#and it’s just making things more stressful than they already are

[eccentricallygothic]

Divorced Dad!Captain Syverson who experiences a real time brain short-circuit when he sees how well you get along with his kids during your first meeting with them… 

Warning(s): Breeding kink, size kink, old man!Sy, age gap, manhandling, groping, fluff, boob play, unprotected p-in-v, I added plot to it TT. MDNI.

. . . 

After the messy divorce that followed his turbulent marriage, Sy was not looking forward to any relations with the opposite sex, if possible. With his former profession a constant hurdle to his life as part of a unionized pair and marital bliss, what had started as a promising relationship had turned out to be one of those unfortunate marriages where children were sought as a last resort to perhaps save the remnants of the already rotten love between man and wife. Though being someone from a background that held family in the highest esteem and always having been fond of the idea of his own lot, Sy loved his children more than life itself and there was not a thing in the world he would trade for them. And that was the reason why he had preferred to opt for an early retirement so custody would not be an issue between him and his ex-wife who was more than eager to shed off everything affiliated with the name Syverson like an illness.

You, on the other hand, though not much experienced with the opposite sex were not too warm to the idea of children. Being a student in her last year of higher education and only so old as you were, your attitude hardly deserved to be subjected to scrutiny. That, and the fact that you hadn't really had many young ones around you while growing up as an only child, calling you a foreigner to the scene would not qualify as an exaggeration and hence it can be said that it is more indifference than contempt on your part. 

So naturally, when it happened, it was strictly unplanned. And very fateful. With a rather traumatized Sy in a sort of an emotional limbo who had more than enough reason to keep to himself, and a stressed with soon approaching future endeavors as well as disillusioned with the opposite sex you, the night you had bumped into each other outside the bar restrooms where Sy had been dragged to cheer up by his friends and you to loosen up by yours, the rather fast yet steady rate at which the two of you had woven into each other had been unexpected to say the least. 

But now, as Sy fires up the grill in his backyard to begin the little BBQ he has planned for today when you meet his children for the first time, the prided and much experienced grill expert nearly burns his hand because he is so busy inwardly fawning over how quickly his rugrats have warmed up to you. And you, Sy will swear on anything that you are just the most perfect woman— person alive. Everything is just right with you. Even on days when the world seems to press down on him, your mere presence is there to help his spirits back up and elate as well as support him in every sense.

Though he had been honest about his condition since the beginning, after his initial reluctance to get with you as you were so much younger and inexperienced compared to him, children weren't peculiarly a topic that came up between the two of you except occasions where Sy wanted to share a little victory or rant with you. So as you keep his toddler on one hip with a protective arm around her, your perfect body -Sy's words- clad in a bonny bright coloured sundress, and hold the hand of his 5 year old who excitedly shows you around the mini patio of the modern farmhouse, memories of his own mother scarce if any, your making conversation with the boy and giggling along to his lisp droning flutters Sy's heart in a way that he thought he had outgrown. 

It also excites him with a kind of boyish heat that the former military Captain had thought he had shed off with his adolescent youth.

And so he just has to have you by yielding to a similar impatience and desperation, the musical sound of your giggles faintly fluttering its melodies upon his flush and thumping ears as he gets to it.

“God, Sy!” The huff in your words fires him up even more and he cannot hold back any longer. “You’re such a brute!” His coarse and scarred paws heavily pull at your dress with a crazed desperation to help you find the restroom, as he had told one of the farm hands that he had left the children under. “Oof!” The whine you let out before instinctively craning your head to try and ease the way his thick beard tickles the tender skin of the curve of your neck makes him growl into your carotid pulse that he worships with his hot lips, the pressure of your pressing your face into his as well as the soft pants you let out, your chest bumping into his with each heave of your lungs, only lithifies his bulging erection even more. 

“Gon' fatten up your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum, baby” Sy's breaths scorch your clammy skin with their burning weight. His hands grope and expose you everywhere they can reach, and they can do so everywhere because of how much smaller hence ragdoll-like you are compared to him. “Wouldja like that, angel?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he boosts your thighs up his tall legs and around his waist, the fat and leaking tip of his cock grazing against your holes from how he is kissing you everywhere he can reach. “Me stuffing that cute tummy full of siblings for Tim and Bethy, huh?” You know he would never actually do something as serious so callously without a prior discussion so you breathlessly nod, pushing your oral muscles to gulp down the thick bile in your throat and tip your head against the wall to prepare yourself to withstand his intrusion of your pussy that thanks to his girth always feels like not only your first time with him but your very deflowering in general.

 “Yes” your mouth falls open as he reaches below the hold with which he has your whole body propped up. “Yes, please~” his balmy tip finds its destination in the tiny, drenched and quivering closed up band that leads to your reproductive cavern. “Please fimme with your babies, Sy~” when the stretch makes your tiny hole burn around his girth, your mouth lets loose all the obscene words of vulgar desire. 

“Yeah, baby?” Sy's fingers flex over your ass and caress their way up your side before coming down and repeating the action, his thumb stealing strokes of your nipples as he does. “Wanna make me a Daddy, yeah?” A hiss leaves your mouth and your back arches at the feeling of your walls sheathing him deep within themselves. His breathtaking urgency nearly puts a dent in your innards. “Want me to make you all round and heavy here?” Your pussy clenches around the hilt of his cock when he suddenly gropes your naval into a greedy handful.

“Yes, please, Sy!” Your whole form bounces up in the air when the man gives you a thrust so powerful that has you mewling and digging your nails in his shoulders. “Wanna make you a Daddy so bad, Sy!” His dick has always had a hypnotic effect on you, for the minute it's in the vicinity of any of your holes, you become a brain dead parrot for him. 

“Atta girl~” he cooes, tossing your body further up with a strong stab of his hips so he can clamp his teeth down on one of your boobs.

MASTERLIST

. . . 

I am MAD for this man. Like I am not even hot on kids. WHAT—

[inkdrinkerworld]

Cw: brief mention of past childhood abuse/trauma, talk of not being good parents. This is representation for the girlies (gn) that are unsure about being parents/know they don’t want kids! You’re perfect and valid

Sirius Black x fem!reader (one use of girl at the end there)

“I don’t think I’d want to have kids.” You say to Sirius as you lay beside him, your head on his shoulder as he tickles your back.

It’s an abrupt confession seeing as neither of you had been talking about that, but Sirius just hums.

“Any reason why, poppet?” His voice is even. To be truthful, Sirius goes back and forth with the idea too.

You take a while to elaborate; “I think having to help raise my siblings, and then dealing with all of that stress and having to correct my brother’s actions and all of that,” you take a breath. “I think it took it out of me. I also really don’t want to screw up a kid.”

Sirius nods, a kiss to your cheek. He feels you inhale against his hand and waits for you to speak again, “Would that make our relationship harder? Would it be a deal breaker?”

He pulls back to get a good look at you. “Because you don’t want babies?” When you nod, Sirius shakes his head. “No, doll. I don’t think I want kids either, but especially so if you don’t want them.”

“Don’t say that just to agree with me, Siri.” You sigh and Sirius copies you.

“I’m not. I go back and forth with it just as you do. Most days I’m leaning towards it just being me and you.” His voice is too raw and earnest for you to doubt him.

You breathe out long, “I just,” you pause, picking your words. “We’ve both had shitty childhoods, I don’t know if we’d be good parents. No one can be perfect and I don’t want to fuck up a kid that didn’t have the choice of being here; I know that much for certain.”

“I think that’s a good thing to know, babe. We aren’t what happened to us and while we’re better now, we can’t predict how we’ll be despite our best efforts with our own kids, you’re right. I wouldn’t want to fuck them up either.”

They fall when you say, “Does that make me a bad person? That I wouldn’t risk it because raising my siblings was like me having kids already and really don’t want to fuck them up like we were?”

He doesn’t like that this has been troubling you. Sirius knows you better than anyone else on planet earth and he knows for you to cry like this means you’ve thought about this a lot.

He hates that you’ve been tormenting yourself over not wanting kids for so long.

Sirius pulls you closer when your tears turn to sobs, his arms firm weight around your back as he kisses your eyes. Salty tears pass through the seam of his lips.

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, poppet. That makes you a good person actually. We can keep our family just like this. Me, you, the birds you feed in the yard and maybe a dog later down the road.”

“And a cat,” you say all sniffly and Sirius wrinkles his nose.

“If you really want a cat, I’ll get you a cat. Just no more thinking it’s wrong to not want kids.” You nod, content to let Sirius pet you as your cries slow.

“You’ll still love me the most right?” He laughs, tilting your chin up and kissing your lips.

“I love you best, silly girl. Always will, even if we had kids.” You slap his chest and Sirius shrugs. “Maybe that’s how I know I’m not cut out, I don’t think I could put someone over you.” He laughs suddenly. “Fuck that’s sounds horrid.”

You wiggle onto his chest, kissing the constellation he got for you. “Doesn’t sound horrid. Dunno if I could handle not being top of your love list.” You say teasingly and Sirius smiles, all pleased that even with your red nose and slightly puffy eyes you’re okay.

Pride blooms in his chest as it does every time he assuages your worries. “Well, you never have to worry, poppet. Now gimme a kiss and let’s finish this episode of Bake Off.”

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — see you next saturday

a night at the bar turns interesting when a masked stranger crosses your path. he's far from approachable, but something about him draws you in until you're coming to the bar every weekend just to see him. he's enigmatic and exciting—exactly what you needed to interrupt the monotony of life. 11.2k

⟢ pairing: ghost x f!reader

⟢ tags: MDNI/18+; author is american and apologizes in advance—this probably isn't how bars in the UK are, sorry; ghost is unnamed for 95% of the fic but it pays off; alcohol consumption (no one gets drunk, it's just some sipping); awkward first meeting; slow-burn??? idk sex doesn't happen til the very end; implied size difference; biker!ghost; semi-public sex; fingering; table sex; praise; unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it); oral sex [m receiving]; facial

Another excited cheer from the table behind you tells you that one of the football teams on screen has scored. Though you couldn’t care less about the game, you catch a glance at the television hung on the wall near the bar to watch the score rise. Aside from sipping on the same drink and watching people filter in and out all night, you didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.

A night out at the bar probably wasn’t the most efficient use of your time, or your money, but after a week of grueling work and the ever-increasing stress of life, it felt nice to ignore everything for a while. As long as you didn’t drink enough to hate yourself the next morning, who were you to deny yourself some fun? Well, as fun as watching drunk people mingle could be. A cheap local bar wouldn’t give way for much excitement.

You were almost thankful for that. The wrong kind of excitement only would’ve added to the weight on your shoulders. Yet, a part of you still yearned for something more than the monotony of asking the bartender for another round while your eyes scanned the crowds. Only two drinks in and already you were practically praying for an interesting face to look your way and add something that resembled anticipation to your life.

You set your glass down on the bartop with a sigh. Another cheer comes from your left, drawing your attention towards the table of patrons with their eyes glued to the television wearing their excited smiles. It’s only a momentary glance, but with your head turned in their direction, you notice the first interesting face you’ve seen all night.

Rather, it was the lack of his face that drew you in. Just a few seats down the bar stood a tall man, dressed head to toe in dark clothing, sliding an empty glass toward the bartender. Perhaps the most notable thing about him is how his hood sits on his head and a mask covers the bottom half of his face. Is that skull print on the fabric?

Whoever he was, he didn’t seem too keen on letting other people know. Part of you was surprised he was even allowed to be served. To say he looked suspicious would be putting it mildly. 

But there was something about him that caught your attention and wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the air of mystery that clung to him, or maybe it was your desperate need for excitement. At this point, you couldn’t quite tell what the reason was, but his presence was magnetic. 

His head turns slightly to look up at the television mounted near the bar. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you somehow. You don’t know why it affected you enough to make your heart leap into your throat, but it was enough to make you stop staring out of fear you’d come off rude.

Your leg bounces nervously on the barstool, itching to walk you over to him. But, Christ, you’ve been out of the game for a while, and you have to assume his…unique sense of attire was to wade off any unwanted conversation. What would you even say to a guy like that? Compliments aren’t easy when you can’t see any part of the man’s face. 

Your fingertips run over the edge of your glass and you can’t help but bring your eyes back over to him. Still focused on the game. 

“What’s with the mask?” The words leave your mouth before you can give them a second thought. You regret it almost immediately, hoping that maybe between the music and the surrounding conversations that he couldn’t hear you. 

There’s a slow turn of his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours, but instead of curiosity you find nothing but a piercing gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but you swear his gaze moves over you before he turns his attention to the bartender.

Bummer. Well, it was worth a shot…even if you think you’ll have to order another drink to prevent yourself from cringing on the memory later. 

You huff another sigh and swirl your drink, watching the liquid move in the glass. If nothing else, at least you got a good night of people-watching and paid enough attention to the game to know what your coworkers will talk about on Monday. The next sip burns your throat as you swallow. 

“Tactical advantage.” A baritone voice—suddenly very close to you—comes from your left and startles you, making you jump in your seat. 

Your eyes dart to the side, wide in panic, meeting a masked face looking down at you. You curse under your breath, unsure whether it’s appropriate to feel relieved.

“Pardon..?”

“You asked about the mask,” the man gestures vaguely towards his fabric-covered face as he moves to sit on the barstool next to you. The old material groans under his weight. “Tactical advantage.” 

You couldn’t help but continue to stare at him. You could tell he was a bigger guy from far away, but, Jesus, he was even bigger up close. Not just tall, but his shoulders were broad and his hands practically dwarfed the glass he was holding. He was, objectively, terrifying.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile at his simple, concise words. “Yeah? And what advantage is that?”

“To hide my face.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at comedy. “Well, I coulda guessed that.”

“You asked.” He looks over at you and instead of the piercing gaze from before, there’s something much warmer in his eyes. You wish you could see if he had a smug smile to accompany his words. 

“That I did.” You take another sip of your drink, hoping it’ll continue to keep your nerves settled. “So why d’you wanna hide your face?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at the bar as he folds his arms and leans against it. You faintly hear him sigh before he shrugs his shoulders. “No need to show it.”

“Gotta be hard to drink with a mask, no?”

“Not if you lift it up.”

“Or you could just…take it off.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“‘Cause then I’d get to see what you look like.”

His eyes—you make a mental note of the deep brown color they are—narrow at that. “Oh, I dunno if you want that.”

“I think I do.”

The stool beneath him creaks with his weight as he sits up, straightening his back and reminding you just how tall he is. His chest expands against his hoodie in another deep breath. “Determined, aren’t you?”

Another smile creeps its way onto your face. “C’mon, I’m curious.” You want to lean in, to tease him with your proximity, but you withhold yourself.

Those blond eyebrows that peek out from the rim of his balaclava raise slightly. His eyes move over you in a movement he doesn’t seem to bother being subtle about. Though the gesture makes your heart skip a beat, his silence is deafening.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, hands up in defeat. “I get it. No face.” He makes an affirmative sound at that.

“Smart girl.” He says it so fast, a one-off comment that told you to not bother pressing him for any more information, but something about it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You have to look down at your drink when you feel your cheeks grow warm. Even though it was nearly gone, you certainly didn’t have enough liquid courage to flirt openly. You wanted to ask his name, to ask where he’s from—what if he lived close by?—but if he wasn’t even willing to show you his face at the bar, you knew the chances were slim. 

From the corner of your eye, you see him shift in his seat again. He digs in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and barely looks at it before he starts to stand. Was he leaving already? Why?

“Where you goin’?” You ask before you can really think about why you cared so much.

“M’needed elsewhere.” 

Blunt, simple, and vague. That seemed to be how he operated. 

“Oh, a popular guy, are you?”

“You could say that.” Your eyes follow him as he moves, but he doesn’t look your way when he stands. Christ, he was a big lad. 

“You didn’t even touch your drink.”

