#but i will say. i somehow expected that it would hide my stomach. i don't have a big belly but i do have a soft belly

[i-mybrunettelady]

.

[diorcities]

⠀   ⠀ ── zｚＺ nct dream on reader calling them oppa.

nct dream sfw headcanon. *(삼촌 (samchon: uncle) library.

mark. he doesn't pay much attention to honorifics once he's friends with someone. besides, he's used to being called by you and haechan any variation of his name instead of his own, he finds makgeolli, mwork, markeuri funny, he just likes it more when you do it. but, the times you call him oppa he can't help but feel a certain way; somehow, it sounds endearing when you say it, but he wouldn't know how to tell you to do it more often without revealing too much about why. maybe he would joke about it, something like “dude, ah..., why don't you just call me oppa for once?” but hoping you would actually think about it.

jaemin. he wouldn't pay too much attention if you decide to call him by his name one day you realize you two are close, though he would feel like something is missing, he would feel weird until he realizes it's you, so he'd start referring to himself as oppa when you're around. “let oppa take care of it.” “oppa cooked you some meal.” he's the sweetest oppa ever. always taking care of you, making sure you're okay. acts super helpful. it's the way your voice sounds more tender when you refer to him than the rest, it makes him feel special; you make him feel special.

chenle. one time you heard him saying he likes it better when girls say his name... and last name. then you started calling him that way, and he didn't want to correct you at the time, so he went along with it because he doesn't care much if you use oppa or not..., right? when you start calling him by his first and last name, the boy thinks he's dying. he feels physically unwell. maybe he's exaggerated a bit that he doesn't care. constantly waiting for you to magically decide to call him oppa again without him having to intervene; it doesn't work and in the end he has to drop a super casual comment, “actually, i don't like how my name sounds in your mouth. call me oppa again.”

haechan. it's the only way you can get his attention. the guy acts like his name is neither lee haechan, nor lee donghyuck, nor dummy, brat, jerk... eventually you give in and he'd reply to you with the most condescending tone he has, “yes?” “you're unbelievable.” even though he wants to hide it, he actually melts when you use oppa when referring to him. it's a confidence boost for him. he would act overprotective in the future with you, and you would realize that it serves as a way for him to do what you ask.

jeno. it's a simple word that for obvious reasons he's heard it before, but why does he always expect you to call him that? somehow, hearing oppa from your lips is a heartwarming feeling knowing that you only call him that among the dreamies. poor guy, he'd spend all day wondering why him? why only him? “maybe she likes you.” jaemin would suggest after listening to him vent for a solid half hour. maybe, maybe..., his crescent eyes would widen in panic, “what if she's been calling me oppa in a brotherly way?”

renjun. if you are learning korean, then renjun would be the grammar rules policeman. just because what if you are talking to a stranger and you call them oppa? he'd emphasize that you should only call guys you consider close to you, like him, by that name. “what about your friends?” you may ask, “just call them by their full names, i guess,” he'd respond. ok, maybe he has offered to help you with your korean because every time you ask him something you always call him oppa as he takes this very seriously. “thank you, samchon!” uncle? uncle? there would be no way to describe his face other than grumpy. “you, brat!”

jisung. for the love of god, never call him that. nicknames, if you like. somehow, being called oppa makes him feel weird, especially if you do. it makes him nervous, it makes him sweat, it makes his stomach churn. maybe he's getting sick and doesn't know how to react to appear cool and chill. maybe he should tell you? why does he feel like he shouldn't? that it should be a secret what he feels? “hey, do you feel weird when yn calls you oppa?” he asks jeno; he somehow has the answer. “weird how?” “like you could explode if she keeps calling you that?” he looks at jeno in awe when he starts giggling, “doesn't that happen when you like someone?” oh. maybe. maybe that's it.

© diorcities / tagging @tddyhyck ♡︎

[ellecdc]

Hii L!! I don't know if requests are still open but I really like how you write whimsical!reader and I've been thinking about it a lot lately. is it possible to write a whimsical!reader with Regulus that's centered outside of the AMWAP universe? Thank u smmm

-spokenfolk

they'd be so cute fr. thanks for requesting 🫶

Regulus Black x whimsical!reader (gender not specified)

Regulus knew he shouldn’t be surprised to find you out here – but his heart thumped in relief when he finally made out your form standing ankle deep in the Black Lake with your face pointed towards the stars above. 

Most people would begin to panic, finding their partner standing in a body of water in the middle of the night all alone. But this was just the kind of thing one learned to expect when dating you.

Expect the unexpected.

“You’re going to have to find a better hiding spot, my love.” He called out to you from the dry edge of the shore. You never spooked at the suddenness of his voice, proving you’d somehow sensed his presence prior to him alerting you of it. 

Though he couldn’t see your face, he could tell you were smiling.

“I wasn’t hiding, Regulus.” You said as if he were being particularly ridiculous. As if he hadn't just spent the better part of an hour looking around the castle for you.

He smiled all too adoringly at your back even though you couldn’t see him. “Could have fooled me.”

You turned at that, offering Regulus a kind smile. Regulus guesses you would be incapable of smiling any other way. “I hope I didn’t worry you terribly.” 

Regulus felt his heart squeeze at the sentiment. He’d likely worry about you for the rest of his life if he were to be quite honest. He’d be happy to do so, however.

“What are you up to, tonight?” He asked instead of answering you.

You turned your smile back towards the sky; Regulus mourned the loss of it. “Recharging.”

He hummed in acknowledgment as if what you just said made any sense at all to him. “Do you think you’ll be much longer?”

You chuckled at him and turned your entire body to face the shore instead. “You cannot rush this Regulus. Why don’t you join me?” You said, opening your arms widely.

Regulus hated to admit how inviting your embrace seemed to him, even at the expense of soaking his pant legs. He held strong, however. 

“I quite like the view from here, thank you.”

You let your arms fall to your sides, but your smile never wavered. 

“It’s very good for your inner vibrations, Regulus. The moon has been charging these waters all month. Tonight is the new moon, so you must recharge tonight, otherwise you’ll be waiting another month to try again.”

Regulus was sure you were trying your hardest to sound stern, but your voice only echoed across the waters like the gentle song of a siren calling him to his watery grave.

And who was he to deny that call?

“Oh, if you insist.” He spoke into the night, not at all begrudgingly removing his shoes and socks before rolling his pant legs up as far as they would go to join you in the lake.

The wattage of your smile rivaled that of the moon not currently present in the sky, acting as a beacon guiding Regulus towards you. 

You spun in your place to once again point your face to the sky while Regulus slotted himself in behind you and wrapped you in his arms, pushing his face into the crook of your neck. 

“You’re supposed to face the stars, Reggie.” You whispered to him.

Regulus hummed into your neck. “Who says I’m not?”

You chuckled, patting Regulus’ hands from their place on your stomach as you allowed him to rock you back and forth gently.

“You’re silly.” You admonished. 

The two of you stood in the water, swaying placidly as if you were being pushed ashore by the meager waves this Lake produced, enjoying the quiet and each other’s company.

“Doesn’t this feel wonderful, Regulus?”

Sitting in the quiet night, alone, with you in his embrace? Yes; Regulus thought this felt very wonderful. 

[karlachismylife]

My linear algebra class got moved to tomorrow and I have the terrible urge to post, so here are some speedrun headcanons (yes I'm aware that it's been done a few times, and I agree with the takes I've seen, but lemme just have my fun). It's something along the lines of favourite body part, I guess? But not quite.

I wouldn't say they're explicit, but there are suggestive parts.

Also these aren't strictly x reader, cuz I feel these can be applied to character x character relationships too, but I won't tag them cuz there's a lot of them and I don't wanna get yelled at by people who hate seeing even hints of x reader content. But I have very much been thinking GhostPrice, NikPrice, Ghoap, SoapGaz and a fuckton of others in the process. Just something cozy and loving to start the week since it's snowing (no they are not snow-related).

Price is a tits man. First of all, research shows that older men prefer boobs over ass (I KNOW that he's not actually an old man, it's a joke), but second - he just gives off vibes of someone who can spend hours holding his partner in his lap and just groping and kneading them breasts - doesn't matter the size, doesn't matter whether those are real breasts, implanted, just pecs; whether you have big areolas. mastectomy scars, absolute flatness, doesn't matter in the slightest: John will latch onto them, mouthing all over the skin, sucking hickeys and lovebites dangerously close to the area usually visible under their clothes. If there's not enough flesh to fill out his palms, he'll just hold what he gets while he sucks on those nipples eagerly, beard prickling sensitive, wet skin. John is also a tits man outside sex: his partner's chest is his favourite pillow, so he rests his head there or nuzzles between for a nap regularly. It's about the intimacy, the heartbeat and the sensual symbolism, not tits in particular.

Ghost is a lap/belly nuzzler. Nothing feels safer than being able to rest his troubled head on them soft thighs and hide in the softness of one's stomach from the world. He might be so much bigger than his partner's lap, or they might not have that much meat on their bones, but Simon still feels the safest when he's cradled like a baby and surrounded by the warmth of one of the most vulnerable parts of a human body. Hug his shoulders, shield him, push him into the folding between your belly and thighs - that keeps his demons away. And gives him a nice opportunity to tickle/blow raspberries when you least expect it. Probably finds delight in those occasions when yout stomach grumbles right above his chipped ear - you can feel his scarred lips stretch into a wide smile against your skin and you can rest assured he will let some little joke slip. But even more probably he will ask to stay for five more minutes before you can grab a bite to eat.

Soap is an ass man and he also has been ashamed 1,5 times in his life, so he will put his grabby paws on his partner's butt in all circumstances, beware. Sneaks a squeeze every time he passes by, slides his hands down during kisses, holds a posessive handful when he has his partner in his lap. It's just nice to look at and also very fidgety for his restless hands - so good for squeezing, kneading and pinching! Is a menace and will slap that arse - with a palm or, after he almost injured himself with the change/keys stuffed in your back pocket, a towel. Will be a coward and run away from revenge, but actually can take a rough spanking and give one too if you're into that. Absolutely uses your ass as a pillow, good luck shaking him off if you need to move - he somehow gets heavier when he's relaxed, but keeps a steel grip on your hips. If you wake him up by trying to escape, he'll just drag you back and bite. Oh yeah, he bites. He'll do anything with your ass, really, make out with it, take it out to candlelit dinner, tie a knot... are those sex metaphors? Yes. But also if he could marry someone's butt, he probably would.

Gaz feels like he would be into thighs, but also into hands. Like, every one of them isn't a straightforward character, but Kyle's duality strikes me the most for some reason. Probably because it's so trixter-y in its nature, he's such a romantic, moral man, very much focused on doing the right thing and serving as a compass for everyone around him, even if his views and principles evolve with time, but he's also such a little shit at heart - a real prankster and chaos agent. Incredibly clever and sly. So it feels right that while he loves just holding hands, be it out on the street or while lounging at home in a cuddle heap, tracing patterns on the back of his partner's palm and brushing his thumb over your knuckles, he is also a feral fox, gripping, biting and kissing those thighs, ogling the way they move when you walk, leaving marks and tracing those with his tongue... he's also a big lap napper, but he prefers his face stuck in the lap itself, arms wrapped around your thighs tightly. Or even better - one arm hugging your thighs like a comfy pillow, and the other resting peacefully with your hand clutched in his, fingers intertwined tenderly.

Nikolai is a waist grabber. He probably prefers tits over ass, yeah, but he's more focused on keeping his arm wrapped around his partner's waist - or at least pressing his big palm on the small of their back. Is a big tease and likes to keep everyone around him on their toes, so expect sudden pinches of tickle attacks on your sides. Comes up from behind to hug you and lock his huge paws on your stomach, probably interrupting whatever you were doing, but he just wants to hold what's his properly, arms full and securely tightened. Also he likes to kiss those spots behind his partner's ears (and tickle those too). He's not overly possessive since he very well knows only the dumbest of the dumb will try to steal from him (and also he's pretty sure he's doing enough to keep his partner with him willingly), but he just likes the feeling of having something he likes so much. Might stem from his strict upbringing, soviet scarcity of everything or maybe he's just a lil' bit greedy by nature. Either way, his preferred sex poses usually include him holding you by the waist a lot.

