#and some more to have someone double check it for consistency

[wikipedie]

jisbon and attachment styles and why the pike storyline actually makes a lot of sense despite us hating it*

(* and also why they couldn’t be together until after Red John was dead despite us preferring they were together earlier)

In this post I will talk about attachment styles, Lisbon and Jane’s traumas and the likely reasons that they developed their attachment styles and how they manifest in their relationships, including their relationship with each other. (+ the reason they’re still quite careful with each other in S7 and struggle to be vulnerable with each other) This will be a bit in depth so I ask you to be cautious while reading - do not hesitate to ask for help or support if you can. There is a risk in here, as I will be talking about their traumas (particularly their childhood abuse and neglect) so if it is a potentially sensitive subject for you, proceed with caution (or not at all, I suppose.)

All my thanks go to @chakramchaser, this would not have been possible without you being both willing to ramble with me and continuing the ideas and connecting some excellent dots. I appreciate you.

[Transcript - Discord chat:

wikipe: okay so teresa is disorganized style while patrick is avoidant most likely. Which makes their dynamic fascinating, now that i think about it. Teresa has moments when she’s anxious, but mostly she tends to avoid.

chakramchaser:

ITS WHY IT TAKES LITERALLY A DECADE

CUZ THEY JUST AVOIDDDD

Also the serial killer in the way blah blah ]

For the purposes of this post, I will only talk about the disorganized and the avoidant attachment styles. (https://www.attachmentproject.com/blog/four-attachment-styles/)

Disorgnized Style

The disorganized type tends to show unstable and ambiguous behaviors in their social bonds.

For adults with this style of attachment, the partner and the relationship themselves are often the source of both desire and fear.

Fearful-avoidant people do want intimacy and closeness, but at the same time, experience troubles trusting and depending on others.

They do not regulate their emotions well and avoid strong emotional attachment, due to their fear of getting hurt.

Avoidant Style:

The dismissing / avoidant type would often perceive themselves as ‘lone wolves’: strong, independent, and self-sufficient; not necessarily in terms of physical contact, but rather on an emotional level.

These people have high self-esteem and a positive view of themselves.

The dismissing / avoidant type tend to believe that they don’t have to be in a relationship to feel complete.

They do not want to depend on others, have others depend on them, or seek support and approval in social bonds.

Adults with this attachment style generally avoid emotional closeness. They also tend to hide or suppress their feelings when faced with a potentially emotion-dense situation.

Do these styles sound like some beloved characters we know?

Teresa Lisbon

(Season 7, episode 7 - The Yellow House)

[Transcript - Teresa Lisbon: Somebody had to be responsible.]

A disorganized / fearful-avoidant attachment style develops when the child’s caregivers – the only source of safety – become a source of fear. In adulthood, people with this attachment style are extremely inconsistent in their behavior and have a hard time trusting others.

"Driven to succeed to the point of developing an ulcer, no tolerance for superiors less sharp than yourself, shutting out girls that wanted to hang out with you, blowing off boys that want to get close. All the while, at every turn, wondering 'what is it I really want?' "

I will pull up her past with the help of the Mentalist wikia, since it is quite coherent and well said: 

“Her mother was killed by a drunk driver when she was twelve (Red Badge). In the episode Red Tide, it is implied that she had to take over her mother’s role and care for her family at a young age. In Little Yellow House, Lisbon tells Jane that she had to be the parent to her brothers after the death of her mother. It is implied that her family life was not an easy one even before the death of her mother. Lisbon tells her brother Jimmy that someone in the household had to be responsible because, "You know what Mom and Dad were like." After her mother’s death, her father's drinking either started or worsened and he ended up killing himself. It isn't specified whether he did this accidentally or on purpose. Lisbon said that he “damn near killed me and my brothers too,” leaving both possibilities open. It may have been something like another drunken car accident, or simply neglect. In Red Badge Lisbon mentions that her father used to be violent, as he once beat one of her brothers half to death and didn't remember doing so. Apparently her father suffered blackouts when he drank.“ 

That is a whole load of “source of fear.” She lost the sense of safety pretty early in life and I argue that she no longer knows what safety feels like. On top of the trauma of losing her parents, there is the trauma of parentification that is implied she’s had to do from a very young age, taking care of her brothers to the best of her abilities.

This style shows up in simple ways: She both craves the intimacy of relationships and rejects it, fears it. Stability feels foreign to her.

She breaks off an engagement with Greg, and she does not seem to have any serious stable relationships during her time at CBI. (“You’re too intense and particular for a man like that.” “Whatever happened to that guy from Narcotics?” “Jeff? He bit his nails.” “That’s particular.”)

She is wistful for a good and loving relationship but she doesn’t know how to keep it, runs away at the opportunity.

Through these lenses, the relationship with Pike makes sense: She is tired of waiting for a man who might never actually love her, she finds a good man in Pike, she longs for the stability and beauty that a relationship with him might provide, while also being terrified of it (and longing for Jane, of course). She is absolutely terrified when Pike asks for her hand in marriage. Of course, you could argue that it is sudden, unexpected, too soon and any woman would panic. But I want to bring up the fact that she doesn’t say “No” immediately, though. She wants to make it work, or to think about it. Or to see if Jane would care.  (And I am firmly convinced that she might have said no to the marriage regardless if she left with him to D.C.)

She says “Yes.” But she does it while running away from Jane, who lied to her and manipulated her again and hurt her again. She says Yes to Pike, but doesn’t even listen to what he says afterwards, just looks out at the hotel where she left Jane.

And then, in the end, she leaves Pike too. Pike looks at Jane in Season 7, tells him that he had a life and a family to offer to Teresa, but I think Teresa is just as afraid of them as much as she craves them. She does not know stability, she does not know how to accept to be taken care of or work through the issues of her relationships for most of the show. She also is not sure of what she likes or wants for most of the show. (Even as she seems that she does, burying herself in her work, the only stable thing for her.)

She learns how to do these things slowly in the relationship with Jane. In Season 7 she starts being more vocal about her likes and dislikes, even with minor things (such as randomly saying that she likes s’mores). Opening up also allows her to deepen her connection to her brothers, whom she had avoided as well for most of her life. She shares her struggles, realizes where she was short-sighted and tries to do better about opening up. At the end of Episode 7, she feels comfortable enough to tell Jane that she loves him, too. And at the end, she’s no longer running away. She’s waiting. “What do you need?” “Time.” “Okay, I can give you time.”

Patrick Jane

(Season 7, episode 3 - Orange Blossom Ice Cream)

[Transcript - Erica Flynn: Patrick likes to pretend that he's this lone wolf.]

Parents who are strict and emotionally distant, do not tolerate the expression of feelings, and expect their child to be independent and tough might raise children with an avoidant attachment style. As adults, these children appear confident and self-sufficient. They do not tolerate emotional or physical intimacy and might not be able to build healthy relationships. What’s more, in the workplace, they are often seen as the independent, ‘lone wolf’. It is, however, possible for these individuals to change and develop a secure attachment style.

There is less known about Patrick Jane’s past than about Teresa. Again, the Mentalist wikia says it better than I ever could: 

“He had a rough existence with his father, the only adult in his life, whose treatment and use of him was tantamount to child abuse. When Patrick refused to scam a dying girl and her grandmother, his father threatened him and forced him to do it. Jane later said that he never went to high school, presumably due to the nomadic carny life. Alex exploited Patrick for his skills, since he was very young. In Red John's Rules it is implied that Jane spent some time in foster care as a child.

Alex had a wedding ring on his hand, but Jane's mother was not mentioned in any flashbacks, so it is likely that she died or abandoned them.”

Jane’s childhood is one of neglect and abuse, peppered with some happy memories. His father makes it clear that he views taking care of Jane as being Jane’s responsibility, and moreover, that Jane owes it to him because he’s taken care of him up until then. (“I’ve been carrying you for a long time and it’s not getting any easier, son.” - Season 2, Episode 10, Throwing Fire) He either helps his father with his schemes or he is on his own.

Therefore, in adulthood, he is on his own. He struggles to let people in, struggles to accept help and accept partnership. He considers himself the smartest person in the room because he has to be - it’s a way to survive and he has nothing else.

As seen when he loses all memory of his family, the original childhood trauma makes him more callous and uncaring, having no limits and no boundaries (nor caring about others’ boundaries). It’s only him and nobody else. 

It is likely that Angela was his moral compass. (as it is implied a few times that she was done with the carny life and the tricks) Even so, chakramchaser made a very valid point: “he still ran from it then - why else would he be running an empire of psychic cons. bro had way more money than he needed he just was addicted to the thrill. i feel like he thrived on the unpredictability.” 

Over the course of the show, we see that he begins to trust other people (mainly Lisbon and the main team). However, he still struggles to let them in, either in his life and in his plans. He goes by himself in most of his plans, informing the team of the minimum necessary for them to know in order to execute the plan flawlessly. He makes more of an effort towards the end of the show and especially after he and Lisbon get together, but his first instinct is still to do things by himself. He cares, but he struggles to convey this directly, preferring to buy them gifts (to show that he knows them), to offer compliments, help them or at the worst, con his way (tricking Lisbon into staying for longer instead of telling her that he doesn’t want her to go).

However, we can notice an important shift after Red John dies and especially after he and Lisbon get together. Despite the fact he still struggles to communicate his feelings, he tries. Opening up towards Lisbon allows him to open up more towards others as well. For example, he makes an effort to inform Abbott when he has a plan that could be dubious (and tells him that he won’t be informed of the specifics in order to have deniability).

Healing comes through the good relationships that we form and we can definitely see this with Jane.

Jane and Lisbon - their relationship

After more than a decade of a deep friendship, Jane and Lisbon decided to become a couple after Lisbon got engaged to another man and was about to be out of Jane’s life. The common perspective is that they could not get together until Red John was dead, because Jane was determined to kill him and in turn Red John was obsessed with picking on him.

That is half of the story. The other half is that they are an disorganized/avoidant couple, do not really consider intimacy safe and do not really know how to express it unless it’s in high stakes. (That being the main reason Jane confessed his feelings in a big “rushing-to-the-airport-and-telling-you-the-truth-as-you-leave” moment.) As an example, I will show the moment from S4 that everyone and their mother is familiar with. I will transcribe underneath the pictures and then I will write my perspective in regards to what they think and feel.

(Season 4, episode 24 - The Crimson Hat)

[Transcript:

Lisbon, not looking Jane in the eyes: So, that thing you said before you shot me.

Lisbon, looking down: What did you mean?

[Jane looks contemplative for a few seconds, before saying]

Jane, with a slight smile: What did I say?

Jane, no smile: I was kind of hyped up.

Lisbon, looking at him now and sounding relieved: Me too. I thought at any moment we were gonna get found out.]

My perspective is as follows: Lisbon has a disorganized attachment style (or should I say…Messy?).

(Season 1, Episode 14 - Crimson Casanova)

[Transcript - Patrick Jane: Messy women make good lovers.]

This means she desires both closeness and distance. She asks Jane what he meant by telling her “Take care, Teresa. Love you.”, but she cannot look him in the eye. She does not know if it’s a confession and she does not know if she wants it to be a confession. She is not ready for this.

Jane, who did not expect her to call him out on this, takes a while to figure out how to respond to this. He is definitely not ready for this kind of intimacy. Whether the confession was a slip or not, he did not intend to talk about this afterwards. Therefore, he decides to go with “I don’t remember what I said.” I think the presence of the smile and the serious face afterwards is indicative enough. He knows she will not say the words out loud.

