#His head is the size of a grapefruit

[janeaudron]

Breaking in a new(actually old) sketchbook and getting some ideas out of my head to help me write.

Handsome Jack getting outfitted for full body transfusion ports for Eridium treatments when he's more lucid. He very much does not enjoy this process as body hurts and is healing. The eridium hurts a lot. And getting everything installed hurts even more.

And not Chief and her crew. Just doctors and scientists dragged brought in that are familiar with eridium and cybernetics.

[fanaticsnail]

I know dreaming of you are group works but I literally want one for katakuri sooo bad like, the GRIP this man has on me is insane

(I love him so much🍩❤)

(Ps.I'm sorry if this sounds like a demand I didn't mean it to❤)

Sweet anon, I have had a grapefruit flavoured soju and immediately began this as soon as I saw it in my ask box an hour ago. I hope you enjoy! (Don't worry, honey. I crave the big guy too).

Dreaming of you

Masterlist Here

Word count: 1,800+

SFW Part 2 Here

Synopsis: He couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in his dream. The way you writhed on his lap, cried his name and allowed him to please you had him wake to sticky blankets when he jolted upright. His thoughts got the better of him, and he was wracked with a new mission to seek out whether it was a possibility to see it become a reality.

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader x katakuri, fingering, nicknames, haki, dub con (Using your image to picture satisfying him in his fantasy), suggestive content, size difference, feelings, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I normally do this in threes, but as soon as I saw the ask, I needed to know. Enjoy playing the part of Katakuri's fantasy. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Sat on his lap with your back on his chest, his middle digit gently began pistoning in soft beckoning motions into your glistening cunt. His face was coated in a soft glow of blush, his toothy grin tugging dotingly up his cheeks as he watched you cum on his hand through half-hooded lashes. 

Your legs shook as he slowly brushed against your g-spot, angling his large hand over your clit and grinding into it with his palm. Huffing and panting, your release gushed over his leather pants and coated them with another wave of your slick as he stretched your tight pussy with his large fingers. 

“Did you cum again for me, little mouse?” he cooed down at you, gently drawing his index finger over your chin and dragging the pad of his fingertips over your jaw. You looked up at him, the soft sheen of your dewy sweat coated your forehead and stuck the loose strands of your hair against your head. 

“I-I-...” you struggled to find the words, your head fuzzy and spiraling with the sheer number of times Katakuri had devoted to making you whimper, writhe and cream your desires over his fingers, lips and tongue. He offered you nothing but love in his hazel eyes, blinking slowly and angling his face down to smile at you in a soft gaze. 

“I know you did, sweet thing,” he affirmed, drawing soft patterns into your cheek and offering you a kiss on your glistening forehead, “I felt you flutter around me when you called my name. So pretty,” he complimented, rubbing his large cheek over your head and inhaling your perfume, “So sweet.”

You whimpered, drawing your hands up to his face and tugging at his jaw. Moaning and pleading with him, you pressed intentional and desperate kisses against his cheeks, lips, teeth and chin while confessing your desires. 

“I want to try again,” you called to him, imploring him to give into your demands, “Please can we try again? I promise I’ll behave and listen. I can do it this time, promise.” Katakuri groaned, his cheeks deepening with their soft flush as he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, your gummy walls contracting with aftershocks of pleasure as he did so.

“We can’t, you know this,” he attempted to relay to you, gently pressing on your shoulders and turning you in his lap, “I am over seventeen feet tall,” he gestured to his tattooed chest before gently caressing your shoulders, “You don’t even reach half that height. Where are you going to fit it-?”

“-I don’t care,” you reassured him and cut off his train of thought, pressing needy kisses against his chest, trailing lower to his belt buckle, “I’ll make it fit. I am determined to make it fit.” You tugged hard on his belt and released the metal clamp from the leathery holster, “I promise it’ll fit.” 

“It won’t fit,” he again argued, gently tugging at your shoulder with a soft nudge, “You can’t fit it in both of your hands, let alone anywhere else. It’s okay, I assure you,” he urged you to look up at him by drawing up your chin with his index and middle fingers, “It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

You grit your teeth, looking down at him and hardening your resolve. He smiled at your expression, adoring your soft pout and closing his eyes as he was sure he had convinced you to give up on your little mission. It was true, there was no natural way for him to slot himself within you without tearing open your abdomen and breaking your smaller body. 

As he closed his eyes, he felt something soft, wet and tight begin to descend onto his knob. He immediately snapped his eyes open, his eyes wide with shock as you took him within your pussy while wincing back the pain. 

“What are y-you-...?” he began, halting as he gasped at the sensation of your body choking his shaft with your tight pussy. His hands shook, his body ignited with lust and arguing with himself to tug your body away from him, while fighting the urge to buck up into you. 

“I-... I can do it,” you grit your teeth, your eyes clenching shut as you descend onto him inch by inch. Finally taking his large tip into your body, he could see the outline of his knob sheathed within you. Gritting his teeth, he balled his hands into fists and held them firmly at his sides. 

“D-Don’t,” he implored you, his breath hitching in his throat as you took more of him into yourself, “Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.” He begged, huffing and panting as he felt more of you descend onto his throbbing cock. His shaft twitched at the base involuntarily, prompting a cry to fall from his lips as they parted in shock. 

“I…” you growled at him, prompting his eyes to open at the tone of your cadence, “...can do this.” Your determination held something else in your eye, his own gaze meeting your steely determination as you took the final few inches of his shaft deep within you. He looked closer, noticing the tinge of red around your irises, the lightning veins of swirly command prompting him to fall his toothy jaw slack in shock.

“Armament haki?” he whispered at you, his gaze trickling over your naked form in shock and awe, “You’re-... nnnnhg-... you’re using armament haki in order to take my cock?” His voice stuttered as his resolve nearly crumbled in its cower. Your eyes darkened, your pussy fluttering around him as it contracted to endure his size.

“I am,” you confirmed with a curt, dangerous and feral nod, “And I can hold this armament haki for three minutes,” you splayed your fingers on his happy trail and bounced a little to ensure it was working. You looked up at him with a manic glint in your eye, his eyes trembling in shock as you uttered mischievously, “So you have about one minute forty five to use me the way you so desperately want to, sweetheart. Better get going.” 

Without much further warning, Katakuri spun you beneath him and began mercilessly bullying you with his exceptionally girthy cock. The indent of his shaft molded your body to fit his contour, the bulge in your abdomen protruding as he sheathed himself with every harsh thrust. 

He had never been with a partner, always fearing to tear them in half and break them the moment he gave into his desire. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hold out for the remaining minute and thirty seconds you had remaining of this armament, simply lost to all other thoughts than how perfect you felt wrapped around him. He huffed and panted your name, using you as his personal sleeve as he grasped your hips in a single hand beneath where you lay under him.

“I-I’m-... I’m-... I’m-...” he growled, feeling his release pool in his abdomen and tighten in the pit of his belly, “I’m gonna cum. I’m g-gonna cum.” 

“Cum in me, Katakuri,” you urged him, your body taking him effortlessly without a hint of pain or sorrow, “Claim me, make me yours. I’m yours. Only yours.” He pulled you into him further, harder, faster, stronger. His hips stapled you against the mattress as he felt the first twitches of his cock readying for erruption. 

“Hh-hah-... I’m c-cumming,” he sobbed, his teeth drawing down to nibble at your neck as he began to ride his high, “I’m cumming, I’m-... f-fuck-... I’m cumming.” He shot rope after rope of his pearlescent cum deep within your abdomen, immediately splashing back and coating the base of his shaft and balls with each hefty wave of sticky release. 

Huffing and panting, he continued riding through his high, his bucking, tugging and grinding continuing to have him sob your name as he finally experienced the unity between the two of you. He felt relief and bittersweet sorrow eclipse his being the moment his ecstasy ceased, looking down at you with awe and amazement. 

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss on your forehead as he felt the final spurts of his pent up release brush into your body and splash back onto his own. As he darted his eyes between yours, your image dissipated into a cloud of vapor and his eyes widened in shock. 

He shook his head, reopening his eyes and noticing his room was without luminance and dark in comparison to the soft, smoky glow it was lit with moments before. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he looked down at himself and noticed another duvet ruined by his midnight muse. He growled at himself, his jaws clenching tightly shut as he came to terms with everything he dreaded. 

It was another dream. 

Another dream about you.

When he met you and the rest of the Straw-Hat crew back at Cake Island for the wedding between his sister and the Vinsmoke boy, he was immediately captivated by you. You had a fiery temper, a need to care for your crew, and compassion for your enemies by heeding a code of conduct while you battled. 

You hurt his sister, Brulee, by engaging her in combat. Something he was going to ensure you paid for with interest the moment he had an opportunity to do so. As she was harmed a little more than you potentially intended, you halted the combat to ensure she was truly okay. Your need to ensure she had an ‘out’ from the fight, to offer her a swift execution or an honorable understanding if she stood down had him immediately smitten with you. 

The minister of flour was in love with you, something he didn’t anticipate ever feeling for an individual. And this was the twelfth time this month he had dreamt of you. His dreams started with him engaging you in battle for you to halt it and offer him peace in the form of a donut. As the dreams became more intense, he pictured himself revealing his face to you and having you accept him for who he was. 

This was the first time he had ever pictured himself fucking you. He had always ever pleasured you in his dreams, never seeking satisfaction for himself due to the sheer impossibility of it. You were small, he was tall: there was nothing he could do to change that fact. 

Nothing, until his dreams offered him this solution. 

He immediately began cleaning up after his night visit, reaching for his tissue box beside his bed and tidying the glubs of his release over his abdomen, deflating shaft, and bedsheets beneath him. Getting up from his reline, he headed over to his desk and pulled out a small collection of information regarding armament haki. Sifting through the pages, he thought this time he had finally found the solution. 

This time, he could finally find a way to experience what he had denied himself for so long. 

He could only hope that you were not only able to wield armament haki, but that you could consider the possibility to engage yourself with him in a relationship. He loved you from afar, using his sister’s ability to check in with you from time to time after the battle. You seemed friendly enough with them both whenever they checked in, perhaps you could see yourself with someone like him.

His hope would come soon enough, his sister's face split up in a large smile as she spoke with you on a den-den snail. You were aboard the Thousand Sunny and sailing with your captain towards Elegia to see Uta's concert. Inviting Brulee to join you at the venue, to sing along to Uta's music with her, was potentially his way to confess his love for you once the festivities concluded.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, yandere, monster au, orc x elf!reader, huge size difference

fem reader

Orc Master – who makes his pretty collared elf-pet lick and kiss his heavy balls because his cock won’t fit in her mouth…

They’re the size of grapefruits – bigger than your tits, nearly bigger than your head, and you can only suck a small spot at a time – smacking off the warm weights with a lewd pop before suckling another place just shy of it.

He strokes his cock above you – pearls of pre, more like marbles, trickle down the spine of it before dripping onto your face and chest.

His other hand cradles the entirety of your skull, holding a fat thumb on your brow – angling your head to look past the thick structure shadowing you up into his hooded eyes filled with carnal heat, leering at your pretty face smothered in his sack, begging for what’s kept inside them, warm and ready to flood your guts and breed you full.

His brawny legs are taller than you as you kneel between them – feeling like a beggar praying to a god. His foot, larger than your leg – and his big toe, the size of your fist. Making the whole ground shake when he stomps it down next to you – wordlessly encouraging you to be more eager. 

He's always glossy with old and new sweat – layered thickly and sticky on his tough skin, along with red and brown flecks of blood and mud – highlighting every fat muscle as though carved in metal. Broad shoulders swole with brute strength – even his neck is buff with it, thicker than your thighs – looking proud and toppling as he looms above you. 

His words are few but weighty, grunting out, “Tongue.” Appeased when you listen and stick the pink thing inside his dickhole. Endearment in his voice, purring out “good bitch…” and softly calling you his “tiny elf-whore,” while petting your hair – steering your little head up and down his tall shaft, letting your mouth catch all the spilled mess frothing from his leaky tip.

The muscles in his thighs flex while you suck along his thick veins, pulsing where they fork along the tall tower. You have to gulp when you think about how massive it is – you can’t even reach around it when using both your hands – and you have no sound understanding of how it even fits inside you at all.

When he sucks your tits, he’ll take half of them inside his warm mouth – nomming on them while he stretches your hole with one finger after the other. 

His digits are the size of a male elf’s manhood – you can’t reach fully around one with your hand – and he’s got three of them pumping your tiny elven cunt – prepping you for his much meatier orc-cock.

You’re held easily on his lap, seated sideways and pretty. His drool runs down your chest and belly, and you’re soaked in your own sweat after cumming for the umpteenth time. Still, you squirm when he finally dabs your puffy cunt with the sturdy meat. When it stands between your thighs, the plush cockhead reaches high enough to get cozy between your breasts, and you can already feel it punching your ribs and rearranging your organs.

You always break, trying to fling yourself off and run away despite the collar sitting around your throat with a chain trail leading to the bed.

You’re never able to get out of his grip anyway. He pulls your hair back, making your head hang backward, chest arched up – it’s an awful position, leaving you no option but to thrash – unable to see what’s going on or how to prepare for it.

He picks up your thigh and holds you up in the air by it alone, using you like a ragdoll as he spreads you wide. Huffing out impatient grunts at the numerous failed attempts of pressing his raging cock-head inside you, always slipping through your slit and rubbing off on your clit. He grows angry rather quickly, growling until your hole finally gets sloppy enough to allow the very tip to find footing – just enough to let him knead the entire bulb inside you and slowly sink inch after fat inch all the way up until you choke on it.

Stuffed so fair-tight with a big bulge in your poor belly. You squeeze on it with a cry – your whole body reacting to it, contorting while it settles deep within you. Knees lifting and bending with thighs winding shut, curled toes, and fingers making tight fists.

He’s kind enough to let you roost on it for a bit before moving.

Standing up, he lays your back against the plush bed, still warm from where he’d just been sitting – and wraps a hand around both your ankles, holding them up – placing the other on the dome of your ass, hooking a thumb over your hipbone.

Most of you is still in the air – making so much blood pool in your head. Going dizzy and breathless once he sets the pace, dragging himself out of your tight walls – beyond content feeling your tight cunt squeeze on him as though begging him to stay inside.

You make the cutest sounds – makes his balls clamp up as they swing and softly clap against your back while he slowly lolls his entire length back inside your warmth.

Once your hole surrenders more to his size, he’ll lay your legs to rest against his chest and mirror the placement of his other hand – both now grabbing each of your buttcheeks – starting to fuck your womb tightly.

He loves elven pussy – especially yours – so sweet and juicy, cumming on him every few minutes – milking him for his cream.

You get a fever once he finally cums – pumping it all inside you, unloading for a full minute or two, leaving you gasping and panting with broken moans cut with cries – feeling it seep out around the edges of where he has you stuffed, running down your ass and spine, dribbling down his balls and hitting the floor in fat drops that give a sounding thud.

He waits until his cock is sluggish before sloshing out. 

Everything is a sticky mess, but he cares little for cleaning up – staggering over the bed and immediately falling into a snoring sleep with you tucked under his heavy arm.

After all, he has to make sure everyone knows who you belong to – not only by keeping you collared with his crest but by making sure you smell ripely so – scented from head to toe with his jizz and urine.

BNHA – Enji, Bakugou, Kirishima, Deku, Muscular, Gigantomachia

JJK – Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Kenjaku

AOT – Erwin, Reiner, Zeke

HxH – Uvogin

[beatrixstonehill2]

"I don't know why I was so worried when my doctor put me on fertility drugs. I feel so stupid! I hear these drugs make you dumber, but I think that's an urban legend, just another ridiculous thing the old me worried about! I was a stuck-up attorney who never dated, who woke up at 4 every morning, went jogging, and ate grapefruit for breakfast with black coffee. I was mean, and rolled my eyes whenever men flirted with me. I was literally the worst! But ever since my doctor gave me these new prescriptions, my life has gotten a bajillion times better.

