#I just there are so many things going on inside my head right now

[monstersholygrail]

i have been concerningly curious how would fucking a shape shifter feels...maybe he can manipulate one body part...maybe make it feels too big when he goes inside your cunt...maybe he'll fuck you in the body of a person you stared too long earlier... maybe he won't stop until you've tried every skin he can change into...maybe even your favorite idol...

sigh...i told you, it's concerning

Ffffuuuuck, it’s been concerning for me too. Ive been thinking about shapeshifter bf so often for so many things. I have like three draft ideas I wanna write. And now you’re giving me even more 🫵🏻!! It’s an infection!!

It’s ok gimme more hehe.

But seriously you inspired me to write an entire fic with these rambles. So give me all you got, you’re my muse babyyyy.

Think of the possibilities with role play with Shapeshifter bf. Any scenario you can think of and he can fulfill it. AHHH WAIT!!! You’re inspiring me too much dammit, I love you!!

Imagine being with Shapeshifter bf when you finally admit to him that you’re actually a huge monster fucker. Your bf blushes and pouts at you, asking if you don’t consider him technically a monster.

And of course you comfort him and hold him close. But you have to admit to him that what really gets you going is the idea of a huge giant monster chasing you down and pinning you beneath his weight as he fucks load after load into your fertile cunt.

He’s shocked for a moment before something passes over his eye. You can see the bulge forming in his pants and it has to wriggling in place, desperate for him after just talking about the fantasy. When all he says is,

“Run.”

You’re briefly a bit confused before you see your bf start to shift and your eyes widen.

And that’s how you find yourself suddenly being chased by a raging orc, a feral werewolf, or a probing alien. In his excitement your bf can’t seem to lock down a shape.

Then when he finally catches you, his claws sinking into your plump waist as he pins you to the ground with his hips and slams his cock as deep inside your weeping pussy as he can, he still can’t land on a monster.

The overstimulation is pure torture and you fucking love it. One minute he’s pounding you with his giant orc cock and then the next he’s slipping his werewolf knot inside your cunt with every snap of his hips. The tentacles of his alien cock slip even deeper inside you, curling into your wombs like they plan to shoot his eggs right in there.

You’re afraid by now your eyes are permanently glued to the back of your head, your body shaking like your possessed by his demon form. Each pump of his different cocks sending you higher and higher till you swear you’re about to lose your mind.

And when you finally cum you see stars, your being transcended to the next plane of existence. Your screams reach such a pitch that only dogs and hybrids can hear. Your bf feels like his cock is about to explode from how hard you’re clenching down on him as you milk him for all he’s worth.

He doesn’t last long with you squeezing him so right and he pumps you full with buckets of his warm yummy cum.

When you’ve both calmed down he shifts back into his original form and sags down on top of you, both of panting like you might not ever breathe again.

“And that’s why Im the best monster for you. Not any of those quacks,” your bf grumbles possessively in your ear.

You can’t say you disagree with him.

[luvergirl-535]

clean up nice

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 2.3k

c/w - fluff, no smut sorry :( but no not forget that daddy!paige is still on its way so you’ll be getting smth spicy soon.

a/n - got a random burst of creativity, and what did i decide to do with it? work on finishing one of my many wips, you ask? no. instead i dug into the depths of my inbox and found an old ass prompt to write for, lol. you can find the prompt here.

azzi is, quite frankly, over it.

the weight room had been brutal, the team group chat has been blowing up with nonsense, and her econ professor had assigned a surprise pop quiz that was neither surprising nor a quiz—just a pure academic crime. by the time she trudges across campus toward paige’s dorm, her shoulders are tight, her jaw hurts from clenching, and she’s two seconds away from chucking her water bottle at a freshman just to feel something.

all she wants is to shower, collapse into a hoodie, maybe read the same page of her book eight times before giving up, and fall asleep next to her girlfriend. preferably with her favorite pillow—paige’s arm—cushioned under her head.

she lets herself into the dorm, ready to ignore any of her other teammates who might be lurking and head straight to paige’s room. she gets inside and toes off her shoes, pulling off her hoodie to try and cool down—

but then she stops cold.

paige is on the floor.

and not in a playing-video-games, or making-a-ridiculous-tiktok kind of way. no. she’s kneeling in a sports bra and loose basketball shorts, scrubbing something on the floor with determination. her hair is up in a messy bun. the speakers are playing slow r&b, the window is cracked open, and light is streaming in just right to make the whole thing look like a thirst trap with cleaning supplies.

azzi blinks once. then twice. her lips part slightly.

“yo,” paige says without looking up, “watch out, i just mopped.”

azzi stares. she might have stopped breathing.

“…what are you doing?”

paige’s head pops up at the sound of azzi’s voice. “oh, hey, mama. sorry, thought you were jana.” she gestures around the room. “it was gettin’ gross in here. and since nobody else fuckin’ cleans, figured i should probably take care of it.”

azzi looks around. the place is spotless. floor shining. sheets changed. even the window track—the window track!—is wiped down. azzi looks at the sink and swears it blinds her.

paige sits back on her heels and wipes an arm across her face, leaving a streak of sweat—glistening and enticing—on her forehead.

azzi’s soul leaves her body.

“you okay?” paige asks, going back to her scrubbing. azzi looks closer—she’s cleaning the baseboards. and her back is flexing as she does it.

azzi inhales sharply. “uh-huh.”

paige shifts, glancing back over her shoulder. “you look surprised.”

“i…did not know you got down like this.”

“yeah, well, last week you saw me make a protein shake in a blender bottle that hadn’t been washed since pre-season. so consider this redemption.”

azzi opens her mouth to respond and then pauses. she has nothing appropriate to say, to be honest. not when she’d walked in expecting a nap and is now watching her girlfriend crawl across the floor like a navy seal.

“how was your day?” paige asks nonchalantly. sun streams through the windows, hitting her arms in such a way it perfectly contours her muscles. “you wanna snack or sum’?”

“no,” azzi says slowly, settling herself down onto the couch without taking her eyes off paige’s back. “i want you to come over here.”

“yep,” paige says without hesitation, dropping her washcloth into the bucket and walking over to azzi. azzi reaches up, prepared to pull paige down and never let her go again, but paige doesn’t give her the time—just goes in for a quick kiss before leaving again.

“paige!” azzi says. “i want you to snuggle me.”

paige smiles, sweet and oblivious, as she kneels back down. “we can snuggle all you want as soon as i’m done. i just gotta hit the closet first.”

azzi blinks hard. “how long have you been at this?”

paige shrugs—shoulder muscles. “i’on know. a couple hours? but i haven’t cleaned my closet in forever. there’s, like, dust on some of my shoes. it’s nasty.”

“wow. okay. you’re really…” she waves a hand at paige’s whole situation, “doing the most.”

paige beams. “you noticed! i even used vinegar on the mirrors. no streaks. drew’s mom taught me.”

azzi just stares at her. “cooool, coolcoolccoolcool. that’s super cool.”

paige stands up and stretches her back with a groan, revealing an infuriating strip of boxer below her waistband. “shit, my back is killing me. i’ve been crouching for like two hours.”

“i can help with that,” azzi says, far too quickly. “you want a massage?”

“nah, i’ll do some stretches after this,” paige says casually, walking to the kitchen to grab some clorox and wiping down the counter. “you look exhausted, though. go lie down, i’ll be done soon.”

“or,” azzi says, getting up and trailing her, “you could stop cleaning now. and we could do…other things.”

“like what? i already asked if you wanted a snack.”

“jesus christ,” azzi whispers to herself.

“huh?”

“nothing, babe.” azzi plasters on a smile. “i’m just… really impressed by your…cleanliness.”

paige snorts. “what does that mean?”

“it means watching you clean is making me…feel things, paige.”

“ohhh,” paige says slowly, like she’s catching on. azzi perks up.

“yeah?” azzi asks, hopeful.

“you’re saying you want me to clean your dorm next time, right?”

“no!” azzi shouts. “i’m saying i want you to push me up against a…” she gestures wildly, “very clean wall.”

paige frowns. “you okay? you seem, like, really high-strung.”

“i wonder why,” azzi deadpans.

“bad day?”

“you could say that,” she mutters. “considering i walked in on you looking like a really hot mr. clean commercial.”

paige makes a face. “is that a compliment?” then, “you’re being weird.”

“i’m being turned on, paige. i feel like we’ve been together long enough that you know what me turned on looks like.”

paige raises her hands in surrender. “okay, okay. sorry. i thought you’d be cool with the cleaning.”

“i am! it’s impressive! and hot! i love it, actually!”

paige pauses. squints at her.

“…wait. are you into this?”

azzi massages the bridge of her nose. “oh my god.”

“i just thought you were being supportive,” paige says. “like, ‘oh yay, my girlfriend’s being productive.’ not ‘oh yay, my girlfriend’s making me all wet with the windex.’”

“you are so fucking stupid.”

