#and before she makes him into a rag and shakes him like a dog; her adrien is whistling for her to stop

[fragileizywriting]

there's not really a completely made up thought, however, i do know that i would absolutely adore it if i somehow put chat blanc against kitty.

like just stick with me, okay?

they probably clock it immediately that this chat blanc's a little bit out of it. his suit is white, his eyes are blue, his smile is wide and his gloves are red. he's babbling about how all the other previous marinettes didn't love him enough, didn't like him enough, didn't want him enough, and it seems like this is just another case where this universe's marinette doesn't want him.

"looks like you're not my lady after all," he sighs after his long monologue that kitty's allbut ignored, choosing instead to focus on searching for any civilians that could get caught in the crossfire.

(if this happened during an izycrossover fic, she's busy trying to figure out how to get everyone out. he's talking about taking all the marinettes as payment... that's not good.)

kitty is stepping in front of adrien, trying to hide him away (as if she can. the man's twice her size, but knows that they have to keep the ladybug miraculous away from him.) kitty is uncharacteristically silent, watching blanc who's having such a fun time laughing about god knows what until he's crying.

everything's fine. everything's under control. somewhat. mostly. they have an emergency plan when things like this happen (it's always important to have a plan, isn't it? even for the impossible, like this?)

until blanc says the line: "now you're breaking more than just my heart, marinette..." just like in the show.

except. except.

kitty instantly turns cold. like a blur, adrien goes from "hiding" behind her to clapping a hand on her shoulder before she jumps, because he knows that narrowing of her eyes. the way she sets her jaw. the way she exhales.

"stop," adrien tells her. "don't. he's... out of it."

but kitty wants none of it. instead, kitty barks out: "what the fuck did you just say to me?"

and blanc doesn't understand. he's nervous; all the marinette's he's seen and fought have begged. screamed. all of them have acted defensively, always attempting to dodge because they didn't want to hurt him because they loved him too much.

kitty has none of that.

she's breathing heavy, starting to hiss— blanc looks at her like she's the wild animal here. she's on a leash; that hand on her shoulder is the only thing holding her back. there's no hesitation on her face as she keeps looking at him, and it dawns on him that she won't be on the defensive.

he will.

"go on," she taunts. "repeat yourself. what did you call me?"

"m-ma...marinette," he tries.

her smile is a touch too wide. her blue eyes a bit too green. "that's not my name. why don't we try again?"

[hysteria-things]

based off of this

BEREAL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the bereal notification goes off when you and your boyfriend are in an intimate situation.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spanking, hair pulling, dumbification, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 631

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: DID NOT MEAN TO RELEASE THIS LATE BUT I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT SINCE I REACHED THE POST LIMIT AGAIN😭

but anyway matt/chris will be back tomorrow!

nate’s phone blows up with notifications on the nightstand from the DA BOYZ group chat with nick, matt, and chris — but he’s too busy to check it now.

moaning loudly, your hands clutch at the pillow your head is lying on. your knuckles are white, eyes rolling back so far in your head. it’s been forty-five minutes, and you came twice already.

you guys are making a fucking mess, but neither of you cares at this moment. his and your cum combined slap against your thighs, a string of arousal connecting and breaking each time he thrusts into you. you mumble something into the pillows, but it’s so incoherent that it sounds like a moan.

his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, the other one running up and down the small of your back. he’s so deep inside your cunt that you seriously don’t know how he does it.

drool drips down your chin and onto the sheets below, body becoming rag doll-like when your grip starts to loosen and you start to rock violently to the speed of the way he’s plowing hard into you with no mercy. “there she is; getting fucked stupid on my cock because that’s all you have to fucking live for.”

only groaning in response, you start to see specks of white every time you blink. your pussy is so tight around his dick that it makes it hard for him to move. nate’s so balls deep that it feels like he’s in your throat.

silenced screams go past your lips as the headboard bangs rapidly against his bedroom wall, his tip brushing against your g-spot for the nth time tonight. he moans, grabbing your ass and jiggling it before slapping it. “might have to put my kid in ya.” he hisses, giving it another hit. “i need to breed this pussy full. you let me use it so well.”

catching a glimpse at his lit phone screen, he sees a specific notification pop up:

⚠️time to bereal⚠️

2 min left to capture a bereal to see what your friends are up to!

he smirks, grabbing his phone and opening the app. he points the camera to his face as the time counts down. eyes hooded and lips swollen, a handful of hickeys decorate his neck in red and purple, along with a few scratch marks on his chest.

pressing the white button at the bottom of the screen, he grips the top of your hair to yank your head off the pillow. he quickly turns his phone around, the back camera getting your face into view.

nate waits patiently a few seconds for the picture to render, letting go of your head so he can upload it. this is the first time he’s seen what you look like all night.

strands of hair are disheveled or stuck to your forehead from sweating, eyes crossed with your tongue sticking out like a dog. that poor brain of yours thinking only about nate’s cock fucking the shit out of you.

“i’m cu-mming.” you hiccup, shaking violently as you’re overstimulated from three hard orgasms. the boy behind you licks his lips, stopping deep before spurts of his hot cum fill your womb.

seconds later, reactions come flooding in on his post. some are from peers from high school, while the rest are from the crew.

madi’s eyes are wide, her hand covering her mouth.

nick looks disgusted, his face half out of the frame.

matt’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth hanging open in complete shock.

last but not least, chris smiles widely at the camera with a big thumbs up.

matthew.sturniolo: oh brother

nicolassturniolo: NATHAN DOE.

user: she’s living the dream, i’m afraid…

madifilipowicz: 😟

user: HE HAS BITCHES???

christophersturniolo: get that pussy bro😝

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢��𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @stellarsturns @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2

[theeoriginals]

Ok so how about a cat and mouse!reader x elijah follow up where she’s back in town and they haven’t seen each other since their last meeting, and she’s caught by him taking something but he’s just happy to see her again so he lets her get away with it bc she’s charming and he loves the chase and banter and flirting 😩

hard to forget | elijah mikaelson

author's note; someone else asked for part 2 to cat and mouse, so here is a small little thing for them :)

warnings; witch!female!reader, elijah is astronomically down bad, fluff, mention of stealing but it's fine, reader is flirty and confident. no use of y/n!

"We've got to stop meeting like this."

"I quite like seeing you like this," She turns with a smile, wicked and sharp, but a genuine happiness shines in her eyes, especially when she sees the smile Elijah fights off at the sight of her. "You're so sexy when you're being all righteous."

Elijah huffs, ignoring the fact that she can make him feel like a blushing boy again. "You're insatiable. And you told me you were going to leave this here when I caught you trying to take it the first time I brought you here."

She purses her lips in a pout when he plucks the figurine of the black cat from her hands, setting it back on the shelf it'd been collecting dust on in the touristy museum tucked into an old building in the Quarter.

"Can a girl not have a hobby anymore?" She nearly whines the words as he approaches her, lifting her hands to drag her nails along his waist, catching on the fabric of his buttoned shirt. "I got bored, baby,"

He hums, looking at her with some twisted mix of reprimand and amusement. "Most people read a book when they get bored. Or go on a walk."

"Both of those sound absolutely mind-numbing."

He huffs out a laugh, unable stop it even though he knows it will just enable her further.

Her answering grin proves that point immediately.

"I do it for us, Elijah,"

"Oh, really? And how, exactly, does this benefit us?"

She straightens her shoulders, meeting his gaze unwaveringly confident. "I get bored and I go looking for things to entertain me, and you ultimately find out and follow me, and then we get to play our fun little game that I know you love. One way or another, it ends up with us in a similar position to this and we're both happy."

Elijah's smile grows more fond as she goes on, and he shakes his head with poorly feigned exasperation. "Darling–"

"I know, I know," She groans, rolling her eyes. "Let's just go. I'll have to find something else to entertain me, I suppose. Maybe I'll ask Klaus if he needs something done,"

"I almost hate that option more. You've only just returned from his last errand, I'd at least like to share a meal with you before you're running off again."

She throws him a wink as she turns him around, pushing him towards the door.

"Don't worry, I won't let him send me far so soon again," She reassures him, fingers skating along the shelf as she follows him out the door back outside into the throngs of people. "I've missed you, you know. I don't like running off to every corner of the country."

Elijah spares her a glance, trying and failing to not look pleased with her words. "You do like it," He corrects her softly.

"Alright, I do," She concedes easily, earning a light chuckle from him. "But I don't like being away from you."

"Does your flattery ever end?"

"You wanna find out, beautiful?" She raises her brows pointedly, earning a ragged noise from him that's choked off as he adjusts his tie, and the flustered action sends her off into a laughing fit that echoes over the noise of the Quarter and has him smiling in spite of himself.

He follows after her swift pace like a loyal dog, hands tucked in his pockets as they slowly weed out from the crowds and make their way towards the compound that's much less populated these days.

As they reach the courtyard, Elijah reaches for her elbow, tugging her back towards him, earning a slightly surprised noise from her as she catches herself with her palms flat on his chest. "How much joy does it bring you to render a thousand year old vampire speechless?"

"I don't think I could accurately describe it, even if I spent the next hundred years trying,"

He shakes his head and finally, finally, leans his head down to press his lips to hers and she hums into the kiss, satisfied with the outcome of all of her teasing.

She was right, after all. They always end up here.

Elijah pulls away after a moment, resenting the need for air in favor of tasting the sweet warmth of her skin again. He's silent for a moment, head tilting just enough to be noticeable, and then he lets out a long sigh. "Niklaus would like to speak to you,"

"I know, I'm ignoring him."

Elijah relishes in his brother's faint, outraged noise, but knows that he won't come disturb them just yet. "Don't let him send you off just yet. I would like to see you again tonight, at least."

"I won't, I promise. We'll have dinner, and a drink or two. I'd also love to end the night in your room, if that's alright with you,"

Heat floods his cheeks and he briefly looks away from her, just to shake himself of her flirtations. "Whatever you want, darling."

She smiles like he's just given her the keys to the city.

Hours later, after their dinner, after their drinks, after they end the night and start the next day with whatever she wanted, Elijah wakes long after she's left on another of Klaus's errands, keeping to her promise of not going far.

When he turns over, his eyes catch on the small, black cat figurine sitting on the table beside his bed. Elijah falls back onto the bed, laughing to himself. Utterly, absolutely besotted with the woman.

[uranometrias]

my love mine all mine , aaron hotchner

this is incredibly self indulgent. i wrote this for myself, because my cat passed away today && i have no idea how to grieve correctly. but i've always been able to express myself the best through writing, so here i am trying to do so.

basically reader loses her kitten && hotch is there to comfort her while she grieves. reader is a doctor && gets her nails painted. mentions of sleeping in a scarf and braids (but this can apply to any race <3) hotch is pretty flirty. he also had a dog that died when he was younger (idk) ... i'm still getting used to writing him (but he's been rotting my brain) so hotch girlies please be sweet to me, i'm trying.

"Have you decided what you want me to grab on the way?" You feel giddy, eyes beaming vibrantly as you unlock your front door. Aaron was on the other line, he'd been looking forward to spending the evening with you for the past two weeks. Your jobs often sent you in separate directions, with him following cases cross country, and you spending nearly twenty hours a day working at Inova Fairfax Medical Campus. The commute was nearly an hour from Quantico, which made it difficult for your schedules to coincide the way you hoped.

Today though was an exception. He'd just gotten back from a case, a successful one, and you'd been lucky enough to finally get two days off. You couldn't contain your excitement when you'd finally managed to get Aaron on the phone, and with Jack staying at Jessica's for another night, it seemed everything was working out in your favor. You still had no idea what you were in the mood to eat, despite having ample time to figure it out. "I dunno." you mutter, and you drop your keys into the basket just to the left of the front door.

"Well honey, you've gotta give me something." Aaron chuckles, and his voices makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. "I'm sure you haven't anything at all today." and it doesn't take a rocket science to know he's absolutely correct. Your stomach grumbles audibly, and you cringe, the sound a dead giveaway of your poor eating habits. "Do you need a bit more time to think about it?" he asks, and you're nodding your head, despite the fact that he can't see you. Your focus is split, eyes darting around your place in search of Piper.

Piper was your five year old tabby, the most special companion that you'd cared for since she was a newborn. Usually she'd be making her way to your front door, nudging her head against your shins, meowing her head off as some form of reprimand for being gone too long. Her absence was unusual, but you'd noticed she'd been sleeping a touch longer in the recent months. You'd taken her to the vet and they'd written off any life threatening illnesses. Perhaps she was jus becoming a lazy cat they had said.

"What'd you eat yesterday?" you ask, and you shrug off your coat next, hanging it in the closet as you slip off your cork-leather clogs. You admire your pedicure, French-tips gleaming back at you as your feet hit the cherry laminate flooring. You imagined that he'd hardly been able to eat well while out on a case, Aaron (and his team) had a horrible habit of neglecting their own health and wellness for the sake of cracking the case. You'd call him out on it, but it'd feel to hypocritical with the way you gave most of your life to the hospital.

"Four cups of coffee." and he sounds sheepish as he replies, he'd been running himself ragged with this last particular case. He couldn't leave the precinct until he was convinced he'd made a dent in the investigation. He could imagine your disappointed pout, but he was doing his best, or at least trying his best. "But, Dave made sure that I got something this morning before we got on the jet." and it's not like he has to explain himself to you, you'd never berate him. He believed it was just a side effect of falling for you.

"Four cups?" you gasp, head already shaking. "You're going to turn into a cup of coffee if you keep up with habits like those." you scold. "You'll have to double your water intake, you could seriously dehydrate yourself that way." you say with a quiet huff. You round the corner of the foyer, heading for the kitchen. "Are you feeling alright?" your tone grows a bit softer, "Four cups means you were really absorbed in the case. Everything okay?" you tread lightly. You weren't quite sure how he felt about you asking about his job.

"As far as endings go, I'd say it was better than most." he replies thoughtfully, clearly unfazed by your desire to probe. That makes you smile a bit, the obviousness of his trust for you. "We minimized the amount of deaths, the unsub was taken into custody... the team worked really hard." he proceeds, and you find yourself grinning. "But, I will do a better job of taking care of myself. You'd be a good nurse, but I can imagine a few better scenarios for you to take care of me."

You smile despite the fact it makes your heart stutter step. You were still getting used to him growing more confident in this way, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. "I'd be a great nurse." you correct him delicately, "I'd enjoy taking care of you in any way though." and you bet he can hear your shyness through the phone. Your relationship with Aaron still felt fairly new, you'd been seeing one another for going on seven months, but you knew you loved him.

Even if you hadn't managed to say it just yet.

"Look at that, another thing we have in common." he exhales, and you want him to hurry up and get to you. You hadn't seen him in so long, and despite the fact you were willing to mount him on sight, you just wanted to enjoy being in the same place for once. "How are you? Did you have a good day?" and you like the way he's so attentive, how he seems to genuinely care about what you had to say.

"It was great." you insist, and you've poured yourself a glass of water, ice tinkling as you scanned the dining room for any sign of Piper. Still nothing, weird. "I went to the bookstore a bit earlier, got a few novels for my book shelf." you list. "I got my nails done, and I got a facial. It was so relaxing I wound up falling asleep on the table." and you chuckle a bit at the memory. "Piper and I went on a drive before lunch, she's so spoiled." you add, but you're still scouring the space.

"Drafted up my budget for the month, my new schedule came in," you exhale tiredly at the thought. "Picked up my scrubs from the dry cleaners, I did a grocery run, and went to see the flower exhibit near the Farmer's Market. I got this really incredible soft-pretzel croissant." you sigh dreamily at the memory. "And now I'm home, and waiting for you." you complete, and you lean forward, arms resting against the countertop. "It was a really nice day. I thought I wouldn't know what to do without work, but I'd nearly forgotten what it feels like to be off."