First of all, my appetite and libido came back. I told him I barely ate, didn't even masturbate, I was too focused on work. He seemed to know exactly what my body needed..... I was obviously skeptical about taking this stuff but look at me now! This is my second pregnancy, last one was quadruplets, I think this might be at least sextuplets? Holy fuck, I'm gonna get SO big, isn't that hot as hell? I won't fit into anything! I hope my boss is OK with my huge baby-filled belly sticking out. I'll look so ripe and ready to fuck all the time! After all, what better signal can a woman give to men that she's free to fuck, but a belly full of kids?

Oh yeah, did I mention? I'm not an attorney anymore. My libido got way too distracting to worry about all that dumb work I was so concerned about for, like, no reason! So I'm a secretary now for this lawyer I used to butt heads with all the time. He used to love harassing me and flirting aggressively with me, even smacking my ass. I used to get so angry with him; now, when he spanks me or grabs my breasts I just giggle and get turned on. I love working for him, and when I do extra well he rewards me by letting me suck his cock, or if he's in the mood he'll fuck me when he's in a meeting in front of all my old colleagues. The looks on their faces watching me full of kids, with a massive pair of udders, getting railed by HIM is just priceless!

On the subject of my breasts, I hope everyone here on my OnlyFans likes them. I've gone up six cup sizes since starting these pills! Isn't that crazy? I bet they're small compared to how gigantic they'll get a few pregnancies from now. I'm soooo excited to see how big they're gonna get, or if they're even gonna stop growing. Men absolutely drool over them, and when they see these huge boobs paired with a belly brimming with more kids than I can count, they know it's a free invitation to fuck me. Whether we're on the subway, the bus, or I'm at the bank, depositing my boss's checks..... Guys will take me by the hips and pump me so full of cum it'll be drooling down my legs all day--as all women should be, far as I'm concerned. Full to the point of bursting with cum. I used to be so grossed out when I saw college girls in sundresses, super pregnant, their big breasts falling out, cum hanging from their asses and pussies, drooling down their legs, just gushing with it, cum of their faces or tits as they happily talk on their phones or with their equally pregnant friends. Now I see they were the lucky ones.... And I definitely wasted my time in college not being like them, but it's never too late to be a good girl and show men I know what my true purpose really is. ❤️"

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Spoonful of Honey

Jason Todd/pregnant fem!reader (cause why not, I started reading the adventures comic so silly Jason is just on my mind as much as big beefy himbo acting like a baby over taking medicine. Chat I’ve been through it these past months, so this isn’t proofread)

Time Written - 11:05 p.m

The morning was cold, dreadfully cold, with a humid fog blanketing the dreary skies, blurring the atmosphere in a quiet haze. The temperature reached forty degrees at the highest around the late evening, giving those who had no business being outside a perfect excuse to remain indoors.

You basked in this opportunity to bring out your gold handle, cream colored dutch oven. Soft cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows to cut vegetables for a hearty dinner.

Slow, rugged feet trudged into the kitchen in the midst of you sautéing a rainbow assortment of veggies in butter and oil, dressed in his ‘plain ol’ civilian clothing’, a muted gray hoodie pulled over his head.

A sort throat was how it started; signifying the side effects to his nightly routine. Vigorous exercise could only help so much to fight off the chill, but with temperatures dropping incredibly low, sweat could nearly freeze on skin shortly after it’s been secreted.

The cold nearly nipped a permanent flush to his chiseled cheeks, kissing a sprinkle of color on his nose. He looked as exhausted as he did the previous night, when he first arrived home with a short cough and occasional clear of his throat.

Jason was sick, in the beginning stages of a cold. He’s not even bothering to hide it, yet continued to insist it wasn’t as bad as he led it on to become.

“You’re makin’ soup?” he asked. A comforting, light pressure of broad muscle against your back. Warm hands roaming from their soft placement along your hip dips roam forward, rustling along the fabric of your plush sweater, palms finally settling snug over your stomach.

“Mhm.” You nod, settling one of your hands over his interlaced fingers. “Chicken. With potato, and a ton of vegetables you like.”

“Mmm,” he hums, lightly sniffing the delectable curls of seasoned steam from your spice additions. “Smells incredible, ma.”

“Thank you. Good for the cold,” you comment, feeling satisfied at your seasoned sauté of protein and vegetables. You glance over your shoulder, smiling a little at his calm, droopy expression. “And colds.”

“Wow. Funny.” He murmurs per your amusement, taking over in reaching for the box of broth you set aside.

“You looked a little under the weather. Just wanted to help you feel a little better.” You reply after nodding in thanks for his aid, snapping open the seal to the box.

“You’re always taking care of me.” He exhales, his head tilting to kiss you on the cheek. He sounds grateful for the consideration, but he’s not very surprised by it.

You always had a tendency to spoil him. It’s just been your nature since the minute he first knew you.

“How’s the little one doing?” he asks, thumbs brushing light ovals over the soft mound of your protruding bump. Barely the size of an overripe grapefruit, or an underripe honeydew.

“Fine. No complaints,” you continue while pouring in the chicken broth. “Though, I’m sure the baby’s convinced that papa is doing a terrible job not resting up.”

Of course, he says nothing of it to confirm or deny. As if there was anything to deny, you could hear it in his slightly nasally tone. His fingers continue their gently ministrations, his eyes seemingly fixated on your actions, or unfocused as his mind trails off to space.

“Jay.”

“Hm?” His head slightly perks, leaving you to instantly assume the latter.

“It’s only been four months. You won’t feel much at four months.”

Maybe it’s faint arrogance to the doctor’s words. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that he can feel their baby shifting and wriggling around inside. He never thought of it before until it occurred to him one day, entering his mind at first as a silly thought before turning into a strong fixation.

“What, are you expecting it to come out and give you a high five?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, earning you a smirk.

“Couch,” you instruct, your gentle squeeze of your hand on his forearm combatting your firm tone. “Dinner’s almost done. Go relax.”

“Alright.” He’s quick to agree, yet his actions say otherwise. For a man who’s known by others to sulk, in your doting presence he reverts to a state a comfortable serenity, regardless of this mild illness weighing heavy on his tired bones. Regardless of your ever so heartwarming instruction, he retaliates with gentle backlash, consisting of third grade retorts and heavy groans. All in good fun, merely poking at your funny bones to catch a glimpse of a smile.

He moves his hand in little circles against your belly, waiting for his baby to respond. While he doesn’t feel any kicks just yet, he’s excited just thinking about all the times they have to come.

As much as you loved every ounce of physical touch, the slightest pet peeve of him not doing as you requested for his own good irked your mind. “Jason. You gotta move.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You can play with the baby after you eat, Jason,” you insist. “You gotta eat, take some medicine, and rest. You can’t take medicine until you’ve eaten first.”

“I bet you the baby’s hungry, too.” Such sweet words from his mouth nearly had you melting on the spot. Already a doting father in waiting, how could you not feel your heart flutter?

“Jason,” you insist once more, your spoon resting on the rim of the cooking pot.

“Don’t wanna,” he replies, sounding both annoyed and amused by such insistence. His warm body never separated from yours for a mere five to seven minutes after that, your palm reaching up and back to catch his cheek, meeting the warm skin of his flushed face.

“You ever notice that you get grouchy during a cold—“

“I’m not grouchy right now though—”

“—the baby wouldn’t want their papa to be grouchy.”

“And you’re being a little mean.”

“Me? Mean?” You sounds surprised, though you’re smiling wide the entire conversation.

“Yes, you.”

“I could never.”

He doesn’t look at you though, his voice sounding playful once more. “You’re being super mean, trying to make me eat and take medicine and everything. The audacity, ma.”

You scoff as you closes the pot, turning your full bodied attention to Jason.

You smile, adoring your sick beloved, the father of your unborn baby gazing down at you with exhausted, lovestruck teal eyes. He always looked so cute, especially sick with a cold. Especially with the mentality of thinking he can do what he wants at this moment, thinking he’s said all the right words to coerce you.

“Good. That’s called love, now gooo.”

He sighs, and he’s really not looking forward to it. The idea of eating just doesn’t sound appealing right now anymore, nor does taking the medicine. Either way, the coziness of his woman wrapped in pearl colored cashmere with a cozy smile finally allured him towards the promising comfort of the living room couch, a temporary respite.

Inevitably, He left you to finish, granting the kitchen vocal silence for the next twenty minutes, apart from the soft drum of heavenly soup coming to a boil. Only when you come to find him did you see him flopped on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block all means of light.

You beckon him with a bowl of warm soup settling on the coffee table, alongside the eventual promise of lemon balm tea with a spoonful of crystallized honey.

“I don’t even feel that sick,” he grunts as he sits up, his voice starting to get a little hoarse from him talking (and complaining). Let the big guy say what he wants, you knew him better than even he admitted to allow.

“Then you’ll have no problem drinking my horrible concoction,” your gentle sarcasm would never be heard as unfavorable in his ears.

Jason takes a sip of his soup, slightly wincing from the heat on his sore throat, but he doesn’t seem as pleased with it as he’d originally thought. It tastes good, everything you’ve ever concocted for meals brought comfort, but as of now. he’s not really as hungry as he anticipated.

“What is this? Chicken, right?” He’s just making small talk now, wanting the conversation to last. “It’s really good, really, ma. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

You nod, not really happy about the outcome. But again, he’s sick. You can’t blame him.

“Take a few more sips, at least. Just so the medicine dosent make your stomach hurt.”

Jason looks away when you mentions the medicine, but he nods all the same. He eats what he can from his bowl, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion decides to increase weight down on his bones, forcing him into an even drowsier state.

All he does is partially lean against you after setting his bowl back on the table, keeping his eyes closed to ease the faint throbbing pressure building at the top of his head.

“I don’t even like cold medicine… I can’t sleep when I’m drowsy.” He mutters to himself, seeming to babble to no one but himself on not being so ill.

Your hand reach up to settle along his back, easing the tension with your fingers massaging his neck, confusion conflicting your mind at first.

“What you just said made no sense,” you giggle a bit, watching him lazily shake his head with a mild scoff.

He presses his head against the curve of your shoulder, his voice growing soft like a cat’s rumble. One of his arms settles lazily around your back. his body feeling practically limp.

By now, his response came in a series of short, muffled hums. He’s not complaining, really, but he is being extremely clingy. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, succumbing to an incredibly long sleep in your embrace, as if he can’t support his own weight. (He really can, but chooses not to.)

“On the bright side, the medicine says it tastes like honey.” You gently suggest, putting optimism where it may have lacked.

“Can’t you take it for me?” He lightly whines, his voice rumbling with a drowsy rasp. At this point, it’s not even because of the cold. Jason’s just too exhausted to think straight.

“I don’t know if pregnant women can take this kind of cold medicine,” you whisper to him, holding his shoulder after combing through his hair.

“Pretty please?” He whispers, his body feeling a little warmer from your presence. As comforting as it may have been to him now, a few minutes longer would’ve resorted in an uncomfortable ache in his neck from this poor posture.

“C’mon baby, just one little cup of medicine and you can sleep as much as you want. I’ll even yell at Bruce or Dick if they even try to call.”

Jason gives a light chuckle, his nose brushing along your jaw before planting a minor kiss along your neck.

“Fine, guess I’ll stop giving mama a hard time about it. It’ll be your job in about five months.” He speaks in second tense towards the bump in between you, followed by an eye roll on your end.

Watching you measure out the golden, syrupy mixture of potentially foul tasting medicine left him in a weak bind. He’d graciously drink horrid syrups consisting of fear toxin and joker venom if it meant you’d spoon-feed him an antidote. Such blind devotion was rare to come by throughout his life, comfort was your name in a foreign language.

He’s blessed with your smile once he had gotten the medicine down, rewarded with a kiss on the tip of his nose and a cup of promised tea, ambrosia to combat the foul taste. Goddamn medicine bottles with their stupid, deceiving lies.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.” His slurred mumbling surprised you the most as you adjusted the blankets between the two of you.

A light tongue click leaves you, shaking your head in denial from such an unnecessary apology. “Don’t be, you silly man.”

Whether from some conflicting guilt, or illness inducing dysphoria on his mind, or shame, you gently deny and accept his apology with another kiss.

The effect of the medication is quickly kicks into place after ten minutes in bed, starting to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Nothing but calm silence steals his consciousness for a few hours, warm bodies sheltered by the chilly winds batting against fogged glass throughout the long hours of the night. Despite the occasional faint echoes of neighbors next door and above, serene silence envelopes the minds of exhausted bodies.

You were snuggled up beside him with one of many pillows invading the space. Your cardigan sprawled neglected on the floor, cast aside due to the overwhelming seer of body heat.

He sighs softly, still tired, but his eyes glance over to the time on the nightstand clock.

He’s been asleep for hours, the time being … A little after eleven.

“Damn.” He whispers, drawing your closer to his body in a close hold. You feel so good like this, so safe. Spending all this time with him, doting on him, caring for him would mean the fifty percent chance you’d be afflicted next once he got better. Jason didn’t mind one bit, as much as he knew he should’ve been the one spending all his free time being attentive to your needs.

Either of you would look back on this and laugh of it, considering it practice for the baby.

For now, in the short time period of limbo between doctors appointments, checklists on supplies, criminal justice, and other impending challenges of becoming parents, everything was quiet. Calm, perfect even.

“Shh, the baby’s sleeping,” you softly retaliate, your hand cradling over his on the bump. You nudge just a little closer to the warmth radiating off him, seeking comfort with the furnace you call your beloved.

“What time is it?”

“Sleeping time,” he retorts, still sounding a little drowsy, his words coming out slow and somewhat slurred. His nose felt more stuffy than before, his head aching with a pressure that grew the longer he remained awake.

Once more, calloused fingers rustle against the fabric of his shirt on your body, potentially to be stretched during the later months to come. Here’s to hoping, he’s been secretly dying to see it.

“I love you both,” he whispers along your forehead, speaking from his heart in the sanctuary of your shared vulnerability.

You smile, tilting your head up to plant a soft, exhausted kiss on his chin. “We love you too,” you whisper, fighting back sleep to express an intimate act of love.

He closes his eyes, ready to sleep again. He’s not tired yet, stuck between the purgatory of both conscious states, but he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. At this point, he’s already half in the land of dreams. He’s comfortable—and happy to be with you, and with his baby.

“Never wanna let go of you two,” he mumbles, faintly catching the fragrance of your shampooed hair, the faint spice of ambery musk clinging to your skin.

You can’t help but quietly coo, burying most of your face against the crook of Jason’s neck.

“Then, don’t.”

[nataliescatorccio]

Annabeth produced a red rubber ball the size of a grapefruit. Before I could stop her, she raised the ball and marched straight up to Cerberus. She shouted, “See the ball? You want the ball, Cerberus? Sit!” Cerberus looked as stunned as we were. All three of his heads cocked sideways. Six nostrils dilated. “Sit!” Annabeth called again. I was sure that any moment she would become the world’s largest Milkbone dog biscuit. But instead, Cerberus licked his three sets of lips, shifted on his haunches, and sat. Annabeth said, “Good boy!” She threw Cerberus the ball. He caught it in his middle mouth. It was barely big enough for him to chew, and the other heads started snapping at the middle, trying to get the new toy. THE LIGHTNING THIEF: Chapter Eighteen, Annabeth Does Obedience School

[slytherinshua]

MATCHING DINOSAURS

genre. fluff. warnings. kissing. pairing. anton x fem!reader. wc. 1k. a/n. @eternalgyu here's ur anton delusions <3

“I have a present for you!” You said excitedly, pushing Anton’s back towards your bedroom.