König is there to be the little spoon. Not only is it safe since he trusts his partner more than anyone, it also frees him from the necessity to hold eye contact - it's just tiring and a little anxiety-inducing for him, even if you say you're okay with him avoiding it. He feels like he's just expected to do it, but when his back is turned to you, he kinda isn't. And finally, it's just fun: he has quite a sense of humor, actually, and he won't deny that him being the "little" spoon with a partner who's smaller (doesn't matter if your size difference is comicly huge or you're actually not that far, you're definitely smaller than him). He also very much enjoys taking his partner's palm and placing it over his heartbeat - it's soothing and romantic, and also will help you notice if his anxiety spikes before he has some upsetting reaction. Never happened while you two cuddle, actually, but knowing you're there to just be with him and keep him safe is enough for this big boy. Will repay the favour by seating you between his legs, chest pressed to your back, and cuddling you like that - but only when seated for some reason. Might be spine problems, I dunno.

Valeria is a throat grabber, squeezer, biter, kisser and everything else you can imagine. She likes power, she's not ashamed of that, and she can handle having it. Marks her partner up with bitemarks and hickeys, and maybe even knife scratches and her name carved into the soft, vulnerable place between their collarbones. Likes to just run her fingers over your throat, feeling the pulse, stretching her grip to accomodate as much of your lifeline as she can into her threatening palm. But it's not always such obvious powerplay, she also enjoys kissing the soft skin gently and innocently, simply because it's sensitive and intimate. Her fingertips dance around your nape and throat while you're cuddling, sometimes they stop to feel your voice vibrating as you're telling her something, sometimes she flicks your earlobe plafully or scratches that nice place at the base of your skull. It's possessive and warm, and she would never actually threaten your life (probably), but the thrill gets both of you.

That's my random character speedrun for now, might add someone with a part two (feel free to request), and now back to my other things to do.

[megamindsecretlair]

A Hold On You

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), spanking, some dirty talk, all consensual. Daddy kink and breeding kink. Fluffy smut. Established relationship.

Summary: Taking place between season 4 and season 5, Franklin toys with the idea of legacy and keeping the people he loves in his life. On date night, he hits you with a proposition.

Word Count: 3,039k

Part 2

A/N: Hello brainrot, my old friend. Whew, it pays to be feral ASF for Damson. That man is lethal. I don't even want kids and I want his babies. I'm sorry if this triggers some! Please, please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I can't get better if I don't get feedback!

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf

“Have my baby,” Franklin said. 

Your head whipped to the side so fast that you almost got whiplash. An ache pulsed in your neck and you rubbed it as you stared at Franklin. You sat on the floor, on a blanket, with a light dinner spread out between you and Franklin. 

Moonlight poured into the living room, illuminating the space and lighting up Franklin’s gorgeous face. You expected him to start laughing or look away from you. To break the tension somehow. 

Instead, he gave you an unreadable look. He retreated behind whatever invisible wall there was in his mind. He had one leg down and one leg up, his arm resting on his knee, and his hands clasped in front of him. He was a study in patience as he stared you down. 

“You’re not serious,” you said.

“As a heartache,” he said. 

You lowered the finger sandwich from your lips and finished chewing. You continued to stare at Franklin. Were you sleeping? Did you pass out and imagined having dinner with Franklin? 

You put the sandwich on the plate and brushed your hands over the plate for stray crumbs. You looked away from him. Your stomach bubbled. Your hands began to shake. 

“The type of business you’re in doesn’t scream safe for kids,” you said. You tried to be delicate, but the neighborhood was still buzzing about little Tianna. 

Franklin nodded. “I understand, but that’s different. I can protect us,” he said and finally cracked his mask. He smiled briefly. 

“Franklin,” you said and shook your head. “There would be no hiding that. What the hell would I do? Become a housewife, lamp up, and get fat?” You asked.

You shuddered and thought about that scenario. You’d certainly enjoy the sex, but you couldn’t imagine spitting kids out like that. 

Franklin laughed. “Naw, but a home office could be arranged. Bodyguard for when you go out,” he said.

“A bodyguard? That’s romantic,” you said and rolled your eyes. 

“Have my baby,” he said. He pushed plates out of your way and got to his knees. He crawled closer, giving you wide puppy eyes. Kneeling, he was still way taller than you. He leaned in and kissed you. 

He leaned back with a satisfied hum. He kissed your jaw and then your cheek. He returned to your lips and hovered. When he licked his lips, you felt it. When he breathed through his mouth, the air swept over your wet lips. He was just shy of kissing you and you leaned in to close the gap but he leaned back at the same time. 

“Just say yes,” he said. 

“But then I’d be fat and gross,” you said. 

Franklin smiled against your lips. You had closed your eyes when he started kissing you, so you opened them now. He must have sensed it, because he opened his eyes at the same time. 

“Impossible. You’d be even more gorgeous,” he said. 

“I’d whine and complain about everything,” you continued.

Light danced in Franklin’s eyes. He licked his lips and his tongue swept your lips. 

“I’d love to hear your sexy voice,” he said. He finally pressed his lips against yours. He hummed, pressing closer. You sighed against him. He took the opportunity to lick his way into your mouth. 

You moaned softly, already feeling so needy for him. Your toes flexed as you kissed, loving the feeling of him being so close. You rubbed your hands up and down his strong arms. His hands cupped your face. He held you in place, exactly as you were. 

“I’d crave weird things and demand them at 2am,” you said, when you broke apart just far enough to gasp. 

“Shit, I like drivin’ at night,” he said. 

You giggled and shook your head.  “You’re crazy. Who gon’ get up at all hours of the night feeding it?” You asked. 

Franklin began to kiss your neck, murmuring in between pecks. “We’ll both do it, so we’ll both be miserable,” he said.

You pushed him and sucked your teeth. He laughed and rocked back. He brought his lips back to your neck. “I’ll let you get all the beauty rest you deserve after delivering my baby,” he said. 

Your pussy clenched and you huffed. This couldn’t actually be turning you on, right? And yet, looking at him, you didn’t have a doubt in your mind. You would happily have his kids. You would love little sons that looked like mini versions of him. They’d keep their heads held high because that’s how much awe Franklin inspired. 

You’d be so grateful to have his daughters, that looked like a mix between you. And they’d all have his brain. Franklin was easily the smartest man you’d ever met. It scared you sometimes. You felt like he was born in the wrong era. He belonged in the future with more people to appreciate his intellect. 

Franklin hummed his appreciation down your neck and across your exposed chest. The dress you wore had a deeper neckline than what you usually wore and Franklin took advantage. His right hand massaged the back of your neck. His left hand pushed more plates out of your way. There was a tray at the top of the blanket to hold your drinks. 

When the blanket was clear, Franklin pushed you onto your back. Between the carpet and the thick blanket, this position was surprisingly comfortable. 

Franklin settled to the side of you. He threw his right leg over yours, his thick erection settling against your hips.  You gasped and Franklin smiled against your skin. He leaned on his left hand while he took his time undoing the buttons of your dress. 

The purple checkered dress complimented your skin tone well. He undid the few, big black buttons. Each one gave way and freed your aching breasts. Your nipples were perking up and rubbed against your bra. 

As he revealed more of you with the buttons, he kissed each inch of space. “You’d look so fuckin’ beautiful full of the seed I gave you,” he said. 

You shivered and looked at him. His head moved over your body. His beautiful lips felt like heaven against your skin. 

Franklin reached the bottom-most button that ended up just above your navel. This, too, he paid attention to. Your hands dug into his little fro as he swirled his tongue around your tummy. 

Your breathing increased as your eyes started to roll. “Oh, fuck,” you said. 

His right hand grabbed the hem of your dress but he didn’t move it further. Your eyes snapped open to look at him and his eyes were closed tightly. He opened them slowly. 

“I’d love to watch this sexy ass body change, knowing you’re carrying my baby,” he said. 

Your arousal began to leak out of you. You moaned at the sensation. He leaned down and kissed your tummy again. “Watch this stomach get bigger and bigger,” he continued. 

He trailed his finger up your body and played with the strip of fabric in between your bra cups. He kissed the top of your right titty. Then he sucked your nipple into his mouth through your bra. 

You hissed and you jerked, your thigh spasming randomly. Your hands ran over his shoulders as he continued. “Hm, and these titties would get bigger for sho,” he said. 

His hand returned to the hem of your dress and pushed it up. His hand found the core of you and palmed you. You gasped, your breath dragging over your throat. 

He thumb stroked you from over your panties and you groaned. “Please, please, I need more,” you said. 

“Let me cum in that pussy then,” he said. 

You hiccuped as you laughed, not able to gather that much air. This was so dangerous. And yet…

You found yourself opening your legs wider, giving him more space. His thumb reached under your panties and he pressed down, rubbing against your pussy. He pushed into your entrance and you moaned, throwing your head against the floor. 

Franklin put his lips next to your ear. “Let me fill you up. And keep fillin’ you up,” he said. 

“Oh fuck,” you cried. The thought of being filled up by him had you rolling your hips. You needed him higher. On that needy little nub that always gave you away. Franklin could smile at you and your clit would throb. He could walk into the room and flood your panties within a second. It ought to be illegal having this type of visceral reaction to him. It was lethal. 

If Franklin ever figured it out, you’d never be safe from him. He’d have you to agree to steal the torch from the Colosseum. There was nothing he couldn’t do to your body that you weren’t already begging for.

“Are you sure? You’d be stuck with me,” you said. It was a last ditch effort. What if you really did turn up pregnant and he ended up resenting that fact? You knew without a doubt that Franklin would make an amazing father. You just weren’t so sure that he wouldn’t hate your guts after.

It was a stupid fear. Franklin had never given you reason to believe that he wasn’t into you. But after everything he had been through the past few months, you wondered if he wasn’t rushing into this. 

“I know…I know that it was hard feeling like everyone leaves. But I won’t leave,” you promised. 

Franklin brought his head up to look into your eyes. He kept up those delicious circles on your clit. Your body pulsed with tension and relief. Your thighs shook violently. He kissed you, his lips remaining on yours for longer than a few seconds.

“I know. I promise, this isn’t anything other than wanting you. Loving you. Leaving a mark behind so you’ll remember me forever,” he said. 

He moved his hand faster and little desperate cries began to leave you. Pressure built and built until you exploded, coming undone under his expert fingers. He whispered things into your ear; nasty things about what he wanted to do to you. How sometimes he wanted to drive you wild with his dick from sun up to sun down. 

How he wanted to devour you, lick and suck his way to hearing you screaming his name. As you convulsed beneath him, he kissed your chest, sucking your nipple back into his mouth through the bra.

“There’s no way I’d forget you, Franklin,” you said. 

“I know,” he said. He pulled his hand away from your clit and painted your lips with your juices. “Suck.”

You began to suckle his thumb, sucking all of your arousal off of his thumb. You moaned around the taste of yourself on his big hand. You clung to his wrist as you suckled harder. 

“See you do shit like that and it...” he made a strangled noise. “I want to just use you.” 

You bit your lip and closed your legs, seeking relief from the inferno roaring inside of you. That orgasm wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. 

You leaned up on your elbows and looked at his face. The moonlight played across his features like a delicate lightshow. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to do with me,” you said. 

Franklin took a long, deep breath and blew the air out of his mouth. “Don’t fuck with me,” he warned. His voice grew deeper, the low tones dancing along the back of your head. 

“Whatever. You. Fuckin’. Want,” you said. Each word was punctuated with a kiss. Franklin growled and leaned back on his knees. 

He grabbed your waist and flipped you over. You landed on your stomach with a soft, “Oof.” Franklin pulled the sides of your dress down and off of your arms. He released the clasp of your bra and pulled that off as well. 

Air hit your wet nipple making it pebble. It rubbed against the blanket and you moaned. He pulled your hips up until you were on your knees. He pushed up your dress, exposing your ass. He grabbed both globes of your ass and squeezed.

