#but without already owning a hard copy.......

[tokoyume]

you’ve always felt a little sorry for satoru.

not because he’s weak. god, no. he’s terrifying in the way a force of nature is. people move around him like he’s made of glass and gunpowder, and yet… he’s alone. always has been.

back in grade school, satoru used to smile more. that was before geto left. before geto called the world disgusting and walked out, leaving only silence in his place. you don’t know all the details, just whispers. cursed spirits. ideology. betrayal. whatever happened, it left satoru gutted. even if he pretended it didn’t.

you’ve caught his gaze more than once. those blue eyes, brighter than any sky you’ve seen, always staring past people. like he sees everything, and yet nothing. they look so empty sometimes.

you’ve always wanted to be his friend.

so when your lit teacher pairs you with him for a last-minute senior assignment, something about dissecting metaphors in tragic love stories, you try to hide your surprise. everyone else looks relieved they weren’t picked. you’re the only one who doesn’t flinch when his name is read with yours.

and now, here he is, sprawled across your bed like he owns it.

“wow,” he says, inspecting your annotated copy of wuthering heights. “you’re the type who actually reads the stuff.”

you snatch it back. “and you’re the type who skims and fakes deep analysis, huh?”

his lips twitch. “guilty.”

you sit at your desk chair, crossing your legs. his eyes flick down, just for a second. you catch it. he doesn’t apologize.

“you always this bossy?” he asks, voice lazy but edged with something else.

“only when i need to babysit.”

he grins. “kinky.”

your cheeks warm, but you roll your eyes. “we’re supposed to pick one scene from the book and connect it to a modern relationship. write a short paper and present. i figured the whole ‘heathcliff and catherine can’t be together because of society’ angle might be fitting.”

he hums, shifting to lie on his side, head propped on one hand. “you think society keeps people apart?”

“you tell me,” you say quietly.

that silences him. for a moment, the usual arrogance slips. you see that flicker again. loneliness, sharp and hidden beneath a smirk.

“i used to have someone,” he says, voice lower. “but he left. said people weren’t worth saving.”

you lean forward. “and what do you think?”

he doesn’t answer. his gaze drops to your mouth. you suck in a breath, instinctive, and he notices.

“you always this nervous around friends?” he asks, voice dipped in velvet.

you bite your lip. his eyes darken. he sits up, slow and close. one hand lands on your thigh. his fingers drum lazily.

you can feel the heat blooming low in your belly.

“i don’t think we’re acting very professional,” you murmur.

“we’re acting,” he echoes, leaning in so close his breath brushes your jaw. “sure.”

his fingers brush your skin, slow and curious, as if he’s memorizing the way you react. they slide beneath the edge of your shorts, then your underwear, and when he finds you wet, his breath catches just slightly. you feel it against your cheek.

you close your eyes, thighs twitching as he lazily circles your clit with the pad of his finger. not too fast. not enough. just enough to make you ache.

“shit,” he murmurs, like he didn’t expect you to be this soft. this responsive.

you bite your bottom lip hard, trying not to whimper when he taps it again, featherlight.

“you’re already dripping,” he says, voice a little hoarse now, close to your ear. “you’ve been wanting this?”

you don’t answer. you can’t. your hips are moving slightly without you meaning to, trying to chase the friction, but he pulls back every time you get close.

“you’re greedy,” he says, smiling against your temple. “that’s hot.”

he shifts behind you, his chest pressed to your back now, warm and steady. one arm wraps around your waist to keep you close while the other continues its maddening pace between your legs. his fingers toy with you, teasing your clit with circles and light flicks, sometimes brushing past it and dipping just enough to feel how soaked you’ve become before retreating again.

you let out a frustrated gasp, and he chuckles low in his throat.

“you want more?”

you nod quickly.

“use your words,” he says, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“i want your fingers,” you breathe. “please.”

“see?” he murmurs. “you do sound pretty when you beg.”

he finally gives you what you need. his fingers slide lower and sink into you with ease. one at first, then two, filling you slow and deep. your whole body tenses, thighs clenching around his hand. he groans softly at how tight you are, his fingers curling just right as he begins to move them in and out.

he finds your sweet spot fast, like he’s been searching for it all night. each thrust has a rhythm to it, building pressure inside you until you’re panting, clutching his wrist with one hand and the sheets with the other.

“satoru—” you gasp.

“say it again.”

“satoru,” you moan, body trembling.

“that’s it,” he whispers, pumping his fingers deeper, thumb rubbing firm circles against your clit now. “come for me.”

you do. you break around his hand with a cry, hips jerking, thighs shaking. your walls flutter and tighten, soaking his fingers while your head falls back against his shoulder.

he keeps moving through it, gentler now, guiding you through every wave.

you’re still catching your breath when he pulls his hand away, slowly. you feel the wet slide of his fingers leave you, and then he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low sound of satisfaction.

you turn your head to look at him, dazed.

his smile is soft this time.

“…can i accompany you at school?” you ask, voice breathless.

his eyes linger on yours, searching. then he nods, brushing your hair back.

“yeah,” he says. “i want you there.”

[puddlejumper38]

Branderson's leatherbounds are testing me. I swear to god, I've been eyeing the mistborn leatherbound for years but I just can't justify it to myself - the postage makes it insane. I have a hard copy of all the mistborn books already.

But I don't have a hard copy of warbreaker. Just the ebook. And that leatherbound is beautiful :'( .

BUT I also want the bookends.... I'm holding out hope that they'll eventually become available on their own. Might be a slim hope, although Branderson did say there's some merch announcements in November.

Anyway the point of this post is just to complain about the pretty things that I Want but definitely don't Need.

[mcrtalstrike]

We could have learned more about Vol'jin in the heritage questline. Like the entire part about the rush'kah mask.

You know, like one Vol'jin wears thats on the banner and tabard to represent the Darkspear. Maybe Rokhan reminiscing when Vol'jin made his own to emphasize the meaning behind them.

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part one.

part two. | part three. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 7.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence/gore/death, human experimentation, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, walker is an asshole, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; this is part one !!! a second part is already in the works :) this was written all today so apologies if there are any mistakes!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

It didn’t seem a hard task. One kill. One more. Then you could go. Quit the clean-up business for good. You could practically hear Valentina’s sickly sweet smile through the phone. 

“You’ll be in and out of there in no time,” her voice crooned. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about your target. After all, you’re rather… disposable, aren’t you?”

You frowned at that. “My self-copies aren’t disposable. I feel it every time one of me dies.”

Valentina laughed—a high-pitched keening noise. You assumed she was waving her hand about in a dismissive manner, as she usually did with you. “You’ll get back up. That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it? Good luck. Try to have some fun. It’ll be your last one, anyway—make the most of it.”

“Yeah,” you said. Your free hand wound around your midriff, almost as if you were cradling yourself. “I’ll take care of it.”

You hung up before you could hear Valentina say one more word.

There were ringing gunshots, muffled grunts, and resounding thuds when you arrived. Who else was here? Your target was only one person—an untouchable woman. A Ghost. Would a thousand of you be able to tackle one of her? 

Or perhaps the better question was… were you willing to sacrifice yourself a thousand times to kill one woman? You definitely have before, on previous missions. Over and over again, the bitter taste of death was stuffed into your mouth, dry as a sock, tainting your innards like black tar. 

You waited outside the junk room’s entrance, counting the voices you heard. One man, for sure. One unidentifiable. Two women. You split yourself into two, then three. With a begrudging sigh, you spliced once more to make four. 

Three copies ran in. One stayed out. 

You spotted the ghost immediately. She was phasing between the shield of another masked assassin. Were they also here to kill her? Another copy spotted a woman being pinned down by another man, a blade inches away from her throat. Not your mission, not your problem.

Though, it certainly became your problem when the woman croaked, “There you are!” upon seeing you. “Holy shit, there’s three of you.”

She bucked the man off after tasing him, scrambling towards her gun. A click, a point, a shot. Your copy dove behind a pile of sturdy cases, but clearly not fast enough. You felt the bullet pierce your chest, the warmth of the blood pool across your ribs—and then you were dead.

“Fuck,” you winced, feeling the resounding ache of the gunshot in your own body, eyeing your dead self. Without a second thought, you split once more. Your copies scattered from your assailant, off to find the ghost. 

You tackled your white-masked target as soon as she materialized once more, managing to get only one powerful strike in before you fell to the ground, the ghost phasing away and disappearing once more. Then your head pierced with the terrible, agonizing pain of a bullet fracturing your skull, and you were dead. Again. And again, and again. Impaled by a shield, stabbed by the ghost. 

You gasped from outside the room, crumpling to your knees. How many more times were you willing to die? How many times could you?

Then there came a nauseous, gagging sound from inside the room. For a moment, you wondered if one of your copies had miraculously survived and was making that sound. You split yourself and crawled inside. Maybe you could save yourself. Spotting you coming in, the man with the shield seemed to realize there was one of you waiting outside. He sent the shield—already covered with your blood—arcing outside and striking you clean across the throat before you could react. Your decapitated head hit the metal floors with a disgusting, bloody noise, lolling to the foot of the entrance. 

That left one copy inside the room. You gasped for breath, air painfully dragging within your esophogas as you clutched at your neck, the veins beneath your skin popping. For safety, you duplicated yourself once more. 

“Woah,” came a voice beside you. There was a man in… hospital clothes? You scrambled away from him. He watched you with an open mouth, blinking in a manner not unsimilar to an owl. 

One of the assassins was dead already, bullet wound in the head, not unsimilar to one of your deaths here. You could see your own bodies scattered about, in varying states of mutilation. The three assassins left were all pointing their guns at each other, then you and your copy, then to the man gagging next to you. 

“Which one of you is the real you?” said the blonde woman. 

“I’m all me,” the both of you said at the same time.

She shuddered. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”

The man on the ground made a disoriented noise, as if realizing that he really shouldn’t be in a room full of people with guns trying to kill each other. “Actually, I—” He struggled to his feet, then turned to run. Thick metal shutters fell down over all the entrances before he could leave. It crushed your decapitated head as if it were a grape, your blood splattering all over you, your copy, and the hospital-man.

Shit. If you were still outside, you could have gotten away. 

The assassins all trained their guns at the man, spooked by his skittish movements. 

“No, no!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m—I’m Bob.”

It didn’t look like he had any place to hide weapons. Still, just to be safe, you split yourself again, now three of you. The faux Captain America flinched. “Fuck!”

“Who?” said the ghost, eyes trained on Bob. 

“Bob,” said Bob, shrugging. 

“Who sent you, Bob?” asked the blonde woman. 

“Nobody, why would I be sent?” he said, hands trembling. He was afraid. “You were all… you guys were all sent?”

His question went largely ignored. The woman’s eyes, lined with hazy blue makeup, darted to you. “You—how am I meant to kill you if you can’t die?”

You raised your hands in surrender now, mimicking Bob. “I can die. It’s the one thing I’m really good at.”

Something flickered in her gaze. She lowered her gun just slightly. “Who sent you?”

The ghost rolled her eyes and lowered her gun. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but my job is done.” She gestured to the dead assassin on the ground and stepped forward to go. 

One of your copies blocked her way. “My job isn’t.”

She scoffed, then phased straight through you. You felt a cold chill traverse down your spine. 

“Neither is mine,” said the blonde woman, turning the barrel of her gun to you. 

“Don’t waste your time,” you snarled. “I have infinite lives. You have finite bullets—do the math.”

The man with the shield tilted his head at the woman. “Convenient cover for someone stealing weapons from O.X.E.”

“I’m not stealing, Copy-Cat here is ste—” She paused, and realization came over her bloodied face. Then, she raised her hands in the same way you did. “Okay. It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

“Yeah, so?” said the man. 

“So all of this shit is O.X.E’s secrets. And so are we.” She gestured to the mountainous stacks of boxes and crates.

You felt your heart sink to your stomach. You should’ve known Valentina would pull something like this with you. It should’ve been suspicious how easily she accepted your request to leave. How could you be so stupid? So naive?

“We’re liabilities no one would miss,” said Ghost. 

The man scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I was sent here on a mission.”

“Look around!” said the blonde. “We are the evidence, and this is the shredder! She wants us gone.”

The three began to bicker over who was in the right. From their argument, you learned that the man with the shield was John Walker, officially Captain America for about three seconds before he had murdered a man in public. And the blonde woman—tasked with the impossible mission of eliminating you—was Yelena. Former Red Room assassin.

Bob began to shuffle closer to you, and you tensed. 

“Hey—” he said, reaching out a hand to help you up. “Are you okay? I watched you die, like, fifty times or something.” He fidgeted when you hesitantly accepted his hand, pulling yourself up with his help. Bob took turns smiling at you and your clones, all lopsided. He was so… off-putting. You scrutinized him with a narrowed gaze. 

“What are you doing here, Bob? You clearly aren’t… like us.”

“Wh… Why not?”

“You’re in a patient uniform. It’s the kind of shit I always wore as a kid,” you said, beckoning to his pants. 

Bob was about to respond, but clammed up when John Walker began stalking closer to the two of you. Subconsciously, Bob edged behind you, almost as if he were using you as a shield. You sure as hell didn’t know who Bob was, or what he was doing here, but he certainly didn’t seem deserving of the piercing glare Walker was sending his way.

“I’m not leaving here without completing my mission,” said the man. “Valentina gave me a clean slate, guaranteed—I’m not screwing that up.”

“And you believe her?” you said in disbelief, almost a whisper. You stepped back, bumping into Bob in the process. He felt strangely solid behind you. “She promised to let me go. A rogue, powered assassin let loose out of the cage. I was stupid for letting myself believe her. And you are, too.”

Walker’s face crumpled with anger. “Listen here, you freak. You multiply like… like bacteria. Obviously Valentina doesn’t trust you. She may be lying to you, but she trusts me. And you—” He rounded on Bob. “You were part of my job, so I gotta know. How’d you get in?”

You shifted so you’d be able to see Bob. He seemed to shift with you slightly, unhappy that you were no longer between him and John. Fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, Bob shrugged. “I don’t… Pfft. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

One of Walker’s eyes twitched. “Terrific answer. Great. Well, alright!” He beckoned to you, Yelena, and Ghost. “Tie yourselves up. I’m sure there’s rope in here somewhere.”

“Wow,” said Ghost—Ava, you remembered reading her name from your mission casefile. “No.”

“Hey,” whispered Bob, tugging on one of your copy’s utility belts. “I just realized I don’t—I don’t know your name.”

“Now’s probably not the time for niceties,” you said. After staring at him for a moment longer, you sighed. It was pitiful how lost he looked. “I’m known as Xerox.” 

“Xerox—that’s a… that’s a cool name. Way better than Bob.”

To your surprise, you found yourself giving him a small twitch of a smile. “Bob’s a palindrome. Same backwards as it is forwards. That earns it at least half a point on the cool scale.”

Bob paused, regarding you with an equally twitchy, uncertain grin. “I never thought about it that way. Yeah, that’s… thanks.” He let out a nervous laugh that was obviously forced—and yet still somehow endearing.

As you spoke with Bob, Ghost walked on ahead, intent on leaving. She phased out of tangibility, so you knew there was no way you could stop her even if you tried. You watched her go passively—you no longer cared if you failed your mission. It was clear it wasn’t a real mission, anyway. You were glad that Yelena had come to the same conclusion. She didn’t seem intent on wasting any more bullets in your copies’ skulls.

When Ghost drew within an inch from the door, a piercing sound echoed throughout the chambers. You and your copies keeled over in pain. The noise made violent shudders ripple through your body. It reminded you of all those times you had to be strapped down when you were a child before you could control your powers, riding out your seizures with a belt across your mouth to muffle your screaming. 

You could feel shaking hands drift to cover your ears for you. Bob’s. Your head snapped up, meeting his worried gaze. 

Eventually the noise subsided, and his touch fell away. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, eyeing him cautiously. What did he want from you?

“You were hurting,” was all he said in response, tone hesitant and soft, as if worried he’d done something wrong. 

You felt your face soften and you let out a weak exhale, suddenly feeling as if your heart was going to fall out of your chest. Why was he making you so flustered? 

The five of you were left sitting around for the next ten minutes. Walker and Ava took to raiding the dead assassin, Taskmaster’s body. Yelena didn’t seem too happy with that, snapping at them to respect the dead, job or not. 

“You knew her?” you quietly asked the blonde as she paced to and fro like a caged tiger, watching as Ava took a gun off the corpse. 

“I did,” she said, nodding solemnly. Then, she gestured to your own dead bodies strewn about. “Sorry about—” 

“It’s fine. Comes with the job,” you mumbled, voice soft. 

Yelena nodded grimly. “You live and you die, right? You more than most, I suppose.”

You blinked at her. Before you could say anything back, a siren blared across the room. The lights turned an angry shade of red that made the blood on your hands look black as tar. You felt your stomach roil.

Ghost looked upward. “It’s not a shredder,” she said. “It’s an incinerator.”

There was a large timer by one of the entrances that started to count down from two minutes. “Two minutes before Valentina’s slate is wiped clean,” said Yelena.

“Don’t know that for sure!” John protested. “Could be for when they come to pick me up.”

You could only barely withhold yourself from driving your fist into the smug look on his face. It did, however, make you feel slightly better that you weren’t the most stupid, delusional one in the room.

“Do you not feel that? The temperature rising dramatically, as if heat were involved?” Ghost pointed up at the gaps in the ceiling, where heat was filtering in, so strong that space warped and wobbled looking through the columns of air.

“Oh, boy, that is no way to go,” said Bob, nervously wringing his hands. 

Walker scowled. “Well, how would you like to go, Bob? With a hand around your throat choking the life out of you or a bullet to the head? Either could certainly be arranged!”

“Stop,” you barked. “You really want to spend your last moments alive being a complete asshole?”

The man clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Yelena stepped in before another fight could start. “Listen, Ghost-lady—”

“Ava.”

“Sure, whatever. We need to get you through one of the walls so you can open the door.”

“She tried that already,” said John, eyes rolling up to the pipes on the ceiling. 

“I know she did, but we haven’t tried shutting off the sound barrier!”

“If they built a barrier specifically for her,” you said, recalling your casefile. Her weakness was high-frequency sounds that caused interference with her suit’s technology. “The emitter must be in close-range. Somewhere inside the room. Outside would be too weak and dampened to work.” 

Immediately, you spliced a few dozen times and scattered, looking for some sort of power source.

“What—what exactly are we looking for?” asked Bob, hurrying alongside one of your copies.

“Not stupid questions, Bob!” John said. 

“Ignore him. Look for something with circuitry. Wires, a battery cell, that kind of stuff.” You tore through a few crates, feeling up the nooks and crannies of the walls. 

Fifty seconds left on the clock, rapidly ticking down. You were no stranger to dying, but this was strangely a different experience altogether. True, complete death. It sounded like both a blessing and the most terrifying thing possible. You could feel the panic rise up like bile in your throat. 