And she doesn’t. Moreover, she seems just as relieved for this excuse, since she decides to look at him in the eyes now.

In the fanfiction that I’ve read, a lot of people interpret Lisbon as being slightly annoyed or even downright upset about Jane pretending to not remember telling her “I love you”, but I don’t think she was. I think the perspective was both enticing and scary for her (another example pinpointing this is Pike asking for her hand in marriage).

Now, how does this change when they are in a relationship? They start to communicate more and express their likes and desires more, as well as listen to each other. (“You wore a vest. I like it.”) Their early traumas still haven’t disappeared, but they work through them together: they still have a tendency to brush off their emotions and say “It’s nothing, I’m fine”, Jane runs away for a bit when he is trying to figure out how to deal with the idea of Lisbon dying, and Lisbon remains to be responsible and deal with their feelings. But - they talk. Jane confesses to being terrified of losing her, Lisbon remains clear that she loves both Jane and the job. What seems initially as running away turns out to be running towards. It is true that he could’ve told her before, but it’s likely that he didn’t know what was going on either until he found the house. Jane was trying to find a way to deal with his intrusive terror. And yea, my guy would’ve benefitted from some therapy, but a new hobby (such as renovating a house) is the next best thing really. He comes back to her.

In conclusion, I think a lot of their decisions and instincts and fears can be explained by their attachment styles. The way their relationship evolves is absolutely fascinating. Honestly I find it really beautiful that two terrified people used to running away decide to stay for each other and come back to each other and do better to each other and for each other. Their final perp catch is done as a team.

(season 7, episode 13 - White Orchids)

References:

https://www.attachmentproject.com/blog/four-attachment-styles/

https://www.attachmentproject.com/blog/disorganized-attachment/

https://www.attachmentproject.com/blog/avoidant-attachment-style/

https://thementalist.fandom.com/wiki/Teresa_Lisbon

https://thementalist.fandom.com/wiki/Patrick_Jane

[joonie-beanie]

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

[A Dragon's Constitution] ->

[nurse-floyd]

Unexpected Arrival

Pairing: Max Verstappen x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, giving birth, one? bad word.

Max and y/n get an unexpected surprise one race weekend.

The paddock was full of people as they all ran around making last-minute adjustments and began getting the cars out onto the grid ready for race day. You had mainly stayed out of the way, hanging around to see Max in between interviews and meetings with his team. You had loved race day, even before you met Max you had loved watching it on TV with your dad or with your friends, and you loved it even more so since you began dating Max.

Something felt different today though; you had not been well the past few days but had brushed it off as something you had eaten or the jet lag from following Max around. You decided to hang out in his driver's room, being away from the loud noise and cameras, preferring the quiet to curl up on the couch and cheer him on from there.

As you sat watching him, the cramps in your stomach grew worse. You knew you were not due yet, so you brushed the cramps aside, hoping to find some distraction in the race. Max was leading, as usual, but Lando was hot on his tail. You were excitedly texting your friends and knew Max would be enjoying finally having some competition. The pain became more intense and more consistent, but you did not want anything to ruin the day. You could make an emergency appointment somewhere later if the pain was still there.

With your attention turned back on the race, you were not prepared as a pain shot through you, causing you to let out a gasp. It was so intense you were almost doubled over in pain. You felt wetness between your legs, and holy shit, this was not cramps. Too much for a period…Reality kicked you worse than the cramps in the stomach. You were in labor.

It was funny really; you had watched that program once with Max and ended up turning it off after he turned to you, “How do you go nine months without realizing you have a baby inside you?”

You tried to remember the birthing advice you had seen on the crappy medical dramas you had watched, although you knew they were far from accurate, as well as advice from your friends who had babies before you. However, fear clouded your judgment and everything went out of the window.

‘Okay…this is happening. You can do this y/n. Women all over the world give birth alone and have done so for thousands of years,’ you told yourself.

You managed to reach your phone and sent a text to one of the friends you had been texting. It was incoherent and barely made sense, but hopefully, they could get word to someone in the paddock to get you help. There was no point in screaming or shouting for help; for one, you knew your body would not allow you, but also, with the noise from the paddock and the race, no one would hear you anyway.

You tried to stand but could only do so for a short while before you were doubled over in pain again. Still, you managed to shuffle to the bathroom, grab a few towels, and get yourself on the floor. The contractions were coming closer together, and if those crappy medical dramas taught you anything, you knew this baby was coming, and coming soon. With one last push, you gritted your teeth and felt a release followed by a soft baby's cry.

Trembling, you wrapped the baby in one of Max’s clean Red Bull hoodies, fitting for a Verstappen, and stared at the tiny life you had just produced in disbelief. You were shocked, overwhelmed but filled with so much love for this tiny being. As if by instinct, you picked the baby up and held the tiny bundle to your chest.

It felt like hours you sat there with your baby clutched to your chest as you tried to calm yourself down from the ordeal, but in reality, it was only minutes before there was a knock on your door followed by the arrival of the medical team. They quickly checked you and the baby over, but your mind was thinking of Max.

How were you going to explain this? Sure you had both spoken about having children before, but nothing was concrete. What if he did not want this?

Meanwhile, back on the circuit, Max had crossed the finish line closely followed by Lando and Carlos. He completed his victory lap and pulled up to the first place sign, climbing from his car and doing his signature celebration. Max was completely unaware of the miracle that had just occurred in his driver's room.

He was led to be weighed and had a quick interview before he was led to the corner by his head engineer. The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage was weird. That was the only way Max could describe it, and there was no sign of you, not that it was unusual. He knew you liked to hang in his room sometimes when you got overwhelmed. There were whispers as people looked at him, but he had just won so that was not unusual either.

It was his engineer with an unreadable expression on his face that had him wondering what the fuck was going on.

“Max…it’s y/n. Now don’t freak out but…”

That was all he heard though. That was all he needed to know before he was running to his driver's room to find you. He froze in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the scene. You were on the floor, surrounded by medics, clutching a small wriggling bundle against your chest wrapped in one of his Red Bull Shirts. You looked exhausted. He just looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Max…” you whispered. “Meet your daughter.”

He rushed to your side, falling on his knees beside you as he carefully wrapped his arms around you both and placed a kiss on your temple.

“What? How did we? You did this?”

You chuckled at him lightly, you had the same questions, but in that moment with him by your side and your daughter in your arms, you fell in love with him all over again.

“You’re incredible.”

You were utterly exhausted as you leaned into his side. After a moment, the medics intervened and informed you they needed to get you to the medical center. A few people from Max’s team stood by the door as they watched the scene unfold, snapping a picture of the soft moment.

The moment was broken when Lando made his way through the crowd, “Max, the podium is about to…fucking hell, is that a baby?”

[aplpaca]

thinking about how I've seen OCD get talked about now, but haven't really seen many posts that actually explain what it is. And like, obviously people shouldn't get all their info about mental conditions from posts, but u can't deny that internet communities and stuff play a major role in people recognizing and putting names to their own experiences.

But like since the general public has like absolutely no idea of what OCD actually is (no thanks to popular media), and a lot of things I see talking about intrusive thoughts don't mention OCD (either bc they originated in OCD circles or bc intrusive thoughts aren't Exclusive to OCD or for some other reason), there should prob be more explanation put out on what OCD actually consists of.

Which is kinda hard in some ways, bc there are so many ways OCD can present in terms of what "themes" a person experiences, so someone talking about what their themes are might not ring a bell with someone who experiences different ones. But like, the core thing with OCD isn't the presence of certain themes, it's a specific pattern of spiraling thoughts and reactions.

Like. OCD is a mental condition/illness where people experience stressful, unwanted, repetitive thoughts. These are intrusive thoughts are what make up the "obsessions" part of the disorder. In response to these intrusive thoughts, a lot of people will perform certain actions or think certain things in an attempt to neutralize or disprove the threat they represent. These are the "compulsions" part of the condition.

For a more "traditional" example, someone experiencing intrusive thoughts that they might catch a communicable disease may obsessively wash their hands or google their symptoms to try to lessen the anxiety. While someone who is worried they might hurt someone (even though they very much do not want to hurt someone) may avoid being near sharp objects or may avoid the people they're afraid of hurting.

One of the issues with OCD is that performing the compulsions provides short term relief, but in the long term it only strengthens the stress caused by the intrusive thoughts, thus furthering the thought spiral and actively making it worse, to the point where, depending on your themes, you may be (almost) convinced that your intrusive thoughts represent the truth or the inevitable or something permanent.

Intrusive thought themes cam be literally anything, but some of the common ones are stuff like

Questioning your sexuality, gender, etc (what if I'm actually straight/gay/bi/trans/cis/etc?)

Being worried about losing control and hurting yourself or others physically, sexually, emotionally, basically any way (what if I want to kill someone? What if I'm a pedophile? What if I'm an abuser? What if I want to stab myself? Etc)

Fear of becoming or being sick

Worrying something bad will happen to you or people you care about

Worrying about your spiritual beliefs or lack thereof (what if I'm actually Christian? What if I'm actually atheist? What if i don't believe in the faith i ascribe to? Etc)

Worrying about relationship status (what if I don't actually love them? What if they're not "the one"? What if they're cheating? What if *I'm* cheating? Etc)

What if I'm a bad person?

Fear of losing things

Fear of things not feeling right (this is often be related to other themes via magical thinking. ex: if I don't have my things organized Just Right then something bad will happen)

Fear of unreality

Compulsions vary by theme a lot obviously, but some common ones include

Hand washing

Organizing things until they Feel Right

Checking and double checking and triple checking to make sure you did something correctly

Obsessively reviewing your memories to disprove a thoughtor make sure you don't believe something

Arguing against the thoughts in an attempt to disprove them

Testing your mental reactions to a thought or to certain kinds of content, to show yourself you don't actually believe or feel something

Obsessively googling symptoms, testimonies, things related to your thoughts

Obsessive prayer

Repeating phrases, mantras, affirmations, etc in an attempt to make thoughts go away

Avoiding things and situations that set off your intrusive thoughts

Repeatedly asking for reassurance from others ("I'm not being xyz, right?")

But yeah this obviously isn't exhaustive but, just, if this kind of thing sounds familiar, you should probably do some research on OCD, bc while intrusive thoughts can occur with other conditions, the intrusive thought-compulsion spiral is the core of OCD and isn't really a subaspect of depression/anxiety/ptsd/etc. and the treatment and management of OCD can look different from other stuff, so its a good thing to look into.

(Also it's important to keep in mind, esp if you're someone that doesn't have it, that someone's intrusive thoughts Are Not "secret desires" or "repressed urges" or anything the person even remotely wants to act on. Someone having harm-related intrusive thoughts is not at risk of actually acting on them, no matter how worried they are of doing so.)

Anyway this was a long post and I don't have a neat way to wrap it up and also I accidentally added a poll and now can't get rid of it so here's free poll. I'm running on nyquil and a small amount of straight gin (which works very well at numbing a sore throat) rn gnite

[minniesmutt]

❄︎ ━━━━━━ 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

❄︎ ━━━ PAIRING: LEE KNOW X READER ❄︎ ━━━ CW: ALIEN!LEE KNOW, FEM!READER, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, TENTACLES, FEAR PLAY, SEX FANTASY, CNC/DUBCON, CHOKING, TENTACLE SLIME, DEGRADING, ROLEPLAY, THROAT FUCKING, PRIMAL PLAY, SUPERNATURAL COCK, UNPROTECTED SEX, MULTIPLE ORGASMS, OVERSTIMULATION, SUSPENSION, CERVIX FUCKING, "NO" IS SAID BUT IS NOT A SAFE WORD, BREEDING, "EGG" IMPLANTING, AFTERCARE,  ❄︎ ━━━ WC: 2K ❄︎ ━━━ NOTE: ❄︎ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Power outages during winter were terrible. Especially when you didn't have a backup generator. Y/n wandered through her apartment wrapped in a blanket and using her phone flashlight to see where she was going. She had zero clue what happened, just woke up in the middle of the night with no heat or power. All her systems were completely shut off. She thought maybe someone hit a power line or something froze over. She didn't know. She just wanted to be warm. 