The mounting pressure made you cry out. “Oh, spank it, Daddy,” you said. 

Franklin obliged, spanking your ass. The smack bounced off the walls. Red, hot fire bloomed on your left ass cheek. You bit your lip and dipped over further, arching your back. 

Franklin pushed your panties to the side. Arousal escaped you. Franklin gathered it up with the tip of his dick. He moaned at how wet your pussy was. He faced no resistance as he slipped inside.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned together. Your shriek ended on a whine as he slid in and out with ease. Your hands clenched and unclenched the blanket, looking for any type of crutch or anchor. Something to weigh you down when your body so desperately wanted to float away. 

You reached the pinnacle of bliss. Franklin worked his hips slow at first, letting you attempt to get used to him. But he started to jerk, his hold more bruising, his fingers pulling you onto him.

You matched his strokes, throwing your ass back on him. Your thighs slapped together loudly and lewdly. He smacked your ass a few more times and groaned when you clenched around his dick. 

“Fuck, I’m gon’ cum in this pussy. You gon’ carry my baby,” he said. Each promise was a hard jerk, pulling you onto him so completely that he bottomed out. His dick continued to spear inside of you, touching a primal part of you.

“Oh right there, right there, Franklin,” you moaned and chanted. Your belly tightened and tightened, curling into a little, tiny ball. 

“Fuck me,” he moaned as he rammed into you. He rutted into you. Driving you down onto his dick like he wanted to carve his name inside of your pussy. As if he could brand himself there. Sear himself and leave such an impression behind. As if by sheer force of will, he could mold your pussy around his dick. 

“Oh, cum in me, Daddy,” you moaned. “Give it to me.” 

“Take this baby,” he chanted. It was both a promise and a determination. He spoke it into the universe. Writing your fates among the stars and daring to be denied.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried. That tight ball of pressure finally unraveled, turning you into a limp noodle as your orgasm ripped through you. It pulled you apart, one stitch at a time. Pleasure rippled throughout your body and you cried out, the blanket muffling some of it. 

Franklin could barely keep his hands on you as he unloaded into you. His spurts of cum were hot, scalding, painting your insides with the essence of him. “Shit,” he groaned as he dumped his load inside of you. 

You both panted as you came down, your breaths mingling as you both tried to return to your bodies. Franklin pulled you up and on your side. You groaned as he slipped out of you. There was a squelching that you felt and heard and you moaned again. He laid down behind you, molding his body against yours.

You felt his dick slide wetly into the crook of your ass. Franklin absently kissed your neck. He raised your left leg and brought it to rest across his long legs. 

“Get these wet for me,” he said. He brought his fingers to your mouth. You suckled and drooled on his fingers. He then brought his wet fingers to your clit and played with you. You jerked and moaned, trying to escape.

He moved his right arm under your neck and pulled you against him. His biceps flexed against your neck and you made unholy, guttural noises. His left hand continued to please you, pushing you past the point of arousal. 

Your senses were full of him. The way he smelled right now, the sound of his breaths in your ear. “Where you think you goin’?” He asked. The sight of his thick arm around your neck, the way his dangling fingers pulled at your nipples. 

His fingers dipped into your entrance and massaged your spongy walls. “Naw, hold that shit in for me,” he said. 

He massaged his cum back into you, pushing it higher and higher. You felt so stuffed and full that despite cumming so many times close together, your body reacted just as hungrily. Gobbling up his fingers and his cum. 

“Franklin,” you called out, tears running down your cheeks. He had to feel them. His shoulder was beneath your head. The tears ran down and to the side, splashing onto him. He kissed and licked your ear. 

“I know, I know, baby,” he whispered. 

You twitched and gyrated on the floor, robbed of seeing his face. Your hands searched the blanket for purchase. You felt his dick twitch against your ass. 

“Oh, no,” you groaned before another orgasm left you shaking. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your mumbled speech was incoherent as pleasure made you growl like an animal. But fuck, you felt so fucking good that you couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Your limbs moved of their own accord. 

“No more,” you gasped out. Fuck, you couldn’t take another one. Not right now. You were far too sensitive, jerking at every new touch and slide of his fingers. Franklin stilled his fingers, tugged on your nipple and kissed your neck. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. He brought his left hand up to rub your belly as if he could already imagine it swollen and stiff with his son or daughter. He pressed on your tummy, massaging it. 

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he said. 

You were too tired to give him a proper response. You kissed his arm and he moved until you pressed into his chest. He wrapped his arm completely over your middle. “I’ll protect us, babe. Come whatever tries to get between us. I’ll do everything in my power to keep us safe.”

Somehow, you completely believed him. You laid there and talked with him about everything you could think of. You both passed out somewhere around the moonlight disappearing and the sunlight returning.

You know you need more in your life: The Secret Franklin Saint Files

There is now a Part 2!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Twisters AU - Kara starts to heal

Kara isn't sure what she'd expected, walking into the Harding household. Somehow, a sea of pictures featuring Lena at various ages surrounded a motley crew of men and women at various degrees of cleanliness is somehow not, but also exactly what she expects. It feeds into the rough and tumble nature that Kara has come to associate with Lena, and as she peruses walls on her way back from the bathroom, she hears Lena's full belly laugh rolling from the kitchen. The photos and the warmth and the mirth all fuel the full presence that is Lena. Lena Harding, it would seem.

Lena's eyes flash to her when Kara steps back into the kitchen. Her gaze lingers a half-second longer than Kara expects, but before she can study it further Lena returns her attention to the frypan on which she's cooking a pair of eggs with sure, practiced flicks of her wrist.

"I was just telling mom about our most recent escapade," Lena tells her.

Kara scoffs a laugh, folding her arms as she leans against the kitchen island. "Which one? The fireworks or the misfire?"

"A misfire?" Jo arches an eyebrow at her daughter. "From Lena? Doesn't sound like any daughter I raised."

"Hardy har," Lena returns, her accent deepening in a way that makes Kara grin. "I let you have that one."

"Sure. I'll just pretend I didn't snoop on your comms and hear your crew teasing the shit out of you."

"Hah!" Jo barks, clapping her hands. "Oh, Lena, I like her!"

Kara flushes, unable to keep her chest from swelling with the compliment.

"I assume the guys are helping with the EF4 that touched down over in Rowena." Jo's voice softened, but remained matter of fact.

Kara's stomach drops, and a finger of ice curls down her spine. The memory of the night before chills the warmth that's built around her, tightening her chest and hitching her breath. When Lena quiets, Kara lifts her gaze, and their eyes lock across the room. Jo notes the beat, and nods.

"Front row seat?"

Lena exhales. "You could say that."

Kara expects Jo to warn about danger, perhaps echo an old argument about the inherent risk of chasing tornadoes, especially the kind of "wrangling" that Lena does. But none of that comes.

"They were lucky you were there."

Jo's response is so unexpected that Kara blinks, stunned. She looks to Lena, who gives a grim, close lipped smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Jo reaches out to her, cupping her daughter's cheek.

"The work you do is so important." Jo looks at Kara. "The work you both do. Not a lot of people see that. But I do."

Kara stares. "You do?"

Lena chuckles. "Oh yeah. You know Dorothy? That was mom."

"Wait, you--" Kara chokes out. "You're Jo-- You're that Harding? Of the Harding model?!"

"Guilty," Jo returns, not bothering to hide her smug smile. "Wasn't always a farmer."

"I developed my middle school science fair project based on your research!"

Lena cackles, earning a smack on the arm from her mother.

"Don't say that!" Jo exclaimed. "Like I need any more proof I'm getting older..."

"Oh, you're still young," Lena chides, craning back to give her mom a peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, sorry, I mean-- all of my research is based on what you achieved with Dorothy."

Jo's eyebrow quirks. "Oh? What kind of research?"

"She's going to tame a tornado," Lena supplies. But this time, it's without teasing. In fact, Kara detects a note of pride.

Jo turns fully towards Kara. "Tell me more."

Kara does. She shares the entirety of her project, her hypotheses and experiments and predictive models. Jo asks insightful questions, forcing Kara to dig deep into her knowledge banks, recalling the particulars of research she hasn't touched in five years.

In doing so, she recalls the nights spent with her sister, her friends-- the laughter and adrenaline, the intellectual combativeness, the drive to push each other to new heights.

The image of her sister's broken body the morning after that final, fateful chase.

She doesn't realize she's crying until Jo's arms wrap around her. She sags into the hug, clutching Jo as sobs wrack her from head to toe. Jo lets her cry, until the tears run out and Kara catches her breath again.

"I'm sorry," she says shakily. She adjusts her glasses, before noticing they're fogged. She removes them, and busies herself with drying them.

"Don't ever apologize for missing the lost, sweetheart." Jo cups Kara's cheeks. "It hurts, but until that hurt passes-- until thoughts of them go back to bringing happiness-- the sadness is how we remember them."

[void-wolfie]

How'd You Do That?

summary: you have a panic attack right before your first premiere. [request]

pairing: Jenna Ortega x gn!Reader

tw: panic attack, my terrible writing (let me know if I need to add anything)

words: 1.5k

a/n: this is one of the rare times where I can say it took me so long to get to a request because I had too many ideas. I was watching my favorite show the other day and they use this idea and I couldn't stop thinking of a Jenna x R scene with it (bonus points if you know what show it's based off of)

*disclaimer; please don't use this tactic to stop a panic attack, it could actually make things worse. I only wrote it like this because it's fiction and cute.

"You did it, kid,"

Those were the first words out of your dad's mouth when he called you.

You did it.

The words bounced around in your head, filling you with excitement and dread. There was a pit in your stomach, and you had the urge to puke, you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not.

You did it.

That was a year ago, news had just gotten out that you'd be in a new summer film, set to co-star with none other than Miss Jenna Ortega herself. At the time, you were a no-name actor. You'd been in a few small things here and there, a few supporting roles. But you were nothing compared to the young sensation herself.

You'd gotten a rocky start; you were an anxious mess at the start of filming. But who wouldn't be when they were sitting so close to their celebrity crush.

Somewhere along the way, the anxiety faded. She wasn't The Jenna Ortega anymore; she was just Jenna. She wasn't the actress you'd been looking up to since the start of your career, but a pretty girl with a million freckles and a love of dad jokes. She became your best friend. The girl you'd call at one am to confess all your worries to, the girl who'd call you every day and made sure you ate because sometimes you'd forget, the girl who didn't know a lick of Spanish yet could still pull off the most amazing accent, and the girl you would text first thing every morning.

You sat in the car, wringing your hands nervously.

You were supposed to get out of the car five minutes ago, but you couldn't. Your legs felt like Jello and your vision was spinning just a bit.

All that filming and it was finally the moment of truth. The day of the premiere. Would people like you? Would they like the movie? What if your acting was terrible? You'd never been to a premiere like this before, what if you embarrassed yourself? Or-

You were freaking out. You could hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears, erratically beating in your chest. It felt like someone had knocked the air out of you, squeezing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe. And your hands; they were clammy and cold, yet somehow also hot, and they wouldn't stop shaking.

Jenna was sitting next to you in the car, tinted windows hiding the two of you from the sea of flashing cameras outside. She had been through her fair share of premieres. She knew what to expect, she knew how to act and what to do. You on the other hand, you'd never been to one. She'd been watching you with worried eyes all day, watching as your anxiety built as the day went on.

"Hey, it's going to be alright," She grabbed your hands, interlocking your fingers with hers. She'd hoped the physical contact might help calm you, but it didn't seem to ease your nerves.

Your eyes flitted down to your hands interlaced with Jenna's, her black nail polish contrasting against her tan skin.

Being close to Jenna always made you feel better, yet it didn't seem to be helping this time.

Your anxiety was at an all-time high, crippling you from the inside out. Your throat squeezed a little tighter as if you weren't struggling to breathe enough already.

"I'll be right there with you the whole time, ok?" She squeezed your hands reassuringly, but it didn't do anything to quell the raging storm inside.

