#can you tell i had a better idea for the second one than the first one

[moonstruckme]

Hello ! I hope you are okay, I have 2 Idea for the new girl/who's that girl au, so i'm sharing it with you ! First idea : she locked herself out of the flat (closed the door and left the key inside, so she is just here waiting for one of the guys to come home and hoppen the door. Second idea : she found a dog (a border collie , yeah it is clearly inspired from something that happened to me x))and she bring the dog home while she try to contact the owner. Or you can put the two idea together and she is locked outside her appartment with a stranger's dog. Thank you for reading my request , have a good day ^^

Thanks for your request angel! I did start to use both of these, but then I had an idea and the second one ended up somewhat altered haha, hope you still like it <3

cw: modern au

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re slurping up the last of your iced latte when the door to your flat opens. 

“Oh.” Remus stops short at the sight of you sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hall. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” you say cheerily, careful not to jostle the pocket of your hoodie too much as you stand. You pat Remus’ shoulder as you go past him. “Thanks.” 

He had clearly been on his way out, but at your entrance he circles back inside the flat. “Have you been out there long?” 

“No.” You dump your empty cup in the trash. Your pastry’s gone cold, but you think it might still be good microwaved. “Just forgot my key, figured one of you had to go in or out eventually.” 

Remus tracks your movements with his eyes, taking another few steps in from the open doorway. “Why didn’t you knock?” 

“Didn’t want to wake anyone.” 

Your flatmate makes a sound you’re becoming familiar with from him, a sigh mixed with a laugh. Bafflement meets amusement meets exasperation. “You don’t need to worry about that. Please don’t, actually. James is out on his run, but I’ve been up for an hour. And whatever he tells you, Sirius doesn’t actually need to sleep until the afternoon.” 

You grin at him as you set your pastry in the microwave. The way the boys tease each other is immensely endearing to you, but you don’t feel familiar enough yet to partake yourself. And you certainly know better than to mess with Sirius’ sleep. 

When the loud beeps from pressing the microwave buttons makes you wince, Remus gives you a wry look. 

You shrug in response. The movement causes the slumbering creature in your hoodie pocket to stir. You cup your hand over it instinctively. 

“What do you have there?” asks Remus. 

“Uh…” You imagine you look very sheepish right about now. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to make us keep it.” 

His eyes narrow. Your pocket wiggles. “Why? What is it?” 

You reach inside the pocket of your hoodie the way a criminal suspect might reach for their weapon at gunpoint; slow, careful, showing you have nothing to hide. What you pull out is gray and striped and so small it nearly fits in the palm of your hand. 

“I found him outside,” you say. “Isn’t he cute? I couldn’t just leave him.” 

You didn’t imagine your flatmates would be thrilled about adding a fifth occupant to your living situation. You figured you’d probably have the best luck with James, but you’ve got your spiel all ready—how you’ll keep him in your room, only temporarily, just until you can find his owner. They have to live in the building, right? He was only just outside. But Remus does something you didn’t anticipate; he melts. 

“Oh,” he breathes, voice softening to a near whisper as he bends to see the tabby kitten currently cupped in your hands. “You found him by himself?” 

“I didn’t see any other cats around,” you say. You stroke your thumb down the kitten’s side. It leans into the touch sleepily. “And he was crying. You should have heard it, it’d break your heart.” 

“I’m sure. Hi, darling,” Remus murmurs, that lilt of his suddenly more prominent than ever as he scratches the kitten’s tiny head. “Hello. Were you making a fuss to get softhearted girls to bring you inside, hm?” 

You find your face warming for reasons you can’t discern. “It was a very convincing ploy.” 

“Mm, I can see that.” Remus pets behind your new friend’s ears, stooped so low he’s nearly at eye level with the tabby. His expression is all soft fondness, eyes warm and the hint of a smile ticking up his mouth. You catch yourself admiring the freckles that smatter across his cheekbones. “Are you sure there weren’t any others like him around?” 

“Not that I saw. Why?” 

“Well, there’s—” 

The microwave goes off. You react like it’s a bomb detonating, the beeping shattering your bubble of quiet and causing you to stiffen your back abruptly. Remus straightens back up, too, chuckling. He sets a pacifying hand on your head, and you relax some. This is his way of conveying affection, you’ve learned; James is incredibly liberal with it, Sirius slips it in through teasing and jibes, and Remus lays his palm atop your head like you’re a cat in need of calming. It makes you feel a bit like you’re glowing when he does it. No wonder you felt so drawn to your homeless little friend. 

You smile at him, sheepish, but you both turn when you hear the loud groan from down the hall. Sirius’ door opens. 

“Could we please stop setting off alarms and whatever the fuck before the bloody sun has come up?” he fumes, trudging down the hall. 

You look out the window, perplexed. The sun is well and high. 