     She’d only gotten out of bed to double-check if anything was on and found nothing. Now she was trying to find all the blankets in her home to keep her warm for the night. Even if she got too warm, she could just kick them off later. 

     Y/n grabbed her last throw blanket off her couch and trotted back to her room. She threw it on top of her bed, crawled under her blanket pile, and wrapped herself in a warm multi-blanket burrito. Laying there she never realized just how much noise was actually in her apartment. It was so quiet that she could hear a pin drop. 

     So it didn’t go unnoticed by her ears the small slithering noise on her flooring. Anxiety was building quickly in her chest. She had an internal conflict to look around for the source or crawl under her blanket nest to hide from whatever or whoever was in the apartment with her. Then she felt the weight of her blankets slowly lifting.

     Fight or flight kicked in and wound up just throwing all the blankets off and scanning her room. Nothing.

     Nothing in her room. On the floor. Door closed. Windows shut. No one but her was in the room. She thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

     Until something wrapped around her mouth and neck and pulled her back onto the mattress. Y/n grabbed at whoever it was. One felt like a human hand. She could feel the veins protruding from under the skin from the hand wrapped around her neck. The thing covering her mouth was more slimy. Consistently, but slowly, moving around her mouth. 

     “Stop squirming,” A voice finally came as there was a weight on her squirming legs.

     Y/n focused on the voice. Only having the moonlight to give her any light to see and her eyes adjusting to the dark. Tall and human, except for the multiple tentacles. She couldn't tell how many, maybe five? Or more? She couldn't tell. 

     He gently released her neck from his grip. Tentacle releasing her mouth. Slowly unraveling itself and dropping to her neck.

     His eyes scanned over her as she did the same. He had better eyesight than her in the dark. He could see every bit of her under her oversized t-shirt. Originally found himself inside her apartment for warmth from the winter but it all seemed to fail when the power cut out and she took all the blankets. But he'd seen her wandering her apartment and became curious. He was curious about humans like anyone else from his species was. Seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some questions answered  

     “You humans are so greedy, you know that?” the alien asked

     “Fuck you,” Y/n spat 

     The tentacle wrapped tightly around her neck. Y/n grabbed the slippery appendage. She tried to pull it away before another grabbed her wrist and wrapped it around them. Pinning them above her head. Y/n accidentally let out a small moan.

     The alien looked at her and Y/n felt a wave of embarrassment fill her body. “This turns you on? Getting choked and manhandled by aliens tentacles?”

     The tentacle around her neck prevented her from talking. But she barely managed to shake her head even though she could feel herself getting wet between her legs. Trying to squirm out from under him. 

     He let her get her legs out from under him. She went to kick him but he quicker reflexes and grabbed her ankles with two more tentacles. Spread out in front of an alien while being restrained by his tentacles was not how she expected to spend her cold night. He smiled down at her as one tentacle moved under her shirt. 

     She tried rolling away from him but she was stuck. Her shirt was pushed up more by the tentacle. The tip came out from the collar of her shirt before ripping it open from the collar down. Exposing her chest to the chill in the air of her apart. Nipples perked up in the cold as the tentacle moved back up to her chest.

     She felt another between her legs, running up and down over her pajama pants. Catching the seam of the pants and tore them open to reveal her soaked panties to him. “You are getting off on this,” the alien chuckled as he eyed the wet patch. “Soaked like a slut, huh?”

     Reaching a hand out to rub the fabric with his thumb. Y/n let out a moan as his thumb caught her clit. He smiled before moving the tentacles to strip her completely. Now having her completely exposed to him.

     “Please…” Y/n whined as his eyes glazed over her body.

     “Begging to get fucked now?” the alien smiled as he dipped two fingers into her. 

     “No, let me go,” She pulled against the tentacle

     The alien chuckled at her feeble attempts to get out of his grasp. He moved the tentacle around her neck up. Just the tip really, waiting for her next protest which easily came. Her spitting out a “fuck you,” at him but he cut her off by pushing the appendage into her mouth. Protest turned into a gagged moan as he hit the back of her throat. 

     “So much better,” the alien chuckled as he pressed his fingers up into her warm walls. Making the coldness from his fingers melt away inside her. He was listening to her muffled moans around the appendage in her throat. 

     Slowly he moved the tentacle in and out of her mouth as he pushed a third finger into her. “Freezing in here but nice and warm inside.” the alien smiled as he quickly thrusted his finger into her. Listening to the squelching sound her pussy was making. 

     Y/n whined in protest just for the tentacle to move further down her throat. She did what she to stop it but wound up swallowing more of it. 

     “Like having a tentacle shoved down your throat like a cock?” The alien chuckled, pressing his thumb against her clit, “bet no humans reached that far down before.”

     Y/n whined as tears fell from her lash line. The tentacle retracted from her throat. Taking the chance to gasp and cough for air. “Please,” Y/n coughed. 

     the alien watched her continue to struggle against him. He got an idea, pulled his fingers out of her, and let her go from the tentacles. Y/n rolled over in her coughing fit.

     It took her a moment to realize he had let her go and flight took over this time. She booked it out of her bedroom and ran out to her living room. Not caring she was nude and semi-covered in slime. She had tunnel vision to get away from the alien.

     She had underestimated the reach of the tentacles.

     Two wrapping around her legs and two more grabbing her arms, one more covering her mouth. Y/n yelled into the appendage and tried pulling away from the others. Not hearing footsteps behind her. The appendages turned her around as the alien came out from the hallway way, pulling his sweatpants down and kicking them to the side. Having ditched his shirt back in her bedroom. Y/n watched as he got closer and pulled down his boxers.

     “Let’s see if you can keep these warm,” The alien smiled as his hand wrapped around his cock and the four tentacles holding her in the air and moving her legs to be spread open for him again.

     The alien watched her hole clench in anticipation, smiling and tapping his cock against her clit and releasing it from his grip. Y/n glanced down as the cock grew in size and moved on its own like another tentacle. Her chest rose rapidly as she felt hot for the first time all night. Another smaller and thinner tentacle latched itself onto her touch-starved clit. Y/n moaned as the little tentacle sucked on her clit while his tentacle dick breached her hole, making her moan turn to a scream. The cock thrusted roughly inside of her, hips barely moving. 

     Rather the tentacles around her body moved her up and down, meeting the thrusts of his cock. Y/n could feel his cock pushing against her cervix. Moaning into the tentacle around her mouth, making the alien smile.

     “Enjoying this, aren’t you? Not even trying to get away anymore.” He smiled as two more tentacles came out and wrapped around her breasts, latching on and toying with her nipples.

     Y/n whined as her walls contracted around him. Starting to shake from the stimulation. The alien could feel it too for sure. Thrusting in harder and faster into her until she came hard around him. Body squirming in the grasps of his tentacles as he kept fucking her through her high put slowed down a bit. The smaller tentacle pulled away from her clit.

     She felt so high and odd. His cock filled her up fully. Brain fuzzy as she started coming down but he didn’t seem to want to give her a chance to do that.

     Suddenly feeling something poking her cervix. Slowly making its way inside her womb, she screamed protests. “Thought you were the only one cumming tonight?” He chuckled as the tentacle wrapped around her clit again.

     He moved the tentacle from her mouth as her words become pants as his cock thrusted in and out of her womb. “Too much. Please…”

     “But you’re doing so good? Gonna be my little incubator in a second,” He smiled

     “Nononono, please. I don’t—” The tentacle was back over her in a second and cut off her sentence.

     “There we go. Just be quiet and take them.” He chuckled before she felt something passing through his cock and settling into her womb. Warmth filled her up as her mind started going blank. Anything she wanted to say or do stopped. “There you go. Taking it like a good whore. Just for me to breed now.” She saw his smile before his eyes closed on her.

     She woke up hours later in the comfort of her bed and clothed once again. Arm wrapped around her and her heater worked again. “Min…” Her voice was hoarse 

     “I’m right here kitten,” her boyfriend answered from behind her and gently helped her roll over, “How are you feeling?”

     “Sleepy…”

     “Because you woke me up at three in the morning asking if I could impromptu do the little scene we talked about.” Minho teased as he kissed the top of her head.

     “But it was so good,” Y/n complained, limps feeling like jello still.

     “Not too rough with the tentacles this time?” Minho asked

     “No. Liked getting fucked while suspended by them. Did you actually put eggs in me?”

     “No. Just condensed by cum to make it feel like one.”

     “You can do that?!”

     “You’re going to lose your voice kitten.” Minho checked the time on his phone, “Yes, I can do that. How about I make you a cup of tea for your throat? I already cleaned the slime off you and the ground after you passed out.”

     “Thank you and yes, please. Can we just stay in bed today?”

     “Of course.” Minho pecked her lips before getting up and making both of them some tea before coming back to the room and helping her drink it.

     “Can we do it again?”

     “Later. And more thought out than you slapping my chest and begging.”

     “I had a dream and you like it when I beg.”

     “I do.” Minho smiled as she cuddled up into him.

❄︎ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

❄︎ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[agirlwithglam]

📑📚 ACE YOUR EXAMS 📚📑

This is a guide for people who have exams coming up. It consists of what to do if you want 100% on your upcoming exams, study tips, and more!

Study tips:

Check this masterlist by @merakinotes and also this post+ masterlist by @areistotle it has everything you’ll ever need.

Bank of questions / past papers study method: you can create your own questions on Quizlet or any online quiz maker or use past papers/ revision resources.

Study everyday. If your exam is even a month away, that’s good because it means you don’t have to study hours everyday, but you can at least keep a goal to study 30 mins a day or to learn/ understand/ memorise a new thing part of that topic every day.

Feynman technique. Basically pretend as if you’re the teacher and teach the topic to someone/ something (ex a stuffed animal)

Record yourself talking. When you’re revising, record yourself talking about some of the stuff so you can listen to it later when you’re unable to study.

Visual learning!! Personally, I love this one. If you’re studying something like science, history, etc, then draw pictures! Draw pictures to better help you understand a word/ concept. (Example: in science I couldn’t remember the whole definition of combustion so I just drew a stickman image of the atom and the oxygen and then those 2 chemically combined)

During the exam:

Never turn the exam in early!! Are you finished? Then re read the exam and re take the exam. Double check, triple check etc your answers. Keep looking through your answers again and again, step by step. Only give the test in at the very end.

Watch the clock! Don’t spend lots of time on one question trying to figure it out. Look at the time and make sure you still have enough to complete all the questions and maybe also recheck them.

If you don’t completely understand a question/ it’s more complicated: skip it and go to the next question. Come back to that harder question later.

Manifesting:

Remember: the 100/100 grade is already yours. You just need to claim it!

Affirmations: you can create your own set of customised affirmations or you can use THIS affirmation list that I made for high grades

Subliminal: I’ve made a playlist on YouTube with all my favourite academic subliminals. You can also search up 100/100 grades or full marks in tests subliminals.

More resources:

(These are just to further help you if these tips do not help. Remember that watching videos or reading about studying/ study tips is not studying. It’s procrastinating. Consume these in moderation.)