Your eyes traveled back to the window. The flashing lights, the reporters circling like ravenous vultures, the way the other actors were already out there making everything look so easy while you were in the midst of a breakdown... It was too much...

Your breathing got a little more ragged, shallow uneven breaths wracking your chest. You closed your eyes, focusing on just trying to calm down.

Jenna's eyebrows scrunched in confusion, watching the way your chest heaved and hands squeezed hers tighter. It only took her a few seconds to figure out what was happening, she wasn't any stranger to panic attacks.

"Breathe with me. In and out," She exaggerated her breathing, trying to encourage you to slow your own, "In and out,"

But you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried. The feeling of not being in control of something as simple as breathing made you panic even more.

"I- I can't-"

"Hey, look at me," you felt her finger under your chin, tilting your face to look at her. But you made sure to keep your eyes shut. You didn't want to look into those big brown eyes and show her just how vulnerable you were, you'd rather suffocate.

"y/n, please," her voice cracked ever so slightly, composure dropping for just a split second. She was worried about you. Worried about how you were spiraling out of control, and you wouldn't let her help.

Her mind was blank, not sure what to do. She had one idea left, though she wasn't sure if it'd help or make things entirely worse, "I have an idea, do you trust me?"

If this backfired... Well, she didn't want to think about that.

You nodded, still attempting to calm down. Your nerves felt like they were on fire as you struggled to breathe, your heartbeat still thumping loudly in your ears.

A second passed. Then two. You were about to open your eyes to see what bright idea Jenna had when a pair of lips smashed against yours.

The whole world stopped. All you could focus on was the pair of soft lips pressed against yours and the warm hand cupping your cheek.

Wow.

She pulled away and the world stood still.

Everything felt quiet. That nagging voice in the back of your skull wasn't there. The sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears had dimmed. Even the sound of the crowds outside seemed much smaller.

Jenna didn't think her idea would work. But you already seemed a bit better. Your hands had stopped shaking so violently and your breathing had mostly returned to normal.

"y/n?" Now Jenna was the one panicking. What if she just ruined your friendship? She couldn't lose you...

Your mind was strangely quiet for once. And you were only aware of two things. Firstly, wow. Secondly, do it again.

"y/n?" Jenna's voice finally pulled you from whatever trance you were in.

"Would it be wrong, to ask you to do that again?" Your eyes were still closed. Part of you was scared to open them again. What if you opened them and she wasn't there? What if it was all just a dream?

Jenna wasn't sure how to answer that. Would it be wrong? The two of you were coworkers after all. But she didn't really care.

It took her a second to think about what you were asking, and even less than that to throw the question out the window and kiss you again.

It was soft, simple, and sweet. It was everything you could ever ask for from a second kiss.

The minute Jenna pulled away all you could think of was the missing warmth. The way it felt like finding your other half just to be ripped apart.

Silence filled the air, neither of you sure who would speak first.

"How'd you do that?" You finally relaxed, opening your eyes to find her big brown ones looking back, full of concern and adoration.

"Do what?"

"You stopped my panic attack,"

"I read somewhere that getting someone to hold their breath can stop a panic attack, when I kissed you, you held your breath," you couldn't help but notice the small blush spread across her cheeks.

"Did you mean it? Like, did you want to kiss me?"

"Would it be wrong of me to say I did?"

Your eyes lit up. She wanted to kiss you? Does that mean she likes you?

Shouting and cheering from outside caught the attention of you and Jenna, heads darting over to the window to watch the cheering crowds outside; all of them oblivious to what just happened between you and your co-star.

"We have to go, don't we?" You were a bit disappointed. You didn't want to leave the safety of the car, you wanted to talk this out with Jenna.

"Unfortunately," Jenna noticed the pout that took over your features, the way you gripped her hand a bit tighter for comfort, "But I'll be right there the whole time, ok? And we can even leave early if you want."

You nodded, still not exactly happy to be going, but going with Jenna was better than going solo.

Jenna pushed open the car door. Instantly flashing lights and people calling yours and Jenna's names filled the air. You could feel the anxiety bubbling up again. But just as quickly as it started, it went away. Jenna's hand gave yours a little squeeze, reminding you she was right there.

[ghuleh-recs]

*inhales deeply* Haaappyyy Birthdaaayyyy @miasmaghoul!!!!!!!! Ohhhh MAN we are all in for a treat today. As per usual, I have compiled a list of some of my favorite Miasma fics in honor of their special day—a greatest hits if you will. Not only are they an absurdly good writer, they are an incredibly thoughtful, kind, supportive and generous friend. All mushiness aside, if Miasma's writing isn't making my brain melt out of my ears (because smut), it's making me actually cry real tears. (No one who has read Suspended Reality will ever really emotionally recover.)

It was extremely difficult to narrow these down to a reasonable list so please feel free to add your own Miasma must-reads if I missed a good one. Please consider leaving a comment when you read any of these. You know. As a little treat. A little birthday treat. I just think Miasma deserves a treat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Endless thanks to @askingforthesun @forlorn-crows @belle--ofthebrawl and @iamthecomet for their input (Miasma can you guess who rec'd what? hehehe).

recs under the cut.

By Your Righteous Hand - Swiss x Rain - 3.1k, E

He’s across the room in a handful of strides, palming himself through his pants as he watches Rain’s fingers tease those strings. Swiss can see the strength in them, the deftness, the skill, and his body heats with memories of how they look around his cock. How they feel when Rain curls them inside him, how his thighs quiver with it every time. How they feel between his lips. Swiss should be embarrassed by the fact that he’s already panting, but shame is overrated. “I forget how weak this makes you,” Rain says, low and teasing. And it’s true – Swiss is not a weak ghoul, but for this? Well. “Kneel for me.”

Electric Light, Vibrant Sound - Cirrus x Cumulus x Sunshine - 2.9k, E

All of Sunshine’s senses seem sharper, somehow. The lights are brighter, the colors more distinct. The rainbow-colored confetti littering the stage seems to glow beneath her feet. Her nose tickles, filled with sweat, sulfur from the pyro and the confusing combined scent of her fellow ghouls. She sways as she walks, blowing kisses and waving with both hands. It’s a sudden distinct whiff of lavender and orange blossom that drags her back down to Earth, the ghoulette stumbling and catching herself on Rain’s sleeve. The new scents flood her sinuses and swirl into her lungs, spirals of springtime slicing through the haze in her mind. Sunshine shakes her head, one hand resting on her stomach as her eyes dart around the stage. She knows these smells, but in the fog of adrenaline and whatever else is filling her skull she can’t place it. Not until she sees them.

A Touch Too Much - Copia x Dewdrop - 9k, E

“Do you know what is wrong with him?” He doesn’t even try to keep the tilt of concern from his voice. Aether knows him better than most of the ghouls, it would be pointless to try and hide it from him. “Nothing’s wrong,” Aether replies. They stare at each other for a few beats and he does not elaborate, which Copia finds supremely unhelpful. He frowns, crossing his arms and stepping back while Aether rubs at the back of his neck. The ghoul huffs out a long-suffering sigh. “Strictly speaking, at least.” “If nothing is wrong, then what-” “He’s in heat, Papa.” Aether cuts him off in a rushed exhale. Copia freezes mid toe-tap. Oh. -- or -- Dew goes into heat on stage and Copia has to deal with the fallout. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Believing is Seeing - Aeon & Aether & Dewdrop - 1.2k, G

"Bullshit," Dew scoffs, leaning his chair back to balance on two legs. "You don't really expect me to believe this crap, do you?" Beside him, Aether rolls his eyes. "Ye of little faith," he chuckles, nudging Dew's knee with his own. "I'm telling you, Dew, he's never wrong." "Whatever," he says with a dismissive wave. "He's probably about as accurate as that fortune cookie I got last week." Across the table, their supposed psychic chuckles. He scoots closer and leans on his elbows, cupping his own face in both hands, and something about the look in his eye makes Dew straighten up in his chair. "What're you so scared of?" He nods at the table, a slew of tarot cards laid out before the three of them. "That I might be right?"

Permafrost - Mountain x Rain - 11k, E

“Will you-” he whispers, feeling his skin prickle in the wake of Mountain’s barely-there touch, “will you help me now?” It’s pathetic and he knows it, but he’s beyond caring. Something dark flashes over Mountain’s face then, and Rain feels an anxious flutter in his chest. “I believe I said I was having fun watching,” he rumbles, and Rain’s stomach plummets through the floor when he remembers what game they’re playing. “Oh no,” he whines, biting hard at his bottom lip. “Oh yes,” Mountain growls, moving himself closer to Rain as the smaller ghoul digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But if you listen closely, maybe I’ll reconsider.” The words are liquid in Rain’s ear, flowing into the folds of his brain in a silvery spiral, and he feels himself melting into the mattress all over again. Powerless to resist.

A Little Less Conversation - Aether x Dewdrop - 2.8k, E

After a long day, Dewdrop finds himself at the mercy of a very loud motel. Thankfully Aether is a good distraction.

Brushfire - Cumulus x Dewdrop - 4.6k, E

She should probably retreat to a stall. Sink two fingers into her cunt and make it quick. What if someone walked in an found her humping the sinks? That surely wouldn't look very good. Cumulus bites into her red-stained lower lip and groans at the thought, knuckles blanching as her grip strengthens. She ruts against the counter, drags the hard bud of her clit over the edge of it, feeling her panties start to soak through. There will probably be a damp spot on her dress when she pulls back at the rate she's going. Her knees really start to shake, her breath coming in strained gasps, the heat in her belly already threatening to spread. One trembling hand flies to her chest, squeezes a prominent nipple and - "Well, isn't this a sight."

WET DREAM RAIN - Rain x Swiss - 1.4k, E

His fingers drift in aimless swirls over Rain's thigh, the water ghoul still snoring softly into his pillow. It's midday judging by the way the spring sunlight pours from between the heavy navy drapes. The air is thick with lavender and rose, sweet scents carried from the nearby gardens mingling with the heady aroma stuck in Swiss's nose. Rain is pressed against his bare chest, their sleep shirt caught up around their ribs. Swiss's other arm is around his waist, fingertips teasing the trail of soft hair poking out of Rain's boxers. His soaking wet boxers.

Bonds of Trust - Omega x Secondo - 3.4k, M

He crosses the room in a handful of strides, hands extended, and Omega visibly sags with a ragged sigh. He offers up what Secondo knew he was holding behind his back - a simple leather strap with a buckle on one end and a shiny silver ring in the center. "I need your help, Papa," Omega murmurs, and that's all Secondo needs to hear. "Then I will give it to you."

All Water Holy - Dewdrop x Rain - 6.5k, E

“Rain, I’m not- I’m not kidding,” he manages, but the laughter removes the seriousness and urgency from his voice and Rain can’t stop himself. “Not kidding about what?” he asks, mock innocent. He would have thought it would be taking more out of him to keep Dew pinned beneath him, but he seems increasingly weak the longer it goes on, wearing himself out. “Fuck you,” Dew spits, pained and forced to smile through it anyway, “seriously, I’m gonna piss myself.” Or, As always, Rain gets what he wants, and Dewdrop suffers (affectionate).

Once More, With Feeling - Cirrus x Cumulus x Sunshine - 4.3k, E

Every now and then, Cirrus wakes with a very specific ache. It’s a distinctly empty feeling. Like something had been taken from her in the night, stolen away while she slept a restless sleep rife with images of shimmering skin and ruby lips. She’ll wake panting and wide-eyed, delicate claws digging into the mattress with her thighs clamped so tightly together they threatened to seize up. Every inch of her covered in goosebumps, every brush of the sheets against her skin sending electricity skittering through her tense muscles. On days like these, everything is too much. On days like these, too much is exactly what she needs. And she knows just where to get it.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Like I mentioned earlier, you've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[sky-kiss]

Drink

A/n: I got nothing. I don't know. This is nothing. This is like. Minor lactation kink and some conversation lol. Everything is going under the cut. Here. Have his smug face as my penance.

R/D!Urge: Drink

“Your son was not hungry.” 