Aaron's silent, but not because he's disinterested in your ramblings. He finds them endearing, and oftentimes had to remind himself that you, much like Jack, needed verbal response in order to feel heard. "I missed you." and it's not quite what he was aiming to say, but it's what comes out. It's true, it had been a while since he'd seen you in person, and with the way your schedules overlapped, he'd hardly been able to get much conversation out of you apart from quick check-ins in between patients and breaks in BAU cases.

You let out a quiet puff of air, it's not quite a sigh nor an exhale. Your lips curve upwards, and you wonder if there's a record out there for most smiles achieved in a single phone call. "You've got no idea how happy that makes me." you reply, and you inhale deep. "I missed you too, hurry up and get over here." you press, and you replay the sound of his responding laugh over in your mind. You don't think you could be more lovesick, but it's a more than welcomed feeling. "As far as dinner, why don't I just cook something?" you offer with a shrug.

"Do you want to?" and Aaron's got this weird thing about him where he's still getting used to the fact that you want to do certain things for him. You go over it a lot, reminding him that you'd love nothing more than to spoil him as much as he spoils you. He's still a bit hesitant, but you don't mind fighting the good fight until he relented. His hands tighten just slightly on the steering wheel, and his leg jumps as he awaits your response. He knows, or better put, he has an idea of what you'll say. He still wants to hear it either way.

"We take care of each other, mon amour." You coo, and he feels that familiar rush of affection towards you. "It'll be fun." you add, and then you're sighing audibly. "I just really can't wait to see you. I don't want to wait any longer than I need to." you express, and Aaron understands. He'd been restless on the jet, Dave and Emily seemed to zero in on his jitters, he was thankful they had enough couth to keep it to themselves. All he received was a knowing smirk from Rossi as he made a beeline for the tarmac the second the jet landed.

"I'll be there soon." he promises, and you grow giddier. "I-" and he wants to cross the line, mutter three worded phrase that would change everything. He'd been learning to be more bold, to focus on the things he could control, and appreciate those things. "I love you." he doesn't have time to think about the repercussions, because it's out, and there's a strong sense of relief that washes over him. You are surprised, but elated. The excitement his words bring you is hard to diminish.

"I love you too." and it comes out as easy as breathing. Probably because you mean it with all of your heart. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hotchner." you promise, and he's chuckling at your sudden formality, likely a side effect of your newfound nerves at the huge step you'd both taken in your relationship.

"See you soon." you don't bring the phone from your ear until you hear the faint click of the call ending. You exhale shakily, mind running at a mile a minute as your heart seems to double in size. Still, you find this moment is short lived- mind once again on the eerie silence in your apartment. You place your glass down on the counter, coaster be damned as you make your way past the dining room and towards the living room. Sometimes you'd find Piper curled up on the couch, quiet purrs escaping her as she slept contently.

"Piper!" you coo, surprised when you note that she's nowhere to be found. You know that she wasn't outside, you'd made sure before leaving back out that she was comfortable in the house. You follow the layout of your place, the archway that led from the living room back to the foyer is the route you take, heading towards your bedroom as you continuously call for the cat. "Piper, where are you, pretty girl?" you enter your room, hopeful that you'll find her there.

You spot her little paw peeking out of her hideaway and instantly relax. "Oh Piper, you scared me." you let out a shaky sort of giggle as you fully enter your bedroom, feet brushing over the comforting carpet. You kneel just in front of the hideaway, reaching out to pet her. It takes you a few moments to make peace with the fact that she's not rousing. You swallow thickly, a lump growing in your throat as you wiggle her paw. She doesn't move, just as limp as before.

"Piper?" you feel the way your throat constricts, eyes immediately wanting to brim with tears, as you grow frantic. "Oh, please no-" you exclaim, head shaking as you feel a shudder rack through you. You're gentle as you maneuver around the hideaway, hands looping around her small body as you move to pull her out. She's limp, not even the act of you lifting her up enough to make her move. Your glow feels like it's diminished almost instantly, a dark cloud setting in over your head. It seemed a bit silly, panicked over the loss of a cat.

But she was yours, like a daughter to you in the way you cared for her, and made her apart of your routine. She was special, and despite the reputation cats gained for being standoffish and unable to understand human love, you knew that to be wrong. Piper was sweet, a loving cat that curled up beside you every night and followed you like a second shadow. She'd play games of tag with you, chasing you around your apartment as you squealed and screamed for your life.

"Please, please, no-" you're shedding real tears now, they're slipping down your cheeks in a constant succession. "Piper, please wake up!" it's silly, probably. Rocking back and forth with a dead cat in your hand hoping that sheer adoration will be enough to turn back the hands of time. It's certainly not, and the reality crushes you. The first sob is choked, almost like you're holding yourself back, not letting your feelings take full affect. You hadn't prepared yourself at all.

You didn't know what to do.

You think that's when the first swell of sobs begins. They're more ugly wails than anything else, the loud sound echoing through the space in front of you as your arms lower, Piper's body leaning against you as you continued to let your tears flow freely. Your chest tightens, constricting every couple of seconds like you'd suddenly developed chronic heartburn. The pain is a violent assassin, the air around you feeling tight. You think you may be choking on all that you're feeling.

You hate the part of your brain that was constantly in 'Doctor Mode', the side that reminded you that despite your grief, handling a deceased animal like this was a surefire way to get sick. Her body wouldn't start to decompose for at least another day, but you had no real way of knowing just how long she'd actually been dead. You don't move though, until at least your sobs have waned, you know it's not the end of them, but it's a reprieve just for a moment.

You slowly climb to your feet, still clutching Piper as your eyes whip around your bedroom. Your eyes land on her carrier, and the image makes you want to cry all over again. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to take in a deep breath. It doesn't help. Still, your feet lead you over to the carrier, where you're gently placing Piper. Her vet was only eight minutes up the street, and maybe your ability to dispose of her so quickly was precisely why this was happening to you.

Guilt was loud, too loud. It almost knocked you to your knees as you imagined Piper's fear whilst you were gone. Was she sick? How long had she been? Why hadn't you noticed? Why did you leave her alone? Why weren't you there? You let her down. You had let her down.

You want to curl into a ball, hide under the blankets and cry until you passed out. But, she deserved better. She deserved to not be lugged around like she was some prop, she needed a proper place to rest. Once her carrier is zipped up, you're picking it up by the handles, using your other hand to swipe at the tears still trying to fall. You take the route you'd walked not ten minutes prior, slipping your shoes back on, and grabbing hold of your keys. Aaron still had another forty minutes or so in his drive, you hoped it went by quickly.

You don't think you ever needed him more than now.

────────────────────────

The sobs returned the second you'd walked past the threshold of your house. You sluggishly made your way back to your bedroom. It felt much lonelier now, the house feeling much too big for just you. You think that makes you cry even harder. You're covering your mouth with your hand, hoping that it would be enough to mask the sound of your bawling. You doubt that it does, but you can't do much else. You don't want to go to sleep, you don't want to do anything.

You begin berating your behavior once more in your head, replaying all the ways you'd been a shitty caretaker even though you know it's a bad idea. Your leg shakes under your comforter, the blanket squished underneath your body as you hid your face beneath the blazing heat of your huge blanket. You don't even realize how long you've spent in this space of self-loathing and bitter tears, until you hear the front door's lock shifting out of place. Aaron was here.

"Y/N, sweetheart?" and you want to run to him more than anything. You can't though, because you don't want him to think you're a failure. So you stay put, and you cry a bit more, sniffles growing more audible as you're forced to choke back angry sobs. It doesn't take long for him to make his way towards where you are, and you don't know what he'll say when he finds you looking a mess. You know your mascara has given you racoon eyes, and in your grief, you'd failed to tie a scarf around your head. Your braids would look messy soon.

"Y/N?" and his voice is so soft, soothing, everything you don't deserve now. Your hand clutches a fistful of your shirt, right where your heart rests. "Are you in here, honey?" and you sniffle, an answer all on its own. You barely hear his footsteps, but you feel it when the bed dips just slightly, and you feel it when he gently pulls at your blanket. When he's pulled it back, he's met with the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks. Your nose was runny and raw, and your lip was quivering. It didn't take a profiler to know that you'd been crying, and he frowns.

"Are you alright?" he questions, and his hand reaches out to brush against your cheek and neck, almost like he was checking your temperature. "You've been crying?" and he examines you subtly for any signs of assault or struggle. "Did something happen?" and he knows he keeps asking questions, but he's getting worried.

"P-" and a sob racks through you, your entire body curling in on itself. Your hand is pressing against your mouth again, and your shoulders shake as you began to cry once more. "Piper she-" and your head shakes, hand clenching and unclenching against your shirt. Aaron's eyes dance around your room, and his eyebrows push inwards. He was worried, but determined to be extremely delicate with you, namely by being patient as you got out what you needed to tell him. "Piper's dead." you finally say, shoulders sagging as you weep.

Aaron's examining your face, which gives you a front row seat of the way his face is eclipsed with compassion. "Oh, honey..." his lips pull downwards into a frown, and you know, of course you know it's awkward. What do you realistically say to a person that loses their cat? It's not like any amount of conversation would bring her back. "I'm so sorry...." and usually it sounds empty when anyone offers condolences, but like with most things, Aaron is an exception. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" he pleads.

And you know that he knows that you're not okay. It's meant to be a stupid question, the obvious one. But you also know that he's giving you the chance to vent, to articulate everything you feel with no judgement. It makes you want to curl into him, and stay wrapped up in his arms until neither of you had any idea where one ended and the other began. "I just-" you have to take a moment to gather yourself, hiccupping blubbers escaping you. "I came home, and I-" your voice cracks harshly. "She was just gone. I don't-" you shake your head.

"I don't know what happened." you express, and Aaron's sympathetic, and he hates seeing you like this. Every time you cry it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. He supposed that came with loving you, an innate desire to protect you, and keep the bad things out. He'd only ever seen you in this state a handful of times, mostly when things went wrong at the hospital and you lost a patient. He had to get to you before you started blaming yourself for something that completely out of your control.

He didn't know much, but he did know your love for Piper, and how deep it ran. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that you'd never do something to put her in harm's way, you'd never do anything to hurt her. And he wants to pull you into his arms and tell you everything will be alright, he wants to be there to anchor you down. To ground you in the midst of all these swimming and overwhelming emotions trying to fight for the upper hand. He wanted to be there for you.

"Is there anything that you need from me?" he asks gently, grief was harsh, it came in ripples and waves. It was gut-punching, it could be loud and then silent. Sneaky and then outright. It was a process, and whether anyone else thought so, if you needed to grieve the life of your pet, you should. Who was he to ever get in the way? He's gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek, your tears splattering as you kept the duvet pulled up to your chin, as you stared him down. He figured you must have been deep in thought.

It takes a moment for you to reply, and he's fine with the silence. You're tears haven't stopped, but they've grown more quiet. Silent tears that pool and trickle down his wrist and onto the blanket. You soon take in a shaky puff of air as you sit up. Aaron's patient as ever, watching as you pull your legs from underneath the blanket, crawling until you were sitting on his lap. There's no sexual undertone to your movements, you don't want to fool around, you just want to be close.

Your head rests against him, eyes closing as his arms envelop you. "Can you just stay with me?" you ask, and he's already nodding his head. You both knew it was an impossible request. At any moment you could get paged, or he could get a call about a new case. The world didn't stop all because you were grieving, but for one second you both could pretend. He could stay right here with you, and you could love him, and not feel so overwhelmed by all your sadness.

"I'm not going anywhere." he mutters, and he's reaching for your hand. His easily dwarfs your own, but it's still just as comfortable, letting your palms press against his own. "I have never lost a cat before-" and he's treading lightly, wanting more than anything to help you and not harm you. "But I did lose a pet when I was younger." he expresses, and your interest is peaked, just slightly.

"What type of pet?" you ask faintly, and you're squeezing his hand in your own. He knows that it's comforting you so he says nothing about the tight pinch of his fingers pressing together.

"He was a golden retriever actually." Aaron replies, "Nothing was particularly wrong with him. He was fed well, taken care of, treated like one of the family..." he proceeds, and you involuntarily hold your breath as you listen. "But one day he just... he just went." Hotch proceeds, "And when you're a little kid that's not in the best environment, a staple like a pet dog is important. Losing him was like losing the only bit of sanity I could cling to. Does that make sense?"

Your head nods, and you squeeze his hand again to show him you care. "And surprisingly enough, I found myself crying over it. Mourning this dog, an animal that was part of the family, but of course, was not my family member." he continues, and his chin rests on the top of your head. "The point is, him being a dog didn't make it hurt any less when he left. It's okay to be upset about Piper, she was important to you, special even." he whispers. "And you did a great job giving her all the love you possibly could." his eyes close then.

"I need you to know that it wasn't your fault. And keeping yourself up with thoughts of 'what ifs'." it's his turn to squeeze your hand this time. "And those moments where you... didn't want to play, or wanted to be left alone are not what she remembered when she passed on." he insists, and he won't take any arguments on the matter. "You gave her five amazing years, and whether science backs it up or not, she knew how much you loved her." he insists. "You might not believe it today, but I hope that you do in time." and he kisses your forehead.

It's butterfly inducing, and makes you cling all the more to him. "You're not by yourself." he adds, and you're glad to know it. You peel back, eyes locking with his, and they're glassy. You hate seeing such a grief-stricken look on his face, at your sake no less. It makes you lean forward and kiss him, in the hopes you'd manage to kiss it away. He kisses back instantly, and you're still sad, you probably will be for a long while, but you don't feel as lonely as you did an hour ago.

"I love you." you mumble the second you've pulled back, and this time there's no phone. His eyes are swirling with so many thoughts and feelings of his own, but you need him to know you mean it, and likely always will. You couldn't imagine anyone else being here with you like this now, nobody else that would care enough to grieve with you. He gives you a half smile, and kisses you once more, a much deeper kiss that makes you lightheaded and dizzy. Of course he had that effect.

"I love you too." and you're happy that he hasn't left you hanging. Your fingers trace his collarbones and cheeks, moving to cup his face with your right hand. You kiss him again, this time just long enough to get the message across. When you pull back, your head is finding it's place back on his chest, and his arms move up and down, rubbing gentle circles against your back, as he cranes his neck to kiss your head. It makes your stomach flutter, but it makes you want to cry too.

He leaves three gentle pecks on the top of your head, moving to kiss your cheek, before he's looping his arms around your waist with a palpable amount of admiration. He plants a sweet kiss on your shoulder, and mimic this action by offering him a kiss of your own. "Thank you." you exhale, and you mean it so wholeheartedly.

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. We take care of each other, mon amour, remember?" and he recites your earlier words back to you. It makes you cling to him much tighter, tears returning to your lashline as Aaron pulls you even closer to him. "If you need to cry a little bit more, go right ahead. I'm right here." so you do.

Grief was a lot, it could be paralyzing, debilitating, and outright traumatic, but you knew even if it didn't feel that way now, in time you'd be okay. Part of you felt like you had Aaron to thank for that.

[cantstoplovingjude]

Maid for Your Command - Jude's Commands

This is from Ikemen Villains EN, Cybird owns everything.

Jude: "So lemme get this straight. Some bloke ya barely know says 'Be a maid' and you go 'Yessir, right away, sir!'?"

Jude: "That the kinda thing ya into, huh?"

