#Woke up from the explosions today
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Got some progress with eyes and skin shader. No more plastic! Now it's rubber instead :D
#I quite like it how it looks now#mb will tweack it more in the future#Now I must do the same with Jon -___-#I'm alive btw!#Woke up from the explosions today#It was really close#russia made yet another large missile attack on us#might won't have any electricity tomorrow#support ukraine#frogwares sherlock#sherlock holmes#frogwares sherlock holmes#sherlock fanart#Sherlock Holmes Chapter One#frogwares holmes#frogwares sherlock holmes chapter one#blender render#blender#blender eevee#WistfulSherlockChapterOne
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Mentions of children and a baby, fluffy and then angst. MDNI
Katsuki wakes up to the sound of laughter, soft giggling before two small bodies crawl into the oversized bed.
"Daddy!" They whisper, or what they call a whisper, having not learned the subtleness of it yet. More of a hushed yell of his title as little hands slap across his bare skin, "Daddy wake up!"
He scoops them to him, pressing them against his scarred chest with a grunt before his eyes flutter open, by the sun alone he can tell it's barely seven am. A glance at his clock confirms it and the kids squeal from how he squeezes them to him. He's barely gotten an hour and a half of sleep and when he glances over his shoulder he sees that you're still in bed, he wonders if it was a late night for you too. You were texting him late last night although that was normal for you, Katsuki still wonders if the newest edition to the family was the cause of your unrest.
Katsuki thinks he can pin his twin boys to him and lull them to sleep for another hour or so, he's done it before but their giggles say otherwise.
"Grandma is comin today to see sissy!" Their hushed yell too loud for Katsuki's liking, at least while you and baby try to sleep. Little hands pressing at his chest and setting off little popping explosions that earn them a fatherly glare although Katsuki was sure yours was sharper than his somehow.
It's befitting that he'd have two little hellions just like himself, a "double curse" his ma has teased about your whole pregnancy but she quietly whispered to Katsuki after she first met the twins, "You were easy to raise."
And the youngest Bakugou, his baby girl, took after you. All of her features a carbon copy of you just as his boys were the spitting image of him.
"We wanna tell her we helped with breakfast!" They're pushing again, although this time without their explosions after the warning glare from their father.
"You'll wake yer mother and yer sister." He grunts, but presses kisses to their faces that they giggle about, "Wait in the kitchen for me yea? But do not touch that stove."
"Okay daddy!" Their "whispers" lost and a full on yell before their eyes widen from their mistake, Katsuki and the boys holding their breath only for the baby to coo and you to let out a sleepy "Hmm?'
Katsuki knows that you can still fall asleep, that you'd have risen if you were more awake so that he could sleep but he's up now and he doesn't mind. He's glad the boys have listened to him that yes, momma is a super woman but that daddy can help them too.
And Katsuki cannot say he isn't proud that the boys love to cook with him.
After the coast is clear he sends them on their way with a playful swat to their butts that they giggle about, always rough housing those two. Encouraged of course by Bakugou but when it comes to the baby their hands shake with a little nervousness asking for gloves because they know their quirk could hurt their baby sister and that they are not in control of their gift yet.
Katsuki rises enough to sit on the side of the bed in nothing but his boxers, chest and half of his face scarred from a tale long ago that his kids beg for the story but he never tells. Not yet anyway. Rubbing his large palms across his handsome features, bromine eyes softened to candied apples thanks to his family. Ash blonde stubble looking more grey and crows feet next to his shining eyes.
He yawns, hears his boys giggle as they try to get the usual stuff for pancakes. One helping the other to climb the counter in order to reach the pancake mix and they're good boys. They don't touch the stove while they wait.
Katsuki rises fully now, grabbing a shirt from the clean hamper and sliding it on. Coming over to your side of the bed to look at you. Sleeping soundly and when he spies the bags under your eyes being kissed by your long lashes, he's more than thankful the boys woke him up instead. He leans over, kisses your temple softly, runs his hand feather light over your arm before his cooing baby girl. Talking to herself softly as she stares up at the ceiling, arms moving here and there but nothing too excitable.
And then she sees her father and her face lights up, pure joy just like when she sees her mom. Not fully Katsuki knows this but maybe it's even better to know that his baby girl still knows that these blurry shapes are him. Her cooing and babble louder now, excited as she reaches up for him and he gives a big smile pulling her up to press her into his arms.
"Good morning sweetheart." He coos back, a kiss to her wispy hairline. Softly shutting the door as he takes her to her room, passing by his boys and shutting the door to each. You insisted they should have separate rooms that you didn't want the twins to feel like one person and although they both had "sleep overs" often, they loved their own space as well.
"Boys you'll have to pick up yer rooms a bit before grams gets here." He says to them as he walks down the hall after baby girl has a fresh diaper and outfit, at least for now.
"Even though she doesn't go in there."
"Yea grams never sees our room unless we show her!'
"Mmhmm even though she doesn't go in there. It's still nice to have a straightened room ain't it?" Katsuki looks to them as they play in the water more than they wash their hands.
The morning is easy somehow and Katsuki is so so thankful he waited as long as he did to have kids. He's much more mellow now, can do more of the gentle parenting shit the baby books talked about. And yes his mother yelled at him often and he knows his ma loves him, he just doesn't want that for his kids. And yea he does yell sometimes, gets frustrated or blows up, they're two six year olds with big ass feelings and little bodies.
But he always apologizes
You taught him that and if you couldn't collect yourself either you always pointed out it isn't kind to yell, apologized and explained your own big feelings. Plus when you had the right partner parenting could be easy, it could be a lot of fucking fun. At least that's what Bakugou has always thought.
He supports you and he listened to his Ma the first time when Mitsuki said you weren't going to ask for help and that Katsuki needed to step up. So he'd take turns before you become exhausted and burned out, he split chores or took on more when you couldn't. And as always you did the same for him.
Now is just one of those weird times where you both are exhausted and trying your best to work with the schedule you have but Katsuki thinks you need a little more rest than him even if you've been home. Even if you can send the boys to grams or your own parents or to their cousins house for a sleepover, you still deserve rest because at the end of the day no matter how much he could step up kids will always want their moms first.
"Katsuki." You call gently from the hall as the boys bounce around while a TV show plays on low, their giggling hushed while Katsuki "spoils" the baby and keeps her held to him.
"Ah did we wake ya?"
"MOM WE HELPED WITH PANCAKES!" They scream excitedly, rushing to their half asleep mom to cling to your legs. Chattering away about how they helped with everything even dishes. How yours is in the microwave and how daddy said he'd heat them up. You respond, brushing your hands over their little skulls, pushing down their hair and they hum on.
"You came home late, you should have woken me up." You say softly, barely enough time to get ready before Mitsuki was due here in less than twenty minutes.
"Haaah? And let you hog all this to yerself?" He gestures to the living room where it looks as if a bomb went off, toys, stuffed animals and blankets scattered about that you and Katsuki would have to sing the clean up song just to have it all put away. Mostly anyway, it'd all come out again as they showed their grams and gramps their collection.
You laugh loudly, god damn does he love that sound. Loves that it echoes in his own chest enough to make him smirk or chuckle. Watches you come closer to kiss the babies forehead from over the back of the couch before kissing him on the lips.
The boys of course erupt in a chorus of EWS before they're getting a look from you both. This was definitely still a lightly teasing household.
"Go get ready. The number one hero can handle this." He leans up for another kiss that you give him of course, your once sharp claws now rounded to soft nails scratch at his scruff.
"Kay."
You're out of the shower and dressed without a second to spare, the doorbell rings. The boys wait impatiently to see if it's okay to answer the door, hopping up and down because they were never allowed to swing it open even if they were expecting someone. When Katsuki confirms on the door bell camera it's his mother, he rises to stand at the door to open it.
Sunlight bleeds in, obstructs the view of his mother for a moment
And then Katsuki wakes up.
His alarm blaring from his bedside table making his heart race with adrenaline, his palm poised and ready. Glowing a deep orange as he collects himself a moment. Growling as he smashes another phone turning to stare at the ceiling. He dares not reach out to your side of the bed even though he knows what he'll find.
Still, his curious, masochist palms reach out to find cool sheets. Sheets on your side of the bed that haven't been warmed for over two years, why would they?
No giggling laughter can be heard in the home, no cooing little girl he can greet with a smile after a hard ass night at work because the four of you made it worth it over and over again.
No visit from his ma on his rare few days off because there was no laughter, no cooing, and there may never be.
There never was because you left him two years ago. Left his sheets cool, the house he bought for his future family frigid in your absence no matter how high he turned up the heat or let the sun bleed into his home.
He couldn't even call it a home, homes were warm, joyful, this?
Well this was just another roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, a fridge to hold milk for his protein shakes.
Nothing for bacon and eggs or pancakes. Nothing for formula in the little bottles that were set out on the grass looking drying rack he'd tell his sons not to play with.
Katsuki rises enough to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his handsome features with big palms. Fingers lingering over scars from a tale long ago but with no sons to beg for the story.
He hardly has the strength to rise from the bed as he comes to terms that all it ever was and all that his two sons and daughter that he saw so vividly, ever will be
Was a dream.
#katsuki x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#katsuki angst#bakugou angst#some fluff but its mostly angst
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Play With Her
Explicit - 18+ Minors DNI
A sequel to Play With It
Words: 4k
You and Joel have fond memories of the last time he called you from work. But a slight misunderstanding leads to some fun with your neighbour, and to you ( accidentally) fulfilling one of Joel’s secret fantasies.
Warnings: SMUT, people. So much. Smut. Oral (m and f receiving), phone sex, mmf (kinda), Joel talks his girl through it like a gentleman, surprise Frankie, Joel’s a little shocked but he is very into it, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, Joel being kinda soft dom again.
You hadn’t forgotten Joel’s antics in his car in the middle of a workday, but despite a particularly explosive afternoon immediately following, you hadn’t had the time to properly get him back. It hadn’t been either of your faults, just that work continued to be relentless, something went wrong at the site, materials weren’t delivered, the vendors got mad. You developed a little twitch in your eyelid. Joel came home rubbing his neck and shoulders and turning the kitchen upside down trying to find the heat pack.
You knew there was love there, that there was passion. You weren’t worried about it, even though you missed him. You knew that it was situational. When the air cleared, you’d get back to taking each other apart.