There’s an archness to her tone that causes Raphael to lift his head. The duchess lingers near the edge of his vision, a conspicuous distance kept between them. Vanity has kept her from his bed and out of his company; he does not miss the excess fabric draped across her form, designed to hide the extra weight and the heaviness of her breasts. 

The body did not feel like her own, she’d admitted once, head held high. Daring him to argue, perhaps hoping he might. He had no interest in the conversation one way or another.

“This is of interest to me?” 

Joi frowns, gaze dropping. He will not say she is diminished, but there is somehow…a shift---in her bearing, in her essence. She was much the same in the months following their daughter’s birth. Discomforted and robbed of her self-possession, hormones and exhaustion forming some wretched amalgamation. He sees the ragged seams of her fraying control, places where he might hook his fingers and pull. And worse, he thinks she could not muster the energy to stop him. She hugs his stolen robe more tightly about herself. “Please, Raphael. For once, no games.” 

“No games, no whimsy…how tiresome.” He leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach. “Come.” 

The duchess crosses to him, and it occurs to him again how little he likes her like this---this dour little thing. She settles across his lap, wincing as she adjusts herself. The boy…the prince, he amends, had not come into the world as delicately as his sister. It’d taken days to clear the stench of blood from the boudoir. 

His sorceress leans her head against his chin, grumbling and drawing his arms around her. Raphael plucks at the robe’s tie. “Why have you come, pet?” 

She huffs, “Am I no longer welcome in your boudoir, my duke?” 

“You seemed happy enough to keep your own company.” 

Joi pinched the back of his hand. “Your son, your heir, needed me.” 

“The princess is my heir. The boy…” 

“Raphael.” Her tone is softer than he expects, not the righteous fury he hopes to elicit. Too tired, no games, no sport. “Please.” She leads his hand to her breast, heat radiating from the milk-swollen flesh. He pushes the robe apart. The nipple is badly chafed, reddened, and oversensitive. “As I said…your son would not drink.” 

“Haarlep would leap at the chance to relieve you.” 

“Haarlep,” his duchess purrs, fingers stroking back through his hair, scraping across his scalp. “Is no king. My body bore princes and princesses…should it nourish him?”

The devil chuckles, lifting her from his lap and onto his desk. “Oh, wicked thing. A fair point.”

She winces when he spreads her legs. He shifts to his human form in a fit of deference, holding her knees tight to his side. Raphael acts with uncharacteristic care, bowing her back. The devil presses a kiss to her sternum, cupping her right breast to relieve the pressure before suckling.

Her hand moves to the back of his neck, holding him in place. Joi’s sigh borders on rapturous relief rather than pleasure. He finds himself cataloging these noises, each one fascinating: a scrape of teeth and she hisses; more direct pressure and she’ll squeeze her legs around him. It’s best to press the flat of his tongue to her skin, open-mouthed and indirect, and then she makes such pretty noises. So sweet. 

He presses his hand between her shoulder blades, exaggerating the bow of her back. He sucks a bruise into the rise of her breast before shifting his attention to the left, repeating the process. She’s slackened in his arms, relaxing into his touch now that the worst of her discomfort has passed. 

Raphael swallows, pulling back to admire his work. He wipes a stray bead of milk with his thumb, bringing it to his lips to lick it clean. His duchess shivers, staring at him with wide, hungry eyes, mouth still partially slack. 

He kisses her, letting her taste herself on his tongue, slow and languid. 

And when all is said and done, Joi presses him back into his seat. His duchess sinks to her knees with neither comment nor complaint, only a delicious look of self-satisfaction, hunger she longs to satiate. 

Far be it from him to deny her. 

[junkiefox]

Teen Wolf "Green Creek au"

Part 2 | Part 1

It was a strange thing to think about Theo Raeken as an omega. Okay. It was expected, Theo was a loner. The one of a kind. The first Chimera. He was selfish, bitter, didn't care for anyone. But Liam was stroked by a feeling of wrongness when he saw Theo's eyes. Purple, so, so purple.

Because Theo was selfish, and bitter, and didn't care for anyone, but Liam didn't believe that they were all true. He was all those things, but he was also the boy who fought with him. Who decided Liam was enough saving or didn't see enough on himself to save. He was the boy who didn't know how to take someone's pain away because no one had taught him. The kid who was manipulated into thinking that to be powerful, he couldn't trust anyone.

"His leg is going to be okay," Deaton said. "It's going to take longer to heal, at least longer than it should for your kind."

Liam was stroking Theo's head, his fingers moving as if it was an instinct. He wasn't awake, Deaton had given him a sedative so he could close his wounds, and stop the unstoppable bleeding. "Why? Silver shouldn't work on him. I couldn't smell any poison. So, what-"

"He's an omega, Liam. Have been for a while. The Dread Doctors have created a perfect imitation of werewolves, even on this thing."

"He didn't have a pack before."

"Didn't he? They could be dysfunctional, and wronged, somehow, but they were all he had. A family born into that mess, or, at least, something he could rely on. He was with ten for what, ten years? They might not had the strongest bond, but they were all he had. And then, well, he had you to rely on, I suppose." Liam felt out of breath for a second, his hand stopping its movement before he relaxed, letting his hand rest on top of Theo's head. The thought was too close to saying Liam was Theo's anchor.

"How long?" was all he managed to say. "How long is going to take to heal?"

"It's not so easy to guess, but I'd say a week. He's not eating properly, nor drinking water, it's not only he being an omega that's doing this."

Liam worried his bottom lip, eyes focused on Theo's fur "I'm going to take care of this."

"Liam-"

"He can't go back to the woods. He's hurt, and he's going to be vulnerable. He can't go back. Theo is my responsibility, I'm taking care of him."

"I can't tell how long he has shifted, Liam. He- an omega can be dangerous, they can go feral. He's been missing for what, one to two months? He can be in his wolf form since then. This, combined with him being omega is dangerous. He's unpredictable. Theo might be too lost in his wolf. Besides, we don't know when he actually became an omega and how this works, since he is a Chimera."

"Exactly. We can't tell when he became an omega. Deaton, Theo was unpredictable before, and I chose to take him as my responsibility. I'm choosing again."

The vet sighed, shook his head, and pitched his nose before he looked at him again. "Call Scott. He'll want to know what his beta is doing, and why my clinic smells like Theo. Call him as soon you can."

"Yeah. I will." Liam hadn't thought about that.

Nor had he thought how he was going to hide a huge wolf in his room without his mother finding out.

He ended up sat in his bed looking at a still-asleep black wolf. His bedroom smelled like a hospital, a slight smell of blood. But it was combined with citrus and rain, caramel and lightnings. It made his stomach twist.

Theo was an omega, and I felt wrong. Because Theo deserved a pack, a second chance, and happiness. He was eighteen and was caught up in a mess when he was nine. They had promised him that he would be powerful, he wouldn't need to feel insecure or afraid, and what kid would deny that? Theo was a kid when they came, he had been manipulated and used and Liam felt nauseous.

And then, he was ignored by Liam's pack. They had been betrayed before, they had forgiven those. But they ignored Theo. He was left in the woods, they were happy that he was missing —even if Liam said it wasn't true, that he had to hold himself so he wouldn't go searching for him, he never did, so it didn't matter. They didn't care Theo was still a kid, a kid who was brought up in a broken place.

They had failed him. Liam had failed him. He was his responsibility, after all.

And Liam got it, okay? Theo had destroyed their trust, he almost destroyed them. But now, he was an omega, he had shifted into his wolf form because feelings were easier like that. And even then, he couldn't imagine how lonely Theo must have felt. Wolves weren't meant to be alone.

Liam felt sick.

He needed to call Scott, but he wanted to scream at him, even though it wasn't his fault. He never asked anything to them. However, Liam wanted someone to blame and the Dread Doctors were dead while Theo was still suffering.

He inhaled slowly. Citrus, rain, caramel and lightnings filling his lungs. His eyes were on Theo, his wolf form occupying half of his bedroom.

Liam was going to take care of him, at least until his leg healed. He wasn't going to let him alone, not again. Everything was going to be okay, somehow.

He needed to call Scott.

[asturniolos]

you too - matt s.

chapter 4 ; ‘don’t leave’

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

warnings : masturbating, making out (very briefly), swearing

"hey, matt! come in."

matt gives me a slight smile and nods once, reciprocating my greeting. my eyes automatically trail over his body; lanky, hair slightly wet from the light rain trickling outside, nose pink from the ice cold air, tall but not too tall - just enough that i have to tilt my head up to speak to him - and somehow even more attractive than the last time i saw him. i take a step backward and to the side, making room for him to enter my apartment. as he walks in, he places his hands in the front pocket of his grey hoodie and observes my vibrant apartment.

"nice place.", he states. i wait for him to walk in front of me before shutting the door behind him.

"sorry it's such a mess, i would've cleaned up a bit but i wasn't expecting you to come so soon.", i apologise, glancing at my slightly unorganised apartment.

he slowly walks over to the kitchen and i follow close behind.

"don't worry, if you think this is bad you should see my brother and i's place..", he chuckles.

i take another quick glance around my kitchen and living area while giggling at his remark but stop when my eyes trace back to his and find him already looking at me. i feel the tension between us as he smirks and moves his attention to the tv behind me.

"nonstop? i love liam neeson!", he says while smiling wide in recognition of the movie playing and meeting my eyes yet again.

i smile seeing the sudden excitement plastered on his face. lifting myself onto the kitchen counter behind me, i turn my head slightly over my shoulder and look briefly at the tv.

"really? i put it on when i got home from my lecture, guess i forgot to turn it off.", i respond nonchalantly, attempting to hide how happy i am at the discovery of our common interest. i turn my head back to face him.

"did you want a drink? i've got water, coke, lemonade-"

"root beer?", he asks, cutting me off.

i push my body off of the counter i'm sitting on and take a few steps over to the fridge. pulling open the door, i look around for a can of root beer.

"umm.. yep, one left.". i reach into the fridge, grab the drink, and pass it to him with a smile.

"here you go."

"perfect, thanks."

he takes the cold drink from my hand and cracks it open, instantly bringing it to his mouth to take a sip. after a few seconds, i watch as his tongue grazes his lips while he swallows the drink. he lightly bites his bottom lip and places the can on the bench next to him, then crosses his arms at his stomach and leans back onto the wall behind him.

"do you want cash? or would it be easier for me to transfer a couple hundred?", he asks.

"oh, um.. cash should be fine if you've got enough on you. if not i'll take whatever's easiest."

he nods, taking his wallet out from his pocket. he pulls out 3 $100 notes and reaches out to me, placing them in my outstretched hand.

"$300 should be enough. if not just text me and i'll give you whatever you want, okay?", he says with a grin. 

whatever i want?

his suggestive offer causes my thighs to squeeze together and my cheeks to tingle with nervousness. of course, i know i want far more from him than just his money.

i nod and he places the wallet back into his pocket. he takes another few sips of his root beer while i try to bring myself out of my imagination and back to the conversation.

"thanks a lot. i really appreciate you doing all this, matt.", i smile, my tone sweet and forgiving.

"like i said, it's the least i can do. i'm the reason your phone is broken in the first place.", he says reassuringly. he brings a hand up and scratches the back of his head, then uses it to push away the stray hairs resting on his forehead. he takes another sip of his root beer, having to tip his head all the way back to get the last bit out of the can. my eyes widen as i watch his neck tilt back, his adam's apple protruding as he swallows. my eyebrows scrunch and my lips effortlessly separate from each other. with his head still tipped back, i take the situation to my advantage and let my eyes travel from his neck down to the faint bulge in his black sweats. i let out a silent breath of air and feel my knees weaken.

i blurt out the first excuse that comes to my mind so that i can be away away from him for a minute.

"i'm just gonna go grab my purse from my room. i'll be back in a sec", i say, starting to walk out of the kitchen without waiting for his response.

i don't even own a purse.

i hear the now empty root beer can being thrown into the bin behind me, followed by matt's voice.

"can i come? i need to go to the bathroom."

shit.

"yeah, of course.", i lie.

i walk down my small hallway, matt following closely behind, and turn left.