Kate: "That's not what happened!"

I let out a frustrated sigh as I argued with Jude yet again.

It all started as I was accompanying him on a mission as Fairytale Keeper.

A woman who appeared to be a maid accidentally bumped into me and dropped the clothes she was carrying.

The man beside her looked to be her master and tried whipping her right there and then.

I immediately intervened to protect her, only for Jude to get irritated with the "negotiations" that took place between us.

Kate: "I thought it would be better to help her with the laundry, rather than let her get abused."

Jude: "Real impressed by your integrity, I truly am."

Jude: "But there's no guarantee all ya gotta do is wash it 'n be done."

Kate: "I know there's no way to confirm that, but still..."

Her master has said, "If you want to protect her, then be my maid in her place and wash my dirty clothes."

But then he saw Jude before I could say a word, and all the color drained from his face. And then he just ran off somewhere.

Kate: "At least I'm not such a terrible person that I scare people off with just a glance at my face."

Jude: "Yeah, 'cept thanks to that 'terrible person' ya don't gotta play maid no more, do ya?"

Kate: "Well-"

Jude: "Shouldn't ya be returnin' me the favor?"

My body froze as if it were a reflex.

I already knew what owing Jude a favor meant, and it wasn't pretty.

(But I can't deny that him being there helped me out...)

Kate: "I'll treat you to lunch in order to say thank you."

Jude: "Nah, don't want that."

He flatly refused and stared at me with the eyes of a predator.

Jude: "Let's see, what should ya owe me..."

A cruel, cold smile spread across his face.

Jude: "How 'bout ya pay me back by bein' my maid, huh? If ya can do it for a stranger, ya can do it for me, can't ya?"

Jude: "Ya ever hear of a contract of obedience?"

==========

Jude: "Huh? Can't hear ya. Say it again, louder this time."

I tried to gather up my voice, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, the words came out shaking.

Jude: "Next time if ya talk too quietly, I'll shove a rag in your useless mouth. C'mon now, speak up."

Jude had taken me to one of his company warehouses.

And I stood there trembling with anger at his humiliating order.

Kate: "...I pledge obedience to my master."

Jude: "Sit."

Kate: "...Excuse me?"

Jude: "What the hell happened to obedience, huh? I said, sit!"

I gritted my teeth as I obeyed Jude's ridiculous order while he crossed his arms and leaned against a packing box.

The floor of the warehouse was so cold it made me shiver.

Kate: "You're not treating me like a maid. You're treating me like a dog."

Jude: "If ya listen to every command I give ya, what's the difference?"

He stood up and stepped on the hem of my dress with his stylish black shoes.

(How am I supposed to stand up now?)

As I watched him looming over me, my heart started pounding even louder.

(Who knows what he might do if I don't fulfill my debt to him...)

(I don't know if I want to find out what else that twisted mind of his could come up with.)

Jude: "How 'bout I strip those annoyin' clothes off ya, slap a collar round your neck 'n take ya for a walk?"

Kate: "Absolutely not!"

Jude: "Did I ask the dog to talk back to her master?"

Jude: "Apparently, ya got no intention of obeyin' me, so I guess ya don't need that mouth after all."

He reached out and tried to cover my mouth with his large hand, but I jerked back and hurriedly apologized.

Kate: "A-all right, I'm sorry! I apologize for being careless!"

Jude: "Oh yeah? Prove it. Get on your hands 'n knees and bark. Then I'll forgive ya."

Blood rushed to my face when I heard his command.

I started to protest instinctively, but then quickly shut my mouth.

(...I might as well just do it. Make him happy, and get out of this situation as quickly as I can.)

I glared at Jude, getting down on my hands and knees like he said.

Kate: "...W-woof."

Jude: "So vicious. Looks like you're 'bout to tear your master to pieces!"

Jude: "And look at those rebellious eyes of yours. Hah, yeah, I like that."

Kate: "Wha-?!"

Jude: "Wasn't intendin' on playin' with a lil bird like ya, but..."

Jude: "Now I wanna know what you'd look like when ya scream 'n cry for me."

Kate: "...Ah?!"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, then roughly pushed me up against the wall.

He pinned my arms to the wall, his grip so trong I couldn't fight back.

Kate: "Let me go! ...Ah!"

I struggled in vain as he wedged his knee between my legs, then my body began to tremble as a strange heat rushed through me.

(He's got to be kidding... He can't be serious!)

Jude: "Hmm..."

I couldn't read the expression on his face as he stared at me coldly.

Kate: "Ahh, J-Jude...!"

As I shifted, his knee rubbed against the sweet spot between my legs and a thrilling, throbbing sensation overtook me.

My mind was a mess of fear, frustration, shame, and... pleasure.

Jude: "What're ya gettin' so excited 'bout, huh? I'm not doin' nothin'."

Kate: "Please move... your leg."

Jude: "Ya could get fired for tryin' to do somethin' that indecent with your master's body, ya know that?"

Kate: "I am not!"

Jude: "How 'bout I leave ya here all alone as punishment then?"

(Oh, to hell with it. He is the absolute worst!)

I wanted to say that to him, but the sound of his whisper against my ear sent another shiver down my spine.

I desperately tried to stand my ground, but my legs began to tremble and grow weak.

Jude: "What would ya do if ya saw another woman bein' treated the way ya are right now, right in front of ya, huh?"

Kate: "What? I-I'd call for help, of course!"

Jude: "Tch. You're a right idiot, ya know that?"

Right now, he looked more angry than mocking.

Jude: "You're supposed to ignore it. Haven't learned your lesson one bit, have ya?"

Kate: "Ahh...!"

Now his leg which had pressed me against the wall started rubbing against me with purpose.

The hot, grinding stimulation I felt between my legs was too much to bear and I couldn't help but moan.

(I-I didn't mean to make that noise...)

Jude: "Ya really think ya can 'help' anyone with that tiny, weak body of yours?"

I flushed with embarrassment as he immediately released me.

Jude: "If you're gonna follow me 'round, ya gotta ditch all the niceties 'n goodwill."

(He really is... something else entirely.)

Jude: "Or if ya don't wanna get tossed aside, then forget the damn mission 'n go back to sleep in your castle, princess."

I bit my lip, trying to calm my breathing.

(Even if that was his way of warning me, he could've done it in a different way.)

(And I'm not going to stop being kind to people. But I don't want to give up on my mission, either.)

(Besides, why is he trying to make me learn a lesson by being so malicious, anyway?)

(I wish I could understand his way of doing things better.)

I took a deep breath and stared at him.

Kate: "I refuse both."

Jude: "...Hah, should've stuffed your mouth shut, after all."

He gave me a very displeased look and then sauntered out of the warehouse.

And I still chased after him, dragging along my throbbing knees and aching body...

End.

[frannyzooey]

Weeknights Drabble

Frankie Morales x f!reader, Weeknights Universe

Rating: Explicit AF

Summary: Valentine's Day in the Morales household ❤

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves! ❤️

--

“Dad?”

“Yea, baby.” Frankie’s eyes narrow at the red construction paper in his hand, his movements deliberate as he carefully cuts out a heart.

“I’m gonna draw a dog on this one, I think. For the teacher. Because she’s always asking about her, you know?” 

Lucia’s body rocks as she swings her feet under the table, her crayons a colorful scatter across the kitchen table and she leans forward, her look of concentration a direct mirror of her dad’s. 

Their darkly curled heads bent in task, you smile at the image and then scrape the rest of the bananas from the jar of baby food in your hand, feeding it to your son. He spits most of them out in his enthusiasm for more, before giving you a gummy smile. 

“Does she always ask about her, or are you always talking about her?” Frankie asks Lucia, placing another heart by her hand and when he catches you looking at him, he winks.

Lucia ignores his teasing, and he nudges his chin in the direction of the high chair, taking in the sloppy bib. “Seems like he got a little more in his mouth this time, huh?”

“Just a little,” you smile, reaching for the rag next to you. 

“Mom?” Lucia asks, scrawling her name across the bottom of one of the paper hearts. “Can I make one of these for brother?”

“Oh, that would be so nice, baby. He’d love that,” you reply, standing to pull him from the chair. “Just don’t give it to him though. He’ll eat it.”

“He really would,” Frankie says, getting up himself to come take the baby from you. He gives him a kiss on the cheek, uncaring about the smear of food across it. “Oh, yum. Banana.”

He gives him another kiss, low murmurs of Spanish endearments spoken into his small ear and then he shifts him to a one armed hold, one you love because it affords a good look at the taut muscle of his forearm when he does it.

He leans in to give you a peck on the cheek; the baby between you. “Why don’t you go take a shower, baby. I got it.”

He smiles down at you, the crinkles surrounding his eyes soft with affection and you lean in for a wordless request for another kiss, one that he grants you. The baby pulls at your hair, and you smile against Frankie’s lips. One, then another; the baby cooing.

Bending down, you place your hands on Lucia’s head and tip it back just enough for you to place a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight you. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, okay? I’ll see you in the morning for school.”

She waves you away, another Valentine created and carefully set aside and you leave them in the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway. 

–

“They go to bed okay?” you ask, padding into the bedroom, cinching the belt of your dark green robe. 

“Yea,” Frankie answers, shifting to sit up in bed. He tugs at the band of his watch, sliding it off his wrist before reaching to set it on the bedside table and you take a moment to admire what he’s wearing: one of his worn t-shirts and briefs, his leanly muscled legs long and relaxed against the mattress.

You crawl up on the bed to join him, curling into his side. 

“You smell nice.” He leans in, letting his lips rest in the dip below your ear and his nose nuzzles the fine hair behind it before he places a kiss to your shower warmed skin. You hear him inhale, his lips finding purchase again and when you feel the tip of his tongue touch your skin, you sigh, letting your head tip back. 

He turns to face you, his mouth opening wider and drunk on his open mouthed kisses, you hum in contentment, your eyes closed. “You want your present today, or tomorrow?”

He pulls back, his eyebrows raised. “You got me something?” His expression slips into an apologetic wince. “Shit baby, I didn’t think we would be exchanging anything. I didn’t –”

You shake your head, stopping him. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know it’s been busy with the –”

You stop talking, Frankie’s arm slipping behind his back to fish for something under the pillow and he grins, sliding an envelope out. You tilt your head, biting your lip with a smile and give him a gentle shove on his shoulder, making him laugh. 

“Francisco Morales,” you scold him and he grins, leaning in with a teasing sound. 

“Say it again, baby. You know I love when you say the full name.”

You know exactly the kind of reaction you can draw out of him when you do it, and a mental image flashes through your mind, along with his pleading, breathless voice. You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk, and he places the envelope in your hand. 

Opening it, It’s a spa certificate, from the place you normally go when you want to feel pretty for him after endless weeks in leggings with the kids and you thank him, leaning forward for a kiss. 

“I love it,” you say, placing it on the bedside table. “I feel like my gift is kinda lame compared to yours, though.”

He makes a skeptical face at your statement and you move to crawl into his lap, sitting down on the top of his thighs. Your fingers brush back his curls, the grey threaded with the brown highlighted in the dim warmth of the bedside lamp and his hands settle on your hips as he looks up at you. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Aged since you met him, but in a way that’s only made him look more handsome, his eyes almost black in their thick lashed depths, save for the rich, deep brown that reflects in the light of the lamp and you trace the hollow of his throat, your thumb resting there for a moment before drifting down to catch on the neckline of his t-shirt.

Your hand splays across the fabric, the heat of his firm chest leaching through. He’s so broad, so strong and solid, the cotton of his shirt fitting so nicely around the rounds of his shoulders and you’re lost in your open admiration when he pulls you from your daze when he speaks.

“Well? You gonna give it to me?”

You meet his gaze, holding it when your fingers move to untie the knot of your robe and parting the fabric slowly, his eyes drop to watch.

He doesn’t say anything as you open it, letting it fall from your shoulders and onto the bed, but his eyes - his eyes tell you exactly how he feels about it. 

“Jesus, baby.” His voice is low, husky, thick with arousal as it gets caught in the back of his throat and his hand comes up and hovers, as if you’re too pretty to touch. Silk wrapped and see through in all the places he loves best, he takes it all in with a swallow, eventually dragging his eyes back up to your face. 

His hand finally settles: a broad splay across your chest, gliding down the plane of it before it moves worshipfully over to your breast. His thumb glides across the nipple, watching as it buds under the silk and you let out a heavy, slow breath - one that makes him sit up straighter. 

“I can’t believe how fucking good you look.” His hands move with more confidence now, curving over your sides and sliding down to map the globes of your ass and then he’s tugging you forward into him, forcing you in for a kiss. 

It’s a hungry one, his mouth already so eager to taste and you thread your fingers through his curls, pulling him closer as you slide your tongue against his. He groans into it to match your soft moan, his arm banding across the middle of your back as he shifts to force you backwards and down onto the bed and soon you’re spread out on the mattress, laid out beneath him.

“I can’t believe this is my present, baby,” he breathes between kisses, his mouth dragging along the curve of your bare shoulder, his lips brushing aside the thin strap that rests over your collarbone.

He keeps going, placing his mouth over the silk covering your nipple, breathing hot and dampening the fabric. He nips at it, giving it a suck. His hand slips under the hem, pushing it up over your hips and when he finds you bare underneath, he groans. 

“Take your shirt off,” you ask him, knowing what he is about to do and he complies, tugging it over his head.

His curls are a mussed halo, his cheeks flushed as he kisses a path down your body and when he hooks his arms under your thighs to tug you swiftly closer to him, you let out a breathless laugh - one that slides into a moan when he drops into position between your legs, his mouth immediately seeking you out. 

“Frankie,” you whine, your thighs opening wider for his shoulders and the groan of savor that he lets out reverberates into your slick core, adding to the skillful glide of his tongue.

You look down, admiring the dip and flex of his back muscles as he delves his tongue deeper inside you and then his eyes are on yours, looking up from his place between your thighs. His hand reaches up, palming your breast and you place yours over it, squeezing. 

The soft frown of concentration between his brows makes you wetter, your hips beginning a gentle roll against his open, worshiping mouth and then his hand is leaving yours, reaching beneath him to slip two fingers into you. 

“Goddamn, your pussy is so tight,” he praises over your moan, his mustache and beard already darkened with dampness. “It tastes so good, I could eat it all night.”

He goes back for more, his tongue swiftly gliding over your clit as his fingers push in down the knuckle and then he’s fucking you with them, sucking a release from you as he rubs it out from within. 

You cry out louder than you should when he adds a third finger, and inching them in, his eyes are fixed on the way you stretch around him, his fingers glistening.

“Always gotta work my baby open. Gotta get you ready to take me, huh?”

You nod, his fingers slipping in and out in their confident stroke, and when his tongue laves a wide, firm stripe up the seam of you, he can feel you start to pull him deeper, fluttering around him. 

“You wanna come like this?” he asks, his bicep flexing as his hand moves. “You wanna come on my hand, or on my cock?”

“Your –,” you can’t get the words out in time, his mouth descending again and before you can answer him, he’s slipped his fingers from you in order to hold you tight against his mouth; his damp fingers smearing against your skin in his tight hold.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue working you exactly the way he knows you like and forgetting everything else but the slick warmth of his mouth and the scratch of his beard, you start to fuck his face. 

“Make me come, Frankie. Make me come.” It’s a breathless chant, one that starts out and then slips into a heavy pant when you get closer and when you finally come into his mouth, he groans just as loud as you.

He’s not done, his damp hand catching on the fine silk as he guides you into place on all fours and you’re still buzzing from the aftershocks of your release when he shoves his briefs down to line himself up with your entrance, his hips pushing forward just as you rock back. 