“It’s not mine.” He moves the full glass down the bar until it clinks against your own. It’s then you notice it’s the same color as your drink. Same glass, same serving. Did he really buy you a drink?

“Have a nice night.” You look back at him to see his eyes meeting yours. Maybe it was the last drink still swimming in your system, but you weren’t able to form the words to respond. “Get home safe, yeah?”

And with a nod of your head, he weaved his way through the room until he was out of your line of sight. Despite his size, he was easy to lose in the crowd. You turn back to the bartop and stare at the two glasses. The one on the left—the one he’d bought for you—was invitingly full.

You reach out, fingertips skimming the rim before you bring the glass to your lips. It was the same drink you always ordered when you went out—your favorite. Only somehow it tastes sweeter on your tongue this time.

You’ve never made it a habit to go out and drink. As stressful as life could get, it just wasn’t an outlet you ever turned towards. It was expensive as hell, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore how much it sucked to be hungover. 

But despite that, you found yourself back in that same barstool when the weekend came around. And for the first time, it wasn’t because of the overpriced liquor.

Only a few sips into your first drink of the night and you were already looking around in hopes that you’d find a skull-patterned mask looking back at you. Desperately you tried to tune out the chatter of people around you, hoping you’d be able to pick out his voice. Maybe it was stupid. It was definitely wishful thinking. 

For all you knew, he wasn’t even in town anymore; you figured he probably wasn’t the type of guy to stick around one place for very long. And, hell, he left so abruptly last time, who’s to say he’d even want to see you again? You hated the tightness that built in your chest at the thought of that. 

Well, you might as well enjoy your drink since you’re here. You tried to pay attention to whatever sport was on the television this time, tried scrolling on your phone, but nothing held your attention. Every sip of your drink tempted you to house the entire bar. But you didn’t figure yourself that pathetic. Still, you were pathetic enough to keep looking over at the entrance, hoping you’d see that tall figure slinking through groups of people.

But you never do.

Fuck. It was stupid to hope anyway. You curse yourself under your breath, rubbing at your temples like it’ll help clear your head. With a huff and a sigh, you finish the last of your drink. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it did last time. You’re more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be.

You decided rather quickly that you’d rather mope and feel sorry for yourself in the comfort of your own home. It wasn’t worth wasting money on another lonely drink.

There’s a chill breeze outside that cuts through you, making you shiver as soon as you walk out the door. You cross your arms, trying to preserve some body heat, as you make your way down the pavement. A still-lingering part of you doesn’t want to leave but your legs don’t stop carrying you further away.

You eventually come to a stop, leaning against a light post as you dig out your phone. Even though you’re supposed to be looking up the rideshare to get you back home, you can’t help but look around last time. You think yourself too desperate for your own good until you see a tall figure just a few steps away.

Standing next to a motorcycle that you can only assume is his, the hooded figure drops a cigarette to the ground, his boot grinding against the pavement to stomp it out. You thought it might be too good to be true, but then he turns just enough for you to see him pull that skull-patterned balaclava back over his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice you—a fact you quickly want to remedy.

“Hey, big guy,” you call out to him, the nickname a subconscious one you immediately cringe at yourself for. Fucking ‘big guy’? Yeah, that’s not gonna go over well.

But it certainly gets his attention. His head turns in your direction, if only barely. He does a double-take before stopping in his tracks and staring back at you. You have to hope and pray that he doesn’t think you’re crazy as you walk over to him. Luckily, he didn’t move away from your advances. Instead, he turns towards you as if to welcome your approach, dark eyes raking over you in that same conspicuous motion.

It’s when you’re face-to-face with him—well, more like mask-to-face—that you realize you didn’t quite know what to say. You were too sober to be making a fool of yourself like this. After an awkward beat of silence of you taking in once more just how tall he was compared to you, you finally manage to conjure up something.

“I just wanted to say…thank you for buying me a drink the other night. I…I appreciated that.”

“Course.” You’d almost forgotten the gruff sound of his baritone voice. “You leavin’ already?”

You hesitate for a moment, a lie stewing on the tip of your tongue. No, no, I was just hanging out in the cold, what a coincidence, right? How much you wanted to spend time with a man you barely knew was almost pathetic. You resign the thought with a sigh. “Sorry, you’re too late. I already had all my fun.”

“What, waitin’ f’me?” 

You didn’t know if he was just confident or if he somehow truly knew that was what you were doing. Either way, it made you feel like he could see right through you, like he knew you found him interesting. “Maybe I was hopin’ you’d come by.” You bite your lip, gaze hitting the ground before looking back up at him. “You were the most entertaining thing at that bar.”

He takes in a deep breath at that. “M’sorry I missed it.” Yeah, me too. “Can you get yourself home?”

“Yeah. Well, a rideshare can.”

“How ‘bout I take you home?”

The suggestion makes your heart skip a beat, staring up at him, frozen and probably looking half-crazed. The rational part of your brain was sounding every possible alarm. Why would you ever trust a man you met in a bar who never takes off his mask to take you home unless you had a death wish? And yet the winning part of your brain was the one that was extremely curious about his implication.

“Ah, take a bloke I barely know back home? How drunk d’you think I am?”

He looks over you again in a beat of silence. “You aren’t. That’s why I’m askin’.” Knowing he didn’t want to take advantage of you eased some of the lingering anxiety in the back of your mind. But, as if he could sense that anxiety, he continued, “You don’t gotta let me in, I jus’ wanna make sure you’re safe. I’m cheaper than a rideshare, anyway.”

“Well, can’t beat that, I suppose.” You move around him to approach his parked motorcycle. You didn’t have to know much about bikes to realize it was a nice one. Sleek, but not flashy. Your fingers glide over the leather of the seat as you eye the streetlights reflecting off of the shiny black body. “I’ve never been on a bike. People say they’re dangerous.”

“They can be, if you don’t know what you’re doin’.” You hadn’t noticed how close he was—moving as silent as ever—hovering just behind you as he grabs the helmet strapped securely to the bike. Holding it out towards you, he gives you a nudge. “Here.”

You take the helmet, holding it carefully like you’re afraid to leave your fingerprints all over it. You could already tell it’d be too big, but the consideration was nice. “I trust you know what you’re doin’, then?”

“Most of the time.”

Well, wasn’t he quite the comedian.

You slot the helmet over your head with a roll of your eyes. As you guessed, it was certainly too big, tilting forward over your brow and obscuring your view. A bitterly sweet smell floods your senses as you clasp it in place; you can only assume it’s his sweat, mixed with a faint air of tobacco, embedded into the foam lining.

A heavy hand rests on the side of the helmet, holding it steady while he slides the visor up. His head tilts as those dark eyes of his greet you. “Bit big on you, innit?”

“Yeah, just a li’l.”

“How far we goin’?” You should have been a little hesitant before telling him your address, but you don’t even stutter. He spoke like he had to know, like ordering people around was what he did for a living. An affirmative hum comes from behind his mask as he slides the visor back down. “You’ll be alright.”

You struggle to balance both yourself and the helmet long enough to swing your leg over the seat. You were thankful that the helmet obscured your face to shield some of the embarrassment, at least. Then you feel that same heavy palm on the small of your back, trying to keep you steady, only to make your body tense up. The helmet swings lazily on your head as you finally straddle the seat.

Once you’re situated, after asking if you’re comfortable, he slides his hand off of you. He has no problem getting himself sat, taking up the front half of the seat as he slots in the space before you. He turns his head and, though you have to lift your head awkwardly to see him through the visor, you hear his voice say, “Hold on tight. Can’t have you fallin’ off.”

What, did he plan on speeding out of here? Hesitantly, your hands find purchase on his waist. It was gentle, barely enough pressure to feel his hoodie under your fingertips, let alone his body underneath.

You think you hear him scoff. “I’m sure you’re stronger than that.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands forward until they rest on his chest. The movement shortens the gap of space between your bodies as your arms hover awkwardly around him. “I promise you won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. C’mon, tighter than that.” You strengthen your hold, closing the distance between your chest and his back, practically hugging him. “Atta girl.”

Your face heats up at that, and you were thankful the helmet obscured the sheepish smile that had painted itself on your face. 

The engine suddenly roars to life, loud enough to surprise you. The power behind it vibrates through the leather seat and seeps easily through the padding of the helmet. Though his takeoff was as smooth as it could’ve been, it didn’t stop you from tightening your hold around his body. 

The cityscape passes by in a blur of vibrant lights and towering buildings. The hum of the motorcycle’s engine overpowers the surrounding cars, echoing off of the asphalt and thrumming a rhythmic hum during the ride. The already-cool night air bites at your skin as it whips past. 

Though you have no reason to, you find yourself gripping him tighter on every take-off after a stop. And despite the chill on your skin, you felt the heat rise to your face as you realized you could feel how rigid and tough he was under that hoodie. 

There was a thrill, you realized, that ran through you and made your heart race. Not only because you were on a bike for the first time, but because of how close you were to the man in front of you. Holding on tight to a stranger whose name you didn’t know so he could bring you home safely sounded like something out of a novel. The smell of him embedded in his helmet and filling your senses, your body close to absorb some of his heat, the pure generosity of even offering to drive you home: everything made you want to abandon all self-respect and invite him in when you arrived.

The internal battle you fought over that distracted you for the rest of the ride.

You could barely see out of the helmet without cocking your head awkwardly, but you could tell when the trip was nearing its end. A pit formed in your stomach—a part of you unwilling to let the ride end just yet. It wasn’t until he slowed down enough to pick out your building that you realized how difficult it was to see over his broad shoulders. With a point and a nudge in the right direction, you guided him to your stop.

He pulls the bike up to the pavement before parking it. The sounds of the neighborhood replace the monotonous hum of the engine as he turns it off. Your movements are hesitant as your hands slide off his body, something you quickly regret and hope he hadn’t noticed. He helps you off the bike just as he had helped you on, reminding you of his gentle touch, thankful yet again for the helmet obscuring your shy smile.

You don’t ignore the sense of disappointment you feel knowing that he has to leave. Just taking off the helmet was enough to make you miss him and ache for something more, even when he stood right by you on the pavement. You knew it was strange to feel close to a man you barely knew, but he gave you more comfort than most. He made you feel intrigued in a way no one else did. 

“So,” you start, dreading the awkward silence, “do I get to know the name of my chauffeur?”

He pauses for a moment of consideration. Your heart beats faster, something akin to excitement making you hope for an answer. Finally, he looks up from the pavement. “Maybe next time.”

Initially, you felt more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be. Surely his name was the one thing he could give up? But then you find yourself clinging on to that phrase. Maybe next time…Did he expect a ‘next time’? Should you expect a ‘next time’?

As you walked up to your door, he didn’t follow, staying true to his words from earlier. He kept a respectable distance to not crowd you, as if he didn’t want to make you nervous. If only he knew everything about him made you overthink your every move.

There’s a beat of silence when you grab your keys. An invite inside sits on the tip of your tongue, fighting with the rational part of your brain, consequences be damned. But his voice beats you to the punch as he breaks another long and empty silence.

“So d’you go and drink every Saturday?”

Your fingers toy with the keys in your hand as you debate your answer. “No, I don’t,” you admit after a beat of silence.

He hums a deep sound that you can’t quite identify the emotion behind. “So just a coincidence, then?”

You don’t respond to that. Instead, while fighting your sheepish smile, you look back at him. 

“Thanks for takin’ me home.”

“‘Course.”

“Maybe next time you should drink with me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest when the words leave your mouth. Eagerness didn’t seem like such a shameful thing anymore. Not when you were sharing body heat with him just a few minutes ago. Not when he knew where you lived because he cared enough to make sure you were safe. Maybe it was too hopeful to expect him to want to see you again, but when your eyes meet his under the streetlight, you’re confident the hope isn’t unfounded.

His eyes rake over you in a slow one-over as he nods. His voice is low in that same charming gruff timbre when he responds, “I’ll see you next Saturday, then?”

Fighting off an over-excited smile proves to be the most difficult thing you’ve done in a while. You sigh, calming your racing heart. “If you’re on time.”

“It’s a date.”

It wasn’t actually a date.

Surely he couldn’t have meant it literally. Still, it was enough to have you barely managing a flustered goodbye before fumbling with your keys at the door. Even after you were in the comfort of your home your face felt hot, your body practically vibrating from adrenaline. All from a stranger. The faint sound of the revving engine of his motorcycle moments later only served to remind you of his voice, the warmth of his body, and—hopefully—the promise in his words. 

You had to remind yourself constantly, every time your mind wandered throughout the week, that you were hoping for too much. You were daydreaming about a face you hadn’t seen yet from a man whose name you didn’t even know. And, God, that made you feel more pathetic than ever.

It was just a night out, spending time together over a drink, nothing more. Maybe you could learn his name if he was feeling generous enough. But to hope for anything more—a follow-up or anything deeper than friendliness—was foolish. Still, your mind kept wandering back to his words. It’s a date. 

No, this wasn’t a date, you scold yourself in the mirror, shaking your head as if it’ll dismiss the thought faster. That was just a throwaway line, something to draw you in to make sure he’d see you tonight. Nothing more, nothing implied, nothing to hope for. You knew that by now, practically drilled it into your own head. 

So why did you spend way too long looking at yourself in the mirror, obsessing over every little detail you could nitpick? Why did you drudge through your entire closet to make sure you picked the “right outfit”? Why did you stress about what perfume to wear and what drink to order? It wasn’t a date after all. 

Right?

It was too late to fight yourself on it once your rideshare pulled up. The implication of his words was irrelevant at this point; your heart seems to beat quicker with every turn of the wheels that brings you closer to the bar. Despite the cool air making you regret choosing to wear a skirt, you felt hot and stuffy—just downright nervous. Christ, you nearly felt like you could throw up when you saw a familiar tall silhouette outside the bar. 

He was on time. And he was waiting for you.

Every insecurity you nitpicked before comes to the front of your mind the moment you step onto the pavement. You force the thoughts away with a sigh and, for the first time in your life, your steps towards the bar are hesitant. His eyes meet yours as you approach and you almost wish you could see his reaction under that mask. But the more you thought about it, maybe you were better off not knowing.

He straightens up, pushing himself off of the wall, looking down at you with a face obscured by shadows and fabric. “I was startin’ to think I came too early.”

It was a huge relief to see him here, waiting and willing to see you again. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. “Well, lucky for you, I like an eager man.”

His steps are confident as he makes his way towards the entrance. “That’s definitely one way to describe me.” You barely hear the sentence when he utters it, which only makes your heart beat faster. He pulls the door open, holding it for you to make your way in. 

The bar is as crowded as it is every Saturday. Plenty of people scattered around, watching whatever team was on the television this weekend, drunkenly shouting overtop of the music. It never fails to overwhelm you when you walk through the entrance. A hand rests on your back, grounding you and making you all too aware of your posture, slipping to your waist before guiding you through the bustle of people.

Your date—it still felt weird to call him that—guides you towards the bar, towards the backend where fewer people crowded the space. His presence was comforting despite his silence. Not to mention how perfectly his hand slotted against your waist, a thought that had you too nervous to bring attention to his sudden touchiness.

The stools squeak and groan as the two of you settle into your seats. The bar is anything but quiet, yet an awkward silence hangs in the air between you. Something told you he wasn’t the type to care about the awkwardness, but you were far too sober to not overthink every thought that popped into your head.

You clear your throat, hoping it’ll boost your confidence to speak. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d show,” you admit. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. He raised a good point, one that spit in the face of your insecurities and anxiety. “I dunno…guess I worried I wasn’t exciting enough for you.”

“Well, you’re no mask-wearin’ bike rider.” He leans in your direction and nudges you with his elbow. “But I think you’re plenty excitin’.” You look up at his eyes just fast enough to catch his wink.

Flustered, you avert your eyes to the bartop as you laugh. “You don’t know me well enough, clearly.”

“I’d like to. That’s why I’m here.”