"here's the bathroom. my rooms just there when you're done.", i say, motioning to my room on the right side of the hallway. he nods and wanders into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

matt's pov

standing in the middle of y/n's bathroom, my right hand reaches into my boxers to readjust my dick - which is still hard. if not, even harder.

i'm trying so hard not to, but every time i look at y/n i can't help but imagine her on her knees in front of me, taking all of me in her pretty mouth. i pause for a moment while adjusting my boner to slowly pull it out of my boxers. wrapping my hand around it, i hesitantly slide up and down, watching the precum dripping out of my tip every time. a quiet moan escapes my mouth and i throw my head back, eyes shut tight while i silently please myself. my mind floods with thoughts of y/n moaning my name and my dick grows even harder in my hand, almost painful.

i look back down at my dick, veins covering the surface, my tip pink and wet. i rub my thumb over it to wipe away the precum and slowly place my dick back into my boxers. i pull my sweats back up and glance at myself in the mirror, making sure the huge bulge in my pants is as unnoticeable as possible.

i walk closer to the sink and reach for the soap, pumping some onto my hand and turning the tap to warm. as i rinse the soap off my hands, i feel my dick make contact with the countertop through my pants and i let out a whimper. the sensitivity of my throbbing dick makes even that feel good. i sigh, silently hoping that my boner will go down on its own, and then reach for the door handle.

y/n's pov

i walk into my room and place the $300 from matt on top of my dresser. collapsing onto my bed, i bring my hands to my face and rub my eyes.

i cannot stop thinking about matt.

everything he does, everything he says - it only makes me want him more. his hair, his hands, his lips, the faint outline of his dick through his pants..

"hey, i'm back."

my lustful thoughts are unexpectedly interrupted by a familiar husky voice entering my room.

i look up to see matt.

"oh hey.", i reply eagerly, sitting up on my bed. i feel butterflies in my lower stomach as my thighs gravitate toward each other, yet again. i notice his breathing is heavier than usual, paired with light blush to his cheeks that wasn't there before.

"travis?", he questions.

"..what?", i reply, a puzzled look on my face.

"the music? it's travis scott."

i pause for a moment and listen; my speaker is still playing from the corner of my room.

the end of i know? by travis scott plays distinctly in the room.

"oh yeah, sorry. i forgot my music was still playing."

"no it's cool, this songs good."

i smile at his validation and feel my butterflies return.

"do you wanna sit?", i ask him, motioning to the empty spot next to me on my bed. he says nothing, just walks over and places himself just inches away from me.

while we talk about what our plans are for the rest of the day, i notice him uncomfortably resting a hand over his crotch.. and then both hands.. and then grabbing a pillow from the top of my bed and placing it directly over it. the distraction causes me to stumble my words,

"and so.. um.. i have a lecture on friday i think, but i'm not sure if i'll go yet. and.."

searchin by sonder starts playing over the speaker.

his eyes stare deeply into mine as i talk, but mine can't stay in one spot. they wander between his eyes, the pillow covering his obvious boner, his large hand gripping the sheets beside me-

you've been staring at it all along

you've been searching for me all along

you don't have to keep on waiting

girl i heard you call

listening to the lyrics, i begin losing track of my thoughts again.

"..and um..what was i talking about?", i chuckle, trying to remember. "oh! my lecture. so-"

my sentence is abruptly interrupted by a large hand grasping the back of my neck and pulling me in, accompanied by matt's lips on mine. his lips are soft and wet against my own and i feel goosebumps cover my body as his other hand nervously trails up my thigh. his fingers trace the hem of my tight shorts but then stop and i start to feel him pulling away, his lips swiftly detaching from mine.

he's quiet for a moment, staring into my eyes. my mouth opens and closes but no words come out.

"i'm sorry, i don't know why i did that.", he apologises, genuine guilt in his voice. "i should go-" he places his hands at his sides and goes to stand up, but i grab his arms and turn him to face me to prevent him from standing. feeling his muscles tense under my fingers, i let go of his arms. my right hand impulsively reaches for his hoodie, pulling him closer to me by the fabric covering his chest. our lips connect once again, this time only for a second before i inch away from him. once our lips are finally apart, i notice his rapid breathing and my eyes don't leave his.

"don't leave, matt."

[clarionglass]

archangel 2.0 (game master cinematic universe, part 8) | read on ao3

“Absolutely not,” Siobhan said when she rounded the corner to see Sam’s evil doppelganger coming the opposite way down the corridor. “Whatever plans you’re cooking up, I’m not in the mood for them today.”

Other Sam just shrugged at her. “No plans. Perfectly innocent, that’s me.”

“Like hell,” Siobhan replied. “You’ve already fucked with me once, I’m not believing that for a second. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact you shouldn’t be filming today.”

“You people commandeered my home, not the other way around,” Other Sam said with clearly forced patience.

Siobhan just hummed in response, noncommittal and suspicious, and Other Sam tilted his head to examine her closely, then straightened, pleased with what he saw.

“You never really liked me, did you, Siobhan?” he asked, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his lips. “You always had a feeling that something was off. You know, it's funny what the subconscious remembers, even when it didn't really happen.”

“God,” Siobhan bit out with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Fuck. Yes. I know you wiped my memory, well done you, you can stop fucking gloating about it.”

“Aw, you think I'm talking about that? Oh, no. You've seen me before. Trusted me, even.” 

Other Sam smiled, and when he spoke next, his voice was different. “Enough to vote for me, as it happens.”

“What the fuck?” Siobhan asked, genuinely bewildered, because that voice was eerily familiar. Though it hadn't crossed her mind in nearly 20 years, it used to be everywhere, back in her uni days. Political advertisements, news briefings, Question Time; you could barely turn on the TV without hearing it.

“Oh, good,” Other Sam said instead of answering, back to his usual accent and clearly pleased with himself. “I was worried I mightn't have kept the voice.”

“But that was—” Siobhan began, and faltered. It was English, for a start, pitch perfect in a way that didn't feel like a put-on accent. The range, the register, the cadence—they were all slightly different from Sam's, but somehow just as natural. Firm and authoritative, but in a friendly way. The voice of a politician you would be happy to vote for. The voice of a politician she had voted for, in fact, seventeen years ago. 

“That was Harold Saxon,” she said in disbelief. “You can't—no. Do you mimic voices, or—”

“Oh, no,” Other Sam replied cheerfully. “That was me. He was me.”

Siobhan just looked at him flatly. “You can't expect me to believe that.”

“Believe me or not, it's true,” he said. “It's a fun little thing called regeneration.”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “And what's that?”

Other Sam mustn't have been expecting her to call him on that, or had revealed more than he planned to, because to Siobhan's private delight, he looked suddenly uncomfortable. He folded his arms, closing himself off—but even so, was unable to fully hide his unease, fingers tapping out a restless tic on his upper arm. 

“Quirk of Time Lord biology,” he answered shortly. 

“You're not getting away with a half-arsed answer like that,” she snapped back. “What does it mean?”

He paused, weighing his words carefully, even as the jitters in his fingers betrayed him. “We don't die,” he said slowly. “Or, we do, but… it's not permanent death. We change.”

“Change what?”

Another pause, another careful consideration of how much to reveal; silence, except for that faint, almost imperceptible tapping.

“Everything,” he replied eventually. “Face, body, even the way we think, to an extent. Every single cell, overwritten.”

“Bullshit,” Siobhan breathed. But—it was just something to say. Deep in her heart, she believed him. 

Other Sam just shook his head. “I was Harold Saxon,” he said—not an insistence, but a fact, solid as stone. “You knew me, Siobhan. The whole world did.”

It was too much to be true, but it couldn't be a lie. She felt the disquiet building in the pit of her stomach, felt her own knotted fingers start to fidget, drumming out a quiet rhythm.

“Why?” she asked. “Harold Saxon was PM for a couple of days, then had some kind of mental break and was never seen again. What did you have to gain from doing that?”

“That's only what happened the second time round,” he said softly. “The first time was much more interesting.”

Something didn't feel right. The world felt unstable, like at any minute, the wallpaper that was the backdrop to reality would start to sag and peel. But Other Sam had the answers, it seemed. And there was security in knowledge. 

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“You know what happened,” Other Sam said. “Even if it didn't happen, not really. But I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” she breathed, and Sam's exact double met her eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. 

“Do you trust me, Siobhan?”

And the funny thing was, she did. Despite it all, despite everything she knew and everything he had done, she couldn't help but believe in him. Everything he said sounded rational, reliable, reassuring—a port in the storm. 

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, then, slow and broad, and she trusted that, too. “I'm glad, because this might be… uncomfortable.”

Other Sam pulled out his microphone from inside his jacket pocket and aimed it at her. It made a strange buzzing noise, the tip glowing bright, and suddenly she was bent double, clutching her head as pain a thousand times worse than any migraine she'd ever had splintered through her skull. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't escape the agonising clarity as memories she had previously believed to be whole and solid peeled apart into two mirrored pieces. 

On June 20th, 2007, Siobhan Thompson voted Saxon in the UK general election.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, and the broadcast of an apparent “first contact” suddenly cut to a black screen.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, then looked out upon his domain with satisfaction as the sky opened wide like a mouth, spilling out millions and millions of bladed metal spheres that laughed with the voices of children.

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night partying with friends, ringing in the new year with hopes that 2008 would bring nothing but good things. 

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night tossing and turning in a fitful sleep after another day slaving in the labour camps, producing resources for the Master’s war to come. Her days consisted of nothing but work and sleep, with barely a thought to spare about what the new year would bring, but if she had been pressed to name a hope—it would be for relief. In one form or another.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought about America. It held the promise of a bright future, maybe a career in her chosen field of archaeology, or maybe any number of exciting new opportunities. It would be scary, uprooting her entire life to move halfway around the world, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was jump.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought one word, the one word that united the entire planet. It held the promise of a bright future, the revival of a god and the downfall of a devil, the world unfolding with possibilities outside the confines of the labour camps that were all she’d known for the past year. It was scary, placing her trust—her life—in nothing more than a story, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was believe.

Both timelines were true. One had been reversed when the paradox that sustained it had been broken, but Siobhan couldn't deny that they both had happened. Impossibly, the parallel sets of memories were carved equally deep into her mind and body, the life she knew existing side by side with the ghosts of trauma.

In the present, she looked at Other Sam—the Master—with abject horror.

“You can’t have,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“But I did,” Other Sam replied cheerfully, and god, it was a mindfuck, aligning the atrocities of the year that never was with the familiar face of a friend she’d known for years. The deaths, the labour camps, the slavery, the shipyards, the radiation pits; all to feed a war that would reach across the stars, and all masterminded by the man who now stood in front of her as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“And now you’re here,” Siobhan hissed. “From fucking… god-emperor of the Earth to just working at Dropout, huh?”

“Oh, all of that was the old me,” Other Sam said innocently. “I’ve changed. In more ways than one,” he added, with that little peering-at-his-hands gesture that Siobhan recognised from the Deja Vu recording. 

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to just trust that?”

“You did a minute ago,” Other Sam replied with a faint smile.

Her heart sank. She had. She undeniably had. She’d let him fuck with her brain without even questioning it, because when he asked, she’d trusted him implicitly, even when mere moments before she was questioning him with all the suspicion she could muster.

Which meant, worst of all, that that feeling of trust hadn’t come from her.

“How did you—?”

“The Archangel network,” Other Sam said, not even bothering to hide his smugness. “Remember that?”

Of course she did. It was the best carrier, back in the day, before it went offline—shortly after Harold Saxon was removed as Prime Minister, as a matter of fact. She’d used it. Everyone had used it.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he continued. “A low-level psychic field, moving your thoughts to exactly where I wanted them. And even though the satellites were taken down, that was still nearly eighteen months of conditioning.”

“Fuck you,” Siobhan breathed.