To your relief, Ava found the power source, and John immediately hacked away at it without thinking, orange sparks flying with the power of his strike. You would’ve been angry with his impulsive behavior if it hadn’t worked—Ghost successfully phased through the walls and disappeared.

Twenty seconds. 

She was going to come back, right?

Ten.

The furnaces above grew hotter and brighter.

Nine. 

One of your copies pushed Bob forward, since he was loitering directly beneath one of them. “Don’t stand under there.”

Five.

One of you caught sight of Yelena shutting her eyes in solemn acceptance.

Four. 

You heard Walker curse under his breath. 

Three.

You braced yourself. Would death be kind to you this time, despite all of its ugly cruelty before?

Two.

And then—a blaring siren. The slabs of metal began to shirk upwards. The four of you dashed out just as the columns of fire began to spew out. 

Bob was slow. You split yourself multiple times to keep shoving him forward. You could feel fire engulf your body, shrieking as the searing flames tore through your suit, into your skin, eating at your flesh, burning you to a crisp.

Some of you escaped, thrown by the explosion. One died instantly with a broken spine. Others clung to the walls, injured but alive. 

You watched in horror as many of your selves wailed in agony, dying a slow, agonizing death. You curled up into yourself, a few tears silently rolling down your cheeks. You supposed that was another one of your talents—you were very good at crying quietly. 

“Thanks for coming back,” you heard Walker say to Ava.

“I had to use someone. They cut the power to the elevator.”

“Hey,” the ghost said, reaching out a hand to you. You looked up at her, furiously wiping the tears away with the back of your hand, trying your best to ignore the pain. “Come on. Up you get. We need to find a way out of here.”

When she helped you up, she noticed that you were shaking violently. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve never been set on fire before,” you murmured. “Burned alive is a new one to add to the books.” You kneeled down to close the eyes of one of your corpses. You caught sight of Bob on the other side of the room, having just woken up from being knocked unconscious beside Yelena. He was uninjured, to your relief. 

“You helped me out,” he said, once you neared him. “Why did… Why did you do that? You died for me—so many times. I’m not…” He fidgeted uncomfortably. You could see the guilt weighing heavy in his eyes. “I’m not worthy enough for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were never good with sentimentalities.

To your dismay, John cut you to the chase. “I won’t disagree with you on that,” he told Bob. He stormed forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Bob, who cowered away just slightly before straightening himself to his full height. “I’m tired of your bullshit! Tell me how you got in here right goddamn now!”

“I swear I just woke up in this place,” he said, placating, as if he were talking to a spooked mare. “One minute I’m having my blood drawn for this medical study, and the next I’m here. I don’t know what’s happening, I really don’t.”

“Okay, then show me where you woke up!” 

Bob hesitated, then pointed into the incinerated room. “In—in there.”

“Where everything’s on fire,” John deadpanned. “That’s real convenient.”

“Walker, relax,” said Yelena. 

“You don’t remember anything?” asked Ava. “Bag over your head, a needle in your neck?”

“Chokehold? Nerve pinch?” Walker asked. It was beginning to feel terribly like an interrogation of sorts. 

Bob stepped back again. “No, none of those.”

“I think he’s just a civilian,” said Yelena, eyeing Bob carefully.

With an edge to his tone, John hissed, “Okay, well, if he’s a civilian, he knows too much and if he’s an agent he sucks. Either way I say we throw him back into the fire!” 

“No,” you said, glaring daggers at the man. “I died multiple times just to get him out. We’re not murdering an innocent man.”

“What do you want, a medal? And we don’t know he’s innocent!” Walker fired back.

Suddenly, Bob started to laugh. It was a wheezy, chuckling noise. You looked at him in surprise.

“You said you’re… Captain America?” he said, smiling incredulously.

John’s countenance grew even stonier than before. “What’s funny about that?”

“It’s just, heh, you’re… you’re an asshole,” Bob said between his peals of laughter. 

There was a beat of tense silence. Then John smiled, wolfish. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. In an instant, he was an arm’s length away from you and Bob, grabbing Bob by the throat and shoving him back so hard his back crashed into the wall behind him. You scrambled forward, multiplying twice to place enough hands on Walker’s chestplace to shove him back. Yelena also came to help, physically placing herself between the two men. 

“Okay, woah!” said Yelena, shooting a warning glare at John. “We swung our tiny dicks—it was a lot of fun, but we need to have some space now. Walker, you go over there. Bob, come with me.”

You watched the blonde woman whisk Bob off to the side, who followed her with no complaint. When you looked back at John, he was toeing one of your burnt corpses with his boot. He caught you staring at him and stopped.

“Sorry,” he said. Even he knew that crossed a line.

“Force of habit?” you taunted him with a tilt of your head.

John apparently had nothing to say to that. He turned away from you. Then, he began hacking at one of the walls with the shield. “There has to be a way out of here if we go in one direction for long enough, right?”

You shrugged. “Go right ahead. Be my guest.”

After a few more pummels, the solid concrete gave in and revealed metal doors. He pried them open, grunting with exertion, revealing an empty elevator shaft. There were no wires or indented surfaces to climb. Just sheer, smooth metal walls for as far as the eye could see. Likely even further than that. You gulped as you stared up.

“Hey, are you guys done with your therapy session yet?” John snarked to Yelena and Bob. 

Yelena, after saying a final few words to Bob, let him go. Bob made his way to you. Whatever it was that Yelena said to him, Bob didn’t seem particularly settled. You decided not to dwell on it for too long.

“So, this is—our way out?” 

“Looks like it. No way to climb, though,” you said. You glanced at his head. “You okay? That looked like it hurt.”

Bob glanced at you strangely, not used to others being concerned over his well-being. First Yelena, and now you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t have been as bad as you.”

“It’s no competition,” you said, pursing your lips. Then, to the rest of the group, you asked, “Should we all get in there? Maybe we’ll figure something out once we scope it out.”

All of you crowded into the bottom of the elevator shaft, staring up at the endless void above. 

“So… none of us fly? All of us just… punch and shoot?” Yelena asked, looking around.

“Don’t worry,” said Walker. “I got this.” 

He pushed you and Ava to make more space for himself, ignoring both of your startled noises. Then, he leaped up. An insane distance for a regular human, and what you assumed was just above average for one pumped with super serum. You watched him disappear into the darkness for all about four seconds. And then you heard screaming as he came back down. Bob tugged you back just in time not to get crushed beneath John crashing back down on his shield. 

“You should try that again,” Ava suggested, grinning down at him as he struggled back to his feet with a pained groan.

John looked at you and you clones expectantly. “You can multiply. Why don’t you, I don’t know, make enough copies for us to climb up there?” 

“You want me to form a human ladder for you guys?” you asked, horrified. 

“Well, yes—”

“My clones have limited range,” you interrupted, voice curt. “We’re a collective mind. If we don’t all stick within a few meters of each other, I get seizures and lose control.”

Walker frowned down his nose at you. “Is it not worth a shot?”

“Not unless you want to risk me spazzing out mid-climb and all of us falling to our deaths,” you retorted. “We need to think of something else.”

Then, Walker turned his gaze to Ava. “Can’t you just phase up there and throw down a rope for us, or something?”

“First of all, someone other than you would have to ask me,” she hissed. You had to admit, you were starting to warm up to her. “Second, I’ve only ever been able to hold it for a minute, and who knows how long it would take to get up there—I’d be crushed under the weight of it before I could phase back.”

“Just a minute?” Walker deadpanned. “What is it with you lab rats and your limitations?”

“Shut up!” both you and Ava exclaimed at the same time.

“I… have an idea,” said Bob, raising a tentative hand.

All of you turned to him expectantly.

Your backs were pressed up together, your legs splayed out onto the metal wall as the group slowly inched upward. For the plan to work, there was only space for one of you, so you reabsorbed your copies into one body again. The rest of the group watched you do it in a mix of muted curiosity and horror. Bob gave you an awkward thumbs up, which made you smile despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

A part of you wanted to leave a copy down on the ground in case something happened, but you couldn’t risk having a seizure if you got too far away, and with everyone else on the line, too.

“Ew,” said Yelena. “Which one of you is wet?”

“Sorry,” Bob winced. “I run hot.”

You shifted the arm looped around his, grimacing at the sweat dripping down your own face. “I get it. It’s fucking sweltering in here.”

“Someone’s got a weird, hard butt,” Walker groaned.

“That’s not my butt, that’s my suit,” Ava hissed in return. “Pardon me for the inconvenience—I only spent my entire life in labs, hooked up to machines so I could create this physical cage to keep my material body from disintegrating at all times!”

You heard Yelena let out a bark of a laugh. “You don’t want to start the whole sob story game. I’d win. Enslaved child assassin over here.”

For some reason, John said, “Well, you were just a kid, so—”

“Oh!” said Yelena. “Does that make it better? Gee, I wish someone had told me that earlier! That makes me feel so much better.”

“Not that it’s a competition, but I’ve spent my whole life quite literally dying over and over again,” you said. 

“Oh, really?” said Walker. “Sounds like you’re making it a competition.”

You fell silent, not wanting to waste your breath arguing. The group, panting in ragged, short breaths, simultaneously decided to fall silent. You were so high up now that you couldn’t see the bottom of the shaft anymore.

After what felt like eons, Walker finally gasped out, “I see a door!”

“Now what?” Yelena asked. 

“Uhm—I guess one of us should… go first…” said Ava from your other side, uncertainty weighing her words. 

“No, then the rest of us would immediately fall!” protested Yelena, breath trembling with the strain of holding herself up. 

“Shit… sorry guys, I guess I didn’t really think this through,” Bob muttered.

“Genius fuckin�� plan, Bob!” Walker exclaimed.

“Always making things worse,” the man on your right muttered. 

Your brows furrowed. “Bob, we’re all the way up here because of you. Come on, we’re so close. I can duplicate and—”

“We can’t risk your additional weight,” Walker barked out. “One slip and we all come tumbling down!”

“Then what do you want to do?” you asked. 

“Hand me a baton, I can reach it!” he said. 

Immediate protesting ensued. “No way, you’re just going to leave us!” Yelena gritted out.

“We have to hurry, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my bloody boots from slipping!” Ghost said. True to her word, you caught sight of her shoes slowly gravitating downward.

Yelena inched upward. “Spin us around and we’ll—” 

“No! Are you crazy?”

Bob shook beside you.

“Bob, are you alright?” you asked, wondering why he was tossing his head from side to side like a dog shaking off excess water.

“Cucumber—cucumber, cucumber!” he said, scrunching up his face.

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena asked.

“Growing up, somebody told me if you have to sneeze, you yell out cucumber to confuse your brain. I have to sneeze, but if I do, I’ll lose control and we’ll—”

“This is insane!” Walker bit out. “I can get us all out of here, I just need to go first!”

“NO!” Ava said. “There must be another way!”

Bob tilted his head back, knocking against yours. “Oh, no,” he said.

“Oh—” You began to panic. “Cucumber! Cucumber, cucumber! Bob!”

Yelena and Ava both began chanting with you. John, his patience worn thin, reached behind and grabbed Yelena’s baton. Then, he jumped out of formation.

You felt yourself falling, your heart dropping to the balls of your feet in sheer horror, trying your best to grip onto the slippery metal walls. In your panic, you duplicated yourself in an attempt to slow down your descent. Just above you, Ava punctured the walls with her dagger, braking to a halt. 

Then, to your shock, you were abruptly smacked against the wall when Ava grabbed hold of your wrist. But only one of you. 

“No!” you exclaimed, watching as your copy plummeted downwards with a blood-curdling shriek. After several seconds, you could feel your mind grow hazy, dizzy with the distance. “No, I’m—”

Your pupils rolled into the back of your head and you began to convulse. You didn’t register that Yelena had grabbed a hold of your ankle as she fell, and she sent a grappling hook down to catch Bob.

He tried his best to catch your copy, but you had streaked past so fast that you slipped right through his arms, and fell into the darkness below. 

The rest of the group, minus Walker, who had climbed through the opening, watched as you shook about violently. After several agonizing seconds, there was a resounding thud and splattering noise. It seemed a twisted sort of blessing that the fall had killed your copy immediately. You broke free of your seizure but immediately fell into a bout of pain, doubling over. It felt as if you were on fire all over again, and someone had carved you open, poured honey all over your innards, and released a thousand fire-ants to crawl over you.

You were so out of it that you only barely realized Ava was pulling you through the entrance with John’s help. Yelena hauled herself up after that, Bob shortly following her.

The ghost kneeled down beside you, gently tapping your face as you came in and out of consciousness. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

With slow, painful movements, you nodded, sitting back up. It took you another moment to realize that the entire group was huddled around you. “Oh, God. I felt my brains spill out down there.”

“What did you go doing that for?” Walker said in an irritating I-told-you-so tone, kneeling down beside you. “I told you not to duplicate yourself, didn’t I?”

“I really don’t think a lecture is needed right now, thank you,” Yelena told him. 

“I’m sorry,” said Bob, looking wearing yet another expression of guilt. “I tried catching you, but—”

“Thanks, Bob,” you said, nothing but sincerity in your eyes. “I felt you. Thank you. And thanks for holding onto me, Ava. Even though I tried to kill you.”

The woman averted her gaze, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Would have been a terrible weight on my consciousness. So really, I did it for my own benefit.”

“Alright,” you said, not believing her in the slightest, but you decided not to comment on it.

With the help of Ava and Yelena, you stood up on your own two feet, albeit a little wobbly, and completely exhausted from the climb up. 

“You selfish prick,” Ava spat at Walker. “If you had just waited for one goddamn second—”

“I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety before ensuring all of yours,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Pretty ungrateful, if you ask me.”

Then, something strange happened. Bob placed a hand on John’s shoulder, saying, “Thanks for saving us, Captain.” 

Instead of making a snarky comment, John’s face grew dazed. Unfocused. He turned and stepped closer to the elevator shaft, feet just a few inches away from joining your dead clone on the ground.

“Walker?” Yelena asked, wondering what on earth he was doing. Both she and Ava stepped closer to check him out.

You looked to Bob, one of your brows arched. “What’s up with him?”

Bob spared you a cursory glance. “I don’t know,” he said. You chose to believe him, but frowned nonetheless. “Are you okay, though? You were—you were shaking really badly in there.”

“A seizure,” you whispered. “Sorry I scared you guys. I panicked and duplicated. It wasn’t very smart on my end.”

“No, I get it,” he muttered. “The only one you can truly trust is yourself. I get it.”

You tilted your head, regarding him curiously. As much as you thought Bob was a perfectly ordinary civilian, he said some very cryptic things sometimes. “Right… yeah.”

“I know I haven’t given you any reason to, but… you can trust me,” he offered. His hand trembled, and you could read the anxiety plainly across his features. When you took a second too long to respond, he retracted slightly. “But, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I trust you,” you said, cutting him off. You spared him a downturned smile, which made him relax just a smidge. “You haven’t given me any reason not to, Palindrome.”

The mellow blue of his eyes shone with mild amusement. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Is that my nickname now? Palindrome?”

“If you want it to be,” you said, shrugging. “It is a bit catchier than just Bob. The same forwards as it is backwards.”

Bob looked back to John, who still wouldn’t move away from the shaft's sheer drop. “I guess that’s fitting,” he whispered. “Nothing changes even if I want it to.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, John finally seemed to snap out of it. He stumbled back from the edge of the shaft. 

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena said, completely bewildered. “Are you crazy? What did you do that for?”

“Do what for?” John grouched, waving her away as if she was a fly. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Ugh, nevermind, then,” said Ava. “It’s time we all get out of here.”

Once Ava pressed a button for the exit to slide open, light spilled in from outside. But—it was nighttime. You knew because you arrived at 10 PM on the dot, and you also knew for certain that not enough time had passed for the sun already to be rising. The lights were coming from cars. Multiple of them, at least three dozen. There was chatter as well. Boots. Guns. Tactical armor.

It was an entire squadron out there. No doubt sent by Valentina. 

Ava, John, and Yelena then started bickering about a plan and who was in charge.

“I think I might just surrender, probably,” said Bob. 

“I suppose she won’t hurt you if you’re just a citizen,” you said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Okay, fine,” John said, shrugging. “Every man for themself, then.”

“Why should you be in charge?” snarked Yelena. “You almost killed all of us right there!”

John propped his fists onto his hips. “Well, let’s see—I’ve been in the trenches of every war-torn country there is, rescued God knows how many hostages, and shook the hands of two US presidents!” 

“And how, pray tell, does any of that help us in the slightest way?” you hissed. 

Walker ignored you. “What else—oh! High school state football champs, back to back to back. Go bears!”

You stared at him incredulously. You never met Steve Rogers, but you wished you had that Captain America rather than this one in front of you right now. You were sure Steve was infinitely more tolerable than Walker.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Oh, wow. When I was five, I was in a peewee soccer team named the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Shane’s Tyre Shop. We won zero games, and one time one of my teammates did a poo midfield! Anyone else have any pointless stories to share?”

Exasperated, Ava pointed to herself. “Grew up in a lab prison.”

Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Meth-addicted sign twirling chicken. Was a… summer job.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Had my entire skeleton pulled out of my body once. Took me twelve minutes to die,” you said, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The rest of them turned to you, horrified. “What?”

“... Great,” said Yelena. “Now that we’re all done sharing, here’s the plan…”

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one on the table. You and Walker take out the first wave of soldiers coming through, wait for Yelena (and Bob) to turn the lights off and back on once the second wave of soldiers came in with night vision goggles, effectively blinding them, all while Ava went out to find an escape vehicle.

Naturally, Walker didn’t wait. He went barreling into the wave of second soldiers, knocking them all down with his shield and picking them off one by one. You hadn’t even bothered to step in, watching him punch through all of them on his own. 

“Thanks for the help,” he spat at you once he was done.

“Didn’t want to get in your way,” you snarked in return. “Now come on. Let’s get their gear on and head out.”

Eventually, Yelena and Bob came back, the former angry that the two of you hadn’t waited for her. John was quick to defend themself, but you merely tossed Yelena and Bob their own sets of tactical wear.

“No time to argue. We can’t keep Ava waiting.”

Walker sneered. “If she’s even waiting for us at all.”

Once everyone was changed, the four of you walked out, dragging Bob as if he were a fallen soldier.

“I don’t think I want to be carried anymore,” Bob groaned, arms stiff and aching from where they were grabbing him. 

“Shut up, Bob. You’re injured, remember?” Walker gruffed, which made Bob fall silent.

“Just a little further. Ava should be here somewhere,” came your gritted mutter. 

“We don’t know where she is. She could be halfway to Mexico for all we know,” Walker retaliated. Behind your visor, you rolled your eyes. 