“Goddamnit, baby,” he groans, shoving the hem of the silk nighty up to wrap his hands around your bare hips as he buries himself inside. His hands fit your waist perfectly, so broad his thumbs almost touch across your back and he’s mesmerized by the bounce of your ass with every pound of his hips against your skin, the sound of it filthy in the low lit room. 

Your fingers curl into the bedding for purchase, your face dropping down to hide in the comforter to muffle your sounds, but he doesn’t want that, and so he clamps his hand over your shoulder and pulls you up and back, sitting in his lap. 

“Fuck,” you cry out at the change in position, slight discomfort pulling at your features with how deep he is and knowing just how much he is to take, his fingers seek out your clit, rubbing tight circles over it until you relax around him. 

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he praises, his tongue dragging along the shell of your ear. “Take it for me, okay? I know you can.”

You start to move on his lap, grinding yourself backwards on his cock as he guides your movements with his other hand and he can’t stop it from roving, touching every piece of your body through the silk that he can reach. 

“You look so fucking good for me like this,” he groans, his hips meeting your every glide down. The curve of his nose rests between your shoulder blades, his mouth warm and delicate on your skin. “So fucking good. Gonna make me fill this pussy up. That what you want?”

“You know I do,” you gasp, working your fingers with his. “That’s all I want. For you to fuck me.”

“What do you want me to fuck you with?” It’s a prompt, one he gives before nipping your shoulder, biting the firm round before soothing it with a kiss. Your hips move faster on top of his, the bright edge of another release creeping up on you. 

“I want –” you pant, biting your lip.

He feels so good, so filling, so full and thick, no room for anything else inside your brain with how he’s moving his hips behind you and his hand against you. You clench around him, your spine curving to rest your head against his shoulder so he can see your face. “I want – I want it harder. I want –”

He doesn’t let you finish, pushing you from his lap back to all fours and then he is pounding into you; one hand digging into your hip to keep you in place, and the other splayed over your back to keep your upper body down.

The angle is consuming, devastating, all coherent thought gone.

He growls behind you, keeping pace. “Say it, baby. Say it. I wanna hear it.”

“Fuck me, Fransisco,” you moan, the words twisting into a sob and he groans loudly at your use of his full name. “Fuck me with your big cock. Please. Please.”

You come around him just as he starts to come, your pleading words tipping him over the edge and the two of you are locked in position for a moment; spurts of him spilling into you, filling you full. He pulls his hips back, just enough to see the glistening mess and he groans, pushing wetly back in again.

You’re still trembling when he drops to the mattress and gathers you in his arms, his own heart thundering when he pulls you in for a kiss. 

“Jesus,” you sigh, smiling. “I guess I should buy you presents more often.”

He hums a laugh, closing his eyes. “Yes, please.”

Letting him catch his breath, you lay there for a moment and run your hands over the planes of his body. The curve of his ribs, the solid width of this chest, the soft give of his belly. He’s tucked himself away in his briefs, the front of the black fabric dark and damp, and you trail your touch down over his hip, dragging your nails along the top of his thigh.

You bring them back up, your fingers lingering on the trail of hair beneath his belly button and he hums sleepily: sated, tired, splayed out on the bed.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, continuing your exploration. “I’m glad you liked it,” you say lowly, bending to place a kiss just above his nipple and he’s half asleep already, acknowledging you with another hum.

You smile down at him, your hand making a slow, but deliberate path down to the front of his briefs. You trace him through the fabric, finding the thick tip of his cock and when it twitches under your touch, he let out a soft sigh, one of encouragement. 

“Would now be a good time to tell you I bought more than one?” You breathe the words into his ear, your lips trailing along the curve of his whiskered jaw and you feel it against your mouth when he slowly smiles.

He rolls to face you, gathering you in his arms to settle between your legs and when he’s in place, the solid weight of him presses you into the mattress.

Your arms winding around his shoulders, he bends to give you a kiss, but then stops himself and pulls back; the smile of a happy man. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[macfrog]

all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets with notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

-

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

[wing-ed-thing]

Guard Dog (Shino x Reader)

Synopsis: You took care of him in your childhood at his most vulnerable. Now, Shino wants to do the same for you.

Word Count: 1k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Reader Injury, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Have you ever noticed that whenever one of my Readers gets injured it’s always the... same injury? Me too.

You’d take it to the grave; he knew you would. That’s why he entrusted you with his care. Not being a medical ninja, you threw together all the home remedies you could think of. It was a sleepless night. 

Shino still remembered the next morning when he was finally feeling a bit more like himself— albeit a bit sore. He woke up to the hazy blue that dawn cast upon the early morning. You lay curled on his floor, your head barely on his shikibuton as you slept. He took in the shape of your nose, your chin. Loose hairs fanned out from your bandana over the woven fabrics. Cups, crushed herbs, and wrappers sat scattered around you, evidence of your rigorous endeavors the night before. Maybe all of your little efforts amounted to enough to clear the poison. Or perhaps, Shino wondered, his body cleared on its own. For your labor, he would like to consider the first option. 

And in Shino’s twisted concept of loyalty, you had proven yourself ten times over. 

Years had gone by since then. The war and the Allied Shinobi Forces' strife had come and gone, and you treated Shino with the same formality you always did. 

You passed each other on the battlefield or during a patrol or two during reconstruction. You greeted him with a cordial smile, and he acknowledged you with a stoic nod, all memories from your childhood distant as you entered adulthood. But Shino always kept you in one manner or another, holding you in the corner of his eye when you were near. His thankfulness, like many other things, remained unspoken. 

He couldn’t help but notice how similar you looked, recalling the night you had fallen asleep caring for him. You lay sprawled out on the forest floor. He took in the shape of your eyes and the blood dribble pouring from your lip. Sakura knelt over you, holding a blood-soaked rag to your side wound as green light cast harsh shadows on your face. Fallen leaves mixed with your hair. 

Shino stood tall and alert, listening for the subtlest noises in the trees. Sakura caught his tinted eyes, glancing briefly down at you before giving a small shake of her head. There wouldn’t be any way to retreat while you were injured. Sakura switched out the saturated rag with a clean one, the used towel making a heavy, wet plopping sound as it landed on the ground. Your blood seeped into the dirt. 

Shino stared at the scene, and instantly, his entire swarm emerged. Bursting from underneath his jacket, beetles rapidly enveloped the nearby landscape. They surrounded the three of you in a circle. The multitude marched outwards, almost multiplying by the hundreds as Shino sent them into the surrounding woods. The carpet of insects moved swiftly, enveloping every log, leaf, and tree like a creeping plague. 

Even as they fell out of Sakura’s sight, she could hear the anguished screams of enemy scouts. As dusk fell, she could hear an occasional thump in the distance. The sound of corpses falling out of trees. 

The sun had set by the time Sakura got you stabilized. Without proper equipment— not to mention working on a bed of dirt— the feat took longer than she had anticipated. Your injuries were severe. She collapsed beside you, arms outstretched as dried blood stained her hands. She wiped her brow with her forearm. 

Shino’s large form hovered over her, a canteen in his outstretched hand. She cupped her palms together, allowing Shino to pour a steady stream of fresh water and powdered disinfectant onto her stained hands. The stream traveled toward the fire Shino had made, the moisture sucked up between the ground and the heat. 

“Take a rest,” he told her, maneuvering to where you lay. Shino sat at your side, elbows resting on his bent knees. He studied every shallow breath and labor of your chest. Leaning carefully over you, he pressed an ear to your heart. 

“It’ll be okay, Shino,” Sakura said, wrapping herself in a blanket on the other side of the fire. “We’ll get to a hospital in the morning after I’ve ensured everything’s still stable. You should rest too.” He hummed, not quite acknowledging her, and not too long after, Sakura fell asleep from exhaustion. 

Shino kept watch as the fire crackled. It was about all that made noise in the forest that night. There were no birds or bugs, just the sound of the fire and your light breathing. 

Your eyes cracked open sometime in the night. Shino sat where he had been, keeping an eye on the dark woods that surrounded him. 

“Shino?” It came out barely as a whisper. His head snapped towards you, maintaining his alertness. He leaned forward to get a better look at your face. “We got it… right?” The corners of your lips began to tug up into a smile, faltering.

“Yes, we did,” he said, as matter of factly as usual. “Sleep; we’re moving out in the morning.” He returned to where he sat and stared into the darkness again. 

“Is it just you on watch—?” You attempted to sit up, to which Shino swiftly placed a hand on your shoulder. You remained where you laid.

“Sakura was working on you for a few hours. She needs her rest.” A small beetle crawled up Shino’s cheek and under his glasses. “I do not need rest.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. His voice grew softer and quieter than usual. “You did the same for me… a long time ago.”

You thought to yourself, gaze cast off to the side until it dawned on you.

“That one mission with Naruto,” you spoke, and Shino nodded slightly. “That was a long time ago.” You watched the fire flicker in the reflection of his glasses.

“Was it?” He stared off somewhere else, still alert for anything that could threaten your squad in the trees. With the radius Shino cleared, you wouldn’t encounter another person your whole way home. 

“Thank you, Shino,” you rasped. “I know I can always count on you.” You mustered what little strength you could to brush your fingers against his. His thumb gently traced your knuckles, paying no mind to the dried blood on your skin.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Silence overtook the night again as Shino kept an eye on the woods.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Dare I say that Shino is a bit... creepy in this?? OOOO spooky!! I made it dark and then I had to remember to make it kinda cute

If you liked this work, I highly recommend Honey Stand!

[stevieschrodinger]

“You’ve changed,” Carol pops her gum, every snake on her head is turned and glaring at Steve.

“Yeah,” he replies stoically, “yeah, I have.”

Carol rolls her eyes at him, “so what? That’s it? One summer and you’re too good for me now-”

It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. He’s aware that Robin has come up to stand next to him, their knuckles brush together and Carol obviously catches it, raising an eyebrow, “Really? You’re fucking Buckley?” She hisses at him, all her snakes weaving gently like they’re waiting for the strike, laser focused on Steve.

It ruffles his feathers, he can’t help that, but he keeps his expression neutral, “yeah, well, what I do doesn’t concern you.”

She hisses again, an actual hiss, forked tongue and fang making an appearance before she stomps off, no doubt to find Tommy. Rob moves closer, pressed together fingers to shoulder, she tilts her head so that her snakes can greet him. They nose Steve’s cheek gently at first, uncertain, before Steve nuzzles them and then they all join in, Steve’s face being licked by dozens of happy tongues. Robin giggles, “dingus.”

All of Robin’s snakes sit low, relaxed, all lovely shades of copper and bronze, just like the scales that decorate her cheekbones and eyebrows. Carol’s are venomous green and always look like they’re hunting for prey.

Steve looks down; she’s done something to the scales, glitter, or something, but it looks pretty. Steve before wouldn’t know how to do this; how to give a simple honest compliment to a friend. Old Steve only said things that were shitty, just to make him feel better about himself, “looks nice, the,” Steve gestures vaguely to the space next to his own eyes, where white downy feathers lie flat to his skin, “shiny. I like it.”

Robin grins up at him, “we could do you, silver would look good?”

“Nah,” Steve looks around again, “I’d never get it out of- hey is that Munson?” Steve asks, frowning as he watches the guy clop along, hooves poking out from the ends of his ragged jeans. It’s Munson, Steve already knows, obviously, but he looks really different, “his horns are in,” Steve realises.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees sadly.

It takes a second for Steve to put it together, “oh shit, Chrissy.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realise they were so close...were they..?”

Robin shakes her head, “just really good friends. Her family...they wouldn’t let him go to the funeral.”

“Well...shit,” because that is shit. He knew Chrissy and Munson used to hang out all the time, didn’t know if they were a thing or whatever; didn’t care then. That was before this summer and Robin at Scoops and the shit with Max and her brother and the fall of king Steve. He knows the kids know Munson; knows they really like him. It’s not fair that Chrissy’s family wouldn’t let him go, just because of what he is. Just because he lives in the trailer park with the rest of the Demons.

He sits with the kids at lunch, just ignores all the looks he gets. He doesn’t need to do much, just sits and eats and listens as the kids prattle on about nerd shit. When Munson comes in, shoulders slumped and picking up a tray to join the line, Steve’s eyes are drawn to him. Dustin spots him too, the kid looks sympathetic, but his tail’s wagging away at the sight of his friend, “gonna’ go say hi to Eddie,” Dustin slides off the bench, ears pricked in Eddie’s direction.

Unfortunately he walks straight into Tommy Hagan, “watch it pup,” Tommy snorts, sets his ridiculously wide shoulders and lowers his horns as he pushes Dustin hard enough he stumbles a few steps.

Steve wants to rip the ring right out of his nose, he gets up, wings spreading and white feathers fluffing in a threat display. No one fucks with the kids. Dustin whines out a little puppy growl, “fuck off Hagan.”

“Watch your fucking mouth <i>dog,”</i> Tommy tries to push him again, but Steve gets in the way, shoving Tommy so hard he nearly goes over.

Steve’s vaguely aware that he’s pissed enough that the light around his head is brighter than usual, and he’s glad when Tommy struggles to look at him, blinking at the glare, “fuck this, whatever.”

“Thanks Steve,” Dustin says, before loping off to go and stand with Eddie. Turns out Eddie was watching the entire thing, and his and Steve’s eyes briefly meet, Eddie’s slitted pupils contracted against the light, but he doesn’t look away until Dustin tugs at his jacket.

Steve sits again, curious now, “Max?” she looks at him as she’s ripping into beef jerky with her fangs, he indicates the tiny baby horns sticking from high up on her forehead, “they grow in when something bad happens, right?”

She swallows a huge piece of meat in one go, “not necessarily bad...just, you know. Enough to change you. I hope I’m fucking angry when mine happens.”

“Yeah?”

She hums, gnawing on the meat, “makes em spikey.”

Steve looks at Eddie, his horns curl back and down, like a ram, all smooth and dark, almost containing his fluffy curls, “and what do Eddie’s mean?”

Max looks over, then looks back, shrugging, “grief, I guess.”

Eddie’s sitting alone a week later, and Steve feels like he has to check in with the guy, at least, “I’m just going to say hi to Munson.” Robin smiles up at him, squeezing his fingers, “what?”

“You’re just...that’s a good thing, I’m proud of you Steve.”

He rolls his eyes to hide how that has made him feel, tickling the chins of a couple of her snakes and making her giggle as a distraction before he heads over. Eddie’s got a book open on the table and he’s scribbling in a notebook, “Dungeons and Dragons, right?”

Eddie blinks up at him, “how the fuck do you know that?”

Steve takes it as enough of an invitation to at least perch on the opposite bench, “I do listen when the kids talk. Sometimes.”

It gets a little half smile out of Munson, a fang poking out that’s kind of attractive. His pupils are black slits, but the iris is a lovely, honey brown. There’s flames moving in the depths, shifting shades of brown. The whole thing is kind of attractive, Steve can’t help but notice. Eddie seems to have suddenly grown into himself over the summer. His wings look bigger too; stronger, dark black and leathery, folded neatly against his back.

Steve can feel his own wings tipping, feathers fluffing. He can see them moving out of the corner of his eye, wing joints dipping low and wing tips fluttering, and can’t help but look betrayed by them.

Eddie’s wings spread in answer, large, joint tips held high. Dominant.

Well, shit.

Somewhere far away, Steve is very vaguely aware of Robin producing a wolf whistle and then Dustin’s puppy howl joining in.

He wants the ground to open up and swallow him when Eddie raises an eyebrow, “something you want, sweetheart?” His fangs flash.