--
Joel woke up early again, groaning as his muscles ached like they hadn’t had any rest at all. You were in bed beside him, and he knew that you’d had a late shift but you’d managed to rack up enough overtime that today you had the whole day to yourself. He was so proud of you, his little worker bee, and even though he was disappointed your schedules hadn’t aligned so that he could enjoy the day with you, or on top of you, he still knew it was good for you. He left a little note on your bedside, telling you he was gonna call around lunchtime. He marked it with two x’s and two o’s. For a second he imagined actually peppering your skin with kisses.
‘Soon, baby,’ he said, to your sleeping form. He was quiet in his socks on the carpet as he left.
On the way out the door, piece of toast between his teeth, he looked over the front lawn. It was getting out of control, and he’d been meaning to cut it, but he just couldn’t find the energy on a weekend, and as the days were gettin’ shorter as the weather changed, he was leaving in the dark, home in the dark. He didn’t like the look of the lawn, worried that the state of the grass was a direct reflection of the state of his aging body, of his bone-deep fatigue most days. That the neighbours would twig he was getting older, purely by the weeds spreading their tendrils over the path to the door.
‘Morning, Joel,’ he heard a voice call, and he glanced over to next door’s patio, where one such neighbour was standing with the newspaper in his hands.
‘Frankie,’ he said, nodding his head. He got on well with Frankie, even if he wasn’t 100% sure he trusted him all the time. He had a kid he had over every other weekend, who Sarah adored, and other than that he lived alone. Ex-military, he reminded Joel of Tommy, and he tried to be sensitive knowing some of the shit he must have seen. He didn’t seem lonely, he was handy and knew how to get Joel’s truck going when the engine was on the fritz, and more than anything he treated you respectful, tipped his cap when you walked by, and Joel liked that. Appreciated the manners.
‘Early start,’ Frankie said, and Joel sighed. He rested a hand on his hip.
‘Too early,’ he grunted, and the younger man smiled knowingly at him. As Joel moved to the truck he limped a little, his hip bothering him after he carried some lumber the wrong way on the site a few days ago.
‘You ok?’ Frankie asked. Frankie noticed everything, Joel knew. It would have kept him alive in his last job, he supposed.
‘Yeah, just gettin’ old, getting’ tired.’ Joel nodded to the lawn. ‘Can’t you tell?’
‘Could help you with that, got the day clear today and…well, don’t have other plans.’
Joel had seen Frankie out on his back porch drinking on his own, sometimes with a couple of other men who all looked a similar age, similar previous occupations. He didn’t mind so long as they kept it down and didn’t catch your eye too much.
‘Can’t ask ya for that,’ Joel started, but Frankie waved him away.
‘You’re not. I’m offering, hermano.’
Joel nodded. It might be a nice surprise for you, he thought, to have the house reclaim some of its street appeal. Lord knew it didn’t have much to start with.
Sitting in his truck he fired off a quick message to you so you wouldn’t be surprised by Frankie on your front lawn. ‘Organised a sruprise 4 you, baby xxoo,’ he wrote. He was going to be late. He sent it without too much thought.
--
You woke, lifting your arms up over your head and listening to the pops of your joints as the stretch moved up your spine. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a day off. You had no idea what you were going to do with your spare time.
After a second or two of blissful cotton-headedness, you noticed a droning sound from the front of the house. You stood on achy knees and padded over to the window. Surely Joel hadn’t taken the day off too, with the worksite being so crazy lately?
You sucked in a tight little breath when you saw him. Shirtless, with his curls poking out the side of his ballcap, pushing his lawnmower over your unruly grass in the late-morning sun. You scrabbled for your phone to check the time and also to try and orient yourself, to make sure you hadn’t accidentally fallen through a wormhole in your sleep, as though Siri would be able to tell you one way or the other.
You saw the message from Joel. A surprise? You glanced around the room, looking for any clues. Eventually your eyes fell on a scrap of paper on your bedside, and you read that, too. For a second you stood, confused, trying to put the pieces together. He had organised a surprise, there was a half-naked man on your lawn, and he was going to call you at lunchtime. And you remembered exactly what transpired the last time he did that.
Your felt your brows shoot up to your hairline as realisation dawned. Did he know you’d had a crush on Frankie since the moment he’d moved in next door? How could he know, you’d been so careful not to stare too long, not to smile too much. You’d felt the sparks, and you’d poured cold water of them well enough, you’d thought.
But nothing got past Joel. You couldn’t believe it, but also you definitely could.
A surprise for you? No. This time you were going to be one step ahead.
--
Joel didn’t like to eat his lunch in the truck, never fully able to get the tang of egg salad out of the upholstery after, but this time he made an exception. He’d pulled back around to where it was quiet, knowing some of the guys on site liked to pump the tunes during their breaks, set up a little jerry-rigged tailgate to try and while away the 40 minutes they had to themselves. He thought with a shiver about the last time he’d snuck off to park somewhere quiet. He let himself wonder for a moment if you’d be up for something like a repeat. He grinned a little as he dialled. He didn’t think he should push his luck.
The call connected almost straight away, like you’d been waiting for him, and he felt a little flutter in his heart. You were so sweet to him. He needed to take you out somewhere special soon, make you flutter for a little while.
‘Hey baby,’ you said, your voice high and breathy, and he guessed you were still in bed.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said, teasin’ you.
‘Mmm,’ you said, ‘no cameras this time?’
‘We can if you want, baby, but I was just calling to check in on ya.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, and to make sure Frankie’s doing his job,’ he said, chuckling a little.
‘Frankie’s doing just fine,’ you said, and you sounded weird somehow, maybe a little out of breath?
‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, and you hummed in response.
‘Wanna see you,’ you said, and he felt a shiver up the base of his spine. He knew that tone. He felt the smirk appear on his face.
‘Yeah, you sound like ya do,’ he said. He took the phone from his ear and connected Facetime. He heard you doing the same.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see. He’d assumed you were in bed, so he was surprised to see you were up, standing in front of the big picture window overlooking the front lawn. Your cheeks were a little flushed, and you looked a little sweaty. He wondered if you’d been for a run.
‘There’s my girl,’ he said, because the sight of you always lit something up in him, and you smiled at him, a coy little thing.
‘I got a surprise for you,’ you said, a dimple appearing on your cheek as you arched a single brow at him.
‘Oh yeah?’ he said, feeling his cock stir. Maybe you were up for a repeat after all.
‘Mmmhmm,’ you said, biting your lip. You were holding the phone up with one arm, but he could see your other arm held fast in front of you. Were you touching yourself in the living room?
‘Show me,’ he said, and you grinned at him. You panned the camera down, slowly, so that first thing he saw was the straps of your camisole, one hanging off your shoulder to hover just over the swell of your tit. You lowered it again, over the belly, where you had shucked up the hem and he could see some exposed skin, your little belly button he sometimes liked to tickle with his beard just to hear you squirm and squeal.
Then a little further down. Angling the camera so that he could see down your body, to your feet on the carpet, and to the man on his knees between them.
Joel blinked. He was sure his heart stopped.
‘What…’ he started, but he couldn’t finish his sentence because he was too distracted by the man hitching one of your thighs over his shoulder and opening you up, teasing the lips of your pussy apart to properly latch to your cunt. ‘Oh my god,’ he uttered.
‘Oh my god!’ you gasped, as Frankie sucked your clit between his teeth. ‘Oh baby, he’s so good,’ you groaned.
‘Baby, what are you doing?’ Joel asked, trying not to overthink that his cock was rock hard while he watched another man lick a stripe along your seam.
‘Surprise…’ you gasped. ‘Got a head start.’
Joel’s hands were shaking. A head start on what? He watched as your hand gripped Frankie’s head, his ballcap on the floor beside him as he grasped at your hips, pulling you down harder on his face. You were squirming there on top of him, as he huffed out little exhales into your skin.
Your breath was starting to get faster, coming in little pants, as your thigh clenched around Frankie’s shoulder. For a brief moment you worried you were going to suffocate him, and then he ran a finger up the inside of your thigh and teased at your opening and you simply didn’t care.
You angled the phone back to your face, your eyes fluttering shut so that you didn’t see Joel’s slightly shocked expression.
‘Such a good surprise, baby, thank you,’ you said, and Joel felt his belly flip in on itself. You were blissed out, he could see just by your face you were half gone already. Your little whimpers were sending electric shocks to his cock. He couldn’t deny it wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, or that he had wanted to see it ever since Frankie appeared next door. He just assumed you’d never be into it, and now looking at you writhing he couldn’t remember why.
He swallowed on a dry throat. You cracked open an eye, noticing he’d stopped talking. You saw that he looked a little pale, and worried for a second he was regretting it.
‘He’s not better,’ you said, trying to form words to reassure him while Frankie was pushing any sensible thought out of your head with his tongue. ‘He’s good, just as good. It’s just different.’
You were shuddering a little, Joel could see that you were trembling from the pleasure the other man was wringing out of you. ‘Yeah?’ he grunted, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Because he didn’t want to take this from you when you’d accidentally given him something he thought he would only ever dream of, not when you were feeling so good, not when you had apparently read his (dirty, filthy) mind. Because he was enjoying it, if he could tame the beast that was howling mine mine mine every time you whimpered under Frankie’s tongue. Because, ok, this wasn’t what he had planned for the day, but it was so much better.
His cock was already so hard it was almost painful. His beautiful, dirty girl. ‘He eatin’ it right, baby?’ he asked, and you moaned a little in response. He heard Frankie grunt a little from beneath you. ‘Show me,’ he said.
You angled the phone down again, this time reaching to put it closer to your cunt, so that Joel could see the way Frankie was suckling at your cunt, the way his tongue was working his way in and out of you, how at some point he had slipped two fingers into your cunt and was pumping them slowly, angled in the way Joel knew you liked, the way that made you stutter.
‘Fuck…’ he groaned, as Frankie huffed out an exhale.
‘She’s good, man,’ Frankie said, pulling his mouth off you for just long enough to force out the words. ‘Tastes like a warm spring morning.’
Joel could feel his cock pulsing, could hardly hear for the pounding of his pulse in his ears.
‘You treat her right,’ he ground out, his jaw ticking. He could feel the furrow in his brows, knew he was almost glowering at Frankie. ‘That’s my girl you got there,’ he added, feeling the need to remind him. To remind himself.
