly in the same bed as him ever again.

The sight of him on his knees in front of you fixed itself to the back of your eyelids. How his posture had been destroyed, how the tears streamed down his face. And how defeated he looked. How powerless he seemed. The world had kicked and kicked him until it had taken everything from him. And you had warned him that it would happen.

The night swirled and tumbled through your mind until somehow, sleep managed to wrangle your mind into submission.

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