“What is it? Should I be scared?” He looked back at you, bewildered, but still allowed you to drag him towards the bedroom door.

“Why would you be scared? It’s cute, I promise.” You reassured him, pulling out a gift box from the closet and setting it on the bed. Anton sat down beside you, peering curiously at the medium sized blue wrapped box.

“It’s not even my birthday…” He mumbled with a laugh, picking up the box.

“Just open it!” You urged him, getting impatient to see his reaction to the cute present you had picked out at the store earlier.

Anton was soft and pure, so warm and gentle to everyone and everything that he didn’t even know how to raise his voice. He probably couldn’t even hurt an ant. Knowing this, you should’ve predicted that he would be the type to unwrap the present slowly and carefully to make sure the wrapping paper didn’t rip. He picked at the tape that was holding the paper together carefully until it separated from the box. 

It was a little endearing to watch, but also tested your patience even further. You were so excited to see his reaction and to see him use the present that you could barely think of anything else. But one of the things that had improved once you had started dating Anton was your patience, so you sat and waited as he unwrapped the present at his own pace. 

“You’re making me nervous by staring so hard.” He laughed shyly, his cheeks flushed as he finally slid the wrapping paper off the box, successfully saving its form without ripping it so it could be reused on another occasion. 

“I can’t miss your reaction.” You muttered, leaning even closer to stare even harder which caused both of you to giggle. 

The anticipation in the room was probably absurdly high for the occasion, but something about this little gift that you had gotten for him on a whim was exhilarating for both of you. You may have just been in your crappy small apartment, the lights dimmed to save electricity and the space running a little colder to save on the heating bill, but it still felt like it was one of the most precious moments of your life.

Your boyfriend slid off the lid of the box, revealing the contents of it. His face broke out into a huge smile once he saw what it was, quickly turning to face you again with his excitement. You smiled satisfactorily. This was the reaction you had been anticipating all day.

Anton picked up the set of pyjamas from the box, still admiring them carefully. They were a light green colour with a cute print of brachiosauruses all over in a darker green. When you saw them in the store, you immediately had to buy them for him. There was no way you would be able to leave them hanging on the rack.

“Guess what else?” You prompted. Anton turned to you, humming curiously in response, still holding his pair of pyjamas in his hands.

You pulled out another pair of pyjamas from your dresser drawer and held them up. These ones matched Anton’s, but were pink with triceratopses instead. You grinned and he giggled.

“They’re cute.” He commented, blushing at the thought of matching with you.

Once you were both changed into the comfy new pyjama sets, you settled down to watch a movie which had been your original plan for this evening. Cuddled next to Anton would always be your favourite place to be, tucked comfortably under his arm. He rested his head on top of yours. Your eyes were stuck on the movie screen while his eyes were closed, enjoying the pleasant scent of your hair.

“Did you get new shampoo?” He asked in a whisper, catching your attention enough for you to look up at him.

“Yeah. Is it good?” You smiled up at him, your eyes crinkling slightly— the sight made Anton’s chest feel warm.

“Smells like grapefruit.” He noted, breathing in the scent again, smiling against your hair, his nose buried in it. The feeling made a million butterflies start to dance in your stomach. 

You both focused back on the movie, watching mostly in silence, though sometimes you or Anton would let out soft giggles at something funny in the movie. Time went by quickly and before you knew it the end credits were rolling on the screen. Anton reached over to grab the remote and turn off the screen while you just snuggled deeper into the soft blankets you both were under.

There was a bit of a shift as you both got comfortable and ready for sleeping. You liked to fall asleep in a position that was still close and cuddled up to Anton, but at a distance where you could still look at him for your last whispered conversation before finally falling to the depths of your dreamland.

Anton smiled at you, cheek squished adorably against the pillow, his left hand resting against your waist and tracing the small pink triceratops on the fabric of your pyjama pants.

“Thank you for the present, lovely.”

“They were too cute not to get.” You grinned, eyes closing as tiredness swelled through your body. You loved falling asleep next to Anton, and you could feel the drowsiness taking over quickly.

“Don’t fall asleep yet.” Anton whined softly. You forced your eyes open to catch his pout before they fell shut again.

“Why? I’m tired.” You mumbled.

“You haven’t given me a goodnight kiss yet.”

You laughed softly at his response, “Come get your goodnight kiss then.” 

It didn’t take long for Anton to take you up on your offer, giving you just a small gentle kiss on the lips before settling back down on his pillow.

“I love you.” You whispered to him, teetering on the edge of awakeness and slumber. You fell asleep before you could hear him say it back to you, but those 3 words followed you into your dreams for the night, bringing warmth to your chest and the perfect familiar comfort that was always an effect of Anton.

↳ riize taglist: open!

[riaki]

dog treats (for humans) | yuuji itadori x reader

pt.5 of christmas event! vry short sorry, a day late but it works as fluff for the jjk ep today !?

"[name], look! i baked something!"

your immediate thoughts are something along the lines of oh, no.

yuuji's a decent cook. or at least, that's what you like to believe; hours of the two of you making messes in your kitchen after ruining the recipe book you were following prove otherwise. still, he's not half bad. and there was that one time he taught his roommate to make meatballs; something vague like 'a legacy of hotpot meatballs'. that's your boyfriend for you.

baking, though, is certainly not his forte. as demonstrated by the giant blob of half-baked somethings on the tray; an amalgamation of dough stuck to the wax paper.

you're not quite sure what you're looking at when you enter the kitchen of your apartment; it's an absolute mess. there's flour everywhere, and some strange looking leftover dough sitting in a clump on the counter. it smells a bit weird, but that's not new. what draws your attention the most other than the flour coating the polaroids on the fridge or the four spatulas on the counter is the mess on his person.

he's coated in flour. there's dough sticking to his cheeks, almost like whiskers on his face— but that does nothing to dampen the sunny grin on his lips. his hair is ruffled, clumps of flour and powdered sugar clinging to the tips. you can just picture him mussing his hair in frustration, fingers running through the soft pink strands, the color of grapefruit and strawberry lemonade on a midsummer evening.

"what exactly did you make?" you asked, glancing him up and down. he's wearing the holiday apron you bought him on a whim; it's so dirty that you don't even recognize the pattern of the golden retriever stitched to the front. it looks more like a lima bean now.

he grins, pushing the baking tray towards you as if you're supposed to come to some grand realization of what exactly he did make.

"i made dog treats! for fushiguro. you think he'll like 'em?"

"those are dog treats...?"

you certainly wouldn't've been able to tell from first sight. but that explains the peculiar smell; it must've been a product of whatever he was doing.

"yeah! aren't they great?" he laughs, full of mirth, and you catch his smile on your own lips. his enthusiasm is infectious.

"they seem more like regular cookies." you note, observing the mess on the tray. the edges are burnt a gentle caramel crisp; if you didn't know better, you would've definitely taken the initiative to make cute cookies with your cookie cutters and frost them however you like.

you're too lost in your thoughts to notice what he's doing until it's too late— your stupidly beloved boyfriend has broken off a chunk and taken an equal sized bite out of it, chewing with all the thoughtfulness of a michelin star chef. there's a few crumbs in the corner of his mouth, and if not for the contents he probably would've asked you to wipe some jam on his lips and treat yourself to a sweet treat on his cheeks.

"yuuji!" you reach out, snatching the tray from him and setting it down before you scowl out the cheeky look on his full cheeks. "spit it out." you demanded, and you're faintly reminded that it's probably fine for him to be eating them because he's acting like a puppy anyway.

he just grins at you through a mouthful, shaking his head vigorously and swallowing as he pumps his fists, and you can practically see the stars in his eyes. "'s great! you shbould try ib, bwabe."

you just roll your eyes (albeit fondly), reluctantly reaching over to the tray to break off a chunk of the dog treats(?). you give it a good feel and sniff before nibbling off a piece, trying to discern the taste in your mouth. you're starting to think that yuuji might've mistakenly made regular cookies and called them dog treats. there was no sign of raw meat or anything on the counters, which only strengthened your suspicions.

"hey, it's actually not that bad." you marveled, glancing up at him again. he's watching you expectantly, waiting like a little puppy for your response. his eyes light up like stars; far too excited for such a weak answer as yours, but his enthusiasm shines through either way.

"right? i was thinking, maybe we could keep them to ourselves..."

"don't get carried away, yuu." you sighed, shaking your head. but he just grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to press an insistent smooch to your lips.

he laughs, sending vibrations through your skin as he peppers your face with floury eskimo kisses. "you'd rather me gift him these things? he'd sic his dogs on me!"

"...maybe you're right. let's just keep them, then."

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[brujahinaskirt]

look i love john marston once and true i really do but listen if i were ms. abigail roberts

i would have shacked up with arthur so fucking fast after john ditched me his lil possum-man head would have been spinning on his neck way out in whatever hole he was hiding from the smoking ashes of my broken heart in. "stand by your man?" "give him space?" "take a chance that love exists?" no. i would not. i would have simply turned around and brought The Big Hoss to stable with EXTREME marston-negative malice. i know i know, arthur is sooo loyal he wouldn't leave dutch but yes he fucking would. we are not talking about some copypasta y/n buckle bunny here with no distinguishing features. this is ABIGAIL FUCKING ROBERTS. are you telling me if abigail "The Best Person Alive" (Arthur Morgan, "Abigail You're the Best" speech, 1899) roberts walked up to this babytalking Fatherhood And Other Dreams-addicted wifeless Wifeguy with a cooing toddler stuck under her arm and said "arthur you're jack's daddy now. arthur he's soooo small arthur. he's the size of a single grapefruit. arthur we have to protect your microscopic pea-sized incredibly tiny son" he would not have said Yes Maam and split that camp like the ass crack in a pair of Forever 21 jeans. i'm sorry to this woman but if i were Miss Thang the Van der Linde Princess Herself I would never have waited on a man (J*HN M*RSTON) to come crawling back to me. wait for what?????? i would have waltzed up to that sad sagging open concept tent, outstretched my gleaming ex girlfriend eagle talon and snatched mr I'm-a-Lonesome-Cowboy by his barely concealed raging domesticity stiffy and we would have blown that fucking outfit in two shakes and a holler. i would have ZOOMED onto that orhter-mahrrgahn-shaped gravy train at such fucking velocity you would not believe it. dump ME like a rusted can of peaches. oh no no no. could NOT be me. me and MY peaches would have been out of that whole marston sitchuation and making nice with big brother on a little homestead somewhere at mach 1 (one vindictive bitch) speed. leave me with a fucking baby sleeping on the grass. kiss my outlaw ass. not if I'M ABIGAIL FUCKING ROBERTS. john would have come stumbling back a year later dragging his jaw behind him like "huh??? wuut??? MY BABYCAKE IS WHERE??? WITH WHO" and the revelation that the bad bitch he tossed out with his toenail clippings was now eating bon bons or whatever on his brother's knee in callyfornya would car compact john's world into the size of a soup can. but i wouldn't bat one pretty eyelash about it because i would be spending my enormous devoted husband's train robbing funds on exotic fruits and fancy $15 token mugs and other dumb shit. john fucking god damned linguini legs marston. break my goddamn heart?? bet. arthur knows how abigail takes her coffee. jack would not even know who tf john marston is.

[pppppppppppt]

His hips thrust weakly as more and more cums fills your belly. And you watch as it bursts from cock and your belly starts to swell. He cums for several minute, by the end, your belly is pressing firmly against your engorged breasts, you slump forward as much as you can, exhausted. Suddenly, you feel hands on your tits and a hungry mouth wrap around your still hard nipples. You try to pull away, but between his strength and the cock impaling you, its impossible. And soon enough, you feel it. His cock swells, pushing deeper and deeper, the outline more and more clear as he sucks. You can feel his balls against your ass begin to grow too. His hips start to buck upward again and soon enough he's thrusting his expanding member into you. And soon his thrusts become erratic and he unleashes another wave of cum. Your bell swells more and more than it did last time until mercifully you watch as it pulls your swollen breasts from his mouth. You're so full of his cum that your breasts sit atop your belly, its has to be three times the size of them now, you can't even wrap your arms around it. His thrusts finally stop, and you feel him getting softer. You carefully stand up, unsteady with your incredible change in weight, and you feel his thick cock slide out of you. You collapse on the bed next to him and watch as cum still pulses from his softening cock. Even softened he's still much bigger than anyone you've ever seen, and his balls are the size of grapefruits. You try to lean forward to cup some of the cum still spilling out of his cock, but it takes a few tried before you can get some and spread it over your chest. Belly full of cum, breasts grown to unbelievable size, and heavy with milk, you keep trying to scoop up more to bathe in. You feel a little more growth before your exhaustion overcomes you.

You wake up to a heaviness in your body and the messy bed. Your cum filled belly is mostly gone, but you aren't sure why. There's no cum on the floor and bed, even the cum that should be on your chest is gone. You look over to his sleeping form and see a normal sized dick, laying atop two huge balls. Your own new assets are the same as when you fell asleep, but as you stumble to the bathroom, you understand why your body feel so heavy. You barely fit through the door now your hips and thighs have grown too. They're enormous, you can barely turn around to see your ass. Your flesh jiggles and shakes with every movement. You sink your fingers deep into the soft folds of your ass and watch them disappear. Your knees shake and nearly buckle as a wave of euphoria rolls over you. An insatiable desire is building in your body, and you rush back to the bedroom. You straddle his legs and take his cock in hand. Slipping it into your mouth you suck and lick it until slowly but surely it slides deeper and deeper. You feel as it begins to stretch your jaw and throat, you feel with your hands the bulge it makes in your neck, and shudder as it keeps sliding deeper and deeper. By the time it stops sliding down your throat, your pussy is dripping. He finally wakes up just as your about to pull his cock out and let him grow your tits even more. But he grabs your head and forces it down on his cock, into your cleavage. You feel him swell and thrust as rope after rope of cum pours down your throat. Its too much and it start gushing from your mouth, on to your chest. He finally lets go of your head and you pull it free from his cock, the last of his cum splattering your face and chest. A wide grin spreads across your face as you sink your hands into your chest and rub his cum into your skin. The familiar heat begins and once again, your chest swells. You feel your skin stretch and soon your hands can't even reach your nipples, which are enormous and continuously leaking streams of milk. He stands up, and pushes you onto your back. He leans forward, putting your soaking nipples in his mouth, and his cock between your breasts. From where he is. The head just barely peaks out, but as his thrusting begins and he drinks more milk, you watch as the head inches up to your face, precum leaving a thick trail up to your chin. Finally he lets go, slides back and starts pushing his gigantic cock inside you until finally the bulge is pumping in and out between your breasts. When he cums again, its even worse than before. He pumps so much into all at once your brain goes blank and you start crying out for more. Begging him to fill your stupid cow cunt. To balloon it out with his massive loads, and turn you into a proper breeding cow. His pace doesn't slow and he cums three more times. The girth of his cock was enough to keep it inside, but now it pours out onto the bed and you beg him for even more. Your brain is broken now, and you full expect to wake up tomorrow and see a line of hungry men waiting to fuck you their cocks all similar to this behemoth. All there to fuck you full of cum until your belly reaches the floor and your tits are so swollen you can't walk. Maybe they've even be generous and fuck your throat and ass.

Oh fuck🤤🐮

Are you a smut writer cause this is really good like holy shit😍❤️

[makeyoumine69]

Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter Eight)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: Patrick locked you in the bathroom of Timothy Price's summer house. Scared and lost, you tried desperately to get out, not really understanding that he was probably doing it to save you from himself.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, swearing, childhood traumas, toxic behavior, self-loathing, sexual tension, fingering, first time sex, pet names, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, guilty pleasures, corruption kink, body worship, hair pulling.