“am i wrong?”

azzi pretends to consider this, then turns on her heel, marching toward paige’s bedroom.

“hey,” paige calls, following her. “where you goin’?”

“somewhere i can protect my peace,” azzi calls back. she turns to close the door, but paige gets there just in time, sticking a foot in between the doorframe and stopping her.

azzi opens the door slowly, met with paige’s smug grin. “you’re enjoying this.”

“maybe a little,” paige leans in, voice suddenly lower. “you want me to keep my hair up?”

azzi lets the door swing open the rest of the way, smoothing a hand up paige’s shoulder. “you don’t get to tease me after getting me all worked up.”

“baby, i was just cleaning.”

“exactly!” azzi says. “you were on your hands and knees, paige.”

paige takes her by the waist, backing her slowly into the bedroom. “so what—you were suffering that whole time?”

“i’m two seconds away from wrecking your perfect little chore schedule.”

paige’s eyes darken slightly, like the teasing has officially run its course. she pauses when the backs of azzi’s knees hit the mattress, then pushes her down, a hand around her back keeping them connected as paige follows closely after.

“well,” she murmurs, hand settling beside azzi’s head on the pillow, “room is clean.”

“uh-huh.”

“laundry’s done.”

“mm-hmm.”

“guess there’s only one mess left to make.”

azzi rolls her eyes, but wraps an arm around paige’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss. “hair stays up,” she demands, urging paige into the crook of her neck.

paige obeys, licking a short stripe up the column of azzi’s throat, all heat and thin restraint. “yes, ma’am.”

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck has something to say. (Or: an alternative take on that kitchen scene)

“I think you should leave.”

The words cut into the cold, tense air in the kitchen like a knife.

They take Buck's breath away for a stunned, heart-stuttering moment. Did that just come out of his mouth?

Eddie finally looks at him, finally sees him. “What?” He asks, baffled.

“I want you to leave,” Buck repeats. And yes. He does. He’s tired of this. Tired in general. Enough.

Eddie blinks, his lips slightly parted. He exhales a disbelieving scoff, throwing his hands in the air. “Really? We are doing this now? Now, when we are both grieving? Seriously, Buck …”

“How dare you?” Buck hisses, curling a hand into a fist. “How dare you suggest I didn’t do what I could. That I didn’t do enough to, to save Bobby?”

“Buck,” Eddie starts.

No.

Buck raises his hand. “Now you listen. You listen to me. I watched him die, Eddie. I watched Bobby die. I saw death on his face, in his eyes. I was there. And I was alone. Bobby knew he was going to die, and he sent me away. He … He said I’m going to be fine. But I’m not. I’m not fine. And that’s okay. Because I just lost one of the most important people in my life. Bobby was the father I never had.”

Eddie sneers. “Bobby was your Captain. Our Captain. We all lost him! You don’t get to claim him! We all have to live without him, move on with our lives. But you don’t see any of us behaving like a child throwing a tantrum!”

Buck crosses his arms over his chest, his blood rushing in his ears. “I’m not a child, Eddie. I’m an adult, and I have enough of you telling me how I’m supposed to feel. These last few days, I’ve been thinking about the 118 all the time. About how to fix everything. Because everything feels so cold without Bobby. Everything feels broken.” 

He stops, swallowing heavily. There are so many emotions bubbling up inside of him. And now he can’t stop. He has to let it out.

“You are my best friend, Eddie. I thought friends are supposed to be there for each other. I thought a friend would be able to offer some kind of comfort. But I guess you’ve been too busy with your own grief. Look. I’m sorry you had to wake up at night and hear about this over the phone. But that’s not my fault. And it’s not my fault that you had to tell Chris either. It’s also not my fault that Bobby died. I didn’t want any of this to happen. And every day, I wish I could go back in time to change things.

I’m not okay. And you should know. But here you are, telling me I might not have done enough. You of all people should know. You should know what Bobby meant to me. But it starts to feel like you don’t know me at all. I’m not that great at communicating my feelings or, or my needs. But I’m working on it. And what I can tell you right now is that I’m tired of this, Eddie. I’m tired of being blamed and being told I’m making everything about me, when actually, my stomach, chest, and head hurt every day when I think about everyone else and how sad they are. That includes you, by the way. But I guess, in some way, I lost you too. Now, leave. I want you to leave.”

Buck stops, breathing heavily. It’s been a long time since he talked so much. Maybe he never did. But he needed this. Needed to get this weight off his heart.

The rage inside him is loud. But the sad and aching part of him hopes that Eddie will say No, I won’t leave. Hopes that he will stay. That he will say, it’s okay, we can solve this problem. We can talk. We can comfort each other. We can work on fixing this.

He looks at Eddie, and inside, he’s yelling. Say something.

But Eddie only stares at him, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense. Finally, he nods curtly and says, “Alright. Alright, Buck.”

He storms out of the kitchen. Buck can hear him pack his bag. His stomach sinks. So. That’s it then. There’s nothing left to fight for, it seems.

His heart pounding, Buck waits in the silence until he hears Eddie walk out and slam the door.

He winces, wrapping his arms around himself, breathing heavily. He feels so cold. And alone. Tears are burning in his eyes.

God. Everything is so broken.

Buck wipes at his eyes with the back of his head, sniffs, and reaches for his phone with a shaky hand. He hesitates. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe it’s selfish. But … he needs. He needs a little bit of warmth.

Hey. Can you come over? Only if you have time. I really need to talk to someone.

He sends the text after staring at it for a few long minutes and tries to ignore the voice in his head calling him pathetic.

* Buck opens the door and Tommy smiles at him, “Hey - What’s going on?”

Too much.

Almost instantly, the smile fades and Tommy’s brows furrow as his eyes flicker over Buck’s face, down to where he’s nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“Evan. Are you okay?”

No.

Buck just shakes his head. He talked so much. Now, he doesn’t have any more words left. He’s empty. 

Ashamed, he lowers his head. Avoids prying eyes. He shouldn’t be like this. He’s an adult. Maybe Eddie is right. Maybe he is nothing but a child throwing a tantrum, making everything about himself …

“Come here,” Tommy says softly.

Buck looks up, seeing Tommy opening his arms. He exhales shakily and falls forward into the embrace. Sinks into it. Into the warmth. He closes his eyes and allows himself to feel safe for a moment.

Everything is broken, but this feels like a shell he can hide in. At least for the moment.

(AO3 Link)

[h66nki]

give me one ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ nishimura riki

a visit to your aunt's house implants a thought in ni-ki: you would be a good mother. warnings; dirty talk, suggestive.

ni-ki feels it inside him. it comes like a fleeting thought in his head: you'd make a good mom. the feeling only grows when he sees you with children and this helps confirm his theory.

he watches you play with your younger cousin. the little girl is very energetic and has you running around, chasing her, making you sit on the floor to put together puzzles, playing hide-and-seek.

he's lost count of how many games you've played to keep her entertained, and even though he also played along with you, there came a time when the girl's effusiveness tired him out. you didn't tire, though.

you seemed to love the girl so much that it was impossible for you to say no, agreeing to each and every one of her suggestions.

at one point during the busy afternoon, the little girl slipped and almost hit herself, causing her mother to scold her and make her burst into tears.

you quickly take her in your arms, picking her up and cradling her against your chest. the toddler cries, inconsolable, throwing a tantrum. you can handle it and quickly manage to calm her down with sweet whispers and sweet promises in her ear. ni-ki watches the scene with love and curiosity... maybe something more.

it seems to be so natural for you to deal with a child and his antics: it makes him think.

ni-ki doesn't waste the opportunity to have your full attention on him again, so when your cousin is calmer and more cheerful you return her to your aunt so they can spend time together while you go to the bathroom.

ni-ki disappears into the hallway like a shadow, not giving you enough time to close the door. he gets into the room with you and closes the door himself.

"love?" you ask, confused.

the boy pins you between his body and the sink, pressing himself against you. "there isn't a drop of sanity left in my body, and it's your fault," he complains.

you laugh at his dramatics, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. his hands grip your waist, holding you in place.

"what did i do now?"

"you look so beautiful playing with the baby... i can't stop thinking about what a great mother you'd make." your heart pounds inside your chest at the compliment. "give me one, please."

your eyes widen in disbelief. for a moment, you think you haven't heard correctly... that you've misinterpreted him.

"give you what?"

ni-ki hides his face in your neck, placing small kisses on your skin.

"a baby," he says. "let's have a baby."

your body trembles between his, his tongue tickling you. a baby? no way... you're both too young for such a responsibility.

"i... i don't think it's ideal right now," you try to refute, caressing the back of his neck as you let him kiss you.

"please..." he begs. "i never ask for anything, just give me a baby, please." and he's right. ni-ki never asks you for anything, but can you give him this? "let me fuck you a baby deep inside you."

"ni-ki..."

you feel him breathe shakily in your ear. his large hand moves to your lower abdomen, resting it there. "imagine a baby here... a child of ours."

you bite your lower lip, trying not to make a sound. he's hard against you, you can feel it.