Steve figures he’s all in, he can’t hide what his body apparently wants, and half the school has probably seen this little display, “are you, you know, doing anything later?”

“Yeah,” Eddie leans closer over the table, resting on his elbows, “hopefully I’ll be <i>doing</i> something alright.”

“Come over. Six ish,” Steve manages to get out before he flees for his life.

Eddie has him pinned to the door and is kissing the life out of him before Steve really registers what’s happening. Eddie’s a bitey kisser, and it’s all Steve can do to keep up. Eddie grips both Steve’s wrists in one hand, pins them above his head and Steve just...melts. Lets Eddie have it, the control, the everything. Eddie grabs a handful of Steve’s feathers and tugs...ever so gently. It’s enough to summon a moan of pleasure from Steve.

“Bed,” Eddie growls against his mouth, fangs pressing to Steve’s plush lip without splitting skin, “please, tell me we’re going to bed.”

Steve nods frantically, and Eddie gets the memo and lets him go, following as Steve takes the stairs two at a time.

Eddie’s skin is pale and dotted with tattoos. The happy trail from his tummy button is soft brown fur, it spreads out to his hips, his goat legs ending in shiny black cloven hooves. The leaking, red head of his penis is starting to emerge from it’s furred sheath. Below it, Eddie’s ridiculously large balls hang heavy; it makes Steve’s mouth water. Steve is delighted to find Eddie had a tiny little wisp of a tail; it’s barely long enough to cover the tight pucker of Eddie’s asshole, and it wags, brushing against Steve’s fingers, as Steve investigates the tight ring of muscle with a dry fingertip.

It wags faster when Steve starts to rub gentle circles. Eddie tolerates Steve’s touches for a moment before spreading his wings and manhandling Steve onto the bed. Steve has to spread his wings to they don’t get smushed under him, and he lands with a happy, “oof.”

Eddie’s on him immediately, kissing and licking and sucking at every square inch of bare skin. He works his way down, kneeling on the floor and hooking Steve’s thighs with his arms before dragging him down the bed. Steve’s thighs land on Eddie’s shoulders and before Steve knows it, his ass is being lifted, cupped in Eddie’s hands, as Eddie spreads him and finds Steve’s hole with his mouth.

Steve cries out in pleasure, Eddie’s tongue is sinuous and broad and he works it into Steve’s hole, licking and moaning. Eddie’s eyes are closed, and Steve can’t help but look down his own body to watch, some of Eddie’s face obscured by Steve’s own erection. There’s the soft noise of Steve’s wings shifting, and Steve white knuckle grips the covers, fighting the urge to just straight up fuck himself down onto Eddie’s tongue.

Eddie’s ridiculously long, talented tongue.

“I want to hold your horns while I ride you.”

Eddie’s eyes blink open, and he pulls back, smirking, “that can most definitely be arranged.”

Steve shifts, giving Eddie space to get on the bed, Steve climbing over him before he even really settles. Eddie fur is soft on Steve’s thighs, and the curve of his goat legs means Steve has an extra comfy dip to sit in.

Eddie’s bare cock is hard and leaking everywhere, the skin red and shiny and flush, his sheath completely rolled down now, a little furry pouch at the base. If they get the chance to do this again, Steve wants to nuzzle those heavy looking balls.

Eddie grips him by the hips, his wings come up too, the joints resting against Steve’s ribs for extra stability. Steve flares his own wings for balance, pleased when Eddie’s eyes flick across to drink in the snowy white feathers. Steve slips a hand between his thighs, gentle where he holds Eddie’s turgid flesh, and slowly eases his body down. He’s wet and messy and open from Eddie’s tongue, and the pointed shape slips in easy enough. Eddie’s big though, big enough that the stretch burns a little, quickly soothed by the copious amounts of pre come Eddie is leaking.

“Okay,” Eddie breaths, “not even so much a question. His fingertips are digging into Steve’s flesh from the effort of holding still, so Steve puts them both out of there misery and starts to rock, leaning forward a little to grip Eddie’s horns, pinning him to the bed.

The soft tickle of Eddie’s fur against Steve’s ass is wonderful, the feel of wing leathery wing wrapping tight to Steve is even better. Steve’s wings curve down to lay over Eddie’s without his permission, and Steve catches Eddie staring at where the white feathers sit next to the black skin.

Eddie likes it.

Steve likes it too.

Eddie reaches down, wrapping a hand around Steve’s dripping cock, giving Steve something to fuck into as he rocks up and down. If Eddie minds Steve using his horns for leverage, he doesn’t show it. At all.

Steve pulls a hand up, slaps it over Eddie’s eyes, “I’m close. It’ll get bright, I- I- Eddie. Eddie I’m gonna’ come-”

Eddie pulls Steve’s hand away, “I can take it,” he says, breathless, something big tugging at Steve’s rim, more pressure trying to push inside, Steve wants it, knows it’ll make him come.

The pressure breaks, slips past Steve’s rim with a pop, Steve is suddenly so full, so stretched, the room is bathed in bright light but Eddie watches him anyway, slit pupils made paper thin to stave off any damage. His mouth hangs open, forked tongue and fangs on display.

Steve’s come paints Eddie’s stomach as his orgasm pulses through him, ass grinding into the soft fur in the cradle of Eddie’s hips. He can feel wave after wave of heat as Eddie comes inside him; it feels endless.

Steve is panting and sweaty as they come down from it together, Eddie fingers skating carefully across Steve’s skin, shifts to his wings to pet his feathers, when Steve tries to shift though, Eddie freezes, eyes wide with shock...and then pleasure as he ruts upward uncontrollably, movements sloppy, Steve can feel the hot pulse of more come inside him.

Steve too; he can’t move, Eddie’s cock lodged inside him.

“What is that?”

Eddie frowns now, and then he looks away, suddenly very uncomfortable. Steve doesn’t like that look on Eddie’s face, “I think I’ve knotted you,” he mumbles.

Steve’s not even sure what that is, “how long does it last?”

“I, ah, don’t know, it’s never happened before.”

Steve wriggles his hips, enjoying the tug of Eddie’s knot at his rim, likes the hot splash in his gut as Eddie ruts helplessly, coming again, skin flushed pink and eyes sliding closed with a moan of pure bliss.

“Never?”

“No,” Eddie pants out, blinking up at Steve once he gets himself under control again, “it, it only happens when we find out mates,” Eddie breaths the words out all together, and his eyes slide away, like he’s embarrassed.

Steve tugs him back by the curve of his horn, makes him look at Steve, “you think my wings bow to just anyone?”

Eddie looks thrilled when he realises what Steve must mean, smile big and happy before it collapses back into itself, “but surely you, I mean, what about another Angel? What about...you know, a real life? A family?”

“What, you think a life with you wouldn’t be a real one-?”

“You know what I mean-” Eddie hisses as his half deflated knot suddenly slips free. Steve groans, and is very, very fucking aware of the flood of come that drips right back out of him.

“We can have kids, if you want them.”

Eddie swallows, he doesn’t seem a jot bothered by the small lake of bodily fluids that must be soaking into the fur of his crotch and thighs, “adoption, or something?”

Steve nods, “if you want to. But I am an angel. I’m a literal vessel Eddie. If you want babies, I can carry them.”

Eddie blinks up at him, slitted pupils turning wide with surprise as he looks up at Steve, “I didn’t know that, thought you guys were vessels for, holy light, or something,” Eddie’s eyes are filled with fire. Not gold, like Steve’s, but a shimmer in his natural brown, hidden until you know where to look. It’s beautiful.

Steve nods, “we don’t even have to have sex, it’s just a little bit of my soul, a little bit of yours-”

“I don’t-” Eddie looks away, again, swallows thickly, “I don’t have one.”

Steve has to pull him back again, gently, this time, a soft touch to Eddie’s cheek until he finally looks back up at Steve through his lashes, “is that what they tell you?”

Eddie nods, Steve shakes his head.

“It’s not true baby, you have one, I see it, burning bright.”

Eddie smiles, clearly pleased, rolling them so they can snuggle together, their wings hanging off either side of the bed. They kiss. Soft and slow, the very tinniest hint of Eddie’s fangs. Steve loves the brush of Eddie’s fur against his legs.

“Your light...that thing go away when you’re sleeping?”

Steve laughs, “nope.”

Eddie sighs, “you’re the big spoon then, no way in Hell I’ll be sleeping with that nonsense shining right in my face.”

[katyawriteswhump]

power of love, part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Steve’s back in the loggers’ cabin. He’s kissing Eddie stupid, and he’s loving it.

They’re both done with drinking bad beer, and even more done with pretending this thing between them isn’t real. They’ve gotten their arms flung around each other. Steve’s tongue is happily exploring the depths of Eddie’s mouth.

Kissing Eddie is totally unlike any make-out session Steve’s ever known. The scratch of Eddie’s lightly stubbled jaw against his is… Gnnng, mindblowing! Steve slides his knee into Eddie’s lap, wishing Eddie would jump his bones already. When Eddie snags his fingers through Steve’s hair, it sends literal sparks down Steve’s spine. The insistent brush of their lips is actual fire, until…

… it’s all too much. Steve moans with something other than dumb teen passion, and it feels like his head’s gonna explode. That familiar crimson tide washes through his brain, and then…

“Steve?”

Robin’s voice wrenches Steve back to the present. Oh, yeah. They’re wading along some shitty little stream, hidden between high banks. Somehow, while getting lost in memories of that kiss, his feet shifted forward on autopilot.

She’s following behind. “I haven’t heard those woofy search dogs for a while,” she says. “You?”

I’ve not a clue, Robin. My head’s zoning in and out of Christ-knows-what-crazy-ass-shit, and I’ve gotten a boner from daydreaming about Eddie. Which is fading fast, because when I remember I might never get another shot at kissing him for real, I wanna stuff my fist in my mouth and bite down hard.

“Gonna trust you on that one,” he mumbles.

“We can get out of this disgusting drain then?” He shrugs, climbs up the bank to check all’s clear.  “See anything we need to worry about?”

“Not sure.” Steve frowns, surveying a few dumped cars and a burned-out trailer. It’s a familiar patch of wasteland, a known hang-out for pretty much every teen in the area. “We’re back in Hawkins already.”

“You’re kidding?” She scrambles up to join him and visibly pales beneath her grime and freckles. “Oh my God. We must’ve travelled at least ten miles. In less than an hour and a half.” She glances at her watch and nods emphatically. “Any explanations, Steve? Any cryptic messages from your water-fairy-godparent?”

“Gimme a break! You’re the one who said we’re off to Magic Camp. At this stage—boom! Whatever! Crazy is to be expected.” He sounds chill. Despite the fear jostling him from every angle over what the hell is happening now?  Their gazes lock, and… Jesus, he can read in her manic eyes how her last ragged nerve is about to snap.

“Okay, okay,” she says, “we won’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking."

“Well, I am! One plus side—there’s plenty of nice dry paths leading to Lover’s Lake in that direction.” She points to the wasteland. “Don’t you dare make me get back in the ditch. I am literally wearing duckweed for mascara.”

He considers her suggestion for a few seconds, before that stupid waterfall roars in his head. “Sorry.” He bounces back into the stream. “If we’re believing in this bullshit, then I gotta go the way I get told.”

With the biggest sigh ever, she skids down after him. They paddle onward, hand in hand. She’s shaking weirdly, gasping and gulping, like she’s giggling and crying all at once. Oh, and shivering too. He wants to check she’s okay, but he doesn’t dare speak. Sounds bombard them from every angle, including shouting, maybe a quad bike, and plenty of distant and not-so-distant sirens.

“Look, Robin,” he whispers, when it seems safe. “You’re not in deep shit, like me and Eddie. Maybe you should go home to your mom.”

“Nice thought. Mommy Dearest has probably rented out my room already.”

Steve hums sympathetically, while pausing to mindlessly kick off his trashed sneakers. “If it’s any consolation, when I was reported missing, nobody noticed my parents rushing back.” He’d asked Hopper, casually enough. “I’m guessing they didn’t bother."

“That sucks, though…means we could nip back to your place for a warm shower, clean clothes?”

“Trust me, I’d murder for that. You really should go, but—” The sound of way-too-close voices interrupts him. After a minute longer, shuffling forward, she wrings his fingers crushingly tight. 

“Uh, Steve? Look.”

Up ahead, the waterway flows into a culvert. The entrance is barred with a metal grid. 

“Oh, thanks a bunch, fairy-guardian-water-spirit-angel-parent,” says Steve. “Great short cut, just great!” A dog growls so close that they startle as one, resulting in a loud splash. He shoves Robin toward the opposite bank. “Go! I’ll try… something.”

“How’s that gonna help?” she hisses, letting him bundle her ahead. “It would be kinda sad if you lightning-fried the dog because it’s not the dog’s fault—"

“Scram, will you? I’ll give it a quick shot—mind the freakin’ dog—and be right behind.”

She scrambles into some bushes at the top, and he prays she keeps going. All he hears is goddamn barking. Christ, can it smell my blood? Still, he has to keep it together and come up with some damn heavy rain, and fast, to destroy her scent as she escapes.

He crouches down, conjures up their recent discussion about parents. Eleven told him to channel anger, so that’s a decent start…

Grrrrrr!

Steve jumps up, whirls about. A foam-flecked mouth snarls at him from the top of the bank. He’s faintly relieved to see the canine owner of this huge and scary mouth is on a leash. Unfortunately, the leash is held by a tall guy in khaki, a semi-automatic tucked at his side.

He shines a flashlight directly in Steve’s face. Steve meekly raises his hands. He’s too stunned for real fright.

“You shouldn’t be here,” says army guy. “Woah, you’re filthy! You got papers?”

“Huh?” Hopper hadn’t been kidding about the military dictatorship.

“Got a name, kid?”

He glances down at his Hellfire Club t-shirt, cringes back into the dazzling beam. “Eddie Munson?”

“Outta the ditch. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Steve doesn’t instantly obey. He’s still trying to figure out if this is really happening, and why exactly he said he was Eddie. To protect him, right? Then Eddie can get clean out of the state. Oh, and because he’s so obsessed with Eddie that he can’t stop thinking about him.

A second later, the dog-handler is in the stream with him. He grabs Steve by the arm, and snaps into a lapel radio: “This is MWD-handler 7. Inform O’Sullivan that fugitive 1 is apprehended.”

…

Eddie POV

The forces dragging Eddie home to Hawkins are suddenly spooking-him-the-hell out. 

It’s not all about Steve anymore. He’s hearing water. Loud running water, which draws him toward what turns out to be a nonsensically pathetic-as-piss stream. He jumps in and follows, even as he starts to panic for real.

Steve said he was hearing water. Now I hear it too. What does this mean? Wtf does this BS mean!?!

He presses on anyhow, finding he simply can’t stop thinking about THAT KISS. He’s reliving it over-and-over. At least, the good parts, before Steve fainted on him. Did Eddie daydream the delicious twisty, flirty things that Steve did with his tongue? 

Then he’s thinking about Steve’s butt. 

You never gave THAT BUTT the squeeze it deserved. Holy shit, Munson, you’re such a loser. 

Most torturous of all, the idea that it might be all over between them… Crap, it makes him feel physically ill. How can the idea of losing somebody he never really had hurt so much?  Oh, and when the heck did he kick off his sneakers and start wading bare foot? He has absolutely zero memory of doing that. Still, the cold water doesn’t seem to bother him.

As darkness falls, he spots some familiar landmarks, and realises he’s only a mile or so out of Hawkins. Which is also totally cuckoo, because there’s no way he should’ve travelled back so fast. For the first time since he set off, he stops dead.