‘She always get this wet for you?’ Frankie asked, and Joel practically growled. He was about to tell Frankie you could practically drown him every night when he noticed your thighs were trembling, your hand in his hair moving to his shoulder to try and get purchase.
‘Lay ‘er down,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t let her fall.’
The camera moved, blurred as Frankie got up off his knees and pulled you over to the couch. He heard you sigh as your muscles relaxed, Frankie lying you down and settling between your open thighs.
‘Thank you, baby,’ you whispered to Joel. He swallowed.
‘Look after you,’ he said, fumbling with his fly. He was rock hard and worried as soon as he held himself in his hand he’d nut like a teenager. He wanted to ride this out with you, wanted to be present for all of it, wanted to stave it off as much as he wanted to chase it down.
‘Oh, he’s got his fingers in me,’ you said, gasping. ‘They’re so thick, just like yours…’
‘He hittin’ the spot?’ Joel asked, as you angled the camera down your body and he saw Frankie hovering over your cunt, lips once again suctioning at your clit.
‘Mmmhmm’ you replied, breathless. ‘He’s good, baby, he’s so good.’
Joel couldn’t form words for a second, gripping the base of his cock to try and regain some sort of control over it.
‘Wish you were here,’ you said, as you pushed your hips down onto Frankie’s face.
‘Yeah?’ Joel asked, wincing as he drew his palm over the weeping, sensitive head. ‘What’d you do if I was there, baby?’ he asked.
‘Want you everywhere,’ you groaned. ‘Want you in my mouth, in my pussy while he sucks on my clit. Want you in my cunt while I suck him.’
Joel gasped, his eyes slamming shut as his head tilted back on his shoulders. You were going to be the fucking death of him, and he would happily go if this was how you’d go about it.
‘Want your tight little cunt, baby,’ he grunted, pumping now, not able to help himself, the want for you overwhelming as Frankie raised his head a little to eye him through the camera. Your hips were bucking now, involuntary and fast. ‘Play with her,’ Joel said to him. ‘Don’t let her come yet, not ‘til she’s earned it.’
He heard you whimper, a desperate little cry, and watched as Frankie pulled back. Joel watched as his face glistened with your slick.
‘Joel!’ you cried, and he sniggered a little.
‘Ain’t what I meant when I said you could cut my grass,’ he said to Frankie, who grinned at him.
‘Not my fault your girl’s got a delicious cunt,’ he said, shrugging.
‘Let me see her,’ Joel said. He held his breath as Frankie took the phone from you and angled it back towards you. He saw you, splayed out on the couch for him and for Frankie, one leg on the floor and the other held fast against the couch, your slick spread over your thighs as your pussy grasped at the air, desperate for something to lick it, to suck it, to fuck it. ‘Jesus,’ Joel said, staring at your folds.
‘Don’t know how you leave the house with this waiting for ya, hermano,’ Frankie said. Joel shook his head.
‘M’a damn fool,’ he agreed. He saw you giggle, and he smiled.
‘Get on your knees for him, baby,’ he said, and watched as your smile fell, shock and want painting your pretty face.
‘You sure?’ you asked, so quiet he almost didn’t hear.
‘You wanna be good to our guest, right?’ Joel teased, and he watched you smile.
‘I’m a good host,’ you said, and he smiled.
‘The best, baby. Go on now, make him feel welcome.’
‘Oh fuck, Joel,’ Frankie muttered, as you got up on your knees on the couch and crawled over to him, your eyes on the younger man’s cock.
‘Just wait ‘til you see what she can do with that slutty little mouth,’ Joel said. He was holding himself by the base again, almost holding his breath in anticipation. Frankie angled the camera down his body so that Joel could see your hand as you reached out to hold him.
‘It’s big,’ you said, looking up and straight at Joel through the camera. You could see how far gone he was, how much he was holding himself back. You felt more arousal pool between your legs just at the look on his face.
‘You can take it,’ Joel said. ‘Make it good for him, baby.’
You watched as he mirrored your smile. God, you loved him. Even now, with another man’s cock in your face, he was the love of your life and as soon as he was home again you’d tell him. Show him. Never let him doubt it for a second.
You extended your tongue to kitten lick at Frankie’s tip, tasting the pre-come that had gathered while you and Joel encouraged each other. You heard the twin groans of Frankie above you and Joel through the phone. You hitched your mouth over the head, gathering saliva and letting it run out over the sides. Frankie was big, but so was Joel, and you breathed through your nose as you slipped your mouth over him, opening your throat and trying to calm your racing heart.
‘Oh, fuck me,’ Frankie said, as Joel held his breath. You hollowed your cheeks, a bolt of want shooting through your cunt as Frankie stuttered, groaning low and heavy in his chest. He smelt faintly of Old Spice and grass clippings, and you tasted the salt on his skin of his exertion. Joel smelt of pine and lumber. Between the two of them they were a symphony of delicious masculinity.
‘Can you reach her tits?’ you heard Joel ask, shivering. Frankie grunted his ascent. ‘Reach down, if you play with her nipples she’ll soak the couch.’
You whimpered, breathing out hard through your nose as you worked Frankie further into your throat.
‘Look at me, baby.’ Joel instructed and you opened your eyes, letting them travel up Frankie’s glistening tanned body to catch Joel’s eyes. You could see he was working himself again, panting and squirming in the driver’s seat of his truck. His hands were trembling a little, causing your view of him to shake, and it matched the tremors that were coursing through your body as you sucked Frankie down.
You felt his hand grope at your tit and you rounded your spine to try and give him more room, sticking your butt out into the air in the process. You kept your eyes on Joel, fighting the urge to let them drift closed, wanting to watch him watching you with another man’s cock in your mouth.
‘Doin’ so good,’ Joel muttered and you preened under his praise. ‘Put your hand between your legs, rub that little clit.’
You whined, following his instruction, a little lightheaded from the heat and the desire and Frankie halfway down your throat. ‘Such a pretty girl, my beautiful girl,’ Joel prattled. ‘Love you like this, baby, throat all stretched out taking on another man.’
Your eyelids fluttered as his words hit you in your core, Frankie’s hips starting to roll as you eased your finger over your clit and started rubbing tight little circles on the bundle of nerves. Frankie pinched hard at your nipple and you gasped, sucking in air through your nose and trying not to gag in the process.
‘Oh fuck, she’s squeezing me with her throat, hermano,’ Frankie muttered.
Joel watched, almost completely out of his mind. He never wanted to look at anything else ever again, wanted this view of you tattooed on the inside of his eyelids so he could see it anytime he wanted. Your eyes were starting to water, your skin glistening with sweat, as your hips shuddered under your own touch and under Frankie’s.
Joel was so close he wasn’t going to be able to stop it. He knew he had only seconds left, and by the looks of it, so did you.
‘Oh fuck baby, look what you did to us,’ he said, and you let your eyes drift from Joel’s to Frankie’s face as he grit his teeth, his eyes staring down at you, just barely managing to hold onto the phone as you sucked him.
‘So good,’ Frankie said to you, ‘can’t…gonna…’
You groaned, taking him out of your throat and reaching up to jerk the shaft while you sucked hard on the head. Still circling your clit with one hand you reached the other up to gently roll his balls in your palm. He cried out, the shock of the pleasure making him finally drop the phone. It landed, face up, just by his knees and angled up under your chin as Frankie shot his load into your mouth, gripping your tit in one hand and the other coming to rest on the crown of your head as he pumped his hips, his come shooting into your mouth as you rolled it over your tongue. Joel had an obscene view of it, watched as Frankie’s come spilled out of your mouth and onto the couch below you, nearly splattering over the lens. It was too much, finally too much, Joel shooting come into his hand and over his shirt as he fucked his palm, imagined it was your mouth, your cunt as you sucked Frankie’s come down, imagined he was inside you and also beside you, holding your head up as the younger man painted your throat.
He came as you did, gasping and whimpering for the other, your voice calling for him as he grunted out for you, and he recovered just enough to watch as you shuddered, your body shaking and rolling with the pleasure of it as you rested your face on Frankie’s heaving belly, sweat plastering your hair to your head, come dripping from your lips, as you rode out your high.
‘Fuck, baby…’ you whimpered, while you fought to catch your breath. Joel could see you collapsing, the pleasure wringing you out, leaving you shaky and spent. He swallowed, collecting himself enough to instruct the younger man.
‘Washcloths are under the bathroom sink. Make sure the water’s warm.’ He took a second to breathe, trying to clear his vision enough to be able to drive. ‘Wrap her up in a blanket, there’s one on the back of the couch.’ He watched as Frankie nodded, listening hard. ‘Hold her ‘til I get there,’ Joel said, his heart thrumming again, an ache building in his chest to be with you as he fumbled the keys into the ignition.
‘Hold my girl for me ‘til I’m there,’ he said, again.
#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#frankie morales x you#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales fanfiction#triple frontier fanfiction#francisco morales#frankie x joel x reader#joel miller
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Villain sidekick yandere x GN hero reader
A good influence? Part 1
Warning: Manipulation, kidnapping, obsessive and creepy behavior
(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)
🧪 You were a well known hero, going around saving the city from dangerous threats.
🧪 One of your enemies was a supervillain known as “Fatalité” who worked with the scientist “Dr. Seraph”.
🧪 Even if you got to put a stop to their evil plans time and time again, they always seemed to get back on their feet and challenge you once more.
🧪 Between the two, Dr. Seraph did seem a bit less evil. Once he even got slapped by Fatalité, because he hesitated to attack you while you were saving a child. So you always had a bit more of empathy for him, not hesitating to be less harsh during fights.
🧪 He was not a good person by any means, but you always find it a bit ironic how he was pushed around by his boss or the other henchmans. He would get so easily startled and lose his composure.
🧪 One day, you accidently fell into one of his traps, while on a mission with your teammates.
🧪 You woke up in his lab, tied up to a metal board. Before he had noticed you were awake, the scientist was working on a giant computer, while excitedly muttering to himself.
🧪 You looked to your side to see a little table covered with torture devices. That’s when the short man noticed your conscious state.
🧪 “Fatalié will be so proud of me! You’re done, hero.” He tried to give a confident smile, but you could still feel his nervousness seeping through it.
🧪 Despite the deadly situation you were in, you couldn’t help but make joke to turn this situation into ridicule.
🧪 “Really ? Does that mean I won’t get to see your cute face anymore?” You made a fake pout.