And then, from the corner of your vision, you spotted Valentina. Pristine as always, sipping a warm cup of coffee. Envy and white hot rage scratched within your chest, but you swallowed down your anger. It took everything you had in you not to storm right up to her, chug down her coffee, and punch a hole straight through her pearly whites. You had a cover to keep up, after all. 

Finally, after a few minutes of dragging Bob, a truck pulled up to the four of you. Ava materialized in the driver’s seat. “Get in,” she said. 

You smiled. A small part of you really did think she was going to abandon you. You were glad she came back.

Yelena and John clambered into the front while you and Bob sat in the back of the tactical vehicle, where there was nothing inside but two wooden benches for seats. “Will you be okay back there?” Ava asked, and the two of you sent her tired thumbs-ups.

Both you and Bob swayed back and forth as the truck began to purr to life and rumble ahead. “I wonder what they’ll think once they see all my bodies down there. Can’t be a pretty sight,” you whispered. 

Bob gave you a sympathetic grimace. “Do you still feel them? After they…?” He motioned vaguely with his hands.

“After they die?” you finished, sucking on the back of your teeth in thought. “I don’t feel them, no. I feel the pain right before they die, though.”

Bob slumped into the truck’s wall across from you. “Sorry,” he said, to which you just shook your head. 

“So…” You started, eager to change the subject. “What did Yelena say to you back in the incinerator after your little argument with Walker? You seemed a bit… downcast.”

Bob squinted in thought, trying to jog his memory. “Oh… that. Well, I told her that sometimes I have… really high highs… and then really low lows… and it’s hard to remember things in the middle.”

“Must be a really low low right now, hm?” you said, a laugh lacing your words.

“Hah… yeah. No, I mean… right now I’m fine, I think. Compared to other times, now is… much better.”

“Yikes,” you said, now only half-laughing. “Glad you’re having a relatively good day, then.”

Bob laughed along with you, awkward as ever, then cleared his throat. “Ahem. And then I, uh, to Yelena I said there’s this… darkness… inside me. Never-ending. Like, uhm, I called it a void. Anyways, she said she felt the same way, so I asked her how she dealt with it.”

You motioned for him to keep going, leaning forward. “And?”

“She—she just said she pushes it down. Deep, deep down. Heh. I mean, i-it makes sense, I guess,” Bob said, stumbling over his words a little. “Like, what else is there to do, even?”

Judging from the way your brows knitted together, Bob came to the conclusion that you didn’t seem to think it made much sense. The thought crossed his mind that you looked rather endearing the way your nose wrinkled in thought. You would be a terrible poker player—the cards were written all across your face. Bob liked how easy it was to read you. It made him feel safer to be around you. But these thoughts were quick to wash away when he remembered that you were just—another bump in the road. You would pass, and everything would go back to being… nothing. A void. 

“It makes sense for an ex-red room assassin,” you told him, not unkindly, roping him out of his drifting thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you should take the same advice, seeing as you’re not an assassin. Right?”

Bob itched at his wrist. “Right.”

The truck slowed to a grueling halt when a few soldiers stopped the group. Walker, to no one’s surprise and everybody’s dismay, insisted on being the one to talk. They asked for identification and a reason for leaving the base, since the medbay was northside, and they were currently heading southward. Walker tried to bluff his way through, but it was clear that the soldiers were not buying his story.

Bob’s expression twisted as if he had swallowed something sour.

“I’m sorry for this,” he said.

“What?” you asked, watching in confusion as he softly took your hand. 

And then, strangely, you were no longer in the truck. 

You were in a hospital. The air smelled distinctly of sterilizing chemicals with the sharp twinge of copper—blood. There was a belt in your mouth. Screaming muffled around the stale leather as they hacked away at your leg. Your copy stood off to the side, also bound, but whole. There were tears streaking down both of your faces. You looked younger then—your hair was longer, your face rounder. The years had weathered you.

“Again,” said one of the surgeons. Your younger, whole self trembled, then split into another copy. It took longer back then. An entire minute of straining yourself just for one duplicate. Now, you could make hundreds of yourself in an instant if you wanted. Nurses came in and took the other copy away. Off for more screenings, more tests, more surgeries, more experiments. That’s what you were to them—an experiment.

“Please stop,” you croaked. You weren’t sure whether that came from the younger you or just—you. “Please… I don’t want to die again.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said the surgeon, coming around the dissecting table to push sweaty strands of hair away from your head. “You’re not actually dying, though. Not really. None of these—xeroxes of you are actually you.”

You broke down into silent, heaving sobs when he returned to the other you, and began hacking away more parts of you. “For science,” they’d always told you. 

Present-you turned, desperate to leave. Only, you were met with… Bob?

You searched his face, completely dumbfounded. “Palindrome?” you whispered.

“That’s where Xerox comes from?” he asked, clearly perturbed by the scene he was watching. You didn’t spare him a response.

His lips pursed and he reached out to take your hand again. In this strange, hazy world that you knew not to be real, his touch was cold. You rather liked how it felt against the warmth of your own palms, sticky with blood. Was that yours or one of your copies? You couldn’t remember. Was there any difference at all?

You held onto him tighter, shutting your eyes. Bob’s free hand raised to cradle the back of your head, shielding you from your own memories. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he murmured. “I’ll fix it. Leave it to me.”

Then, he pulled away from you despite your protests, and the nightmare realm seemed to spin and spin and spin, caving in on itself—

By the time you came to, Ava was shaking your shoulders and calling your name, as you were passed out on the floor of the truck. You glanced around with glassy eyes, confirming what you already knew to be true.

Bob was gone.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: YOU ARE LIKE PAPA!!!! Aka. I'm seeing a trend. The boys are all literal carbon copies of their mommas (or one parent) at this point - so how do they feel having a child that’s THEIR spitting image? In which your genes didn’t even try. Physically...and personality. Masterlist: LinkedUP Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: House-Wardens Format: Headcannons+ imagine (Yes, I know I said I wouldn't be doing bullets anymore...but one more? It's mixed. Can't just cold turkey a gal) A/N: Do I want to make this a series?...I do not know. Maybe? It's really hard to write without the kids having names - and I'm just here like...can I use the names I want? I already made them up in a past post. Would that ruin the experience for people? I mean - it's my stuff and I can do what I want but hmmm.... Warning(?): For this to be, MC's the one who popped the kid out and has reproductive ability to house spawn. Kiddos are biological. Talk of pregnancy and general child-rearing. Use of mother and she/her pronouns to make my life a bit easier.

Riddle couldn't care if his child looked like him down to the last freckle on is butt. What mattered most in that delivery room was that the child came out healthy with no complications. He's the father that doesn't shy away from asking the doctor + midwives questions - perhaps too many, since you nearly toss him out of the delivery room for causing unneeded distress.

In all honesty? Had he studied medicine like his mother pushed - Riddle would've been the one delivering his own child. He copes with stress through control - so imagine THAT scenario.

After birth, he cares much more for the child's skills and manners rather than their appearance. Do they wash their hands before every meal? Say their please and thank you? Do they trust him enough to state their opinions - respectfully, not a potty mouth.

Riddle can and will make them lick a bar of soap if they utter a curse word before the age of 15.

How's their academic drive? Are they social? It's very important that they get along well with others from an early age. He wants them to have many friends.

He's so focused on their personality - aiming to raise a happy, confident, healthy child - that Riddle takes compliments on their physical attributes with a grain of salt until his hard work all those years child-rearing amass into... well, a second less intense version of himself.

He's adamant to ensure the child's homelife is better than what he had growing up. In a way, he misses much while worrying about other things. 10/10 an anxious father, but very doting despite being strict.

"Must I paint a heart on my cheek every day? Why not a crown, or something more fitting us? Like a rose?" his daughter huffed, yet went to paint a large red heart over her cheekbone regardless.

Just like her father, she'd received her invitation to Night Raven. The girl was expecting it, her certainty fueled by perfect grades and a strong aptitude for magic. She did not lack confidence.

Just like her father, she was assured to land in Heartslabyul. Already prepping her cheek-mark before the mirror made any verdict.

Just like her father, she aimed for the position of Housewarden before setting a single foot on campus.

Yet unlike her father, she held no issues in speaking her grievances. She bemoaned about packing, groveled at her mother's feet for her favorite biscuits before living off cafeteria meals, and surely had no reservations stealing Riddle's best fountain pen for her studies.

She keenly resembled a certain ginger that still calls the Rosehearts' household every day despite getting blue-screened by the answering machine.

That’s the last time Riddle allows you to chose the godfather of his child. Ace is an insufferable influence without that power to toss around.

Riddle sighed, plucking the brush from her fingers and pinning her V-shaped bangs back to examine her uniform. He flattens her lapels and redoes her necktie.

His necktie. Gods he’s raised a little thief.

For a moment, as he loops the tie-knot, he's a young boy calling the girl's mother over each morning to straighten her uniform. It's nostalgic, especially with how his daughter squirms under his appraisal.

Definetly her mother’s daughter, he thinks.

It is then that Riddle sees himself through her wide eyes - they're the same greyish blue that were hardened on his first day. His daughter's are much kinder, he notes. She'll easily find companions to eat her meals with.

Her cheeks are full with sweetness- his were too, but by genetic design rather than an extra treat here and there. To this day his baby-face lingers.

Her cheeks were 100% rounded with uncle Trey's spoiling. Not that Riddle could deny her when he'd eat just as much sweets while toiling over papers in his office. He remembers the familiar patter of feet slipping in, tiny hands pushing a cookie on his desk and coating it with crumbs.

He'd scold her to bring a plate next time, but take a break from work to enjoy the moment. Strict yet not domineering. A child that shares should be encouraged, at least that's what one of his many parenting manuals said.

She shared his button nose and tiny stature. Except she loved wearing matching Mary-Janes with her mother, while he wouldn't be caught without a heel at that age. She inherited his height but not his insecurity. Thank goodness.

Perhaps all those comments about his genetics weren't solely in regard to her magical prowess or ambitions. "....Father? Hellloooo?" she side-stepped to grab her bags, just as he reached to flatten her hair for the fifth time. His heart mellowed enough to not scold her impropriety.

"Ah - " Riddle coughed into his fist, " - apologies, little rose. I just never realized how much you look like -"

"You?” She cut in, “Yeah, psssssh. Mother says it at least once a day. About time you listened."

Riddle snorted, pinching between his brows. Yes, of course it was said. Although only now was he beginning to believe it.

"In appearances, yes. Yet your manners are as deplorable as ever."

Leona hopes his children are nothing like him. Which is impossible, since beastmen carry dominant traits when pitted against humans. He's not surprised in the slightest when his child has two little cub-ears atop their head, or that tiny chord barely passing as a tail. A ready snack he threatens to bite off when they misbehave.

At the very least, he hoped for your eyes. His piercing citrine was attractive, no doubt about that. He's not displeased to have them peer up at him from a bassinette each morning. Yet it is your eyes that carry a softness that this palace needs for him to get through his day.

Hey. At least there's no question of paternity. The joke falls flat with the midwives though. 'course it does.

Multiple times, by the way. For someone who claims to dislike loud children, Leona's genes are intent to sire three spitting images of himself.

In every which way - from their squeaky yawns after a mid-day siesta, to the magic flowing in their veins.

"Papa! Look what I learned how to do!"

Leona barely had time to look up from his endless pile of paperwork. The damn thing was near endless, and he'd missed three scheduled siestas just trying to get through the civil dispute filings. His brother spared no mercy in delegating the less 'enthusing' tasks to his 'smart, wise, people-smart' - pah - little brother.

He hated the sea of menial administrative filings.

His eldest daughter was well aware - she hated her homework just as much.

"A stampede's on it's way! Better freeze up before it's too late!"

Which is why she chose that moment to turn her beloved papa's woes to stone. Literally.

The moment her little fingers touched papyrus, the entire stack turned into solid rock. As did the blood in Leona's veins. Sparkly citrine eyes looked at him expectantly. Somewhere in the palace the lioness' tutor was undoubtly scouring to find her, take her back to magic theory, maybe try to cover this up from the other servants.

"You - OI! I needed those - urk, what else have you turned to stone?" he drops the pen in his hand and tries to move the now frozen stack into a drawer.

"Dammit Ki'faji...Where are your tutors? This is exactly why I told your mom combined lessons with Cheka would be a hassle," Leona grumbles and kicks from his desk, quick to check the hall outside. The kid was a bad influence - rambunctious as a twerp and even more riled up as a preteen.

Upon seeing no servants, guards, or even Cheka running up after his cousin - Leona's both relieved and angered.

Angered that his daughter was left alone. She probably escaped to avoid classwork, which he did too at that age but she deserved better. A proper education outside of solitude. One where she could hopefully grow up optimistic about this country and the people inside of it.

Relieved that no servant witnessed her Unique magic. They wouldn't understand. He can't bear the thought of them speaking of her like they did him.

Except it would be inevitable.

Then angered again, because in his hurry her little tail tucked between her legs. She hugged the side of his work desk with her hands fisted at the hem of her tunic. Her lips set in a scared pout, looking up at him past that untamed mane in her eyes. Worried.

"Papa...did I do something wrong?"

He wonders if this is what his father felt like. Being confronted with your own child, knowing that by cruel fate they'd have to face hardships and hatred for something out of their control.

Suffocating. His own throat felt full of sand. The leather on his hands too tight. She looked so much like him. Acted like him. That much Leona never once contested. Ki-Faji bemoaned to the skies that it was like time never passed, and he was stuck in a loop teaching the same unruly child.

It was funny, until it wasn't. "Nah, kiddo. Nothin' like that," he tried to keep his usual drawl. Unclench his fists. Forget about when he first slipped gloves on, "ya gotta warn me before a shock like that. So you finally got your magic tamed down, huh? Good job."

He shut the door and it set closed with a load thud. Leona might have an idea of what his father felt, but right now? She came first.

Ensuring she felt wanted, strong, and damn right accomplished - came first. Everything else later.

So with just a few strides, he swept her up over his shoulder and out from under that desk. She giggled and squawked about turning 'him' to stone if he made her go back to classes.

And Leona made no promises, but set her on the edge of his desk with 'threats' of turning her sweets to sand if she didn't at least try.

"With Unique Magic like that, you'll out-class your cousin before he even catches wind," and a bit of rivalry never hurt to keep the bloodline strong too.

Which judging by his daughter's immediate squirming to go and turn the first-prince to stone? She inherited Leona's competitive streak as well.

Unions between Merfolk and Humans are rare. Roughly 1/100 and that is giving benefit of the doubt. There were too many boundaries and complications. Prejudice born from history, the need for transfiguration, differing lifespans and culture.

One strong deterrent, perhaps the most impactful, is childrearing. The genetic output - while not impossible - is exceedingly unpredictable. Each species of merfolk reproduces differently, and their genetic dominance when put against a human's gene (especially if the mother is human) can cause complications. Capricious complications.

And as we all know - Azul is not fond of chance. Were his child to be born on land, yet have gills? Their lungs are so small, so new, they wouldn't make it to water in time. The same could be if they were born underwater and needed air.

One thing he is certain of, is that Octopi carry strong genetics. Literally. Should the child inherit his strength its kicks could do much more to your stomach than be a tickle to fawn over.

His mother wanted grandchildren, as did his great-grandmother did great grandchildren. Truth be told he wouldn't be opposed to raise one to leave his legacy to. Yet the Ashengrotto genes were strong with each descendent, so much that when he discovered you were with child? He couldn't be happy. Not truly - because too much was at risk and out of his control.

He prayed, which is not something Azul ever does, that the child would take after you. At each stage of development you were monitored down to the last detail, looking for any complications. Even the slightest hint of a tentacle or incompatibility.

Luckily, the child formed feet. Its first kick scared the hell out of him, but at most left you sore. Yet he wasn't able to relax. Not until you were taken care of in the best hospital on land, with a literal aquarium set up next to the bed just in case.

A medical marvel. That's what this child was.

Not a miracle. Not a blessing.

A medical marvel, and the most beautifully unpredictable thing that has ever happened to Azul in his entire life.

There was no clear picture of how his son might look at birth. He waited with bated breath, mentally running through every text he could find on mer-human unions. Banking on all the preparations He arranged and trying not to bite through his nails from the anxiety. The success rate was too low, but you insisted.

And he was most fortunate, because had you not then he wouldn't be holding the most cherished prize of his life.

The baby didn't cry, yet neither did he according to his mother. He was pale, no gills in sight but the wispy swirls of light gray on his head showed Azul's genes wouldn't rescind everything.

It was hidden from view for now, but there were signs of mixed blood on his son's skin. Plentiful black dots spotted his entire body, too dark to be freckles yet too light to be like Azul's outer skin in his mer-form. Time would only tell if Azul's genes really did overtake all, and if his son would look at the world with wet purple eyes.

Yet what struck Azul the most wasn't these obvious traits, ones he predicted at the very start of your pregnancy after endless nights of research.

It was that right below his son's lip, in the same spot as his father, was a small mole. That truly was by chance with no genetic influence.

He thumbed the little speck, marveling at something so small yet he didn't realize he wanted until it was there.

"You weren't lying, huh? Those are some strong genetics you carry."

Azul balked, just barely stopping himself from whipping around too quick. He turned to scold you for not sleeping, worry ebbing at him all over again.

Yet you rest your head against his shoulder, cheek pressed into his ruffled button down to sink against him. His heart still spun like it did as a teenager.

"Look at his little head of hair," you laughed, and he mutely did just that, "if he gets glasses, then I think my bloodline's finished. Might as well say you did mitosis"

That got him to scoff.

"Hardly," he said dismissively, but his lips pulled to smile regardless, "I don't recall giving him feet. That's all your doing."

"Well excuse me for not having eight legs."

"You are excused," he snickered, "Truly, he would be so much more productive with them."

Azul didn't mean that. Well, partially. Yes his son would get much more done with four sets of arms but with other costs.

You hadn't pressed, and he was grateful.

Kalim wants a large family. Not only because it is expected of him as the eldest Asim, but also because he is a family man. He adores his siblings and does his absolute best to give them all attention despite their large quantity.

He's the most doting husband, and is even more attentive as a parent. One thing he will do differently from his father is keeping his family 'small'. Four children minimum, six children maximum. Monogamous as well. As much as he loves all his siblings, the unspoken tensions are too much to endure. Kalim's also a one-spouse kind of guy, and the thought of sharing - while normal for someone of his status - is not for him. No amount of suggestion or pressure will change that. It is bad enough that his children will be subject to worries about their uncles, aunties, and cousins possibly harboring ill-will. Kalim is set on ensuring that they are part of a true family, one without such tensions, and that he can give them all the love they deserve.

Perhaps he feels guilt as the eldest. He received the most attention from his father as the heir, but he has siblings who barely know anything about their father aside from how he looks. He has step-mothers he has met only in formality, and as time went on there were strains between his siblings that he couldn't ignore. Not after taking his official seat.