Studying tips for a straight A student by @universalitgirlsblog2

How to study like: 👙Elle Woods👙 | 📔Paris Geller📔 | 📖Hermione Granger📖

Study to success on YouTube

Jun Yuh oh YouTube

Fayefilms on YouTube

[rosemaze-reveries]

During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you.

this is def an experimental format!! i got this idea while reading the character letters. in the POV of an unknown interviewer (not reader). reader uses they/them.

🔗⚰️📰🔮❤️‍🩹💉🌪️✂️🍀🩰🔫🪡🤹🧲🦋🐍

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🔗 Ada - "Yes, that's my lover. I would say our relationship falls within the typical scope of that sort of thing. Of course, I believe we share something special, but everyone does when they're in love, don't they?" She covers all her bases in one decisive breath, leaving little room for me to comment.

⚰️ Aesop sits perfectly upright, fingers threaded at his knees. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to begin speaking mid-thought. "I had... cautioned myself not to upset their perception of me," he explains. "But they pried, and stayed, regardless of what they found... For that, I'm grateful."

📰 Alice has kept a sharp eye on me the entire time, but it's at this question that she drops the formalities. "I wasn't aware you would be prying into my personal affairs. Where did you learn that name?" Her frankness pins me in place. For some reason, I end up apologizing.

🔮 Eli can't help a sheepish smile from blooming across his face. "Well, truthfully... I don't use this term lightly, but they might be the love of my life." He has been consistently grounded with his responses, so I'm surprised to catch him flustered, however subtle it is. Personally, I'm touched.

❤️‍🩹 Emil considers for a moment. He doesn't meet me in the eye, instead pinning his gaze on nowhere in particular. A faint smile ghosts his lips. After a while, he answers, simply, "Safe."

💉 Emily's hands are folded neatly on her lap. At the mention of that name, her shoulders tense, but she otherwise maintains her composure. "Someone I trust." Her answer is vague and cautious, but acceptable. I'll try to uncover a deeper meaning behind that 'trust'.

🌪️ Ithaqua - "Mine." He is curt and to the point. Yours? I echo, hoping he'll elaborate. His head tilts to the side, and while I can't see the face behind his mask, a sense of dread suddenly overcomes me. I decide not to press further.

✂️ Jack stretches out his hand of blades, flexing each finger in front of him. I can't deny the cold sweat that drips down my spine just by being in his presence. "May I respond with a question of my own?" he says to me. "Suppose a butterfly loses its way, and winds up caught in a spider's web. Wouldn't you agree that the more it writhes and struggles, the more exhilarated the spider becomes?" I don't have the courage to hear out the rest of this analogy.

🍀 Lucky - "I've always been known as a pretty lucky guy, but the luckiest day of my life was when I met them! I remember it was the—" He drags me down a long-winded story about their life together. I get the idea. Eventually I'm forced to cut him off.

🩰 Margaretha twirls a curl of hair, a meek blush dusting her cheeks. "Have you ever been in love before? You're never prepared for the magic of it all. I feel a new rush with them everyday. I know, realistically, all good things come to an end, so I tried to remind myself to expect the worst, but they've proven over and over that... I'll never feel safer than in their arms." After rambling for some time, a look of surprise flashes across her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off like that. Oh, but I've just never met someone who feels so much like true love before."

🔫 Martha doesn't miss a beat. "Sorry, I don't know anyone by that name." I look down to double-check the name written in her file. Her watchful gaze follows my line of sight. Are you sure? I try. "Must've been some confusion somewhere," she insists. The next day, I realize all my files on her and (Y/N) have gone missing.

🪡 Matthias - "Wh-What?" he starts, but keeps going before I can repeat the question. "Oh, uh, an ally, I guess." Well, I gathered that much. When I press for more details, his head sinks low, fingers grasping at the armrest. "I don't know what they saw in me. Was it out of pity?"

🤹 Mike's eyes light up and he blinds me with a contagious smile. "(Y/N)'s a sneaky one, and I mean it—they've got me under the trickiest spell of all. Guess what happens every time I think about them?" Egged on by his grin, I take the bait. You get lovesick? I guess. Suddenly, he tosses a handful of butterfly glitter in my face. "I get butterflies!" Very funny, I sigh, exasperated with these carnies. Why did he have that on hand in the first place?

🧲 Norton leans back in his chair, scowling. "What's that got to do with anything?" He snaps a couple times in my face, urging me to "stay on topic." It's hard to say if this question struck a nerve, as he's been uncooperative for most of this interview, but my suspicions point me to prod further. After all, it'd have been much easier if he just said he didn't know them.

🦋 Vera's face contorts into a leery, hostile glower. "Why do you ask that?" Before I can say anything to mitigate the rising tension, she catches herself, and her expression softens slightly. "I'm sorry. That's... someone quite dear to me, so your question took me by surprise."

🐍 Yidhra's follower goes pale, clearly unnerved. "She won't answer that," she tells me through shallow breaths. "Th-This isn't my place to say, but I'd advise you not to involve yourself with that person." As if on cue, I get a sensation I can only describe as a hand slowly wrapping around my neck. It disappears when I move to scratch it. Must've been my imagination.

Part 2

[lunarw0rks]

Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.

The Things We Say // 141 Drabble

Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.

Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n

A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.

Price

One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.

Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.

His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?

The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.

He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.

❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.

John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.

But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.

To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.

John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.

—

❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.

❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.

What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.

In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞

—

The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.

His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.

❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.

The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.

His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.

John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞ 

Simon

Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.

It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.

Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.

❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought. 

Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.

He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.

It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.

He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?

❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.

—

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.

Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.

You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.

Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.

Soap

Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.

❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.

He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.

He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.

The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.

❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.

You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.

❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.

Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.

He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.

You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.

❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.

❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.

You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.

Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.

—

It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.

❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.

❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.

Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.

If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.

With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.

The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.

All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.

Gaz

Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.

You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results. 

❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.

❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.

He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.

It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc… 

But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.

His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.

—

❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.

Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.

—

❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.

What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.

❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.

It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.

Alejandro

Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.

❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.

What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.

❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞

You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.

Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.

❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞

Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.

It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞

—

Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.

You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.

About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.

The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.

The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.

—

The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.

Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.

König

There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him. 

You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞

With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞

He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?

❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.

How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.

He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.

Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.

The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.

—

❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.

He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.

He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.

König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.

Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.

If you made it this far - THANK YOU!

[dira333]

Lap Cat - Aone x Reader

Just a lil something I couldn't get out of my brain - 1,4k

Aone is a lap cat. 

You know the moment you meet him, even though you can’t point out what had given it away. 

It surely isn’t the way he keeps his voice to himself and uses his glares as a way of talking. Or the way he overestimated the weight of the door or underestimated his own strength and ripped your office door out of its handles on his first day.

He’d been the talk of the town for a whole month.

-

“Aone-san,” you called out at the end of the morning briefing. “Do you have a minute?”

He nods and follows you out and up the stairs into your office on the first level. 

You wonder what he thinks of you, in your nice business suit with the air-conditioned office. If he looks down on you like some of the other workers do because you’re one if not the youngest building designers in the company. You don’t think he does, but he’s hard to read.

“I’ve noticed you are very diligent in your work.” You explain to him. “And this part is very difficult to master. I’d love it if you could double-check the work, especially if you end up working on a different part. I don’t want to call anyone lazy, but I’ve been told that we’ve consistently had trouble keeping up with the plan for these structures and I want everything to be okay. I-”

“It’s okay.” As always, the deep timbre of his voice surprises you. You wish he’d talk more often. 

“Great. I’ll be here all day. And tomorrow too and the day after that as well. So you can come in whenever to let me know, okay?”

He nods, having used up all his words already. He leaves you shortly after, but not after an awkward pause where you try not to babble and he stares intently at the little pink bows adorning your stilettos.

-

You’re in the middle of unpacking your lunch Bento when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Aone’s face is smeared with dirt. His clothes are stained too, but his hands are clean as they offer you a piece of paper.

You take it and inspect it. He’s made a checklist for the area you mentioned. Your heart lurches at this careful work. 

“Thank you!” You doubt your smile can express even half of your gratitude.

His ears are red. He’s probably gotten a sunburn from working outside all morning.

“Do you…” You hesitate. “Do you want to share lunch? It’s cooler in here and I wouldn’t mind.”

He looks at the pretty but uncomfortable chairs in front of your desk and back to his dirty, stained clothes.

“Don’t mind it.” You rush to say. “Please, sit. I will go and get something to drink from the machine outside.”

“Let me.” He says and you freeze, spellbound by his voice - again.

 -

Soon you find yourself spilling your thoughts over eggrolls, rice and two cans of sparkling water. 

You babble when you get nervous and he sure as hell makes you nervous.

“It’s so nice to have someone with me when I eat.” You tell him when he gets up, no doubt to leave for his work again. “I mean, I can eat alone, no problem, I do that at home too. I mean I have a kitten there, but he’s the quiet type. It just gets a little lonely around lunch when I have to work by myself all the time anyway. You probably don’t have that problem, because you’re so many workers all working together all day and then you have lunch break together too, but if you want to cool down for a bit, feel free to come up here for Lunch Break.”

“Thank you.” He interrupts your babbling, bowing so abruptly you’re left speechless - a rare occurence.

“Oh no, I have to thank you.” Now you’re bowing too and it’s only your colleague passing by that saves the two of you from bowing in turn until one gives up.

-

Kenji curls up on your lap that night as you tell him of your day. 

He’d been a stray, a tiny ball of fur and teeth, only slowly learning that you did not mean any harm. He’s not the best listener, occasionally digging his claws into your thighs as he either disagrees with you or does not care about your opinion. But he’s yours and you’d be even lonelier without him. 

-

You don’t see Aone for another week. Well, you spot him during morning briefings, a quiet presence at the back of the room, but you don’t come across him other than that until it’s Monday and you only find out that you’ve left your Lunch at home when it’s time to unpack it.

It’s pouring outside and you’re dressed for sunshine to the point that not even a borrowed umbrella will keep you warm or dry during the trek down to the Konbini and back again.

But going hungry is even worse.

You run into Aone right at the entrance, raindrops creating little patterns in the dirt on his face. 

He holds a can of sparkling water in one hand and a Bento Box in his other.

“Oh, Aone. Hello!” You smile up at him. “Are you taking your Lunch inside? Do you want to come up to my Office? I’ve turned my heater on, actually, because I run cold easily.”

He looks down at the Umbrella in your hand.

“Oh, I forgot my Lunch at home. I’ll just run down to the Konbini and get some, but feel free to go up and get warm.”

His eyes travel down to your feet, where your painted nails peek out of a new pair of high-heeled sandals. 

“What do you need?” He asks. “I am already wet.”

“Oh, I can’t.” He hands you the sparkling water. You take it, too surprised to refuse it. He takes your umbrella and hands you his Lunch.

“What do you need?” He repeats again. There’s something in his voice, at least that’s what it must be, that makes you open your mouth and answer.

He nods and turns to leave, leaving you behind with his Lunch and his drink.

-

There’s a blanket resting on one of the chairs. Aone is the only one who uses it, and drapes it over the chair to make sure he doesn’t get it dirty.

Aone is a lap cat. He wants to be asked, he wants to be offered. He does not ask himself. 

You get his phone number so you can text him every day, letting him know what you’ll be taking for Lunch. He never stands up an invitation. 

So you invite him to walk to the train station with you. He holds your umbrella, nodding along as you talk about your day. 