That brings your eyes back to his. You may not have been able to see his face, but those eyes told you everything about his sincerity. There shouldn’t have been any doubt left in your mind after that. The man admitted to having an interest in you—in getting to know you—and it surely set your heart on fire. 

“Well, that and to drink, I’m sure.” Your smile is an attempt to distract from the way you stare at him. It was like you had yourself convinced you could make out his features if you just studied him long enough. 

“Ah, that’s just a bonus.” He gestures for the bartender with a simple wave of his hand before fishing in his pocket for his wallet. 

“So what’s the drink of choice for a bloke like you?”

“Bourbon.”

You aren’t sure why that admission surprises you; of course a big guy like him would drink whiskey. Something about that fact makes you feel warm inside. You request one for yourself, an excuse to have something in common with him. 

Your eyes follow the bartender as they move, but your mind is far from the alcohol. Everything was going well—probably the best it could’ve gone meeting someone who could still classify as a stranger for the third time. But there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind, festering insecurity and uncertainty.

“Can I ask you something?” You almost surprise yourself with the lack of hesitance with which the question leaves your mouth.

“Shoot.”

“That night we met, when we spoke for the first time, you left awfully quick.” Your fingers tap against the bartop in an anxious rhythm. “What was that about?”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was work. It asks a lot of me sometimes.” Work calling at such a late hour was hard to believe, but the way he said it—a layer of exhaustion sullying his words—had you convinced. “Trust me, I would’ve preferred staying to talk to you.”

You believed that, too. 

“What do you do for work?”

He pauses, taking in a deep breath, like he’s thinking about how to phrase his response. You’ve started to learn how deliberate he was with his words. “A lot of dangerous shit.”

That definitely piques your attention. You hear the two glasses clink against the bartop, but you were more concerned with him than the alcohol. “Yeah? What kind of shit is that?” You didn’t have a lot of hope that he’d open up any more than that, but the curiosity ate at you. 

He reaches for one of the glasses, sighing as he moves. “The kind of shit that makes you want to drink to forget it.” He lifts the glass in your direction. “So let’s drink, yeah?”

Even if he didn’t completely open up, it was a sentiment you could sympathize with. You may not know exactly what he spent his time doing but you knew enough to hope he saw your company as comforting. You reach for the other glass and lift it until it clinks against his own. “Just don’t drink enough to forget me.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ you anytime soon.”

You smile at his sentiment, taking a sip of whiskey to wash away the anxiety-borne tension in your throat.

It’s done in a split second before you notice it, but he lifts the bottom of his balaclava over his mouth, resting the hem on his nose. It gives you a view of the blond scruff that dusts the sharp angle of his jaw, of those peach lips that look surprisingly soft as he raises his glass to take a drink. The way his mask sits makes you aware of the crook in the bridge of his nose—a sign of cartilage broken multiple times over. He’s rugged and rough underneath the soft cloth, far more attractive than anything you could’ve conjured up in your own mind. And that was without seeing his entire face. They were features that any other man could have, but he hid those features from the world for reasons you couldn’t fathom. Maybe that was what made him so alluring.

“You’re starin’.”

It takes a moment for his words to register in your head. You only realized he was speaking because you could actually see his mouth move. You scoff, brows furrowing as you finally blink for the first time in a while. “I wasn’t starin’.”

He grunts in response. You didn’t have to hear him speak to know he doesn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. You roll your eyes at the sound, taking a sip of your drink and averting his intense gaze by catching a glimpse of the television behind the bar. You didn’t care one bit about the scores on the screen.

Especially when you suddenly felt the warmth of his hand on your thigh. There was no way he didn’t notice the way your muscles tense, flinching at the sudden contact. It’s indescribable the way it makes you feel. His rough and calloused touch barely underneath the hem of your skirt to feel the smooth and tender flesh of your thigh sends a jolt down your spine, a heat coursing through you that you haven’t felt in a while.

“You’re a terrible liar.” It isn’t lost on you the way his voice deepens when he whispers to you, leaning in close and quiet so he can make sure you hear him.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry, your face hot and your heart racing. “Piss off. The…bourbon’s just strong.” You force the words out in a half-hearted tumble as you bring the glass to your lips. 

His grip tightens ever-so-slightly, gently squeezing your thigh. Something about it tells you he doesn’t buy that lie either. “Ah, s’that what it is?” 

The sarcasm in his voice makes the whiskey burn as it slides down your throat. You take in a breath to try and combat the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Squirming in the stool, you press your thighs together to quell some of the heat pulsing through your veins. Nerves and excitement battle for control over your body. 

“I didn’t take you for a touchy lad.” Your own voice quietens to a whisper, almost too nervous to acknowledge his bold move.

“Usually m’not.”

Setting your glass down, you’re almost disappointed to find the mask is settled back over his face when you finally make eye contact again. “Mm. You must like me, then?”

The question wasn’t really meant to have an answer, but he didn’t hesitate to give you one. “Was that not obvious before?”

“The confirmation is nice.” You force the words out before you can think too hard about his reply. 

He liked you. One of the most enigmatic, confusing, intriguing people you’ve ever met—who should’ve made you feel scared—actually liked you. It was relieving and exciting and terrifying all at once.

You look down to see his hand on your thigh. The sight is enough to turn excitement into something much stronger that pools in your core. You run your fingertips over his knuckles, the discolored skin telling you they’ve been wounded multiple times over. You didn’t have the guts to ask. The contact makes his grip tighten slightly, his thumb slowly brushing gentle strokes against your skin.

The whole thing had your mind running wild. You certainly didn’t have enough to drink to excuse the images that flashed in your mind. But seeing his hand on you—feeling his touch—in a way you could only describe as intimate had desire pumping through you. You don’t know how good a job you’re doing at hiding it, either, but you’re certain he can feel when you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

“So,” you start, clearing your throat as if to excuse the rampant thoughts in your head, “do I get to know your name yet?”

You look over to see his eyes lingering absentmindedly on the television. “Depends on how this night goes.”

Well, it wasn’t a ‘no’.

You scoff, feigning annoyance. “What, y’gonna wait until I’m too drunk to remember it?” Your hand moves to your glass, raising it in his direction before taking a sip.

“Oh, I’m not gonna let you get drunk.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you couldn’t argue if you wanted to. Then, his hand moves carefully, readjusting his grip until the plush fat on the inside of your thigh is squished between his fingers. “Can’t have any fun if you get yourself plastered.”

At least now you knew you had no chance of embarrassing yourself in a drunken stupor. But your mind was far more preoccupied with that word—fun. Sure, he could have meant it literally; maybe he planned on taking you somewhere more exciting than a cheap bar after this. You silently scolded yourself for being disappointed with that reality. 

“I suppose you’re right…” The words came out breathlessly into your glass. You didn’t know if he heard you, but it didn’t really matter. He seemed like the type of man to be dead set on whatever he was determined to do. You just hoped the ‘fun’ he had in mind was the same type that had your heart pounding whenever you thought about it.

His hand slides off you and—God help you—you almost whimper at the loss of contact. Your eyes follow his movement, watching him slide his mask up enough to take another drink. You didn’t think you could ever forget what he looked like. It was a sight you swore you could spend the whole night staring at, but you looked away before he had the chance to tease you about it.

“Y’know,” he says with a voice quiet enough that only you could hear, “if you need somethin’, you can just ask.”

Your eyes dart over to him with an unconscious, wide-eyed look of guilt and confusion. There was no doubt in your mind that you needed something from him, but you hadn’t intended that to be obvious. A bewildered “what?” is all you manage to force out while you try to convince your rapid heart to slow.

“If you need somethin’ from me, you can just ask me for it.” He speaks slowly this time, looking in your direction with brown eyes so dark it was like his pupils had blown wide. Fuck, did you look like that too? He sets his glass down with a sigh when you don’t respond with anything more than a confused scoff. He leans in close, so close you could feel his breath on your ear and a whiff of tobacco and musk in your nostrils. “You were practically humpin’ my hand.” You swear he growls the words. “That makes me think you need somethin’.”

That immediately shot down any hope you had that you were doing great at hiding your wandering thoughts. Excuse after excuse ran through your mind, trying to justify why his touch made you squirm. But…was there really any point in denying something he so clearly had picked up on? He read you like a goddamn book—not that you were difficult to read—and something about that only made the desire heavier. And, most importantly in your mind, there was no sign that he disliked it.

Your lips quiver as they part, hesitation making your mouth run dry. “Maybe…maybe I do need somethin’...” It feels like your heart has jumped in your throat. But it wasn’t nerves that made your skin run hot. “Are you…offerin’ me somethin’?”

He straightens in his seat and pulls the balaclava back over the lower half of his face. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tap his fingers against his glass. Just before you think he’s going to end the conversation there, you hear the rumble of his voice from behind the skull-patterned fabric. “There’s a storage room in the back hall, last door on the right. Hardly anyone goes back there.” His tone is almost conspiratorial. “If we go one at a time, less chance of being noticed. We could have some privacy there.” There’s a pause before he looks in your direction, not bothering to be subtle when his eyes move over you. “That’s what I’m offerin’.”

Holy shit.

There was no reason to think he was joking, but you still couldn’t believe it. You also couldn’t believe that you were so desperate that turning him down didn’t even cross your mind. “You’re serious? Here? In the bar?”

He shrugs like the thought is obvious. “Well, you said it yourself: can’t take a bloke you barely know back home.” He leans in again, eyes boring through you. “I promise I’m worth all the hassle.”

Somehow, you didn’t doubt him one bit. You play off the disbelief and hesitation with a scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah, you better be.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment. You wish you could hear his thoughts or see his face, get some inkling of an idea of what was running through his mind. 

Then he sits up straight, cocking his head in the direction of the back hallway. “Go on, then.”

Truthfully, his impatience had you relieved; at least now you wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the first to get caught sneaking around the back of the building. “Why am I goin’ first?”

“So I can make sure no one follows.”

“Is that your specialty?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You weren’t sure how to feel about that confession. Just how much sneaking around was a guy like him doing? “Go on.”

You’d marinate the thought later. With a sigh, you slide off of the barstool. Looking at him you find his eyes on the television screen once more. With no reassuring glance or even a flirtatious wink, you set your sights on the hallway in the back of the bar.

You’re relieved to find that no one was waiting in a line outside the bathrooms. At least that would make the sneaking around part a lot easier. You felt ridiculous, like a teenager trying to avoid their parents when they snuck out. But the promise of what could’ve been awaiting you was enough to will you to walk down the dim hallway.

There was a door towards the end of the hall, on the right side, just past the bathrooms. Just like he had said. You didn’t have time to wonder how he knew it was here, or how he knew it was a storage room. But sure enough, after slinking past the bathrooms and quickly pushing the door open, you were greeted with a room full of boxes, cleaning supplies, and old furniture. The smell of mildew made your nose crinkle as you stepped further inside.

It was then you realized he didn’t tell you how long to wait. Your thoughts spiraled from there; What if he flakes? What if an employee comes back here? Each second felt like an hour, your anxiety mounting with every moment you were alone in the stuffy room. You move to an old table shoved in the back corner. A thin layer of dust coats your finger when you run it along the trim.

Your heart jumps when you hear the door click. You were prepared to play the part of a drunken fool looking for the bathroom in case it was an employee, but you’re relieved to see the large figure you’d come to recognize slink through.

“Hey,” you call out to him, casually greeting him like you hadn’t snuck in here under the implications of sex.

His steps are slow as he moves towards you. “Hey.” That gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. The room feels smaller with every step he takes in your direction.

“So,” you sigh, “do you take all your dates to storage rooms?”

“Only the lucky ones.”

He stops just in front of you, closer than he’s ever stood before, making your breath catch in your throat as you look up at him. “Suppose I should feel lucky, then.” You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you weren’t too concerned with appearing composed.

“I’d hope so.”

“I will if you take off that mask.”

You think you hear something resembling a laugh from beneath that skull-patterned fabric. He tugs at the mask and, for a moment, you think he’s actually going to remove it. But the hem only moves to the bridge of his nose, taunting you by not revealing any part of himself he hadn’t already. You must look expectant, or disappointed, because he gives you an incredulous look in return. 

“What? You seemed plenty happy with this earlier,” he gestures towards the lower half of his face, earning an eye roll from you. He scoffs, leaning in and tilting his head to follow your gaze. “If I remember, you couldn’t stop starin’ at me.”

“Fuck off. I liked what I saw.” His teasing made your cheeks feel hot. That same heat thumps in your veins when your eyes meet his again. “...Still do.”

You barely feel the warmth of his fingertips as they graze your skin, tracing your jaw. He was gentle, exploratory, like he was waiting for your approval. When all he got from you was a sharp intake of breath, his thumb ran gently over your bottom lip. 

“So do I.”

You’d chastise yourself for leaning in if you were any more self-conscious. You’d blame the eagerness on the alcohol, or the way he seemed to pull you closer with his hand, but there was no denying the want stirring in the pit of your stomach. Nothing else mattered except making your lips meet. And when they do, all you find is gentle hesitance and the taste of whiskey. 

It was soft and careful, yet completely consuming. His lips were as soft as they looked and moved perfectly against your own. You couldn’t stop yourself from sighing into his mouth and inching your body closer, bringing your hand to his chest and feeling the soft fabric of his hoodie go taut as you curl your fingers into a fist. Afraid he’d move away if you didn’t, you kept your grasp firm and pulled him closer. 

He was the one to close the gap between your bodies. It was like he was waiting for that confirmation that you wanted this. His hands move to your waist as his groan vibrates against your lips. Gentle kisses slowly turn more desperate as both of you breathe heavily. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol is sickeningly sweet on your tongue.

Strong hands move down your body and over your hips. You half expected him to grope you and leave it at that. And while you would’ve been fine with it, you’re surprised when you feel his hands move down to your thighs to lift you off the ground. The sudden movement makes you yelp and gasp into his mouth, fingers clawing at his hoodie to keep you balanced while he haphazardly sets you on the edge of the dusty, wobbling table. 

It’s brash and hurried but it’s exciting. The type of exciting that makes you forget about the dust on the tabletop and the possibility someone could walk in. Nothing else mattered when his mouth was on you, trailing over your jaw with hot and wet kisses that took your breath away. 

“You’ll tell me if I’m too much, yeah?” The rough sound of his voice surprises you, grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations. 

You nod, running your hands over his shoulders to try and feel the rigidity under his clothes. “Y-yeah, course.”

“Good girl.”

A small kiss is planted on your neck before he pulls back enough to look you over. As your hands fall from his shoulders, he hastily rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. Not only does the sight of sinewy muscle hidden underneath make your blood pound in your veins, but the intricate sleeve of tattoos on his left arm catches your attention. In any other scenario you’d ask him question after question about each line and symbol. But right now his hands are running up your thighs and under your skirt, the muscles in his arms flexing as he kneads the fat between his fingers. 

The way he groans at your softness makes you throb. He nudges your legs further apart—a movement you would have done on your own volition—and pushes your skirt up as he moves to hold your hips. You lean back on your hands and watch mesmerized as his eyes lock onto the sight between your legs. 

“Pretty pair,” he mutters as his thumbs rub circles against your hips. It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your panties. “Makes me think you were hopin’ I’d see ‘em.”

Seems like it paid off to overthink every part of your outfit. “Maybe I was.”

“Yeah? Hopin’ I’d see how soppin’ wet they are?” His thumb moves inwards, running over your slit through the wet fabric. The fabric clings to your sensitive skin, proving his point, as does the way you whimper and buck your hips.

“Yeah, that too.”

His fingers hook into the strip of fabric covering your cunt, pulling the garment to the side with a forceful tug. And you swear, even in the dim light, his pupils dilate at the sight. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Two fingers drag through your slit, through that slick that told him just how much you wanted him. His fingertips are rough but his touch is gentle. You gasp when he finds your clit and toys with the swollen bud by circling it teasingly. His lips find yours again with bruising kisses that swallow your sounds as you pant into his mouth. His fingers spread you open, gliding over your cunt and teasing every inch, gathering your slick as he circles your entrance.