But Sirius has stopped in his tracks. His eyes are fused to the kitten in your hands. “What is that doing here?” 

“I found him outside,” you say, holding him up for Sirius to see. “He’s sweet, don’t worry.” 

Your flatmate takes a step back like the creature might leap at him. “Remus—” 

“I know,” Remus sighs. “I was about to tell her.” 

You frown, bringing the kitten close to your chest. “Tell me what?” 

“That thing is fucking wild.” Sirius glares. 

“No, he isn’t,” you defend him. “He’s super friendly. He loves being pet.” 

“Nope.” Sirius shakes his head. “He comes from a twat mum, who had a bunch of twat spawn, and now they’re infiltrating our flat. It’s a fucking plot, is what it is.” He jabs a finger towards your chest, and the kitten hisses. Sirius reels back. “See?” 

“He does seem like a housecat, but there’s a colony of strays in the alley next to us,” Remus explains more gently. “One of the girls had babies before they could catch her to spay, and they all look a lot like this one.” 

“But…” You look down at the kitten nearly falling asleep again on your chest. “...he’s being so cuddly.” 

“It is strange,” Remus agrees. “Maybe he just really likes you.” 

“Um, hello.” James spreads his arms as he walks inside, sweaty and in his absurdly short running shorts. They make you stifle a laugh every time. “We’re just leaving the door open now? Is this some new attempt at being neighborly?” He, too, pauses once he sees what you have in your hands. “Oh, you’ve found one of Mrs. Norris’ kittens.” 

Sirius shudders, seemingly just at the mention of the name. “She’s brought it inside.” 

“I can see that.” James’ head cocks interestedly as he comes over. “Why?” 

“I didn’t know he had a family,” you explain dejectedly. 

“It’s good that he does, though,” says Remus, touching your elbow kindly, “isn’t it?” 

You sigh. “Yeah.” 

“And now that we know,” Sirius says emphatically, “banish it from whence it came.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Weren’t you sleeping?” 

“I was.”

“I can see why you didn’t recognize him as a stray.” James is rubbing underneath the tabby’s chin while it preens. “He hardly seems feral at all.” 

You hum. Taking the kitten from your chest, you hold him out towards Sirius experimentally. He hisses; Sirius scowls back. 

“Seems like it’s just you,” you deduce. 

“It is not.” Sirius crosses his arms. “That thing is evil.” 

James takes the kitten from you. It goes willingly into his arms. “Definitely just you, mate.” 

[papathe5th]

I have a Papa V Perpetua X Prime Mover Reader idea (I liked your first one)

Perpetua has been more intense than usual if people get too close to you. But if anyone observes you two from a distance, they can tell how happy the two of you are together.

After a closer look, people noticed that you’re starting to show.

(…yeah, you’re pregnant.)

Thank you for reading and also for submitting this prompt. I ended up delving straight into smut this time around, but there is domestic fluff cushioning their alone time.

READ THE FIRST PART HERE: PART ONE

Papa V Perpetua x Prime Mover f!Reader

Words: 1000

Rating: 18+

At the beginning of the Skeletour, going through Papa V Perpetua’s casual clothes was a comfort. By the end of the North American leg, wearing his old band’s t-shirts had become a necessity.

He loved watching you walk around wearing something of his. You looked and smelled like him, the animal inside his chest swelling with pride and lust. It also growled with possessiveness and paranoia.

“Looking good,” he kissed you behind the ear, wrapping his hands around your waist and placing his palms protectively over your belly. “You wear it better than I do.”

“Papa,” you giggled, glad to have him all to yourself tonight. You’d be sharing his bunk on the second level of the tour bus, and you were already eyeing the deep purple comforter from your seat in his lap. “Is the coast clear?”

“The GTV crew are having dinner,” he whispered in your ear, winding you up. “And I made it very clear we’d be eating together.” His bare lips brushing against the shell made you shiver. “Alone,” his voice reverberated through your entire body, pooling in the puddle in your panties, inside his sweatpants.

Papa could hardly keep his hands to himself when there were eyes on you. And, when he was the only one watching you, there was no escaping his touch.

*

Five months ago, you used two of the pregnancy tests Mrs. Psaltarian packed for you when it was decided you would join Papa V Perpetua on the road. When they both turned out positive, he fell to knees, at your feet, on the cold tiled floor of the hotel room and praised Satan for blessing you with his Son. You were next to be praised, his arms wrapping around your torso and his lipstick smearing all over your stomach.

“Nobody can know,” he decided, the two of you drenched in blood sweat and tears from the celebratory coitus. “They’ll take you away from me,” he smothered his face between your breasts. “Both of you.”

“Nobody will know,” you kissed the crown of his head. “They’ll have me return to the Ministry. They’d be watching me.”