Kalim will not be the same as his father. Regardless for his respect and love for the man - No matter what the future does to him, no matter if he lives a long life or one cut short. Kalim will make sure his spouse and children are cared for. He loves them more than anything on the planet.

Should he have a family, and the situation demand it? He'd give up his spot as heir in a heartbeat and move far out into the dunes with nothing but the clothes on his back. All for them to be happy and safe. That's the kind of dad he is.

"Baba?"

Kalim resisted the urge to giggle. His eldest son hated when Kalim acted too childlike, and he was already pushing the boy's patience. He was just past thirteen, his fourteenth birthday already planned for a week-long celebration in just a half-month. It would be the biggest banquet the Scaldings Sands had see since Kalim's wedding. His son would soon start officially training as the next head Asim, just like Kalim did at that age.

Yet it was never too early to celebrate one of the best days of Kalim's life. Which is exactly why Kalim hovered outside the boy's window at an hour long past their family's 'bedtime'. The carpet under his feet familiar as ever, as was his son's exhausted disapproval (we wonder which attendant he inherited 'that' look from).

"Come on! Let's go for a carpet ride. Just you and me tonight," Kalim gently pat the space next to him, his smile adamant, "we don't even have to tell your mother."

His son deadpanned. Even Kalim grimaced at that one.

"Okay! If we get caught, I'll take the hit for both of us. Please? It's such a lovely night out. Perfect for a flight~"

Normally it would be the son begging his father to sneak out, not the other way around. Yet Kalim's eldest was much more mature than he was at that age. Despite being his physical copy, those ruby reds never sparkled with excitement like his father's. They were aways fully concentrated - be it on his studies, his charity, or whomever captured his attention. There came a point when a rumor surfaced that he couldn't possibly be Kalims, yet they didn't reach far thanks to the physical resemblance.

The 'only' resemblance. Since the kid hadn't cracked a laugh since he was in diapers.

Something Kalim learned to accept, but never gave up trying.

His son observed from his bed, the boy's nose wrinkled with thought. No doubt wondering if he should tattle to his mom. He was a doting momma's boy, at least he had that in common with his father.

"Fine," he sighed heavily, and rolled out of bed like it was torture.

Kalim waited, holding the curtain open eagerly until his boy hopped the ledge and sat cross-legged on the carpet's far edge.

Then they were off. High above the city where no one would see. Kalim bobbed his head happily, pointing out buildings as if his son hadn't memorized the entire map of their homeland at the ripe age of five.

"Oh! And there's the restaurant I took your mother on our first date. She loves their Kanafeh -"

"Baba, I know. We have it for breakfast twice every week."

Kalim guided the carpet towards lower ground without a response - keeping air, sassy teenagers, and his messy turban from whacking him in the face.

Only two of those three succeeded.

"Why are we even out here? Shouldn't you worry more about your responsibilities? What if mother wakes to an empty bed, did you consider the consequences? Her worries?"

There came those older thoughts out of such a young mouth. Kalim couldn't help but slump inwards, although his smile still hung on. "You're turning fourteen soon," life will change, "Don't you want to enjoy life a bit more before starting your studies? Baba will understand, you know." he said, and perhaps that was not what his son expected to hear. The boy puffed up. His tanned skin rouging with lost composure.

"I'm not like you. Being al Asim means something to me. Maybe you'd understand if you were a proper sultan who took his job and family seriously! Rather than sneaking off in the night for merry rides on a flying carpet!"

Under the moonlight, his son's perfectly primmed white hair bounced in the wind. Even in sleep he managed to keep his appearance tidy. There were times it was like Kailm was looking in warped a mirror. Those rare moments when he caught the boy lapse, usually with his younger siblings or cousins. When he looked softer, his garnet eyes full of kindness rather than the contempt held in them right now.

Except in these moments too - he still saw a mirror. Just one he wished to avoid.

He too disliked his father's way of doing things, to a certain extent. That his own son felt similar wasn't a surprise. It did not lessen the sting regardless.

"Tifli..." Kalim started, and his son faltered at the endearment, "think what you want, but there is nothing that means more to me than our family."

And even if his son wouldn't admit to it - Kalim knew he saw the mirror too. Just because Kalim disliked his father's choices, didn't mean he did not love him.

He reached for his son without a second thought, pulling the boy down to roughly rub his cheek over his head.

and just like that, Kalim was back to being happy and his son back to groaning complaints - albeit less agitated, to Kalim's delight - and pretending he was much more mature than he was deep down. Kalim's opposite yet perfect little replica.

"Ahahaha!!! Look at you! Just wait until the council has to fight against that fire! I can't wait to bring you with me! "

"AGH LET ME GO!!! WHY DID I EVEN AGREE TO THIS?!"

Papa Vil - now that's one unexpected title to tack onto his Resume. Contrary to what everyone might believe of a superstar leading a life on the go, Vil is proud to be a father. His own raised him while juggling his goals, why should Vil's career deny him the joys of fatherhood?

No. When Vil's daughter is born, he is more than prepared to balance family and work. He locked in when taking a spouse, and is never one to be unprepared.

When you were pregnant, he announced a hiatus in his career just as you entered the third trimester. He can afford it. The public loves a family man. He has money money, and wasn't going to risk missing the birth of his first child while travelling.

Also. Supportive husband to the maximum. Considering you were carrying his child, the bare minimum he could do was be readily available as you go through the roughest stage. That baby had a college fund made and filled before she was even born.

Not that he'd just let her mooch - no child of his would grow up without ambition and practiced life skills. He was not 'aiming' to create a replica or enforce his standards...but she wouldn't lack drive. No Schoenheit - not even you - is going to go through life quietly.

His hiatus was meant to extend until she turned one. Old enough to enjoy life on the road, for you to recover, and give 3-5 years for him to work until she started school. Unlike him at that age, she wouldn't be chartered around as much for his work. Nope.

He already had it planned. She'd be enrolled in a private academy, you'd work as you liked in a good neighborhood, and he wouldn't take any contracts outside of the Shaftlands until she was a teenager. Balance. She would have every opportunity, proper support, and hopefully independence to grow outside of his shadow.

The last thing Vil wanted was for her to be influenced by his career - well, other than admiring his films and being that perfect little face to single out int the audience while at a talk-show or photoshoot.

Speaking of Schoenheit genetics and their blossoming careers - heavens above, he fell in love the moment she first opened her eyes. There were few curly blond ringlets that grew out at super speed as the months past, and she inherited his lavender eyes. Although on a baby they were more rounded, doe-like, and would most definitely take his sharp edge as she grew. Every time he booped her little nose, the little giggle that came was almost melodic.

Such a well behaved baby made a cameo in one of his largest projects to date. He took the role of an unruly ostracized duke, where the special effects makeup made him both enchanting yet horribly frightening to young children. His character gained his redemption through raising an orphan, and Vil's little girl was the only baby they could find who wouldn't cry when seeing her father act so heinous.

"Vil, everyone here is itching to know, is it true that the baby we see in 'Redemption of our Finest ' is your own daughter? There are rumors and speculations from those on set yet we'd love confirmation."

Vil shifts in his chair. The many cameras at all angles did little to deter his focus from the interview in progress. It was one of many, and the talk-host across from him looked very eager to get the first scoop on his latest hit success. He smiled to the camera with his eyes, pretending to be in thought for a moment. The questions were all pre-approved, after all.

"Your assumption and the rumors are all correct," he started, crossing his legs and folding his hands together in them, "unfortunately we struggled to find a child that would not cry when faced with my appearance. Poor little things - it is a struggle to rear child actors. Especially babies."

The reporter blinked, somehow still shocked despite knowing the already.

"And you're saying that your daughter is a cut above the rest?" they asked, and he tutted inwardly. The phrasing was poor, as always with these reporters.

"Yes," he gave them a moment's victory, "and no."

He didn't wait for further inquiry.

"My daughter is remarkable - she is my greatest production, a work of perfection alongside my beloved spouse. Yet this film is rated PG-13, and includes scenes not fit for young eyes. Babies act on instincts alone, and for the majority of this film my appearance was...ah, I so rarely say this, but I was unsightly."

His tone carried warning for them not to twist his words, and the message was received as they gestured for those behind the scenes to alter the backdrop.

"We could even argue your acting ability is that good! To make such a beautiful face and poised demeanor come off as cold." they said, and with the click of a button the screen behind them changed.

On it came a picture of an old, tattered bassinette left on the front stoop of a castle. The picture flicked to show inside, and in it was Vil's precious little girl. Special effects added some dirt on her cheeks, and they wrapped her in a tattered blanket for the scene. Yet despite their efforts to make the child look abandoned, Schoenheit genetics demanded the world see such an adorable baby for all she is.

The audience awed at the picture, even without a cue card. Vil himself took on a genuine lift to his practiced smile when seeing her.

"And just look at her folks! Such an adorable little baby! Can you really expect anything less from THE Vil Schoenheit and Eric Venue's heritage. An actor before she can even count! Your wife's genes didn't even try here, did they Vil?"

The crowd appears insatiable as the host scrolls through a series of photos. Some taken from the film, others from photoshoots and the occasional candid photo snuck by paparazzi. He knew better than to try and hide his family, but said nothing as they all made assumptions.

After all - he was beautiful, and his daughter was undoubtedly the most beloved baby in all of Twisted Wonderland. It was only natural and who was he to turn his nose when faced with one of the few facts these reporters have gotten right.

Although, he wasn't entirely content He laughed into his palm, unable to resist the chance and made direct eye-contact with one of the cameras. Knowing full well that you were watching somewhere back stage, lips likely puckered from being disrespected and just waiting for him to come sneak your family out before the public was dismissed.

"I'm afraid there is nothing to argue there. My genes are perfection, not to mention competitive," he smirked seductively at the camera, propping his chin in the palm of his hand, "but I'm not opposed if my wife would like a rematch for a chance to win the next battle."

And with that - he simultaneously spiked his popularity rating and soft-launched what would likely be a second replica coming to life soon.

Maybe.

If you didn't kill him for that stunt first.

Prodigies spawn prodigies. At least in this case.

Idia never pictured himself as a family man. Hells he never thought anyone would even look at him with anything other than disgust (minus that one ghost lady. He doesn’t like to talk about it) let alone marry him. Needless to say that he cannot decide if you are an idiot or if he has plot armor - because those are the only two reasons you could possibly ever agree to give up your entire life and move to STYX just to be with him.

**see Marriage series for settling THAT can of worms

Yet you do, and now he’s got not only his little brother but a whole ass spouse. He’s on cloud nine. Life cannot be letting him have such good luck. The RNG is rigged

Until he learns that you’re with child - and it all goes boom. Literally. Since not only does his daughter inherit his curse, his fiery flames that never tame themselves, and his spiked teeth that nip his lips way too many times for comfort -

She inherits his genius.

Raising a child in a contained base is a living nightmare.

Raising a child with a need to infiltrate the laboratories and experiment is hell. At least he kept to his room when tinkering as a kid. Idia’s daughter has his brains and your craftiness for going around undetected…and your habit of initiating dramatic events. Needless to say that she does NOT keep to your family’s apartment, does NOT submit to any security (he regrets teaching her how to decode the base padlocks), and very much enjoys making STYX ‘lively’….haha…yeah

No one has ever met such a happy Shroud. Excluding Ortho. He was a sweet type of happy. You spawned a menace.

But let’s not derail. Even if he didn’t want her per-say - Idia loves his daughter. His gut twisted seeing the Shroud curse start taking hold over such a tiny body. She was just a toddler and already burning through enough blot to tie her to this place. He knew the feeling of those youthful amber eyes looking at him for guidance. She looked so much like Ortho as a toddler, and as a child began to resemble him more with longer flames.

It was a constant battle every day. Balancing his work while also trying to do better - because his attitude sucked. He knew his attitude sucked. You warned him about using self-deprecative language and for the most part he did learn to reign it in.

Except old habits die hard, and deep down he still struggles to like himself. Seeing his daughter follow in his footsteps burns brutally, since she has all this potential and just like him she’ end up working for the family business without a choice. All because of these stupid flames and these stupid teeth and these stupid genetics and this STUPID curse -

“MAMAAAAAAAA!!!! DADDY’S BEING A BIG MEANIE AGAIN!!!”

Her shrill high-pitched cry carried throughout the apartment. Idia had just enough time to swipe the alarm system off before it processed. He wishes he could regret putting a system to detect and alert if she was distressed when alone here - but couldn’t. Even now. Since this was totally 100% his fault.

Dammit this kid has lungs of steel.

“Nonononononono - No Mama! No! Shhh shh shh shh!” He grapppled at her little shoulders with clammy hands, “Look! Look I’m not sad, see??? We have pretty hair! Super cool hair! Please please please stop crying -“

And then she did.

The tonal whiplash. The way this tiny manipulator just ceased all her tears, mouth clamping shut with an audible click. A literal child pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket to pat her eyes dry - like some twisted 60yr old swindler at a poker game who’s been training for this moment for decades.

He should have known.

Honestly. Idia can’t even bring himself to be mad. The amount of gaslighting it took to get this kid off his Ninswendo last week already put his best tricks to use.

He is the one who created this monster.

Just like her dad - his little girl was hyper aware of people. Including him, and picked up all his weaknesses. She knew damn well that he genuinely had reason to fear only two people - her momma and her grandmother. Both of which lecture him about being a good model. She knew that system was put in place, and to be good when no one was around to watch her. Not that she ever stayed quiet in their home with S.T.Y.X labs to infiltrate.

He just never thought the day would come, when her demon like tendencies would be used for something like this.

“Your her father, not her friend” his mother said.

“It’s bad enough you turned me into a living photocopier - don’t you dare get lenient with her at this age” you warned.

“That child scares me” he thought, and you agreed. Awful. Awful parents. You both mean it in the most loving way possible.

“Hwee hee hee! I’m glad you think so, daddy,” she grinned up at him all sweet-like, with those pointy little chompers ready to stake their claim. She snapped her teeth at him like a piranha, “hehe~ Mommy says our teeth are cool too. The pointies make eating steak easier - oh! Oh! Can we please have steak for dinner tonight? Please?? Pleaseeeeee?”

Something told him that should he say no, those distress detectors would be set off before he could catch them.

“U-uh…yeah, kiddo. Sure thing. Just go play and I’ll put an order in.”

He tried desperately to hide the quiver in his voice, but knew he failed. She skipped off to her bedroom much too happily - even if father’s were supposed to want their kids to be happy, that was too much - and whatever work remained for the evening didn’t seem important

As Idia slid up to one of the house control panels to check for instant-card delivery, he wondered how this became his life, and if this is how his parents felt having a prodigal spawn of the under-hells for a son.

No. He wasn’t that bad….was he? Did he even want to know at this point?

Boom

“DADDY!!! MY EXPERIMENT BLEW UP AND IS LEAKING RED GUNK!”

No. No. He really did not want to know. For the sake of whatever relationship he had with his parents.

He wants as many children as possible. The definition of that one clip of of the kid who wanted 100 children, so that they'd all have to be his friend. Not that Malleus would force his children to be his friends - well, it would be a plus surely - but he does want a large family to live his life beside.

He finds comfort in solitude, but comfort's close companion is loneliness. He wishes to never be partnered with that feeling. There was opposition. Union between the Briar Prince and a human? Unheard of. Not to mention the life-span difference. Not just between himself and you, but also for his children. Half-fae live long, but not as long as full-blooded fae. In time he will still come out alone, but he hopes to have many memories. Much love and warmth to take with him.

Yet this isn't meant to be sad - no, let us focus on the absolute joy he felt when his first child was born. A boy, his magic exceedingly strong despite his lineage. Even the elders were surprised at the magical prowess this child held. It was almost as if Malleus' nightly wishes for his child to be well, to be loved, to be healthy - taking every precaution to ensure you were well cared for during pregnancy, speaking blessings to your stomach in the dead of night - it all just manifested and out came the world's most perfect child.

A Draconia who would grow up with both parents. He'd be protected, nurtured, loved, and never ever alone. Some might call the King overbearing, making sure his spouse had a desk in his office and attending his meetings with a bright yellow baby sling over his chest. It definitely stood out against his royal attire but Malleus didn't mind.

In magic - there was also physical appearance. Being half-human, the child physically aged quicker than Malleus did in his youth. Yet he still retained the Draconia genes, with two curled scaly horns poking out above his forehead. He had no tail at birth, but around puberty many little scales began to poke their way through at his temple, back, wrists, and neck. No one predicted this since the Draconias have never reproduced with humans, but you tried to calm him with poorly convoluted jokes about ' fancy dragon acne'.

Yet according to Lilia, the boy looked like a near carbon-copy of Malleus once he sprouted up. His hair may have been kept shorter, slicked back, and he may carry himself entirely different from his father. Yet the look in his slitted-emerald eyes was exactly the same. His aura was the same.

And Malleus hadn't any idea how to handle that observation. Surely it was meant as a compliment. In the moment, he laughed and took it as one. Who wouldn't be prideful to see themselves in their child? Especially one so accomplished, growing into his scales with pride and eagerly stepping into his role as prince.

Except Malleus wouldn't, because the thought of his child sharing the feelings he had at that age? It unsettled him greatly. Perhaps one of his worst nightmares as a doting father.

“Father?”

Three sharp knocks echoed in Malleus’ study. He needn’t look up from his book, since the door opened with a thud without waiting for his approval.

Not that he minded - no, quite the contrary. He felt excitement building up at the first knock after all. There was only one person who it could be.

No one would dare impose on the Briar King during his downtime.

None had permission for such rudeness.

No one except his dear family, of course. Although as much as he wished for them to cling to his side and be a welcome reprise from his duties - Malleus was rarely afforded such a gift. His eldest son in particular conducted himself more as a knight or distant consultant than a loving son. Perhaps that came from leaving him in Sebek’s care - as much as his knight was ecstatic to become the first prince’s personal guard, his constant reverence to the elder briar ways likely left an impact on an impressionable child. Instead of bedtime stories, the little Draconia likely fell asleep to Sebek's long-winded lectures on the daily.

Back when he was a starry-eyed toddler, of course. Now the boy wouldn't dare let his guard down enough to sleep, even if his safety was guaranteed. Somehow despite Malleus taking every last precaution to rear a tranquil child, he raised a stickler instead.

“Hm? You look troubled, my son” Malleus met his eldest’s rare lack of decorum with amusement. He didn’t bother to hide a fanged smirk from him.

His son, who seemed to bristle in the doorway when under Malleus’ eye, clearly struggled to contain himself into the proper prince he was trying to be.

“Because I am troubled, father” he grit out, hands flexing at his sides. Sharp black fingernails pricking at his palms.

“Oh? And what seems to be the problem? You so rarely come to me with such matters” - to anyone who didn’t know the king, the sentence read as a bitter slight.