Even though he moves slowly, the stretch of his thick fingers is certainly more than you were expecting. You whine as they curl and pump in and out in a rhythm that makes your cunt flutter and squelch with each push. Your head falls back with a moan when he hits something deep inside that sends shockwaves through you. 

His mouth moves down to your now-exposed neck, marking your skin with wet and sloppy kisses. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” his voice vibrates against you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You hum a broken “mm-hmm”, unable to focus long enough to form a proper response. But it’s that confirmation that has him moving faster and harder until your hips are jerking forward to meet his movements. 

“Yeah, y’couldn’t sit still ‘cause you were achin’ for it.” His free hand cups your face, gently squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark with desire and something desperate that bores into you. “Just needed your pretty pussy fucked, huh?”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers at the praise, heat building in the pit of the stomach. Your pants turn into a moan as your breath catches in your throat. “Yes, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”

His hand picks up speed as he coos a soft “I know, baby,” against your lips. His fingers curl and push just right, hitting every soft spot that makes your toes curl and your cunt tighten. One of your hands flies to his chest to claw at his hoodie as your body begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, barely able to get the words out, “d-don’t stop…”

“I won’t, love. Not ‘til you cum for me.”

For him. He wanted to see you fall apart under his touch and cling to him like he was the only thing in the world. You’ll care more about the sweetness of the thought when you aren’t stuffed full and moaning in the back of a bar. 

Whether it’s that thought or his touch or the heady mix of both, it’s not long before the muscles in your thighs go taut. Your breathing turns heavier as your moans and whines grow louder on each exhale. If it wasn’t for your subconscious fear of being caught and his need to feel your lips against his own you’re sure you would’ve screamed until the sound echoed off the walls. 

But even if your sounds were restrained, the sensations surely weren’t. That heat stirring in your core spilled over and your cunt clenched around his fingers until all you could hear was soft squelching as he pushed your slick cum back inside. Your thighs trembled and your chest heaved with the effort to catch your breath. It wasn’t until you could see straight against that you noticed the sweat along your brow and the ache in your back.

His fingers slid out, their girth just enough to leave you feeling loose. Before he could even take his hand off of you, his mouth was latching onto your neck for another set of rough and wet kisses.

“Turn around,” you barely hear his gruff instruction over the sound of your own breaths, “bend over.”

Still, you aren’t one to disappoint. You land on shaky legs after sliding off the table, using his sturdy form to balance yourself as you turn around. Your forearms rest against the table as you bend over the wobbling piece of furniture. 

You feel your skirt flip up, the fabric resting along your waist, before his large palms run over the swell of your ass. They’re warm and heavy and you can feel each callous as he kneads the fat in his grasp. He’s not rough, but it’s like he wants to savor the softness he finds.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum.” That was enough to make you twitch, but then he runs a finger over the cum-slick fabric of your panties. “Think you can do it again for me?”

You barely muster a nod and an “mm-hmm” before his fingers hook into your panties and pull them down to your knees. His impatience was only riling you up, especially when you felt him spread you apart and groan at the sight. 

“Christ, look at you…” you hear him mutter, the sound accompanied by the jangle of a belt buckle coming undone. 

You could practically feel his stare boring into you, branding your skin with his gaze. You think you hear him spit before a hand rests on your ass to knead your skin again. That hand moves to your hip, holding you firmly in place while the head of his cock glides along your slit and stops at your entrance. He isn’t even attempting to push in and it already has you whimpering. You can feel it—thick and warm and heavy—waiting to split you open. 

“Breathe for me, baby. Just relax.” His voice is soothing, deep and soaked in desire, and it makes your body obey without thought. 

A few deep breaths later and your mouth is falling open in a loud gasp as he pushes in. He moves slow, pausing every time you whine to mutter soft encouragement through clenched teeth. And while his voice was soothing, it didn’t exactly ease the stretch that had your cunt pulsing around him. Nothing had made you feel so full before.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way he groans when he’s fully seated inside you. Both of his hands hold your hips tight as he mutters a curse under his breath. Slowly, he starts to move, pulling back only to push in deep. You swear he hits deeper every time, every push forcing the air out of your lungs in a desperate moan. 

“That’s it, you can take it.” His voice was somewhere between gruff and breathless, tense beneath clenched teeth and restrained moans. Your back arches and your hips push back to meet his movements halfway to encourage him to speed up his steady rhythm. “Oh, good fucking girl.”

All you can manage is broken strings of curses and moans. Between his constant praise and the fullness of his cock, you couldn’t think straight long enough to focus on anything except the pleasure shooting through your veins. If your nails were any sharper, you might’ve left claw marks on the table beneath you as you held on.

“Fuck me. H-Harder.” You knew you were being greedy, aching for more every time you accustomed to his pace. But you were still so sensitive from your recent climax; you knew it wouldn’t take much more to hit that high again, especially when his cock kissed that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, you need it harder, baby?” He put up no argument as he moved his hands to your waist for a better grip. He pounded into you with a force that made your legs shake, his hips meeting your ass with an obnoxiously loud sound that you couldn’t care less if anyone heard. “Goddamn, this cunt’s perfect.”

Underneath your squeals and whines are his own moans and growls, each one making you clench around him just to draw another one out of him. Knowing he was as lost in pleasure as you were filled you with pride. 

His hands move up your body, snaking under your shirt, feeling you tense and tremble underneath him. Strong palms find and grope your chest, kneading you eagerly while he bends over you. His thrusts don’t cease even as his lips find your neck.

Soft bites and hot kisses only add to the sensations wracking pleasure on your body. You almost don’t hear him when he mutters against your skin, “Simon.”

“...Huh?”

“Simon.” He repeats, moving his mouth to your ear so there’s no doubt you’ll hear him. “Say it.”

“Si—fuck…Simon…” The name comes out in a moan, something he seems to enjoy judging by the receiving growl in your ear. 

“Atta girl. Now you know what to scream when you cum for me again.”

Your panting lips curl into something resembling a smile. Simon. You were too far gone to recognize the implication of trust behind his sudden openness, but you did know how sweet his name felt in your mouth. And, evidently, it wouldn’t take long for you to mutter it incoherently as your body begins to tense.

Heat and pleasure and everything warm builds in your core with each hit of his cock. He—Simon—mirrors your heavy breaths with his own. He must feel the way you tighten; his fingers dig into your skin so tight it’d probably hurt if your mind was less hazy.

“M’gonna cum—shit, you’re gonna make me cum, Simon.” Your eyes flutter shut, all your focus narrowed to the pleasure between your legs. 

“I know, love. Cum for me, let me feel you.”

His rough and steady pace makes the build-up all the more sweet. When your climax hits, it hits hard. White-hot pleasure shoots through you, making your hips twitch and your legs shake, a breathless cry that you try (and fail) to hold back ripping through the room. Your cunt pulses around his cock, sucking him deeper while he fucks you through the high with much gentler strokes. The obscenely wet sound is accompanied by his groans on every push. 

“Fuck, y’gonna make me cum squeezin’ me like that…”

That was enough to snap you out of your haze. Perhaps a much less restrained version of yourself would’ve let him finish inside you right then and there, but you’ll entertain the thought another time. Still trembling and panting, you force yourself to sit up. “Wait, wait. Pull out, hold on,” you urge, pushing him back with your hand.

He follows your movements, his hands sliding off of your body as he leans back. The emptiness that follows as his cock slips out of you leaves you feeling gaped in the best way possible. Your body aches, sore from the rough treatment and the wobbling table underneath you, as you stumble to your knees in front of Simon. Your eyes immediately land on his cock, a dumbfounded grin you’re sure looks ridiculous painting itself on your lips.

Fuckin’ hell…that was inside you?

It was every bit as impressive as it felt. Thick and heavy and so damn hard you could practically feel it throbbing with the need to cum. No wonder he needed to prep you, and no wonder you felt so stretched regardless. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Simon’s voice startles you, bringing your mind back to reality.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth as you lean in. Licking a slow, wet stripe along the underside makes him hiss and twitch against your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, your cum mixed with his musk, and the heady combination made your head spin.

Your eyes flicker up at him, at that mask still obscuring half of his face. “Dunno if I can take all of you,” you admit as your hand glides up and down his cock. “You’re a big lad.”

Simon curses and you watch his jaw tighten as his cock twitches in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. After the way you felt around me, I’m not gonna last long anyway.”

You flash him a smile—a cheeky one that, no doubt, showed how proud that made you feel—before closing your lips around the head of his cock. His musk hits your tongue and fills your nostrils and you can’t help but groan at the taste. The rest of his cock fits in your hand, throbbing under your palm while you stroke. 

“Christ, that’s good, sweetheart.” One of his hands lands on the back of your head. He doesn’t push you down or force more into your mouth, he just rests it there, watching you through heavy eyes. “Real fuckin’ nice…”

You swallow around him, taking more of him into your mouth. His hips buck involuntarily in a movement that makes you gag when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat. He mutters an apology that you ignore, groaning around him as your head bobs and your tongue swirls.

“Fuck, I can’t…” Simon’s other hand flies down to his cock, replacing your grip as he wraps it around the base. “M’gonna cum, baby.”

The way he growls the words makes you hum, the sound vibrating through him. You give one last firm suck as your mouth slides off of him. “Cum on my face,” you utter before you can even catch your breath.

“Y-you sure? Your makeup—”

“M’not askin’, Simon.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He can barely get the words out as he strokes himself, fisting his cock with a lewdly wet sound thanks to your spit and cum coating his sensitive flesh.

You can hear his breath grow heavy, slowly turning to moans as his body tenses. All you can focus on is his face—what parts you can see—watching his mouth as he pants and seeing his brows furrow in pleasure. You think you’d give just about anything to see him like this without that mask on.

His hand stills on his cock just before he mutters a curse and spills onto your face. His cum lands in thick, warm globs across your skin, and you’re thankful he seems to have enough awareness to avoid your eyes. He taps his cock against your lips, spreading his cum just to revel in the sight. 

Simon’s growling breaths steady out as he comes down from the high. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he sighs, peach lips curling into a smile.

Your tongue darts out to clean your lips, tasting the unique saltiness that painted them. “You’re not too bad yourself. Simon.”

He offers you a hand and pulls you up to your feet. His thumb brushes against your cheek, collecting some of his spend before bringing it to your mouth. You gladly accept his digit into your mouth, moaning around it as you suck it clean. With a growl and a curse, he pulls you into a rough kiss.

“Next time,” he starts, still panting as his breathing steadies, “how about we go to your place? Then we can have a proper go at it.”

Your heart skips a beat. ‘Next time’…he wanted a ‘next time’... 

“As long as you’re a gentleman and drive me there.” You pat his chest before pulling back enough to readjust your clothing. There wasn’t much you could do about the smeared makeup and tousled hair, but you weren’t the only person in the bar who looked a little worse for wear. 

“Deal.” You can hear the shuffle as he refits his own clothes. Thankfully, the mask doesn’t come back down. “You fancy another drink?”

“Uh…m’not sure, why?”

“‘Cause if you don’t, I can take you home right now if you’d like.” You meet his eyes and he matches your smile with one of his own.

“Deal.”

[homelanderbutbig]

No Strings Attached (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1390 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You give Homelander a back massage. Inspired by a post from @slasher-smasher.

It's taken a lot of trust to get to this point. One thing you've come to learn from Homelander is that he hates to take off his suit. When he's wearing it, there is a barrier protecting from the outside world. He's wrapped up in his security blanket, he's safe from harm and his own weaknesses. To be exposed… that's his kryptonite.

With his inhumanly tall height, he naturally gives off the air of superiority against everyone around him without ever really having to do anything. All he ever has to do to provoke fear is stand in front of someone, displaying both his towering presence and the dominance of his powers that lurk just beneath just the surface.

While he always seems to go out of his way to refuse your inquiries about his suit, you also know he's already given you more access to himself that he has anyone else before. He willingly removes his gloves to hold hands with you, enamoured by the feelings of your tiny fingers running along the expanse of his palms. He loves to rest his head on your lap, allowing you to caress his cheeks and every inch of his face. He even lets you scratch his scalp, using your nails to reduce him to his base instincts and leave him purring heartily into your chest. These moments to him are far more intimate than just plain old sex; he's giving you his vulnerabilities on a silver platter, the fear of allowing himself to be stripped of his power over the masses in even a minute way.

And as much as Homelander genuinely relaxes from these cuddle sessions, you want to do so much more for him. He is consistently on the brink of burning out from both the stress of his job and the expectations placed on him from the Vought higher-ups, never allowed a vacation or a brief reprieve. He is their cash cow after all, their puppet whose strings are forcibly manipulated to make him dance for their amusement.

Today is no different. You're in his penthouse when he comes storming in, pissed at what Ashley's informed him. He's dropped six points from a recent blunder, and now the PR team is insisting he give a public apology. Standing in front of the myriad of reporters clamouring for the perfect angle, cameras flashing brightly in his face, all while he has to suck up to them… the worthless mudpeople.

You can tell how worked up he's getting just from telling you all this, and all he wants right now is to bury his head in your lap to let his worries fade away. However, this time you have another idea… and you won't take no for an answer.

"Come with me sweetheart," you coax him, grabbing hold of one of his massive hands to lead him into his bedroom. He follows with no resistance, yet he can't hide the confusion about this deviation of your normal routine. You know what he wants right now, what exactly are you planning? Once in his bedroom you hop up onto the mattress and he sits next to you, though his hands are nervously clenched on his lap.

"Please take off your top and lie down for me?" you ask, smiling at the near-instant look of fear overtaking his face the second he hears those words escape from your lips. "You can trust me big boy," you reassure him, giving him a gentle pat on his thigh.

Gradually you encourage him to unfurl his fists so you can help him remove his gloves. His wide eyes are glued on your every move as you carefully slide them off his hands and place them off to the side. You then maneuver around to his back to unhook his cape off of his eagle pauldrons, folding it neatly as you know he likes. And then comes the most daunting task.

"D-don't… d-d-don't look," he stammers quietly, incredibly anxious while waiting for you to shield your sight before he begins removing his suit. His movements are on autopilot while he tries his best to swallow his building nerves, dropping his top heavily on the sheets. He can't believe he's actually doing this, the one thing he's been terrified of since dating you. Showing you what he hides beneath his suit… the real Homelander.

You don't look until he's lying faced down into his bed, face partially buried into his pillow with only one of his distressed eyes showing. And even then he refuses to gaze over at you, so utterly consumed by the angst strangling his brain.

Kneeling in front of him, you reach out your hands to place them on his back. His eyes instantly shut tight as he takes in a sharp breath, waiting for you to touch him. It's a response that happens involuntarily, one that had been beaten into him from his childhood in the lab. Anytime the scientists laid their hands on him, it was never out of love. It was solely for experimentation. To poke, prod, stab, slice, inject, burn… 

And while they believed he was unable to truly perceive pain like humans do with his superhuman abilities… he felt it all. He always did.

But this time, your hands are different.

His eyes slowly open to glance over at you as your hands begin massaging his upper back. You lack the strength to properly relieve any tension in his muscles, but he can feel every ounce of your effort all the same. You are so gentle with him, every touch bursting with the love and care you have for him. There's something so therapeutic about the nature of your affection, how you bathe him in tenderness without any expectations in return. You aren't like Madelyn, not like Stormfront… not like anyone he's had strong emotions for before. You just… love him, no strings attached.

The tension he felt from his meeting with Ashley quickly melts away the longer you work your hands along his back, molding him into a malleable putty. Just like when you scratch his scalp, the sensations of your passionate fingers leave him at your mercy. He's powerless to fight the content little noises escaping from his mouth, practically purring in time with your massage. You can discern his deep voice vibrating through his body as you knead his back, each time he breathes removing just that much more stress from his weary mind.