“Where do you live, Aone-san?” You ask, nibbling on the inside of your cheek as you debate if that question is too forward. You don’t even know his first name yet, even though you long to.

You almost miss his answer, too absorbed in the sound of his voice. He does not live far from you.

“Are you taking the train as well? We could sit together.” His face changes into something that looks like disappointment. 

“But we don’t have to!” You try to mend whatever mess you’ve just created.

“I have practice.”

“Practice?”

“Volleyball.”

“Ooooh! Can I come watch?”

The faintest blush covers his cheeks at your question. You’ve never seen it before, but you could get addicted to that sight.

“They would think you are my girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Your face burns as you realize what you’ve just divulged.

“I don’t mean- I wouldn’t ever pressure- You don’t have to feel-”

Aone interrupts your blabbering, but not with words. He stretches out his incredibly long arm, offers his hand to you in a wordless answer.

You take it, your heart beating so loud you fear he can hear it. 

-

Aone is a lap cat. 

Just like Kenji he craves your touch, your presence, being near you whenever he can. 

But quite unlike Kenji, he does not mind when you roll over in your sleep and kick your leg into his shins. He does not dig his fingernails into your skin - and if he does, he does it lovingly.

He’s as much a quiet presence in your home as your cat, making lazy Sunday Mornings so much sweeter.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[shanastoryteller]

HAPPY VALENTINES!!!!! Draco and wizarding politics please?

a continuation of 1

He makes consistent use of his office at the ministry because cultivating and maintaining relationships from the manor is difficult. Not impossible, as his father did it for decades, but he had his mother to plan and charm and grease the way through her own relationships and get-togethers. Draco has only himself and if he throws too many luncheons and parties on his own behalf, he looks like a man of leisure, which if he his parents were still running the manor might be something he'd be able to work to his advantage - Blaise is doing it beautifully - but current circumstances require him to show his hand a little more transparently.

Unfortunately, the downside of deliberately making himself available and approachable is that people feel comfortable approaching him.

His office door is always slightly cracked unless he's meeting with someone, which provides ample eavesdropping opportunities and leads to people strolling in whenever they have something to discuss.

"Draco!"

He looks up and his smile drops as his eyes narrow. She's never that happy to see him.

Susan Bones drops into the chair across from his desk, a grin on her face that has him double checking the corners of the room. "I heard Harry is courting you."

He closes the door with a wave of his hand, using too much force because his door slams shut with a bang that makes him wince. He never slams his door. He's blaming it on Susan in the next casual conversation he has in the breakroom. "Don't spread rumors."

"What rumors? I heard it from Hermione," she says.

The problem is if he kills Granger, no one will believe it wasn't ideologically motivated, which will really cause a backslide in all the progress he's made with his reputation. "Granger is regressing to her favorite childhood pastime. Making my life difficult."

"Think you're getting that a little backwards there," Susan says, leaning back and resting her feet on the edge of his desk. "I think it's a good thing. Merlin knows Harry's a fucking wreck when it comes to politics, he needs someone to help him out."

He deeply wishes they didn't have so much policy in common. "Agreed, but that person isn't going to be me. Perhaps he'd like to have a gamble with probably thousands of people desperate for the opportunity?"

"They'll lie to him," Susan says. "You've never bothered."

Well, he doesn't think that's something he should be punished for. "I don't see how that makes any difference when he doesn't listen to anyone anyway."

Susan snorts and then levels a finger in his direction. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

For fuck's sake. "Did you have something important to discuss or are you just here to irritate me?"

"I'm multitasking," she says. "Did you read Rosewood's proposal?"

"Unfortunately," he sighs.

It's too bad that Potter has a moral center. He'd be willing to give some advice for an unlawful arrest or two, but he's just not that lucky.

[daman19942]

TSR CC Recommendations: TS2 Lot Builders

Nobody asked for this but I have a little time on my hands and I said I might do it, so here is a list of some TSR lot builders who I recommend checking out. A few notes under the cut before we get started (all details under the cut, as well, in case you aren't interested in my preamble):

This is not meant to be paid promotion for TSR. I believe TSR asking users to pay for their CC is ridiculous, especially for a 19 year old game they haven't supported in 7 years. But I spent many years uploading there during the peak-TS2 / pre-TS3 era and know there is great CC in their archives that newer players may not know about. And unlike TheSims2.com, which has sadly shuffled off this mortal coil, TSR's content is still available to freely download (assuming you can stomach the pop-ups and wait times)

This post will only be about lot builders because that was what I was primarily uploading and downloading in this era. I was friendly with some of the creators I am about to list, but none of them are still active members of the TS2 community.

The preview pics might be a little rough and the architecture styles will likely feel very dated compared to the most popular styles these days, which are more colorful, cluttered, and use 3t2 and 4t2 conversions. Re: the previews: too many of us were using free trials of PaintShopPro back then, and TSR limited us to 2 previews, so we did our best. Re: the styles: unlike pre-2010's CAS CC, which was full of hand painted and "realistic" textures (LOL), these are the same objects you can find in the game today, just being used in different ways! Sometimes for the first time! And, yes, while some of these creators used CC, it was mostly Homecrafter walls and floors, as you'll see below.

This was also the hey-day of CFE lot building, which has certainly fallen out of favor to more traditional builds (in part because graphics cards have improved and these types of builds don't look as good in 2024, and also because the great CFE experimenters, builders, and tutorial writers are no longer part of the community and their original discoveries are gone as well - I am happy to go down a massive rabbit hole on this piece of TS2 history if anyone else cares, but trust me, you don't have to care).

Alright that is enough caveating, here are some recs! (Links are in the creator's names and they take you to their Lots, though many of them have other creations, too).

Lord Tiko Speaking of great CFE builders! Lord Tiko built spaceships, boats, pagodas, domes, windmills and bridges, oh so many bridges before retiring mid-TS2 because of health issues. He was one of the first builders to take Daihtnaoz7's single and double bridge tutorials and apply them to really big lots. I'm still not sure how he built the Venice Rialto Bridge, or his other European water lots. Overall, a massive inspiration to me when I was prioritizing CFE builds.

Hatshepsut My favorite "traditional" home builder, and someone I considered a friend. She specialized in English and American builds, and I had many of Hat's houses in my old saves and was impressed by her range and decorating style which was (for the time) more varied than many of her peers. Knew how to take great preview pics of her houses, too.

Tigerblue Another builder I corresponded with, Tigerblue was probably the least prolific uploader on this list for sheer number of uploads, but she also crossed a range of styles. Her builds leaned way into specific styles (see the previews, these were all part of consistent sets of 3,4, or even 10 lots), but this was also what happened when a new EP dropped and everyone raced to uploaded builds using as many of the new objects and styles as possible. Tigerblue just happened to be better at it than most of us.

Cyclonesue Do current TS2 players know Cyclonesue? Because it's hard to think of someone who had a bigger impact on building and decorating of the era, first with her English and Tudor builds and later with her extremely distinct grunge creations. Seriously, check out her Urban Renewal series and the corresponding objects. Iconic stuff that surely now feels frozen in time. I probably only played 20% of her lots that I downloaded, but they still make for great hood decor. Like Tiko, someone who happily experimented with CFE.

Illiana The creator who inspired me to make this list is, ironically, the one on it who I know the least about (she is a Featured Artist but not in the Hall of Fame, whatever that means). I just started playing her Tri-Annyas fraternity house and have a few other lots floating around my game. She built in a range of styles, from classical to modern to Twikki Island to grunge. Revisiting some of them in-game, the TSR previews do not do them justice.

*EXHALES* If you made it to this point, kudos to you. I'm sure there are creators I've forgotten, and houses I haven't linked to, but this is a good starting point for digging into some of the eclectic builds the TSR(chives) have to offer (I just coined that, is it clever? It is not). Maybe I'll do a Part 2 if people like this.

If you have any favorites of your own, let me know what I missed! And as I do with my old Exchange re-uploads, I am tagging @sims2packrat and @oldasscustomcontent for general TS2 history awareness!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for visiting a restaurant after it changed ownership?

I (young adult, genders irrelevant for everyone in this story) have been living in the same neighborhood for most of my life, and I usually cook my own dinner. However, because my dad left the family when I was young, and my mom made me move out as soon as I was an adult, I wasn't completely prepared to live on my own, so I don't have a consistent source of income. I've had to move between apartments in the same neighborhood a lot, and sometimes when I'm in the process of moving it's really hard to cook my own dinner. The neighborhood is pretty isolated, so there aren't really many other places to get food, so I've mostly been hungry during those moving periods.

However, a few months ago, my friend R told me L, one of our neighbors I hadn't talked to before, was starting a restaurant business. She'd apparently started out by making food for her two children, S and O, who I'd seen around the neighborhood a few times and was vaguely familiar with, but realized her food was good and opened it up to the rest of the neighborhood for a low price. Of course, I was super excited to get to try someone else's cooking for the first time since I'd moved out, so R and I started visiting L's restaurant every now and then when I was moving or otherwise unable to cook. It's her secondary job, so she wasn't always there, but S and O also worked there and were friendly to us.

I thought it was a good arrangement... until I visited one day recently to find the door closed at a time when it's usually open. I would have just gone home, but it had been really rainy lately, I was under a lot of stress, and I didn't feel up to getting food for myself in those conditions, so I stood around for a few minutes, waiting to see if S or O would come out and explain. Instead, some people I've never seen before came into the lobby of the restaurant and just stared at me from inside. Instead of explaining anything to me or letting me in, they just laughed at me and took pictures of me? I was already really upset and that just made it unbearable to be around other people, so I left. I went back a few days later to double check if it was open, because I was still hungry, but the new people were still there, and I left even more quickly this time. I'm not proud of that- maybe I could have talked to the new people if I'd stayed longer instead of embarrassing myself, but I also feel like they were being really rude.

I asked R about it later to see if they'd talked to S or O lately or knew anything about what I assumed was change in ownership, but R didn't help at all. They told me that they hadn't seen S or O, but I shouldn't have expected the restaurant to stay open forever and that it was stupid of me to go back on the second day. I guess I can see how I might have been an asshole to go back, but I don't know what R meant about the restaurant. Is it because it's not L's main job? Were we the only customers and not giving her enough income to continue it for anyone but her kids? Or was the restaurant like... a front for money laundering or something? I really don't know. I'm hurt, hungry, and so confused. Was I in the wrong for bothering the new humans? Am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[s4no]

+ feat: ken ryuuguji x fem!reader

+ cw: sex work (draken is an escort), virginity loss, oral (r), ptv, size difference

+ summary: after years of failed attempts at losing your virginity, you decide to take matters into your own hands and buy a night with the most expensive male escort tokyo has to offer. (5.4k words)

+ a/n: i decided to rewrite one of my old fics so if you recognize the title and/or plot, it's from my archived account; written in the adult timeline

Your nerves are in shambles as you approach the unfamiliar building. Your legs feel weak and your fingers clutch your wallet tightly, as if you suspect someone may try to mug you and steal it. For all that you know, it's possible. You’ve never been in this part of town before and you're grateful you haven't run into anybody you know. You’d definitely get questioned if someone saw you walking down the main street of Tokyo's Red Light District. Or more specifically, into a brothel.

It isn’t like you're out here on a whim. You’d thought about this for a long time, pondered over it many nights after hours of tossing and turning, and after five very long— and equally as frustrating years, you’d made your decision. You wanted to lose your virginity and you’d use all the resources at your disposal.