🧪 Wait…Was it just you or did he blushed? His sudden stuttering and his eyes darting away from yours, was a clear indicator that your comment had affected him. Just not in the way you had expected.
🧪 You needed to take advantage of this, since there was no way you could escape alone in this room filled with deadly weapons. You had to buy enough time for your colleague to come and find you.
🧪 You decided to continue with the praise. Saying how smart he was and that his boss couldn’t do his evil deed without him.
🧪 “R-Really? No one ever recognizes my genius and dedication!”
🧪 This guy was the definition of being starved for attention, since he totally didn’t catch on that you were manipulating him. His face was getting more and more flustered as he forgot what his initials intentions were. You had to admit, it was kinda cute.
🧪 “You’re actually… quite likable compared to the nuisances you call teammates. At least now I know that one hero appreciate the complexity of my inventions.”
🧪 Seeing that your tactic was working wonders, you added how unfair it was for him to be treated like trash by Fatalité. The scientist stopped at your words, which made you dread that you had gone too far.
🧪 He was about to respond when an explosion shook the room. You smile to yourself, knowing who was responsible for that detonation. Dr. Seraph tried frantically to find your friends on the surveillance camera. He called for reinforcements in a panic, before taking a weapon and leaving the room.
🧪 You just had to wait 5 minutes for one of your friends to find you and get the restraint off. You decided to leave a message on a notepad saying “Been fun, see you next time Doc.” with a little winky face.
🧪 If only you knew the effect that it had on him when he found it later, tired and bruised up.
🧪 That night, Dr. Seraph, or should I say Vincent, found himself thinking of you while he was laying on his bed. He couldn’t stop his mind spiraling as he held the little note close to his lips. It’s like the interaction you had today had completely changed his opinions of you.
🧪 This scientist had been without attention for so long, that the tiniest bit of compliments and “special treatment” from you was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
🧪 It went all downhill from there. It’s like he was finally noticing little things about you that he never did before.
🧪 How he loves it when you defend him from the wrath of his boss and try to convince him to go to the good side. You’re so considerate!
🧪 Please treat him like he did nothing wrong and he is just being forced by Fatalité (which he isn’t totally). He just wants to hear your gentle words of praise again.
🧪 He may be more remorseful of his criminal activities then others villains, but he is totally not above manipulation.
🧪 He tries to appear more injured at times so you would take him in your arms, like you do with civilians, to take him away from collapsing infrastructure.
🧪 “P-please help me…Fatalité will punish me when he sees that I failed him again…” He gives you the biggest puppy eyes, hoping it would be enough to spark your heroic instincts.
🧪 All to say that he is not really subtle with his new found love for you. The goons easily noticed his change of behavior around you.
🧪 So they start teasing him about it, making him stutter, trying to deny it. They don’t truly believe he does like you, they just like messing with him.
🧪 He tries to convince his boss to attack parts of the city where you do your patrol more often, in the hope of seeing you intervene.
🧪 To say that he is disappointed every time another superhero tries to stop him instead of you would be an understatement. Like why are they ruining his little date ?! Don’t they have cats to save from trees or something?
🧪 He doesn't think of himself as a masochist, but he doesn’t totally dislike when you give him a few slaps or punches.
🧪 He especially likes it when you apologize when you feel like you didn’t hold back enough of your super strength.
🧪 Can’t you just take him in your arms and kiss it better already?
🧪 Soon he starts thinking of you outside of your hero persona. Meeting you for fights is not enough for him anymore.
🧪 What are you like when you take off your suit? What do you do when you have free time?
🧪 He wanted more. He needed more of you.
After months of rewriting and perfecting this story in my draft I’m finally posting it. Anxiety be damned! (I am totally not stressing right now about it) But in all seriousness this is the first real post I make on this account, I hope you guys will like it!
Here is a little doodle of my boy Vincent (it’s a little bit old since I wrote this story in like December)
#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere male#yandere oc#yandere drabble#tw yandere#sub!yandere#sub yandere#yandere villain#gn reader#x gn reader#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#My oc-Vincent#My oc-Dotor Seraph#my art
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My friends, my campaign is progressing very slowly, and my suffering increases day by day. I pray that none of you have to endure what I am experiencing in Gaza—the heat of the tent, the lack of food and water, and the explosions all around us. Please help me in any way you can so that my family and I can escape from Gaza. Unfortunately, we have only received half of the donations due to banking procedures and transfer issues. I sincerely hope you will help me reach my goal.💔💔🙏
Note: I woke up today and found this insect beside me.
#all eyes on rafah#el-shab-hussein#free gaza#freegaza#jerusalem#please consider donating#stand with gaza#gaza#france
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Today a russian rocket got fired in a the place that was like 2 miles from us :>
Granted it was early morning so no one was hurt. My gf even woke up from an explosion. A casual reminder that the war in Ukraine has never ended. Ukraine is big - roughly the size of Texas, and I live on the opposite end of the active zone.
This was 1 rocket in a long while. But far over there - at the east - there are 3000 explosions like that a month, which is roughly a 100 per day.
We already have several towns and cities DESTROYED. Totally vanished.
Like, say, you are from Rochester NY. Imagine you growing up here, and you moved to California for college. Just imagine coming back one day not having Rochester anymore.
And this is all you see.
We are LUCKY to be safe now. That is not the case for many many ukrainians.
You can help. Anything helps. Even just spreading the message - if not from me, then any kind of such message.
#russia is a terrorist state#help ukraine#ukraine#ukrainian artis#укртумбочка#укртамблер#russian war on ukraine#russian invasion of ukraine
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The new Jon
Jonathan had always preferred to stay out of the spotlight. At 20, he was a lanky, naturally toned mailman balancing long days delivering letters with the demands of his college coursework. His demeanor was calm, almost passive—until his temper flared. A few months back, he'd smashed his bike to pieces in a rage after it failed him on the way to work. That fiery temper was a side of him he kept hidden, but one that he struggled to control. Though he followed orders well and generally kept a low profile, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching him. Lurking. Waiting. He was right.
Jonathan delivered mail like clockwork, his route taking him past familiar faces. But there was one person he always dreaded seeing—Dieter Wenzel, the burly skinhead from apartment 302. His piercing gaze, thick German accent, and the way he always seemed to be watching made Jonathan uneasy. More than once, Dieter had spoken to him, his deep voice laced with something dark, sending a chill through Jonathan each time they crossed paths.
Today, Jonathan’s mind was elsewhere, distracted by thoughts of college deadlines and his boring routine. He didn’t notice the glossy black boots lying in his path until it was too late.
His foot caught on the heavy boots, sending him sprawling forward. He hit the ground with a hard thud, hands and knees slamming into the floor. Then, before he could react, the boot came down hard on his face. A sharp explosion of pain erupted in his cheek and nose as the impact knocked him sideways.
“Stay down, boy,” growled Dieter’s low voice, looming over him like a shadow. Jonathan’s vision blurred, and everything faded into blackness.
When Jonathan woke, the first thing he felt was pain. His face throbbed with sharp, deep agony. His cheek and nose felt swollen, as if they’d been shattered, and every breath sent waves of hurt through his body. But before he could process the pain, his ears picked up a familiar buzzing sound. Clippers.
Cold metal grazed his scalp, the clippers methodically shaving away his hair, strip by strip. Jonathan blinked, trying to move, but his arms were bound to the chair he was sitting in. Panic surged through him as he realized he couldn’t escape.
“Ah, you’re waking up, Jonathan,” Dieter’s deep voice broke through the haze. “Or should I say... Jon. A much better name for you, don’t you think? More... brutish. Lean. Like you.”
Jonathan’s heart raced as Dieter leaned over him, his grin spreading. “You’ve always been too soft. But now, you’re Jon. Perfect for the skinhead I’m making you into.”
The clippers buzzed their final pass across Jonathan’s scalp, leaving his head completely bald. Dieter switched to a manual razor, scraping away the last stubble with precise, rough strokes. Jonathan’s skin burned as his scalp was stripped bare, leaving him exposed, helpless. He could feel the heat of Dieter’s gaze as he admired his work.
Jonathan noticed something else. He wasn’t wearing his familiar mail uniform anymore. Instead, he was dressed in a tight pair of blue bleachers, a crisp black Fred Perry polo that hugged his lean frame, and black Dr. Martens boots laced tightly up to his calves. Everything fit perfectly, like it had been tailored specifically for him.
“These clothes… why do they fit me so well?” Jonathan muttered, his voice trembling.
Dieter smirked, circling him slowly. “I’ve been watching you for months, boy. I know everything about you. Your size, your habits. You’ve got the perfect body for this—lean, toned, tall. I’ve been planning this for a long time.”
Jonathan’s heart raced as the realization sank in. Dieter had been stalking him. Following him. He even remembered seeing Dieter entering apartment 302 during his mail deliveries. Dieter Wenzel. Jonathan had always felt a sense of unease around him, but now he understood why.
“I saw you when you smashed that bike of yours. You’ve got fire, boy, but you still follow orders. Perfect for what I need. You belong to me now.”
Jonathan's mind reeled. He had noticed Dieter around for months, but now he understood. Dieter had been stalking him, planning this transformation, watching every move. He had seen Jonathan’s rage when he’d smashed his bike, observed his tendency to follow orders without question. And now, Dieter had claimed him.
“These pants,” Dieter smirked, eyeing Jonathan’s groin, “they show off everything, don’t they? Especially that bulge of yours. You’re exactly what I’ve wanted.”
Dieter wasn’t done. He grabbed a piercing kit from the table and walked over to Jonathan with a dark gleam in his eyes. Jonathan’s pulse quickened as Dieter’s fingers gripped his face roughly, holding him in place.
“Let’s finish the job,” Dieter said, pulling out a needle.
Jonathan winced as Dieter pierced his nostril first, the pain sharp and immediate. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, Dieter pierced his eyebrow and lip in quick succession. The pain grew with each stab of the needle, his face burning from the multiple wounds. Finally, Dieter pierced both of Jonathan’s ears, threading small silver hoops through the fresh holes.
The pain was excruciating, a constant throbbing that mingled with the earlier bruises on his face. Jonathan gasped, trying to endure the sharp sting in his nose, cheeks, and ears. Blood trickled from the piercings, mixing with the sweat and bruises.
“You’re really starting to look like a skin now,” Dieter said, admiring his handiwork. “The piercings, the shaved head... You’ve got the face for it. Rough. Just like I imagined.”