Yet it was merely a father sulking for his son’s attention, in his own prideful way.

“That’s precisely the issue,” his son huffed, “with all held respect, you cannot just drop in on my classes whenever you feel like it! It’s disruptive!”

Malleus merely turned the page in his book, “and whose fault is it that I had to resort to such measures?”

His question met a guilty conscience, and so he continued.

“What else am I to do? My child no longer behaves as my blood. He writes home giving stale reports as if he is one of my soldiers and bids his precious family far too few visits,” Malleus looks up from his ‘reading,’ and gestures to the uniform his son wears, “What else am I to do to see my precious son, other than visit his school? I was a student there once. Your headmaster wouldn’t dare to deny my entry.”

“Father - I understand your anger with my negligence but that is not an excuse for disrupting my classmates -“

“They looked quite please with my presence. I even supplemented material for your lecture -“

“They were scared beyond their wits! - And what of mother?! Surely she was against doing something so drastic! Think of our image! The King of Briar Valley cannot just casually drop his responsibilities whenever he so pleases.”

The boy’s composure finally cracked - and even for a half-blood, his power easily contorted the world around them if left unteathered.

Crackles of electricity buzzed across the study, flickering through a lit desk-lamp. As did the temperature lessen some degrees. Rather than be miffed by his son’s explosion, Malleus laughed in the face of it.

So this is how he must have looked during his moments of impulsivity. Hah.

“You’d be foolish to assume she didn’t try and come along. I thought to spare you her ire, as a mercy.”

At that, the lamp ceased it’s flickering to beam a steady light once again. The teen’s cheeks flushed a shameful color, so rare for one who prides himself more than any of his siblings.

"That was not necessary," he softened almost instantly. Even if she nearly committed the same 'crime' as Malleus, it seems favorites were at play.

"You know with certainty that it was."

A Draconia through and through. What was the term Lilia used? “Momma’s boy”? Considering that none disrespect the Queen - the King included - as her ire could strike the most sore spots of their family after all.

The boy pulled at his collar, out of arguments and simmered to displeasure rather than anger. He muttered an apology for losing his temper, and Malleus found himself wishing for the argument to continue just a bit longer.

After all, these were the times he felt most like a father, a husband, part of a family - rather than a king. He misses the early days when he was only the first three, before the council and other influences pushed his children to focus on responsibilities and their lineage.

“I’m sorry for not writing home…or visiting…I hadn’t thought it would trouble you. I simply - I thought it best to place distance between us.”

“Distance?” Malleus balked, “Distance from your family?”

He couldn’t understand why his child would want distance.

How could the boy he worked so hard to instill belonging within, whom he raised from egg to man, whom he would give up everything for - possibly say such a harrowing thing.

His own blood. His heart and soul. To spew such things in the face of ancestors who were bound to loneliness.

Whatever explanation for his manners didn’t matter so long as he was happy, but to intentionally want to be away from all Malleus thought worthwhile in life?

Never-mind. Malleus wanted the argument to cease. Indefinitely. And to tie himself to this desk for a decade or more.

“Yes, Father. Otherwise it is too difficult-“ he hesitated to continue, but one look at his father- whatever expression he might hold that couldn’t be contained despite his efforts - seemed to be the last push, “- being away. From my family. Leaving. I do not like it, but it is my duty. Coming home, hearing from you, mother, even the care packages I receive from grandfather! I can’t eat them but somehow just smelling the burnt food makes me falter! How can you expect me to preform up to our family’s standards, if I am homesick all the time!?”

It was the first time since he was a boy, clinging to Malleus’ legs, begging his parents not to leave him with his babysitters, that his son cried so openly. Malleus nearly gave in each time it happened too.

The pressure of royal duties, of perfection, on his shoulders was the same as those who came before him. Yet Malleus found himself more relieved than anything, even if his child might never recover his pride.

It was also the first time in many years that Malleus hugged his son, careful to avoid his growing blunted horns, and wasn’t pushed away.

“You are already doing more than enough. Loving your family is nothing to be ashamed of, and it is one of my greatest regrets that you thought otherwise for a single moment.”

[lazysoulwriter]

off track. - lando norris.

content: soft!lando, secretly clingy, exposed in the cutest way, established relationship, a little banter, a lot of fluff.

---

To the world, Lando Norris was quick wit and sharp edges. Fast cars, faster comebacks. He had charm, sure — cheeky little smiles and a casual kind of charisma that made people fall for him without even noticing. But you knew the truth.

He was a baby. Your baby. And he worked very hard to keep it that way — quiet, private, just for you.

Only you got to see him crawl into bed after a long day, bury his face in your neck, and mumble “missed you.” Only you got the whiny “babeee” when his hoodie was just a little too far away, or when he wanted head scratches but didn’t want to ask. He’d rest his cheek on your thigh, let you brush curls off his forehead, and melt with every touch like it rewired his brain.

And you? You adored it. Protected it like a secret.

But secrets don’t stay secrets forever.

It happened after a race weekend — back at the hotel, most of the team still buzzing from the adrenaline. You were on the bed, flipping through photos on your phone, and Lando was curled up next to you, face buried in your hoodie, knees practically pulled to his chest.

He let out a soft noise when you rubbed his scalp, something between a sigh and a hum.

“Feel good?” you teased, low enough that only he could hear.

“Mhm,” he mumbled. “Don’t stop.”

And you wouldn’t have — except the door opened.

“Hey, we’re grabbing— oh.”

Oscar stood there. Frozen.

You froze too. Lando didn’t.

He groaned dramatically, didn’t even lift his head. “Why don’t people knock anymore?” Oscar blinked. “Are you… purring?” Lando rolled over, burying his face deeper in your side. “No.” “Yes.” “Shut up.”

You tried to hide your laughter, and failed.

Oscar grinned, hands in the air. “Alright, alright. I’ll just tell everyone our team’s golden boy turns into a cuddle monster when no one’s looking.”

Lando peeked up just to glare. “I will sabotage your car.”

“Already happens on its own, mate,” Oscar shot back, closing the door with a laugh.

The moment it clicked shut, Lando sighed and turned back to you.

“Now you have to keep playing with my hair,” he pouted. “My reputation’s ruined.”

You kissed the crown of his head, smiling. “Good thing I never cared about your reputation.”

And with a little smirk — still blushing, still melting into your lap — he mumbled, “Yeah. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[shyoko]

✧When an Enhypen member catches another jerking off to you ✦༺

𓂃✧This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. ✦ 3.7K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist₊‧ ✦𓂃 

enhypen x reader ⚠️ CW : NSFW / +18 — rough sex, jealousy, voyeurism, possessive & dominant behavior, light choking, wall sex, public risk, filming, dirty talk, eye contact, light humiliation, masturbation (caught), third-party presence, intense kissing. Minors DNI. Read responsibly.

✧ Heeseung ----------

Heeseung walked toward Sunghoon’s room with total calm, like any other day. He just wanted to tell him to hurry up—it was time to leave. But before he could even knock on the door, he stopped.

A deep, rough, wet sound. Staggered breaths. Soft thumps against the mattress.

And he knew.

His first instinct was to laugh. The second, disgust. But what he didn’t expect… was rage.

Heeseung swung the door open.

Sunghoon straightened on the bed, startled. His phone slipped from his hand—and that hand, still wrapped around his cock, froze.

The silence was brutal. Until Heeseung looked down at the screen.. And saw it. A photo of you. Your body. Your face. Yours.

His jaw tightened. He grabbed the phone, the screen still glowing with the image Sunghoon had been using. Without a word, he deleted it. His finger trembled with fury.

He slowly turned toward him.

“Honestly? I feel like breaking your fucking face.”

Sunghoon didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He knew he’d fucked up.

But Heeseung didn’t lunge at him. Not yet. He walked over, slowly, phone still in hand, until he was standing right in front of him. His stare burned.

“You jerk off to my girl… and don’t even have the decency to hide it?”

“You’re that desperate you need to get off to her face right here?”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, still naked under the sheets.

“It wasn’t serious... just a picture—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Heeseung leaned in and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him closer.

“Wanna know what she does when she cums? What she moans, what she begs for, what she swallows when she’s on her knees for me?”

He let go with a shove, knocking Sunghoon back onto the bed.

“You’ve got a picture. I’ve got her body screaming my name. And I’m not letting some bastard like you jerk off to that.”

Heeseung turned to leave, but paused at the door.

“Next time I catch you looking at her like that… I won’t delete the picture. I’ll smash your fucking face into the wall.”

And with trembling fingers, he slammed the door behind him.

…

Later that day, on his way to your place, a dark idea crossed Heeseung’s mind. When you opened the door, his face was already flushed with something dangerous. He stepped in, gently but with purpose, and lifted you into his arms, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“You’ve got a mission today, baby,” he growled with a wicked smile. “You’re gonna moan my name, real loud,for me.”

He set you down on the kitchen counter and pulled out his phone.

“Alright, sweetheart?”

He placed the phone to the side, voice memo already recording—right into Sunghoon’s chat.

Before you could react, his lips crashed onto yours, his hands roaming down your sides until they reached your panties. He yanked them off and tossed them somewhere across the kitchen.

He was rough, but not cruel—his fingers slid into you without warning, finding a steady rhythm. Moans poured out of you, his name echoing with each breathless cry. A satisfied smile curled on Heeseung’s lips.

“That’s my fucking good girl.”

His fingers moved faster, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. By the time you came undone in his hand, the message had already been sent—Heeseung eager to picture the shame and fury on Sunghoon’s face.

But it took less than a minute to get a reply. And it broke Heeseung.

“Damn, Heeseung, our girl sounds so good. Thanks for the audio. I’ll put it to good use tonight.”

Heeseung nearly exploded.

“OUR girl? That motherfucker!”

His face flushed red with rage. You didn’t know how this would end, but one thing was clear: these two were either going to kill each other… or fuck.

And honestly, the second one sounded a whole lot more likely.

✧ Jay ----------

Your legs were still trembling on the bed, your whole body sensitive from what Jay had just done to you. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead while his hand gently caressed your thigh.

“I’m going to grab a towel to clean you up. Don’t move.”

You nodded silently, still breathless, your chest rising and falling in uneven waves. Jay walked calmly out of the room, but as he passed a half-open door in the hallway, he stopped.

There was a sound. Panting. And your name.

The voice was unmistakable. Jungwon was inside, gasping hard, your name slipping from his lips in broken sighs.

Jay froze. For a second, he couldn't believe it—but that was all the time he needed to understand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned to the room without saying a word.

You looked at him, puzzled when he came back empty-handed.

“Everything okay?” you asked, sensing something in his expression.

Jay didn’t answer. Instead, he walked straight to the bed and took your legs in his hands, spreading them apart without warning. You shivered.

“No. Everything’s not okay.”

He leaned over you, his eyes burning with something fierce.

“You wanna know what I heard in the hallway?”

“Jungwon. Saying your name. While he jerked himself off.”

Your face went blank. You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. But Jay didn’t seem to care.

“I’m going to make sure he hears this loud and fucking clear.”

He lowered himself between your thighs, not bothering with tenderness this time. His tongue was fierce—fast, focused, relentless.  A loud moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Jay glanced up and muttered:

“That. That’s the sound I want.”

He climbed over you, flipped you onto your stomach with swift hands, and raised your hips until you were on all fours.

“You’re going to scream my name. So loud he’ll never dare think of you again.”

Without warning, he thrust into you hard, drawing a sharp cry from your lips. His rhythm was fast, intense, merciless.

“Say it. I want to hear it.”

“Jay… fuck, Jay…!”

“Louder.”

“JAY! It’s you, only you!”

He let out a low growl of satisfaction and drove into you harder, gripping your waist tight as the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

“That’s it. Let him hear it. Let him know who you belong to.”

His hands ran up your back, then tangled in your hair, pulling you slightly back.

“Are you still thinking about him?”

“Do you like that he’s listening?”

You couldn’t answer. The pleasure was overwhelming. Your body trembled with every thrust until you finally came undone with a choked cry, and Jay felt it—your walls tightening around him.

He held you tighter, his breathing ragged.

“I’m going to brand this into your skin.”

And he did.

He came deep inside you with a strained groan, resting his forehead on your back, still for a moment, letting his breath cool on your skin.

Then, without letting go, he whispered:

“He better not touch himself thinking about you again. Because next time…”“…I’ll leave the door wide open. So he doesn’t just hear it. He sees it.”

✧ Jake ----------

You were on a video call with Jake, sitting on your bed, wearing one of his oversized shirts that barely reached mid-thigh. Your hair was a bit messy, your expression soft and playful. He watched you from his room, smiling as you talked about your day—silly things, random thoughts—laughing, making cute gestures, absentmindedly playing with the hem of the shirt.

What you didn’t know… was that someone else was in the room with him.

Ni-ki.

He was sitting on the other side of the desk, wearing headphones, supposedly watching a video. But Jake noticed something was off. He saw how Ni-ki subtly glanced at the screen… and how his hand disappeared beneath the desk.

Jake froze.

He looked back at the screen. You were still smiling, crossing your legs innocently.

Then he heard it. A soft gasp. From Ni-ki.

And just like that, something snapped inside him.

Without a word, Jake closed his laptop. He stood up, stormed across the room, and yanked the headphones off Ni-ki. With one swift motion, he shoved his chair back.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Ni-ki didn’t answer. He just lowered his head, ashamed, but not apologizing.

Jake’s jaw clenched. He slammed the door shut, hard. Then walked back, reopened his laptop, and your face reappeared on the screen.

“Jake? What happened? Are you okay?”

He sat down in front of the camera, his gaze locked on you.

“Nothing. I just… I can’t stop thinking about how fucking good you look in my shirt.”

You laughed nervously. Jake smiled too, but something had shifted. His eyes were darker. Hungry.

“Can you do something for me, baby?”

“Slide the shirt off one shoulder. Just a little.”

You blinked in surprise, but obeyed. You let the fabric fall, baring your shoulder.

Jake exhaled sharply. He knew Ni-ki was still in the room, silent, stuck, knowing he couldn’t leave.

“That’s it. Stay like that. Now show me a little more.”

You bit your lip, hesitating.

“Why are you being like this…?”

“Because someone was watching you the way they shouldn’t. And now I need to remind him who you belong to.”

You looked down, shy, but there was something in your eyes. A spark. Jake saw it. And that was all he needed.

“I’m going to make sure you hear exactly what I’d do to you if you were here…”

And without warning, he pulled his sweatpants down, his hand wrapping around himself slowly, deliberately.

Your eyes widened. Your breath quickened.

Jake licked his lips and smirked, knowing Ni-ki was still frozen in the corner, watching it all unfold.

“This is for you. And if anyone else dares to look again… I’ll break their fucking hands.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the camera as his hand began to move with more rhythm. Your cheeks flushed. You couldn’t look away.

Your thighs instinctively pressed together, and Jake noticed instantly.

“Are you squeezing your legs?”

“Open them.”

Your breath hitched. You did as he said, slowly, trembling.

“Just like that. Let me see.”

Then his tone dropped, deep and cutting, as he tilted his head slightly.

“And you, the one in the back… listen well.”

“This face. These moans. They’re mine. And all you’ll ever get… is the sound of me fucking her until she can’t even speak.”

His eyes returned to you, darker now, his hand pumping faster.

“Touch yourself.”

“I want to see you soaking wet, knowing someone else is dying to be me… but never will.”

Your hand slipped under the shirt. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and Jake groaned in response.

“That’s it, baby. Give it all to me. I want you to come for me, right now… while he sits there, not even able to breathe without hating himself for wanting you.”

✧ Sunghoon ----------

Sunghoon hadn’t expected to walk in on that.

He was just heading up to grab a hoodie he’d lent Heeseung, but as he passed by the slightly open door… he heard it.

Moans. Your name. And it wasn’t his own voice saying it. He peeked in, curious… and saw.

Heeseung was leaning against the headboard, body tense, his hand moving steadily between his legs. But what truly froze him in place was what Heeseung was holding in the other hand: A photo of you. That photo of you at the beach. The one only Sunghoon had. He stared for a few seconds in silence, not moving. Until Heeseung opened his eyes… and saw him.

“Shit…” he muttered, instantly pulling his hand away. The photo dropped to the floor.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. He glanced down, picked up the picture calmly, slid it into the back pocket of his jeans… then looked up with a raised brow.

“Are you seriously jerking off to my girl?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, but nothing coherent came out.

Sunghoon just watched him. No yelling. No anger.

“Wanna really see her?”

Heeseung frowned, confused.

“Then come with me.”

…

Minutes later, Heeseung was sitting in the corner armchair of Sunghoon’s bedroom. From there, he had the perfect view.

You were on the bed, wearing a loose shirt that barely covered you. You didn’t know anyone else was there. You were smiling at Sunghoon, that smile that always drove him insane.

He leaned in, kissed you softly, and gently pushed the fabric up to expose your hips.

“Can I have you now, baby?”

“Always, Hoon…” you whispered, hands gliding up to his neck.

He laid you down carefully, settling between your thighs, trailing kisses down your skin like he had all the time in the world.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this…”

From the chair, Heeseung watched, breath shallow, heart racing.

Sunghoon leaned down, lips brushing yours as he whispered:

“Do me a favor…”

“What kind…?”

“Moan for me. Loud this time I want someone else to hear what he’ll never have.”

And then he pushed into you, deep and smooth. Your moan was soft at first, but it rose with each thrust.

The pace wasn’t rushed—it was intense, focused, like Sunghoon was trying to claim every inch of you.

On the chair, Heeseung was already falling apart. His hand slid down. Slowly at first.

He couldn’t look away. Your body. Your lips. The way you arched beneath Sunghoon…

And then your eyes found his. You looked straight at him. Held his gaze. And smiled. A soft, teasing, breathless smile full of heat.

While Sunghoon gripped your hips and thrust harder, you never broke eye contact with Heeseung. You bit your lip. Raised your hips. Took him deeper.

And then you moaned. Loud. Shameless. For him. Looking right at him.

And Heeseung? 

He completely lost it.

✧ Sunoo ----------

The house was completely silent when you got up to look for Sunoo. You’d woken in the middle of the night, missing the warmth of his body next to yours.

Barefoot, and wearing nothing but one of your oversized shirts, you walked quietly down the hallway. A faint light shone beneath one of the doors—you assumed he was there.

You didn’t knock. You just opened the door softly…

And froze. Jake was sitting on the bed, shirtless, his face tense, his hand between his legs. But that wasn’t the worst part. It was what he was holding in his arms. Your shirt. The one you swore you’d tossed in the dirty laundry.

And his voice…

“Fuck, Y/n…”

Then he looked up—and saw you.

His whole face shifted, panic crashing into him all at once. He sat up fast, still breathless, guilt painted across his expression.