"you would look so beautiful with your swollen stomach... everyone would know that you love me so much that you let me fill you with cum... that you let me breed you to bear the fruit of our love."

"don't say those things..." you try to stop him, but his words have an effect on you that you can't deny, not even if you really wanted to.

his eyes look at you, filled with hope.

"we would be the best parents in the world... just you, me... and a beautiful little girl... healthy, beautiful, and intelligent like her mommy."

"a girl..." you repeat with hope. you feel persuaded; you don't know if it's because of the conversation or his kisses... maybe because of everything. ni-ki looks so cute begging that it would be inhuman not to have a little doubt about your initial thought.

"a baby girl," he affirms. ni-ki hides his face in the hollow of your shoulder again. he breathes shakily, excitedly. "please, let me fill you now... give me a little princess."

[suskz]

Hold me tight, keep me close

pairing: Lee Felix x fem!Reader

t/w: fluff ; hurt/comfort ; smut ; period sex ; wet and messy ; piv sex ; fingering (f!rec) ; menstrual blood ; so much blood ; reader is on her period ; Felix is so sweet and caring ; unprotected sex (don’t do that, kids) ; coming inside.

w/c: 4.5k

a/n: sorry for the late post, guys! It took me longer than I expected 😭. But it’s finally here! I really love this one, because Felix is soo caring and just what I need rn (I’m on my period y’all 🥹). It’s 2am here, I’m gonna go sleep now. Enjoy!!

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a hand gently shaking your shoulder, then a voice calling your name.

“Y/n, love.” It’s your boyfriend’s voice— deep, but soft. You shift in place, intending to stretch, and that’s when you notice a strange sensation between your legs. It’s wet.

Your eyes snap open, and you don’t even have time to think about what it could be before you sit up in bed, forcing Felix to pull his hand back, and look at the… the crime scene.

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration—most of the blood is in your pants and only a little made it onto the sheets, but still—you stained them.

Hesitantly, you turn your head toward your boyfriend. He lifts his eyes from the blood-stained sheets to meet yours, offering a small, reassuring smile that seems to hide a hint of uncertainty.

You feel mortified. You feel the urge to cry, but nothing comes out—not a tear, not a sob.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and his eyes immediately fill with concern.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, then seems to second-guess himself. “Is it okay?”

You lower your gaze and let him move closer, placing a hand on your thigh where the blood hasn’t reached, gently stroking it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would come today.” you apologize, shame washing over you.

“You couldn’t have known,” he says kindly. “It’s okay.”

“Felix, it’s disgusting, and these are your clothes— fuck,” your voice comes out cracked. “Look at the mess I made.” You lower your eyes to the red stain on the white sheet, “Doesn’t it gross you out?”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he frowns. “It doesn’t bother me, not even a little.” He cups your face in his hands and turns it so you’ll look at him. “It happens. It’s okay, it’s just laundry—nothing to worry about.”

You look into his eyes for a few seconds, searching for any sign of doubt, and nod at his words when you find none. He smiles softly.

“You go take a shower now,” he runs a gentle hand through your hair. “I’ll go buy you some pads, okay?”

You nod again. “Thank you,” you smile, grateful to have such a caring and understanding boyfriend. “Do you want me to show you a picture?”

“I’ve seen them so many times, I know exactly which ones they are by now.” He chuckles and you do too.

“Let’s clean this mess first—” you stop suddenly when a sharp pain hits your lower stomach and you feel warm liquid soaking through your underwear —and probably reaching the bed— eliciting a muffled groan. “No, never mind, let’s do it later.”

He watches you shift around, trying to ease the pain, feeling bad seeing you in discomfort. “No, I’ll do it. Don’t worry. I can also get the painkillers you use.”

“No, it’s okay. I can handle it until I get home.”

You don’t know why you say it, because honestly, it feels like you can’t even stand another half hour.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry.”

He nods.

But when you step out of the shower, you still find the pills on the sink —right next to some pads and clean clothes— and his thoughtfulness melts your heart.

When you leave the bathroom, he’s just finishing making the bed. He looks up at you and gives you a tender smile, a touch of pride in his eyes at the sight of you wearing his clothes.

You huff a quiet chuckle. “You know I could’ve just put on what I wore yesterday, right?”

His cheeks tint with a soft, almost imperceptible blush. “Yeah, I know. But I wanted to see you in mine. You look cute.” He smiles sweetly.

Then he comes over, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug and pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, in comforting silence.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time, but he shakes his head.

“No more of that. I already told you—it’s all okay. The bed’s clean, and I can always get new clothes. See? No big deal.”

You hum and snuggle a little closer to him.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, his ears turning a little red at the words he’s still not quite used to saying.

You look up at him, a little surprised but happy to hear it. “I love you too,” you reply, your face flushed. He gives you a soft peck on the lips, and the two of you just look at each other for a while.

But that quiet moment is cut short by a sudden noise.

Your face burns with embarrassment, your ears flaming as you hide in his chest.

Felix’s laughter only makes it worse.

“Hungry?”

“What do you think? I haven’t had breakfast yet.” You mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt, trying to hide your embarrassment behind a normal tone.

“Pancakes?” he suggests.

Your eyes light up at the suggestion, and you look up at him with the expression of a delighted child.

“Yes, please!”

He laughs at your eagerness and how adorable you are.

—

“Do you feel like going out with the guys? We can go another time if you’d rather.”

You and Felix are cuddled up on the couch watching TV. Your back rests against his chest, one of his hands gently stroking your stomach, while the other holds you close.

How could you say no to him? You made these plans a week ago, and you don’t want to cancel last minute just because your period started and you’re not at your best. You still look presentable, and both of you had really been looking forward to this hangout with the guys.

“No, I’m fine. I still want to go.”

Felix nods at your response. “I’ll be at your place by 3.”

And he is. You’d gone back home after lunch to get ready, and Felix came to pick you up—though not before having to wait an extra 10 minutes for you, as usual.

Now you’re at a bar with Felix, the rest of the members, and Chan’s girlfriend, whom you’ve recently grown close to.

“You should’ve seen Minho’s face when that little girl called him ‘dad.’ It was hilarious,” Seungmin grins, amused by the memory, and everyone bursts out laughing—everyone except Minho.

“I can totally picture it,” Hyunjin laughs.

“Do you really want to end up in the air fryer, Hyunjin?” Minho threatens, and Hyunjin instantly stops laughing, glancing around nervously.

“Is it because you feel old now that a kid mistook you for her dad?” you tease with a smirk. You’re one of the few people who can get away with it—just like Minho has a soft spot for Felix, he has one for you too.

Felix’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his fingers gently stroking your side as he laughs at your comment—and at the tongue Minho sticks out at you in return.

A little while later, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’ve had the pad on for a few hours now, and you definitely need to change it.

The restroom has three sinks and two stalls—one for men and one for women.

You stop in front of the mirror first, checking your appearance and simply taking a moment to look at yourself. Then, suddenly, a sharp cramp hits you, making you double over with your hands on your lower belly.

You should’ve brought your painkillers with you.

You huff in frustration and rest your hands on the sink, leaning on one leg. That’s when it happens. Warm liquid begins to run down your leg—your position caused your pad to shift.

Caught off guard, you straighten up, trying to keep your baggy pants from touching your thigh.

Damn these white pants. You knew you should’ve worn black jeans.

But as you head into the women’s stall, it’s impossible to keep them from getting stained. That clean white fabric turns into a dreadful shade of red.

When you pull them down and sit on the toilet, you see the full mess you’ve made on your thigh and pants, and tears begin to blur your vision. There hasn’t been a single thing today that your period hasn’t ruined.

You should’ve stayed home.

A sob catches in your throat.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but apparently, you’ve been gone a little too long, because Felix walks into the restroom, looking for you.

You try to stop crying and settle enough to answer him, but when a heavy sob escapes your throat, the tears start flowing down your cheeks again.

“Y/nie?” your boyfriend calls out, approaching the stall you’re in. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You don’t answer.

“Can you open the door for me?”

Still no response—but your sobs slowly quiet down until they stop, and finally, the door clicks open.

Since it’s just the two of you in the restroom, he opens it just enough to see you but doesn’t step in, wanting to give you space. Still, it’s so hard for him to stand there, seeing your tear-streaked face and the way your bottom lip is quivering.

“Sunshine, what’s going on?” His voice is deep but soft—reassuring.

The words die in your throat, so you lower your eyes to your pants—and he understands. You’ve already tried to clean your thigh the best you could, but there’s still some red left.

“Is that the reason? Baby, it’s okay. It happens. Nothing we can’t fix.” He offers you a gentle smile—but is surprised when fresh tears start falling down your cheeks again.