"That feel good?" you question, still rubbing circles along his shoulder blades.

"Mmhmmph…" he eventually manages to hum, his placid voice muffled into the pillow. His eyes have started to flutter closed again, unable to fight the sleepiness creeping over him.

"Uh huh," you chuckle, pleased to see your devilish plan has worked. There's nothing that makes you more happy than to see him happy too.

You reposition yourself to lie directly on top of him, his wide back providing plenty of room for you to sprawl across comfortably. And while your weight is nothing to him, his hypersensitive senses leave him extremely aware of the warmth of your body on his bare skin. He's surprised at how much he likes that feeling too, how intimate it is knowing you're so close with him. Without the barrier of his suit, everything with you seems to be so much more special. And he adores it.

Scooting up to his shoulders, you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle your head up against the side of his face. When he brings his arm up to offer you his hand to hold, you keep one on his shoulder while grasping his long fingers with the other. He delicately caresses your wrist with his large thumb as you return the favour along the back of his hand.

Everything about this moment is pure heaven; he feels you everywhere and he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

"I love you Homelander," you whisper, kissing his temple before nuzzling back into his cheek. He gives you one last sleepy smile before he finally gives into his fatigue. He never really gets to take breaks like this, when Vought is constantly breathing down his neck. You know he deserves an uninterrupted nap right now.

And maybe in the future, he can trust you do this again.

[lucy90712]

Ruben Dias fluff!! Any thing you want, I trust you

Having kids is the most stressful and rewarding thing I've ever done but I wouldn't have it any other way. The biggest downside is that Ruben doesn't get to be around as much as he's like to as he's always got training or matches but when he's around he always spends every second helping me or playing with our oldest son Milo even if he's tired he treasures every second he gets to spend at home with us. 

Since I gave birth to our daughter Ruben has barely been home he got a couple of days off training and then it's been all go since. There has been matches every weekend and then champions league during the week so he's hardly been home which makes life difficult. Caring for a newborn and entertaining a two year old on little to no sleep is exhausting but Ruben helps where he can and he even gets his brother to come over when he's not around which is a great help. 

This weekend Ruben finally has a few days off after such a packed schedule Pep gave all the players a couple days off training to rest and recuperate ready for the next run of games. Rest isn't a thing in our household right now but I don't think Ruben minds he just wants to be home and actually spend time with the kids. I know he feels awful that he hasn't got to bond with our daughter Alice as much as he'd want to as he's not here during the day when she's awake and looking around but I always send him pictures and videos so he feels like he's involved too. 

Just like every morning I expected to be woken up at the crack of dawn by a toddler screaming in the baby monitor and a newborn crying right next to my head. When I woke up and saw that it was nearly 9am I freaked out and then when I saw that the baby wasn't in her bassinet I nearly had a panic attack. That's when my sensible brain took over my mum brain and I realised that Ruben also wasn't in bed next to be so he must have Alice and that made me feel so much better. After I calmed down I got out of bed and headed downstairs where I could already hear the chaos which is weirdly nice to hear. When I finally made it downstairs I saw Ruben in the kitchen holding Alice while trying to make pancakes and with Milo at his feet. I took Alice from him quickly so he could focus on breakfast but before I knew it I was also holding Milo as he's definitely a mama's boy and he doesn't like to leave my side when I'm around. 

"Thank you for letting me sleep in you didn't have to do that I know you're tired too" I said 

"You don't have to thank me I know you don't get much sleep and you need it to deal with those two I get to sleep when I’m away for matches so it's only fair that you get to have a lay in" he said 

"Well I still appreciate it I feel like a new woman now" I laughed 

"Good and I've got breakfast all ready for you" Ruben said while handing me a plate of pancakes 

We ate breakfast as a family or our version of eating as a family which is taking a bite of our own food every few minutes after having to cut bits up for Milo and sometimes having to feed it to him when he refuses to eat. Then more often than not Alice seems to sense when I'm eating and all of a sudden wants feeding so I have to eat with just one hand. Ruben had managed to get Milo to eat all of his pancakes while I still had a mostly full plate as I was feeding Alice so Ruben switched his attention to me and cut my pancakes and fed them to me like the perfect husband he is. 

To spend some quality time together Ruben suggested we go to the park and seeing as I've got him to help me I had no reason to disagree. He took care of getting Milo ready while I got Alice ready and we made it out the house as a family of four for the first time which sounds crazy as Alice is three weeks old now but Ruben's been around so little we haven't had the chance to go anywhere all together yet. Leaving the house is never easy but eventually we got out the house with me having Alice in the carrier and pushing the stroller while Milo walked as he refused to get in the stroller. 

The walk to the park isn't a long one so we got there pretty quickly and when we did Milo took off and made a beeline straight for the slide as he loves going down the slide. Ruben followed close behind while I found somewhere to sit with Alice as she was due a feed before she naps again. Watching Ruben play with Milo made me a little emotional hearing Milo laughing as Ruben chased him around the park is exactly how I pictured parenthood there is no better sound than hearing your child laughing it always fills my heart with joy. Milo can be difficult at times which I think comes down to missing his dad but I couldn't care less about that when I get to see the two of them happy and playing together. 

"Mama come play" Milo said as he ran over to me 

"I would love to play with you buddy but mama's still recovering I can push you on the swing if you'd like though" I said 

"Yeah let's go mama" he said running off again 

I gave Alice to Ruben so I could push Milo on the swing which he thoroughly enjoyed he wanted to go higher and higher until I physically couldn't push him any higher. As he was swinging Ruben started to pull faces at him from across the park which only made him laugh more. This is exactly why I think Ruben is the best dad he has always been so great since the moment Milo was born our kids just love to be around him as he always makes them happy. It wasn't long before Milo wanted to get out of the swing so I got him out and he dragged me off to the rest of the play equipment which I wasn't going to go on as I'm only just three weeks post partum but I just can't say no to him. We climbed up the climbing wall and ran around the little castle type thing it brings you to before going down the slide which was more than enough for me. 

We stayed at the park for a while longer until Milo had run out of energy and climbed into the stroller himself. Ruben took the stroller which now also had Alice in too and held my hand as we walked back home. Both kids fell asleep in the stroller so Ruben and I kept walking even when we went past the house so they'd known stay asleep and we could have some peace. We decided to walk into town and got some fresh bread and other things to make lunch when we got back home. As soon as the stroller stopped Milo woke up and wanted to get out so Ruben unbuckled him and off he went to play with his toys. 

Our afternoon started out much the same as our morning with us trying to get Milo to sit still long enough to eat lunch and then we went straight back to playing. As a family we all played with Milo's trucks and cars in the little world he's created where they all have a role. The things kids come up with is just fascinating their little minds are so creative. Before Milo was born Ruben and I spent countless evenings wondering what kind of personality he would develop but I would've never predicted that he'd be such a character he's always making me laugh with the things he comes out with but he's also such a kind little boy he always thinks about me and his sister. 

After a long day of running around and playing the kids were definitely tired and of course right after dinner Milo cuddled up to my side and fell asleep while Alice slept on my chest and Ruben had his arm around my waist as I leant against his shoulder. We took a few moments to just relax and enjoy the calm as that doesn't happen often. Eventually Ruben picked up Milo and took him to bed and I was going to put Alice in her bassinet and grab the baby monitor but he told me to stay put and he'd do it and I wasn't going to argue. He did exactly what he promised and then he came back to bring me upstairs as he'd started to run me a bath. 

I enjoyed my bath very much it was so relaxing I could feel the tension in my muscles that had built up over the last few weeks just disappear in the warm water. When I got out Ruben had pyjamas ready for me on the bed which I changed into and joined him in bed. He pulled me into his arms and started to press kisses all over my face which I've missed so much as I either sleep alone while Ruben is away or we don't get a moments peace as Alice has always been fussy at night. Tonight everything was quiet and it was amazing Ruben and I could enjoy some quality time together which we haven't had in a couple months. 

"I don't know how you deal with this all day everyday I'm exhausted" Ruben said 

"You get used to it some days they are calmer than others I think Milo was just excited you were around" I said 

"I'm sorry I haven't been here more I know the kids miss me but I can tell you miss me too even if you want say it" he said 

"It's ok I know why you aren't around it's not like you're out with friends while I'm here with two kids and yeah I miss having you here but that's selfish so I don't mention it" I admitted 

"Its not selfish you're allowed to feel like that and wish things were different I understand that things are hard and you'd like me to be around to help more that's not selfish I promise" he said 

"Everything is worth it though when we get moments like today and when Milo gets to watch you play on tv the hard moments don't matter anymore" I said

"I can't wait for Alice to come to her first game even if she doesn't remember I still remember when you first brought Milo along that was up there with one of the best days of my life" Ruben said 

"Maybe once we've both had our six week check up I'll bring her along to a game but we'll need to get her some little ear defenders" I said

"Of course but remember if you aren't ready you don't have to stick to that I'd much rather wait until you'll actually have a good time as it's supposed to be a good memory for all of us" he said 

We talked for a bit longer before Ruben turned a movie on and I knocked out within a few minutes as I didn't realise how tired I was but I fell asleep feeling completely happy and fulfilled.

[sparklingcid3r]

Do you have headcanons for the Curtis parents

HELL yeah i do‼️ a lot of these are inspired by my own childhood bc i got nostalgic😭

- I’m gonna call Mrs. Curtis Josephine because I saw it once and ran with it, also it’s not fair we don’t know her name :(

- But in my head, Josephine accidentally got pregnant in her senior year to Darrel Sr., who’d already dropped out of high school, and they decided to keep the baby, and Josephine ended up dropping out

- Josephine’s parents were furious over the situation, both her dropping out and getting pregnant to someone like Darrel. They kicked her out of the house

- Darrel worked like hell to provide for her and his own family put up money for them to try and help, but it wasn’t much. Despite that, they were happy

- Shotgun wedding! Not a big thing or anything, Josephine wore her patchy homecoming dress and Darrel’s mom sewed up one of her husband’s suits for him, and it was a quiet affair

- Darry lowkey tricked them into thinking parenting would be easy because he wasn’t a crier even when he was born. He was well-behaved and didn’t cause them that much stress. Like he still cried but not nearly as much as a normal baby would. It was a little nerve wracking as they wondered if something was wrong with him or if this whole parenting thing was easy asl

- Uh yeah so then Soda was born

- Josephine had bad post partem depression after Soda where she couldn’t spend a lot of time with Soda and kind of used Darry as a crutch, spending more time with him as a result was Darrel spent more time with Soda. I imagine this being the reason Soda took on more of his dad’s mannerisms while Darry took his mom’s

- Slowly Josephine started coming around, but it was still hard. She spent as much time as she could handle with Soda, but Darrel always told her not to pressure herself and that she just needed to give it time, but he was anxious about the situation too

- Darry was actually the one who coined Pony’s name. When Josephine was pregnant with him, she let Darry and Soda touch her stomach and feel for him, and Darry said he kicked like a pony and Darrel and Josephine looked at each other like 👁️👄👁️☝️

- Originally it was just going to be Pony, but Darrel started saying “How’s our Ponykid doing in there?” and so when he was born and they found out he was a he, Josephine switched it because she didn’t want him to be called a kid his whole life

- Josephine was the cook of the family, but some days Darrel would make pancakes for the family while Josephine would make faces out of syrup and fruit for the boys

- Same with the grill, Darrel would ask for everyone’s order: burger, cheeseburger, hotdog, and Josephine would help them making faces and (not very good) pictures with the ketchup

- Darrel always woke the boys up saying “Time to make the donuts!” and while Darry and Soda knew what that meant, it took Pony a little longer to stop getting disappointed when there weren’t any donuts waiting for them in the kitchen

- Josephine was the one who tucked the boys in, but Darrel usually came in a few minutes later to say goodnight to them as well, and if he hadn’t shaved that morning he’d rub his face against theirs without them expecting it and hurt like a mf, Soda swore he’d always be clean-shaven

- Even though they didn’t call him Superman, Darrel was the one they all associated Superman with. Before closing their doors at night, he’d always do the motion of ripping his shirt across the middle as if to reveal the logo on his chest, so Pony calling Darry Superman meant more to Darry than he ever wants to admit

- Josephine was always singing or humming, just making music. When she was cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, music was always going in the Curtis home. I’m pretty sure in the movie there’s a piano in the house, and it absolutely belonged to Josephine. She tried to teach all three of her kids how to play, but Darry was the only one who really took to it

- Josephine could have died from joy hearing Pony and Soda singing Andy Williams and Hal David off key while Darry stumbled through a song on the piano

totally feel like i could go on about this family, they mean so much to me🙏

[lovemyromance]

Now this has likely already been analyzed and theorized over the course of the past 3-4 years in this fandom, but since I haven't seen it before I am presenting a theory:

We all read the Elriel moment with the potato dish in ACOSF and clocked it as something interesting. It's not necessarily romantic per se, but it's thoughtful. It's odd enough to call attention to such a normal scene of serving dinner that I raised my eyebrows and wondered why SJM even wrote this.

Now, bear with me while I present the same content for the 308th time probably, but this time, like a tour guide at Jurassic park:

A few things to call out here:

See how Elain goes still at the sight of Azriel? It's parallel to that scene in ACOWAR where Cassian & Azriel both go still at the sight of Nesta & Elain.

Then we have Azriel. He "just moved towards her", like it was instinct. AND THEN - here's the real keep-you-awake-at-night point: Mor tenses

Why does she tense? Why are HER reactions to Elriel moments always so peculiar? Even in ACOWAR, we have this moment when Azriel disappears (where did he go?) and Mor stares at where he had been standing? What is Mor thinking?

It's interesting because we don't know what her powers are other than "Truth" - whatever tf that means. What if she sees something between Elain & Azriel that surprises her, even?

The story gets even deeper when you combine Azriel AND Feyre questioning the cauldron. I cannot stress this enough when I say that no other pair of mates has been questioned in this series other than Elain & Lucien. You have MULTIPLE main characters describing their relationship or lack thereof as uncomfortable and questioning their bond.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and say the Elucien bond is fake. I don't think it is, but I genuinely think Elain - as the cauldron's favorite - might have two bonds. One with Lucien - Cauldron Made, likely to provide strong offspring but not necessarily an ideal love match, like Rhys & Tamlin's parents. But then also one bond with Azriel, which is blessed by the Mother, which is more similar to what Feysand and Nessian have.

And I think that entire scene with the potatoes, everything from describing the potato steam like "Azriel's shadows" to Azriel not letting anyone eat before she sits down - I think it's a big hint that Elain & Azriel also share some kind of bond. I think Azriel, at least, is more aware of the traditions and religion so he has an idea of what he's feeling. It's what leads him to ask the question "What if the cauldron was wrong?" (And then later discover it was, in fact, wrong)

I have a theory that Azriel at least suspects there's a bond between them. Maybe that's why he took the potato dish out of her hands, so she couldn't serve him. He didn't want to give her another "You're my mate" PTSD. Or he might not realize WHAT it is yet, be he can feel it. He knows there is something there between them.

It's why he questions the cauldron (nobody is questioning their religion over 'just lust'). It's why Mor sees it too. It's why Azriel can smell the Elucien bond and it makes him sick. It's why he went sicko mode when he realized she had been taken by the Cauldron. It's why Elain knows him so well, even though we only see a handful of their interactions on the page. It's why their BC encounter was so hot and full of UST. Like they are down bad for each other and it is CLEAR.

[astra-galaxie]

I DID IT!! Here’s the whole thing copy pasted from Google docs!!

The Player’s general skills and implied personality + some stuff abt them! (as far as i can gather, at least, tell me if i missed smth!)

*Note that these skills do not include case specific stuff (like the time they discovered a new species in Pacific Bay)

-Exceptionally skilled at handling the forensic kit,in S1, Jones had challenged the player to uncrack a code while he recites the alphabet from A, and the player cracked the code just before he hit the letter F. It takes about a few seconds, so that says a lot.