You didn’t have much luck out on the dating scene, which mainly consisted of Tinder and a couple of the local bars out in Roppongi. You’d tried it all: blind dates, speed dates, double dates. None of them ever resulted in a relationship— or even a one night stand— so you’d been forced back to square one each time. After five years of trying and failing, you’d given up on finding love for the time being.

But… not pleasure.

That’s how you find yourself walking into the luxurious lobby of the most popular brothel in the city. The smell of jasmine invades your nose and the sound of smooth jazz drifts into your ears, immediately creating a sensuous atmosphere that leaves you gawking. Red velvet couches line the walls, some accompanied by golden side tables where clients can sit their drinks while they wait to be called back.

At the front of the room sits a large mahogany desk with a woman seated behind it, tapping away at a computer. Swallowing, you timidly approach the front desk and lean in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello, I’d like to… Um, book a room.”

The woman doesn’t even bother sparing you a glance, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. “Male or female bodied?”

“Male, please. I’d like… the male with the best rating, if possible.”

Your cheeks flush when the woman stops typing, her eyes glancing you over before responding. “I’m sure you would,” condescension colors her tone, “but I’m afraid there are premium rates for our top-tier employees.” Ones that are out of your price range, she suspects.

“I’m prepared to pay as much as it takes.” Unzipping your wallet, you spread it open to reveal a thick stack of crisp ten thousand yen banknotes. You’ve been saving up for this since Christmas, working a full-time job along with attending classes at the university nearby. It’d been stressful and you'd worked yourself ragged, pinching pennies for the last few months, but tonight is going to make it all worth it.

Her eyes flicker between you and your stuffed wallet for a moment before she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “I see. Well, I’ll have to check if he’s available. How long did you want to book him for?”

“…Three hours.”

Her eyebrows raise at that but she otherwise remains professional, nodding and picking up the phone on her desk. She quickly dials a number, sighing as she waits for someone to answer. “Hello? Yes, I was wondering if you’d like to accept a three-hour appointment.” She pauses for a second. “Yes, she’s here in the lobby right now and prepared to pay the fees upfront.” Another pause. “Okay. Thank you, Draken. Bye.”

Putting the phone down, she turns back to you. “He should be down shortly to take you back. That’ll be ¥120,000.”

— ღ —

After handing over the wad of cash, you take a seat on one of the velvet couches and run a hand through your hair. The room feels significantly warmer than it had when you first walked in and you realize it's because your heart is racing. It's happening. This is actually happening.

You'd almost chickened out this afternoon— considered using the money to take a nice little trip to Okinawa. You could swim with the fish and read out on the beach, eat some good seafood, blow off some steam. You'd definitely enjoy yourself but what happened once you came back? You'd find yourself back at square one, a hundred thousand yen poorer and filled with regret and immense sexual frustration.

There had been a couple of times you'd come close to achieving your goal. You'd gone to a frat party a few weeks ago, drank and danced your heart out. Even wore a pair of jean shorts that barely managed to cover your ass. When you ended up getting hot and heavy with one of the brothers, he took you back to his room only for you to walk in on his roommate having a threesome with two very talented blondes.

In March, when you first created a Tinder profile, you'd matched with a cute grad student who wanted to take you out to dinner. He drove you to a hotpot restaurant and halfway through the date, you two retreated to the bathroom to have a quickie. Your panties were around your ankles when you realized you didn't want your first time to be in a restroom stall beside a grimy toilet. You didn't want it to be a five-minute escapade that would leave you disappointed and unfulfilled. It's obvious to say the drive home had been awkward.

You're so deep in thought that you don't notice when a man walks out from behind the beaded curtain and approaches the front desk. You don't notice him at all— not until he's standing in front of you with a small smile playing on his lips. Onyx eyes roll over you slowly, long hair of the same color tied back in a braid. There's a black dragon tattooed across the left side of his head, and you have the oddest urge to reach out and trace your fingers atop it.

“You must be my client for tonight.” His voice is deep and smooth like molasses and a trill runs down your spine as he wets his lips, “I’m Draken.”

“Hi… I’m (y/n).” You offer, extending your hand out to which he lifts a brow.

He repeats your name back to you, drawing it out like he savors the taste of it on his tongue, and then takes your hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he interlaces his fingers through yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “C’mon princess, ’m on the top floor.”

Nodding weakly, you’re practically in a daze as he leads you back through the curtain of sparkling beads and into an elevator that’s every bit as fancy as the room you were just in. He fishes out a silver key from his pocket before turning it into the lock beside the button labeled seven, and up you go.

The enclosed area only emphasizes how large he is compared to you, how much space he takes up. He’s well above six feet with broad shoulders and muscles that bulge inside the sleeves of his silk button-down. You can feel him watching you as you ascend but you don’t have the courage to meet his gaze. Tension bleeds into the air, and coupled with the stark silence, it’s nearly suffocating. You have to make a conscious effort to take deep breaths as you will your heart to calm down.

When the dinging of the elevator sounds like church bells, you aren’t surprised. You’re pretty sure heaven awaits you on the other side of these doors.

You find that heaven looks a lot like a bachelor’s pad. Filled with dark wood and sleek furniture, it’s a mini-paradise; complete with a fully stocked bar, a king-sized bed, and a balcony leading out to a hot tub. Music plays softly from the surround sound system and you breathe in the faint aroma of juniper and tobacco as you walk inside.

“I hope R&B is alright.” He squeezes your hand once more before letting go of it, kicking off his slippers and making his way over to the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water?”

His brow lifts again but he nods, “Sure.”

“Thank you.” You look around while he pours out your drinks, taking in the scenic view of the city below. “You have a very nice place.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” When you turn around, he’s standing behind you, holding out a glass of water with a shot of sake in his other hand. “Be so formal.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You quickly accept the drink, muttering out a quiet apology. You’d done so much in preparation for this moment, but not once had you ever thought about how awkward it would be in the beginning. You hadn’t thought to look into the… ‘etiquette’ of brothels. You settle on giving him an honest answer. “I’m not entirely sure how to act.”

There’s a knowing smile on his face as he reaches out and tilts your chin up. His thumb glides lightly across your cheek, the calloused fingertip burning where it touches your skin. “Just relax. I promise you, you’re in good hands. I’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”

You know the gesture is meant to help reassure you and lessen your nerves, but all it succeeds in doing is sending your pulse skyrocketing. Apprehension bubbles low in your stomach and your voice wobbles when you respond. “O-Okay..”

“Let me ask you a question.” His thumb moves from your cheek to your mouth, feather-light as it ghosts over the curve of your lips. “You haven’t done this before, have you, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flare at his question, eyes widening in shock. Is it that obvious? “No, I haven’t.” You admit reluctantly, “I just— Well, I’m tired of waiting. I know the first time is supposed to be special, but… this is special in a way, right?” You watch as the comforting smile falls right off his face. His eyebrows furrow and you mimic the action, worrying what you’d said to elicit this type of reaction. “What? What’s wrong?”

He blinks at you as he processes the information and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head. “First time?” His expression turns serious, his hand dropping from your cheek. “I was talkin’ about coming to a brothel, not having sex.” He shakes his head, “Look, I’ll take you back downstairs. Sana will get you a full refund—”

“No!” You cringe when you blurt it out, interrupting him. “Please, you don’t understand. I want to do this. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not a matter of if you’re sure or not.” His voice is stern now, taking on an edge that slices right through your pounding heart. “It’s a personal preference. I don’t sleep with virgins, not at work.”

“I— I can pay you more money, however much you want!” You know you sound desperate but that’s because you are. You’ve worked your ass off to get here, to have this experience, and now you’re grasping for straws as you feel it slipping through your fingers. “You don’t even have to accommodate me, just do your thing and—”

It’s his turn to interrupt you. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” You can hear the anger in his voice, it’s almost palpable. “You can’t just go around tellin’ people they can have their way with you. It’s your first time. You should be accommodated. Now, follow me. I’m walking you back down to the lobby.”

You don’t move when he walks back toward the elevator, keeping your feet planted on the hardwood floor. “If I should be catered to, then why don’t you do it yourself? Because if you take me back down to the lobby, I won’t be getting a refund. I’ll just ask for someone different.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers as it clenches, his eyes narrowing down at you as if that will help him discern whether you’re bluffing or not. But as you hold his gaze, unwavering and earnest, he realizes you’re telling the truth. Heaving a sigh, he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should be calling security right now, have you escorted out of the building. He shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of conceding to your demands.

Yet, there’s something in your eyes as you stare up at him— a certain innocence that has him willing to break his rules. Just once. He’d indulge you this once, if only because he doesn’t trust anybody else here to treat you right. “…Fine, but we’re doing this my way.”

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. “Thank you, Draken. It… that means a lot to me.”

“I know it does.” Normally, he isn’t so forgiving toward people who threaten him but he can recognize the desperation in your voice. And desperation can lead to dangerous things. Other men would take advantage of that, and for some reason, he hates the thought of some old sleazebag taking your first time. At least with him, he’d make sure you’re satisfied. “Here, let’s sit down.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Should we… take off our clothes?”

Your heart flutters when a chuckle rumbles up from his chest. You’re as awkward as you are stubborn and he finds it strangely endearing. “No, not yet. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, m’kay?” He scoots closer, turning to face you. “But I am going to kiss you.” He raises a hand to your cheek, his thumb resuming its stroking. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”

He waits until you nod before beginning to lean in, slowly so you still have every chance to change your mind. But when his lips press against yours, claiming them with a tender kiss, you know there’s no going back.

His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours, and you kiss him back— albeit clumsily because of how nervous you are. He doesn’t seem to mind though, more than willing to take the lead and pick the pace. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to deepen the exchange, and you allow it, humming contently as the taste of spearmint and tobacco fills your mouth.

His hand moves to grip your jaw as the other trails up and down your side, and despite the shivers that ensue, it helps ground you in the moment, brings you back down to earth just in time for him to draw away. You’re left breathless, sucking in deep gulps of air to clear the dizziness that’s muddled your mind.

“You still want to do this?” Warm breath fans across your face, obsidian eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. He doesn’t find any.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “I meant it when I said I want to do this.”

That’s all the consent he needs before he captures your lips again, this time with an intensity that makes your head spin. His hands move to unbutton your blouse, slowly working their way down to the bottom and slipping it off your shoulders. He doesn’t break the kiss as he starts palming your breasts, massaging them over your bra, and you can’t help the whimper that rises up from your throat in response. His tongue continues to explore your mouth, tangling with yours until your core is throbbing with need.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” He murmurs against your lips, palms splayed across your chest. One of them snakes behind you and nimbly unclasps your bra, letting it fall forward just enough to give him a peek at what lies underneath. “Lay back.”

Your body responds naturally, following his order without hesitation. You pull away and lean back until you’re pressed against the mattress with him looming over you, his eyes drinking you in as he slips the garment off your shoulders. “Fuck…” He mutters, “Look at you.”

Your nipples pebble beneath his gaze, pretty and pert and begging to be played with. He licks his licks lustfully, rough hands coming down to cup and squeeze them. Your head turns to the side when he starts to pinch the peaks, rubbing them between his fingers and forcing another whimper to escape.

He maintains eye contact as he lowers down, plush lips wrapping around one only to flick his tongue over the bud. “Draken…”

“There you go,” he breathes out, pulling back to admire the view. “Just relax, baby.”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugs it off, discarding it with the rest of your clothes before turning his attention back to you. “Don’t be afraid to touch me.” He leans forward and grabs your hands, moving to press them against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate, the rhythmic thumping beneath your palm. It’s a sharp contrast to yours which beats wildly against your ribcage, threatening to burst out of your chest.