After unbinding Jonathan, Dieter grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the apartment. Jonathan struggled to keep up, his boots heavy and awkward as they clomped down the stairs. The tight bleachers clung to his legs, and the Fred Perry polo fit snug against his chest, making him feel trapped in this new identity.
They arrived at a dimly lit tattoo parlor, the stench of ink and disinfectant filling the air. The tattoo artist looked up as they entered, a cold smirk playing on his lips.
“Here for the boy?” the artist asked, eyes scanning Jonathan’s body.
Dieter nodded, pushing Jonathan forward. Here for him. Make sure it’s perfect.”
The tattoo artist fired up the machine, and without hesitation, began inking Jonathan’s arm. The pain was relentless, the needle stabbing into his skin over and over. Dieter stood over him, watching intently as the black ink spread across Jonathan’s forearm, etching the design into his flesh.
The tattoo was brutal: an iron cross encircled by barbed wire, thick lines that cut deep into his skin. The mark of a skinhead. A permanent brand.
“You’re mine, Jon,” Dieter said, his voice low and possessive. “This tattoo marks you as my skinhead. My boy. I’ve crafted you just the way I wanted. The perfect skinhead boyfriend.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth as the needle continued to tear into his arm. The pain was unbearable, but there was no escape. Dieter’s grip on him was too strong, too controlling. The tattoo burned as it took shape, a constant reminder that his old identity was being torn away.
Once the tattoo was finished, Dieter stood back and handed Jonathan a mirror. For the first time, Jonathan saw the full extent of his transformation.
His head was completely shaved, his face bruised from the boot that had knocked him out. The fresh piercings in his nose, eyebrow, lip, and ears glistened, adding to the rough, dangerous look Dieter had forced upon him. His arm, now inked with the iron cross and barbed wire, bore the permanent mark of Dieter’s ownership.
The tight blue bleachers clung to his legs, and the Fred Perry polo hugged his chest, showing off his lean, toned frame. The Dr. Martens boots were laced tightly, every detail meticulously planned by Dieter.
Jonathan stared at himself in disbelief, barely recognizing the man in the mirror. The person staring back wasn’t Jonathan, the quiet mailman. He was Jon, the skinhead boyfriend Dieter had crafted with brutal precision.
Dieter stepped behind him, gripping his shoulders possessively. “Look at you, Jon,” he whispered, his breath hot against Jonathan’s neck. “You’re exactly what I wanted. You’re mine now.”
Before Jonathan could react, Dieter spun him around and kissed him hard. The kiss was rough, dominating, claiming Jonathan in every sense of the word. Jonathan’s mind raced, but there was no escaping it now. Dieter had shaped him, transformed him, and owned him completely.
As Dieter pulled away, he smirked. “This is just the beginning, boy. You’re mine, and you’ll work extra hard to keep up with me. We’ve got a lot more to do.”
Jonathan’s heart sank as he realized the full extent of what had been done to him—and that it was only the start
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"I'm not yours!"
clarisse la rue x fem!reader
authors note mainly for me: being fwb w/clarisse and her getting jealous.
warnings - slightly suggestive (but doesnt go in detail, its just like... idk... there), kissing, jealous!clarisse, arguing
You left her bed, panting. You sat up and wiped the sweat off your face and then got up to get dressed. "Hey, can I have this jacket," you asked Clarisse. She rolled her eyes. "Sure, I guess, it's pretty cold outside," she responded. You nodded and slipped on her jacket. As you began to leave, she said, "Stay safe, you."
You gave her a small smile. "Thank you, you too, see you later," you asked curiously. Clarisse slowly shook her head. "Maybe at night... but we're strangers in the morning, understand," she asked.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you mumbled, "Oh.." With a gulp, you nodded and walked out. "Night," you said gently and closed the door. Gentle footsteps filled the night and you quietly hummed to yourself. You silently slipped into your cabin and then your own bed without any of your siblings noticing. Or so you thought.
In the wake of daybreak, you woke up to your siblings all stealing glances at you. You shrugged it off. Your birthday was coming up soon and you had suspected that they were trying to plan a surprise. This behaviour quickly became worse, as they could barely meet your eye.
The one person who looked into your eyes, Izzie. She was from another cabin, and you were aware that she had a crush on you. Honestly, you only had eyes for Clarisse, but Izzie wasn't the worst, she was sweet, kind, caring.... Clarisse was dangerous, explosive. But just like a moth drawn to a flame, you couldn't keep your hands off her. She was... extraordinary. And you admired her.
Then it went downhill. Clarisse never batted an eye at you, but today, during dinner, she did. She couldn't keep her eyes off you. In any other situation, you would have been delighted, but she had an angry, passive look on her beautiful face. She tried to stay calm, but as Izzie approached you, it was almost as if a fire was ignited in her eyes.
She wanted you, she couldn't deny it, but she didn't want to admit it, what would people think?
Yet she did nothing. She sat there and ripped her eyes off of you and tried to think of anything or everything but you.
It was impossible though. Clarisse got up from her table and grabbed your arm. She began to drag you behind one of the cabins and she pinned you against it. "What was that, hm? Whatcha think you were doin' back there, princess?"
You squirmed against her grasp. "Why would you care?! It doesn't concern you."
Clarisse clenched her jaw and grit out through her teeth, "Because you're mine."
Your eyes faltered and you sighed, "But I'm not yours!"
"Leave, then. If you're not mine, then leave," Clarisse taunted as she let go of your shirt that was bunched up in her hands. You turned to walk away and she mumbled, "Don't lie like that," and pulled you into a kiss. One that you could sense her emotion in. As your arms wrapped around her neck and her hands tangled into your hair, you knew it was gentle, despite the previous context of it.
A few of your siblings peeked out from the corner of the cabin and laughed. "I knew it, she and Clarisse aren't just friends," they teased. You gently pulled away from the brunette's soft lips, realizing why everyone was acting so weird this morning. You reached for Clarisse's hand and squeezed it with a confident voice, "She's my girlfriend."
#clarisse la rue x reader#percy jackon and the olympians#clarisse x reader#clarisse pjo#clarisse la rue x y/n#percy jackson#clarisse la rue#pjo fandom#pjo#clarisse la rue fluff#pjo series#percy jackson tv#disney plus#dior#dior goodjohn#dior goodjohn x reader#d
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two years have already passed...
today, two years ago, all of Ukraine woke up to explosions, sounds of flying fighter jets, gunshots and screams of terror. today, February 24, is the anniversary of russia's invasion of Ukraine. full-scale invasion, escalation of ten-year genocide. I can't explain the feeling when I first saw wounded people, when I first heard a rocket flying overhead aimed at a residential building.
it is emotionally difficult to comprehend all the terrible events that happened during this time. everything I'm trying to cover here as soon as I get my thoughts together. and everything that I don't have enough strength for...
Bucha massacre
Mass burials in Izium
Mass execution of Ukrainian prisoners in Olenivka
The tragedy of Mariupol
Defense of Azovstal
Bakhmut Fortress
Ecological disaster in Kakhovka
The tragedy of Hroza
Tens of thousands of Ukrainian children forcibly deported to russia
Torture of civilians
The battle for Donetsk Airport
The Ilovaisk Tragedy
russian manipulation and propaganda
burning Ukrainian books, destroying Ukrainian museums and entire cities, torturing people for tattoos connected to Ukraine. forced re-education of children and adults who are forced to learn the russian national anthem, worship portraits of putin every day and receive russian documents in order to receive water and food in the occupied territories. daily shelling and casualties, daily struggle for survival and freedom, which russians want to take away from us.
all the terrible cases of execution of Ukrainian soldiers: beheadings, castration, amputation of limbs, execution of prisoners. burning civilians alive, raping women, men and children, torturing even animals, even little mice. tons of photos and videos that I don't want to add here because even the slightest glimpse of all those images breaks my heart and causes me to have a panic attack. however, you can find it all freely available on the Internet by simply typing in keywords.
instead, I would like to show photos of rallies in support of Ukraine, which took place today all over the world. to find out where each photo is from, see the alt text for them.
despite the fact that in russia they celebrate the war, Ukrainians, who were forced to flee from the war, gathered at rallies around the world, together with residents of the countries that gave them shelter. the civilized world expresses sympathy and grief, with calls to provide arms to Ukraine so that we can defeat russia as soon as possible and return peace to our lives.
it's sad that more photos can't be added to show as many cities as possible that came out to support us today. but I've been looking at all the photos and videos of the rallies all day today and I have tears of gratitude in my eyes. thank you all for continuing to stand with Ukraine!
#stand with ukraine#russia is a terrorist state#help ukraine#support ukraine#save ukraine#stop russia#fuck russia#russian agression#russian invasion#russian culture#russian art#russia#russian terrorism#ukraine#signal boost#rally#russian war crimes#war in ukraine#war
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Anger Management
Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid
Description: You and Spencer broke up months ago over him talking to someone else. Whenever she dies and he’s left to grieve, he likes to take his anger out on you until one day you have enough.
Content/Warnings: Non descriptive break up, mentions of Maeve (I’m a Maeve hater), Spencer is an asshole, Dom!Spencer, office sex, unprotected sex.
Word Count: 1.5K
Kinktober Day Nine: Hate Sex
Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3
Spencer had always known that he was a creature of habit after learning the things he liked and disliked. He strayed from trying most new things, nor did he ever spend his time going out of his way to communicate with new people. He enjoyed his simple yet equally complicated existence.
He had a stable job, he had a home, plus he had a huge combined family with his work colleagues. Besides you.
Once upon a time, he loved you. The both of you spent every waking moment together at home and at work, enjoying one another’s presence and taking care of one another. Once he met Maeve, that changed though. He’d began to spend his time talking to the woman who he swore up and down was just his doctor who was helping him with his headache problems.
The more they talked, the more you realized that had to be a bullshit lie. What kind of doctor makes her patients go to a payphone just to have a consultation or to discuss your issues? She felt like it was suspicious. They had secret conversations, things Spencer wouldn’t dare discuss after the fact. If you were honest, it pissed you off.
That was why there was an explosive fight, one where you were deciding on packing up all your shit in the apartment and you were leaving. You didn’t have to sit around and take it so you weren’t going to.