-The player has freaky intuition skills in general. I mean, in quite literally every case, they figure out what evidence is needed, what could count as evidence, and searches through things most would gloss over. Their partners acknowledge this a lot, more in the first cases since they just met.

-Can keep a level head even in high stress or even dangerous situations even when their partners cant, whether its during or after the cases. Jones addressed this after court quite a few times in the first season. Also, the player’s able to calm down whoever thier with or

*Add on, in S4, while facing Cappechi & Finley for the first time, he managed to intimidate Isaac on both occasions, however, the player remained composed enough to be able to file evidence against them.

-Works out. In Good Girls dont die, a case in S1, while Grace tries to convince Martha to calm down, she states that the player has already kicked down the door. Like, kick. The player probably doesnt even have any special gear on them, so either the door is weak or, the more likely theory is that the player got dem legs frfr

-Has quite the memory. Easiest case to get this info from is during S4, in the case Eyes Wide Shut, player and Isaac identify a rice makeup composition on the item, Player can easily recall that 17 cases back, which give or take a few, is about a monthish? That Madam Xiang was wearing it. Mind you, at this stage in case Eyes Wide Shut, the duo had only spoken to Madam Xiang once, and she never mentioned the makeup.

-The Bureau themselves asked for the player to join them, that in itself is already a accomplishment, since the Bureau is like, the elite of the elite in the police world.

-Their temper seems to be much milder, or at least, more controlled. Its more evident with Frank and David (S1) since the chiefs often say the player is much calmer than them, hell, David got in trouble for being too brash and got so many complaints he had to file paperwork.

-They do indeed make mistakes, one of my friends irl kept saying the player was a Mary Sue esque kind, but in S3, they were also led on by the Warren guy after he framed the Guru, and they were kidnapped by Karen in S2. If they were so called ‘Mary Sues’, they’d probably figure out a way to not get captured and be the person whos left unscathed and babied by the team.

-Maybe a similar point, but they have sharp eyes and possibly very good eyesight. In a case with Jonah as a partner in S3 during one of the Additional Investigations, the player spots a tent from afar up a mountain. Not to mention its always them who finds everything lol

-The player is good at calming down their partners or whoever is working with them tbh. Like every time one of their case partners are loosing hope, breaking down, feeling impatient or angry, the player snaps them back to their senses.

-They arent quite up to date with some stuff, or simply put, most likely arent that geeky like Jones is, or probably that interested in acting and stuff, in S4 when Isaac asks them how they have no idea who Dolly Darnell (famous actress) and a famous chess master is. Personally would love to think they’d love to listen to their friends and team talk about certain personal interests of thiers.

-Most definitely has a good physique. In S2, Roxie comments that they fit perfectly into a diving suit, which is typically quite tight, so we can assume their physical health is in good or in its prime, in S7, Ben mentions the player has great reflexes for being able to dodge a chupabara attack.

-Can handle a gun better than the average policeman could, probably. In S4, they got into a gunfight with their team against Capecchi and his men, and the team won, so probably suggests that either the rest did most of the work, or the player is good enough to aim and shoot down a whole bunch of tough ahh men.

-Has better driving skills than Jones

-The chiefs often say the player is a rolemodel of what the rest of the team members should be, often, its Frank and Jones being reprimanded and being compared to the Player.

-Implied to be a pretty sarcastic and humorous person, whenever the person their working with for a case or a suspect makes a unfunny or less than tasteful joke, or just does smth weird in general, they always tell the player to ‘not look at them like that’

*Jones seems to be the one saying this the most, including Frank because he teases the player a lot as well.

-Patient. The cheifs say the player is patient, and im sure having Frank work with them would make their temper flare at leats three times in a single hour if the player wasnt a patient person.

-Knows how to handle and drag themselves + their team out of wallowing after a crisis. In S3, Ripley praises the player for being able to rise up after her ‘death’ so quickly, and solving her ‘death’ as well.

-Thier spice tolerence is off the charts, could bet money that they definitely could eat a few hot peppers and only complain of a bit of bite on their tongue. Even Rita admits their tolerance is higher and she’s tough as hell.

-Reliable adult, probably good or decent with children. They were the adult Matilda came running to (in Grimsborough S1) while her own parents were arguing. Jones said this as well when reprimanding the dad.

-My friend (yes the same one) keeps saying that the player would be homophobic?? What?? At least one of their core team members are gay as hell, cmon bruh

-Is most definately empathic and more adept at handling sensitive cases, whether by sensitive, its a matter of whether the press gets ahold and it could be bad, or its sensitive like family and personal matters get involved. When their partners make a distasteful comment or joke, no matter how mild, the player is implied to have told them off (ahem, Jones, Frank and Roxie)

-Good at undercover work, its shows in S4 during the last district, does the S4 part where they have to break Florence Samuels out with Rose count?

-They solve cases within the day or in a few hours, the latest they’ve ever finished a case was in the evening and then again, the player had only started on it in the afternoon.

-A kind person in general. I mean, for one, if i was a homicide investigator and every time i do an investigation, multiple people want my help?? I’d bail, nuh uh. AND not to mention, its time consuming bc theres always the need for analysis, and with sometimes, personal and professional problems get mixed up halfway.

-They most definitely have the money to live comfortably, they have the money to take James Savage for shopping for a new funeral suit and outfit, and they recieve so much spare cash from suspects during the AI.

-I feel like they probably have a good fashion sense, but on that point, can we talk about their closet size?? They get so many articles of clothing, they would definitely be the kind to overdress on every occasion and still look fabulous.

-I would not be surprised if its end up being revealed that they were a reformed thief or some wild shit like that, how does a rookie officer know how to crack a lock in seconds??

-Do you guys think their banned from being the seeker whenever the office decides to play hide and seek because their so good at finding stuff? Like, the last time they were the seeker they probably caught everyone in less than 30 minutes or some shit

-In addition to that helping people shit, the player’s either just energetic in general or their ass is running on coffee and pure willpower because i CANNOT do what their doing, their partners dont even stay consistent throughout the entire AI, and sometimes, in the official investigation itself

-Player’s a positive influence on the people around them, and this prob my nth time mentioning them, but JONES AND FRANK!! Grace says at the end of S1 that the Player’s influenced them positively a lot, and Karen says that as well abt Player’s influence on Frank.

-More on the energy thing, they work overtime so often im surprised they havent asked for a raise or something (then again, the chiefs probably automatically gave them one anyways, maybe even more)

-Not afraid of them high rankers!! S4 for example, no matter how many times Commisioner Baldwin threatened them, they are not afraid, gives 0 fucks, did not gaf even tho Andrea told them to leave Jazz Town before the hurricane kills them

-Player def got a strong stomach and do not care about getting ther hands dirty, they’ve seen so many dead bodies in the most gruesome settings possible, and they dig through trash every case, they have definitely seen…stuff. Oh yeah, they’ve seen so much raunchy and sexual stuff I don’t think they’d be too fazed anymore.

-Offically, including the S4, S6 and S7 cases, they’ve solved 370 cases in their entire career, including a cold case in S5, maybe indirectly, a few more in S5 due to the Rocket Cow killer being discovered, and a few more side murders due to how many serial killers they’ve arrested, so the victims get justice.

-They get offered or are the ones paying the first round for drinks quite a lot, so I’d assume that either they dont drink at all, or they can hold their alcohol well.

-Has gained fame as both as a detective world wide and citywide, AND in Pacific Bay as a co owner of a movie and had their cases featured in another movie! I’d assume their movies are out by S3 or by S5.

-Magic hands, anything damaged can get so well repaired its like it was never broken, or the partners and the suspects are just trying to make the player not feel bad lol

-They seem to not mind… leftovers, or anything that is edible but looks or taste unappealing… I mean, if we get a burger everytime a prisoner gives up their prison slop to the player, does that imply they ate it no problemo??

Sidenote: it feels like I’m putting the player on a pedestal at some parts… I assure you I’m not trying to 🥲🥲

Sorry, it took so long for me to answer this! I FINALLY found the time to sit down, read and react to it!

And to start this off: HOLY SHIT!😲 (I mean this in the best way possible!)

(Live footage of me giving this post as much love as possible. Yes, I am secretly an alien gremlin!😉)

I'm going to try to go through each section at a time, so prepare for a long post!

-Sometimes, I wonder if anyone else has training when it comes to the forensic kit... I remember Jack claiming to be a pro at the vacuum tool, but we NEVER see him use it! Or any of our partners, for that matter!🙄

-It wouldn't surprise me if the player was psychic! Or at least partly! I don't think I've seen anyone make a psychic player OC yet, but it would be an interesting concept!

-After everything the player has seen, even just in the first season alone, it's no surprise they know how to keep their cool!

(At least Isaac got more confident at dealing with Finley! Though we can't blame him for being scared of Mad Dog!)

-Kicking down a door is no easy task! (Not that I've ever tried it.) So the player must try to keep themself in shape! And clearly, they don't skip leg day!🦾🦿

-I wish I had the player's memory sometimes... My working memory is slowly going downhill! And yeah, remembering something as minor as someone wearing rice makeup from months ago is impressive! Esapiclly considering everything that's happened between the cases!

-I have the theory that if CC had continued, we would have been recruited into the GIA or another secret spy agency like we were for the Bureau! After all, their resume would be as impressive as it is long!

-Some characters could learn from the player and their ability to control their temper... (*cough* Frank *cough*)

-I can see where your friend got the "Mary Sue" idea from. The player is constantly being praised for their work, but they still make mistakes and learn from them, like you said!

-Forget 20/20 vision; the player has the best eyes in the world! They must be the champion in Eye Spy and Hidden Object games!

-If the player ever decided to change careers, they could be a therapist! Or an anger management coach!

-With how busy the player is, it's unsurprising they don't have time to be up-to-date with some things...

As for the S4 thing, I like the idea of the player being from away and not knowing about Concordian celebrities, unlike their partners!

-In conjunction with the strength one, the player must take care of themself by eating well (ignoring all the free hamburgers they get...) and staying active!

-I think it's stated that the team worked together to defeat Capecchi and his men, but the player obviously knows how to handle a gun in order to stand their ground against them!

-Well, Jones did crash at least once that we know of, unlike the player...😉

-With how good the player is implied to be, I bet they would win employee of the month every month! Move over, Sponge Bob! We've got a new champ in town!

-Sometimes, I wish we had dialogue options just to see the jokes and witty remarks the player could make!

-The player must have the patience of a saint to put up with some of the people and things they have to deal with!

-For the amount of shit they find themself in, the player knows a thing or two about how to get out of it and drag others out with them!

-Given that Rita looked like she was on fire while eating the salsa, the player either has a steal tongue or no feeling in it to handle eating all that spice!

-I like to think the player is good with children too. After all, almost every time we meet a child in the game, they seem to love the player!

-I can't see how your friend came to the homophobic conclusion either! The player works with several LGBTQ+ teammates and interacts with even more LGBTQ+ characters outside the teams! Are we sure they played the same CC game?

-The player is one of the game's most empathetic people. Even after so much death and pain, they still are. And they know how to stay professional when working on a sensitive case.

-I'd count it as evidence of them being good at undercover work! They're also constantly undercover in S6 and manage to fool nearly everyone they meet!

-I've always wondered about the timeline for solving a case... I swear they finish every case within a shift! I think the only one I canonly recall taking more than a day was Anatomy of Murder when Jones talks about reading his book before bed during chapters 2&1 (I think...).

-The player has a heart of gold, and it's a miracle they still do by the end of the series!✨

-They must be LOADED! But if people keep giving them free money on top of their job income, it's no surprise they probably don't have to worry about money!

-With all the clothes and accessories they get throughout the series, they could have a whole floor in their house dedicated to their closet! Hopefully, they donate anything they no longer want.

-A common theme among OC players is that they always have a secret past! I'm sure someone must have made one with a past as a thief or something to help explain how they're so good at picking locks!

-Agreed. They are only allowed to participate in hide-and-go-seek by being the timekeeper.

-The player must live off of coffee, energy drinks, or SOMETHING to be so energetic! I know I wouldn't be so excited to do extra work by helping people after solving a murder! I hope they get extended vacations to make it even!

-Player, spreading positivity wherever they go!✨

-They better get paid WELL for everything they do for their job, teammates, cities and citizens!

-They've got nerves of steel and the bravery of a god to stand up against so much higher authority! They've even talked back to royalty before, too!

-For how often they search through the trash, they either have no sense of smell or the strongest stomach in the world!

-The player's case record is unbeatable! And they solved all those cases in under a decade, according to the undefined timeline!

-I think the drink thing stopped after S2 (or at least I don't remember it happening as much after that season), but they are still often invited for drinks one way or another!

-I'll never know how they weren't recognized in S7, given how famous they are! For changing to such a secret job when they joined the supernatural hunters, it's a surprise they weren't recognized! Especially considering we run into past characters!🤔

-The player is probably the first person people go to after breaking something! We'll never know how they manage to fix things so perfectly! Unless they really ARE magic!🤔

-The player never does say no to free food... Even when they really should! How they never got food poisoning (Jones flashback intensify) will remain a mystery!

-Don't worry; other characters put the player on a pedestal for us!😉

Phew! That was a workout! Hopefully, we didn't lose you guys!😅

I can tell you put a lot of work into this, so let me be the first to say good job!🥳✨

NOW TAKE A BREAK! You deserve it after creating this doc!

You captured a lot of the player's traits and successes! And I look forward to seeing what others think about your analysis! And if there's anything they think should be added! After all, it is always helpful to have some extra input!😊

[mental69er]

NSFW ALPHABET WITH VICTORIA NEUMAN

Victoria Neuman

Aftercare

Victoria is a busy woman, but she always makes time to clean you up and give you your snuggles before pressing a kiss to your forehead once you fall asleep before going back to work.

Bodypart

Her favorite body part on herself is her hair. She takes good care of it, always making sure it's in place and only treated with the best hair care products. She knows how important looks are in her field of work.

On you, she loves your lips because she could spend hours kissing them if only she had the time. They fit perfectly against her own.

Cum

She comes hard. With how pent up and frustrated she can get working with those idiots that call themselves senators, she needs all the relaxation she can get. And she doesn't just like to come once. No, she needs multiple orgasms because with her schedule who knows when she'll be able to cum next time. You're more than happy to provide.

Dirty Secret

Sometimes, when she's particularly peeved at a politician, she likes to think about dominating them. Making them prostate themselves before her, begging naked in front of everyone before she bends them over and makes them turn brainless under her merciless thrusts while she spouts all the things she hates about them. It's more of a vengeful fantasy than a sexual one.

Experience

She's very experienced, and always puts all her effort into pleasuring you. She likes to do a job well done and what kind of politician would she be if she couldn't properly fuck over people?

Favorite Positions

Any position with you under her. She enjoys taking charge in the bedroom just like in work.

Goofy

She is very serious during the moment, but will crack a joke or two if any roleplay you try out is being too cringe to take seriously.

Hair

Well groomed, she goes to get waxed. She doesn't mind hair on a partner.

Intimacy

With her schedule, she's lucky if she has a full evening to spend in with you. When she has the chance she loves nothing more than to cuddle up on the couch with you, watch a movie, and enjoy a bottle of wine. When she has to spend long stretches of time on the road, she'll often buy gifts and send them home so you can think of her and not feel as lonely.

Jack off

When she does it herself, she's quick and thorough, not bothering to drag out the pleasure. She uses pictures and videos of you to do the deed and often asks you send some to give her a pep boost before her bigger events, that way she knows no matter how stressful the day was she has something to look forward to on her phone.

Kink

Dominant and submissive- she loves it when you kneel so prettily for her and take her commands so well. She does not like bratty subs.

Toys- she loves buying toys for you to use when she's not there with you. She even bought a remote controlled one that she could use to make you squirm while you were at work.