“Y/n… I didn’t—”

But he never got to finish. The door behind you flew open. Sunoo.

He grabbed your arm without saying a word, slammed the door shut behind you both, and pulled you down the hallway toward his room.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t speak. His face was unreadable—but in his eyes, there was something new.

Rage. Wounded pride. And desire.

Once inside, he closed the door behind you. Still holding your wrist, his eyes swept over you slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and restrained. You nodded, still in shock at what you'd just walked in on.

Sunoo took a deep breath. Stepped closer. Then again.

Until your back hit the door. His hand rose to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, but his gaze never softened.

“Don’t go walking into rooms that aren’t mine again.”

His tone wasn’t gentle. It was firm. Dominant. And that version of him turned you on instantly.

“You’re mine.”

Then, without warning, he kissed you. Hard. No hesitation.

His tongue claimed your mouth like he owned it, and his hands slid down your waist, pushing you toward the bed. He pulled your shirt off in one swift move, then laid you down—careful, but relentless. He climbed over you, his skin warm against yours, his expression unreadable but intense.

“Did he touch you?”

You shook your head.

“Did he speak to you?”

“Only my name…” you whispered.

Sunoo leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

“Then you’re going to moan it loud enough that he never dares say it again.”

His hands slid to your hips, then his mouth followed—trailing down your belly, slow and sure.

He wasn’t in a rush. He was claiming you.

Every kiss, every lick, every soft whimper he pulled from your lips was his way of branding you—reminding you, and anyone else listening, exactly who you belonged to.

And as you melted beneath his touch, something became painfully clear:

Sweet, perfect Sunoo… also knew exactly how to be ruthlessly yours.

✧ Jungwon ----------

Jungwon had only planned to grab a hoodie. That was it. Nothing more, nothing weird.

But as he passed by the slightly open door to Sunoo’s room… he heard something.Fast breathing. Soft, muffled moans.

He paused. Stepped closer—quietly. And then he saw it.

Sunoo, sitting at the edge of the bed, panting, one hand gripping a wrinkled shirt, the other working between his legs. But the worst part?

What was right in front of him. A photo of you.

One that only you and Jungwon should have. One of those private ones you’d taken after a shower, late one night.

Jungwon didn’t make a sound. He just shut the door—quietly—before Sunoo could even realize he’d been seen.

Then he turned and went straight back to his room, where you were sitting on the bed, scrolling through your phone, wearing one of his shirts and absolutely nothing underneath.

He looked at you for a long second. Then walked over and gently took the phone from your hands.

“Come here. Lie down.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re going to film something together.”

“Wait… what?”

“Sunoo’s jerking off to a photo of you. So let’s give him something better.”

Your eyes widened completely. But you didn’t speak. Because Jungwon was already setting up his phone, placing it on the shelf across from the bed—angled perfectly.

Then he turned to you, undressing quickly, every movement calm, controlled, intense. He crawled between your legs, eyes burning.

“You ready?”

“Y-Yeah…” 

He kissed you. Not softly. It was deep, consuming—needy.

His hands moved over your body, lifting the shirt, exposing your skin, and in seconds, you were completely naked beneath him, lying back as he spread you open with his fingers.

“Look me in the eyes. I want that bastard to see everything.”

Then he pushed inside you in one smooth, hard motion.

You gasped—his name tearing from your lips without warning.

Jungwon started to move. Fast. But deliberate. Every thrust purposeful. Every sound, every angle, timed and measured. His hips snapped against you with force. His hands gripped your waist tight.

“This… is what it looks like when I really have you.”“When you’re wet for me. When you moan my name. When you come just for me.”

He reached up, wrapping a hand around your throat—not tight, just to hold you close, keep your eyes locked to his.

“I want you to come while looking at me.”“Knowing someone else is going to be watching this with his hand down his pants.”

His voice—those words—broke something inside you. The pleasure surged. You came hard, screaming his name, trembling underneath him.

Jungwon growled against your mouth, feeling you tighten around him—and followed right after, spilling inside you with a low, shaky moan. He stayed there for a moment, panting, forehead resting against yours.

Then he looked toward the camera. Got up, picked up the phone, and typed:

“Here’s some better material to jerk off to 😏🔥”

And hit send.

✧ Ni-ki ----------

You’d gotten up quickly—barefoot, half-asleep—just wanting to use the bathroom before crawling back into bed.

You opened the door without thinking… And froze. Jay was there. Standing in front of the mirror, shirt lifted, pants low, his hand wrapped tightly around his erection.

But that wasn’t what knocked the air out of your lungs. It was the phone, resting on the sink edge. The photo on the screen. You.

The one you’d taken at the beach—from the back, in that tiny bikini. The one only Ni-ki was supposed to have.

Jay met your eyes. And didn’t stop. His hand kept moving—slower now, but firmer. He didn’t look ashamed. Or guilty. Just hungry.

“Now that you’re here…”“You gonna stay—or just stand there and watch?”

You had no idea what to say. You stammered something you couldn’t even remember, took a step back, and shut the door with your heart hammering in your throat. You ran back to the room.

Ni-ki was lying on the bed, phone in hand.

“Niki…” you whispered.

He looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I saw Jay… in the bathroom… he was— He was touching himself… to my photo.”

Ni-ki went silent. He didn’t say a word. He got up slowly. Walked out the door. Closed it behind him.

You were left there, sitting on the bed, breath caught in your chest, not knowing what was about to happen. You didn’t know how much time passed before he returned. But when he did—he didn’t give you a chance to think.

The door swung open hard. Ni-ki stepped in, slammed it shut, and grabbed your arm with a firm grip you’d never felt from him before. He pressed you back against the door, his body against yours, eyes dark and locked on you.

“That photo?” —he said, voice low and sharp— “Only I was supposed to see it.”

Then he kissed you—hard. Fierce. Uncontrolled.

His hands slipped down to your thighs, lifting you easily, forcing your legs around his waist. Your back hit the door. His mouth moved down your neck.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here.”“Where anyone can hear it. Just so it’s clear who really owns you.”

He yanked your underwear down, let his pants fall, and entered you in one swift, deep thrust. No waiting. No words.

The door creaked under the pressure of every thrust. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his moans hot against your skin.

“He touched himself thinking about you?”“Then let him hear you moaning for me.”

Your body arched against him, legs shaking from the intensity. Each thrust was fast, firm, perfectly placed.

You were completely his. The way he filled you—so deep, so full—you couldn’t even breathe.

“Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You! I’m yours, Ni-ki! Only yours!”

“Louder. Let them all fucking hear it.”

And you did.

You screamed his name when you came, clutching his back, trembling against him. He followed just seconds later—buried inside you, body shaking, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered:

“No one else. Ever.”

✧A/n: Do you know what I’m obsessed with? Sunghoon and Heeseung fighting over the reader — like aaaah!!, I need to write more about them like this!!! I hope you liked it! Comments, likes, and reblog are really appreciated!! Mwah!Mwha! ilysm

✧Taglis: @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers @mitmit01 @highway-143 @ddeonuswife

[matt-murdockk]

Discretion

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader words: 2.0k summary: You and spencer are confident you are being discreet about your relationship (you are not) warnings: very raunchy making out in the elevator but otherwise it's fluffy like a freshly shampooed cow a/n: is three sugars too much for coffee? i have no idea how much is too much when i write spencer's coffee order. let's just say 3 is too much because this man drinks his coffee SWEET

To say that Penelope Garcia was a naturally curious woman would be underselling it by a criminal degree. And when it came to her friends— her team, her family— that curiosity was lovingly relentless.

Which is how (Y/n) found herself cornered in the tech room at exactly 8:32 a.m. by both Garcia and Emily, coffee in hand, nowhere to run.

“Okay,” Emily said, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked. “We’ve been patient.”

Garcia chimed in, “Painfully patient.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” (Y/n) said, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t heard them.

“Oh, please,” Emily scoffed. “You’ve mentioned your boyfriend a grand total of two times.”

“Three,” Garcia corrected. “But one of those was just ‘my boyfriend likes mango,’ which doesn’t even count.”

“I’m a private person.”

“You work with federal agents,” Emily deadpanned. “We find things for a living.”

(Y/n) sighed. “Fine. He’s... sweet. Thoughtful. Overly romantic, if I’m honest. In the best possible way.”

“Oh?” Garcia leaned in. “Like how?”

(Y/n) paused too long.

Garcia gasped. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You are,” Emily grinned. “Spill.”

“Okay, once,” (Y/n) said reluctantly, “he emailed me a PDF file titled ‘just because.’ It had scanned pages from an annotated copy of my favourite book, with his notes in the margins. Like, handwritten. From when he first read it.”

“That’s actually disgustingly romantic,” Emily muttered.

Garcia blinked. “Who emails their girlfriend a PDF?”

(Y/n) smiled in sweet recollection of that memory, how it was so unapologetically him— precise, nerdy, and quietly sentimental. He hadn’t even said anything when he sent it, just a subject line that read “Thought of you while reading.” And the book? It was something she mentioned offhandedly during a debrief three months prior. Of course he remembered. He always did.

Meanwhile, across the bullpen, Derek Morgan nudged Spencer Reid with the edge of a manila folder.

“You’ve been annoyingly chipper lately,” Morgan said.

“I’m always chipper.”

“No, you’re twitchy and anxious. This”— he gestured vaguely at Reid’s face— “is new. You’ve been smiling like someone who’s gettin’ some.”

Spencer flushed but didn’t deny it. Just shrugged, soft and smug.

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Pretty Boy has a secret.”

——————————————————————————————————

It was early— too early, by most of their standards. The bullpen still had that quiet, sleep-hazed hush to it, the kind that only ever lasted until the second pot of coffee kicked in.

Spencer was already at his desk, half-slouched over a file, tapping a pen against the paper in a steady rhythm. His brow was furrowed, curls slightly unkempt, cardigan sleeves already shoved up to his elbows like he hadn’t even noticed the chill in the air.

(Y/n) walked in, hair still damp from her shower, nursing her own cup of caffeine like it was oxygen. Without a word, she stopped beside him, set a second cup of coffee on his desk— black, three sugars, extra hot. Just how he liked it.

Spencer looked up, blinking. And then smiled.

Not the polite kind. Not the absentminded “thanks” he gave to Morgan when he handed him a report. This one was soft. Familiar. The kind of smile that landed a little too slow and lingered a little too long.

She smiled back— tiny, sleepy, warm— and kept walking.

From his desk, Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“You two telepathic now?” he called.

(Y/n) didn’t miss a beat. “He just looks like a three-sugar morning.”

Spencer flushed lightly. Tried very hard to look engrossed in his file.

Morgan tilted his head, amused, but said nothing else.

For now.

——————————————————————————————————

The post-briefing hallway was always a mess— agents filtering out in loose, staggered clusters, already juggling phone calls and folders and to-go cups. (Y/n) and Spencer walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, debrief sheets tucked under their arms.

It was nothing new. They always walked like that. But someone turned the corner too fast— an intern, maybe— nearly colliding with (Y/n) in the narrow hallway.

Spencer’s arm was around her waist before she even had time to react, catching her with practiced ease.

“Careful,” he murmured, the word quiet and close, his eyes flicking over her quickly. Not panicked. Just... thorough. Like he had to be sure she was still in one piece.

She nodded, barely flustered. “I’m fine.”

But he didn’t move right away.

His hand stayed at the small of her back— gentle, warm, grounding— for just one second too long.

They started walking again like nothing had happened.

Except Emily had seen the whole thing.

She stopped mid-step, one brow raised, lips pursing in suspicion. Watched them disappear around the corner with narrowed eyes.

Then shook her head once and muttered under her breath, “Nah. No way.”

And kept walking.

——————————————————————————————————

It was supposed to be a routine systems check.

Garcia was combing through the security logs for the east wing elevators— standard operating procedure after a glitch flagged a potential breach. Ninety-nine percent of the time, this kind of thing amounted to someone forgetting their badge or JJ carrying Henry in through the staff entrance.

She wasn’t even paying that much attention. Fingers flying on autopilot, her mind already halfway on her lunch order, until the timestamp 22:41 popped up.

She blinked. Squinted. Paused. Rewound.

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh my god.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. She rewound again. Yes. Still there. Not a hallucination. Not her mind playing tricks.

Definitely Spencer Reid.

And— holy shit— definitely (Y/n).

In an elevator.

Making out.

Not cute-office-romance making out.

No, this was pressed-up-against-the-wall, hands-everywhere, breathless and starved and feverish kind of making out. Spencer's hand was on her waist, then in her hair, then gripping her thigh as he practically lifted her off the ground. And (Y/n)? Her mouth was at his jaw, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt like she was trying to burn the feel of it into her palms.

Garcia made a high-pitched, involuntary squeak.

Then slammed her hand on the desk phone.

“Derek Morgan. Tech room. Now.”

Morgan arrived first. Followed by Emily, who walked in brow furrowed. “You paged me? What’s the—?”

She cut herself off.

“... Is that the elevator?”

“It is,” Garcia nodded solemnly.

Emily leaned forward. “Wait— is that (Y/n)?”

“Is this— ?” Morgan started, but the words died in his throat as he looked closer.

His jaw dropped.

“Is that— ?”

“Oh, it is.”

A long beat of stunned silence.

Then, slowly, “Spencer?” Morgan said, voice incredulous.

“Oh, it gets better,” Garcia said, grinning wickedly as she hovered over her keyboard.

Morgan and Emily were already leaning in close, popcorn-level invested.

She hit play again.

The footage resumed.

At first, it was just (Y/n) and Spencer standing in the elevator, talking— innocent enough. Until Spencer said something— inaudible, but clearly effective— and (Y/n) rolled her eyes, stepped forward, grabbed him by the tie, and yanked him down into a kiss.

Morgan let out a low whistle.

But that wasn’t the part Garcia was talking about.

At around the 45-second mark, Spencer’s hands slid down (Y/n)’s back and landed firmly on her hips, then lower.

“Oh my God,” Emily said, eyes wide.

Then (Y/n)’s back hit the elevator wall, and Spencer didn’t even hesitate— one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding beneath her blazer, under her shirt, palm flat against her bare waist.

He kissed her like they were the only people in the world. Like it was muscle memory. Urgent. Confident. Completely un-Spencer.

And then she moaned. Audibly. In the security camera footage.

“Oh my God,” Garcia repeated, one octave higher.

Morgan just stared, stunned silent for once in his life.

Spencer pulled back for a breath in the footage, then leaned in again— kissing her jaw, her neck, his hand definitely not on her waist anymore.

Emily had to fan herself with a stray file.

“Spencer Reid,” she said, breathless. “Has game.”

“Game?” Morgan echoed. “That man is playing a whole ass league.”

“WAIT. OH MY GOD. SPENCER IS PDF GUY?!”

Morgan looked between them. “Wait. Who the hell is PDF guy?”

“Long story,” Emily muttered, eyes still glued to the screen. “Holy shit.”

They all watched in silence as the footage looped again.

Spencer leaned in, said something at her ear. Whatever it was, it made (Y/n) flush, then pull him in again, mouths meeting like it physically hurt to be apart. His hands— decidedly not where they should be— disappeared beneath the hem of her shirt just as the doors started to open.

Then they broke apart like nothing happened, like they weren’t seconds away from defiling federal property, both adjusting their clothes with the sort of casual precision that only came from lots of practice.

The video ended. Nobody said anything for a full five seconds.

Then Garcia breathed, “Our little genius is secretly a menace.”

Emily nodded. “Remind me to never underestimate Spencer Reid ever again.”

Morgan just whistled. “Damn. Pretty Boy really is full of surprises.”

——————————————————————————————————

It started innocently enough.

Spencer and (Y/n) were at their desks, quietly reviewing case files. Garcia strolled in, followed by Emily and Morgan, all three of them wearing suspiciously gleeful expressions. Spencer looked up first, sensing the shift in energy like a deer catching the scent of danger.

“Morning,” he said slowly.

Garcia beamed. “Oh honey. Don’t be coy.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow. “Coy about what?”

“Oh, just your scandalous elevator escapades.”

Spencer blinked. “I— what?”

Garcia spun her laptop around with a dramatic flourish. “Roll tape.”

On-screen, the infamous elevator footage began to play. There they were— Spencer and (Y/n)— barely waiting for the doors to shut before she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him into a kiss that could not, under any circumstances, be labelled work appropriate.

(Y/n)’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in horror. “Where did you— how did you—”

“I run the surveillance system, Doctor Love,” Garcia said, smug. “A glitch flagged the camera, and lo and behold, I find this cinematic masterpiece.”

Morgan leaned in, whistling low. “Spencer Reid, you sly bastard.”

Emily made an impressed sound. “Honestly? Respect.”

Spencer looked like he was about to pass out. “Please don’t show anyone else—”

Right on cue, JJ walked in holding a folder. “Show anyone else what—?”

Garcia spun the laptop before anyone could stop her.

JJ saw exactly three seconds of the video before she yelped and turned away. “NO! MY EYES! What the hell?!”

(Y/n) groaned, slumping forward into her desk. “This is great. This is all so great.”

Spencer reached over and shut the laptop with a decisive click. “Okay. We’re done. The video is gone now. That’s the end.”

Emily elbowed Garcia. “I’m not deleting that.”

Morgan grinned. “Pretty Boy’s been hiding a whole new playbook.”

Before either Spencer or (Y/n) could respond, Rossi strolled into the bullpen, sipping his coffee. He stopped briefly, looked around at the wide eyes and pink faces, clocked the shut laptop, and said calmly—

“Took you all long enough. Some profilers you are.”

Spencer looked up, shell-shocked. “Wh— You knew?”

Rossi shrugged. “There was palpable tension. I could taste it in the air.”

JJ, still blinking the trauma from her eyes, turned to Hotch as he passed by with a file in hand. “Hotch, did you know?”

Without missing a beat, Hotch said, “They filled out the disclosure forms nine months ago.”

"Nine months? You guys lied to us for NINE MONTHS?" Garcia was startled to say the least.

Hotch looks up briefly, expression unreadable, and mutters, “Next time, if you’re going to be subtle, try harder.”

(Y/n) made a noise that could only be described as a whimper and slowly began sinking into her chair like she hoped the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Spencer leaned over, voice low and a little sheepish.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “I’d do it all over again.”

(Y/n) looked at him, still half-hidden behind her hands.

“…Even the elevator?”

He gave a faint, conspiratorial smile. “Especially the elevator.”

[lheesluv]

thirsty for your touch (s.jy)

just Jake satisfying his needy girlfriend in every way possible after she was busy thirsting over his sleeveless selfie pic

PAIRINGS - hard dom idol bf!jake x sub fem!reader

GENRE - smut (mdni), established relationship

WARNINGS - p in v, unprotected sex (dont be silly, wrap up ur willy!), dom jake, submissive and needy reader, breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (fem receive), Imk if i missed anything!