With the sight before you, who can blame you?

His body is built and toned, corded muscles rippling across his torso and leading down to a delicious set of prominent v-lines. Your mouth waters as they flex and you drag your hands down to feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, a trail of dark hair descending down from his navel and disappearing into his jeans. You’re all but mesmerized.

“Like what you see?” He teases, his head dipping down to the curve of your neck. Straight white teeth graze across the tender flesh before suckling on your pulse point. All you can do is nod, your breathing shallow and uneven as his fingers continue tweaking your hardened nipples.

He knows the pace he’s setting is slow— deliberate— but he wants you more aroused than you’ve ever been, dripping wet for him when he finally takes you.

With soft pants falling from your lips, one of his hands slides down to your waist, his index finger dipping into the hem of your skirt. He could very well just pull it up, sneak his hand underneath it, but he resists the temptation, determined to make you squirm in anticipation.

And you do, every purposeful touch kindling the fire within you until it’s a blazing inferno. Your blood boils in your veins, your skin beautifully flushed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you’re in danger of overheating.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” He mutters, letting the waistband of your skirt snap back against your skin. Your hips eagerly buck at the small sting, making it easy for him to tug it off and toss it onto the floor, and then he spreads your thighs apart to reveal a large damp spot in the middle of your panties. “Shit, so fuckin’ wet…” He curses, his eyes getting impossibly darker.

You nearly clamp your legs together as his eyes rove over you but the adoration in his expression bolsters you, gives you the confidence you need so badly. You stay still and let him look, trying to memorize the image of him between your thighs as he does.

Time seems to slow down. Seconds tick by and with each one that passes, you grow more and more uncomfortable. Your pussy aches, the desire he’s so carefully cultivated inside you becoming almost unbearable. But he either doesn’t notice the need swimming in your eyes, or he doesn’t care. He remains hovering over you, gaze zeroed in on your clothed cunt.

“Touch me,” the plea escapes you before you can stop it, and the corners of his lips tilt up into a small smirk. “Please.”

He hums as if he has to think about it. You’re about to start begging when his fingers press against you, applying enough pressure to make you mewl. “Don’t get greedy, princess.” He chastises gruffly, “You’ll take what I give you, remember?”

You nod obediently so he rewards you, circling your panty-clad clit until your hips are shifting back and forth. Moans fall freely from your lips but it still isn’t enough. You need more.

“Please,” you whine, eyebrows cinching together as you gaze up at him. “Draken, please…”

He hums again and hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties before dragging them down to your ankles. “Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” Completely bared to him, apprehension saturates the air, your stomach doing backflips as he leans down and blows out a puff of air against your folds. When you clench at the sensation, a growl sounds. “Such a pretty little pussy.”

The pink flesh glistens in the dim lighting of the room, every inch soaked with arousal that drips down the inside of your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you. If you weren’t a virgin, he doesn’t think he’d even need to prep you.

Calloused fingers rub between your puffy folds, collecting your slick until his fingers are covered, and then one of his digits prods at your entrance, easing inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as he curves it in a come hither motion, your hands flying out to grip his shoulders. “Fuck..!”

You should be embarrassed at the deep laughter that leaves him but you can only focus on the way he’s knuckle deep inside of you, adding a second finger and beginning to thrust them both in and out. “Your reactions are s’cute. What if I were to just…” He trails off as he lowers down until he’s face-to-face with your pussy, and your hands strike out to grab his cheeks so you can hold him back.

“W-Wait..” You stammer before swallowing thickly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no… I just… No one’s ever…” Your blush spreads to the tips of your ears.

He cocks a brow up at you. “No one’s ever eaten you out?” But he already knows the answer. Your mortified expression is as good as any verbal indication. Shock flickers across his face, but he takes the new piece of information in stride, turning his head to the side and pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh. “Lemme taste you, baby. You don’t need to be shy.”

Your insecurities melt away under his encouragement but when you merely nod, he nips at your skin. “No, use your words.”

“O-Okay.” You breathe out shakily, “Go ahead.”

The words have barely left your mouth when you feel his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue expertly swirling around the sensitive bud and tearing a gasp from your throat. His fingers resume their curling motions, and suddenly a familiar sensation begins building in your stomach. It reminds you of all the times you’ve touched yourself, all of the times you’ve worked yourself into a frenzy chasing your orgasm. You’d rut against your pillow only for your legs to start trembling, too weak to climb the last few inches to the peak.

Admittedly, your legs do start to shake, your body tense and on the verge of locking up. It’s like you’ve conditioned it to expect the worst, that you’ll get close enough to taste the high and then be denied like all of the other times you’ve attempted to pleasure yourself.

“Draken,” you moan, the sound so depraved you don’t recognize your own voice, “Don’t stop— p-please, don’t stop..!”

A groan erupts from his chest as your walls tighten around his fingers and the vibrations of it cause another wave of heat to wash over you, threatening to pull you out to sea and drown you in its depths. You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been before.

It’s when his mouth suctions around your clit that you’re flung off the precipice. Pleasure blooms out from between your thighs, shooting through your limbs and out to the tips of your fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut as it consumes you, bleeds into all your senses until you’re writhing around in the sheets, hands blindly grasping for something— anything— to ground you.

Even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking, keeps licking, long fingers thrusting inside of you to prolong the orgasm for as long as possible. “Good girl.” He praises, drawing away when you finally come to. You’re panting from the physical exertion, pupils blown with desire as you slowly lift your head to look down at him. His lips, cheeks, and chin are shiny with your slick, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you didn’t feel so lightheaded.

“Thank you… that was amazing..” And even that was a gross understatement.

Rising up from between your legs, there’s a smug expression on his face. “Save the thank-you’s for later, princess. We’re not done yet.” As if to emphasize his point, his hands drop down to start unbuckling his belt, your eyes following suit and widening into saucers when you see the bulge in the front of his pants.

“Oh my god.”

It’s… he’s huge.

You watch with bated breath as he unzips his pants and lets them drop around his ankles, your eyes boring holes into him when he pulls down his boxers and reveals both the prettiest and thickest cock you’ve ever seen. The shaft is long and curved, the tip flushed and leaking. A large vein runs down the entirety of the length and you swear if you look hard enough, you can see it pulsing.

He grips the base of it, stroking it a couple of times before prowling forward. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips. “Worried ‘s not gonna fit?”

“…Yes.” You squeak.

He chuckles at your candor, opening up a drawer on the bedside table and fishing out a small plastic square— a condom, you realize. It only takes him a moment to tear it open and slip it on, the action effortless from years of practice. “Don’t be scared. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word if nothing else.”

Crawling onto the bed, he captures your lips in a kiss that can only be described as comforting. It’s slow and gentle, even when his tongue dips into your mouth, and his hands come up to cup your cheeks, holding you in such a way that you can’t help but feel cherished.

“I’m gonna start now,” he murmurs against your lips, “Remember, if you want me to stop, just say the word.” You nod in acknowledgment, and with that, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock prodding at your center. “Squeeze me as tightly as you need.”

Your hands shoot out to grip his shoulders right as he starts to push inside of you and your nails bite into his skin at the stretch, leaving crescent indents behind. A strangled noise bubbles up from your throat when pain takes hold of you, burning bright like the sun in the middle of summer.

“I know,” he rasps, his lips ghosting over the edge of your jaw, “I know it hurts. But it’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Tears prick at your eyes as he pushes deeper inside you, but soon his fingers are circling over your clit, blending the pleasure and pain until one is indiscernible from the other. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

His movements are so controlled, it’s impressive— even as the slew of foreign sensations threatens to overwhelm you, you’re able to recognize that much. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his breaths coming out in hot puffs that skate across your heated skin. And ever so slowly, he works you open, sinking into you inch by inch. By the time he’s bottomed out, a thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead, his voice strained when he says, “You did so well, baby, ‘m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

You only whimper in response, turning your head to the side so your cheek is pressed against the pillow. You feel so full, inhumanely full. So much so that you’re genuinely surprised you haven’t been split in half because, for all intents and purposes, that’s what it’d felt like. Your only saving grace is the way he hasn’t stopped rubbing your clit, hasn’t stopped praising you for taking him so well.

It’s a testament to his self-restraint the way he manages to remain still, buried deep inside you, while he patiently waits for your walls to adjust to his size. If he were a lesser man, he’d push aside your comfort, neglect your needs and pound into you to relieve his aching cock. But he waits, waits until your pained whimpers morph into soft moans, until you start to squirm beneath him as your body tries to create the friction it needs so badly.

“Move,” you beg, your hands sliding down from his shoulder to grab onto his hips, attempting to move them yourself. “Please… need you to move..”

A pair of large hands tug yours away from his waist before they pin them down on either side of your head. There’s no real force behind the maneuver but you don’t fight him off as he threads your fingers between his, just like he did earlier this evening. “Look at me, (y/n). I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

Tentatively, you turn your head so you’re staring up at him. You’re not sure what he sees but approval shines in his eyes and a sincere smile graces his lips. “Good girl.”

With your eyes glued on his, he finally starts to move, drawing his hips back and pushing into you in small, shallow thrusts. Your lips part into a gasp, your breath hitching every time he’s fully hilted inside of you. Tears line your lashes but this time, they aren’t from pain. They’re from pure, unadulterated pleasure— the all-encompassing kind that leaves you in tatters on the floor.

“Feels s’good.. So fuckin’ tight.” He groans, his pace speeding up as more moans pour from your lips. The sound of skin slapping skin ensues and you cry out when he shifts his angle, the tip of his cock hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll.

Your pleasure heightens and you think that this must be euphoria as your tears overflow, spilling down your cheeks and dropping onto the pillow beneath your head. Yet, you don’t look away from him. You don’t dare shy away from his gaze, not even when the coil inside you begins winding tight, warning you of your impending orgasm.

He squeezes your hands as your body goes taut. You’re panting now— sucking in breath after breath as your bodies collide— but you can’t seem to get enough air. Up you climb, higher and higher until you begin to tremble beneath him, your hands holding onto his like they’re a lifeline.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He asks through gritted teeth, “Gonna cream on my cock?” He curses when you nod, dropping his forehead down so it rests against yours. “Well, go on then, princess. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

As if on command, the cord inside you abruptly snaps. A violent shudder wracks through your body, bliss clouding every single one of your five senses. It’s enough to wrench a deafening sob out of you, your back arching up off the bed so your chest is pressed firmly against his. He continues to drive into you as your walls pulsate around him and a growl reverberates up from his throat at the same time you feel his length twitch inside of you.

He stops after a few more thrusts, slowly pulling out of you and turning over to lie on his back. You whine quietly at the loss, but you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to complain.

“Shit…” He says, his head turning to look at you after a couple of minutes of silence, “How do you feel?”

Somehow, you summon up enough energy to smile through the exhaustion that’s seeped into your bones. “Definitely not like a virgin.”

He lets out a laugh at that, flashing you a brilliant white smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides. “Well, we’ve still got two hours left, sweetheart. Don’t go tappin’ out on me yet.”

[brucewaynehater101]

Janet who has been brought back from the dead by Talia and is now a researcher and Talia's lover, when Talia isn't trying to get her Beloved, isn't actually all that happy with her position or relationship. She's not happy with having her movements and research monitored and even hampered by the very clear skewing of data. She's an academic, she absolutely considers the biases and prejudices of her sources, except when it comes to information from the people she cares for. And she does care for Talia a great deal but Talia was never going to be Janet's forever person just like Janet knows that Talia doesn't consider Janet her forever person, her Beloved. She feels guilty though, like she owes Talia for bringing her back from the dead, owes Talia for keeping an eye on Drake Industries. She feels that she can't go back to Jack and Tim because Jack has moved on and, supposedly, Dana makes both of her boys happy. She misses her son desperately but she knows he's nearly all grown up and believes, thanks to incorrect information, that he has a new mother figure he's accepted in his life and she doesn't want to mess that up for him.