That’s when he quickly steps inside, shuts the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. His hands cup your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears—and in that moment, you’re so thankful he’s your boyfriend. He presses a soothing kiss to your forehead.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you say, your voice cracking. “It’s just…” you sniffle, and he waits patiently, nodding. “It’s the second time today, and it’s ruining everything. And now I’ve got stained pants and all this pain, and I didn’t even bring my pills with me. I ruined the hangout, and I’m afraid I’m bothering you too.”

“You’re not annoying me—you never could. Don’t even think that, okay?” he reassures you. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard day, love. I get how you feel, and I hate that it’s going like this. I wish I could take some of the pain away so you wouldn’t have to feel this bad.”

He places a hand on your stomach, gently stroking it, a small pout on his lips. “Is it hurting a lot?”

You nod, sniffling. There’s a dull, radiating ache that reaches down into your thighs, making it feel like they’ve been split in half. You just want to go home.

“But I can still help make your day better,” he says with a soft smile. “Let’s go back to my place and cuddle in bed. How does that sound?” he asks sweetly, and you nod, closing your eyes for a moment and leaning into his gentle touch.

“Good. No more tears now, okay? It’s going to be okay. I’m here with you.” He gives your thigh a comforting squeeze to reassure you.

Afterward, he leaves you some privacy to finish cleaning up, waiting just outside your stall. When you come out, he offers you his hoodie to tie around your waist and cover the large red stain on your pants. Then the two of you return to the others, just to say goodbye before leaving together.

At his place, you find yourself in the shower for the second time today, while he prepares a cozy spot for the two of you to spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling.

He also quietly slips into the bathroom to leave you some fresh clothes. When you get out of the shower and see them, you almost start crying again because of how thoughtful and loving he is. Out of all his clothes, he picked your favorites: a pair of soft gray sweatpants you always wear when you’re at his place, and a worn-out white shirt you often wear when you snuggle, especially after sex. There’s also a black hoodie that’s way too big on you —which is exactly why you love it— and a pair of fluffy blue socks.

When you leave the bathroom, he’s already waiting for you on the bed, and you immediately throw yourself into his arms. You stay like that for so long you lose track of the minutes—or the hours. You could stay like this for days without ever getting tired of it.

One of his hands gently rubs circles on your back while you absentmindedly scratch his arm with your nails.

“Feeling better now?”

You hum. “Yeah, much better.”

There’s a cartoon playing softly on the TV in his room, and outside, the occasional sound of cars passes by. Everything is so calm and peaceful, you don’t want to get out of bed for at least a few more days, or months—or maybe ever.

But of course, things can’t stay perfect. You let out a whine when a sharp cramp tears through your lower belly, making you squirm, your face contorting in pain. Felix coos and places a hand over the spot that hurts, tracing soothing little circles.

Damn your body.

Felix leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, then your lips—once, then again, and again. You’re not even sure how you ended up with your back on the bed and him hovering over you, but it doesn’t really matter.

He starts leaving sensual kisses down the side of your neck, trailing lower until he reaches the hem of the hoodie you’re wearing.

Then his lips brush against your ear.

“You know, I heard orgasms help with period cramps.”

He bites your earlobe gently.

“Wanna give it a try?”

Then he licks and sucks it. He doesn’t give you time to answer before his lips crash onto yours again. Both of his hands slip under your hoodie and T-shirt, finding your hot skin.

“Please, baby? I really need you,” he says softly, needily.

But he quickly notices your hesitation and pulls his hands out from under your clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you admit, avoiding eye contact. “It’s just… we’ve never done it while I was on my period, and I’m scared the blood might gross you out.”

But he gently takes your chin and lifts your face to look at him.

“Baby, I’m not a kid. A little blood doesn’t scare me,” he says confidently. “And it definitely doesn’t gross me out—especially when it’s from you.”

You smile, then nod. “Okay, then I want to.”

He gives you a kiss on the lips before getting up to grab a towel, which he lays under you to avoid a mess neither of you will want to clean up later.

You undress each other quickly, down to just your underwear. He kisses your stomach, just below your belly button, while his fingers toy with the waistband of the boxers —his boxers— you’re wearing. “Can I?” he asks, checking that you haven’t changed your mind, and you answer with a quiet, “Yes.”

He pulls your underwear off quickly and tosses them to the floor like he always does—only this time, they hit the floor with a weird thud because of the pad, making you cringe.

His fingers move skillfully between your folds, teasing you before slipping two inside, making you gasp—and he lets out a low groan. His fingers might be short, but they hit that sweet spot just right, and he knows exactly how to work it, making your hips buck against his hand in pleasure.

He adds a third finger. “Feels good, baby? You like my fingers inside you?”

You nod quickly. “Yes,” you moan.

You try not to focus on the squelching sound, aware that it’s louder because of the blood. You don’t even dare to look down, afraid of seeing his fingers stained red or the mess probably already soaking into the towel.

“Felix, can you— please touch my clit too?” you ask, voice soft and shaky.

He smiles, clearly happy you’re telling him explicitly what you want. And he’d be lying if he said seeing your innocent face and hearing that shy little request didn’t make his cock twitch.

He lets a string of spit fall from his mouth onto your pussy, collecting it with the thumb of his free hand and bringing it right to your clit. He rubs in slow circles —side to side, up and down— knowing exactly how you like it.

“Good girl… just keep telling me what you want, yeah?”

“Can- can you…” You gesture toward your tits, and he gets it, chuckling.

“Wanna feel my mouth on these pretty nipples?” You nod, and he doesn’t waste a second—licking and sucking just the way that has you writhing under him.

Your eyes roll back and you let out breathy, broken moans, completely overwhelmed by how good it all feels—by all the attention he’s giving your body.

He pulls back for a moment. “Gonna make you cum on my fingers first—then I’m gonna fuck you nice and deep.”

And just like that, he picks up right where he left off.

Felix is so hard in his underwear he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if his cock doesn’t get touched soon. He tries to grind against the bed, but it’s difficult from his current position. So instead, he finds your leg and starts grinding against it, moaning around your nipple.

When you realize what your boyfriend is doing, you feel even closer to the edge. He’s really getting off on hearing and watching you fall apart.

“Lix, I’m close. I’m so close—”

His fingers move faster, both inside you and over your puffy clit, and within seconds you’re coming on his hands, rolling your hips against his fingers as he keeps moving to help you ride out your orgasm.

When the intense wave fades, your hips collapse onto the bed. His touch leaves you for a moment as he wipes his fingers clean, then he’s back—kissing your lips, your nose, your forehead like he can’t stop touching you.

His hips have also stopped rutting against your leg.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his deep voice soothing.

“Really good. Felt good,” you murmur in response. He intertwines his fingers with yours as you start sharing soft, chaste kisses. You both smile into them, and at one point, you even huff a quiet laugh through your nose.

“It turned me on, seeing you grind against my leg,” you say after a little while, placing your free hand on his cheek, then slowly sliding it down toward his chest.

“Yeah?” he says with a smirk, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him. “Watching you feel that good made me so hard I couldn’t wait anymore. But it still hurts…” He takes your hand and, locking eyes with you, guides it slowly down to where he’s hard beneath the fabric. His breath hitches the second your palm presses against him.

You start stroking him slowly. Eventually, your hand slips inside his boxers to feel him bare, and you pull him out, stroking him gently from base to tip, giving a slight squeeze at the head that draws a strangled moan from him.

“You’re so hard, Felix,” you whisper against his lips. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“Yes, please,” he breathes, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“Then why are you holding back? Fuck me like you mean it.” You squeeze his cock a little harder before letting go. Every trace of shyness is gone now, replaced by something bolder, now that it’s not just sweet and loving and all about you.

Felix whimpers involuntarily. He’d used every ounce of self-control not to bury himself inside you the moment you came. He didn’t want to overstimulate you and wanted to give you time to recover, but apparently, that’s not what you want anymore.

“Gonna enter you now, okay?” he warns, lining his cock up with your entrance. One nod from you is all it takes, and he’s sliding in with a single thrust, letting out a guttural moan. “So wet ‘n tight f’ me…”

When he starts moving, he seems more sensitive than usual, judging by the breathy moans and gasps he lets out. His hips don’t settle into a steady rhythm—his thrusts are fast and shallow, showing just how needy he’s been this whole time.

His hands, planted on either side of your head, are clutching the sheets tight in his fists. One of your hands grabs his arm, sliding down until your fingers find his, and when he notices, he intertwines them with yours. He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.

His thrusts grow longer and deeper—pushing all the way in, pulling out just barely, then slamming back inside with force.

When you bring a hand to his hair, he starts kissing and licking your neck, sometimes sucking on your skin hard enough to leave marks that’ll be hard to hide—though deep down, he hopes you’ll keep them.

Your soft, high-pitched moans are something he could listen to for days. Your whimpers make his cock twitch and leak inside you. Your teary eyes are so damn beautiful, he could stare at them forever.

When he pulls back to look at you, his breathing is uneven, and his moans sharper than before. He’s close.

But he’s holding back for you, because he wants to make you come on his cock first.

God, your boyfriend is so sweet.

You clench around him, and he shuts his eyes to focus.