You’d transferred departments for a while after that, knowing the BAU couldn’t be home with your ex boyfriend still there. You’d moved on to Counterterrorism, which was an alright job. Paid the bills, you just preferred where you knew that you belonged.
Going for months without talking to Spencer and having no interest to, you thought you were recovering pretty well.
Until you got a call from Aaron Hotchner. Spencer was on bereavement leave and they were down an agent, which you’d briefly heard the long story of Maeve being stalked and ultimately shot in front of Spencer. He was practically begging you on the phone to come back, long enough for them to be fully staffed so cases could be solved timely and efficiently.
Which you did. It ended up with you putting in a transfer to come back to the BAU. Things went downhill after that though. Spencer was still going through the stages of grief and most of the issues and hard feelings he felt were taken out on you. He’d make sly and shitty comments regularly, things you did your best to ignore. He was grieving, it didn’t make it okay but you really did try to cut him some slack. The things he said were deep cuts, insulting your intelligence at times just to see if he could elicit a reaction.
That wasn’t the Spencer you knew, the Spencer that you loved. You just assumed that version of him was dead and buried along with Maeve.
Today wasn’t a day to bother you though. After weeks of suffering from verbal abuse, you were tired of it. You’d woken up in a bad mood as is that morning, dreading what was to come the minute that you walked into the bullpen. A mood that Derek would jokingly say was because you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
With the desk setups, it was no surprise your desk was across from Spencer’s, how lucky could you possibly be? You were looking through the stack of files you desperately needed to sort through when Spencer came in. Joy.
“You know, if you actually made forth an effort to do your job when it needs to be done, you wouldn’t have the pile of work you need to blow through.” He was getting started early, placing his satchel on the underside of his desk while retrieving a book.
Without missing a beat, you picked up at least four of the files and tossed them carelessly onto his desk. “Then fucking help lighten the load since you are so concerned about it.” You snapped, which caught Spencer by surprise. You’ve been a quiet punching bag since he got back but here you were, snapping at him. That only fueled his fire.
“I’m not concerned about it, I’m giving you advice.” He had his own attitude while picking up the files before throwing them back to your desk. “I think you need to stop being so sensitive. It’s not a good look for you. I’m offering you advice.”
“No. You’re being an asshole and I’m getting tired of you taking every ounce of anger out on me! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You asked, hands slamming on your desk while you were pushing yourself to stand. The commotion had garnered the attention of every other agent in the bullpen, even Aaron and Dave watching from the windows of their office. You knew you’d be embarrassed later but you felt so good right now for standing up for yourself. As you stormed out of the heavy glass doors, everyone turned their attention to Spencer, who was in a stunned silence. “I’ll go talk to her.” He cleared his throat. He felt rage festering inside of him after that little display, however he kept himself grounded as he was heading out of the bullpen in search of you.
He eventually found you in one of the vacant offices, a frown on his face as he was quickly stepping inside and closing the door. “That was ridiculous.” He wasn’t here to apologize, only here to argue even more. “No, it wasn’t. I hope that I humiliated you infront of every agent in that room.” Venom dripped from your tone as you turned to face him, face red from anger. “I’m so sick of your bullshit. You think just because you lost someone that you have a right to make my life a living hell?” You asked, stepping closer to jab your finger into his chest. “Because you don’t. I’m sorry that whatever her name is died, I truly am. I’m tired of giving you a pass because I feel bad for you!” You spat.
That was the final straw for Spencer as he backed you up against the nearest wall of the office. “I knew you would try and bring her up into this!” He scoffed, both of you staring at each other in a tense silence. Within a flash, your hands were tangled in Spencer's hair while he was slamming his mouth into yours, the frustration and anger all melting into the kiss as he had you pinned to the wall behind you. “I’m so fucking sick of your mouth.” You murmured against his lips and made Spencer grunt. “Like I’m not tired of your bullshit.” He murmured, his hands quickly working on the buttons of your pants while working on tugging them down.
The haste was returned as you were working on his belt before tossing it somewhere in the room while tugging down the pants hugging his waist. The kiss was abruptly cut off as he was flipping you around, your body now facing the wall. It was for the best that you didn’t look at him, moreso because he’d pissed you off so much that you just wanted to use him for your own relief. You deserved this, even if he didn’t. He had a similar sentiment, your panties being pulled to your mid thighs.
The thick tip of his cock was breaching your sex without warning, mouth falling open while you were letting your forehead rest against the wall, mouth agape as his thick cock was bottoming out. “Oh, my fucking god.”
There was no time to waste, the large hands resting against your waist while his thick cock was pistoning inside of your tight cunt, a bruising grip keeping you in place. “Fuck. How does it feel to be a useless hole? Lord knows that nobody ever wants your fucking input or opinions.” His words were low, hips roughly snapping into yours as the echo of your skin smacking together filled the empty office.
“Spencer-” You began before one of his hands was over your mouth, muffling any attempt for you to speak. “Shut up.” He growled. You both had issues together but this encounter really symbolized that. Spencer used to be slow and sweet, hardly ever cursing or telling you some of the filthy things that had been falling from his lips. A moan was muffled against his hand while his eyes fluttered shut.
“Gonna cum. You’re gonna take everything that I give you.” His lips were against the shell of your ear, the words making your mouth fall open. With a few more thrusts, it wasn’t long until his spent was gushing deep inside of you, the feeling causing you to hit your own release shortly after.
Instead of getting the treatment that you were used to, he was pulling out of you and pulling up his boxers and pants. “Might wanna clean yourself up.” He commented, fluffing out his hair while walking to the closed office door.
The last thing you heard was the door open and the footsteps out of the room followed by a slam of the door.
That was one way to get over an argument.
#spencer reid#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x gn!reader#strawbeerossi kinktober 2023
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what’s it like to be around science experiment!reverse reader when something really sweet surprises them? please a tiny fluff for our hearts?
Jason wound his way through the woods, following one of the interminable trails he knows that you take to get to your clearing. Why you're back there today, Jason isn't sure.
He only knows that you are.
He woke up in your bed by himself and you left him a note telling him that that's where you'd gone. Which was progress he supposed. It meant that you weren't just disappearing.
How did you do this? Were you like a homing pigeon? Did you have landmarks you followed? Or had you just cut your way through in a haze so many times that you just did it the way dancers went on pointe? Muscle memory.
When he got there, thankfully, you weren't in mid-explosion. He didn't think he could handle that. But there was a definite... Buzz in the air. It reminded him of white noise. It felt like a miasma of... neutrality. Like walking through a mall on a Saturday. Things-feelings that just... were.
Odd but not unpleasant. Taking up all the empty space in the air but not suffocating him.
And he stopped in the gap you used as a door and waited for a second, waiting for you to finish what looked like replacing a hammock that a storm had ruined and slipped in. "Hey, baby girl," he said, "you good?"
"Yeah," you yawn, "Just needed to move." You take a deep breath and go to pull yourself back into line. Into control and wince. It's nice to let it out and just stop holding on to it all.
Jason moved closer to you and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tenderly. "You don't have to do that, you know?" He kissed the side of your head, "I wanna bounce my head off the nearest wall when Bruce talks too long. I can only imagine what it feels like when it's like that from EVERYONE all around you all the time."
"I don't read minds," you remind him.
"Still," he snorted. "It's the closest I can get." He kissed the side of your head again and rubbed your arms. "I don't want you to feel like you have to hide how you're feeling from me. Not like you do everyone else."
"It's just... a lot sometimes."
"I know," he admitted. "But- We- I especially get worried that it's getting to be too much for you to handle alone."
"I get really lonely," you murmur.
Jason nodded. He could understand that too and it made him kiss your temple. "I brought a picnic," he tried, face heating. "It's mostly brownies. And some green apples and nutella. And I brought a book to read I thought if you wanted we could-"
And when soft lips collide with his as you wrap your arms around his neck, it feels like taking a bite of a hot chocolate chip cookie on a cold winter day and the first like of a snow cone on the hottest day of summer. A quiet, simple joy. Laid over the feelings he knew you felt for him. The ones that popped like firecrackers in his chest. And he smiled against your lips. It was a good thing you replaced the hammock- a snack and a nap in the sunshine would be nice.
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chuuya x fem reader where they cuddle n stuff and it's cute
𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈
𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓃𝑜, 𝑜𝒷𝓋𝒾
𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎
Today’s shift was longer than expected for the both of you. Missions of gun fire and explosions of buildings that may or may not have been abandoned. Meetings with Mori about recent developments in companies that fronted the port mafia.
Like always, you and Chuuya saw each other at least once. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a shared lunch or some quality time in his office. Instead, it was you running down the hall to Mori with important information while he was strolling out the office.
He… well he missed you the entire day. And it only got worse… he had to do Akutugawas paperwork since he had gotten injured!
So, he texted you about an hour before end of shift.
Chuu <3
“Hey love, gonna be home a bit later tonight. Don’t worry about dinner, I know I won’t be hungry so late.”
Safe to say, your car ride home was lonely. The chauffeur even asking “Where is Mr. Nakahara?” When you entered alone.
You sighed, back against the leather and sank into a state of silence.
Feet in pain from missions, wrists cracking from the amount of writing. Your hair was probably a mess, lipstick on your collar from when you tugged at your shirt.
The car was smooth, luckily. A bump would’ve made your head spin.
You wanted two things. Chuuya, and your bed.
So when you finally unlocked that penthouse door, you practically flung off your shoes. Hoping you didn’t hit anything of importance.
First it was your belt, then your bottoms, than your top. At last your bra was off and you stumbled into the bedroom. A trail of discarded clothes behind you.
Instead of scavenging through your closet, you walked into Chuuya’s side.
It was mostly suits and buttons up, but a section was reserved for comfy clothes.
Picking out a simple t shirt he’d were on casual days, you put it on. Probably backwards, but that didn’t matter.
It still smelled like him, warm and safe.
You crashed into bed after turning off the house lights. Forgetting to close the curtains, the city neon illuminated the room blue, pink, green, and red.
Somehow, somewhere, you drifted off.
It wasn’t until you heard the creak of the bedroom door you woke up again.
Sky still as dark as space, neon still piercing your vision.
“Sweetheart… thank fucking god you’re home too.”
He didn’t bother to put on new clothes. The way you saw him was shirtless in some boxers. And god, if you weren’t so tired…
Never mind
He flipped back his hair before sitting in bed.
You pulled yourself closer to him, arms around his waist with your head on his lap.
“Missed you, princess.”