WORDS: 5k

A/N: Hello dears, here's another chapter! I plan to post several flashbacks after this one! Thank you so much for supporting this story, I love you all!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

"...Patrick, are you still there?" You pressed a shaky hand along the wooden bathroom door, swallowing your salty tears. "Please…don’t go away! I’m…I’m scared."

You began to panic as you heard his distancing footsteps as Patrick moved downstairs to the kitchen, still not really understanding what and why he was doing all of this. The man opened the freezer and took out an ice pack before going back to the bathroom you were locked in. Frowning, he gently opened the door, peering inside before opening it. When he saw you, barely standing on your feet, Bateman pulled you down to sit on the edge of the bathtub, being as gentle as he could be. Then, he ran a hand down your thigh for a moment before lifting you leg up, wrapping the ice pack around your sprained ankle and propping your foot up against the sink. 

Visibly exhausted, he sighed and looked in the mirror, seeing the small gash in his lip and shaking his head. "I guess…I've had worse." Patrick looked back at you and crossed his arms. "I…I'm…uh…I'm sorry too…for…slapping you..." The man scrunched his nose, clearly uncomfortable with apologizing but trying his best. "It, uh... it works in movies... to calm people down... I thought it'd...whatever-" He coughed and rubbed his nose before looking back at you. "But- uh... I'm not upset that you aren't Courtney or Bethany or some other whore I slept with- I just... I don't like it when you... get upset at me for watching porn. It's a normal thing for me."

"A normal thing?" You repeated, glancing at him sternly. 

Bateman nodded. "This is exactly what I’ve said."

Was he genuinely concerned about you or did he just want to manipulate you?

God, how many times has he already done this?

Maybe it did not matter, since you let him do it, you wanted to be manipulated, even now. "You know, I didn't sleep with my ex-boyfriend because," you stopped halfway, not sure if this was the right time to bring up such a topic, but the desire to dotting the I’s and crossing the T's between two of you overcame any doubts. "Because my family always told me not to go out with boys—they didn't want me to become a whore," you confessed, trying to move your ankle, hissing with pain as it still hurt. 

"If you move, your ankle will swell to the size of a grapefruit." Patrick tried to interrupt you but you didn’t falter.

"...they kept insisting that sex was something sinful and dirty, so when I grew up I had no idea what physical intimacy was. I even…consider myself frigid," you watched as Bateman's eyebrows furrowed in exasperation. "Sorry to bring that up. I... I was going to say…why didn't you ask me to... help you instead of watching porn, but then I realized how stupid it would be... to ask such an inexperienced virgin like me for help." 

Annoyed, the man shook his head and gently put a hand on your back, urging you to stay seated. "Even if you did have sex with your ex-boyfriend...Courtney is a whore because she's cheating on Luis and not just with me either. Bethany was a whore because she was getting married to Robert fucking Hall." Bateman chuckled at himself, the image of the last lunch with Bethany relapsing in his mind. He ignored it though, keeping the friendly smile on his face. "I didn't think to ask you because I knew you would say no." He admitted, showing his fear of rejection. 

"There's a huge gap between us," you licked your lips briefly as you watched your reflections in the mirror. "It always has been, even when we were children. Your family is much richer and more influential, that's enough to make you feel superior, isn't it?"

Patrick hesitated before he also started opening up, deciding it was his turn to talk about his family. "Uh, my whole life I was pretty much... surrounded by sex. Father left these... porn magazines around the house and Sean and I often caught him fucking... well anyone, really. Started with just my mother, but after she became suicidal and drugged up, he would bring women into the house- sometimes he would just bang our maids. Mother was always asleep. Until she wasn't one day." The corner of his eyes twitched slightly, but the stoic mask didn't falter

"Patrick…I’m sorry, but it's not your fault to be born into such a family…with so much power and wealth." You gasped and closed your eyes for a moment. "The thing that bothered me the most about our arranged marriage is... the heir our families would probably want us to have. And if they really do want this, I don't want our child to suffer…I only want good things for them…I don't care about myself, I just want the baby to be happy." Saying that, You didn't even notice that you were crying again, your tiny hand clasped around his involuntarily, sending shivers down your spine from the mere physical contact. 

Embarrassed, Patrick tensed slightly at the sudden touch, but then he hesitantly moved his hand to entwine his fingers with yours, not looking at your hands so he wouldn't talk himself out of it. Blushing a bit, the man stared at his reflection in the mirror, but all he saw was an expressionless mask. It was difficult for him to tell what was real and what was not. 

"My life was hell." He said tonelessly. 

Sitting closer, you carefully rubbed a small circle into the top of his large palm.

My poor little boy. Why did all this happen to you? Why?

Bateman was usually open about how unhappy he was in life, but people never listened. It's gotten to a point where he actively made threats against people just to see how far he could go without anything noticing. 

Confused, Patrick raised an eyebrow and looked down at you. "...A child?" He repeated. 

How could he have not thought about that? Of course they would be expected to have children. Patrick liked children, and he often imagined himself as a father. But he usually imagined it with Jean or Courtney or a random model he saw on TV. 

"Uh... the baby will be happy, don’t worry," he stated, looking away from you as he spoke so he wouldn't have to see you cry. "After this marriage, I'm planning to... cut contact from my family." 

As a lurking sadness creeped up into your chest once again, you frowned and closed your eyes at his last words—burning bridges with family was not the easiest way to solve the problem, but despite your urge to persuade him to find another solution, you should have respected him and his choices. 

"I see," you murmured and before you knew it, your  lips were pecking his soft cheek, usually perfectly shaved but now a bit stubbly. "This is very brave of you to do this. I think I should follow suit and do the same." You sighed and looked down at your intertwined fingers, the sight making your heart beat so fast, that you felt slightly light-headed. "But speaking of heirs, I don't think I'm ready for children, neither are you...I suppose," you  slowly kept stroking his warm palm. "To be honest, I don't want my life to be limited by taking care of children while you're out having a great time in clubs with other women..." you stopped, biting your lip as you didn’t really mean to say it. "But as I said so many times already…I'm not going to judge you, that's the lifestyle you always had and will have. The lifestyle that so few people on our planet can afford."

Rubbing his cheek where you kissed him, the man chuckled and shook his head. "No... no kids yet... I don't think I even have enough room in my apartment." He admitted sheepishly—he didn't like to admit that his apartment was rather small. Then, Patrick glanced down at your clasped hands and flexed slightly, the veins becoming visible under his tan skin. "Well…" He started then paused. "...I don't really... like partying." Bateman admitted, looking over at you again. "I think they're loud and stressful. It's also tiring to have to make reservations at so many restaurants every single day... " He sighed. "But it's a cycle I can't break. Because it's... well, it's my life. Maybe when I'm older, it'll be... hip to stay at home instead of going to the Tunnel every night."

After listening to him attentively, you took your hand away and made another attempt to stand, but failed and fell right into Bateman's embrace—and thank God you both didn't fall into the tub, as he managed to keep his balance. And now, you were literally straddling him, your hands instinctively wrapped around his strong neck and you could feel his burning flesh pressed against your womanhood. It was so hard and throbbing—you  had to close your eyes for a second to keep yourself together. 

"Sorry," you murmured, staring into his walnut eyes. "You... you have such beautiful eyes, it was the first thing I noticed when we first met. Do you remember?" You asked, trying to play it cool as Patrick looped your waist with his muscular arms and, doing it certainly on purpose, pressed you closer to his rock-like groin. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, subtle but definitely there. Patrick shifted as he felt his now growing erection pressing against the silk of his robe and against your elegant thigh. The man glanced away for a second, the eye contact making him nervous. 

Bateman flushed at the compliment and shook his head slowly. "No…uh, maybe… I don't think so.." He said slowly, instinctively pressing you closer.

Momentarily, you leaned down, about to kiss him hard on lips, only to stop at the last second, and instead of kissing him, you hugged him tightly. "You're so strong, as you’ve always been," you murmured, stroking his biceps through the expensive fabric of his robe, not even realizing you were playing with fire. "I can't imagine how hard you had to train to be in such shape," you hopped on top of him to make yourself more comfortable, accidentally hitting his hard bulge and hearing him growl. "I...sorry...I didn't want...uh…Does it hurt?" You started to get up, but then just stopped. "Can...can I help you with...this?" You asked almost breathlessly, watching Patrick's nostrils flutter with heat. 

The thunder still echoed in the background, but you didn't care. Not now. 

"I don't promise I can do anything from the porn you watch, but... but maybe if you help... if you guide me... it can work?" You asked, pursing your lips and averting your eyes from the burning embarrassment.

"No... don't worry about it..." The man husked through his clenched teeth before moving his hands down, squeezing at your ass with both hands. He grinned and tilted his head back. "Ah, fuck it-" He muttered, throwing all his standards and concerns out the window. 

Heaving, Patrick moved his hands underneath your legs and stood up, carrying you against his chest. Then, Bateman strode back to the bedroom, pressing kisses against your jaw before gently laying you down on the big bed. With a wolfish smirk, he kneeled above you and pressed his soft lips against yours.

What am I doing?

The questions echoed through your head, but your body refused to listen to what your jittery mind was telling you. Breathlessly, you squealed into his mouth as he parted your legs with his massive knee, making himself comfortable between them as you could feel his hunger getting higher by the second. 

"Patty..." you moaned breathlessly in response to his aggressive attack on your neck, and you  didn't even notice that you were craning your neck to give him more access. Not to mention that you were so wet, dripping even, and it embarrassed you to no end. "Wait, w-wait...please," you whimpered suddenly, leaning against his strong chest to stop him. "I...I've never done this...I don't know..." you struggled to breathe, your hands sliding nervously around Bateman's torso as you had no idea where to put them. "I don't know what to do..." you closed your eyes, unable to bear the way this man stared at you like the wolf that had finally caught its prey. 

It would hurt…it would hurt so much… but I should go through it!

Panting, Patrick pulled away from the kiss, using his knee to part your legs. He looked down at you with a soft expression, an expression he rarely showed anyone as he felt the urge to make love to you rather than just…having sex. The man reached over to run his hand through your hair, making your face more visible to him. You really were quite beautiful. So much different than his regular standards though. Carefully, he slid a hand under your back to hold you closer as he pressed kisses against your shaky throat. He gently bit at one spot and licked, sucking on your skin until a dark hickey was left. Growling quietly, Bateman felt his erection twitch by you moaning his name. But…he slowly pulled away when he heard your protests, looking at you with furrowed brows. 

Patrick swallowed before sighing lowly, licking at his lips. "Yeah, I know you're a virgin..." he said slowly. "I'll be…uh…gentle…you don't have to do anything if you don't want to. You can just…lay here…" The man moved his hands down your hip before slowly pulling on the lace of your underwear in a teasing way. All this time, he kept eye contact with you as he rubbed two fingers against your clothed womanhood, a smirk tugging at his lips when he felt just how wet you were. " It'll hurt at first...but it'll feel great after a few seconds."

"I know," you gasped in response to his remark about pain. "I know it's going to hurt, but I'm okay with that," you suddenly realized how long you’d been waiting for this—to finally be claimed by the man you’d longed for years. "I'd better shut up...I'm afraid I'll mess everything up." 

"You can keep talking, sweetheart. I like making noise." Bateman said smoothly, letting the designer fabric slip off his shoulders.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to catch a perfect view of his hard, engorged cock, bobbing as the man moved, its tip leaking and blushing red. "Maybe…we can have some foreplay?" You suggested tentatively, not that you weren’t ready—your  soaked slit was a great testament to how ready you were in a biological way—but your girlish nature wanted to live through this moment emotionally, to feel his touch on every inch of your trembling body. "What do you think about...mutual masturbation?" 

Patrick was losing himself in you, he pressed a few kisses to your head, taking the opportunity to smell your hair and savor your sweetness, but then paused. "Mutual masturbation?" He asked incredulously. "You might be a virgin, Becca, but you certainly aren't innocent... I like that..." The man readjusted himself so his erection would be in a more convenient spot for you to take hold of. "I usually don't like... innocence. It's, uh... inconvenient. Acting like a teacher." 

Bateman hummed and moved his hand to cup your virginal pussy before flicking his thumb over your clit. After that, he reeled his hand back for a couple of seconds before bringing it back, using one finger to rub the inside of your taut, lower lips in an agonizingly slow way. Grinning wryly, he glanced up at your face before shoving two fingers into your tight hole, making sure to move them slowly and deliberately. And even though you still couldn't believe that you were capable of suggesting such filthy things, Patrick didn't give you time to think about it as his poking digits caused a storm of sensations in your fuzzy mind.

“Uh...Patty..." You were ready to scream this nickname over and over again, closing your eyes from the way your taut nipples rubbed against his firm chest through the soft fabric of your top. "I think...I think I..." a nervous pause, then a swallow. "I think I like it..." 

“Yeah,” the man shoved his fingers deeper, indulging how warm and tight you were. “Just like that…keep your legs open for me.”

"Mmhm," you covered your mouth with one hand and cupped his thick cock with the other, feeling it throbbing from your touch. "I'm sorry…I didn't watch porn," you giggled nervously, your eyes closed as you shyly began to jack him off with hope that he was enjoying it despite the fact that your motions were pretty amateur. 

“Don't do that..." Bateman warned. "I want to hear you making all these little lewd sounds..." He added, bucking his hips against your hand to get some more friction. He groaned and tilted his head back. "Just…just move your hand faster..." He tried to encourage you, before closing his eyes, following the rhythm of your hand movements with his fingers. 

"Are you…are you sure…it will fit?" Your question hung in the air for a moment before you continued. "You're so... so big, I'm not sure if just the tip would fit..." your breathing was labored and shallow, and it grew more rapid the deeper Bateman pushed his fingers. "Do it...do it fast, okay? Don't worry about me." you stroked his cock more vigorously, sensing the drops of his warm pre-cum dripping down onto your hand. 

Without further ado, you pulled up your white top, revealing your heavy breasts and hard nipples, one of which you squeezed almost instantly, trying to add extra stimulation to distract yourself from the searing pain.

 "Fit?" Bateman grinned, his eyes having a mischievous glint in them."It'll fit. I've been with younger girls than you…and it always fits." He remarked casually, deciding not to mention that he actually did end up tearing someone's vagina from just thrusts. He groaned again, the sound coming deep from his throat. 

"I think...I think from behind is the best option?" You asked without even thinking, opening your eyes to find his brown ones, admiring the way his face was flushed and focused...focused on you.

The man nodded slowly and ran a hand through your hair, pulling at it gently. "Yeah... we can do doggy…you sure haven't, uh…watched porn? You seem to know what you like." Patrick chuckled and watched with glee as you played with your tits, his free hand immediately went to one of them, massaging and gently squeezing the heavy mound in his hand—his palm was smooth against it. He flicked his thumb over your nipple and bit his bottom lip. Then, he hesitantly pulled his fingers out from you, quickly putting them in his mouth so he could taste you and God, you were so sweet.

With a cheeky grin, he rolled his hips back from your hand. "So, are you going to get on your hands and knees or will I have to maneuver you…Dove?"

"I...I can't believe you still remember this nickname..." your breathing became more and more labored as you couldn't see exactly what he was doing behind your back, but maybe it was for the better. "...I've missed it so much, Patty." 

Damn it, did I say it out loud?

Patrick opened the condom after struggling for a bit, his hands shaking from anticipation. He cursed to himself quietly before slipping the condom onto his erection, making sure the condom was an inch from the tip to "catch the ejaculate" as Courtney would say. His eyes traveled to your body hungrily, staring at your back, then your ass, then the back of your head. Satisfied, he lapped at his lips before moving to sit on his knees behind you, his hands grazing over your hips. 

"I... can't believe it either. Guess it just came back to me." The man muttered before leaning over your back, his cock pressing against your ass cheek. 

As much as you wanted to look confident and brave, your legs began to tremble the moment you felt Bateman's strong arms wrap around your waist in a possessive way, as if you were an object. "Make it quick...please..." You pleaded, closing your eyes and already wrinkling the sheets beneath you.