“Don’t do that, or I’m gonna cum,” he begs, desperate.

“You can come, Lix, it’s okay,” you reassure him, but you know that won’t be enough to make him give in. “I want you to fill me up nice and deep. I’m ready to take everything you’ve got, want to be so full of you,” you continue, hitting a weak spot of his.

His orgasm hits him suddenly, his cock spurting ropes of hot cum deep inside you. He gives a few more thrusts to ride it out, then collapses on top of you.

“Not fair,” he pouts when he finally lifts himself up and looks at you.

“You said that on purpose ‘cause you knew it’d make me cum. I wanted to make you cum on my cock.”

How can someone sound and look so innocent while saying such filthy things?

You laugh. “Next time.”

He pulls out of you slowly, carefully.

“My girl’s gonna cum, whether it’s on my cock or on my fingers.”

This time, he spits on your pussy, even though it’s not needed—you’re already soaked from everything you’ve done. Two of his fingers find your clit again, red and puffy, moving in small circles that knock the air right out of your lungs.

Those same fingers suddenly dip down to your entrance, collecting some of the cum that’s leaking out, only to slap it onto your most sensitive spot. You gasp and clutch the sheets in your fists.

He starts rubbing again, only to slap your clit twice more. His other hand grabs your thigh firmly and presses it down against the bed, as if to force your legs open—even though there’s no need, since you’re already holding them wide for him.

“You’ve been a bad girl, making me come like that. That should’ve been my job,” he says, landing a harder slap. “Let this be a lesson so you’ll think twice next time.”

The sudden change in his behavior has your head spinning. His two fingers pinch your clit a couple of times before resuming fast, precise strokes.

“Felix—” you choke out. You want to warn him that you’re about to come, but your climax hits you too suddenly, tearing a very loud moan from your throat.

You black out for a moment, completely lost in sensation—and you’re grateful to come back to Felix kissing your neck sweetly and whispering soft praises.

You appreciate the affection he’s giving you, but you gently press your hands to his shoulders to push him back a little. “Lix, ‘m hot.”

He pulls back and lifts his head. “But I wanna cuddle,” he protests, nuzzling into the top of your chest and trying to kiss your skin there.

You sigh. “We will, but after a shower. I feel too sticky and gross right now.”

Felix nods and finally moves away. “I’ll go get the water ready,” he says, then gets up from the bed and heads to the bathroom—but not before bringing you a glass of water and some chocolate, which you accept with a kiss on the lips.

In the meantime, you finally glance down at the mess beneath you and scrunch your nose, wishing you hadn’t. You clean yourself up as best you can with the cleanest part of the towel, then grab it and make your way to the bathroom, tossing the towel into the laundry basket before joining your boyfriend.

You step into the shower together, and even though you told him you’d cuddle afterward, he spends the entire time touching and kissing you—if not on the lips, then everywhere else. His lips are soft, and his hands are gentle.

He shampoos your hair and massages your scalp delicately, and you do the same for him. His fingers slip inside you again, but this time it’s just to clean you up from his cum, as he murmurs apologies for the mess he made—not that he’s truly sorry, and you both know it.

When you get out of the shower, he lands a loud smack on your ass, making you gasp softly and slap his in return when he bends over to grab a pair of socks from the wardrobe drawer.

Once you’re both dressed and sitting on his bed, his arms wrap tightly around you, locking you in and pulling you close with no way out—not that you’d want to leave anyway.

You turn on the TV and find a comfortable position under the warm blankets.

Your back is pressed against his chest, which rises and falls slowly with his breath. One of his hands rests gently on your lower belly, stroking it softly.

“Feeling better now?”

“Yeah.” You snuggle even closer. “Much better.” You smile, resting your head on his shoulder with your face tucked into his neck. You press a small kiss to his skin before closing your eyes, soothed by his familiar, calming touch and the quiet sound of the TV still playing in the background.

You feel so loved and safe in his arms that there’s nothing to worry about when he’s with you—because you know he’ll always be there, ready to help you without judgment, staying by your side no matter what.

[mooniscrying]

my only anchor | part 1

pairing: azriel x reader  summary: you have always loved azriel, but he has yet to ever feel the same way. you have longed for his love achingly, watching in the shadows as he falls in love many times. you still hope one day he'll feel the same way, and yet just when you think he may reciprocate, elain takes his breath away.  warnings: angst, insecurity, self-deprecation, unrequited love </3 or is it? word count: 1.1k a/n: hello loveys! It's been YEARS since I’ve written a proper story, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This story has been on my mind for a while, and after having broken up recently, a fire has lit up inside me to drown out all the sadness and pain I feel with writing. I hope this story heals you in some ways it does for me, enjoy lovey! <3

my only anchor masterlist

You couldn’t remember a time where you weren’t hopelessly in love with the shadowsinger. All of the small moments as kids where he took notice of you— the shy and quiet little girl moping in the corner, hoping to blend in with the background to avoid the prying eyes of everyone. Any speck of attention was not your forte, it always made you uncomfortable, made your heart race and palms sweat. 

And despite all this, he saw you. From the way your fingers tapped mindlessly against your legs as you watch with keen observant eyes of those around you, to the way you crinkled your noise a tiny bit when you were upset, to the way your eyes shone brighter than the stars when you shared your little stories to him. It was relentless and endearing how he took notice of every single little thing about you. 

He was your anchor, a stable force within you. He had a way of pulling you out of your comfort zone, helping you gain the confidence you needed to be comfortable in your own skin. Encouraging you to engage in social settings, even if it was just to listen, to simply be present, “I’d rather have you next to me, listening along with me to the chatter of all of these people,” he once told you. 

When in truth, you were also his anchor. You were the very light in his life that pulled him from the dark, guiding and comforting him. You saw past his brooding stern demeanor, making him smile and laugh more times than he can count. 

You embraced his shadows, his darkness, welcoming them with open arms, letting it consume and comfort you. Most of all, you had a way of reading him without him needing to say or do anything. You never pushed nor forced, you’d simply lay your head on his shoulders as you clasped his hand into yours, “It’s okay Azzy, I'm still here, I'm not going anywhere.” 

Thick as thieves, you were both inseparable. Gravitating to one another unconsciously, like souls meant to be intertwined. You were so deeply in love with him, and you were certain he felt just the same. 

You couldn’t be more wrong in your entire life. The moment she came into the family was the moment you became completely invisible, cut off from the one person you could rely on.

You’ve watched from the sidelines for centuries as Azriel bounced from one woman to the other, especially as he chased the love and longing he had for Gwyn and Mor. And yet despite how much it hurt you, he still made sure that you were a priority in his life. Never forgotten like you are now.

But could you blame him?

Elaine was gentle, soft spoken, and kind. Much like you, and yet she was everything you only wished you could be. She was graceful, she was bright, and she was endearing. People gravitated to her without her even having to say anything. She was noticed instantly, igniting the primal instinct of those around her to protect her, to include her, and to keep her safe.

And you could do nothing but go back into the darkness of your own shadows, lingering in the corner and watching as Azriel slipped through your fingers. And the worst part of it all? 

He didn’t even notice. 

It was dinner time with the whole family as usual. You sat to the right of Azriel, with Elain to his left. It was a habit for you both to fill each other’s plates with all your favorite foods. It was natural for you both, something that everyone liked to tease you both about, and yet you and Azriel thought nothing of it. Just waved it off with a smile because in truth, it just felt right to you both. 

You began filling his plate with all of the good hearty stuff he liked to indulge in once in a while. You grabbed a few slices of roast beef, 2 baked bread rolls, a generous heaping amount of potatoes, and a few pieces of broccoli and carrots.

It was only after you finished plating his food that you realized your plate was empty. You were so happily engrossed with plating his food that you failed to realize that all the movements Azriel has been making to grab food weren’t to fill your plate, but to fill hers. A pile high of food completely different from your taste buds. 

You felt the beginning of your tears in your eyes, and yet you held them back as much as you could. Everyone around you was happily talking and eating, completely oblivious to the way your heart was being torn apart. You wanted to get up and leave the room, to do nothing but cry for the rest of the night. But you didn’t want to cause a scene, you didn’t want to burden anyone with your own pain— they all deserved a good time with a good meal at the end of the night.

Coming back from your thoughts, you fought the urge to look to your left. You fought with all your heart, to ignore the whispers and giggles from them both. You especially tried to ignore the way Azriel ate happily at his food, never once wondering how his plate was already so full. That night, all you could eat was a slice of strawberry cake, going unnoticed by everyone, by Azriel, of just how little you ate. 

Despite how completely invisible you felt, it couldn’t stop you from caring and loving him from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from filling his plate every dinner time. And it most certainly didn’t stop you from doing what you’ve always done.

You refilled his secret snack cabinet in the kitchen when it was going empty, you replaced his gloves and clothes when you noticed it starting to wear out during training, and you made sure a cup of warm tea was always placed in his night stand— knowing how it helped him sleep easier. 