Reality check, Munson—pretty much everybody in this dump you call home believes you to be a freakshow-turned-serial-killer. And you’ve come storming back for some douchebag rich kid who dumped you.

There is, however, a single good side to his progress into Hell. He pulls out his walkie-talkie out of his pack, switches it on, and tunes into Dustin’s coded wavelength:

“Anybody there? This is a code-red. CODE RED!” Okay, being officially too ‘old’ for the Party, he’s not supposed to say that, but desperate times call for desperate—

“No way! Is that you? Over.” 

At Dustin’s reply, some dam deep inside Eddie bursts. His face crumples, and he shamelessly, softly weeps. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. It’s me.”

“Roger that. What the hell are you doing? This place is overrun with wannabe Nazis.” The hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand suddenly on end, and not because of Dustin’s news. “It’s a warzone. You should be in the next state by now!”

Eddie drops the walkie-talkie and shoves his hands in the air. Some military-fascist-knucklehead is pointing an assault rifle at him, though he’s weirdly numbed to the horror of it all. He honestly hadn’t expected it to feel this inevitable.

“Roger that?” says the walkie-talkie.

Eddie grins, so manically goofy that his face aches. 

“Name or papers,” demands the son-of-a-bitch.

“Uuuuuh…” Okay, he’s blown this. Nobody with nothing to hide, blunders THAT answer. “Steve Harrington?”

He said that to protect Steve, right? If they think I’m him, they’ll… torture me instead. Oh shit. Oh Shiiiiiiit!

A big angry dude pummels into Eddie from the side, crushing him into the mud. 

Part 16

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know. Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #18

Day 18 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Tortured For Information

*

Scratch’s barking echoed through the camp. Those who had claimed spots around the fire stirred reluctantly, lifting their heads and squinting tiredly at the dog as he ran towards them.

“Not now, boy,” Karlach groaned, pressing her head to the pillow. 

“Tav, control your dog,” Astarion said, closing his eyes.

When Tav didn’t respond and the frantic barking continued, Astarion’s tired brain made a startling connection. He sat bolt upright, gaze shooting to Tav’s empty bedroll.

“Oh no,” he said miserably.

“Hm?” Karlach muttered.

“Tav’s gotten himself into trouble. Again. And it just had to be in the middle of the bloody night.”

Karlach got right up and kicked Gale, who had slept through the barking. “Up! Tav’s gone!”

Scratch reached them, whining and barking as he danced around them anxiously. He went right up to Astarion, lowering his head and whining.

Astarion knew Tav sometimes went out for walks just outside of camp when he couldn’t sleep at night. Scratch would occasionally follow along to keep him company.

“Was he taken?” Astarion asked.

Scratch barked, tail wagging. Karlach got up, dragging Astarion and Gale with her.

“We’ve got a friend to save,” she said, pulling them along.

“Don’t touch me,” Astarion said, shaking his arm free. “Scratch?”

Scratch barked and ran forward, looking back to make sure they were following him. They took a moment to grab their weapons and packs before following after him, knowing they didn’t have time to properly dress. 

Scratch led them outside of the camp, into a set of trees. It was dark out, but the moon reflected off a stream flowing alongside the path enough to make the ground visible. Astarion smelled Tav’s blood before he saw it sprayed against the ground.

Scratch whined at it, pawing the ground and looking up to the others. Karlach knelt down before him, scratching behind his ears.

“We’ll find him, boy,” she promised. “Can you help?”

Scratch whined and sniffed at the ground. He practically pressed his nose to the dirt as he began to walk along, nose working overtime to find his friend.

“Which of our many enemies is it this time?” Astarion said, stretching.

“Don’t act like you’re not worried,” Karlach said, shooting him a look.

“I’m tired,” Astarion corrected, refusing to admit he was worried. Of course he was; Tav could be a bit naive but he wasn’t oblivious or weak. Taking him by surprise and dragging him away would take a skilled enemy to accomplish. 

They fell silent, going on alert as Scratch led them further through the trees and away from camp. They probably should’ve woken the others up for reinforcement, but it was too late to worry about that now.

Scratch suddenly stopped, growling low in his throat, his whole body going tense. Astarion slipped past him and moved stealthily through the trees until a small camp came into view. He signaled at the others to stay back while he observed what they were up against. 

The first thing he realized was that Tav was tightly bound to a chair, bruised and bloody. He’d clearly been beaten in the time it took them to find him.

The second thing he realized was that Tav was surrounded by five Gur. One, the apparent leader, towered over him, a knife in hand. She pressed it to his throat.

“Be a shame if the bard lost his voice,” she said, the flames from the small fire in their camp glinting off the blade. 

“A loss to the world,” Tav said weakly, but didn’t flinch back as she pressed it just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Tell us where the monster is,” she snarled, grabbing his hand. “Or I will hear you scream once more and then take your voice from you forever.”

Tav dragged his gaze up, one of his eyes nearly swollen shut and coated with blood. He met her eyes with a hard look.

“I will never tell you where Astarion is,” he said simply. “Do your worst.”

She placed his hand on the chair and held her hand out. One of the others handed her a mallet, and Astarion felt rage pour through his as she slammed it down on his hand.

Tav clenched his teeth together, throwing his head back at the audible break of his hand. He squirmed in his bindings, but refused to give them the satisfaction of his screams of pain.

“You would suffer for that monster?” she demanded. 

“I would suffer for that man, again and again,” Tav said, his voice strained with pain. “I will not tell you where he is.” 

“Then you will die slowly in his place,” she said, taking the knife into her hand again.

Astarion had forgotten the others waiting for his signal. He had forgotten everything but the man below, enduring pain just to keep Astarion safe. Protecting Astarion, even knowing that Astarion had only pursued him originally for that very thing. 

But it had grown beyond that. Tav was unlike anyone Astarion had ever met, and he proved it again even now without knowing it. He was loyal to a fault; it was going to get him killed.

But not today. Not right now. Astarion refused to watch Tav suffer another moment.

He brandished his daggers in hand, let his rage fill him, and slipped into the shadows to teach these bastards what true suffering was.

[blackjackkent]

Metagaming slightly here - Rakha would definitely be super aware of the magical presence at the Arcane Tower and would want to make a beeline for it (and it is technically next in the clockwise cycle we're doing), but as I happen to know that it's basically impossible to maneuver the tower without the sussur blooms, we're going to bypass it and come back after we get up there.

So next up instead is the duergar village!

Another place full of death. Rakha's eyes skim over the small settlement, trying to glean what information she can. It's a ragged and makeshift place, made of lashed-together wood and what seem to be bits of bone. An enormous creature's skeleton sits in the water against which the village is placed. The floor at the center is littered with dead bodies and pools of blood.

The bodies are short; some appear to be gnomes like the one they rescued from the windmill above ground. Others are stockier - dwarves, with the same deep blue-grey skin. It's difficult to tell which group was the aggressor - or if they both fought against some other attacker. The huge lizard creature they killed earlier, perhaps?

There's movement on the upper level. Some survivors of whatever battle took place here. Cautiously, Rakha and the others begin to make their way into the open - and (to both their surprise and mine), they're interrupted.

"Too loud, sun-scum." There's a dwarf perched at the edge of one of the upper catwalks. He squints down at her balefully. "Heard you stumbling. Can hear you blinking. Noise gets you eaten down here. Reckon I'll hush you, before something hungry comes along."

Narrator: His fist grips an axe. On his gnarled, grey skin, you see the Absolute's brand.

Rakha stiffens. Absolutists here-- the first they've seen belowground. The cult's reach extends far. Perhaps not surprising, given they are looking for an exit towards the cult's headquarters.

Kill, says the dark urge in her head. For the moment, she is able to ignore it; the beast's reaction to the kuo-toa below still has her tremendously unsettled. Besides... this is an opportunity. They need to know where the cult goes to the surface. This man can tell them.

(A/N: Several options for how to talk to this guy. The Durge option is, "I'm a rabid dirty dog, and I BITE," which is sure something. XD )

Wordlessly she lifts one palm, showing the mark Gut seared into her skin.

[BRANDED] Show him your brand.

"Huh," the man sneers. "Burning those into just anyone now, are they?" He shrugs. "No harm. Every army needs grunts to run in and die first. Even the Absolute's." He leans forward a little, his eyes narrowing. "But spoil my hunt and you're dead."

All right... now he's starting to irritate her, which unfortunately doesn't change her need for his information. "What are you doing here?" she asks between her teeth.

"Told you," the man says coolly. "Hunting. Slave ran away. Took Sergeant Thrinn's boots. Got to kill the slave and fetch back the leather, or the bosses in Moonrise'll have Thrinn's hide."

(A/N: Oh, this is so much fun. I need to do everything out of my previous order like this. I never saw this cutscene at all before and while none of this is new information, it sets it all up from a completely different angle. I love this game.

Also one of the dialogue options here is, "Would you really kill someone for a pair of boots?", which in the context of a Durge playthrough is hilarious.)

Slavers. Karlach explained this concept to her some time ago, in the context of her conscription into the Hells. Forcing work without choice, without pay, without release. Ownership. Karlach left no doubt of her opinion of such people, so Rakha has no interest in helping this man.

So kill... whispers the beast. Climb and grab him by the collar and hurl him down, down, down to snap his neck against the stone...

She gives a sharp shake of her head. "I'm not helping a slave-catcher," she says tightly.

The man snorts. "A bleeding heart, are you? Reckon I'll just roast and eat it."

And then all her restraint is for nothing, because he attacks them anyway.

----

This is my new favorite fight that I have ever experienced in this game, because Gekh Coal here jumped up next to his buddy Lurgan on the next level up, and then Shadowheart cast a spiritual weapon next to them, and then Lurgan, in an attempt to attack the spiritual weapon, cast Glyph of Warding directly under himself and killed both himself and Gekh in the process.

Incredible. 10/10, no notes.

[itty-bitty-mess]

TW: BITTYBONES AB//USE, BITTY WHUMP, BITTY T*RT//URE

Pip was a little pygmy lamia and, like almost every individual of his breed, he was quite the ungrateful brat. He had been adopted from the bitty adoption center and then returned by his previous owner who had spoiled him rotten, making him believe he was the most important thing in the world and that everything had to revolve around him. His brattiness had gotten so bad, that his previous owner returned him without a second thought despite the little pygmy’s empty “apologies”, a futile attempt to not lose the luxurious and comfortable lifestyle he had been so accustomed to.

One day, a young woman entered the establishment in looks for a small companion who could add some sort of excitement into her life. Pip’s eyes landed on that woman and he immediately got to work to be as “cute” and “charming” as possible, playing up the “widdle baby” act as much as he could. Trying to charm his way into a new home and back into his beloved comfortable lifestyle. The woman wasn’t entirely convinced on Pip at first, but after a “cute” tantrum full of crying blue tears and puppy dog eyes, she ended up adopting him with a simple shrug.

Pip was over the moon once he arrived to his new home, slithering everywhere, exploring every corner of the small apartment, calling dibs on the places he would soon mark as his property. The woman or, as he began calling her, “Mommy” didnt really seem that bothered by Pip’s behavior. When night arrived, she prepared him a small makeshift bed with an empty shoebox and some tissue paper and socks. Pip straight up refused to sleep in the box, demanding Mommy to let him sleep on her bed instead.

“Eh, im not doing that but if you don’t want the bed then suit yourself” Mommy said with a shrug as she picked up the makeshift bed and put it on the closet. “But I gotta tell you the floor gets really cold at night and I tend to lock my door.” Pip was a little taken aback by her reaction. He had expected her to beg him to sleep on the box, or to comply and let him sleep on her bed. He tried throwing another tantrum, this time trying to be clear about what he wanted.

“WAAAAHH!! BUT MOMMY I DONT WANT A STINKY BOX, I WANNA SLEEP WITH YOU!!!! IM SCARED OF THE DARK!!!!” Pip cried, his fake little tears and screams falling on uncaring, deaf ears.

The woman just shrugged and responded with a “sucks to be you, buddy” and went to her room. Pip followed her and tried slithering as fast as he could to slip into the bedroom before she locked the door but all he managed to do was hit his face straight into the hard metal door. She had entered and immediately locked the door shut, and Pip was way too big to slip through the gap between the door and the floor.

But he wasn’t gonna give up so easily! He started banging on the door nonstop, his tiny gloved hands barely managing to make any noise against the metal door. He tried screaming, directly demanding Mommy to let him in immediately. But what Pip didn’t know was that she was wearing sound proof headphones, allowing her to have a good night’s sleep. He ended up sleeping on the cold, hard floor, trembling and shaking with tears of rage in his eyes. This wasn’t over yet, he was gonna make Mommy’s life a living nightmare and she would have no option but to treat him like the king he was.

From that day onwards, Pip tried almost every trick on the book to make Mommy do what he wanted. He started pissing and pooping on her clothes to “teach her a lesson”, but she simply shrugged and said “Cool, I was gonna throw those old rags away anyways”. Whenever she fed him “cheap and disgusting” Bitty Kibble, he would throw the little food bowl back at her but his aim was so pathetic that he barely managed to flip the bowl. He tried stealing her food which only caused him severe food poisoning because the idiot stole and ate a moldy piece of bread that was many years past its expiration date.

He demanded Mommy to buy him a control remote car and other expensive toys but she just threw a crumpled paper ball on his direction as said “There, play with that instead lol”. He threw constant tantrums but she completely ignored him or just didn’t seem to care enough. Even when he had planned on scratching or biting her, his pathetic and useless little fangs and his weak little “claws” did absolutely no damage

He even tried stealing Mommy’s phone and trying to break up with her boyfriend through text. However, the boyfriend could tell that wasn’t how his girlfriend texted, he could tell that it was Pip by the terrible grammar and childish word usage so he sent Pip graphic images of bitty gore which deeply traumatised him. He told Mommy about this, hoping that maybe she would craddle him on her arms to comfort him but all she did was laugh at him. Pip felt humiliated, he couldnt believe she didn’t even comfort him or tried to pamper him after such a horrible thing!

Tears welled up in his little eyes and he went to the corner to fake cry again, looking behind his back every few minutes hoping to see Mommy looking back at him with a guilty expression, but all he saw was she had left for work again. This wasn’t fair! How could Mommy not care about him! He was Pip, the great and magnificet pygmy! The most specialest lamia of all, who deserved all the love and attention in the world!

Pip suddenly got an idea, he was gonna go to Mommy’s workplace and demand her, in front of everyone, to give him what he wanted, like fancy human food, expensive toys, a shiny new bandana and to let him sleep on her bed! Mommy could sleep on the floor if she wanted! Perhaps he could even make up some lies about him being “abused” and “neglected” to ruin her reputation with her colleagues. Yes! That was a great idea! Mommy would surely listen to him if he isolated her from everyone! Pip was sooooo smart!

Pip spent the entire night planning how he would take his plan into action. The next day, when Mommy left for work once again, he swiftly slipped through the closing gap of the door, trying to no be seen by her. Then, he silently slipped into her car and hid there, standing as still and silent as possible while she drove. Then she finally arrived to her workplace and entered the huge, shiny office building. Oh, this was Pip’s chance! This was gonna be so good!

He got off the car and slithered around, following silently behind Mommy, he was waiting for the perfect oportunity to strike and humiliate her. However, as they entered the building, Pip was immediately greeted with a massive crowd of people walking in all directions like busy bees in a hive. It was overwhelming and loud for the little lamia and, in a moment of disorientation, he lost sight of Mommy!