Then a wall blows up and there's her baby looking far too thin and on the edge of a breakdown and Janet now has access to ALL the information, including every little thing that Talia has been hiding.

Janet was not at all happy. Janet decided that she was going to be happy. And the first step in that happiness was going to be a very clear and permanent break up with Talia that consisted of a lot of explosions. Bonus that the breakup would inconvenience Ra's who had always been a bit of a dick and never listened to any of her reports unless she'd had a male underling present the information. Then some long overdue bonding with her son and discovering just what has been going on with his life. Followed by asking that one assassin trainer that had given her a few tips, Sandra Wun San, out for coffee.

[I fucking love you so much. Previous Janet/Talia into Sandra/Janet? Gods you're amazing]

Janet wants what's best for her kid so she, stupidly, stays away from him. She doesn't want to dredge up the pain of her death by reappearing before him. He has a decent mother now who is actually around for him.

Jack seems happy and is making more efforts for Tim. It's all Janet could want for them. She may no longer feel romantic love for Jack, but she still cares about him. She's glad he and their son are doing well.

Then Tim waltzes into Janet's room, is understandably shocked by her presence (particularly because her status as alive was never utilized against Tim by Ra's), and is dressed in some gods awful leather cowl. He's pale, severely underfed, and has eyes emptier than a water basin in the Sahara desert.

Talia lied to Janet.

Janet knew that she was being manipulated and that the information wasn't entirely accurate, but this is a level she did not perceive. Her girlfriend ex-girlfriend is going to pay for hiding Tim's condition.

Janet makes her escape with Tim and hears Ra's threatening him. It's another tally the mother adds against the man.

Tim is reluctant to do what he needs to do (and when the fuck did he become a vigilante?), but Janet promises to meet up with him after he solves the imminent issues/destruction.

In the meantime, she researches the hell out of everything she missed.

Jack is dead. Jack, someone she was so happy to see thriving, was murdered. Robin, Janet's boy, found his father's body.

Janet is going to fucking murder Talia.

The mother doesn't blame Dana for not being able to take care of Tim, but gods does it burn that Tim lost another set of parents at once (Tim temporarily lost Jack when Janet died and he now has lost Dana when Jack died).

To add on, Bruce, Tim's adoptive father, is also declared dead.

Her poor son. He deserves so much better than that. She should've double checked the information. She shouldn't have trusted her lover at her word. She should've gone to Tim sooner.

Janet can't live in regrets. For now, she needs to prepare to be there for Tim. She can't control him, put limits on him, or tell him what to do. She hasn't been an active parent in his life in a long while. Furthermore, he's almost an adult. He would not appreciate his independency being restricted.

Instead, Janet scours the news for all Robin related informational. It's not the most trustworthy or accurate of source, but she doesn't have any others. What she does find (her child has been doing this since he was thirteen?!?!?) leaves her with more questions.

There is one interesting French news article Janet stumbles upon (what was a thirteen year old doing in a foreign country alone???? She's going to be having words with Batman).

Janet's old trainer, Sandra Wu-San, apparently assisted Robin in taking down King Snake.

When Janet had met the woman, she was enamored by her strength, resilience, and power. If the archeologist hadn't been with Talia, she would have entertained the way Sandra's hands lingered when correcting Janet's form and the weight of her stare as the trainee practiced.

Janet isn't ready to jump into another relationship, especially with another assassin, but surely a coffee couldn't hurt

[lxvvie]

y'all, I made the mistake of revealing that I write fanfiction as a hobby, and when asked about the fandoms I write for, I broke it down as I know best: into cliques. I realize I might be shaking the table but it is what it is.

This is what I said for CoD (I've since add some more stuff):

You got the forever war between Gaz Nation and Gaz Deniers. May or may not be rooted in his attractiveness as a person of color, opinions vary (read: it most definitely is). Bonus points if the racism comes out in full force. DOUBLE/TRIPLE those points if it's expressed using butchered ass AAVE. 🥴

You got the Masked Men Lovers Brigade of which König, Ghost, and Keegan are the patron saints and arguably the holy trinity.

You got the Peepaw Price Lovers who absolutely adore his chonky cheeks, peepaw mannerisms, lumberjack body complete with the slutty waist, and relative long-suffering thanks to the shenanigans of the rest of the crew.

You got the Soap Suds who, I think, have found that relative balance between Johnny being a destructive-as-all-hell force to be reckoned with and the quintessential golden retriever boyfriend. His VA doesn't make it any better apparently lmao.

You got the Ghost lovers who've pretty much diversified him so he can run the gamut of Daddy Dom Extraordinaire™, Babygurl™, Sassy Simon™, and the list is endless. What IS consistent is that someone parked a dump truck on that ass and he has some big ole titties. There's also the subset of people who REALLY, REALLY love Ghost but also think his VA is ugly (which he isn't) while simultaneously thinking that he (Ghost) is supposed to be David Gandy levels of immaculate despite being in active combat. Make it make sense.

There's the Gravediggers who, for the most part, acknowledge their love-hate relationship with Graves and I think that is both hilarious and endearing.

You have the Kult of Köthulhu, König's devoted followers who have allowed him to transcend his gremlin nature to become the long-lost progeny of Cthulhu. Move the fuck over, Cthylla. I kid but he, like Ghost, has also been diversified in terms of his portrayal. And no, he's not a part of 141. Some followers of His Gremliness are also embroiled in a forever war with Gaz Nation so please be safe out there, y'all.

You got the Valeria girlies who want her to sit on their faces. I don't blame them. Please do.

You have the Los Vaqueros crew who need more love shown to them and Pony by Ginuwine is their official theme song thanks to Alejandro Thee Stallion. The less said about the butchered Spanish I've read in some fics, the better.

There's also the Farah Fanatics who rightfully adore her and deserve their flowers just like the rest of the cliques.

There's the Keller Kollective who, I think, tends to intersect with the Farah Fanatics. This lot also deserves their flowers because Keller is a sub absolutely underrated as a character. You'd also be forgiven for thinking he and Price are elated.

You also got the Horangi Horde who, just like Gaz Nation, will RISE TF UP. I think. Hopefully. lmao

And then there's the self-righteous crew who, for whatever reason, seem to think they're above it all and love to police writers on what they write and how they write the characters (we're talking in terms of rather innocuous subjects in the grand scheme of things; the sus shit absolutely needs to be and should be called out). Interestingly enough, this group also seems to forget that they're in the same damn boat by being in the fandom, consuming, and writing about the same characters. The ones who have all the energy but none of the courage even if they say or think they do. Bonus points if they also move like fans. Double/Triple those points if they, too, also use butchered-ass AAVE to make their points. 🥴

The girlies who can't separate fiction from reality and insist on harassing the VAs and their significant others and families because how DARE they have a regular degular life outside of *checks notes* their job. Baby, it was never gonna be you. It will never. be. you.

did I get them all? lmao

[your-poetic-lifeline]

Maybe some head canons of characters received gifts or small amounts of affection. Revenant perhaps?

showing kindness to robots sure turns them squishy like humans, hm?

think of this as a late valentines post

The Legends Receiving Gifts & Affection

characters included: revenant, loba, caustic

consist of: sweetness! long ass headcanons oops! and some vague gift ideas.

word count: 900+ (906 if you’re curious)

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

Revenant

- There isn’t a lot he’d expect as a gift, given that a lot of things wouldn’t be of use for him. The idea of gifts actually slipped his mind completely until the first time you gave him one. It was a nice little headband.

- He stared at it blankly in his hands. He wasn’t sure why you were giving him gift, but upon looking at it some more, he came to appreciate it.

- He gives thanks with a simple hum. When he’s alone, he’s fiddling with the fabric and deep in thought.

- He likes it a lot. He thinks it’s practical. And subconsciously, the color/pattern is a nice contrast to the red that takes over his design. Makes him feel… a little nice about himself?

- He never thought he’d have the capacity to accept and appreciate a gift. He certainly can’t remember the last time he did or if he ever did.

- Is secretly hoping for more. if his faceplate could move, the idea of getting gifts from you would bring a faint smile to it.

- He also craves affection (it’s a co-requisite with pretty much any other love language you choose to express)

- the act does something funny but exhilarating to his processors.

- Any act of affection could make him swoon in some way, but he usually tries to play it off with a sound feigning annoyance.

- Is secretly holding back a love-filled sigh when you give him soft kisses or subtle, fleeting touches

- my boy just wants some love. it’s a different experience for him and he chases it willfully

Loba

- Loves and appreciates every gift you give her. It doesn’t matter if she can steal anything she desires. The love put into a gift is more than thieving can outdo. The gifts she receives from you makes her swoon every time.

- “Oh darling… this is just as beautiful as the last. Thank you…”

- Biiiig smooch on your cheek or forehead as she continues to look over the item.

- She truly accepts every gift whether it’s jewelry or otherwise, expensive or not. She likes that the gifts you give her reflect your inner mind. Even if it was some obscure, handheld item, she’d find it cute/interesting and would find somewhere to display it or put it to use

- And she’s a huge gift giver herself! She’ll give you anything you ask for or even vaguely mention.

- “Now it’s my turn to give you something nice darling. No really, you deserve it my love.”

- Pretty much gives you twice the amount of gifts you give her

- She’s also very careful with you. If she decides to get you anything expensive, she’s sure to double check that it’s nothing too expensive or rare enough for someone to try and track. She doesn’t want you in danger because of a reckless steal.

- Is elated sharing gifts and other things with you. She’s very, very affectionate and seeing you in a good mood puts her in a good mood.

- She sometimes glances at you and simply decides to attack your face with kisses. Is always caressing your face as she just adores you.

- “You are so gorgeous…”

Caustic

- Ugh i cant stand this guy (lying)

- If you give him something, you may have to be a little patient with him.

- When you first started giving him things, he refused them.

- “You can have it back. I have no need for your obnoxious trinkets.”

- After a couple of attempts though he starts to accept them, but usually doesn’t even open them until days later. Chances are if you place it somewhere where he can see it constantly, he might open it a little sooner.

- If you give it to him unwrapped, that’s even better. It pushes him to see it for what it is and accept it. His reaction is barely a hum of approval, but he takes it nonetheless and moves on.

- When he’s alone he observes it meticulously. Truthfully, he thinks fondly of your gifts. Even if he wouldn’t deem them useful, they still get some appreciation.

- Has a spot somewhere where your gifts are all huddled up and subtly on display. He personally doesn’t like gifts, but the fact you occasionally give him things is something he can appreciate as well.

- He kind of wants to give you something in return, but is super bad with gifts.

- And being genuine.

- And nice. lol.

- He’s quite the observer though so he recalls your interests or anything else you’ve talked about to come up with a gift idea.

- Goes for something simple. He’s way too flustered to give you anything too specific because he knows you’d point out his attention to detail.

- He’d try not to make it a big deal when he gives it to you as well. Will stomp up to you and simply place it in front of you.

- Behind his brash demeanor, he’s actually smiling, satisfied with himself when your reaction to the gift is positive.

- When it comes to affection, he prefers to keep it to a minimum. But moments like these where you’re really happy loosen him up a bit and he may let you dote on him however you’d like.

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

banner source!