Smirking arrogantly, he trailed his hands from your hips to your waist and then to your arms. His grip on you was tender and soft, a stark contrast to how he treated his other hookups. Patrick moved his hands down to yours, pressing his palms against the back of your hands. Then, he kissed your neck and did that also to your jawline before stopping at your ear. 

"You say that, but... I don't think you really want it to be quick, do you?" Bateman whispered, his breath hot against your face. He chuckled and pulled back slightly. "Tell me when you're ready..." He said roughly before bringing his body back to your hips, waiting for your signal. "Safe word will be... uh... vanilla." Patrick never bothered to use a safe word before with any of his other companions, but he felt it was necessary for you. His Dove.

"I'm ready," you mused, turning to face him. "You can imagine someone beautiful in my place, so it would be... more appealing to you." You suddenly added, knowing that your body was so far from the standards of beauty that Patrick preferred when it came to banging women.

Biting on his lower lip, Patrick could feel the tension in your body. He kept his hands gentle against your skin, holding back his urge to absolutely rail you senselessly. Bateman groaned when you pushed your hips against his, as he huffed softly and tightened his grip on your ass.

"If you weren't beautiful, I wouldn't be here behind you." He countered softly before reeling back. He positioned himself fully before pressing his tip against your opening. He inhaled sharply and slowly moved in further, your pussy wet enough for him not to use lube. Overwhelmed by the musky scent of your arousal in the air, he groaned throatily and began to thrust slowly, his cock breaking into your hymen. "S-shit... you're so fucking tight.." He croaked through clenched teeth.

Inch by inch, his thick cock slid inside, past your hymen, forcing your inner muscles to tighten around the foreign object that had invaded your innocent sanctuary. "Uhhh, it's so..." you clutched the pillow beneath, your eyebrows knitted together by the tearing pain. "...so big…mmhm…it won't fit!" You cried out suddenly as the pain grew, but when you tried to wriggle out of his grip, Bateman only pulled you closer, wrapping his hands around your waist like an iron ring. "Patrick..." you whimpered, and although you knew the safe word, you didn't want to be a coward, but these new-founded sensations were too much to bear. "Can you…k-kiss me…please?" Your hands clawed at his hips as if looking for something to help you to suppress the pain, you didn't even know why you asked him to kiss you as if it could really help.

Visibly irritated, the man moved his hands up your back and pulled you up not-to-gently at all, pressing his hot lips against yours. Next, Patrick ran his hand down your heavy breasts as he deepened the kiss, full of affection and desire. He pulled away only after a few moments, panting heavily, he looked into your hazy eyes. 

"You're... clawing my skin." The man hissed slowly, moving one hand to pull yours off his hips. "You know the word... if it's too much, we can just do oral for the night." He said roughly. "Your body will adjust to it... it'll fit. You just have to be patient... but if you can't, we can stop." Bateman tried to hide the disappointment from his voice as he spoke.

The undertone of his words hit you like a truck, encouraging you to give yourself an illusory slap in the face and to be strong and brave, since you were really acting like a cry baby, considering it was your idea. But the pain…the pain was so sharp and you didn't expect it, so now you had to think of other options, because you didn't want to ruin this moment completely, as if Bateman wasn't already annoyed. 

Panting, you quickly leaned forward, causing his cock to flop out of her without him holding her, and then you rolled onto your back, placing a pillow under your ass. "Let's go like this," you commented, taking another pillow to cover your face. "Doggy is too much for me right now…too painful…I'm...sorry...I thought I could handle it," you peered up at him for a moment, then at his still rock hard dick pressed against his flat stomach, encased in a condom and already slick with your flavor. "Why…why are you so big?" You suddenly asked, feeling silly because you were a nurse and you knew very well that such things usually depended on genetics and there wasn't much Patrick could do about it, but you asked anyway. 

Patrick honestly didn't care what position you did, he just needed a release. When you lay down, he moved back behind you and wrapped one of your legs around his shoulder, having a firm grip on your thigh. Huffing and blushing, he pressed his tip against your wet folds, humming softly as he felt your heat. Then, he glanced up and saw you were covering your face with the pillow once again. Bateman felt a sudden annoyance and reached over, pulling the pillow away. 

"Stop fucking hiding your face!" He commanded—a certain edge in his voice. "You know what's the only unsexy thing about you, Rebecca? Your fucking lack of confidence. I don't want to fuck you if you're always talking about how 'ugly' you are, or how you aren't worth my time, because-" He paused, staring at you and pursing his lips as he stopped himself from spilling too much. "It's just- it's unflattering... and I'm not going to fuck you until you promise me you'll stop hiding your face. Because I want to see your face." His voice was softer now as he stared down at you , keeping his hips completely still.

As if you weren't the only one who made me feel unattractive.

You thought, but didn't say it out loud. "I won't," you stated and stared into his eyes without a hint of doubt. "Go ahead…use my hole like you always love to." 

With that, you spread your legs wider, being on the verge of bucking your hips against his to impale yourself on his cock, no longer as hard as it had been. Panting, you looked up at the ceiling for a moment. 

'I want to see your face, huh, yeah, for sure,' his words kept spinning in you head, 'and who will he be imagining while fucking me, Courtney or maybe Bethany? Or maybe both together.' 

You fidgeted impatiently on the bed when Patrick still didn't move. "What's the problem now? I did what you said."

Something about your tone bothered Patrick. Apparently there was another unsexy thing about you—your jealousy. And your incompetence in hiding it. He felt his horniness leaving his body and his erection softening, a deep frown on his face that didn't leave any creases in his skin. He crossed his arms over his bulging, taught pecs and shifted away from you again, letting go of your legs. 

"You're upset with me." Bateman muttered tonelessly, leaving no room for argument. "I don't want to fuck you if you're going to be bitchy. Why are you upset with me? Is it because you aren't my first? I feel like I've been... nothing but nice to you lately." He hissed through clenched teeth, tilting his head up slightly and staring down at you.

A tired sigh escaped your chest at his words. Silently, you rolled onto your stomach, feeling so embarrassed and disappointed... again. 

"You're such an egoist," you commented suddenly, covering yourself with a blanket. "I've told you so many things about...my family problems, because you know, unlike you, my parents didn't allow me to do whatever I wanted," you huffed, realizing that it was pointless to try to explain anything to him. "Leave me alone," you finally blurted out, barely holding back your tears. "Do whatever you want, hire a hooker or a million of them, I don't care! Just…leave me alone!" You sobbed and hugged yourself. What an idiotic decision you had made, thinking you could help him when he didn't even see you as a woman. Shaking, you closed your eyes and hid your face in the pillow. "It was my fault…but you could have stopped me."

Angry as fuck, Patrick furrowed his brows, tying the robe back around his body. He clenched his jaw and moved off the bed, now standing besides you. "Is that what you think? That I was allowed to do whatever I want?" He repeated, his eyes penetrating the back of your head. "Well, uh, newsflash...I had my own problems too. I had my own issues with my family. Just because we were wealthy doesn't mean we were a picture perfect family like my mother so desperately wanted to perpetuate!" He was now getting really insane, his hands clenching into his fists at his hips. "You think your life was so hard, Becca. Well, here's what I think. I think you're too much of a self-centered, self-loathing bitch that's too clouded by your own sorrow to see anyone else's. Am I right? Did I… hit the nail on the head?" He spat. "You act like I'm some sort of villain, some burden on your life or some...some obstacle you have to overcome. Don't you know how that makes me feel? Every. Single. Fucking. Day… you are chastising me for something. Whether it be watching porn, or…or what, having a wealthy upbringing? Or having past girlfriends, for Christ sakes. You've always been such a prude, Rebecca. I swear, you were born with your own chastity belt." After he calmed down, he sighed and looked away from you, going to the door. " So, uh, y'know… think about that." He said before leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind him but making sure the lights were still on.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[surrogate-fawn]

Im a fan of #7.

Nesting (Werewolf AU)

Prompt: "The baby feels so low" [Also inspired by @hush-writes-preg's "Spooky Season Day #3" prompt. He can consider this an early birthday gift as well!]

Characters: Fawn, Newt/Asher - Pre-Polly Relationship ((Newt is owned by @mittysins, and Asher is owned by @killer-orca-cosplay.))

Context: This takes place in a modern world where werewolves are common amidst human society. Fawn is a packless Beta who is about to give birth to her ex-mate's pup. Newt, an Omega, and Asher, an Alpha, are a mated pair who took Fawn into their home -- despite the fact they're expecting a pup of their own in a few months. The three have formed a close friendship, though Fawn still feels like an outsider. After all, she was human only a year ago.

Disclaimer: This fic contains lore for my, Mitty's, and Orca's werewolf AU -- be forewarned there will be worldbuilding mixed in with the kink stuff. If story-heavy kink is your kind of thing -- like it is for us three -- enjoy!

TW: A/B/O dynamics, but within the context of a werewolf society; mentions of past abuse, werewolf-related birth troubles.

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

Smoky whisps of incense scented the room with lavender. The shades were drawn over the windows to block the fading sun. Golden fairy lights twinkled in the gossamer curtains woven through the support beams of the nesting tent, the only dots of light in the dark room.

The nylon pop-up tent was specially designed for those who were nesting. It clung to the baseboard and covered the entire bed in a snug, arched shelter. It could be zipped or unzipped in sections to create windows and doors as needed, or it could be shut tight for total privacy. The interior of the tent was stuffed full of jumbo-sized Squishmallow plushies, three oversized duvet covers, and one very pregnant werewolf.

"How you doing, Mama?" the mop-haired Alpha sitting bedside asked.

Fawn's pointed ear flicked in the direction of his voice in acknowledgement before she opened her eyes. She lay curled around a giant fox pillow, the soft material supporting her belly as she lay dozing in the tent. She had opened a section of the tent by the headboard so she could leave the nest if she wanted, but at the moment she didn't feel safe anywhere else.

"I've been better," she said, her voice lagging with fatigue.

A dewy layer of sweat clung to her whole body. Her clothing was shed to the bedroom floor, save for a black tank top and pair of boyshorts. The air around her was temperate, but her body burned with a mild fever. Her muscles felt heavy and useless, tired from months of carrying her pregnancy whilst fighting the tremors of rejection sickness. The worst of it had passed over time; but here she was, still feeling the effects of breaking her pair bond almost ten months later.

Oh, and being in labor for the last nine hours was not helping the situation.

The soft click of the door handle caught their attention. The pair of cryptids lifted their heads to look as it opened, the hallway light reflecting green in the mirrors of their eyes.

Newt's familiar scent -- much stronger than his mate's -- overpowered the lavender as he entered the room. Fawn's sinuses tingled with the spicy-sweet aroma of his smell, comparable to sassafras, that indicated his pregnancy as much as the grapefruit-sized swell of his lower belly. Fawn still struggled to describe the scents that were new to her.

The Omega approached her nest and held out the glass of tap water he'd been sent to fetch. Fawn craned her neck and lapped from it, her mouth too parched to obey her command. Her tongue was longer than it had once been, able to bring water to her throat as easily as any straw. She didn't pause to wrap her lips around the edge of the glass until her thirst was mostly quenched.

"Jeez, don't drown," Newt chuckled as Fawn took the drink from his hand.

Asher, the Alpha, got up from his seat and offered it to his mate with a nod of his head.

Fawn gulped down the last of the water and came up panting for air. "Don't tell me what to do," she retorted with a tired, playful grin.

"Don't tell her what to do, babe," Asher said, unable to disguise the smirk on his face as he set the empty glass on the bedside table.

The three shared a brief, quiet laugh.

Fawn's eyelids drifted closed as the room settled back into silence. She shimmied herself deeper into her pile of softness, falling easily into a twilight sleep; at least, for a few more minutes.

A huff of air left Fawn's nose a split second before her brow creased in discomfort. "Ash, start it," she said, curling tighter around her pillow.

"Yes, ma'am." Asher fumbled to unlock his phone and started the timer on his stopwatch app. "Started."

Fawn filled her lungs with air with one long breath and released it as a drawn-out exhale. The contraction coiled itself around her hips and squeezed, growing tighter by the second. The pain grew like a stinging vine around her belly, her ribs, her back, even wrapping around her upper thighs.

With a low groan, Fawn rolled herself onto her back. Her legs fell open at a wider angle than normal -- a sign her hips were loosening in preparation for her large pup to come through. She continued her ritual of slow, deliberate breathing as the contraction continued to climb to its dreaded peak.

Newt leaned into the opening in the tent, enough for him to run a gentle hand over the clammy skin of Fawn's arm. He didn't say anything, but his touch brought her a sense of ease. Even knowing that Asher was in the room, even if she couldn't see him, made her feel better. They'd only known each other a month, but she couldn't imagine surviving labor without them.

Fawn flashed her fangs in a snarl as the contraction reached its apex, the part she dreaded each time. "Ugh!" she growled through her teeth, her head pressed back into the pillow.

Newt's eyes widened when Fawn hooked her hands beneath her knees, drawing her legs up on either side of her belly. "Are you pushing already?"

"She's what?!" Asher gasped in alarm, his face appearing over his mate's shoulder.

"No!" Fawn growled, hardly able to breathe enough to speak. "My legs are about to fuckin' dislocate!"

She could feel the pup pressing its way out, prying open the flesh of her cervix as her womb squeezed it down. The pressure sent stabbing waves of agony between her legs. Her birth canal opened a little more with each millimeter the pup dropped, and now it was putting unbearable pressure on the ball-socket joints of her pelvis.

Fawn grunted in relief as the contraction ebbed. She released her legs, draping them wide apart over her plushies. Thankfully, Newt and Asher's guest bed was queen-sized and allowed her plenty of space to spread out.

"It's done," she announced, so Asher could stop the timer.

"Ooh, getting close," Asher said. "That one was thirty-eight seconds."

Even that short burst of work sent drops of sweat rolling down Fawn's sides. She pulled her tank top over the curve of her belly and tucked the fabric under her swollen breasts. She caressed the sore underside of her bump in long, soothing circles. The skin around her womb was pulled smooth as glass from the weight of the pup inside. She could feel where its surface was gouged by deep, purple stretch marks. Her pup wriggled impatiently beneath her hands, as if able to sense her touch through the thinness of the skin.

"Call me crazy," she said, "but I'm hoping this baby takes its time. It might rip me apart if it tries to break the speed record."

Asher checked the recorded times in his phone. "You'll be fine, it doesn't look like they're in a hurry," he said. "Just stay relaxed and the pup will keep working its way down."

Fawn gave a thumbs-up. "Copy that, Sarge."

"So, guys, are we taking bets?" Newt asked, resting his upper torso inside the tent.

Fawn tilted her head to peer up at him from inside the canyon of her pillow plushie. "On what?"

"Boy or girl," Newt grinned. He propped his chin up on his hand and beamed down at the redheaded wolf woman. "Should we take bets?"

"You boys can if you want," Fawn said.

"Just you versus me, babe," Asher chuckled from somewhere else in the room. "Fawn already knows, that would be cheating."

"No, I don't," Fawn said, quiet and matter-of-fact. She turned her eyes to the little golden lights twinkling over her head. "I didn't know if a doctor would make me contact my mate, so I never went to one."

At the mention of him, the mating scar at the nape of Fawn's neck became hot. She grimaced, able to feel each small wound his teeth had left when he'd inflicted her with the curse of the wolves. It wasn't as strong of a reaction anymore; the pain had at one point been overwhelming.

When she'd taken that first step out of the apartment with the intention to never come back, the mark had burned so intensely she thought she could smell her flesh searing. She was lucky Todd hadn't been home, because he'd no doubt felt the same sensation on the back of his neck -- where he had forced her to mark him as her mate as well. Had he been home, Fawn wouldn't have made it out of the building before he'd realized what she was doing.