Other Sam grinned. “Can’t do it across the whole planet anymore, but one-on-one, well, let’s just say I have a rather… magnetic personality. So if I give you that same stimulus…”

He began drumming his fingers again, and this time, Siobhan could see it for what it truly was. Not a fidget, but a signal, written deep into her subconscious seventeen years ago—abandoned, forgotten, but never truly gone. And she had echoed it so readily, she realised, had been sucked into the pattern without even noticing. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Trust me, it said somewhere deep in her brainstem, soft and insidious and unable to be ignored. Believe in me. And—

“Stop it!” she snapped, clenching her fists to still her traitorous fingers.

Other Sam raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what,” she growled, holding onto her anger like a shield. “The drumming.”

He laughed, a bitter little huff of a sound. “If only you understood the irony of asking me that. But fine, if you insist.”

As she felt that creeping influence leave her, Siobhan let her hands relax, but not her mind. “Don't you ever try that on me again.”

Other Sam just pulled a mournful face. “But it's so much fun!” he protested.

As Siobhan glared daggers at him, he raised his hands, palms facing outwards in surrender. “Don't worry, don't worry,” he said. “I've got places to be. In fact, you've actually given me a very good idea.”

“No, no—”

“I'm leaving you alone, Siobhan. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No, fuck—”

It was too late. Other Sam was already walking down the corridor purposefully, ignoring her completely. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out her phone and began to write a text. 

---

Sam burst into the editing suite, Siobhan close behind, to see his doppelganger sitting at one of the computers with a look of quiet focus. 

He looked up when he heard the door, and seeing who had just entered, sneered. “Oh. It's the cavalry.”

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.

His double merely gave him a cool look. “Tell you later.”

“Hell no, dog,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Sam's double blinked to see Lou, still breathing heavily from what must have been a jog from the other end of the studio. 

“Tch. You, too?”

“Course,” Lou replied, looking at Siobhan with fierce pride. 

Sam, now fully inside the room, stepped out of the doorway to let Lou enter, which he did with a glint in his eye. 

The Master merely watched, one eyebrow raised coolly as the other man walked close, staring him down the entire time. And when a fist rocketed into his shoulder, hard and accurate, the carefully-cultivated air of perfect nonconcern shattered as he winced in pain.

“That's for Escape the Greenroom, you sick son of a bitch,” Lou said, shaking out his hand. 

Other Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders back with an audible crunch. “Fine,” he shrugged, the lines of pain in his face giving the lie to his nonchalant words. “Fine. Get it out, if you have to.”

Lou smiled dangerously. “Good,” he said, and wound up once again. 

The second punch hit Other Sam squarely in the jaw, and was even harder than the first. 

“And that's for everything you did to the world. And more importantly, everything you did to my friend.” He turned back to Siobhan. “Good?”

“Good,” she confirmed. Her smile faded as she switched her gaze to Other Sam. “Get fucked.” 

“Hell yeah,” Lou said with satisfaction, and turned to go. “Yeah, you can schedule me with him for shit now,” he added as he passed by Sam, who nodded.

With a click, the door closed behind him, leaving Sam and his doppelganger, still rubbing life back into his jaw, alone in the editing suite.

“I can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Sam remarked.

His double merely sniffed, turning his attention back to the monitor.

“So. Now it’s just us, like you wanted, what is it that you’ve really been doing in here?”

“Getting you more subscribers,” his doppelganger replied matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that something you want?”

“Well—”

“Sam,” came the cool response. “Come on. I know how much you stress about those budget meetings, because you say it’s part of my penance to pretend to be you in some of them.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “I’ve been so good about it, too. Haven’t murdered even one of your board, and it’s been incredibly tempting. But you need the revenue, you need the profits, you need the subscribers.”

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I’m doing you a favour,” his double said softly, seeing the light of resistance fade from his eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone, it’s just a low-level psychic signal that nobody will notice. Subconsciously prompting social media viewers to actually subscribe, if they like what they see. And share it with their friends, and so on. It’s all for the benefit of Dropout, I promise.”

“You know I’ve gotta suspect you’ve got an ulterior motive, right?” Sam asked.

“I know,” his doppelganger replied. “But even if you don’t trust me, and you think I’m up to something—well, whatever that is, it’s a problem for later, right?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, please don't ask me to trust you. Siobhan told me what you did.”

His doppelganger just shrugged. “That was then.”

“She also told me what you did about ten minutes ago.”

“Like I said,” his double countered. “That was then. But I’m grounded, remember? I have to use my talents, brilliant as they are, for good. Or whatever you call good, anyway. The good of the company, maybe, and it’s definitely that.”

“Look. I’m only agreeing because I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial,” Sam said slowly, after a few moments’ thinking time, and he watched as a grin spread like oil across his double’s face. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Cross my hearts,” the Master replied.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x brian and other sam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): x part eight (archangel 2.0): you are here!

[shuuuuush]

Just Hang Up! | Sharky

Summary: Sharky and you are both too stubborn to turn off the video call.

Warnings: "shit" is used, and just fluff, you both being idiots seeing who would end the call first 🤪

A/N: no special colour font title cuz I'm lazy, and also just thought of this short cute idea bc of Sharkys insta live earlier today (14th of September)

"I still cannot believe that happened to you today!" You exclaimed into the phone, mouth still agape from shock.

Sharky and you were currently on a video call, he called you after a video shoot and was on the way home, except that he had to take the train back to get there.

He told you all about what happened at the shoot and the shocking spoilers for the next videos to come out on the beta squad channel.

About how Niko and Aj became the idiotic duo, which somehow made the video like 10 times better in his opinion, it added more to the comedy side of the video. Although at times he'd beg to differ, Sharky would say he's also kinda funny. (You've backed him up on that definitely)

"Yeah, kinda ironic, huh?" Sharky chuckled, reminiscing about what happened earlier, suddenly glancing off to the side as he heard the train announcement.

You couldn't hear it too clearly but from the few words that you did hear, you could tell it was an announcement for the next train stop.

"Is that your stop, Sharks?" Grinning as you thought of him coming home so quickly, ready to leap into his arms and give him the best hug.

He shook his head, causing your smile to turn upside down. Shutting your eyes as you sank back onto the couch you were sitting on and sighed.

"How much longer??" You groaned, turning to your side as you leaned further into the couch, now able to lean your hand against it to hold your phone.

Hearing laughter on the other side of the phone, you opened your eyes to see Sharky laughing, a cheeky smile on his face.

"Aww, you missed me that much?" He chuckled, his smirk growing even bigger as he saw your face.

"Well, obviously." You mumbled quietly, turning your gaze as you didn't want him to gain any more pride than he already had.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you?" He inched closer towards the screen, placing a hand over his ear indicating he "couldn't" hear.

"I SAID WELL OBVIOUSLY." Yelling into the phone as you rolled your eyes playfully, a small smile appearing onto your face as you hear Sharky laughing on the other end, clutching his stomach.

"Shut up." You mumbled, not being able to hide the growing smile when you see Sharky's one recovering from laughter.

"Love u too, babe." He winked, your contagious smile affecting him, grinning at you with his pearly whites.

He moved closer to the phone and scrolled downwards, a sigh escaping him as he rolled his eyes.

"Shit, my phone's on 20%," grabbing his phone on the left of his side and tapping the screen to check the percentage. "My other one is almost dead, too."

You nodded, waving a goodbye to him, "Alright babe, that's fine. See you later."

You waited for him to end the call as he waved back at you, both of you staring at each other through the screen. The whole minute of silence, expecting the other to end the call, made you two laugh.

"You go first." You chuckled, smiling as you watched Sharky cross his arms, shaking his head.

"No, you go first. I don't wanna end the call and make you feel bad."

"I won't feel bad, just end the call."

"Why don't you end it?"

"Why won't you??"

"Just end the damn call Y/N."

"You literally can press the end call button. Your phone's about to die anyway, just press it."

"Oh my days, babe, I'll feel bad, I don't like ending calls first."

"Sharky, as much as I love you, it's not the end of the world if you end the call first."

"Just end it. You're holding your phone anyway, mine's on the table."

"I'm not pressing shit."

"FINE." You heard him curse under his breath before grabbing the phone and pressing the end call button.

You laughed in victory as you texted him really quickly.

You 💟

See?? That wasn't that hard, was it??

Sharky 🦈

Stfu

You 💟

Love you too babe 🫶

Sharky 🦈

🙄

.... ily too❤️

Taglist: @b4tasquad @p3drii @n1kodl @elora-k @slutforpablogavi @enhacolor @amwife @distantfromu

Mutuals Taglist: @b4tasquad @p3drii @vctrvn-ls @allygatcr @slutforpablogavi @kennysboxergf @n1kodl @amwife @valeriesfantasty @lunasmindinwriting @kenhoess @heartsbyvalentina @stxrblxss

[pupyr0arz]

I think that Gaz would maybe like a broken bird sort of victim. Someone he perceives as needing to take care of. He'd be so gentle about it. Making sure they get enough sleep or nutrients, even if they don't want to eat

Kyle when he spots a chronically depressed mess on his way to the convenience store

“I know you’re not allergic.” Garrick says, mouth a flat line.

“What, you stole my medical records now?” You snap, trying not to feel like a toddler as he waves a forkful of pasta in front of your face. He looks exasperated at your refusal, you wish he was half as stubborn as he is so he’d slink off and you could go back to sleep.

“This would be easier if you’d tell me what you like, sweetness.” Garrick threads his fingers through yours, and you don’t shift your hand away. It’s all compromises with him, giving inches to defend miles and then turning around to realize he’s ended up there anyways. You want to turn your head away, but he’s sitting too close, knocking your knees together. “Is it the fish?”

“Maybe it’s the pills.” You snipe. You keep your eyes turned stubbornly away from the plate on your bedside table. At least with pre-packaged food you could pretend he didn’t tamper with it.

“You didn’t eat well before, either. This isn’t a new problem, is it?” You stiffen at the coaxing tone in his voice, fingers twitching. Dread and shame flood you at the sore, inflamed wound that he refuses to stop picking at. You stamp it out with anger, how dare he make assumptions about you? 

“I don’t know what you think you know about me—“ you start, bristling with righteous angry but he cuts you off, hand patting your back.

“What I know. I was watching you for a while, sweetness.” Garrick insists, faux concerned. I know. You’re crazy. You’re completely insane so this isn’t true, I’m not sick. You swallow down the rebuttal at a squeeze around your waist.

“This whole complex you have about refusing my cooking, we both know it’s an excuse you’re making. There’s no need to hide from me, love. I want to fix it.” He says and it wrenches something soft and vulnerable in your chest. Garrick surely is some demon, some otherworldly thing to crawl out of the depths, pluck you from your home and your life to have the audacity to tell you the words you’d never expected to actually hear. 

“You’re a piece of shit.” You tell him. You can’t even cry in peace, next to you or not, with the cameras in this room. Anger isn’t your friend, tears of frustration or self pity start to prick at your eyes and you clench your fists. Count on you to get kidnapped and still somehow find time to fuss over small issues. You’ll have a nasty headache later.

 “You can’t survive off of chips.” Garrick picks up the fork again, and turns your head with two fingers to your chin. You almost want to accept the bite, but the sight of it turns your stomach. The phantom sensation of swallowing the thick, fatty strands, feeling the choking weight in your stomach makes you gag, hand flying up to cover your mouth. Garrick pauses, hand falling away as his eyes narrow, flitting over your face.

“I’m not hungry.” 

To your surprise, he stands up, collects the plate, with another click of the lock you’re alone again. You flop over on your back, covering your face. You’re too wound up to enjoy the quiet now, stomach aching, clenching around nothing. You let out a frustrated growl, digging your fingernails into your face. The most you can get away with before Garrick swoops in—god, it’s like living inside a pillow.

The door lock clicks again and you want to punch something. Someone. Mostly yourself, but also definitely Garrick. His footsteps are faint on the carpet, and there’s a clack of a bowl. A gentle, cool hand rests on your leg. Reluctantly, you peer through your fingers.

“Can you at least stomach a bit of oatmeal?” His worried face floats above yours, soft creases around his brown eyes. “It’s just—I’m worried, okay? Just a few bites, love.”

You swallow, shuttering your fingers again. “Fine.” 

Whatever it takes to get some space.

—

“Don’t want to get up today?” 