WC — 1.5k

A/N — i be yapping my life away on these oneshots 😭🙏🏻 this was supposed to be released ages ago but uh…..

© All rights reserved Iheesluv do not copy, repost, or translate.

Jake steps into the dim apartment, peeling off his jacket with a groan, muscles sore from the night’s set. He expects you to be asleep, curled up under the blankets like usual. But instead, he finds you staring a little too intently at your phone. His brows lift. “Babe? You’re still up?”

You jolt slightly, eyes snapping up to meet his. There’s a flicker of guilt in them—just enough to spark his curiosity.

“…Yeah,” you mumble, shifting slightly under the covers. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Jake narrows his eyes and walks closer. “Couldn’t sleep? Or too busy staring at my newest selfie, hmm?”

You blink, stunned.

He smirks. “Yeah. I saw the likes and comments flooding in the second I posted it. Figured you might be one of them.”

You don’t deny it. You can’t. Because your phone screen is still lit up, and his post is right there—him in that sleeveless shirt, biceps on full display, sweat glistening on his skin, a cocky little smirk on his lips.

Jake leans over, plucks the phone out of your hands, and raises an eyebrow.

“Thought so.”

“Jake—”

He tosses your phone aside and crawls onto the bed, eyes dark and sharp, settling between your thighs like he owns the space.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with heat, “if my girl’s gonna sit there drooling over me like that… the least I can do is give her the real thing.”

Your breath catches as he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, the other sliding under the covers and dragging your panties down slowly, teasingly.

“But we’re doing this my way,” he growls. “No touching. No whining. And you come when I say.”

He slips two fingers between your thighs and groans at how wet you already are.

“Damn. You really were sitting here soaking over a selfie, huh?”

Your cheeks burn, but it’s no use. Jake’s in full control now. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he strokes you slowly, deliberately avoiding your clit, teasing you just enough to make your hips twitch in frustration.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“You want more, baby? You better ask for it.”

“Please,” you whimper, writhing under his touch.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me… Jake, please—”

He grins, devilish and proud. “There she is.”

With that, he dives between your thighs, tongue replacing his fingers as he devours you with slow, maddening precision. Your moans fill the room, hands still pinned above you as he holds you there, completely at his mercy.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you're shaking, begging, chanting his name like a prayer.

Only then does he pull back, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawl up your body. He quickly tugs his pants down and holds your thighs open.

“Next time you wanna thirst over me,” he murmurs, dragging his tip along your entrance, “just wait ‘til I get home.”

Then he thrusts into you in one deep, punishing stroke—his way.

He stays deep inside you for a moment, eyes locked on yours, letting the pressure and stretch settle before rolling his hips slow and mean. The kind of thrusts that make you feel every inch of him, that keep you on the edge without tipping over.

Your breath hitches. “Jake—”

He silences you with a kiss. Hot, possessive, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucks you slowly, deliberately, like he’s savoring the way your body reacts to every grind of his hips.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to watch the way your brows knit in frustration. “Squirming under me, all worked up ‘cause of a little sleeveless pic. I should post more, huh?”

He smirks when you whine, your body desperate for more friction. “You’re mean.”

“I’m fair,” he says, grabbing your thigh and hitching it up over his shoulder, pushing even deeper now. “You wanna act needy, you get treated like it.”

The new angle makes you cry out, and he groans at the sound.

“You’re gonna take every inch like a good girl,” he growls, snapping his hips harder now. “You’re not coming until I say. Got it?”

You nod, biting your lip so hard it might bruise.

Jake pulls out suddenly, leaving you gasping at the loss. “Turn over.”

You obey instantly, heart racing, face buried into the pillows as you arch your back, offering yourself up to him. He doesn’t hesitate. He slams back into you with a deep, brutal thrust that makes your eyes roll back.

“This what you wanted, huh?” His palm comes down on your ass, the sting delicious, your moan muffled by the sheets. “My cock deep in you while you’re soaked from just looking at me?”

“Yes—fuck—yes, Jake—”

He fucks you rough, relentless now, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. The sounds of skin slapping fill the room, mixed with the filthy sounds leaving both your lips.

And then, just when you feel yourself tipping over that edge, he leans over your back, voice a growl in your ear.

“Come. Now.”

Your body obeys before your brain can catch up—your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave, your legs shaking, back arching as you fall apart on his cock.

Jake groans and follows, burying himself deep, hips jerking as he spills inside you with a rough grunt of your name.

You’re still trembling from your orgasm, mind hazy, body spent, but Jake? He’s far from finished.

He lies beside you for only a moment, stroking your back as you try to catch your breath. Then he sits up, leans over you, and presses a kiss to the small of your back.

“You didn’t really think that was all, did you?”

Your heart skips.

He slides his hands down to your thighs and pulls them apart again, revealing your soaked, sensitive core. “Look at this,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the mess he left inside you. “You’re dripping. Still so needy.”

“Jake,” you breathe, voice already wrecked.

“I said you’d come when I let you, not once and done.” He presses two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them perfectly. “So you’re gonna take everything I give you. All night.”

Your body jerks, hips twitching at the stimulation, but his free hand pins you down to keep you in place.

“You wanna come again?” he asks, lips ghosting your ear. “Then you better stay nice and open for me.”

He teases you like that—fingers pumping slow and controlled, pulling just short of what you need while his words get filthier.

“I could take a picture of you right now,” he whispers. “Bent over, wrecked, dripping for me. Post that instead of the selfie. Let everyone really see what you think of me.”

You whimper, clenching around his fingers, but he pulls them out with a wet sound and smacks your ass once, making you jolt.

“Uh-uh,” he says darkly. “Not until I’m buried inside you again.”

He flips you onto your back this time and lifts your legs over his shoulders, bending you in half as he slides back in slowly, watching your face contort in overstimulated pleasure.

“Still so tight,” he groans, fucking you with a slow, deep rhythm that drives you insane. “You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come all over my cock this time?”

You nod, already trembling, but Jake doesn’t pick up the pace. He holds you there, legs trembling in the air, his abs flexing as he keeps that same maddening tempo. Each stroke pressing deep, filling you to the brim, keeping you just at the edge.

Your hands grip the sheets. “Jake, please—please, I’m so close—”

His thumb brushes over your clit again, this time firmer. Faster.

“Then give it to me,” he growls. “Show me how desperate you are. Show me who owns this pussy.”

Your orgasm crashes into you harder than the last—your body arching, thighs shaking, moaning his name like a mantra. Jake keeps moving through it, riding out every tremble, every squeeze, until you’re writhing beneath him.

But even then, he’s still not done.

He slows down, pulling out, his cock still hard and glistening. You think he’s finally giving you a break, but then he pulls you up, dragging you into his lap.

“Ride me,” he says, voice like gravel. “Nice and slow. Let me feel you break.”

You barely have the strength, but your body obeys, lowering onto him again with a gasp. He watches every second—his girl, all fucked out and dazed, still chasing his touch.

You roll your hips against him, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you just how he wants. His lips brush your collarbone, murmuring praise between moans.

“That’s it. Just like that. Keep going, baby. I want every last drop of you.”

And he keeps you going, guiding you through one more orgasm, then another, until your body is nothing but shaking limbs, fucked full and marked by every place he touched.

And only then, when you can barely whisper his name—does he finally let go, groaning into your shoulder as he spills inside you again, holding you tight to his chest while both your bodies tremble in sync.

When it’s over, you collapse against him, completely spent.

“God, I fucking love you and this pussy.”

[kurokawaia]

dabi, hawks, bakugou reaction to kid yelling at their mom ?

DON'T YELL AT YOUR MAMA!

⋆·˚ ༘ * FEATURING :: Bakugou Katsuki, Hawks, Dabi - (separately)

⋆·˚ ༘ * WARNINGS :: none really, bakugou x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader, x fem!reader, second pov, reader is a mother, kids have a little bit of attitude, kids are around 5-8 years of age, slight spoilers for dabi! + more? MINI DRABBLES.

DABI

Dabi and yours first child has definitely inherited everything from Dabi, there isn't one thing that has been missed. Red hair, blue eyes and that same, quite annoying, sass and attitude. You didn't allow your son to have another cookie, keeping in mind he has had seven, causing him to retort, "Dad doesn't care! Why can't you be more like Dad! You're so annoying, Mum!" This wasn't the first time that your son has lashed out but it was never directed to you, so you didn't know what to do, you just stood there frozen with your lips slightly agape.

Dabi doesn't play around when it comes to you, not even his own child, no one will disrespect you, so you watch your son freeze up as he feels his fathers eyes glaring into the back of his head. "What did you just say? Do you want to repeat that or are you going to apologise?" Dabi asks, leaning down behind him, head next to his sons.

HAWKS

"You're not the boss of me!" Your daughter yells and you froze in place and you could feel Keigo looking at the both of you from the couch. You were both playing in front of the couches, on the plush carpet with her toys when you had told her, kindly, to pack up because it's time for bed when she began to yell at you with a tone you've never heard from her before.

Hawks makes sure to be a chill dad, being as nice and calm as possible is the best way to go in his mind. He doesn't yell, he never really has, so he wonders how she even learnt how to raise her voice. School, he realises. Keigo lets out a sigh before sitting upright from his previously laying down status and rests his elbows onto his knees. "I know I didn't, nor your mum raise you to speak like that, kid," Keigo scolds very lightly, but it's quite obvious that he doesn't sound very playful anymore. "Apologise," he says without any room for any back chat. Your daughter looks to the floor with tears welled in her eyes already.

Then, later on, he talks to his daughter about how to process frustrating emotions like that so she doesn't hurt her mama's feelings.

BAKUGOU

Bakugou truly tries to take the gentle parenting method that you opt for, but when his son is a carbon copy of him, it's really hard to do. His son has the exact same tone an attitude that is surprising for a kid to take on at that age but then again, his dad is Katsuki. "There's just one more broccoli on your plate, sweetheart, do you think you could eat it for me?" you ask gently and you were met with an immediate scowl from your son. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY, I AM NOT EATING THAT!" All you could do was blink in shock, that was probably the first time that your son ever yelled at you directly about... well, you.

Beside you, Katsuki was about to drink some water but he stopped midway, glass halting in the air as his vermilion eyes lasered onto his sons. "You wanna repeat that?" Katsuki says in almost a dark grumble and his son immediately tenses up, knowing that he stuffed up. Katsuki will not have anyone talk back to you in such a tone, never. "You don’t ever talk to your mum like that again. Not unless you want me to ground your ass for a month. Apologise."

Your son mumbles one with his eyes to his knees.

"I didn't hear you, say it like you mean it or I'll consider that grounding," Katsuki says more sternly and then your son emits a louder apology while looking you in the eye which was enough for you. Because you knew that Katsuki at that age would've never done that so you're proud that he can make his carbon copy can. Instead of giving his son the little scolding later on, Katsuki gives you a scolding on telling you to stop being so nice.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

honey's a/note:: I hope you guys enjoyed this, im supposed to be working on my report for my assignment but i got bored ^^

[sangunary]

hear me out, batfamily with a teenage reader that gets in trouble for fighting...BUT the reader won because they had used a move they saw that member of the batfamily do. For example, Reader jabs the other kid in the throat to choke them up then suplex's them or something😭 OR Reader uses a weapon they might've used and won that fight (obviously not Damian's or Jason's because they can be lethal) but it can't be Bruce's either because that's just straight hands and reader isn't that advanced yet lol. So i'm just gonna go with Dick or Tim's weapon of choice. Say for example there's for some reason a heavy but thin lying pole around, Reader just grabs that and starts beating on the kid with it but with Red Robin's moves for some reason(or nightwing's). this is purely just for fun but tysm for reading it at least. if you do write it may it PLEASE be separate with the characters? like to each their own scenario, or not it's up to you

- Teenagers Are Scary.

BatBoys × sibling reader ( Platonic )

SYPNOSIS: Copy and Paste but just make it more violent.

You were never one to hesitate every since you were born, that's how you were raise. The one that hesitate will be left to starve and the ones who never hesitate got to see the daylight again.

Simple and easy rule, nothing complicated about it.

Growing up in the street really build characters in people.

Hesitation doesn't run in the blood, an unattended belonging? yours, a wallet that is very visible? yours, random money on the ground? yours. If it's not by someone side it's yours.

Even if angry dogs are surrounding it, you would fight them. Older kids trying to steal something you already set your eyes on? Just use the plank or brick to scare them or better hit them hard enough to scare but not hard enough for jail.

That's how you and your mother survive for eight years, it wasn't fancy like in the books but it was something. You can't blame a kid for trying to survive.

After a long day of running from people's and cops that want you dead you went home, your mother laying dead on the ground.

You sit near her body for a day straight without moving, no tears, no panick, just processing the moment and trying to find a way to escape the orphanage system.

Then he came, batman. One look at your rough and dirty self suddenly you got adopted by a rich man the next day.

Who you later found out to be batman.

You had promise yourself to forget about the past life and finally choose the peaceful way of life when you had an option.

But, boy do you wish to raise your hand.

"Do you have Asthama?"

You asked the boy who had been bothering another girl for sometimes, she herself clearly told him to stop but he doesn't seem to understand english.

"No... Wh-"

Before he could answer you, you jabbed him on the neck.

Turns out defending people against annoying people is a bad thing and got suspended for a week.

"Little wing, why would you jab him? You do realise that you are suspended right? It better be for a good reason, you're lucky B isn't here"

Dick the moment he saw you walk inside began to lecture you on behalf of Bruce, well let's be honest he's alot more kind but his word hold more significant since he's the eldest.

"He was annoying"

You answered simply, you didn't understand what you did wrong you just simply defend a harmless girl.

Why is everyone so mad for? A rematch would be a good way to get everyone off your back.

"Little wing, this isn't like the street you can't harm people for that reason here... Now what did he do exactly?"

After explaining what had happened he seems to be relaxing... But still not happy with the way you had handle it.

"He could have hurt you... And thank God he didn't cause I won't be able to stop whatever forces that will be seeking revenge on your behalf."

Dick added to lighten the mood up, he meant Damian and Jason would definitely terrorise the kid if he touch you.

You have learnt how to jab people without any long term damage by watching him... So he was also involve one way or another.

He doesn't know if he should be mad or impress that you learn such move by just watching and somehow practising.

"Don't tell B, im proud of you for handling the case maybe next time just not too much violence?"

He pat your head as he smile, his siblings are so diverse one doesn't even realise what hesitation is...

"Still, pretend to be upset Alfred might catch on that I let you free"

Jason on the other hand was excited to meet you after he got news that you got in another fight.

Jason understand your anger and lack of hesitate alot better than anyone else.

He was also from the street and surprisingly when he was your age he was very kind compared to you.

He can see that you were trying your best to not go back to your old life style but it's hard when it's everything you ever knew.

At the park while you were going out with a friend this new girl with the entitlement of an European monarchy came up to her and push her.

Well for any mature person they would let it go and talk about it later.

Not you, never you.

You wouldn't let another hand touch your precious friend like that, from where you were from that was the biggest sign of disrespect and that isn't alright.

You complete forgot about the fact that you were no longer obliged to follow that rule and went after her.

The poor girl was running for her life as you continued to chase her, thanks to the fact that you were used to running from cops you caught to her quick.

Although you weren't stupid enough or mad enough to just yank her by her hair you insted hug her.

She was utterly confused and did try to struggle her way out of your grip.

But Instead you held tighter, not forgetting that adult's were indeed present.

"The leaf are slippery"

After that sentence you accidentally fell backwards while still holding onto the girl and lifting her, suplexing her.

You've saw Jason did it before infact he taught you that move.

He was always the one who brought up on how you would be able to defend yourself from bully without any warning or problem.

Basically Jason train you to beat others without getting into trouble, he was a professional.

"So you use the move?"

He asked curiously, afterall he had been waiting to hear the result of his teaching for a while.

"Yup, they actually check up on me first than her"

"Good, I supposed teaching you the art of violence in disguise is a great bounding material. I am a better mentor than that bat"

Jason exclaimed, he wanted to say he was proud but he need to hold back so you'll continue to work harder.

"Can you teach me how to terrorise people without direct involvement next?"

Yup, you're the best sibling he could ever ask for.

Tim on the other hand seeing you with no hesitation scared him, abit.

You had been accompanying him during his patrol, although you weren't a vigilante yet Bruce insist that you learn the route and other small matters. (He wants you to bound with your siblings more)

As a result you were tagging along with Tim, with a paper bag on your hear with a hole for an eye. Your fashion was unimaginable.

You were learning good and overall a good night. Bruce did gave you a uniform but you like to wear a normal' pants and shirt with sneakers and a paper bag from the last fast good you order.

While chasing after a kid that you absolutely hate you managed to catch him before he could due to pure hatred.

Picking up a thin metal pipe and hitting him on the leg as he kiss the ground hard. Tim notice the way you hold it, just like he did.

He did remember during the latest patrol you two had he did use the same move just yours was sloppier and you hit them alot harder.

It was like looking at the past, you really did learn everything from the way he hold it to even how you were standing... He's abit scared on how fast you catch up.

The kid was squirming on the ground cause you did hit him on the knee with a loud thud.

You on the other hand place your foot on him to stop him from moving, yes it wasn't necessary but you took your chance.

"Cuff him"

You demanded still holding onto the pipe.

Tim doesn't know if he should tell you or let Bruce take his part as your father... Well he would most likely be drag in since he is his son as well...

"You hit him too hard, don't step on him either he isn't resisting"

He told you, he can't let Bruce know about this.

"Could have done worse"

you mumbled, listening to your older brother.

Damian was picking you up from school when he saw you getting pick on.

He saw the other kid tugging at your hair more then once and you were surprisingly calm. Damian was disappointment at that moment.

He doesn't like seeing people just taking it when they're being bullied and he was thinking about teaching you how to fight.

Last time he check you beat the life out of Tim with a pillow. Maybe you weren't as much of a demon outside? You must be one of those people who cares about reputa-

Before he could finish thinking you look at the kid dead in the eye.

Put your hands on his shoulder and hit him with your forehead, the kid on the other hand began to cry as you went back to normal.

It was satisfying to watch, the kid friends tried to comfort and even try to hit you back.

He was abit concern now, you were the youngest and they out number you plus you haven't been trained yet you were eleven.

You took a very thick book from someone wnd proceed to hit them with it and yeah you won.

One example and no one wanted to know what you will use next.

"What was that about?"

He asked, he knew what it was about he just wanted to hear you talk about it.

"I saw you hitting Tim with your forehead once... That got him to shut up, I just wanted him to stop I didn't knew it would hurt"

Lie, you knew damn well how much ut would hurt. Your forehead is turning red from the impact.

Damian does remember what you were referring to, Dick, Jason and Tim tried to smash his face with cake and Tim was the one holding the cake.