His heartbeat slowed, and his body calmed.
He slowly pet your head, running his hand to your cheek and using his thumb to draw circles.
He giggled, randomly to you.
“What?”
“Your shirt is backwards.”
Damn it, you knew it!
“Can I hold you? Not like this, but fully.”
All it took was your nod for him to hoist you up into his arms and maneuver you both into a laying position.
Your head on his chest, his arms around your waist.
This was a much easier way to hear his heartbeat. And gosh, was it relaxing.
Between the moments, your breathing synced. He kissed your forehead in the quiet.
So high up, no city sound was heard.
Then, he began to hum. A song that sounded to far away, but you could feel the rumble of his chest.
Each note making a different feeling in his skin to your head.
It was mindless, something he must’ve heard on the radio.
“I’ve missed this, I’m so happy you’re awake.”
He didn’t mind your silence, in fact he barely noticed it. His eyes were so focused on you, he likely would’ve seen lips moving without hearing them.
He was memorized.
Tired eyes covered by orange hair, and droopy eyelids from the exhausting life of Chuuya Nakahara.
But every night was a little easier with you around.
#bsd x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya x reader#bsd chuuya#bsd fanfic#chuuya nakahara#chuuya x fem!reader#chuuya x you
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big info post about the Maryland mall shooting and the shooter, Darion Aguilar.
( i have compiled this post in my notes from all different news articles, sources and google searches. it wasn't too easy to find much, but i hope this is enough insight/info.)
Darion Aguilar was a 19 year old, as described by his mother as a as 'a gentle, sweet kid' who has never been interested in guns.
'If you were to go in his room you would see what a gentle sweet kid he was,' she said, adding that he was a vegetarian because he was concerned about animal welfare.
He was also described as a "good kid" who "is quiet, kept to himself. Nice, normal, calm demeanor."
That was until January 25, 2014. He took a taxi around 10:15am, then he had entered the The Mall in Columbia where he was dropped off.
He went downstairs to a food court directly below the store, authorities say surveillance tapes show him sitting and walking around for nearly an hour. this may have been due to the fact that he was obsessed with the Columbine shooting. it's suspected that he waited until the time of the shooting had lined up to the original one in 1999.
(Investigators found thousands of searches on Aguilar's computer related to mass murder, school shootings, guns and explosives.
He also looked up websites for people with mental health problems, and he told a doctor he was hearing voices in the months before the shooting.)
Reports have said that Aguilar took a picture of himself inside the dressing room at Zumiez in the minutes leading up to the shooting and posted the photo to tumblr with a caption reading,
"I had to do this. Today is the day. On previous days I tried this I woke up with anxiety, regret and hope for a better future this day I didn't, I woke up felt no emotions no empathy no sympathy. I will have freedom or maybe not. I could care less."
It was said in mentioned selfie that some of way he is dressed, wearing a white t-shirt, boots and cargo pants with his shotgun in a sling around him, is reminiscent of one of the Columbine killers.
Police say he bought a shotgun last month – a 12-gauge Mossberg – and kept it hidden as a taxi cab dropped him off at the mall. before exiting the dressing room, Aguilar dumped his backpack out, changed his clothes and assembled the gun.
As soon as Aguilar stepped out, he raised his gun, took a few steps, aimed at his first victim, Brainna Belolo (21), and fired, killing her instantly.
He continued on to aim at his next victim, Tyler Johnson (25) , who was said to be near the front of the store, hitting him multiple times. he also died instantly.
Aguilar then stepped out of the store and fired two shots across the mall on the upper railing. One struck a railing while the other struck a woman in the heel. He then turned towards the food court, fired one shot and struck a wall right outside the Great American Cookie store, very narrowly missing more victims.
Next Aguilar turned back to Zumiez and fired through the glass at a mannequin before re-entering Zumiez, sticking the shotgun in his mouth and shooting, killing him instantly.
A total of nine shots were fired by Aguilar, out of the 54 rounds of ammunition he brought with him. The backpack he had with him contained homemade explosives, most likely made with fireworks, but were not powerful enough to cause major structural damage, police said.
"(Aguilar) was just silent. Focused. There was no sort of expression or emotion," an eyewitness recalled.
Despite officers arrived less than two minutes after the first 911 call, they entered to find Aguilar dead.
Desperately searching for a motive, police discovered his journal, which was about 20 handwritten loose-leaf pages in roughly chronological order. In a portion police released, Aguilar makes an angry, expletive-laced statement in which he anticipates the killings in "a couple of hours."
"I'm going to [fucking] kill you all in a couple hours I'm anxious, I hate you all so much you are pathetic pieces of [shit] who deserve to die. Worthless you all are [fucking] worthless. Everything seems fake. I think that I may already be dead," one journal entry read.
He apologized to his family for what he was about to do, that he wrote he was ready to die, that he wanted to die and hated others. He never mentioned to his family that he needed any help for his mental illness. While he talks about killing people, he never gave any specific targets.
Sources say it also shows a hatred of certain groups and a general unhappiness with life.
#darion aguilar#columbia mall shooting#infodump#teeceecee#tee cee cee#tccblr#my post#shaposting#finally done with this...#ill add more later i have a few more notes on him
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Sometimes Wymack regretted handing Kevin a bottle.
He rose from his place in Abby’s bed, grumbling, turning on the lights as they both heard another loud noise. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping out of the bedroom and hunting down the drunk athlete in his house. It didn’t take much time. He found Kevin haphazardly spinning in a circle, a backpack slung off his shoulder as he tried to shove a jacket into it, a half finished bottle of everclear in his free hand. Wymack swiftly plucked the bottle away, setting it on the coffee table that had so far miraculously survived Kevin’s stay.
“Kevin.” He snapped. Kevin ignored him. “KEVIN.” He snapped louder, and the younger man whipped around to look at him, looking both genuinely surprised at his presence and also incredibly fucking annoyed.
“What?” He hissed.
“Kevin what the fuck are you doing? It’s 3am. Shut the hell up and go to bed. You have shit to do for me today.” Wymack reached towards him, intending to try to snatch the backpack away as well. Kevin stumbled away from him, something changing in his eyes as he suddenly looked at the door, then back to Wymack. Wymack had seen that look before; it was a universal one shared by cornered animals right before they tried a last hurrah. Wymack barely managed to step between him and the front door before Kevin barreled into him, aiming for the outside.
“Day what the fuck-“ He started, grabbing at the extremely drunk man and wrestling with him. Kevin went into hysterics at being stopped, trying to hit Wymack with his cast and thrashing harder.
“Let me go! Let me go fuck let me go I need to go HOME.” He screamed, voice cracking raggedly as he struggled more, his body vibrating from grief and anger.
“No you don’t. Kevin, calm down.” Wymack finally got a grip on him, wrestling him down until he was practically scruffing the 6 something kid, yanking the backpack off him and tossing it. He dragged Kevin back to the couch, feeling Kevin beginning to sob in his grip. God I am not paid enough for this, he thought briefly. He heard a door click, and looked up. Abby had woken from the noise of the debacle. She came out to the living room, looking entirely unsurprised to see Kevin Day slumped on his knees, scratchy sobs ripping from his throat as he struggled, begging Wymack to let him go back to Riko. Wymack groaned, sighing heavily, keeping ahold of Kevin even after he stopped trying to rip the coach’s arm off.
“Let me go-“ He sobbed. “let me go back- It’s where I belong. I’m a Raven-“ He bit out, drunk out of his mind and full of loathing for how badly he missed home. Wymack was about to say something to shake him from his ramblings, but Abby hushed him silently. She strode around the table, sitting down next to Kevin. She tugged him from Wymack, fingers threading lightly into his hair as Kevin drunkenly slumped into her lap like a half drowned feral cat, still spitting cries to be released. She shushed him softly, hugging him, feeling him soon relax, the hairpin trigger of tension that kept him shaking starting to loosen the longer she gently soothed him. Kevin’s grievous cries turned into muffled whimpers, eyes glazed from alcohol and emotion as he eventually went boneless in Abby’s grip. After what seemed like forever, he passed out, exhuasted from his explosive breakdown. Abby sighed, looking up at Wymack before they shuffled Kevin’s lanky form onto the futon. He looked almost peaceful, tears staining his face, soft noises escaping him as he fell deeper into an alcohol induced sleep.
“Do you think he’ll remember tonight?” She asked as they returned to bed. Wymack shrugged.
“If he has any ounce of survival in him, he won’t.” He didn’t need to voice the unspoken fear of what could happen if Kevin’s drunken feelings overran his sober ones.
As it turned out, Kevin did not remember anything when he woke up.
#a rambling I found in my notes#need more Kevin right after leaving ear content#aftg#all for the game#kevin day#david wymack#abby winfield
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Dreamling Bingo Fill: What Remains
Square/Prompt: D2, "Scars"
Title: What Remains
Rating: T
Ship(s): Dreamling
Additional Tags: Scars, Hand Injuries, Graphic Description of Wounds, Retired Dream, The Kindly Ones
Summary: Dream is content with his scars.
Dream woke to a springtime smell, bright and sharp in his nose, and opened his eyes to see that the marigolds in their windowsill pots had bloomed, orange and yellow and cheerful. The morning sun was shining on them, and Hob was already out of bed; the sounds of him puttering around the flat were faintly audible over the music that was always playing if Hob had no one to talk to.
He didn't recognize the music, though he knew that if he listened long enough, the name would come to him. It was something up-tempo and cheerful; Hob knew, too, that spring was here. Spring, and Sunday, which meant a changing of bandages.
Dream lay on his back and raised his right hand into the light, studying it in the glow of the sun. The scars that made up nearly the whole inner surface of his index finger and thumb had faded from red to a vibrant pink which he found he rather liked. Yesterday he and Hob had wandered about some botanical garden or other, looking for a flower to match the color, debating happily over fuchsias versus azaleas until they found that stand of calla lilies that were absolutely inarguably perfect.
The scar also trailed downward from his hand nearly to his elbow, with a few jagged branches curling around his forearm. These, too, had healed to sturdy scars; it was only the palm of his hand where a waterproof tan bandage still obscured the wound.
It might not be a wound any longer. Today was Sunday; today he would find out.