You don’t feel like responding. Maybe if it was your mother nagging you you might’ve been guilty enough to pry yourself out of your comfortable bed and pretend to get something done, but you don’t owe him anything. You don’t. Maybe he’ll get tired of perving on you or whatever he does if you just lay here forever.

Is he still there? You crack open an eye and he is, standing beside your bed. You’re not sure what Garrick’s type is, especially if he puts this much effort into upducting messes like you, but you don’t feel anywhere close to sexy. You definitely can’t look it either.

“You haven’t showered in a while.” He notes, and his voice is carefully neutral. You’ll find it funny later that he’s suddenly repulsed by a sweaty filthy mess of a person like he didn’t follow you around and keep you here. You take a breath and your pillow smells uncomfortably of saliva.

“Love, I really can’t just let you lie here forever.” He says finally, and tugs away the bunched up blanket. You swipe at his hand and roll over, burying your face into the sheets reproachfully. 

It’s all too much and too little at once. You feel like there’s a thousand roaches crawling around in the inside of your skull, and the only thing keeping you from punching the tan walls is the closest escape you have, sleep. Garrick isn’t helping with his kind voice and his cruel hands and how he’s constantly showing up if you want him to or not. His hand closes around your ankle and suddenly it’s too much.

You lash out, kicking him solidly in the leg and he lets go, surprised as you scramble off of the bed to lash out at him. You’re shouting something incoherent that doesn’t matter half as much as the two connecting shots you manage before he puts you on your back, pinning you down easily. It doesn’t even hurt, the carpet is plush enough to catch your fall.

“I hate you.” You grit out between tears and clenched teeth, trying furiously to break his grip. Fucking Garrick, who thinks he’s some kind of god taking over your whole life and locking it down to just here, deciding everything, when you eat when you sleep when you fucking shower, who doesn’t have the decency to even hurt you.

“Love,” Garrick shushes you like a spooked horse. It’s not even difficult for him, which is unfair. You’re not small by any means, but he’s got an angle that just shuts down anything you try and you’re already exhausted. “Shhhh. Relax, okay? I’m fine, it’s okay, I forgive you—“

“Fuck you!” You slam your head back in frustration before the tears start in earnest and you’re hiccuping like a four year old. And Garrick is just there, wiping your tears like it’s some stupid tantrum, like you aren’t—like any of this isn’t—

At some point, he’s tugging you off the ground and wrapping you in a fluffy towel. You’re sitting on the toilet cover staring down at your feet while the bath fills, feeling like someone’s cracked you open and cut wires, all sharp ends and empty hollows. Garrick’s the only solid thing in the room, and he refuses to give you a single sharp end to hold on to.

You strip without really noticing it and he holds your hand as you slide into the bathtub. It’s warm and the bubbles swirl as he settles behind you, uncapping a bottle of shampoo. You can see your wavy reflection for a second, and you swipe it away before it settles and you can see the expression on your face.

You shut your eyes and let Garrick wash your hair. 

[terabyteturtle]

Hello my fellow gamer! 😁

May I please request headcanons for Bayonetta, Joker, Sora, and Zero Suit Samus reacting to their female S/O surprising them at the Smash mansion and spoiling them with delicious food like this?

Yay, my first SSBU request! That food looks so good, I don't think I could choose just one picture. Anyway, I hope you savor this just like the fighters would savor that food!

Bayonetta

- "Why, thank you darling, I'm famished!"

- She will eat the entire plate and then ask for seconds.

- Bayonetta has the best table manners you could possibly imagine. Even if she's ravenous, you'll never catch her eating like a wild animal, especially not in front of you. She looks so elegant while she eats and somehow manages to never get a single crumb on her face.

- She will happily feed some to Gomorrah. It may be a spawn of Satan, but hey, demons need to eat too.

- Speaking of which, Gomorrah now loves you for this.

- She'll make sure that you have some too; she refuses to eat unless you eat with her.

- As a pleasant conversationalist, she has plenty of things to talk about. Bayonetta will happily listen to whatever you might have to say, but she'll definitely be the one to direct the conversation.

- She adores your smiling face as you both dine with delight.

- Between you, Bayo, and Gomorrah, there will be no leftovers; every last morsel will be gone.

- After you're done, she'll give you a big hug and a smooch, thanking you again for the delicious meal.

- You better believe that she will return the favor when you least expect it.

- After you're done eating, she'll insist that you relax while she cleans everything up.

- If you still have room in your stomach, Bayonetta will probably pamper you with dessert. Don't try to deny it; you'll only end up losing the fight.

- "Oh please, after all you've done for me, you deserve it, darling."

Joker

- The first thing he'll notice walking into the mansion is the smell filling the air.

- It's an amazing scent, and he'll be pleasantly surprised to see you in the kitchen.

- He doesn't even realize how hungry he is until he sees all of the food there, waiting for him.

- He'll eat so much, it's not even funny.

- Morgana will tell him to slow down numerous times, and Joker will completely ignore him every single time.

- You and Morgana will have to keep an eye on him because there's a large possibility that he might choke.

- He nearly did choke at one point, which was super scary.

- If Morgana tries to steal some, Joker will swat his paw away.

- He'll definitely have more than one plate of food. Good thing you made extra.

- When he first starts eating, he'll wolf everything down and all his manners will go out the window. As he continues, he'll slow down to a normal pace and eat like a normal person.

- He'll apologize afterward for being so messy and will help you clean up afterward.

- Leftovers for later? Hell yeah.

- Expect him to ask you for the recipes. He totally isn't gonna steal them to impress his friends back home.

- He'll give you a sweet kiss on the forehead as thanks for everything you've done for him.

- Post-dinner cuddles! That meal hit all the right spots, and the best thing to do now is to relax and let everything settle.

Sora

- He'll get SO excited.

- "Woah, this is all for me?! Thanks!"

- He'll eat way more than you expect him to. You'd never think that much food could fit inside his stomach. He'll just keep eating and eating and eating some more.

- You'll have to hide some food if you want leftovers, because at the rate Sora will go, it won't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

- He wants to show his appreciation as much as he can, so he tries to eat a ton. Sora won't wolf everything down, but he'll eat at a quicker pace than one should.

- Sora thinks everything is delicious; he literally has hearts in his eyes from how in love with the food he is.

- Looking up and seeing you chuckling and smiling at him makes everything even better. Just knowing that you made the food fills him with joy.

- He won't stop thanking you for everything. He'll say it ten times before he even starts eating.

- He keeps trying to talk to you while he eats. You constantly have to remind him to swallow his food before he starts speaking.

- When he's finished, he finishes it off with a big burp and leans back in his seat, hands patting his stomach. He'll thank you for the thousandth time before getting up to give you a hug.

- Ten minutes later, Sora'll get a massive stomachache from how much food he ate. He doesn't mind though; in his eyes, it was all worth it.

Zero Suit Samus

- She'll be shocked at first. All of this food is for her and her alone? No, this doesn't feel right.

- She'll feel bad that you went through all of this hassle just for her. But once you reassure her that it's no trouble at all and you're more than happy to cook for her, that tiny smile of hers will finally appear on her face.

- Samus insists that you eat with her. You've done all this hard work, you deserve to sit back and relax for a change.

- Out of all four characters mentioned here, she is the most calm about the whole thing. Don't mistake this for a lack of care; she greatly appreciates what you did for her.

- Out of all four characters, she's also the one who leaves the most leftovers. She wants to make it last; it sucks to spend hours on food only to have people eat all of it in one fell swoop in nearly half the time.

- She remains quiet for the most part, listening to what you have to say without interruption and only giving input when necessary.

- You can see the gratitude in her eyes as she consumes everything.

- Afterward, she thanks you calmly and helps you clean up.

- After a wonderful meal like that, movie night is a must.

[covetyou]

y2k

moodboard and fic inspo by @psychedelic-ink main masterlist

rating: Teen (this is an 18+ blog) warnings: fluff, Joel and Sarah being domestic and cute af, swearing, Sarah being a little shit. No outbreak. word count: 876 summary: a morning in the Miller Household with our fave resident Girl Dad and his Daughter (who is a little shit affectionately).

A/N: @psychedelic-ink is having a cute lil joel miller birthday bash and i requested a silly y2k moodboard in honour of the occasion. This spawned from my brain before I could stop it. Happy Birthday, JM!

if my boss asks, i've been working super hard for the last hour and not writing this.

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Joel sat at the kitchen counter, nursing his morning coffee. It was a clear day, the heat of summer dwindling now that October was approaching. He relished these quiet moments in the mornings, just him and his world inside that house, safe and sound.

Even after 15 years though, the silence never lasted long. He was glad for it - he dreaded to think how quickly the days of silence would come and how much he would long for the noise.

As expected, footsteps thundered down the stairs.

One day that kid's goin' to bring this fuckin' house down.

"Hey Dad," Sarah says breathlessly as she sidles up to Joel. She's hiding something behind her back, and Joel well knows that look on her face by know. She's been up to something.

"Mornin' kid," he smiles. Whatever she's up to he doesn't care, seeing the best thing he ever did every morning always put a smile on his face. "What you got there?"

"I got something to show you," she bites her lip. "I made it."

Joel's heart wants to burst out of his chest. As a kid, he was always being gifted little drawings and creations - pictures of them in their house, a deranged looking cat with too many legs (a sign from Sarah that she really wanted a pet kitty - he wishes he could've said yes to her, but his allergies would never let it happen), a paper mache lump of something she'd made and painted. He kept it, but he still didn't know what it was. My babies first abstract art he'd joked at the time. It had been years since she'd made anything for him, she was more into playing with friends and sports than arts and crafts with her old man these days.

"Alright then, let's see it," he turns to face his daughter as she pulls her laptop from behind her back. It was a birthday gift this summer, and she was rarely off the damn thing - she said it made homework easier than having to use the family desktop computer, but he still didn't quite believe she didn't just use to to talk to her friends until the early hours of the morning. Still, he could never say no or be mad at her for much of anything for too long.

"And you ain't takin' that to school."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "I'm not. Look."

She points to the screen.

"I was up all night making it for you - Happy Birthday, Dad!"

It's... well. It's something else. Pictures of him (he recognized one as a picture she had taken 5 years ago) and the two of them together, all interspersed with a collection of other images he wasn't familiar with but somehow seemed to match. Joel's stomach dropped with it - if this is what his baby girl was into, maybe she'd changed more as a teen than he thought. Still, she'd made it for him. It was special.

"I... it's..." Joel was getting genuinely choked up. He didn't care what it was. He just loved that she made it for him.

"Don't you love it?" she prods his arm, grinning like a maniac.

"I do." And he did.

"The color pallette is so cute right, and this picture is my favorite." She points to a picture in the middle from a 4th of July last year - Her and Joel had gone to a neighbors house to celebrate. There'd been a bonfire. "I put filters on everything to make it more pink. It really gels it all together, don't you think?"

It was one of his favorites too. Even with... all the pink.

"It is uh, real pink, yeah," Joel says, scratching his neck. "It your new favorite color or somethin'? We need to paint your room again?"

Sarah's face drops. "I - I thought it was your favorite color, Dad." She looks devastated.

Joel is dumbstruck. What does he say. He flounders, stuttering, trying to find the words.

Suddenly, Sarah's face breaks into a shit eating grin big enough to rival Tommy's.

"I'm just fucking with you dad."

Joel's eyes snap to hers, a warning, and amusement, flashing across his face.

She holds her hands up in surrender. "Messing! I'm just messing with you."

"Well, I love it anyway. Even if you are just messin' with me," he kisses her temple and pushes her toward the door. "C'mon, lets get goin' or you're goin' to be late, and so am I."

Sarah rolls her eyes, gathers her school bag and heads for the door with Joel in tow. They both head for his truck, starting their day the same way they always do - together.

Joel stops before he reaches his truck, placing a large hand on the hood and looking over to his daughter. His - how did he get so lucky.

"Hey kid... can you send me that picture when you get home from school?"

Sarah smiles. It was a silly joke, but she's glad he loves it too. "Sure thing, Dad."

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