You were so in tuned with making sure you never stopped loving him in ways you’ve always had that you failed to realize that it was no longer being reciprocated. Your bones were starting to ache, your stomach was feeling emptier than usual, the headaches were becoming a frequent visitor, your skin becoming pale from the lack of sleep, and you were slowly drifting away from not only Azriel, but your family too.

The only solace you realized was at night, where you could cry out your heart with the moon looking down on you. You let out a sob, recalling just how loved you used to be by Azriel. How he kept you strong and how he looked out for you just as much. And yet you were so easy to forget, so easy to be tossed aside, as if you were nothing to him. With one final cry, you’ve accepted the one fact you’ve been avoiding— you lost the only anchor you had in your life.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 31 - Bombastic Side Eye

You find a building.

On AO3.

The graveyard wraps around a big, round building. Y’all catch voices inside (everybody but you, anyway, goddamn magic pointy ears). But busting through the grimy glass windows seems like a bad idea. Especially since there’s something off about them voices, something dry and raspy and mummified. Then Astarion taps his ear again and ain’t a one of them in there’s got a pulse.

So fuck that.

You find a wing of the building half overgrown in dead vines. Something does move inside it, also without a pulse, but there’s only one.

Arabella wrings her hands. Says, “Are they in there?”

Astarion gives a tiny shake of his head.

“I don’t think so, kiddo,” you say. “But it might be a good idea to get inside there and see what we can see. It might be dangerous, though, so I want you to wait out here, huh?”

Nobody likes that.

Arabella says so. “I can take care of myself. I have been this whole time.”

Shadowheart’s wearing her eyebrows halfway to her hairline, and though Lae’zel’s expression don’t change, the judgement roils off her.

Leaving…

“Would you stay out here with her?” you say.

Astarion stares. Face completely blank. For just a second, you wonder if your dirt potion done wore off.

“I’m sorry, were you speaking to me?” he says.

“Him?” Arabella says. Gives him the world’s most bombastic side-eye.

Lae’zel would probably throw her at a monster to “test her battle readiness.” Shadowheart’s primary method of communication is some kinda eyebrow signaling and wine.

“Can you even fight?” Arabella says.

Astarion scoffs. Then pulls his lips back to bare his fangs, and literally hisses at her.

You didn’t know he did that.

The girl folds her arms. Squints scornfully. “So what?”

And she bares her own mouthful of pointy teeth.

“I think hers are bigger than yours,” Shadowheart says.

“They most certainly are not,” Astarion says, one fist on his hip. “And how many throats have you ripped out, you little ingrate?”

You’re gonna come back outside and find them slap fighting each other, ain’t you?

But he’s still the best option. So you say, “Please, Astarion. I trust you the most for this.”

Man seems unable to tell if that’s an insult or a compliment. His mouth flaps a couple’a times, and his eyebrows do something real complicated.

“Are you implying I cannot be trusted to keep watch over a hatchling,” Lae’zel says.

Her face might as well be made of stone. Her armor still gleams, even in this gloom, with a sword almost longer than her hitched to her belt.

“Uh,” you say.

“I was known among my people for my patience. The hatchlings came to me for their first tutelage.”

“And how many survived that encounter?” Astarion says.

Right as Shadowheart says, “Really?”

Lae’zel don’t so much as twitch. “No.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Please, Astarion?”

He’s too busy gawking at Lae’zel. “Did you…did she…Lae’zel. Was that a joke?”

“I do not know this ‘joke’ you speak of.”

You’re all gonna die.

The kid catches your gaze. Don’t say it with words, but manages a silent, screaming Really?

“They’re real good at being assholes and killing stuff,” you say. You motion to the edgelord lesbians. “Let’s get going. Thank you, Astarion!”

And shuffle towards the door.

“Now hold just a moment!” Astarion says. “I didn’t agree to anything!”

“I owe you!”

Shadowheart gives him a smug grin and wiggles her fingers as you duck inside.

***

The burgeoning better mood dies the second you get a look inside. It’s as deserted as the other structures. The withered things and general stale stink of decay and neglect don’t flag nothing.

The dark stains fucking do.

It’s hard to tell what it was. Could be soup; you assume that whatever went down that emptied the place happened quick. Shit, Wyll mentioned coffee that once.

But the overturned—it looks like a bedpan, honestly—crusted with the same, long-dried stains, and the moldering, stiffened rags the same color makes you think that’s way too optimistic.

So does the Silent Hill nurse.

You ain’t never played Silent Hill yourself. You watched Ryan fucking Meadows play it a couple’a times. Enough to take one look at that thing shuffling around, and take a step back as the alarm bells all start chiming in your head.

“Y’all don’t recognize that, do you?” you say. Maybe a basic-bitch monster? Mummy nurse?

But Shadowheart shakes her head (fuck). Says, “Whatever it is, it’s not alive.”

Double fuck.

“So we make sure it no longer moves,” Lae’zel says and reaches for her sword.

You contemplate that. Weigh it against the likelihood of the nurse’s face splitting open in a teeth- and tongue-filled maw that grabs Lae’zel’s arm and crunches it off in a wet, jagged—

There’s beds to the right. That’s a safe thing to contemplate. There’s even some wooden blocks scattered under one of them. With faded paint on them.

A hospital, once upon a time? The outside’s overgrown to hell, but this might’a been a nice place, once. Full of clean linen and sunshine, flowers and butterflies outside and kids playing while their elders rested and recovered.

Good medicine.

That’s when you spot them. All the way at the end, over by Silent Hill over there. Two beds like all the others. Except these ones got shapes on them. Humanoid. Skin a soft lavender, turned gray, now.

“Oh,” you breath, a stone plummeting through your guts.

Tieflings. Fully clothed, looks like they’re just napping. But there’s a stillness to them and you know without getting any closer.

Astarion didn’t hear no heartbeats.

“I suppose that answers that,” Shadowheart says. Pauses a moment. “May their souls find the blessed darkness.”

Lae’zel grunts. “We end this waste of a mission, then.”

Arabella is an orphan. With her caravan scattered and captured, in a haunted village under siege by a brainworm-enslaved murder cult.

Fuck.

You run a hand over your face.

This, of all things, draws the attention of the nurse. She twitches in your direction. The upper half of her face is covered in some kinda headpiece. But her lips is visible—a bit crusty now, but once maybe they was plump and soft.

“Are you ill?” she says.

Her voice is…weird. You can hear the ghost of what it once was, you think. High and sweet. Good for soothing skinned knees and bumps to the head.

Now it’s…dried out. Creaking like a rusty hinge in a dead factory.

Yet for all that, she’s death-gray now. Movements all wrong. And an old, old part of you you can’t even name whispers it’d be a real bad idea to let her do a damn thing to you.

“You must not disturb the patients,” she says, and gestures to Arabella’s dead folks. “Have a seat and I will be with you shortly.”

“I’m actually fine,” you say.

“You must have medicine.”

Your two companions grab their weapons. The air around Shadowheart hums like a static field around a balloon.

But all you can think about is a soft head splitting open like a rotten, kicked melon and teeth and tentacles lashing out.

Goddamn John Carpenter.

“I’m, uh, actually here to see the doctor,” you say.

It’s a Karen move. Ask for the manager. It don’t occur to you that it might also be a real possibility.

“Doctor Thorm?” Silent Hill wheezes. “Of course.”

Thorm.

“How many Thorms are there?” Shadowheart says.

You look to them. Can’t spot Astarion or the kid outside through them windows. You don’t want Arabella coming in here and seeing this, but Silent Hill already shuffles towards a door leading deeper in.

“He is in surgery,” Silent Hill says. And instead of something sensible like “Come back in two hours” or “you need an appointment” she opens the door. Says, “This way.”

[vibatu]

"Just a sip" , a comic idea that I have filed away under the "I no longer know when or if I'll ever finish it" category (Doesn't feel right to say "discarded" lmao) (who knows, maybe one day I pick it back up!).

I really love the thumbnails I managed to sketch out (especially that last panel at the third page!!!!!!! I want and need to make more of that), its been I think almost a year since I've made them though, and it just doesn't feel right just let them keep collecting dust after so long especially when I don't even know if the inspiration to complete it strikes again, so, here it is! Read more for further rambling into the details~

This is another "what if" comic where wanted to explore mainly:

1. Ocudeus and The Seaspring. And what could happen within someone's mind once they drink (Lukas is our text subject! Yay!)

2. "Interesting" paneling, or at least visually engaging compositions in pages (I love making comics!) There's so many things I want to practice and try out to make bring the movies in my head come to life in this format.

On to the "plot".

We start out with Lukas drinking from The Spring. Hypothetical-Timeline wise this would be happening at the "ending" of the TS story in which not a single cure is found for MCs curse. Last resort type of situation. This happens on pages 1, 2, and page "3". In this post the 3 image would actually be page 4, I just never sketches the 3rd (I just drew what was clearest in my head first). Imagine 3rd page having a shot of Ais staring at the process from a safe distance with a cig while Lukas is writhing on the floor losing his marbles after drinking (lol).