Food- you're already delicious but she loves to dress you up with whipped cream and fruits. That way whenever she has something sweet, it'll remind her of you when she's on the road.

Location

At home. She spent good money on her bed and she's going to use it. Additionally, she doesn't want to be caught in any compromising places because it would be bad for her image. Every encounter has to be in private.

Motivation

Seeing you after a long day. Coming home to your open arms and a smile on your face, makes her forget about her worries for a while.

Oral

She loves receiving oral, being able to have you kneeling before her, face getting messy with her slick, jaw aching from how long she's kept you there. She'll give oral too, but only if you've been good.

No

Contrary to what you'd expect given her powers, Victoria actually does not like anything to do with blood. It does not gross her out, she's been drenched enough times in it, but she does not find it something appealing. She will, however, use her powers to blood bend your period to eat you out then, but do not expect her to be into blood play.

Role Reversal is a no. She stays on top and in control the entire time. She does not like being on the bottom nor does she like listening to you ordering her around even if she does trust you.

Pace

The first orgasm will be quick. Once that is out of the way, her pace slows down and she takes her time with you, making sure you're all nice and worked up servicing her before she services you.

Quickies

She likes taking her time with you and does not wish to waste it on quickies that will not satisfy her.

Risk

She'll experiment to kinks you're open to, but within reason. If it threatens her job she can't do it. Her career is too important to her.

Stamina

As a supe she can go for several rounds before she needs a break. She's mindful of your physical abilities and makes sure you get to at least orgasm once before you have to rest.

Toys

She much prefers you getting her off rather than use a toy. She loves using toys on you and has bought you a wonderful array of them. She especially loves seeing you use the toys on yourself and fall apart as she watches you.

Unfair

She loves seeing you squirm and whimper for her, begging to be touched, begging to touch her. She can't get enough of it. But don't you dare tease her or else she will be very upset and you might not get your reward.

Volume

She's not very loud, instead mouthing silent curse words to herself and letting out gasps of pleasure. She much prefers hearing your moans and gasps.

Wild Card

She likes her partners to enjoy their food. She doesn't mind a partner with a few extra curves to hold.

X-ray

Expensive lingerie under her clothes that teeters on the edge of being a bit too much cut out. They come in different colors and she likes to color coordinate them with her suits.

Yearning

She could do it everyday if you wanted, but most of the time she puts her wants on the backburner to focus on her career and the two of you really only sleep together when there's time. And when there is, you're going at it several times a week before the long stretch of time until she comes back from campaigning.

ZZZ

She wishes she could fall asleep next to your side but she most likely will cuddle you until you fall asleep and then sneak off to do some work.

[merwgue]

Okay, but can we talk about how Nesta is so autistic-coded and the Inner Circle is just... completely missing the memo? COMMING FROM AN AUTISTIC PERSON🥳

Look, I’m not saying Sarah J. Maas intended to write Nesta as autistic, but come on. You’ve got a character who struggles with social interactions, needs her own space to recharge, has intense, specific interests (ahem, reading), and who’s constantly being misunderstood by the people around her. If that doesn’t scream autistic-coded, I don’t know what does.

1. Social Interactions? Nope.

Nesta’s social skills (or lack thereof) are a big flag. She’s always being criticized for not fitting in, not behaving “the right way,” or not being all warm and fuzzy with everyone. Sound familiar? People on the autism spectrum often get labeled as “cold” or “aloof” when in reality, they just don’t vibe with the social expectations around them. And what do the Inner Circle do? They constantly expect her to be like them instead of trying to understand her on her terms.

Feyre’s over here like, “Nesta, why are you so difficult?” And Nesta’s probably thinking, “I literally just need some space from all you over-hugging, over-talking, too-much-energy people.” But instead of giving her the tools to communicate or cope better, they just drag her to a cabin in the woods. Sure, lock her up. That'll definitely fix everything.

2. Sensory Overload, Anyone?

Nesta’s reactions to stress and overstimulation are spot-on. The whole time she’s in the Night Court, it’s just noise, noise, noise. Between Feyre’s incessant meddling, Cassian’s loud warrior energy, and Rhysand being... well, Rhysand, it’s like Nesta’s surrounded by sensory overload. So what does she do? She shuts down. Classic move when the world is too much.

But does anyone ask, “Hey, maybe this isn't about her being rude, maybe she’s just overwhelmed?” Nope. Instead, it’s more like, “Nesta’s broken, let’s force her to train and socialize until she magically becomes like us!” Not how it works, guys. Not at all.

3. Obsessions Aren’t Just a “Phase”

Nesta’s love of reading could be seen as a deep special interest, which is a common autistic trait. And yet, what does the Inner Circle do? They act like it’s some sort of escape or avoidance mechanism rather than a source of comfort and grounding for her. Of course she’s going to retreat into books! They make sense, they don’t demand anything from her, and they’re not trying to change her every two seconds.

4. Bluntness? It’s Called Honesty.

Nesta’s “rudeness” is really just brutal honesty. She doesn’t sugarcoat things. And why should she? In her mind, it’s more logical to say things as they are. But the Inner Circle constantly misinterprets this as hostility or coldness. Why? Because they’re all about emotional theatrics, and they just don’t get someone who communicates in a more direct, matter-of-fact way.

5. Let’s Talk About the Whole “Locking Her Up” Thing

So, Rhysand’s big idea for dealing with Nesta is basically to isolate her in a house she doesn’t want to be in and force her to follow his "recovery" plan. Yeah, because forcing someone who is already struggling to conform to your idea of healing works so well. The whole thing feels like they’re punishing Nesta for not fitting their mold. It’s like, “Nesta, you’re not behaving the way we want you to, so we’re going to fix you.” Cue the eye roll.

What They Should’ve Done Instead:

Instead of forcing Nesta to be like them, maybe — just maybe — the Inner Circle should’ve, oh I don’t know, accepted her for who she is? Maybe they could’ve recognized that she doesn’t process the world the same way and that’s okay. Give her the space she needs, stop trying to mold her into their version of “normal,” and for the love of everything, stop treating her like she’s broken just because she’s different.

Maybe Nesta just needs some sensory breaks, a quiet space, and people who actually listen to what she needs. Instead, she gets dragged through the mud, labeled as a problem, and forced into a version of recovery that only works for everyone else.

So yeah, the Inner Circle missed the memo — and that memo was: Nesta’s not the problem; their complete lack of understanding is.

Ty @fenrysmoonbeamswife for the idea!!! I loved your posts pookster

[ravenclod]

DISC: this 'essay' is NOT hating on madohomu, or hating on people for shipping them. nor is it hating on Homura, or implying that her actions should be changed. It is simply an opinion from someone who loves Homura's character who also ships Madohomu, and just wants to rant about things i feel are ignored by the fandom. Please read the full thing before reblogging or replying with your opinions so i dont need to repeat myself.

Maybe I'm just a hater, but I don't understand how people can look at Homura and just excuse everything she’s done, especially in regards to Madoka, because she "actually loved everyone!” and "Is traumatised" and "It’s just toxic yuri!". It feels like a complete ignorance of her character and disregards the complexity and depth of her writing.

Now, obviously, I don't mean when people make jokes about it, I get that, but it’s when people genuinely don't acknowledge how madohomu is unhealthy and homura is a bad person. That is quite literally the whole point.

I'm aware that she does care about the other girls, which is why she didn't try to kill Mami in rebellion, and just acted like the others didn't matter throughout the show because she was all out of hope and had to concentrate on the one thing keeping her sane, which was Madoka. But that is exactly my point. That obsessiveness, that reliance on one singular person [ who is also largely unaware of the reason for said reliance ] is incredibly unhealthy. It is unhealthy. It is toxic. I'm not saying homura is abusive, like some people have, because she absolutely is not, but she is obsessive to the point of being unable to see madoka in a negative way. Even when she criticises her it’s from a "you're so stupid you can’t tell that people love you/you’re so stupid for doing this you're gonna get hurt" point of view, rather than the view of "oh you are genuinely naïve and mess up like everyone". [1] This in turn harms both of them, as she is putting her on a pedestal which Madoka will feel guilty for being on and worry about upholding, and it ruins Homura as she will simply spiral further into this unhealthy mindset.

She takes her [ Madoka’s ] word to the extreme, the word of which has no form of context and is speaking from the equivalent of the naïve Madoka that we see in the first episode. Homura then uses that to justify what she goes on to do during Rebellion, which in turn harms Madoka. when she rips Madoka from herself, I understand it's to avoid the incubators getting to her, and it is very in character, but she still actively harmed Madoka, and went against her wish to save all magical girls [ from becoming witches ] at least, in part.

Her obsessiveness does then leech off and affect everyone else, because she is also friends with them and does care for them. They begin to lose respect and gain upset over Homura, as she is now a girl who has one goal and throws them to the side to achieve this, not attempting to make genuine connections and discarding those which she does have - namely Kyoko in the show. This behaviour affects the other girls in the obvious sense of they die quicker and more frequently as Homura is no longer attempting to intervene; affecting Madoka too, as she ends up getting stressed about her friends not getting along, before then having the trauma of seeing her friends die. [ This is not to put the blame on Homura as it happens regardless, but the point is for everyone else, it will seem like Homura could have helped, even if it was out-with her power.] This will harm Homura as a result, for it will plague her how she treats her friends like this, and will only cause her self-esteem to plummet further than it already has.

Additionally, there are points where she could be argued to be manipulative, which is up to personal judgement, but it is worth noting. Obviously, it would not be from her own awareness or intention, but it is still a plausible outcome of her actions - i.e., the way she speaks to Madoka in the show, almost threatening her before then sobbing over her and acting like she is the most important girl in the world, [2] which, keep in mind, will be weird for Madoka as she barely knows this girl. This isn't to say Homura's actions aren’t understandable, especially in the show, but that doesn't remove the negative impact that they have. Homumado may be cute, and it is cute, especially pre-timeloop, but the reality is, even now, it wouldn't work without years and years of couple therapy.

I also am going to mention kyosaya, as they are also unhealthy, and I know someone may try to bring up how I love them so much in spite of this fact. They are definitely not the most healthy relationship, literally trying to kill each other in a fight in the first episode they met. It is practically impossible to ship characters in this show and have a healthy relationship [ with maybe the exception of madosaya pre-timelooping ]. However, the difference between kyosaya and madohomu is my general issue altogether, which isn't that the ships are unhealthy, but rather the way the fandom treats them in regards to them being such.

Kyosaya is known for being enemies to lovers, its known for being unhealthy and its known for being liked in the theory of "oh this is what they could have been, had they been given more time to understand each other.". It is also an equal relationship, there are no forms of power dynamic between the two, both are equally vulnerable; both hate the other at the start, and respect and care for one another at the end - as seen in rebellion. Even when Kyoko is stronger than Sayaka, that's cancelled out by Sayaka's determination and healing properties.

Homumado, on the other hand, are known for being equally doomed, but in the sense of "Oh Homura will never save Madoka, Madoka will always die, they can never be together.". There is never that acknowledgement that they wouldn't work, even if by some miracle the looping ended. There is simply too much that has happened. The only possible scenario is arguably one in which Madoka stays as Madokami, and Homura stays as the devil, for at least both have equal memories of all that has transpired, but even that has huge issues due to Homura's abandonment issues and obsessiveness toward madoka. There is also, unlike in kyosaya, a large power imbalance, which goes both ways at different points.

In the main show, this is heavy on Homura, as she knows so much about Madoka, she's seen her at her best and worst, and she knows all that will happen. She is also stronger than her, as for the most part Madoka is not a magical girl, and is unable to do anything to prevent her friends’.

Flip that to when Madoka is god however, and she is now the topheavy one, as she is fully aware of everything that has transpired. and Homura is so obsessive. If madoka were anyone else, it could very quickly turn bad with Madoka manipulating Homura's infatuation - which obviously isn't an issue as madoka is so nice, but you get my point.

It is a point though that homura still has power over madoka, especially considering her removal of "Madoka" from "Madokami". She technically has a part madoka all for herself, and has relative power over that for the time being. No one is able to do anything. It’s almost like she’s controlling a doll, except the doll is a piece of madoka she’s refusing to let return to the rest of her.

This is what I mean when I say there is no form of permanent equity between the two, while kyosaya are a yin and yang of give and take, madohomu are simply always off balance. Which is why they're so unhealthy.

Again, that doesn't mean they're not a good ship. That doesn't mean they're not cute, and they don't deserve to be together. It could 10000% work out, just as kyosaya is also toxic but could still work out. My issue isn't with the ship, the writing, or the characters, but rather the disregard to the discussions surrounding it.

To paint Homura as a "cute girl who's a bit obsessed” is a disservice to the complexities of her actions and her humanity, as again, she is a heavily traumatised 14 year old girl. Her actions are realistic, her actions make sense. But her actions aren’t good. This is not a critique on Homura, but a critique of the denial that she has done these bad things. denying as such waters her down and mischaracterizes her. It defeats the point of her as a character.

After all, she is the devil. She’s not intended to be nice.

[1] - "How stupid can you possibly be" - episode 5

[2] - fountain scene, episode 8, where she breaks down in front of madoka

[a-killer-obsession]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 51 - Udon, Again

Stupid ass Kid. Time for Plan B.

Word Count: ~3k

You felt like absolute fucking trash when you finally woke up. Between your injury from Kid, sleeping on the floor, and hours of sobbing yesterday leaving you dehydrated, you felt like you'd been hit by a meteor, rolled up like a carpet and tossed into the sea. Waking up alone was hard, harder that it had been in weeks. For the first time in your life you were truly independent, and it was hard to accept that right now you didn't even have a crew. It was just you, by yourself, just hoping like hell that you could find a way to get to Heat before it was too late, if he was even still alive.

You lifted your shirt to examine your stomach, frowning at the deep purple bruise that was already forming, in the perfect shape of Kid's fist. Well, at least he'd used his flesh arm. You'd never have imagined he would lay hands on you - you understood it was a high stress situation, but that didn't make it okay. You weren't sure you'd ever forgive him for that, and you had a feeling if Killer came to his senses and saw the injury that it wouldn't bode well for Kid. Even Heat might turn to violence if he saw the bruise. The two of them were possessive of you, but the question was if they were possessive enough to go against their captain. You had no doubt Heat at least would leave the crew for you, but whether he'd physically fight Kid was another thing altogether. Kid was stronger than him though, so you hoped he wouldn't fight on your behalf.

Below your bruise was the fading scar of your hysterectomy, and your heart hurt thinking about Dawn, so far away. You hoped she was doing okay, and that she was too small to truly miss you. Above all you hoped you'd see her again soon, you missed her greatly, and you were getting really sick of making your hands hurt by expressing milk with the manual pump. You felt awful for leaving her, but you had to remind yourself that it wasn't forever, and it was for the best. You had to bring at least one dad home, or you didn't know how you could keep going on your own. You weren't suited to being a single mother, you didn't feel strong enough, not after everything you'd been through.

You let yourself lay back down, curling into a tight ball with a whimper, thinking about Killer and Heat and Dawn and missing them all greatly. It didn't matter that you technically saw Killer yesterday. That wasn't him, that was some other guy who had taken his body without permission, you just had to kick him out. You just wished there was something, anything, you could do to know whether Heat was alive. Not knowing was ripping you apart, every time you thought about it you felt like you couldn't breathe. You could at least hold faith that if he was dead, maybe you would have seen his ghost by now, because surely he would be searching for you. You saw many ghosts in Wano, those who had died suffering under Kaido's rule, but thankfully none you recognised.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to soothe your searing headache. Rummaging through your duffle there was barely anything left, just a single bottle of water and a few apples. You could go without tomorrow, as long as you got the information you needed out of Killer, and once you got back to the capital you could steal more. You chugged the water greedily, hoping it would help your headache, and ate both apples before dealing with your heavy breasts. You drank that too, there was no point wasting it and you needed all the carbs you could get until you got back to the capital. At least your bag was light now, only containing the manual pump, a small med kit, and a map. You slung it over your shoulder and put your mask in place on your head, giving the shack one last look to ensure you didn't forget anything before making your way to Udon.