"Besides," Fawn added, "I have no idea if I should go to a doctor or a vet now." Her freckled face paled, and she looked back up at Newt. "Shit, is that offensive?"

Newt laughed and leaned in to rub his cheek against her forehead. "Nah."

Fawn smiled as he brushed against her, leaving a bit of his spicy-sweet scent on her skin. She was still adjusting to perceiving the world through scent as much as sight and touch, but she grew more comfortable with it each time the pair scented her. Scent was transforming into language the more she utilized it. Maybe she wasn't sure how to communicate with it, yet; but there was something about it she was starting to understand.

"We'll show you the ropes once you're over the rejection sickness," Asher said, leaning against the nightstand so he could peer into the nest. "So . . . this guy didn't explain any of our lifestyle to you?"

Fawn shook her head. "Not anything us hum-," she paused, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Not anything humans don't already know. Transformation and full moon stuff, basically. He had me sell my silver jewelry before he'd even kiss me. I didn't know werewolves were that sensitive to it."

The boys shared a concerned look.

"Um," Asher cleared his throat, "we aren't. Silver allergies are rare as hell. A few poor bastards had a fatal reaction hundreds of years ago, and humans assumed it was a rule for all of us."

"Good old stereotyping," Newt said.

The lines in Fawn's brow deepened. "That piece of dogshit," she muttered under her breath. "I sold my grandma's pendant for him!"

Goddammit! Why hadn't she thought twice about Todd suddenly needing to "borrow" that money?! Her mating scar throbbed, seeping heat like an open wound where their pair bond had once been. A fresh sweat dampened her brow.

Newt brushed a few stray curls from Fawn's eyes and tucked them behind the point of her ear. "Fuck him. He's a dick."

"Yeah, fuck him," Asher agreed with a frown. His ear twitched as his scowl deepened, knocking his glasses askew. "Alphas are supposed to protect our mates, not take advantage of them."

There was a brief pause. Asher took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and added: "For what it's worth, Fawn . . . I'm sorry on his behalf."

"Me, too," Newt nodded. "Not as an Alpha, but as a wolf."

Fawn sighed and draped an arm over her eyes. "Thank you for that, boys. It helps . . . at least a little."

She felt like the world's biggest idiot.

When they'd met, she'd been seduced by Todd's hyper-masculine physique and charmed by his overly protective "doting". How special she'd felt, having an Alpha werewolf want her -- an average human woman -- as his mate. In hindsight, being an average human woman was exactly what made him want her. Easy prey.

How quickly she'd regretted her decision to let Todd put her in a mating press. After she'd endured the weeks it took for her anatomy to shift into that of his kind, Todd had convinced her they needed to breed as soon as possible. He wanted a large pack, as many pups as she could give him. It didn't take her long to realize they were the only reason he'd claimed her. Days after leaving him, she'd detected the strange smell of sassafras on her skin -- though she wouldn't know what that meant for two months.

The rejection sickness had masked any symptoms of a pregnancy. The effects were like that of withdrawal: fevers high enough to cause delirium, tremors, nausea, and full-body aches. She'd spent endless days and nights confined to the bed of a sleazy motel room. What carried her through was the knowledge that Todd was feeling just as shitty as she was. Yet, in her darkest moments, Fawn considered going back to him just to make it stop.

Then, her world changed when a fellow wolf woman at the drugstore offered congratulations based on her scent. This prompted her to buy a pregnancy test, and the thought of going back never crossed her mind again.

"Fellas?" Fawn asked, still blindfolding herself with her forearm. "Is a large pack, like . . . a status symbol for y'all or something?"

Asher shrugged. "Not as much as it used to be," he said. "It used to be a big deal in the past, like before we had the treaty with humans. That was because our packs needed the numbers for defense. But now? Not as much."

"Except maybe for those freakishly traditional families," Newt chimed in.

"Mmm," Fawn hummed in acknowledgement. She placed her other hand on the upper swell of her belly and gave it a thoughtful rub. "Well, this baby is mine. I'm not giving birth for the sake of some insecure asshole. This is my baby."

"Damn right it is," Newt grinned, his blue eyes glittering in the low light.

After a few seconds of silence, Fawn's limp-hanging hand curled into a fist. "Mmm, Ash . . . " Her voice trailed off into a chesty groan.

Newt looked over at his mate. "Ash, start it."

Asher pulled out his phone with a nod. "Starting."

Newt massaged Fawn's shoulder as she once again pulled back her legs. The pressure in her hips was immense, and the contraction was heaving the baby down with unholy force. Fawn pulled harder on her knees until she felt her pelvis widen, the bones drifting apart like tectonic plates.

"Breathe, Fawn," Newt gently reminded. "You're holding it."

Fawn hissed out her breath like a deflating tire. "God, it's coming down," she groaned. She shut her eyes and whined as the pup pressed harder against her cervix.

"Change position," Asher offered, bending down to see inside the nest. "Let gravity help you out."

Fawn released a high-pitched whimper. "My hips . . . my hips hurt."

"Here, hold on." Newt reached around Fawn and pulled out another of her oversized Squishmallows from the pile. He left his chair and climbed onto the bed, crawling through the opening of the tent with the plushie in-hand. "Sit up, love."

Fawn reluctantly let her legs fall. Her bones were lead. With Newt's help, she got to her knees and straddled herself atop the large pillow plushie so her hips could remain open.

"There, that's better!" Asher said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His phone screen reflected in his lenses, revealing the contraction had lasted twenty seconds already.

Fawn bent forward onto all-fours, rhythmically dipping her hips into the pillow as the pain climbed higher than it had before. The Omega at her side dug the heel of his hand into her lower back, allowing Fawn to rock back against the counter-pressure. Her deep breathing wavered, each inhale growing shallower until the wolf woman was full-on panting.

"Calm down, you're doing fine," Newt lulled, ghosting his claws over her spine. "Deep breaths, like you were doing."

Sweat appeared in shining beads on Fawn's reddened face, dampening the frizzy curls around her temples. "I can't," she gasped. All four limbs trembled, fatigued muscles giving up the last of their strength. "I can't . . . I need to lie down."

Fawn sank chest-first into the fox plushie, arms unable to support her weight. Her tongue dipped in and out of her mouth as she failed to control of her breathing. Her fingers sank into the duvet, claws tearing holes in the fabric.

The end of the tent unzipped, creating an arch-shaped door that Asher climbed in through. While Newt continued to knead Fawn's back, Asher laid himself beside her.

"Hey, Mama, look at me," he crooned, his face appearing in the corner of her vision. When her hazel eyes met his, he said: "You are owning this! There's no need to get freaked out. You're too tough for labor to beat. Take a deep breath for us, alright?"

Fawn wet her lips and maintained eye contact with the Alpha while she drew in a big breath.

"Good!" Asher smiled, patting her shoulder. "Now let it out and make the next one even deeper. Show that pain who's boss!"

She obeyed, but mid-inhale she choked on air. With a canid yowl, Fawn pressed herself against the Alpha's body. Her hips ground against the pillow, as if it would cushion the force of her pelvis being forced apart.

"Ugh, gravity's helping too much!" Fawn moaned into Asher's shirt. "This pup is about to fall outta me!"

"That's a good thing!" Asher encouraged, draping his arm over her and motioning for his mate to lie down beside them. "You're making progress. The pup will be here before you know it!"

Fawn's hips finally settled as the contraction eased off, but she still felt unable to move. Her pelvis sat wide open, and the hefty weight of the pup was sinking deep inside it -- even without the contraction.

“Augh, fuck,” she moaned, the sound rumbling in her chest. “Fuck . . . the baby feels low. It feels so fucking low!"

"Ash?" Newt asked as he rearranged the pillows to better support the three of them. "Are you still timing?"

Asher caressed Fawn's thigh as she shifted to support her upper body against the mountain of Squishmallows Newt had piled up. Newt reclined on his side beside her, flashing her a bright smile -- his fangs always hung over his lower lip when he smiled.

"No, I think we're just feeling it out now," Asher said. He'd left his phone charging on the nightstand, just in case they needed it. "I think we're 'reaching a checkpoint' as it were."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Gamers."

Fawn snuggled into the pillow mountain, trying in vain to get comfortable. It wasn't as dramatic as what they showed on television, but Fawn knew exactly what the hot rush of fluid was as it soaked the pillow between her legs.

"Umm, hey . . ." She nudged the pillow aside, revealing ribbons of cloudy water running down her inner thighs. "I think it's time to lose the shorts."

Asher pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And checkpoint reached!"

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

For five hours, no one left that tent. The room grew darker as the evening gave way to the early morning hours of pre-dawn. The boys stayed at either side of the laboring wolf woman, holding her steady in positions that allowed her pup to ease down with gravity.

Between contractions, the three werewolves lay side-by-side in tranquil silence. The sweat on Fawn's brow would dry, her feverish body would cool, but the warmth of two other bodies prevented the chills from returning. That quiet peace would be broken when Fawn vocalized during a new contraction, signaling the boys to sit her up and widen her stance.

Fawn was growing restless, wanting to switch positions several times during every contraction: squatting against the headboard, kneeling against one guy or the other, or falling into a half-squat in a pile of her plush pillows. The longer the night wore on, the more fidgety the laboring mother became.

At around four in the morning, as the trio rested together beneath the fairy lights, Fawn suddenly spoke:

"Is the cradle ready?"

"Hmm?" Asher sat up and readjusted his glasses.

"Is the cradle ready?" Fawn repeated. There was a glint of urgency in her eyes, although her tone was soft and even.

The fold-out mesh bassinet was visible from inside the nest, placed against the opposite wall. The pup's first outfit was already laid out atop the blanket lining the mattress -- a cotton quilt with embroidered rubber duckies that Newt had donated from the stash he was buying for his own pup.

After a quick glance, Asher responded: "Yep, it's ready and waiting."

"Can you grab some extra blankets or something?" Fawn pleaded. She gradually drew her legs up until her heels touched the underside of her thighs. "Just anything that's soft."

Newt sat himself up and gave his mate a knowing look. "Babe? You think this is that 'final nesting' the baby books talked about?"

Asher's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. It might be."

"What?" Fawn asked. She suddenly realized she couldn't remember what either of the boys had just said -- she wasn't fully aware of what was going on around her. It was so, so hard to focus on anything other than the pounding pressure that had come to rest in the curve of her tailbone.

The mated pair gave each other a nod.

"Ash and I have been reading books about pups like crazy this month," Newt explained in a lighthearted tone. "'Final nesting' is just what your brain does right before the pup is ready to come out."

Asher grabbed the corner of the topmost duvet and rolled it towards them until it became a padded cushion. He carefully slid it beneath Fawn and said: "Yep, it's an instinct. Got to make sure the pup has a safe place to land, you know."

Now it was Fawn's turn to go wide-eyed. "Wait . . . wait, is it happening?" she gasped, her head shooting up off the pillows.

"Maybe," Newt said. "You'll know if it is." He placed a pillow over his torso to protect his belly and scooted behind Fawn to support her into a squat.

"And if it isn't, then we'll just wait some more," Asher concluded. "Don't try to bear down if you don't need to."

Fawn nodded, gulping down the dryness in her throat. She had no idea what to expect with the next contraction. If the monstrous pressure she was feeling hadn't triggered her body to push by then . . . oh, God above, what was about to happen to her?

"I don't . . . don't know if I'm ready for this," she muttered.

Newt leaned in and rubbed his cheek against the side of her neck. "You're as ready as you'll ever be," he said. He intertwined his clawed fingers with her own.

Fawn didn't feel the next contraction as pain, only as a familiar tightness wrapping around her womb. All other sensation was snuffed out . . . massacred . . . left bleeding in the streets! . . . by the wicked downward thrust of her pup moving through her effaced cervix. There was nothing holding that baby in her womb any longer, and it was not waiting another minute to leave.

"Oh, my God!" she screamed -- out of fear more so than pain. Her hips jerked back, trying to escape the demonic pressure burning inside.

Newt squeezed her hands -- his claws never marking her skin. "You feel it?"

"Yes!" Fawn cried, her body shuddering under the hellish urge to push.

"Go with it," Asher encouraged, placing his hand on her knee. "Let's meet your pup."

Fawn held her breath and gave a shallow, hesitant first push. She wasn't sure if she was using the correct muscles, but it felt . . . how could she describe it? . . . it felt like she was doing something. A few seconds of strain later, she let up with a sharp yelp. Yes, she'd been doing it right. That slight nudge had sent the pup rushing forward.

"It's moving . . ." was all she had time to say before her body demanded she continue her efforts -- and double them!

Those few millimeters of progress kicked her urge to push into overdrive. Fawn braced her weight against Newt, put chin to chest, and bore down with every ounce of force she could. The crown of the head pressed deeper against her innermost walls with a fiery, thorny tug. The sensation of her baby moving through her after so many passive hours of labor was startling -- yet beyond rewarding.

Had her eyes been open to see, Fawn would have observed Asher's tender smile as he watched primal focus harden her features.

"Just like that, Mama," Asher praised, again stroking her thigh. "Don't hold back, give it your all!"

Sweat trailed down her flushed skin. Unable to hold the push any longer, Fawn emptied her lungs with a harsh grunt.

"It's already hurting me," she growled through closed fangs. Her voice strained as, for just a few horrible seconds, she resisted the urge to push. "Goddamn, this is gonna suck!"

Newt laid his chin on Fawn's shoulder as she sank into another deep push. "Whatever you feel, don't fight it," he offered evenly. "Your body knows what it's doing, Fawn. Listen to what it's telling you to do."

Fawn's ears pressed back against her head as her hips dipped lower to the duvet. She felt a small trickle of fluid drip from her labia, but the flow stopped as soon as she stopped pushing. A groan escaped the back of her throat as the contraction eased off and she was able to relax.

"That was great," Newt praised, unlacing their fingers and letting Fawn have her hands back. "You got the hang of it right off the bat."

Fawn sighed and balled the duvet beneath them in her claws. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her pulse hammered in her neck. Any sense of physical comfort was gone now, even between contractions. She knew there would be no peace for her until this pup was out and in her arms . . . but God only knew when that would happen. God only knew if that would happen! The pup was barely inside her birth canal and Fawn was already terrified that it was going to get stuck.

"What if . . . what if I can't get it out?" she panted. Her lower back was screaming, so she shifted her hips forward. It didn't help. "What do we do if I can't get it out?!"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Newt helped Fawn recline a bit further against him. He steadied her in his arms, his hands gently massaging the curves where her belly met her ribcage. "There's no doubt in our minds that you can do this!"

"And I'm down here if you need a little extra help," Asher said. He carefully took Fawn's leg and draped it over his lap, helping to open her hips now that she was in a more reclined position. "We won't let anything happen to you or your pup, Fawn. That's a promise."

"You're safe here," Newt said in a low, soothing tone. He continued to apply soft pressure to her sides and back, kneading over her sore body as if smoothing out a delicate fabric.

Fawn never doubted for a second that she was in loving hands. She dreaded to think where she would be right now if the pair hadn't opened their home to her. Without their kindness, chances were that she'd be delivering her baby in a motel bathroom or on top of a cot in a homeless shelter. These two had given her the ultimate gift: a warm, safe place to give birth. She owed her pup's life to them.

"I know," Fawn said, snuggling down further into the nest. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to Fawn's hairline. "Keep listening to your body. Don't rush what it's trying to do."

Fawn nodded, puffing out a breath as she felt the next contraction roll up from her back to her belly. "Okay . . . let's go."

She took in a slow lungful of air, waited for the contraction to build in strength, and pushed.

Her loosened joints spread easily for the pup's skull as it squeezed its way down her passage. It became an endless pattern: Fawn would push, the head would squeeze down, and her pelvic bones would spread over its shape as it passed beneath them. She could feel the rhythm of the changes.