Now the fun part. Ocudeus. I imagined the process of joining the groupmind not happening instantly. I thought about Ocudeus himself manifesting in their new host's mind and sometimes striking conversation (which happens in isolation with just the two of them) (brain is not part of the primordial soup. Yet)

We don't know what Ocudeus looks like either! So I went crazy. At first I was just gonna make them take Ais' shape. But that felt, not quite right for an eldritch being. So instead, Ocudeus takes the form of whoever is drinking :) thus manifesting themselves as Lukas inside Lukas' mind.

There's a huge jump in events from Image 3 and 4 of the post. After Img 3 there's a lot of talking going on. Asking if the curse can really be cured. Ocudeus being a sassy smug menace cryptic about it and reminding Lukas that there is no going back anyways and that is no longer something Lukas should be concerned about. He will no longer be himself, so why worry.

After this its just a "Descent into true madness", see Img 4 for reference, where the "world" just really starts to warp around and eventually ends with Lukas getting "consumed" by the darkness of the giant octopus, his lasts thoughts as "Lukas" being those of relief of finally getting rid of the curse, and grief over leaving his life behind. Fun stuff.

Comic was supposed to end with Lukas jolting awake (His head was resting on Ais lap now).

After sitting up abruptly and wiping his tears away, with hands that now look properly human. Lukas turns to Ais and asks, with a gaze now as red as the seaspring near them.

"Why am I crying?"

-

THATS A LONG ONE If you read this far, well, thanks! ;w; I hope you enjoyed the read, even if there is no full comic to pair. The Seaspring is so interesting to me.

Some other random things: I got inspired by the Honkai Star Rail promo video where Acheron and Black Swan dance together. The visuals and visualization of Black Swan's "being" being consumed by the endless void was SO good and when I realized this concept could work for the seaspring in a similar way I needed to get the idea out of my system.

Have an extra! Alternative version of my fav panel. Only difference is the eyes, this is the first version. Which I drew before Redspring revealed what Ais' eyes looked like when his cephalopod friend is driving the car.

Vibi out~ (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

[blitzwhore]

Sleepover Saturday ❤️

I am literally working on my first fanfic ever right now and I’m so excited. It’s so self-indulgent and I’m positive only 3 people will ever read it 🤣 but it’s been fun to actually write something instead of just thinking about it non-stop.

I wanted to ask: do you have any tips for planning a fic out? Do you organize your ideas in a formal way, or do you just write and see where it goes?

I just kind of started writing and I’m worried that I’m going all over the place.

First fanfic ever!!! Omg that's so exciting! Congratulations on taking this step 😍 Do you have an AO3 account set up? One I can perhaps subscribe to? 👀

Oh gosh, I am not the best person to ask for story planning tips. I am soooooo all over the place it's not even funny. Usually, when I write short one-shots or drabbles, I just start writing without any previous planning (other than vague ideas floating in my mind) and see where the story takes me.

For longer fics, I... okay, it's hard to explain. I do plan, but it's vague and chaotic. What I usually do is create a separate Google doc and dump every single thought I have about the fic in there, unfiltered. Streams of consciousness I have, dialogue exchanges that suddenly pop up in my mind, backstory for the characters, events I'd like to write, ways in which I'd like them to touch or look at each other, songs they'd listen to... And anything else I'd like to include in my story at some point.

Then, I start writing. And as the story progresses, both in the doc and inside my head, I frequently go back to those notes and ideas, moving them around and changing them up to fit the characterisation and tone as those slowly come together. Some of those ideas become milestones I want to get to. Everything I write, I write steering them towards that moment, that scene that I've planned out. But I have no idea how they'll actually get from A to B; that all comes to life while I write. And sometimes, while writing, the characters go "actually, B is stupid and we're gonna do W instead, thanks." And I'm just sitting there like... God fucking dammit you guys 🤣

For example, in my tattoo fic, I knew while writing chapter 1 that I wanted their first date to be at the park, and I had many ideas for how their first kiss would be. I knew I wanted Stolas to ask Blitz to kiss him, and then get nervous when Blitz laughed in response, and I knew I wanted Blitz to take charge and start slow, kissing Stolas' neck until Stolas was so desperate he dragged Blitz into a proper kiss himself. And I knew I wanted it to happen on a park bench, with Blitz in Stolas' lap. But while planning for, and writing, chapter 2, I had no intention of making them talk about circus stuff, or to have Stolas having seen Blitz perform as a teen; that came out of nowhere. And I also didn't plan on them hearing water or finding a creek or taking selfies together, that was all them!

And don't even get me started on chapter 3. That was meant to be the club chapter. They were just meant to have a quick meeting so Stolas could give back the jacket and they could make out a bit. The tacos, and Blitz lending him a shirt, and Stolas getting nervous and prompting Blitz to be more careful about dragging Stolas into things he doesn't actually want to do... That was all them. I had no part in it! 🤣

So yeah, whatever you're doing, I'm sure it can't get much worse than what I'm doing 😂 I'm now writing chapter 6 and I have a lot of specific moments I want to get to in the chapter, but how they'll get to each of them and what will happen between A and B and C is beyond me. And I have plans for what's going to happen in future chapters, many plans. But as to how and when we'll get to each of those moments in the fic? Yeah, I have no clue!

And this is coming from someone who's been writing fanfic for over a decade (and writing in general since I was 8), so... Whatever it is you're doing, if it's working, then keep going! That's all the wisdom I can offer 🤡😂

[cheriafreya]

HSR livestream was crazy I'm actually sweating like holy fucking shit... there are so many things coming but the ones that stood out for me the most were the PENACONY expansion and FUCKING FREE RUAN MEI ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

[greasydumbfuck]

thinking about frank and sex (in a sad way)

[kippuchan]

It’s really unfortunate when you have a legit “skin itchy” condition and also dermatillomania/exchoration disorder. Yes I know scratching is bad. Yes the scratching make things worse. But also. My mind is only calm if picky picky. Hell.

[solaceseven]

breath of fresh air

you storm out in the middle of an argument. featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.

[seafoam-taide]

I love love love my dear Entropy I think about her all the time I love her <33 I have to write about her she is always in my thoughts. Don't click these tags open unless you really want to read them there is . There's lots. THERE WERE TOO MANY IT KILLED SOME OF THEM. WHY DIDN'T IT TELL ME TAG LIMIT I KEPT TYPUNG !!! That's so sad and I can't even put the rest that I typed up here bc I forgot it already because my brain fucking sucks. Whatever whatever whatever rahggg beams Entropy thoughts directly into your brain you know exactly what I mean now

[kutepik]

So Fucking Domestic

(mdni 18+) How many times a week is it normal for a couple to do it? Well... You and Caleb are definitely above average.

1.2k. small hc about domestic life and boyfriend!caleb with a little bit of spicy hihi

Since you and Caleb started seeing each other officially, it was only natural that you spent more time in Skyhaven and he in Linkon. You both had such dense and strenuous routines that at any free moment you tried to be together and make the most of it. On a particular day during the first month of your relationship, you arrived at the Colonel's apartment and found some step stools placed at strategic spots in the apartment. They were large and discreet, one near the kitchen counter, another by the bathroom sink, another by the bookcase in the study and many others. The answer when you asked Caleb about it was simple: when he became a colonel and got the right to an apartment, the Fleet asked for his height to make the furniture as proportional and functional as possible for him. Now that you were spending more time there, he made sure to have those steps made at the right height for you, so that you could be as comfortable as possible. In fact, you always wondered why the sink seemed so high when you brushed your teeth, and how uncomfortable it was to cut things on the counter when you tried to cook something. Caleb was always so efficient and attentive, and you loved that about him.

A week after steps stools were added to the apartment, you were used to them. One day, while you were at the kitchen sink, peeling some apples for a quick snack, Caleb came in from a night mission.

"Hey! Want an apple?" You smiled when he hugged you from behind, sinking his face into the nape of your neck easily because of the extra height the step stool gave you.

"What a miracle to find you in the kitchen," he kissed your neck and held your hips, gluing you to him. You brought a piece of apple to his mouth over your shoulder and forced him to eat it, to shut him up. "Hmpf" He tried to speak and you turned around, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

"How was it today?" You gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

"Boring. I just wanted to come home to you." He rubbed his cheek against yours, sighing. "Buuuut, I had time to think of something"

"Hm?" You hummed with your eyes closed, feeling the warmth of his face against yours.

"I was wondering if... You'd let me put my cock inside you without me having to ask or with any ceremony." He said in a careful voice. "Of course, if you don't want to at the moment, just tell me and I'll completely stop. I totally understand if you find it weird and don't want to do this and I pinky promise we never have to talk about it again and I'll never bring it up ev-“

"I want it!” you said and threw your head to one side. His eyes widened in surprise. "Wherever you want. No matter when you want. I trust you." You kissed one of his eyes. "And I love the idea of you fucking me without ceremony and at any time."