Your plan was just to cloak yourself and find Killer. Nobody would see you, but he would know you were there because of his haki, and you hoped you could get information out of him before he gave you away. All you needed was a location for where the rest of the crew were being kept, then you could be gone. You just hoped you wouldn't need to use pain to get the information out of him. There were things your devil fruit could do if you needed it, to inflict pain that would bring any man to their knees until he gave up the intel. It was a horrible thought, but you were desperate to get Heat back, and at this point Killer felt like a lost cause. You couldn't convince him to come back to himself last time, and if Kid couldn't either then who could? If he ever did come back to himself, he would forgive you for doing what you needed to do to get the rest of the crew back.

Udon was in chaos as you arrived. You scaled the walls as you had before, perching at the top of the innermost wall to take stock of the situation. Some sort of samurai match was taking place between Luffy and an absolute circle of a man you would find out later was named Queen, one of Kaido's top men. Kid and Killer were being hung upside down over a large pool of water, and you could hear Kid yelling at Killer, who ignored him and merely laughing maniacally in return. No, not Killer - Kamazo. It was clear he wasn't himself, and gave no heed to Kid's desperate yelling for him to remember who he was. This was no good, there was no way for you to get the information you needed out of him like this, when they were so exposed out in the open. Weirdest of all though was that you swore you saw Big Mom at the gate on your way here. Surely you were mistaken, though there had been that article in the newspaper about Big Mom and Kaido that you hadn't been able to read, right before arriving in Wano. Maybe it was something to do with that?

You swore to yourself as Kid and Kamazo were lowered head first into the water. You really didn't want to help Kid right now, but you couldn't just let him die, right? As for Kamazo, whether or not he had stolen Killer's body, you needed him alive for information. God fucking dammit. It took significant concentration, given the distance, but you were able to form a small circular barrier around each of their heads, ensuring they had at least some oxygen. It wouldn't last them forever, but it was better than nothing, especially as the water weakened both of them. There wasn't much else you could do right now, but it didn't matter, because other things were already at work here.

Big Mom broke down the outermost gate, and you saw the mangled metal soar through the air as she threw it. All hell broke loose as the guards within Udon focused their attention on the invader, Kid and Kamazo entirely forgotten. You had a feeling the guards didn't realise who they were dealing with, as a loudspeaker sang out over the prison, “The intruder has broken through the second gate! Now approaching the third gate!”

She broke through the innermost gate to the courtyard you could see best, screaming about red bean soup. Queen turned into some sort of long-necked dinosaur and began fighting back to no avail, Big Mom easily grappling his head and slamming it down. He slapped his tail against the ground in anger, jumping into the air and diving down at great speed to make his attack. Big Mom countered, grabbing him by his long neck, swinging him in circles until every bystander was dizzy from watching, and throwing him at one of Udon's great walls with a deafening crack, the tower he hit tilting and threatening to collapse. You understood well why she was an emperor, Queen was one of Kaido's top men, and yet she'd taken him down without even using her devil fruit. You shivered to think how strong Kaido must be as well.

The tank of water containing Kid and Kamazo broke apart, the scaffolding that held their chains breaking with it and dumping them on the ground with a gush of water. Luffy and Big Mom began fighting as the Beast Pirates scurried to evacuate, and an explosion blew out from the fight, prompting you to form a shield of air pressure to protect Kid and Kamazo, on instinct alone, making you grumble in annoyance as you registered what you'd done. Still invisible, Kamazo sensed you were there, laughing as he stared right at you from your perch on top of the wall, making you unsettled, while Kid was too distracted right now to focus his haki, his head moving every which way trying to figure out where the fuck you were. It was clear you were somewhere, he just couldn't figure it out, and he looked pissed.

A short man with a large head threw the pair a set of keys, and you realised at that point that you were no longer needed here. As soon as Kid could get his seastone off, he could escape with Kamazo on his own, if he didn't kill Kid first. Exasperated and annoyed that you'd protected Kid, you left. You didn't want to be around when he got out, because frankly you didn't want to talk to him. Angry that your plan to get information had failed, you fled back towards the rundown shack. You'd have to find a new way to get that information. Surely Kid would drag Kamazo somewhere, likely nearby since he knew of the area. You could wait till he left Kamazo unattended, or eavesdrop as he got the information out of Kamazo himself, then go to free Heat before Kid even had a chance to get there. You had to get to him first, because you had no doubt Kid would sprout lies to Heat about the nature of your leaving, and you might never see him again. He may even go after Dawn, being that you'd shown Kid on the map where she was being kept. You'd told him as a backup, in case something happened to you, but now you regretted that choice. Then again, you never thought Kid would hurt you like he had.

You stood at the entrance to the ruined building, deciding instead that it would be better to find a different place to hide, since Kid knew this spot. It was the only shelter he knew of, so he would no doubt come here. It took a while, but eventually you were able to find another half destroyed building with a single intact room to shelter in. You slumped down in the corner, exhausted, exasperated and frustrated, with nothing to do except wait for Kid to get to the town and drop his guard so you could interrogate Kamazo. If Kid even managed to get him here at all. You had your doubts, you knew you were capable of disabling him, but Kid and Killer had always been equal in strength, and while Kamazo was a sloppier fighter, he had the edge of wearing Kid's best friend's face - you didn't know if Kid had it in him to truly fight him if it came to it.

You couldn't care less right now if Kamazo won the fight, you'd just had to accept Killer was gone if it came to that. You could probably capture him on your own, long enough to get information, but you wouldn't be able to keep him. Another encounter with Kamazo would no doubt end in one of your deaths, and it couldn't be yours, Dawn still needed you. Killer would understand. However, if Kid won, well that was an issue. Kamazo was your only lead to finding Heat, and he was stupid enough to destroy that lead without thinking if he got into a serious fight with the assassin.

Elsewhere, Kid made his way in the general direction where he remembered the abandoned town to be, followed closely by an eerily quiet Killer. The fog in the blonde's mind from the last several weeks was finally clearing, and he felt ashamed of himself. Not to mention that now that he was in his right mind, he was overly aware of his exposed smile, and the uncontrollable laughter that came whenever he spoke. There wasn't much he could say anyway, he felt deeply embarrassed that he'd lost himself, that he'd been out of prison and yet had done nothing to help his crew, that he hadn't recognised his best friend, that he'd attacked you. There was tension in the air as he walked behind Kid. He wished the captain would just turn around and yell at him already, punish him for his insubordination, so he could at least feel a little like he'd gotten what he deserved. Kid hadn't spoken to him since leaving Udon, and he wondered if his betrayal was so great that the redhead would never forgive him.

The two remained silent as they walked through the streets of the ruined village, the only sounds being that of dirt crunching underfoot, and the various wildlife that had reclaimed the area. Kid grumbled to himself as he tried to remember exactly where the shack you'd taken him to was, since there was a significant lack of buildings still standing enough to serve as shelter. After circling several blocks, he finally found it, sitting down with a huff inside, watching Killer warily as the first mate entered behind him and sat a little ways away. A rogue bout of laughter escaped him from the stress of the tense situation, and he failed to muffle it with his hand. Defeated, Killer pulled his knees to his chest and let his head fall against them with a groan, his kimono falling open either side of his legs.

“Yin um… said about the SMILE fruit shit,” Kid finally broke the silence, “you… you okay?”

“Not really,” Killer laughed. He was so anxious that the laugh may have been real, he couldn't really tell.

“Right,” Kid replied, emphasising the ‘t’ with a pop, “of course you're not okay. Sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Killer sighed, trying his best to look at Kid, but unable to keep eye contact when he felt so exposed.

“It kinda is though,” Kid grumbled, “it's my alliance bullshit that got us here.”

“It was Scratchmen that got us here,” Killer corrected, “and fucking Kaido.” Killer paused, looking around the small room with a realisation. “Where's Yin?”

“Scared her off,” Kid mumbled under his breath. Killer's heart hurt, remembering how he'd attacked you.

“I don't blame her,” Killer sighed, burying his face in his knees again, “I must have fucked her up pretty bad when I attacked her, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa.”

“She's not scared of you,” Kid huffed, “she knew you weren't yourself. It's me she's scared of.” Killer's head perked up, looking discerningly at the captain who reeked of guilt.

“Kid,” Killer said sternly, “what did you do?”

“You really don't know?” Kid replied, “you were there.”

“My memory is patchy,” Killer sighed, “what did you do to piss her off? I know she was at Udon, so why is she not here?”

“Look, I was angry, okay?” Kid tried to justify himself, “I didn't mean to!”

“Kid.” Killer snapped. Kid shivered, it was the same tone Killer used when they were young and Kid was in trouble.

“I may or may not have yelled at her when she tried to stop me from inevitably getting shot and captured,” Kid wouldn't look Killer in the eye, not knowing how he would react to the next part, “and then… I may have punched her in the gut. And she may have told me to go fuck myself and quit the crew. Wait, no, that was before I punched her.”

“Kid!!” Killer shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you! It took months to get her to trust you and you just go and throw that all away? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I fucked up okay?!” Kid yelled back, “you know what I'm like when I'm stressed!”

“That's no excuse for punching a woman!” Killer yelled back, “especially not when that woman is your best friend's girl! You're fucking lucky I don't have the energy right now to beat the shit out of you.”

“I'll take a raincheck,” Kid sighed, “it's the least I deserve.”

“Do you know where she would go?” Killer asked as he stood. It was clear you needed him right now more than Kid did, he had to find you, make sure you were okay, and make sure you knew he was sorry for hurting you.

“There's not many places she could get to without resting first,” Kid grumbled, “she's probably nearby. In another house or some shit. Where are you going?”

“To find her, dumbass,” Killer snapped, before choking on a string of laughter. He shook his head as he composed himself, “Stay here, I'll find her and come back tomorrow so we can all go find our crew, together. And for fucksake don't draw attention to yourself, in fact don't fucking leave this room.”

“Fine, whatever,” Kid grumbled as Killer left to find you. He curled in on himself as soon as Killer was out of sight. You were right, things had changed; if Killer had to pick between the two of you, Kid was no longer his first choice.

[NEXT CHAPTER] - link soon

HIATUS NOTICE - Wavelengths will be on hiatus for at most a couple of months while I deal with irl chaos. There's only a few chapters left so my plan is to release them all at once over a week, I hope you all look forward it ❤️

👉 Like my stuff? Consider buying me a ko-fi

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055 @eyes-ofhell @luvnisstuff

[dullgecko]

The idea of a goblin daisy chain in the middle of school will never not be funny to me and I can’t decide if I want it to be an instinct thing (I remember reading a post about goblins holding hands while out in the open so they’re less likely to be carried away by flying predators) or if it was literally just all the goblins individually deciding to join in and not wanting to be left out.

Also I imagine that at least some photos were taken of them and they quickly spread as of the most adorable things to ever happen at the school.

And Riz the extremely talented hyper aware rogue not noticing the sudden extra 5 goblins since he’s so busy and stressed making sure no one like has a panic attack or runs off chasing someone’s familiar is great.

The kids having to go to leviathan for help is great since it means more people get to see them all gobliny. Aelwyn in particular for all her mean girl bitchy front loses complete composure the second she’s see adaine, who’s just so SMALL and CUTE she can’t help but scoop her up.

If it was anyone else besides the other bad kids and possibly jawbone she would have freaked out but since it’s her sister someone familiar and safe while also being strong enough to protect both of them, Adaine fully embraces it.

Curling into her and burying her face into Aelwyns clothes trying to block out the rest of the world while she breathes in her sisters somehow familiar scent as she surprisingly begins to purr.

Also Aydas reaction to fig and everyone I can see her being just fully interested in the transformational properties of the spell and how aspects of their original race carried over to them etc but she does assures fig that she still finds her as visually appealing as she did before.

Also if the spell does last longer than any of them expected I can see fig dragging ayda away for some ‘relaxation’ which is how she figures out what the Riz and Fabian mixing scents meant.

Xx

Goblin daisy chain, hold hands to keep safe from aerial predators. Sprak and the underclassmen that joined in later just saw a group of other goblins and thought it was an event of some sort. Instincts also were demanding they group together once the group got bigger than 4 people.

Riz didn't notice immediatly because his perception is stretched so thin right now trying to watch his party, plus find all these people with the books they need, plus keep an eye out for anyone getting with in grabbing range. Look he is seventeen years old its undignified being squealed over like this and he swears he is going to shoot someone by the end of the day if they grab for adaine again.

While it was VERY cute to some people, the more racially biased among the students were a little freaked out by the rapidly expanding horde of goblins wandering the hallways. The number capped out at about 11 though, because that was literally the entire student body of goblins that the school currently had. Riz shooed the extras away after a while because they immediatly started flirting with his party and he was not in the mood to deal. Yes they're all very pretty but go away.

Riz is the one who called Aelwyn when they exhausted their resourses in the library because his party was rapidly becoming unhelpful in the research department. Adaine was so overstimulated and stressed that she was on the verge of shutting down and the rest of his party had no idea what to look for.

He got Jawbone to drive them back to Mordred before school even finished because technically getting cursed allows you a sick day. Aelwyn was already there waiting when they arrived and the noise she made upon seeing Adaine made their wizard flinch and freeze and she immediatly got scooped up. She seemed happier getting carried around by her sister though so Riz didnt snap at Aelwyn to put her down. He did get a little growl-y when she suggested they just keep Adaine like this because it's so adorable.

Weirdly enough, out of all the bad kids, Fig is the least affected by the whole weird-instincts thing. She's a LITTLE more manic than usual, and the light and sound is a little overstimulating, but she's at least acting mostly normal. Normal up until the point that she sees Ayda and is fully unable to form sentences because she's purring so much.

Ayda locks up the library to keep everyone out while they set about searching there. Its night time by now and quiet so his party is doing much better on the overstimulation front so they're actually able to help search. The stack of books they have to read through is taller than they are though and its going to take them hours.

Honestly its taking longer than they expected because Ayda is just fascinated by the entire thing and is studying them more than helping look for a solution. Plus, she finds Fig adorable and is amazed that her fire immunity has carried over into this form.

During one of their breaks (Riz does not take a break and fully snaps at the first person to try and make him) Ayda and Fig disappear to go have some fun. Fig doesnt say anything to Riz when she gets back but gives him a knowing look, nods her head towards Fabian and snickers. Riz contemplates shooting himself. Fabian just looks smug again and ambushes Riz in between the bookshelves when he leaves to go find a reference dictionary for a second go. At least their rogue is noticibly less bite-y now, though still exhausted.

When they do find the solution (Gorgug managed to find it while checking if any artificer spells would help, greatest wizard of our age) it doesnt take them especially long to get turned back. Riz is so releived in the end that he just lies on the floor among all the books they have to reshelve and fully conks out for a nap.

[midwestgender]

today killed me academicsly

[puppyeared]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

[ebonytails]

Hey everyone! this is where the zebra is currently with the design.

It has knee braces!! I will most probably be drawing the zebra usually with them on, but it’s no requirement, for example if anyone else wants to draw the zebra :-]. I always like to make sure an animal design has official colors underneath any clothing and accessory anyway. I think this will be final! thank you everyone for your feedback!

As a reminder, aside from why the zebra was requested for this flag, this is also just a zebra with the disability pride flag on it. It’s just a deisgn to fit the flag, with input from other disabled people in our community. It doesn’t mean other animals can’t have designs with these colors, too! I don’t mean this design to be the only mascot for all disabled people. It’s just a silly series i do of pride animals, and at the time, during disability pride month, I wanted to see what everyone wanted me to start off with for this flag!

the goal with my pride animals is to take requests and make people feel happy and seen.. that’s all <:-)