He headbutt him because struggling out of Dick hold was hard and he just wanted to hit Tim, fortunately you were there to witness everything.

Guess he's a good influence then.

The book was just you utilising your surrounding object. Hitting them hard was just to show them who the real deal was.

He wasn't mad, he was the same when he was your age just honest. You? could talk your way out of it with that facade innocent of yours.

Atleast one of his siblings is nearly as great as he is.

[astrstqr]

FAME         𓏲          THINGS TO             ! SCRIPT

yoncé speaks: more scripting ideas !! and there’s a lot too lol

and this is part 1

✶　im not underestimated for my talents and abilities

✶　people don't think im "boring"

✶　i don't get overly tired during long performances

✶　always have the best concepts

✶　my performances are considered 100% worth it to go to because i am one of the best performers the industry as seen

✶　i’m always in sync

✶　people become mesmerized by my uniqueness

✶　i have amazing stage presence and facial expressions

✶　no rookie mistakes (bumping into into other dancers, singing other lines etc. etc.)

✶　i learn choreography and lyrics fast

✶　i have my own style musically, dance, and clothing that is hard to copy but easy to recognize

✶　fans never get tired of my music

✶　people love and support me even if they're not a fan of me

✶　never mess up during interviews

✶　no one mispronounces my name

✶　everyone thinks i deserve my fame

✶　i can come up with songs and beats easily

✶　my teasers are good and don’t spoil too much

✶　poses come naturally during photo shoots

✶　all my stage outfits are iconic

✶　no scandals i get in are serious (e.g., accusations, bullying etc. etc.)

✶　all my songs sound good in any language

✶　my voice sounds the same from the studio version to the live version

✶　despite my immense success, i remain down-to-earthand approacable, endering myself to fans through genunie humility

✶　nothing ruins my reputation

✶　my fan cams are always good and in 4k

✶　i have time to breathe after each lyric/line

✶　my outfits are always unique

✶　i win every award i’m nominated for

✶　i never have ugly stage outfits

✶　never gets a black ocean

✶　i can sing, rap, and dance stable on stage even with hard choreography

✶　my stylist knows how style me

✶　i never strain my voice

✶　i can belt effortlessly

✶　i don't get infection / damage to my vocal cords

✶　i have a connected head voice

✶　i can support a large range of notes

✶　i sound good when singing high and low registers

✶　switching pitches isn't hard for me

✶　my high notes aren't strained

✶　can't hear my breathing / huffing through my mics when singing

✶　i have smooth runs

✶　my voice fit every style/ theme

✶　i know have to hit whistle notes

✶　i can hit any note with ease

✶　my voice is never boring to listen to

✶　my voice is supported / resonated

✶　my vocal cords are healthy

✶　singing isn’t hard for me but the opposite

✶　doesn’t take long to finish vocal warm up, because of how controlled my voice already is

✶　i have good stamina and breath control while singing and dancing

✶　i don’t nastily when we sing

✶　my words rhyme easily

✶　i write and produce my own music

✶　my pronunciation when rapping is easy to understand

✶　my raps aren’t weird

✶　i am allowed to cuss in my songs

✶　i don’t slip on our words

✶　my rap lines fit very well in my songs

✶　i have perfect word play

✶　i’m good at freestyle rapping

✶　i can rap in any genre and tone

✶　i have natural raw rapping talent

✶　i have a captivating and distinctive voice full of energy, emphasis and swag

✶　i have incredible flow, speed, and delivery

✶　rapping, singing, and dancing comes easily

✶　i can rap without break for a long time

✶　i can do every singing, rapping, and dance style

✶　my lyrics aren’t cringe

✶　i never stutter

✶　my dancing is satisfying to watch because our moves are smooth, sharp, and fluid

✶　i’m not stiff when dancing

✶　i’m good at dance breakdancing

✶　i don’t feel pressured

✶　i’m comfortable with talking to crowds etc.

✶　i always look gorgeous while dancing and after dancing

✶　i have good footwork

✶　i have good coordination

✶　i never look sloppy when preforming

✶　i have perfect body control

✶　i’m confident when i dance, rap, sing, and preform

✶　i can dance in any clothes and shoes

✶　freestyle dancing come easy to me

✶　i have perfect balance

✶　i’m are never off beat

✶　i don’t have sickled feet

✶　i never hurt myself while dancing

✶　my choreo is always unique

✶　my music videos are always enjoyable, and people love to watch them

✶　my music videos never look cheap, and have great quality

✶　my nerves never get to me

✶　im truly admired as an idol , and its not just a label - theres a genuine reason behind it. among idols, i stand out as someone who geuinely deserves the title

yoncé speaks 2: also sorry for late night post lol, i be bored

[drchucktingle]

i have copied this comment without name because i think it is very kind and respectful and i do not want buckaroos interpreting it the wrong way. PLEASE UNDERSTAND this buckaroo is very sincere and has important points and please respect their way. i am going to answer in a way that is counter to their point and i do not want buds to go after them IN ANY WAY. THEY ARE PROVING LOVE AND THEY HAVE GOOD POINTS

okay here is what i have to say:

i have not transitioned and in this lifetime i do not expect to. i think you have a good point of 'how can you know?' and honestly i cannot know that is just how timelines and reality and perception work

HOWEVER i must caution against this train of thought slightly because what works for one buckaroos MAY NOT WORK for another. every time i talk about my non-dysphoric way there are plenty of well meaning buds, particularly fellow trans buds, who show up with posts in the tone of 'its only matter of time.' like i just do not understand yet.

this reminds me of bisexual buckaroos who are told 'you just do not know you are gay yet'. as difficult as it is to step out of our own dang minds, i implore buckaroos to accept that there VERY JOYFUL AND FULFILLED NON-DYSPHORIC TRANS BUCKAROOS who do not need to transition and never will and are healthy and happy without that. just like there are bisexual buckaroos who are not just on their way to being gay

a good way to look at it is like this: I LOVE MY MALE BODY. i think i am a very handsome buckaroo. i have masculine features in my muscle and height and frame. as far as how fate could have placed me on this timeline I WON MY OWN PERSONAL FOOTRACE. i am up on the podium and i am standing here with a medal around my neck. GOOD JOB CHUCK

HOWEVER when i look down i see that medal is silver. i am not going to lie and say it is gold. it is silver.

YES my gold medal is a female body. that is an objective truth to my trot. i believe my gender way is that of a women, but there is no part of me that is upset about where i have placed.

I GOT SILVER. i am not upset. there is no tragedy. in fact i am OVERWHLEMED WITH JOY not just to be on the podium but to be in this race in the first place. HECK YEAH I DID IT AND I GOT A MEDAL

of course this is not to dismiss the difficult journey of others. many do not feel the way i do and their trot is VALID. a dysphoric way matters and is important and these voices are important. they should be elevated and supported. i understand some do not share this podium imagery, and they feel PAINED by trappings of their body.

i feel so much for this. i understand and care for my dysphoric buds, but the simple truth is that is not my story. i cant just lie and say that it is.

it will never be my story. i cannot say this enough: i love my body. however i STILL believe my truest way is that of a ladybuck. if it was a simple button push to change me, then i would push it without hesitation.

but it is not a simple button push.

talk to almost any buckaroo who has transitioned and they will say 'transitioning is hard'. it takes time and work and money and emotional support. i am in awe of the bravery of buckaroos who trot this path, but all of that is not worth it for something that i already feel good about. SCRATCH THAT, i feel GREAT ABOUT. i feel overwhelmed with joy every day over just existing in this male body that i have been blessed with. YES buckaroo, i feel joy existing in a male body that i know is ladybuck on the inside. it feels interesting a cool and exciting.

but my truest way is STILL a ladybuck trot

i guess i am just trying to say that i love second place. im happy to celebrate it. i think my male body is really dang cool. it is not a 'perfect me' but it is really dang awesome, and i never really bothered with trying to be perfect

[t6ji]

— A plus

teacher!toji fushiguro x fem!reader | this is for all my girls out here who just got done with finals.

“an a-plus, hm? you really do want to impress me.”

his hand presses firm and flat against your lower back, keeping you bent over his desk like a well-behaved little thing. your skirt is pushed up, panties somewhere on the floor.

the midterm you worked your ass off for is crumpled beneath your cheek, red ink bleeding through the paper with a neat little “100” at the top corner — the last thing you’ll be focused on now.

toji moves slow behind you — thick, deep strokes that make your legs tremble with each drag of his cock. he doesn’t even need to pin you down anymore. your body is already giving up control, melting into every command like muscle memory.

“you’ve been staying late,” he murmurs, voice brushing against the shell of your ear as he leans over you. “asking all the right questions. putting in all that effort.”

his next thrust makes you gasp — makes your hands claw at the desk like it’ll help you keep your balance. it doesn’t.

“so tell me,” he says, cock dragging slow and thick out of you, only to sink back in with a bruising roll of his hips, “was it the grade you wanted or was it my attention?”

you can’t answer. not because you don’t know, but because your voice is caught somewhere between a moan and a sob. and god, does he love that.

“fuck,” he mutters, slightly leaning back to watch the way your body takes him, gloved tight and pulsing. “this is what you wanted, right?”

his palm slides around to your throat, not squeezing but just resting. just reminding you.

“worked so hard just to be here. bent over my desk like a good fuckin’ girl.” this was inappropriate and dangerous but something about it was sweet.

something about you is so sweet.

you nod, or try to. it’s more like a whimper and a shake.

“say it.”

he slows down, hips rocking into you deeper, heavier, meaner. “say this is what you wanted.”

you manage something close to a yes, but your words dissolve the moment his fingers slip between your thighs, feeling how soaked you are, how you’ve been clenching around him like you’d fall apart without it.

his groan is low and wrecked.

“look at that, fuuuck.” another slap to your ass, not harsh, just enough to make you flinch. “dripping for me and i’ve barely touched you. all that effort, all those study sessions. this is what you were studying for, huh?”

he pulls out — just enough for the bulbous tip to stretch your cunt, very cruel. toji then slams back into you with a rhythm that’s no longer controlled.

it’s calculated, earned. like it’s something personal.

“go ahead,” he growls, hand gripping your hip like he owns you. “earn your extra credit.”

and you do.

god, you do.

t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog.

[mynameisjag]

For @ace-in-disgrace and their prompt: Danny gets mistaken as the love child of the disasters known as Wolverine and Deadpool.

Okay, it was not Danny's fault, he swears!

He was just experimenting with his ice, playing around with some of the younger yetis in the Far Frozen for fun. So shaping his ice to cover his hands to copy the paws of the others and seeing how well he could cut through solid hard frozen ice was just a game. The rough housing was to be expected, everyone tossing each other to see how far they could be thrown was fun.

Being picked up and tossed at the right exact moment a portal opened up was not fun or expected and he blamed Clockwork. The entity had to be responsible somehow for him not being able to enjoy a day of hanging out with Frostbite and the others.

Landing right in the middle of a what looked like a swat happening in an abandoned warehouse, armored people instantly aiming their rifles at him as he stood up wasn’t even surprising given his luck.

Fair though, he was currently looking more on the feral side to match his playmates then his normal ghost form.

“Hey, what’s with hostility? Can’t someone just pop in somewhere without-“, and he was shot in the shoulder, cutting his sentence off, “rude.”

It was just a regular bullet, so it was easy for his form to just…push it out and heal the hole up.

One of the men reached up to touch a device attached on his ear, “Unknown possible mutant has breached the facilities, age around 12-15, regeneration showed, animal like features-“

“You know it’s really rude to talk about someone like that to their face, no manners at all.”

“Unfortunately satirical.”

There was a crash from above as red and yellow forms busted through the glass, the guns swinging their aim at the two men landed.

“Sassiness is always welcomed!”, the red man had his own guns out and was already firing as he talked.

Danny had decided to dodge over to a pile of crates as all the attention was on the new intruders, eyes wide as an arc blood barely missed him as the one in yellow unsheathed long blades from his knuckles.

He glanced at his own hands, he couldn’t make a working gun from ice but…concentrating…he slowly watched as ice built up into copies, looking very much like it was growing from his skin.

An armored body was flung his way and he instinctual reacted…there were now two halves of a one man and he was covered in the viscera.

He froze…did he…oh…oh no…he had to go, he had to go now.

“Ope, looks like someone's first kill! Look at you Jack Frost,” the red guy with guns was now standing above him on a bigger crate, waving down at the teen, “awe, tiny puppy claws!”

Danny took a swing at the crate, watching as it collapsed and the man fell, laughing the entire time he went down.

He quickly turned to run, only to run into a wide chest where he promptly bounced off and landed ass first on the floor, “What in the-I have literally ran into steel walls softer then you.”

Claw man snorted as he reached down and picked Danny up by the scruff, “You alright kid?”

Said kid just hissed at him.

Claws was chuckling, “Cute, now put back your claws, I think it’s time for a chat.”

“Is it finally our turn for the found family and misunderstandings trope,” the red man was back and had swaggered up to the other two, an arm being thrown over his partners shoulders, “Hi, there and welcome, I’m Deadpool and this is Wolverine and we’re your new dads.”

“No.”

“No?”

Danny smiled, all sharp teeth, “No,” and promptly went invisible and intangible, escaping out of the warehouse while he could, leaving the other two behind.

He had to find a portal home.

Wade went limp, using Logan as a brace, “But I wanted to pull a ‘Batman’…”

The response was a snort and Wolverine sniffing his own hand, growling as he took the child’s scent in, “Don’t know what your talking about but, I can track him down, we probably need to before more of these fucks show up and get their hands on him.”

Hope you enjoyed it!

[nochepsicodelica]

Mornings with the clingy bear (Toji my beloved <3) when he wakes up before you, but there's no agenda for the day so he just gets to watch you sleep until you wake up on your own. Despite how much he dislikes when you sleep in without him, being able to admire your peaceful, sleeping features makes up for it. Who would ever assume that this sleeping princess could be capable of wreaking so much havoc, but also be the one screaming mayday? He swears you'll give him a heart attack one day. He's too old for your insanity, but god, he wouldn't ask you to change a thing and he's not dying to get away from you. Quite the opposite, actually. The closer you are, the better.

He was careful not to move too fast, to not wake you up as he traced your dormant features. Green eyes roamed over your lips, your cheeks, your nose and your eyes. He had to fight the urge to not roughly drag you closer towards him and squeeze the life out of you.

Your eyebrows pinch and your nose scrunches, your eyes still shut. "Ugh, it's like you're pointing a laser at my forehead," you croak, pulling the blanket up to cover your face. You're stirring under the blanket, on the brink of waking up. If Toji were a dog, which he's not because he's a bear, his tail would be thumping against the bed <3

You throw the blanket off your head, a lazy smile on your face that heavily contrasted your tone from a couple minutes ago. His attention causes you to giggle. He's so focused on you, it's hard not to laugh.

Finally, you're awake so he can pull you closer. You're already touching, but you're not wedged together and that's exactly what he needs in this moment.

"What's that giggle about? Huh?" He asks, pulling your body right up against his. His nose pokes your cheek, his lips resting on the space just below it, luring another laugh from you.

"You woke me up, like you always do, Toji. I can't ever sleep in with you," you say, no bite to your words at all.

"That's too bad, isn't it? It's why I tell you to go to sleep at a reasonable time yet you still go to sleep past midnight, hm?"

"Whatever."

"Mhm, whatever," he says, copying you. "Whatever, until tomorrow morning when I do it again, but with less mercy."

You groan and turn to face him. You can't even be annoyed with him when he looks so good.

"There are so many things you can do without me in the morning," you say, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing his skin, affectionately. "You can... go on a walk or watch TV. Ooo, you can get breakfast going so that when I wake up, it's ready."

He mimics the gentleness of your touch on his cheek, his palm rubbing your lower back. "Don't wanna. That's boring."

"Tojii," you whine, removing your hand from his face, attempting to turn away from him.

"Without you," he corrects, using the hand he has on your back to prevent you from getting too far. "Why make breakfast alone when we can do it together?"

"You mean I cook and you either just watch or you get in my way?"

"You know it, mama," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips.

"It's literally eight in the morning, Toji. You should be thrown in jail for disturbing my slumber," you say, attempting to distract him from the color that spreads onto your cheeks.

"Nah, you'd miss me." A smug grin creeps its way onto his lips.

"Mm..." you hum, acting like you're unsure if that's a certain fact. This is you wreaking havoc. You say and do a lot of things that drive him crazy, and now—with proof—even just humming out a response will do that to him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing at all," you say, the hint of a smile on your face.

"No?" If Toji were a dog, which he's not because he's a bear, his ears would be down and his tail would no longer be wagging </3

You sigh. "I'm messing with you. You know I would miss you like hell."

"Oh, really?" He scoffs, in disbelief. "You're ice cold for that, mama. Need me to warm you up, huh?" He says, gliding the hand he has on your lower back across the expanse to grip your waist.

You put your hand over his. "Nope. This blanket is keeping me warm. It does the job just fine."

"I'm better than the blanket," he argues, rolling onto you, unexpectedly.

You groan before you laugh at the feeling of the spontaneous weight laid on top of you, your chest barely able to move with the gesture because of the iron-like hold he had on you. An unbreakable bear hug, if you will :(

"Toji," you say, voice strained yet still managing to muster out your giggling. "Toji, you're crushing me."

"Mm..." he hums, dismissively. He buries his face into your neck, sparing some kisses for it while he listens up close to the sound of your groans of being compressed, mixed with laughter, as you try to push him off. This is you shouting mayday after the chaos you made for yourself and Toji has no intention of swooping in to save you from himself.

You eventually surrender, because all your pushing is futile against Toji, who wasn't moved an inch by you. Lying on you and holding you so tight was beginning to backfire on him. He was starting to feel more like a heated, weighted blanket on you, now. It was reeling in your tiredness, again.

"Mmm... I could fall back asleep like this. Please, can I, baby?" you mumble, shutting your eyes.

"Yeah? Now you're comfortable?" He asks, teasingly, while watching you relax under him.

"You're warmer," you admit. "And clearly more suitable for cuddling."

"You're trynna butter me up, aren't you?" He says, sighing into your neck, tiredness returning to him as well.

"Maybe... One more hour, baby. Please? All I need is one more hour," you say, bringing your arms up onto his back. "I won't complain later when you make me take a nap with you," you add, to further bribe him. "We can do anything you want, too. Nothing is off limits." You turn your head and press a kiss to his temple.

He sighs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "It's hard to say no to all of that. You gonna be real sweet to me later today?"

"Of course. I'm gonna smother you and be so disgustingly affectionate that you'll want to sleep on the couch tonight for some separation."

He bites. Being loved on by you anytime sounds like a dream. Space will never be his response to your affection, when he thrives off of it.

"Fine," he grumbles, like it was hard for him to come to his decision. "Only one more hour. Gonna stay here, though, since i'm already comfortable."