"God, you're going to drive me absolutely crazy. Thank you." He squeezed you in a tight hug.

Once the two of you had agreed on this, you initially thought you'd be having sex the way you always did, hard, deep, kinky, full of fluids, scratches and bites, or doing intense quickies several times a day. But no, it was simple and intimate, simply delicious. Caleb just wanted to be with you and inside you all the time.

Little by little, you realized how the stool he had ordered served more than one purpose. Sometimes you'd be doing your makeup for work, standing in front of the bathroom sink, and Caleb would simply approach you, asking about your plans for the day. As the ordinary words and dialog went on between the two of you, he would gently pull up your shirt, pull down your panties and put his cock inside you. It was addictive. The fucking step stool not only gave you the perfect height for the furniture in the house, but also to leave your ass at the right height for Caleb to find himself in you without having to hold you down, sit or lie down. It was usually like this: his cock nestling into you with slow, intimate strokes, while you both carried on chatting about anything, just spending time together.

By then, you made a habit of walking around the house in your (his) large shirt and no panties, knowing that Caleb liked to be with you, inside you, whenever he could. Of course, you still had brutal sex like two animals frequently, but it seemed that Caleb's obsession and need for you - and you for him - was able to bring about the most painfully intimate, simple and tender sex of your lives. It was just so good to trust so deeply in someone and to want someone so badly that no words or timing were needed. At one moment it was a "Can I stay here with you, baby?" and the next you were reading your book, bent over the counter, while Caleb slid his cock up and down between your folds, stroking himself against your clit, praising you and your pretty pussy. He did it not only because he wanted it, but because he could.

Sometimes he wouldn't even come, or even move. If you were watching a movie, he would surely be inside you, both of you cuddled up, relaxing after an exhausting day, cockwarming.

In fact, you liked it so much that when he didn't take the initiative, you went after him. There were times when he was reading reports, sitting on the living room sofa or in the office armchair, and you would silently approach him, fiddling with your cell phone, sit on his thighs, and soon his cock was hard and hot under his pants. Within moments, you were slowly riding his throbbing cock, while he used his thumb to caress your clit, slowly, just like the rise and fall of your hips. If you got tired, you didn't have to get up. You just kept yourself there, hugging Caleb, with his hard cock throbbing inside you, filling you up completely.

One day, talking to Tara and Simone at the pub in Linkon, the topic came up: "How many times a week is it normal for a couple to have sex?", and the girls debated curiously.

"I don't know, three or two times a week? It depends on their schedule." Simone said, sipping her drink.

"Some couples do it every day! Can you imagine? Having sex every day?" Tara said, her eyes widening. " What about you and your boyfriend? How often do you do it?" She asked, curious.

And that made you wonder. There was the mind-blowing sex, the longing sex, the dirty sex, the rough sex, the slow sex, the sex when you were reading, the sex when he was reading, the sex when you were on your cell phones, the sex when talking about anything, the sex on the kitchen counter, the sex on the bathroom sink, the bath time sex, the movie time sex, the bed time sex, the sleep time sex, the wake up time sex, the boredom time sex, the play time sex… And all you could do was blink, trying to calculate how many times a week Caleb and you had sex and it simply wasn't possible to count.

You laughed, sipped your drink and sighed.

"I don't know, I don't count." And it wasn't a lie.

[rin-may-1103]

Aspiring Escape Artist (part two)

Last | Master Post | Next...

"Why don't we all head inside, yes?" Mr. Wayne suggested, waving his arm in the doors general direction.

"Yes, that sounds great," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to Danny like she was debating whether or not she should drag him inside. Danny was very against that idea and glared at her. She huffed but turned and started making her way up the stairs.

The other, he can't really say kids because he's pretty sure half the people standing in front of him were over the age of eighteen, but they still lived with Mr. Wayne, apparently, so kids it was. The other kids continued to try to stealthily watch him as they made their way into the building. (He refused to call this place a house; it was bigger than Sam's manor for Ancients' sake.)

The gray-eyed girl waited for him, the not-so-happy but happy sparkle back as she watched him approach. Pausing for a moment, Danny turned and gently patted the bush closest to him, it had been practically begging for attention for the past ten minutes and Sam would have throttled him if he had just ignored it.

She treated them like demented puppies, and it's against every unspoken law (in danny's books, atleast) to ignore a puppy.

The gray-eyed girl (man, he was going to have to learn their names, Ancients, why were there so many people here?) tilted her head curiously, eyeing the plant he just patted.

"My friend has plant powers," Danny huffed, which was true. Sam still had lingering plant control and a connection to the green because of Undergrowth. Danny was just leaving out the fact that he also had plant powers. He wasn't sure why he always got new powers after beating new powerful ghosts, but it happens, and now he needs to pet the plants because they get sad if he doesn't.

(Jazz theorized once that the new powers were due to his half-a nature, but then they looked at Vlad and decided it was probably something else.) (Also, why in the world did he get ice powers and then almost immediately plant powers? like, seriously, why?)

"Close friend?" Gray asked, turning to follow Danny inside.

"One of my best friends," Danny agreed. Man, he missed them. He'd have to figure out how to get out of here soon; there was no way he was going to just not see his friends on Tucker's birthday. Which meant he had about a week to bust out of here and get back to Amity. Oh, and stay under the radar so Vlad doesn't find him.

Glancing around the entry hall, or was the term foyer? like, the place was fancier then most five star hotels he's seen (which he wants to make clear, was against his dying wishes. fuck vlad and his not hard earned money.) like, sure, it wasn't all white modern minimalist like the hotels, but he's pretty sure the vase just sitting a little too close to the edge of a table was worth more then a human heart on the black market.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor," Mr. Pennyworth started, closing the doors with a heavy thud. He didn't lock it, though, Danny noted. Probably because Ms. Clance still needed to leave.

"may I have your coats?" he asked, holding out his arm to Ms. Clance and looking over to Danny. Ms. Clance immediately started to shrug off her jacket and dropped it onto his arm without a second glance, trying to talk to Mr. Wayne about an office or something.

Danny shook his head, "No thanks. I prefer to keep my things with me." especially in a new place, who knows what they'd do to his stuff. last time he handed anything over it had been locked up and never returned. (or well, not returned until he stole it back right before leaving, but that's getting into semantics.)

"So, Daniel was it?" the older guy from the first three asked, smiling brightly and trying to act casual. He was failing.

"It's Danny," Danny huffed, glancing around to study the others.

Gray was nice, he had a feeling they'd get a long fine. she was like an open book, all her opinions and emotions right there for him to see. Though that just meant she was awear of them and could easily hide them.

The others not so much.

Eyebags looked tired but alert, watching Danny like he was a new puzzle. Which was fine, Danny could deal with that. He probably wasn't as bad as Jazz or his parents were when obsessed with new things, so he goes lower on the list but not off.

Mr. Casual over here was watching him AND the others, which meant he was probably the peacekeeper. That or he was the one who antagonized the others into acting without them noticing. Same as eyebags, then.

Blondie looked like she was planning how to prank him right then and there, but also like she was evaluating him for something. Like he thought earlier, she'll probably stick around until she gets bored. So, hmmm. Keep an eye on more than eyebags, but probably not a problem.

there was a kid maybe two-three years younger than him trying to hide on the stairs out of view, he looked pissed off and annoyed. Something was telling Danny he should stay away from him. So, definitely going to the top of his list right next to butler man.

And finally, Mr. Wayne. He was smiling and chatting with Ms. Clance like he didn't have a care in the world. And it would have been believable if it wasn't for the fact that the man was easily steering the conversation away from the stuff Ms. Clance wanted to talk about, without Danny around, before leaving. Which means Mr. Wayne wanted Danny to be part of the conversation, probably to get both sides of the story.

He was smart and knew how to manipulate situations without people catching on.

Also, top of the list, then.

"Only people who want to kill me call me Daniel," Danny added, watching as Ms. Clance tried to bring up his file and fell for another diversion.

"Really?" Eyebags asked, actually surprised for some reason.

Oh, wait, murder isn't normal. Ha, to live a normal life. It must be boring. Couldn't be him, even if he wanted it. There was nothing normal about growing up with mad scientists, and nothing normal about being half dead and a vigilante.

"Yeah, my friends and I made a chart and everything. Granted, we didn't have many people to add to the list to compare with, but it's checked out so far." Danny admitted, turning to face Eyebags.

Honestly, it was just Vlad, his parents, a few GIW agents, and those very few times his friends almost killed him. But come on, they all called him Daniel at some point. Therefore, it totally checks out.

"Huh," Mr. Casual blinked, glancing at his siblings before shaking his head. "Right, so uh, why do people want to kill you?"

"Because they're Fruit Loops," Danny grumbled, finally deciding to approach Ms. Clance. Might as well get this done and over with. The longer she stayed, the less time Danny would have to scout the place by himself later, after all the introductions.

Next (to be written)