He panicked and looked in all directions, slithering through the squeaky clean, polished floor and trying his best to dodge the passerby. He tried screaming and calling out to Mommy, surely she would hear him and go to his rescue! Mommy would never abandon such an important lamia like Pip! Surely Mommy would show up and sweep the little lamia in her arms and take him to a warm and cozy bed full of toys and yummy food like he deserved!

However, his squeaky little yells were drowned out by the constant noise of the office building. People calling out each other’s names, machines working and beeping nonstop, loud clicking of keyboards, etc. All louder than Pip’s weak little voice. Pip tried moving through the crowd, and soon he spotted a stranger who had stopped walking to watch their phone. He got an idea and tried making a “cute” teary eyed expression as he approached the stranger, knowing that his cuteness would be enough to capture the stranger’s attention and get them to help him.

“UM.. EXCUSE ME, IM WOST AND TOO WIDDLE TO MOVE THROUGH THIS CWOWD. CAN YOU HELP ME FIND MY MOMMY PWEASE?” Pip said, pouting and about to start fake crying again. But the stranger didnt seem to hear him. Instead, they started to walk back to their office.

“WH- UM, EXCUSE ME?? HELLO??? DID YOU EVEN HEAR ME???? IM A WIDDLE LAMIA AND I NEED HELP!!! ARE YOU DEAF?? HEWWO!!!” Pip yelled, the baby act completely dropped as he was ignored. He was extremely angry so he raised his voice, damaging his throat a little but continuing regardless. “I AM PIP, THE GREATEST AND MOST IMPORTANT PYGMY IN THE WORLD!! HOW CAN YOU NOT HEAR-“

And then another person immediately walked by and “unintentionally” kicked Pip on the rib, breaking it and sending him flying all the way across the lobby, making him hit his head against the marble floor. Pip laid there against the wall, in too much pain and complete shock, trying to process what had happened. Never in his life had Pip gotten harmed before, his previous owner was always so careful and caring, making sure he was always safe and protected. He had never known pain until that moment.

Little blue tears fell from Pip’s eyes, the difference this time was that they were genuine and not fake. He wanted to go back to his first home, where his owner gave him a whole human king-sized bed just for him. Where Pip could cheerfully slither across the long table full of all kinds of delicious food and pick what he wanted whenever he wanted. Where Pip had an entire miniature theme park just for him to play in. He regretted being so ungrateful, he regretted pissing and pooping everywhere to get his previous owner’s attention, he regretted rippin apart his previous owner’s nice chairs and couches whenever he threw a tantrum, he regretted interrupting others and yelling and manipulating his previous owner to get his way, he regretted insulting his previous owner multiple times and calling them horrible things.

Pip started crying, sobbing even. He regretted everything he did and how much of an unbearable brat he had been. He wanted his comfortable life back. He wanted to feel pampered and like the center of everything again. He tried screaming, calling out to Mommy again, he desperately needed her to hold him or at least pat his back or something. But nothing happened. So despite the pain of his now cracked skull and broken rib, Pip pushed himself up and tried slithering around again. Calling out to Mommy and crying non stop, not caring about the ammount of snot that now dripped from his nose cavity.

As he slithered around, Pip didn’t watch where he was going and another person walked by and harmed him. This time, they stepped on his tail, causing the internal tail bone to shatter and the ecto-flesh to rip open, beginning to bleed. Pip let out a loud, ear piercing scream, hugging his tail in pain as he curled up into a fetal position. Then another person walked by and kicked Pip once again, the force of the kick itself caused another couple of ribs to break. Pip could not stop screaming, the pain was too unbearable for him.

Even with his damaged tail, Pip tried dragging his body across the floor, trying to escape the crowd. But another pair of seemingly giant feet crushed his little arms. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!”. He screeched, but the person responsible for it kept walking as if nothing had happened. He tried using his body and his tail to push himself forward but another couple of people walked by, kicking him around between them as if he was a pingpong ball. Every time he tried getting out of the crowd, people would suddenly walk by and either step on him or kick him back to the center of it all. Tears fell from his eyes as he recieved another kick, then another, and so on.

He cried, he screamed, he yelled as loud as he could. Maybe if he was loud enough, people would realize he was there and maybe even help him. But no, nobody cared and they continued on with their day. Now, compared to the treatment he was used to, Pip felt insignificant. He was no longer “The Great and Amazing Pip, The Specialest Pygmy Of The Entire World!”, he was just a worthless little thing, lost in an office building, getting kicked around as if he was nothing but trash.

Finally, Pip caught a glimpse of Mommy in the distance, she was talking with another woman as she held a cup of coffee and a clipboard. Tears of joy formed on Pip’s eyes. Maybe this nightmare would finally be over! Maybe if he screamed loud enough, Mommy would recognize his voice and immediately go to his rescue!

With anticipation and hope in his eyes, Pip took a huge chunk of air and prepared to let out the yell of his life. But life had other plans as a woman walked in. She was wearing tall heels, clicking and clacking against the floor. Without a care in the world, she walked by and interrupted Pip mid-yell as she stepped on his spine. Pip felt the sharpest and strongest pain of his life coursing through his entire body. He wanted to screech in pain but he couldn’t, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t scream, he couldn’t move the lower half of his body…

Tears fell from his eyes, panic surged through his body as he saw Mommy about to ride the elevator. He used his broken arms and tried dragging himself in her direction with all the strength he had left despite the immense, agonizing pain he felt.

“MoMmy- Mo- ahk! moMmy! hElp mE! It hUrtS.. HURTS! HELP! MO-“ but Pip couldn’t even finish his sentence as a floor scrubber passed by. Polishing and sweeping the floor and picking up Pip along the way. The little pygmy was trapped alongside the dust and trash. Pip could feel everything despite being unable to move. He felt his tiny little body being ripped apart and crushed piece by piece. His arms were first, then his tail, then finally his torso and head detached and nothing but dusty, bloody remains mixed with garbage and dirt were left.

When Mommy returned home that afternoon, she didn’t seem surprised that Pip was nowhere to be found. Instead of panicking or worrying, Mommy just shrugged and started to put away the groceries. Maybe Pip had slipped out and died as he fell from the window, or a stray cat got inside and ripped him apart. Whatever had happened to Pip, Mommy didn’t really care, she had better things to do and she had already been considering returning Pip back to the adoption center anyways.

And so, with another bitty gone, life on the big city continued, for nobody would care about an insignificant and worthless little bitty.

The End.

[judgementdaysunshine]

Caught in the rain

Pairing: Jeff Hardy x Fem reader

Description: You and Jeff are locked out in the rain by Matt and Lita

The rain poured down as you and Jeff ran back to the house you were staying in with Lita and Matt, the four of you were on vacation in Maryland enjoying some much needed time off. You and jeff were out enjoying the peaceful day by exploring the beach near the house and the forests nearby until on the way back it started getting cloudy and before you two know it, it was pouring rain roughly down on the two of you making him yell and you squeal as you both start running stopping under two different trees before finally running on the front porch knocking on the door when you try to open it only for the door to be locked like it was when the two of you left waving at lita who watched the two of you until she closed and locked the door high fiving matt not knowing the plan that the couple had put into action. "Matt! Lita! Let us in!" the two walk to the door seeing the two of you opening the door before looking at each other as you started walking in shoving the two of you outside and locking the door back "GUYS WHAT THE FUCK!?" jeff bangs on the door as you groan in pain sitting under the closest tree "You okay?" he notices the scrape on your back that was bleeding and looked nasty cleaning it with a wash rag left outside and put a separate cloth on top of it before wrapping you in a towel as you shivered and chattered uncontrollably until you slowly got warmer after wrapping another towel around him and huddling together which helped both of you as the rain continues on. You laugh at the neighbor's dog trying to catch the rain in her mouth, running out and petting her before chasing her around while jeff watches you "What are you doing?! You're gonna get sick!" you laugh hugging the dalmatian as jeff shakes his head before putting his towel on the ground and chases after you making you squeal as you run hiding behind the tree even around the front porch making matt and lita peak out the window upstairs watching the two of you without either of you seeing or knowing that you were being watched as you both laugh and catch your breaths before noticing the look on jeff's face "What? What's with that look?" you feel your heart flutter as he gets closer until he grabs your face and kisses you frantically before pulling away leaving you gasping for air and a big smile on your face. The two of you share a sweeter and tender kiss before suddenly hearing a yell "You guys are gonna get a fever get inside now!" you both jump seeing lita in the doorway with towels and the two of you jog inside completely soaked from the rain heading upstairs to your rooms showering and changing into dryer warmer clothes before you go in jeff's room crawling under the covers where jeff lays wrapping his arms around you as a movie plays in the background laying on his chest until you were both asleep, lita and matt smile when they walk in the room only to find the two of you asleep under the big soft covers before slowly leaving the room.

[whump-me]

Obscure: Chapter 1

Chapter 1 of Obscure, novel-length interrogation whump about a rebel leader who can erase memories with a thought, an interrogator who can see inside his subjects’ minds… and the connection they share that neither of them suspects.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the completed novel on Patreon

---

Elias

Even deep under the orchard, the sterile filtered air of the bunker still held the faint sweetness of the coming apple harvest. Elias breathed in the scent of comfort, the scent of home. He needed that comfort.

Tonight, as on every other bunker night, he was walking a tightrope. Across the orchard, in the drafty, too-big farmhouse, Laina could wake up at any moment to find her husband out of bed in the middle of the night. And there was the other risk of discovery, the deadly risk, not from the woman he loved but from the enemy.

He had never fallen off that tightrope yet. He was under no illusions that it meant he was safe.

The bunker was a twenty-by-twenty space, as welcoming as he could make it. A cot in one corner, made up with a quilt handed down from Laina’s grandmother. Laina had never liked the quilt or the grandmother, so she hadn’t shed any tears when he had told her it was lost.

A bookshelf in another corner held a smattering of dog-eared bestsellers of yore, scavenged from yard sales and thrift stores. A mini-fringe, regularly restocked, held enough food for a week—assuming the guest rationed it carefully. That was the longest he had ever needed to keep anyone down here.

Behind him, the air filtration system let out a constant hiss. Across from him at the square vinyl table, the woman with the hood over her head drew in a ragged breath. Her hands trembled in her lap.

She was afraid. They were always afraid. Afraid of him, at first—the way he had to operate made that unavoidable. And afraid of the enemy. He wouldn’t try to talk her out of that latter fear. She needed it. It was one of the few things he would leave her when she left.

He pulled the hood off her head, slow and gentle. He folded it on the table next to him as he settled back into his seat. Then he rested his hands on the table so she could see that he had nothing to hide.

He schooled his face into a fatherly expression. Not a smile. She wouldn’t trust a smile, not after the way she had come here. The hood, the car ride to parts unknown, the assurances his associates would have given her that they were there to help—unconvincing with no accompanying explanation. An unavoidable problem.

He met her eyes, his face solemn but soft. He tried to look both unthreatening and utterly in control. Like someone who could be trusted. Like someone who could take care of everything. Most of all, like someone who had no reason to be afraid.

It had been a long time since he had been anyone’s father. But he remembered it had felt something like that.

Especially the lying. In truth, he had never been in control. He had always been afraid.

Her eyes belonged to a rabbit trapped in a hawk’s gaze. Her shaking didn’t stop. “This is a mistake.” Her trembling voice lacked conviction. It told him she knew it was no such thing. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Even less convincing.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said. “You asked certain questions online. One of my people found you before someone worse could.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But even if she had been a decent liar, he would have noticed the way her eyes widened when he mentioned her online activity.

“The fact that you suspected those questions might have placed you in danger puts you ahead of most people,” said Elias. “Have you had an encounter with them before?”

She visibly weighed further unconvincing lies against her curiosity. Curiosity won out. She shook her head. “But that’s how it always goes in stories, isn’t it? When there are people like us, there’s always a them.”

He made a vaguely affirming noise and waited for her to ask what she wanted to ask.

It didn’t take long. “You said ‘one of your people,’” she said. “What does that mean? Who are ‘your people’? Who are you?”

“Soon,” said Elias. “But I’m going to need you to prove yourself first. Prove you’re one of us.” He shot her as an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you understand.”

It wasn’t a foolproof test. The line between us and them was even blurrier than the line between good and evil—he had more reason than most to know that. But in the absence of someone who could literally sniff out a lie like a bomb-detecting dog, it was what he had. And he hadn’t had someone like that since he had watched a loyal man bleed out in his arms years ago.

She tensed. If she did what he wanted, she was risking nearly as much as him. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t a liar, either. But she was also the one who had been abducted and brought to an underground bunker, and if the enemy wasn’t in here with her, then they were waiting for her aboveground.

So she chose to trust him. He saw it happen, saw the moment when her shoulders squared with resolve. He heard her let out a defiant breath, like she thought it might be her last.

She held one of her hands up over the table, palm facing the ceiling. She closed her eyes. A small, perfect ball of flame appeared, hovering half an inch above her skin.

“Is that enough?” she asked, her voice still shaking. She met his eyes in challenge, daring him to throw off the pretense of helping her.

He only nodded. She closed her hand around the flame with no sign of pain. The fire winked out.

“You’re Enhanced,” he said. “At least, that’s the most common term. There are others, but that’s the one they use, so it’s the one I use. You make fire. Some people read minds, or make objects move, or see into the future or to places they’ve never been. The number of potential abilities is as vast as the number of people on this planet. Those are some of the most common.”

“And you?” Her voice shook a little less now. “What can you do?”

“You have a special gene,” he said, instead of answering. “It’s been present in humanity since the dawn of history, at least as far as the current research can tell. But until sometime in the 1970s, it almost never became active. The gene requires environmental exposure to certain substances in order to activate. Pollutants in the air and water have turned people like us from the demigods of myth to something almost ordinary.”

In some rare places—if any of those places still existed—it truly was ordinary to have powers. The places where people like them came together to live among their own kind. As always when his thoughts found their way back to his childhood, he felt a pang deep in his gut.

And as always, he turned his thoughts away.

“If we’re so ordinary,” the woman said, “why haven’t I heard of anyone else who can do… this?” She opened her palm and stared down into her hand, as if searching for the remnants of the flame.

“Because it benefits us to keep ourselves a secret,” Elias said. “It benefits them, too—all the different thems out there. Governments and scientific facilities around the world know about us. Criminals, too. High-level corporate types. They all see ways to use us to gain an advantage, and the more secret they keep us, the more of an advantage they think they’ll get.”

“Because they’ll be the only ones who know about us that way?”

Elias shook his head. “They all know they aren’t the only ones. But if they were to do their business aboveboard, they’d have to follow rules. More paying salaries for the kinds of work we can do for them. Less locking people up in secret labs to breed the next generation of supersoldiers.”

A tremor ran through her, a lingering echo of her earlier shakes. He hadn’t realized until then that her shaking had stopped.

“We stay hidden so they can’t use us,” Elias said. “And the ones like you, who activate on their own and start asking questions before they figure out all the advantages to keeping their mouths shut… well, it usually doesn’t take long for someone to find them and shut them up. If they’re lucky, it’s me, or someone like me.”

“So you’re here to shut me up,” she said.

“I’m here to save your life.”

“Those men… they kidnapped me. They gave me something…” She stared down at the crook of her arm, at the small red needle mark.

A sedative. So that was how his people had stopped her from turning them into living torches. He had wondered.

“They did,” Elias agreed. “I apologize for that. But the work I do has to stay secret. If I or my people had reached out ahead of time, you might have told someone. A friend. Family.”