He lowered his right hand a bit, and raised his left to meet it, trying, as he often did, to recreate what he remembered of his last moments as—whatever he had been, before he became a human being whose identification bore the name Morris LeReve, which Hob found delightful and Dream found as good as any other name. He had no right to the one he could no longer even speak—not Dream, though Dream was the nearest approximation in English, the one Hob had latched onto after hearing his sister say it.
His sister had been beside him, before it happened. They had sat side by side in some desolate place, and she had been sad, and angry, and resigned.
He had only been tired, so tired that he could feel nothing else through it, smothering under the weight of what he had been, back then. He had not been able to feel sadness, or fear, or anything, but he had known that he was about to die. He had known how it would happen: he would take his sister's hand.
He had not known that when he took her hand, there would be a great flash of light, like lightning striking from the tip of her finger to his palm. He had not known that dying would make a hole in him, letting loose all of him that was too much, too heavy to bear, too vast to be held in a form that looked like his.
It had torn free of him in that instant, in that great flash of light, and gone away to someone else who could, thus far, bear it better. And he had been left with this form, and this ragged hole in himself, and—
He smiled, dropping his two hands to rest on his chest, and remembered how it had been, the beginning of his life as he knew it.
There was the flash of light, and the impossibly vast something rushing away from him, or he from it—for he was no longer in that desolate place when he could see again. He had blinked the afterimages from his eyes, had still heard the echoes of the explosion in his ears. He had been leaning against something, just barely sheltered from the torrential downpour that had arrived along with him.
He had looked down and seen his hand, his arm—raw from fingertip to elbow, torn open to reveal wet red insides. He had seen the blood vessels of his wrist pulsing nakedly among the shreds of muscle, miraculously unbroken but horrifically vulnerable. He had not known where or what he was, but he had known that he was hurt, even if he could not exactly feel any pain; he had begun to keen, a high helpless wordless sound, for he had not known what words he could possibly use in that moment.
Then the door had opened, and he had barely begun to fall through it before someone was kneeling beside him. All at once strong arms were cradling him, and he had looked up into a face he knew just as Hob said, "My friend, my friend, what has become of you?"
"My friend," he echoed back, his head lolling against Hob's shoulder as he realized he knew what these words meant, and how they applied to this man. Hob had been worried for him, the last time they met. "My friend, my friend—" and then the words came to him and he answered Hob's question. "Death became of me. I became this. Here."
"Not a bit dead," Hob had said. "Too warm and chatty to be dead," and then he hoisted Dream up and carried him inside.
He had bandaged Dream's arm, asking again and again if it hurt, but it didn't; eventually he had conceded that there didn't seem to be enough left of the ruined places to have nerves to hurt with, and he attended to other concerns instead.
It was only days later that Hob had suggested seeing a doctor about it, but Dream had refused. That had been after Dream had remembered where the townhouse was, and realized that the key in the pocket of his jeans opened its door, and discovered the cards and papers neatly arranged on the table which made him not only the discarded shell of an unfathomable being, but also a human being and citizen of the United Kingdom named Morris LeReve.
Hob called him Morrie sometimes; Dream faithfully pretended to be mildly annoyed by it, so that Hob would continue to find it funny and thus continue to call him by it, just now and again. Hob would stop, if he were actually upset by it, and if he knew that Dream actually liked it, he would scrupulously call Dream by that name and no other, but Dream liked the ordinary name his sister and Hob called him by well enough. He liked Morrie being a thing Hob said just sometimes, half jokingly.
Hob always listened when Dream was definite about something, as he had been about the fact that his hand and arm would heal in their own time. Hob had done all he could to help without forcing Dream to change his mind: he had bought a variety of salves for the wounds, and yards of gauze and tape to shroud them in, and he carefully examined and cleaned and re-anointed the whole length of the broken places. First each day, then every other day, and then every three, every five, as the bandages grew smaller and more and more scar tissue could be exposed to air and light. Every day, whether bandages were to be changed or not, Hob rubbed in a cream to soften the scars, and helped him to flex his fingers and hand and wrist, to keep them mobile.
Now the marigolds Hob had planted to make his own salve from were blooming, and they might never be needed for anything other than their bright lovely colors.
There was only one way to find out. Dream got out of bed and then spent a few moments carefully tidying the coverlet and putting the pillows neatly in place.
It was one of the things he had never needed to do in his old life, one of the thousand things Hob had taught him to do with his own hands now that he was human. He could use his right hand nearly as well as the left now, even if his index finger and thumb could not bend on their own or grip; it was mainly a matter of smoothing things into place, and that his right hand could do well enough.
When he was finished he stood for a moment, admiring his work, and then he pulled on a t-shirt and went looking for Hob.
Dream found him promptly; Hob was in the kitchen, studying something on his phone. All the things for bandage changing were set out on the table, along with a steaming mug of tea and a jar of honey.
Hob looked up with a smile as soon as Dream walked in. "What would you like to do for breakfast today? Full—" Dream kissed him before he could offer a Full English, something Dream had declined every morning of his existence thus far. Hob thought he was wearing Dream down; Dream was sure he could train Hob out of it sooner or later.
"Poached eggs," Dream announced, sitting down beside his mug of tea and opening the jar of honey, noticing as he did that it was easy now, just like making up the bed. He spooned the honey out left-handed, until the rich sweet scent of it drowned out the tannic smell of the tea, and added, "I'm going to get them right this time. I watched more videos."
"Ought to move somewhere with beehives," Hob murmured. "Or stop bothering with the tea bags."
"Every man has a right to make his tea the way he likes," Dream informed him primly; it had been Hob himself who told him so.
He smiled when Dream defended himself, and didn't make any more objections, nor offer to put the lid back on the jar for him. Dream could do it just fine, and did, once he had had a sip of his wonderfully sweet tea.
Then he offered his scarred hand to Hob, his palm turned up to display the bandage.
"Right, let's do this," Hob said, and ceremoniously applied sanitizer to his hands while Dream peeled the bandage back.
It didn't hurt to pull it off; it didn't feel like anything, except maybe a faint tugging sensation. Everything the bandage stuck to was scarred.
He gasped a little at the sight of what the bandage had covered, but Hob made a calmly approving noise. "We did think it might be this week," he said, and ran gentle fingers down along the angry red spots that had been the last raw places when he put the bandage on—and now were scars, closed up and shiny-smooth. "Look at you go, you living creature. Look at you heal."
Dream smiled, feeling oddly shy at the warm, proud look in Hob's eyes. He hadn't really done anything, except to go on living all these weeks, and eating and sleeping and letting Hob look after his injuries—and learning things, and dancing, and laughing, and discovering all the ways his human body liked to be kissed and touched, and comparing them with all the ways Hob's body liked to be kissed and touched...
He had done a lot of things, actually. He had lived; he had healed. And now the last of the wound left behind by what he had been before was closed, and all that was left was one great scar.
And him, a person who liked his tea very sweet and was going to successfully poach some eggs today while Hob made toast. Here he was: living on, scars and all.
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[This fic is also on AO3!]
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ATLWETD: Snippet
Since I couldn't post the chapter today as I hoped, please have a snippet!
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The night passed surprisingly peacefully. No dreams disturbed him, so Harry woke up closer to eight o’clock, well-rested and full of enthusiastic energy he hadn’t felt in… months? Years? Ever?
He didn’t know what it was that put him in such a good mood, but he wasn’t going to complain. He allowed himself to stretch, making a small pleased sound at how great it felt, and finally pulled the curtain away — only to be met by Riddle’s attentive stare.
“Good morning,” Riddle said silkily. Harry blinked, confused by such scrutiny and by Riddle’s presence in general.
At this time, the room was empty. Everyone else had already gone to have breakfast, so what made Riddle stay behind? He was never this late to anything.
“Morning,” Harry echoed belatedly. Riddle said nothing else — his eyes slowly slid down Harry’s T-shirt and his red shorts, then further down to his sockless feet. Harry flushed, not sure why. His heart began to beat harder, and he turned away, awkwardly reaching for his everyday clothes.
Dressing in front of Riddle felt… strange. From Harry’s experience with both Gryffindor and Slytherin, most of the boys in the dormitory and on the Quidditch team never minded changing like this. Some preferred to do it behind the privacy of their bed curtains, but it was never some big thing. So he couldn’t comprehend why his body thrummed with increasing heat under Riddle’s unblinking stare — and why Riddle was watching him like this in the first place.
Awkwardness was even worse. Harry spent almost two minutes trying to win a fight against his pants, and then even longer on handling his Slytherin tie. When he was finally done, he was sweating profusely despite the room being pretty cold, and Riddle was still not taking his eyes off him.
“Is there something you want?” Harry snapped at last. He sounded too defensive to his own ears, but there was nothing he could do about that. Riddle had a unique talent to make him bristle even when he wasn’t doing or saying anything.
With a thoughtful hum, Riddle gracefully stood up and approached him. His slender fingers brushed against Harry’s stomach before going up and curling around his tie. A furrow creased his forehead.
“Your tie looks unacceptable,” he remarked. “It’s as if it is years old. Did you get it second-hand?”
Harry’s brain was still stuck on the fact that Riddle had broken into his personal space and touched him so freely all in the span of several seconds. He couldn’t begin to make sense of what was happening.
Luckily, it didn’t look like Riddle expected him to respond. With the same look of playful disapproval, he undid Harry’s tie and hid it in his own pocket.
“I have a more appropriate replacement here somewhere,” he said casually, walking back to his bed and opening his trunk. Mere moments later, he pulled out the same-looking Slytherin tie from it. “I believe this was a gift from… someone. I have never worn it, so it looks new, and it’s made of much better material.”
Harry couldn’t find what to say in response, no matter how much he wanted to. His brain was confused into complete blankness.
“Here,” Riddle uttered pleasantly, “try it.”
Only he didn’t give the tie to Harry. He proceeded to tie it by himself, and for a moment, when his fingers carelessly grazed Harry’s bare neck, an explosion of heat rocked through his body. Harry’s knees almost buckled — he caught himself at the last moment and shivered, mortified at such a strong and irrational reaction.
If Riddle didn’t let go of him at the same time, he would have recoiled. Fortunately, everything seemed to be done — Riddle stepped away and lowered his head, observing the result of his labour.
“Good,” he approved. Harry shivered again, almost swallowing his tongue with how abruptly his heart stumbled. “Tell me if your finger continues to bother you. I will help.”
With that, Riddle moved towards the door and walked out. Harry continued to stand in the bedroom for several more seconds, too stunned to follow.
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