Push. Squeeze. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread. Spre-OW!

OW! OW! Oh, fuck! Now it was so too big! Her hips were filled to the maximum, her canal stretched wide around a huge pair of shoulders as they slipped from her womb. She could feel her labia bulging from between her legs -- and oh, God, they ached! There was nothing but a layer of her skin holding the pup in, and it felt like a bubble of gum about to burst!

But she couldn't stop pushing. Not now, not when everything was raw and stretched and open and hurting so goddamn bad! Fawn curled her toes into the mattress and wailed as she threw herself harder into pushing. Her voice grew louder as she felt the inflamed skin between her legs starting to open.

"Good job, Mama! Here it comes!" Asher cried, his voice raised to be heard over Fawn's roar of effort.

Asher had his eyes glued to the pale, wet sac pressing out of Fawn each time her body strained. He'd read in their books that it was common for werewolf pups to be born with their membranes wrapped around them. That was fine, he just had to be prepared to remove it.

A tiny spurt of fluid leaked out from around the sac as the head began to stretch the skin of the perineum. The pup's size seemed to be keeping most of its sac unruptured, the fluid too pressurized to leave the birth canal. Asher furrowed his brow but said nothing.

Of course, Newt took notice of his mate's unease. He swallowed the unease in his chest, and scented Fawn's hair with his cheek again in the hopes it would distract her.

"Ash sees the head," he crooned. "Keep going, you're pushing like a pro!"

With renewed vigor, Fawn gave into her body's needs. Asher waited until a few centimeters of the solid white membrane stretched open Fawn's lips, then he placed his index finger against the bulging sac to gauge how much fluid was inside. He felt the semi-solid squish of the pup's head just beneath the film, but his finger pad felt the swish of water when he pressed down. That wasn't a very good sign, but Asher still felt confident that he could handle it.

"I'm going to help you out a little, okay?" Asher told Fawn, cupping his hand over the crowning pup. "Focus on pushing, and I'll help you open up. I'll go slow."

Newt once again sensed Asher's unease and made it his mission to protect Fawn from sensing it, too. "Pup's almost out, Fawn," he said as he gave her shoulders a brief hug. "It'll be out quicker with Ash helping you. Just take a deep breath and let yourself stretch."

"I'm trying," Fawn whimpered. "I'm trying."

As Fawn bore down against the pup, Asher ran his fingers against the sides of her lips. He nudged her skin open bit by bit around the sac, watching as it stretched from a small oval to a wide circle over the course of several minutes. Asher cringed as he saw the skin of her labia discolor from a raw red to an almost beet purple with the width of the head.

Fawn, meanwhile, had fallen completely taciturn. Aside from wolfish growls and whimpers, she made no efforts to express her pain verbally. Her focus had shifted solely to bearing through the ordeal, working with her body to bring it to a swift end.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" Asher cheered. He had his hands positioned at the apex of her inner thighs, supporting the tight skin as Fawn pushed the head to its widest point.

Fawn shuddered and let her head fall back on Newt's chest. Her mind was a mess of black static as the pup's shoulders ground against her pubic bone. She arched her spine as the pup ceased to move for one heart-stopping moment. Then, in a sudden lurch, the sac-covered head popped free into Asher's waiting hands.

"Awesome! Awesome, Fawn!" Newt cheered, peering over her shoulder as much as he could. He could see the white membrane resting in his mate's palm. "Babe, you got it?"

Asher nodded. "I've got it, don't worry."

Without drawing attention to it, Asher took the claw of his thumb and carefully -- oh-so-carefully -- punctured the membrane at the base of where he felt the pup's neck should be. A quiet sploosh filled the nesting tent as amniotic fluid rushed over Asher's hands. He hooked his claw inside the tear and slowly peeled the sac over the pup's head.

There wasn't much hair on the pup's head -- unusual, though not uncommon -- but that wasn't what Asher was looking for. He craned his neck at a painful angle until he could catch a glimpse of the pup's face. When he saw it, he paled. The features were predictably swollen, but the puffy lips were hanging open and dripping a thick yellowish mucus. Asher thanked the stars above that he and his partner had read up about whelping -- for he was able to recognize the tell-tale symptom of waterlogged lungs.

The mates locked eyes with each other and nothing else needed to be said or done. They both understood.

"This is it, love," Newt said, leaning in to help Fawn hold her legs apart. "This next contraction is going to be the one."

Fawn's jaw gaped like a suffocating fish, but finally her voice obeyed her command: "Is my baby okay?"

Oh, hell. She must've smelled the pheromones of their stress. Newt had been hoping she wouldn't understood what the scent of fear was, yet.

Newt smiled at her and brushed her sweat-plastered hair away from her eyes. "They're fine, they just need some extra help."

"When you push, I'll give them a little tug," Asher said. "It's going to hurt, but it'll be over before you know it."

Fawn squeezed her eyes shut. "Can't hurt any worse than this," she mumbled. "Just do it."

The boys were expecting the horrific scream Fawn released when Asher began guiding out the first shoulder, but it still made their sensitive ears ring.

"You're so strong, Fawn!" Newt said into her ear. He felt her legs trying to close against the pain, and he had to pause to pull them back apart. "I know it hurts, but you're handling it so well! We're so proud of you!"

Asher kept his focus locked on delivering the pup as fast and as safe as possible. One hand supported the pup's body while the other pulled down on the emerging shoulder.

"Come on, little guy," Asher muttered under his breath. "Come on, you can do it."

With an audible pop of Fawn's hip joints -- and another yowl from the wolf woman herself -- the pup's first shoulder slipped free. Asher wasted zero time in hooking his thumb under the tiny arm and continuing his steady, gentle tug.

A rather disgusting squelch accompanied the pup as it slid onto the duvet. The remains of the membrane bunched around its feet as Asher scooped it into his hands. The body was grey and limp, and all three heartbeats stalled.

"What's wrong?!" Fawn cried. "What's wrong with it?!" She reached for her baby on instinct, but Newt held her back.

"It's okay!" he said, adjusting himself to block her veiw of Asher and the baby. "It's okay, I swear! Asher's taking care of it."

Newt stroked her sweaty face with the back of his hand, doing anything he could think of to soothe her. It didn't stop the tears from flooding the exhausted mother's eyes.

Behind his mate's back, Asher brought the pup's face to his lips. His mouth easily covered the nose and mouth of the newborn, and he gently sucked the sour-tasting fluid out of its airway. Asher spit the gunk into his sleeve and repeated the action, rubbing his thumb against the baby's chest as he did.

It was a process that lasted less than twenty seconds, but to all three werewolves it felt like eternity. But eternity ended when the pup sucked in a deep, squeaking breath. The sound of its first cry was shrill, but to the trio it sounded like singing.

Asher couldn't help but start crying as the little body he'd resurrected wiggled to life in his hands. "Here he is!" he said, voice wavering with joyful tears.

Newt sat back immediately, allowing Fawn to see the baby alive and well in Asher's arms.

"Here's our boy!" Asher announced, laying the crying baby over his mother's heart.

Through the haze of her tears, Fawn looked over every detail of her little boy. She saw the layer of damp fuzz covering his skin, the points on his pink, folded-over ears, and the coating of protective skin over his miniscule claws. She thanked whatever power was out there for that last detail, because such tiny needles would've been horrible to feel coming out.

"Sweetheart," she told the baby, wrapping her arms around him, "don't make a habit outta scaring me like that."

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

"Is he already nursing again?" Newt asked as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand.

"He eats like a horse," Fawn chuckled, adjusting the nursing pillow under her baby. Jacob was the name she had settled on.

The sun was coming up now, filling her bedroom with a soft white light. Asher was on the floor, disassembling the nesting tent. It would be taken out again in a few months for Newt to use, but the Alpha was determined to Tetris the pieces correctly into their box.

Jacob was an aggressive nurser. Three hours old and this was his third time demanding his mother's milk. Newt and Asher insisted such an appetite was normal for a larger werewolf pup, but Fawn wasn't too thrilled to learn she was going to get even less sleep than she anticipated with a new baby.

Fawn quickly drained the glass of water. She wasn't sure if she would ever feel not-thirsty again. "So, Newt," she said, "I didn't scare you into wanting a C-section, did I?"

"Nah, not at all." Newt laid down on the bed beside Fawn, propping himself against the Squishmallow pile. "If you could get him out, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

Newt pet the thin strands of hair on Jacob's head. The newborn swiped a clumsy, mitten-covered fist over his head with a teeny-tiny growl. All three adults stopped and stared.

"Was that him?!" Asher asked from the floor.

"Yeah . . ." Newt said, withdrawing his hand. "He's very protective of his food."

Asher almost fell over laughing. "That's Alpha behavior if I've ever seen it!"

"How do you guys even determine that stuff?" Fawn asked. "Is it a sex thing?"

"Eh, a bit," Newt shrugged, "but it's also a personality thing." He tickled the folded tip of Jacob's soft ear, and got the same response as before.

"Ow!" Fawn jerked as her son bit down on her breast. "Stop annoying him, or I'm biting you, too!"

"Sorry," Newt chuckled.

"I can't thank you boys enough for this," Fawn said. "This werewolf shit is all sorts of weird for me, and . . . now I know for certain that Jacob wouldn't have been alright if you weren't with me."

"That's what packs do," Asher said, re-folding a segment of nylon tarp. "We look out for each other."

"Do we even . . . " Fawn stopped herself mid-sentence and looked away.

Newt grinned and touched his forehead to Fawn's temple. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Fawn grinned in return and rubbed her cheek against his hair, leaving her scent on his skin.

[hannahmanderr]

For @scarletsaphire's ask in response to this ask game. Prompt was #19 for Gray Ghost.

important blob ghost context here lol

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Danny, I swear there’d better be a good answer to why you brought me to the freaking dumpster behind the Nasty Burger at two in the morning.”

He turned back to look at her with a sheepish grin. “Aw, come on Val, I know how to show a girl a good time.” 

That earned him a thwack on the back of his head.

“Ow! Okay, okay, lesson learned,” he grumbled, rubbing where she’d hit him. 

“I’m still serious about having a good answer,” she said. She hugged herself tightly. “And thanks for warning me to bring a jacket by the way. Why can’t I put my suit on again?”

“You’ll scare them off.”

Valerie stopped in her tracks. “Them? Oh my God, do not tell me you brought me here to a dumpster to see ghosts!”

“Hey, you already established the dumpster thing!” he said, still wearing his goofy grin. “And I won’t tell you I brought you here to see ghosts, ‘cause I brought you here to meet ghosts.”

“... You are about three seconds away from getting shoved into your own thermos, ghost boy. Human or not.”

He finally dropped the grin. “Right. Sorry. Serious mode. But, uh, I am being serious about meeting a few ghosts.”

She frowned. “I thought we talked about this.”

“I know, I know. And I promise I’m not trying to change your mind or anything, I just… wanted to show you.”

He watched her carefully, trying to read her poker face. He hoped she believed him about not wanting to try and influence her. She’d made him promise, after all, and he didn’t break his promises.

Especially to someone like her.

Even if she was so close, yet still so far.

When she didn’t respond, he ventured further. “Think of it like evidence or something. Or - or when you go into a safari and you just watch animals do their thing in their natural habitat.”

“Isn’t their natural habitat the Ghost Zone?”

“Eh, sort of? There’s enough ambient ectoplasm around Amity for them to sustain themselves, I think. Plus I kinda get the feeling I’m like a magnet for the stuff, and since I’m always here…”

He tried not to shy away under her piercing gaze, as pretty as it was.

No. Bad Fenton. Friend.

Finally, she sighed heavily. “Alright. Show me what you got. But only because you already dragged me out here in the middle of the night, okay? This isn’t gonna be a regular thing.”

“Yes!” he said with a fist pump. He realized how stupid he probably looked, but he was too excited to care.

He turned toward the dumpster, trying to ignore the odor drifting out from the one opened side. Taking a deep breath, he put his fingers to his mouth, and with a little bit of energy from his core fused into his breath, he whistled soundlessly.

Soundlessly to humans, anyway.

Valerie tilted her head. “... What the heck are you doing?”

He shot her a grin. “Consider it the dinner bell.”

The first one faded into visibility right in front of Valerie’s face. She squeaked in very uncharacteristic surprise, and Danny didn’t miss how her hand twitched up to her bag, where he knew she stowed a spare blaster or two. To his relief, she didn’t move her hand any further and instead let the ghost drift towards him with a wary glare.

The little blob ghost was round, bright green and about the size of a grapefruit. Actually a pretty decent size for a blob ghost like this. Its core glimmered brightly from within its fluid body.

It floated towards him with curiosity brimming in its red, beady eyes. “Brrrp?” it ‘said’ as it bumped against Danny’s cheek. The sound could only be described as the perfect midpoint between a chirp and a purr.

He smiled widely and used one finger to scratch the underside of the blob. “Heya Jeff,” he said, making sure to pour as much affection as he could into his voice. In return, Jeff chirped again and nuzzled against his neck contentedly.

Valerie seemed to be frozen in place, not sure whether to be upset, disturbed, or endeared. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the blob sitting on Danny’s shoulder and Danny himself. “... You named a blob ghost Jeff?”

“Not me. Uh, Kat I think her name is. The cashier? In the year above us?”

Her eyebrows lifted at the name. “That’s who she’s been going on and on about? I thought she was talking about a puppy or something!”

“Mmm, nope. Probably this Jeff. I’m assuming anyway.” He scratched Jeff again. “Where’s everyone else?” he murmured, this time in ghost speak.

He didn’t really like having to speak ghost in front of Valerie, especially as she was still getting used to all his weirdness, but the blob ghosts didn’t really understand much beyond the common ghost language. Through some trial and error, he and Tucker and Sam had found that they seemed to understand human languages if there was enough emotion behind whatever was being said, but it had to be a pretty strong emotion, and even then it was hit or miss. They still always responded to Danny best, anyway.

Blob ghost communication aside, he couldn’t help but wince just slightly when he saw her troubled reaction to the ghost speak. Her face exploded with surprise before melting back into a guarded caution.

Jeff chirped a response before floating off his shoulder and zooming inside the dumpster. “Where’s he going?” Valerie asked quietly.

“Getting the rest of his family.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Jeff emerged from the open dumpster lid, followed closely by a dozen or so more blob ghosts, each of varying size and transparency, but all sharing the same green color. They all swarmed Danny, rubbing up against his face and shoulders and arms and brrrping happily.

He laughed at the ticklish sensation. “Alright, alright, cut it out guys!”

They in fact did not cut it out. If anything, they just cuddled up to him more. Excitement radiated from their tiny little auras.

Even through the bombardment of affection, he managed to catch a glimpse of Valerie’s face soften into slight amusement, even trying to stifle a laugh herself.

That alone made his heart and core soar far higher than any attention the blob ghosts could give him.

“Red, I’d like to formally introduce you to the Nasty clan,” he said proudly, attempting (and somehow failing) to gesture to the ghosts around him.

She pulled a bit of a face, but Danny didn’t sense any increase in hostility or wariness. “That’s not very nice.”

“I mean that’s what everyone calls them.”

“... Everyone?” Her eyes followed a particularly excited blob, only about the size of a grape, zipping around Danny’s head. 

“Yeah. A bunch of employees kind of took up naming them all, since they’re always hanging around here.” He glanced at her. “Honestly, I thought you would’ve known about them by now. Especially with your trackers and all.”

She scowled. “Daddy made me promise to keep them off during shifts after I got written up for ditching to help stop that one ghost who was tearing up the boardwalk.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that guy! You should’ve seen me trying to get off the Tilt-a-Whirl after they emergency stopped it so I could find a place to change. I just kept crashing into things.”

“Isn’t that what you normally do anyway?” she teased, a genuine laugh bursting from her lips. It sent Danny blushing deep red for more reasons than one.