“My family will be looking for me anyway. They’ll go to the police, and the police will—”

“No, they won’t,” said Elias. “We’re good at what we do. We have decades of practice. Not to mention a lot of natural advantages.” He tapped the side of his head.

Another shiver ran through her, even though he didn’t mean he had an advantage over her. She could set him on fire right now if she wanted to.

“So what is it you do after you kidnap people?” She shot a glance around the small bunker. “How does this save my life?”

“I get people new identities, and I help them run. In a few days, there won’t be any way to connect you with the person who asked those questions.”

“There shouldn’t be any way to connect me now. I didn’t use my real name.”

“Nothing is ever truly anonymous,” he said gently. “If we found you, so could they.” Any number of theys. The woman had sent up a flare advertising herself as defenseless prey, and there was a world full of predators out there. But there was one they in particular that always came to mind first for Elias. Call it personal bias.

Call it experience.

“Then you’ve done this before?” Her glance around the bunker was slower this time. Maybe she was imagining all the people who had sat at this table, who had slept in that bed, under that quilt.

“Many times. My network is small, but I do what I can.” It wasn’t that small at this point, but he preferred people to believe that. Anyway, it felt small to him, even now. He didn’t compare it to what it used to be. He compared it to the size of the opposition.

“Your network?” She gave the first word a slight emphasis. It took him a moment to figure out she was asking whether he was in charge here. Maybe he didn’t look the part, with his grandpa glasses and his weather-lined hands.

He nodded. “Yes, I created this. I’ve been at this for more than a decade now. You’re in expert hands, I promise.”

He hoped she wouldn’t ask what had happened two decades ago. Some of them did. He was used to pushing the memories away when the questions came, and the grief along with them. But the taste always lingered later, a soft bitterness at the back of his throat.

“So you’re in charge here,” she said, asking the question straight out this time.

Usually they didn’t harp on that. Usually they found the acknowledgment reassuring and moved on. He frowned. “Yes, I am.” He paused. “Does that bother you?”

“It seems dangerous. The person in charge of the entire network, meeting with people like me personally.” Her sharp eyes studied him.

She was suspicious, but he didn’t know of what. If he did, he might have known how to ease that suspicion. “Because no one else can do quite what I can. I have a unique power that helps people like you stay hidden—and eases their minds, besides. I—”

Then he stopped, because those sharp eyes were still watching him, like she was waiting for something. Her fear was gone, along with her shaking. Now she held herself perfectly still, coiled tightly in tense anticipation.

He had seen a lot of fear over the past fifteen years. That wasn’t fear.

The sharpness in her eyes changed from waiting to wariness, and he knew she had seen the change in him.

He held her gaze and quested out for her mind. He sought her out on the thread of her fear. But that fear had never been real. She had never shown him anything except her power—and that was strength, not vulnerability. Her mind was closed to him.

She stood, unfurling her hands. Twin balls of flame came to life.

He dodged as the first shot toward him.

It hit the air vent behind him. The fire alarm gave a startled shriek.

The woman raised her wrist to her lips, and he saw too late that her watch wasn’t a watch. “Confirmation that Elias Kitzner is the leader and central point of contact for our unknown network.” Her voice was crisp and professional, without the slightest hint of a tremble. “Do you have my location?”

In other circumstances, he might have been impressed. It took skill to lie well. It took more skill to pretend to be a bad liar.

A tinny voice issued from the watch. “We are at your location. Standing by.”

He reached for her mind again, even though she was no longer looking at him. It was more difficult without direct eye contact, but not impossible. And although she had never given him anything real, he had made himself vulnerable in front of her. A one-way connection was sometimes enough.

But a compact ball of fire whizzed close enough to his ear to singe his hair—an intentional miss, he was sure—and his concentration evaporated.

And then the people on the other end of the watch poured down the ladder like an infestation of ants, human-sized ants in gleaming white hazmat suits with opaque face masks. There were too many of them to fit in the bunker, like a clown car in reverse.

Too many for him to ever fight off on his own.

He didn’t carry weapons. None except the one in his head. It was too great a temptation, he had always maintained. You can tell yourself all you like that violence is the last resort, but the easier you make violence for yourself, the sooner it will become your first resort.

He understood the temptation to use whatever weapons he carried. Only a childhood around parents and surrogate parents who understood powers had trained him early out of the temptation to use his natural weaponry to smooth his path through life at the expense of everyone he encountered.

He had never regretted his stance on weapons until now.

He was stronger than he looked. Laina liked to tease him about his professorial looks. There was no bite to her words; quite the opposite. She loved it. In reality, his skinny frame held hidden muscle from his work in the orchard. He hired help during the harvest season, mostly people who were in need of under-the-table work the way he had once been in need. But he preferred to do most of the work himself. Every person he let into his life represented another danger.

But strength didn’t make him a fighter. And the invaders had a taser that sent him sprawling to the concrete floor with a cry of pain, and a needle that sank into his arm before he had regained control of his body. His vision went blurry. His muscles turned to rubber.

“Target captured,” he heard the woman tell someone who wasn’t here. “En route to PERI headquarters.”

He knew the name. His mind, rapidly filling with static, found room for one final thought—a wordless burst of satisfaction. The enemy that had come for him was the enemy he had started this work to fight. Full circle. It was only right.

On the other side of the orchard, in a farmhouse Laina had always said was too big for two of them, Laina slept in peaceful ignorance. She wouldn’t know anything was wrong until the next morning, when she would oversleep because her husband’s never-quiet-enough morning routine hadn’t forced her to drag herself out of bed before dawn along with him.

When she called the police, they would feed her the reassuring words PERI had told them to say, and set the wheels in motion for the manufactured disappearance they had planned weeks ago. A burned-out husk of a car on the road between the farmhouse and the bar he visited on the rare occasions when he needed a few hours of oblivion badly enough to lie about his whereabouts. An equally burned-out husk of a body, identifiable only through dental records. The records would match.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @suspicious-whumping-egg

Ask to be added or removed from taglist.

[quizzyisdone]

Bigger Than The Whole Sky | Russell Adler Oneshot

A/N: So, a little while ago I had to put my cat, Sweetheart, down. She was named ironically, because she wasn't the nicest cat, but she was my soul cat and I loved her deeply. She was the co-writer of every fic I have ever posted and even though it's been about 2 months, I so desperately miss her and to lose my co-author made writing unexpectedly very difficult. However, she was the inspiration behind these Adler headcanons, and now I would like to write one final piece to honor her memory. Enjoy! Word Count: 2k Pairing: None

Warnings: Mentions of death (animal and human), strong language, mentions of Cold War era politics, and grief

Please see this fic if you would like context behind Adler's son.

** Title inspired by Bigger Than The Whole Sky by Taylor Swift

No words appear before me in the aftermath Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

Adler was never one to let his emotions get the better of him, to let his hands shake and his body tremble as he silently cursed God for making him play His role to his little girl. His hands trembled violently, angrily, but mostly importantly with such an agonizing grief as he shoved his keys into the ignition.

He glanced into the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of the empty carrier in the back seat -- which had nearly broken him. Just an hour ago, there was a living being in there, now there is not. She should be in that carrier, meowing desperately to get out because of how much she hated that thing. Adler always liked to think that they had that in common -- a fear of small, enclosed spaces. 

Even if she hated it, what wouldn’t he give for her to be in that carrier once more, to hear her incessant, annoying, high pitched meows, only for her to then ignore his existence out of spite for the next day. 

As he put the clutch in reverse, he sadly laughed, musing that he had agonized less over actual people that had died under his command. When Park, before she too had died, found out about Greasy (who was so aptly named due to her dirty, ragged appearance), she had joked often how Adler had effectively replaced genuine human interaction with the company of a cat -- the least likely suspect for a man such as him.

She was right though, Adler looked nothing like the part of a man who preferred cats or even any animal for that matter. He was scarred, gruff, burly. Any onlooker would assume that if anything,  he had owned a working, military breed dog trained to fend off any home invader. While it was true he did have a fondness for the canines he worked with in Vietnam, the company of a cat was far preferable. A fact that had been true for his entire life.

He had owned many cats throughout his life, mostly thanks to his mother, who before she had passed as well all those years ago, took in any stray that came begging for food. Their quiet and hard won affection had always been a comfort when his father would turn violent during his childhood. After he grew up, it had become essential for soothing his fears during the night when he had to relive everything. 

After his mother and Adler’s own son had passed away, both of cancer, he swore up and down that he simply didn’t have the capacity to love anyone, much less an animal, so deeply. It was difficult to love anything when everything you loved eventually died.

But Greasy changed that.

__

In the months following his divorce after the death of his son, life had been exceedingly lonely, even with the sympathetic company of Sims and his wife. Days blurred together, his body constantly set in motion but his mind and heart stuck on the day he cradled his son’s body in his arms, begging no one in particular to bring back the one good thing about him. His house, which once had been lively with the pitter patter of little James and the laughter of his now ex-wife, Farah, was devastatingly quiet. The only noise was the occasional clink of yet another bottle of whiskey and the click of a lighter. 

Eventually, after months of nothingness, Adler became not necessarily content with this new dynamic, but accepting of it. He had resigned himself to a life of emptiness, simply drinking the days away when he wasn’t on assignment. It’s how everyone else turned out in his line of work anyway. He would scoff at his own naivety, thinking he could be different, that he could be happy.

God was never that kind to men like him. 

Or so he thought. 

One night, when Sims became tired of Adler losing himself in his own grief and decided to at least get him to come out of the house, they came across little Greasy. He and Sims had gone over to some dive bar which has since shut down, and after a few drinks, Adler began reminiscing again. Quick to the punch, Sims took him to Burger Town.

The one constant in their adventures, no matter where in the world they were, there was always a Burger Town. It had become a small comfort to Adler, when he became tired of local, shit cuisines or military issued MRE’s. 

There, they discussed politics, how their lives were uniquely affected by the actions of politicians, many of whom will never have to witness the consequences of their actions. From Carter to Krushchev, arms races and proxy wars (many of which the pair had taken part in), a philosophical debate ensued as if their opinions actually mattered in the grand scheme of things. 

They don’t, and it was the one thing Adler and Sims agreed on wholeheartedly. The superpowers will do as they please with little regard to their own, no matter which economic ideology they enforce. It was a fact that had once bothered them, how inconsequential they were to the pages of history, despite however much they sacrificed for it. Keyword being “once”. 

Now, it didn’t matter and they didn’t care, and there was a certain freedom in that. Yes, they were still indentured servants unto the American government, but such acceptance gave way to a certain peace of mind. Peace of mind that no matter what, they will not endure the ire or the love of future generations. 

It provided some much needed indifference to their terrible actions done in the name of patriotism.

Such a conversation, one which they had many times, was enough to get Adler’s mind off of things, and Sims felt he was emotionally stable enough to be left alone. However, on the way to the car in the parking lot, Adler heard a meek little squeak and hiss. Glancing down, a feral kitten, covered in what he could only guess was old fryer grease, was looking back at him from his feet, ears down and paralyzed in fear, much like a deer in headlights.

Adler, without much thought, picked it up, cooing and shushing it as the poor kitten began to struggle and hiss and bite. Given its size, however, it couldn’t inflict much damage to the war-hardened Russell Adler. 

“Put the goddamn cat down, Doc.” Sims had hollered from the other side of the car. Adler simply shook his head.

“It’ll die if I leave it.” He said quietly, hushing the kitten and shoving it down the front of his shirt for some warmth for such a little thing. It was the middle of February, the Boston cold had surely taken its toll on the creature.  The grease against his bare chest made Adler squirm inwardly, it was certainly an unpleasant feeling, but he ignored it for the sake of the cat.

Sims raised his hands in defeat and the two climbed into the car, on the way to Adler’s apartment. It was mostly silent, save for the constant protests from the cat and Adler’s attempt to pacify it.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He’d occasionally whisper and Sims would pretend not to hear. His words of comfort very closely echoed what he heard him say to Farah or James when either of them would break down. Always strong and steadfast, a staunch defender of those he loved. It was a title he hadn’t held in years, and one that was so sorely missed, as far as Sims could tell.

From the wheel, Sims looked down at the kitten, small and scrawny, a brown tabby whose fur was tousled and blue, angry eyes staring back. Call him crazy, but it reminded him of James. Eyes shrouded in blue with an unmistakable, stubborn will. Brown, wild hair that went off in all directions. At least, that’s what he had looked like before the cancer ravaged the poor toddler’s body. 

Normally, as his best and probably only real friend, Sims would’ve made fun of him for such a sudden lapse in his normal character, teasing him for going all soft. But he knew that was the one thing desperately needed in Adler’s life -- softness and the fragility that came with it. 

When the two arrived back, they went back and forth for a half hour debating names for the little thing. It was a female, so Sims offered pretty, girly names to match the wretched looking thing whilst Adler washed her in the kitchen sink, but there was not a single name that Sims offered that he thought fit her. 

“Maddie?”

“She doesn’t look like a Maddie to me.” Adler half smirked, the first Sims had seen in months.

“Lucy?” Sims suggested, and he scoffed.

“I’m not naming the cat after my dead mother.” He chuckled as Sims’ eyes went wide with embarrassment, but Adler brushed it off lightheartedly. He pulled her out of the sink, handing her to Sims who was prepared with a towel. 

She was shaking and shivering, but being as feral as she was, the kitten still kept fighting them tooth and claw. Not that such a small, defenseless thing could do much against their war hardened hands. Gingerly, Adler touched the grease mixed with fleas and dish soap that covered his sink as he went to clean it. 

“How about Greasy?” He said softly, musing at the disgusting state she was found in.

Sims guffawed. “Greasy? Now you’re just setting her up for failure.”

“It fits her.” He shrugged. 

“Greasy it is.” Sims said as he went to pat her on the head, to which she promptly bit him on the finger, drawing blood and also a laugh from Adler. A real one. One which he hadn’t heard since before James passed, since before the diagnosis. 

__

Adler, tears still in his eyes that he vehemently refused to let fall, glanced out the side of his window at a stoplight. Burger Town. He laughed dryly to himself. A cruel fucking joke from God. Or a sign he mused silently, not that Adler was the religious sort.

It was the same Burger Town where Adler and Sims had found Greasy fifteen years ago.  Without much thought, he pulled into the turn lane that led to the restaurant, muttering that he needed some comfort food after today, disregarding the sentimentality of the place. 

He hadn’t even realized he pulled into the exact spot where Sims had parked his car that night. Adler slammed the door shut, wiping his eyes and attempting to pull himself together. He ordered some fries and a milkshake and sat in their normal corner booth, pitifully shoving fries into his mouth as he gulped down the shake. Truthfully, his entire time in the restaurant was a mind-numbing blur that he couldn’t really remember.

However, he did recall that when he went back to his car, he took one last look down at the concrete, the exact spot where Adler had picked her up. It’s funny, the things he remembers and the things he can’t. Adler, for the life of him, cannot recall the color of his mother’s eyes, the model of his first car, or the name of his first girlfriend. But for whatever reason, Adler recalled, in remarkable detail, that crack in the pavement that Greasy was standing on when he first picked her up. It was raised slightly, and the imperfection in the poorly kept concrete extended about halfway through the marked parking spot, and weeds always grew along the length of it. 

In that crack, amongst the sharp and jutted weeds that grew there, there also sprouted a yellow dandelion. Adler finally let out a sob as he picked the flower, placing it gently upon Greasy’s empty carrier.

Did some bird flap its wings over in Asia? Did some force take you because I didn't pray? Every single thing to come has turned into ashes

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To my baby girl, I loved you more than anything. You made everything better and I still struggle without you. I'm sorry I couldn't have done more to save you.