Sticking out his lip in a pretend pout, he plopped down right onto the cement and folded his legs underneath him. “You hear that?” he asked the blobs, not caring that they probably didn’t understand a word of what either of them were saying. “She’s being mean to me.”

“Hey, you asked for it, bringing me out here in the middle of the night.” She knelt in front of him, nearly touching her knees to his. His heart skipped a beat as he realized how close she was.

No! We’re not doing this! Think of something else!

“They have a real name too,” he blurted in a desperate attempt to immediately derail this train, abort, abort -

“A real name?”

He cleared his throat as Jeff settled into his lap. His hands instinctively wrapped around him gently and began petting. “Well, like, an actual name. A ghost name.”

She watched as Jeff began to purr contentedly and flatten himself against Danny’s legs. “Will you tell me?” she asked quietly, refusing to meet his eyes.

Crap. Of course he didn’t think this through. Of course. “I - well, um, the thing is, there’s - there’s not exactly an English equivalent…”

“... Tell me anyway.”

His eyes jerked up to see her staring intently, a complete contrast to how she’d just been moments ago. The light of the blob ghosts’ glows cast a glimmer in her gorgeous green eyes, making him swallow thickly.

“Vakrot,” he whispered in ghost speech. “I… it kind of means ‘potato’? But not exactly? Ancients, I don’t know how to explain this…”

“Potato,” she repeated with a smile of disbelief. She shook her head. “Figures. They’re kind of shaped like potatoes anyway.”

He tried to calm his heart as another blob - this one nicknamed Pepsi, for some reason - nestled into his hair. They were way too tuned into emotions, and agitating them wasn’t going to do any favors. “I guess I never thought of that. I always assumed it’s because they like french fries so much? But now that I think about it, it’s not like there’s exactly a ghost equivalent of french fries - well, I did have these things one time at this little stand out past the Carnivorous Canyon, and they tasted a lot like fries, but they were in little balls, and Tucker -”

He blushed again when she held up a hand to stop his babbling. “Is that why you had me bring these?” she asked, pulling a paper bag out of her own.

He grinned. “Yeah. I thought you might like to try and feed them.”

“Feed them?” She raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that kind of go against the idea of it just being observation?”

Two of the blob ghosts were trying to squeeze themselves into the bag already. He snatched it away and held it shut tightly. Those things could be slippery when they wanted to be. “It’s fiiine,” he said with a drawl. “People do it all the time. It’s like feeding the ducks at the park or something.”

“You know that’s bad for the ducks, right? And wildlife experts are always having to tell people to quit feeding animals.”

He dropped his hands into his lap, bag and all, nearly squishing Jeff. “Killjoy.”

Now it was Valerie’s turn to grin sheepishly, though hers seemed far more timid. “Look, someone’s gotta keep you in check, Fenton. You may be trying to babysit Amity Park, but you need a babysitter of your own half the time.”

Hmm. He did not know how he should feel about her calling herself his babysitter.

Trying to shove those thoughts away too, he offered the bag out to her. “Come on,” he said, as if he were coaxing a puppy. “You know you want to.”

She stared at the bag, then at him. Then at the bag again. His heart thrummed faster despite himself.

After nearly a minute of contemplation, she slowly took the bag and opened it. The blob ghosts immediately caught a whiff of its greasy contents and drifted over, chirping and purring. Danny noticed how her muscles tensed ever so slightly, and he gulped.

He was worried for the blob ghosts, thank you very much. He was absolutely not thinking about how well-defined her arms looked in the pale glow.

Nope.

Valerie, with a look of trepidation, took a single fry from the bag and held it out gingerly towards the tiny grape ghost that had been racing around Danny’s head. It didn’t need any more invitation before it simply stuck the end of the fry through its body, nearly running into its teeny core. 

Danny couldn’t help but grin wildly as Valerie’s face morphed into one of fascination. The best thing about blob ghosts was their translucent exterior, which gave them a perfect view of how the little ghost - Pipp, if he remembered correctly - swam its ectoplasm around the portion of fry it had absorbed. The little portion of fry dissolved away and funneled into its core, causing it to glow the slightest bit brighter.

His felt like his face was going to split open as her wide eyes found his. “Cool, right?” he asked eagerly.

She was already holding the fry out to Pipp again. “I… I never knew they could eat,” she whispered. “I never knew it could be so beautiful.”

If only you knew how beautiful you really are.

His stomach started doing somersaults. 

He was so, absolutely, 100 percent screwed.

He forced himself to swallow and grab a fry for himself, offering it to Jeff, who immediately absorbed the entire thing in one go. Much like Pipp’s, Jeff’s glow radiated stronger.

“These guys are the best kind of ghosts for converting stuff into ectoplasmic energy,” he explained. Was his voice really shaking that badly, or was it just his anxiety talking? “That’s why there’s so many of them. They can keep themselves going on practically anything. And then they like to kind of put themselves right around ambient ectoplasm and help feed back into it.”

“Like a weird, unalive version of a tree.” Her voice was breathy. “A tree that likes french fries.”

He couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s… surprisingly accurate?” he said as he made a grab for a few more fries.

They spent the next few minutes slowly feeding fries to the blob ghost clan, laughing as one named Bingus (God, that name cracked him up) nearly absorbed Pepsi in a rush to get to a fry first, cooing with pity at the ones who got left out, and chatting back and forth about ectoplasm and ghost biology.

That last one made his core sing with just how genuinely fascinated she was with the science of it all.

Soon enough, they were surrounded by brightly glowing blob ghosts, lighting up the area like tiny green fairy lights. Pepsi had nestled herself back into Danny’s hair again, and Bingus perched on Valerie’s shoulder. Each of them held a blob in their lap, and other than one that had randomly decided to stick itself to Danny’s elbow, the rest drifted around the two of them in a lazy, post-french fry bliss.

Danny offered his last fry to Pepsi as he watched Valerie gently stroke Jeff in her lap. His stomach was still doing somersaults, and the urge to say something - anything - to her was becoming impossible to resist.

“Hey,” he said quietly. Thank the Ancients he could do without a little less oxygen, because he was pretty sure he was breathing way too shallowly. “I… I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him in confusion. “For what?”

Breathe in, Fenton. “I promised you I wouldn’t try and push you. Back when we - when I finally told you the truth.” Breathe out. “You said you wanted time to figure things out for yourself, and you didn’t want to be rushed. And - and then I go and do something like this…”

She didn’t break her gaze on him. “I’m guessing… this isn’t just about the ghosts, is it?” she said with a quiver in her own voice.

He didn’t know how it happened. He couldn’t feel his own limbs. All he knew was he felt himself lean forward and she leaned forward just a split second later and her lips were on his and his lips were on hers and they were sharing the most tender, soft kiss he’d ever experienced under the warm glow of all the little blob ghosts.

He wanted to leap. He wanted to fly. He wanted to dive to the ground and pull himself up at the last second and laugh at the thrill it left in his stomach.

None of it would compare to the thrill he felt kissing her.

And yet…

Something in the back of his mind desperately tried to pull on the reins. This isn’t right. 

You’re still pushing her.

You’re taking advantage of her.

That had him crashing back down to Earth.

Shaking, his heart and core aching, Danny opened his eyes and pulled back just far enough to take his lips off hers. Valerie’s eyes flew open as she felt his warm kiss disappear.

Their foreheads were still close enough to touch. Desperately trying not to break down, he rested his against hers and gently grabbed one of her hands. 

“I… I don’t…” he whispered, struggling to find the words through the haze of his panging heart. “Are you… do you… really want to do this?”

He had to ask.

Even if the answer broke his heart.

For a few impossibly long seconds, her green eyes bore into his blue, and another pang rippled through him as he drank in the tiny galaxies he could see behind her gaze.

And then she had her hands on his cheeks and her lips on his again, kissing him with an insatiable fervor. He found himself too stunned to do anything at first, and as soon as he could comprehend the situation, he was reciprocating just as longingly, holding her waist as if his half-life depended on it.

If he had been flying before, he had shot beyond the stars now.

Something flickered behind his closed eyelids, but it was the farthest thing from his mind. This moment, right here right now, this was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that existed. The only thing he could ever want and need, filling his heart and core with a love he couldn’t put into words.

And if her kiss was any indication of how she felt, if the emotion radiating from her entire being was true, then she felt the exact same love in that moment.

This time when the kiss broke, it was mutual. They stayed there on their knees, foreheads pressed to one another, both catching their breath and trying to calm their fluttering hearts.

He kept his eyes closed. He wanted to savor this. Memorize every detail. Memorize the feeling of her mouth on his. Memorize each feeling soaring through him at top speed.

“Um, Danny?”

His eyes popped open. “Wha- oh.”

So that’s what the flicker had been.

The blob ghosts hadn’t moved, but now instead of their normal green, their cores shone in a glittery gold, piercing through their translucent skin and casting the two in a soft, golden glow.

He lifted his head as he stared at them in wonder. “Oh Ancients, of course.”

“What? What happened to them?” she asked. A distant part in the back of his mind trilled happily at how concern for the little ghosts filled her voice.

He grinned shyly. “Okay, so um… you know how I said blob ghosts can take like, almost anything and turn it into energy?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah…?”

“I think, um… I think they might’ve felt our emotion? Since it was so strong? And converted it into energy?”

Red tinged her cheeks. “And what the heck did we do that made it turn gold?”

Well.

He was pretty sure he knew the answer. If the pull in his heart was anything to go by.

Instead, he let his grin widen. She was so going to hate him for this. “I mean, those fries came from McDonald’s right? The golden arches?”

As expected, her fist landed right on his bicep, forceful enough to startle the blob ghost latched onto his elbow but not strong enough to hurt. “Okay, yeah, I deserved that.”

Valerie shook her head with a blinding smile. “You’re such an idiot.”

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him again in the light of the warm, gold glow.

[michverdun]

(morph by @rene1morphs)

As the rushing water hit his muscles, he couldn't help but let out a loud roar as he grew beyond his wildest dreams. he knew that the growth cream he used was more potent when in water, but unlike his friends who only put a little on their chest or torso, he slathered himself up from head to toe, even putting a heavy dollop on his balls and cock.

Now, the already roided out young bodybuilder was being pumped to the limit, paper thin skin, being stretched out even more by bulging muscles, stretch marks suddenly appearing. His lats flared out like wings, and his biceps surged higher and higher, a mountain range of rock hard muscle.

He couldn't even bring himself to break his flex, even as he felt his cock and balls growing under the water just like the rest of him. His testicles turned into two giant grapefruit-sized testosterone factories,clouding his mind in a haze of sex while assuring that he would not only grow for fucking decades. His cock followed suit, the feeling of it lengthening and thickening indescribable to his already sex- filled mind. His cock head, the size of a plum, appeared along with seeing that the rest of his cock behind it was just as thick, if not thicker.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he thrusted against the water, still not breaking his flex. He needed more, bigger, imagining himself as a muscled boulder, winder than he was tall, and head totally consumed by his muscle. He imagined the feeling of being a immobile freak as big as a city, cock so huge he could plow the earth, head touching the earths core. He needed it, to be so disgustingly over muscled that he was bigger than the fucking planet--

Just then, he blew. A messy load shot out of his cock, sending gallons of cum right into the pool, so much so that the water became slightly discolored. After minutes of continuous orgasm. he finally calmed down, feeling up his massive body. he was a pretty big bodybuilder already, especially for his age, but now? He was a freak. A 25 year old that had tripled his weight in a matter of minutes, and there was only one thing on his mind.

Where was he gonna find another bottle of that cream?

[voysubplots]

When Harry taunts Tom over his narrow taste in historical media, he decides to host a Barbenheimer movie night to show that he has range in both genre and era. He tries, and fails, to convince Harry to dress up as the Alan to his Ken.

In a bid to look more mature, Harry goes in an (ill-tailored) 1930s-style suit (which makes him look more childish than the Alan costume).

Neelix makes Los Alamos cocktails with grapefruit juice, lab alcohol from Sick Bay, and “just a couple special ingredients.” It is undrinkable. He dresses as “Bartender Barbie,” despite that being one of the few jobs which Barbie has never officially done.

B’Elanna dresses as Weird Barbie and spends the evening fielding odd stares and comments from crew members who “thought she’d go for more of an Oppenheimer look” and “have just never seen her so… colorful before.”

When Janeway asks Tuvok why he’s in uniform instead of a costume, he says he’s dressed for Oppenheimer, as he “was a member of a Starfleet team for the development of a new type of bomb” and that “the knowledge of [his] contribution to that work plagues [him] to this day.” There’s no record of any such work in Tuvok’s personnel file, and Janeway swears she heard a hit of irony in his voice, but she decides not to press the issue, just in case.

Janeway herself is dressed as Gloria from Barbie, with all the jackets from the travel sequence layered.

Chakotay first arrives in a suit not unlike Harry’s, although much more properly sized. This surprises most of the crew until he reveals his costume of Gloria’s unnamed husband in the break between films.

The Doctor takes advantage of the easy wardrobe changes made possible by his holographic nature, switching costumes every few minutes, distracting and frustrating the other moviegoers.

Seven decries the event as frivolous, but attends anyways, with a pink bandana worn as a wristband, at Janeway’s direction. She watches most of Oppenheimer intently, but must step out as the depiction of guilt over the creation of a weapon of mass destruction becomes unbearable.

She rejoins the group for Barbie, now wearing her bandana around her head, clearly more ready to give the idea of movie night a fair chance. Again, she’s completely immersed in the film and even tears up at the emotional scenes in which Barbie cries for the first time. Afterwards, when asked her opinion, Seven refuses to discuss either movie.

[isaut]

ask game?? ask game?? JAZZ ASK GAME?? omg. i don't know if this counts as "jazz", but there's this song by lawrence i've heard live when i went to see jon bellion (they opened for him) and they did jazz riffs and improv and oh my gosh,,,their stage presence is amazinggggg <33

𝒈𝒖𝒚 𝒊 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆— f!reader x captain rex. okay i love this song but specifically this version of it, which i used as my inspo. so like. i need it on spotify. hope you enjoy >:3 part of lucky ones

It hits Rex when he’s sitting on your balcony, watching the sunset over Naboo. Your head is on his chest, legs tucked up beside him. As his fingers gently push your hair off and away from your temple. Over and over and over again. The fall air isn’t quite chilled yet, still gripping onto summer memories. 

The weather is much like him. Clinging to old memories. 

Memories that, despite being his comfort and self, make his skin crawl. Would turn your skin inside out, would cause you to dry heave and nearly pass out– He hasn’t forgotten that one time you cut yourself while making dinner. 

Your hand rests on his thigh, squeezing once. Rex tilts his head down, away from the sunset and towards the moon. Your eyes meet his, blinking slowly. 

“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard up there,” you whisper. “Want to talk about it?” 

Rex shakes his head. “You don’t want to hear about it.” 

They aren’t memories for a pretty pacifist. Even if you spend your days looking at oil on canvas of war and bloodshed. 

Sitting upright, you cup one side of Rex’s face with your hand, smoothing your thumb over his cheekbone. Over the stubble that’s starting to come in. 

“Stay right here,” you murmur. “Just for a little longer.” 

He won’t stay long. You both know that. You don’t know much, but you know the war is over. You know that you’ve been regulated to a series of numbers. And more than anything, you know that Rex’s heart is two sizes too big for his chest. Three sizes, even four. He won’t stay long. 

“I’ll stay,” Rex murmurs. He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

He’ll be clean shaven and out of the door come the dark hours of the morning. He’s nursing a grapefruit soda instead of a beer. 

You lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. 

“Okay, baby,” is all you say. All you can, truly. “My door is always open.” 

Rex presses a kiss to the top of your head. Rubs his hand up and down your back. You settle back against his chest, arms wrapped around his torso. The sun continues to set.