Five months ago, you swore not to speak a word of it to another soul. Not until the Skeletour came to a close and you could return home. All three of you. Together.

*

“Looking really good,” Papa placed his chin on your shoulder, peering down at your burgeoning belly. “You’re growing more beautiful each day.” He rolled the shit over your stomach, his hands sliding over and then under it and into the band of the sweats. “Mia Prima.”

“I am growing alright,” you smiled, raising an arm to wrap behind you and around his head. You were going to need a good grip when his own hand makes it between your trembling thighs. “Your Son is making it hard to keep him a sec—OH,” you gasped when a familiar friction took you by surprise even after all this time. You fit him better than his gloves and he glided two of his fingers right inside.”

“I’ll rip out their tongues if I have to,” he grunted, grabbing onto your knee and lifting it on top of his. He needed your legs to be spread so he could fill you all over again. The embrace of your wet walls around his erection drove him wild and tamed the animals all at the same time. And he’ll be feeling conflicted as soon as you come all over his hand . “And the ghouls will help me,” he spoke against the crook of your neck, his canines teasing the flesh he had already torn and had already healed.

The teeth that were thrilling you had threatened to tear open the throats of every crew member that got a little too close to you and the secret you two bore. And the animal that lived in his chest and whose heart longed to protect and provide was the same animal that wanted to possess you completely. It suffocated you,but it also melded you to him, like Eve returning to Adam’s chest. And it also liberated the animal that was caged inside of you, like Eve tasting the fruit of knowledge and rolling in the grass with the Serpent.

“Yes,” you goaded him on, grabbing the curls at the back of his neck and twisting them. “Yes, Papa.” You rolled your hips to meet his fingers, pushed into them as they pumped into you, the melody of your moans splashing against the slick song between your other pair of lips. “Please, Papa.”

“Mine,” he snarled against your skin, wet from his drool and dented by his teeth. “You’re mine,” he declared, the famished animal once again out on the hunt for your body. He will always be hungry for you. “My body. My blood. Carrying my body and my blood.”

Your toes curled and your legs cramped. Your mind went blank and your body went slack. Your soul left you with a scream and he swallowed it whole. He had you in the palm of his hand once again. Mind, body and soul.

“Yours.”

You tasted yourself on his fingers, the pair he had you clean while the other hand soothed your thigh. You couldn’t see much past the stars in your eyes or hear past the drumming of your heart, but you felt you were once again on Earth, in Papa V Perpetua’s lap.

“Mia Prima,” he spoke against your lips, now coated with your own come. “Will you take me inside you?”

His body. His blood. You had already taken him inside you, but it wasn’t enough. You dressed like him, smelled like him and swore to stood by him. It wasn’t enough. He had to claim you over and over and over again.

And you’d let him do it every time.

With your hands wrapping behind you, between your bodies and pushing down his pants, you invite him inside.

[charliedawn]

THE LAP DANCE

WARNING: MINORS KEEP OUT. DO NOT READ THIS. PLEASE.

Slashers x Reader

(Nurse Y/N is different from you here for plot purposes. I have nothing to say as to defend myself on why I wrote this. I just had the urge to do so. I…yeah. Enjoy.)

The hospital had reluctantly agreed to Bo’s request for a “supervised outing,” for Bo’s birthday—especially after weeks of surprisingly good behavior. Of course, they had no idea that Bo had something very specific in mind when he requested a trip to “somewhere lively.” He’d picked the club himself. Low lighting, pulsing music, velvet couches…He didn’t tell the others what was happening—just that they were all invited to celebrate with him. He grinned as he sat and invited the others to join him…

The paperwork the Head Nurse had to fill to make this happen was colossal, but Bo had been adamant about his birthday present.

Worth it when he saw the faces of the others when the girl arrived…Most of those guys had never had a lap dance in their lives. He smirked. Oh yeah. That was gonna be fun.

Jason Voorhees:

Frozen. Absolutely paralyzed. Jason doesn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands. His entire body is tense like a statue. Inside ? A confused whirlwind of “???” and “why is this happening ?” but also…maybe a little flustered and shyly grateful. He’d never ask for it, but wouldn’t stop you either.

From the moment you straddle the chair in front of him, Jason stiffens. He doesn’t move—doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. His fingers dig into the armrests like they’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. Under that cracked hockey mask, his single visible eye widens ever so slightly, flicking to your hands, your hips, your eyes when you make contact. It’s not lust so much as bewilderment—why would you do this for him ? Is this a trick ? A trap ?

But the longer you dance, the more his breathing changes. He starts shifting slightly in his seat, body quaking with barely restrained energy. His hand reaches out…but hovers in the air, not quite daring to touch. He has seen many teens having intercourse but this is…quite nice actually. It is dancing and you aren’t being particularly rude or loud or touchy…He likes that.

Michael Myers:

While the others hoot, shift, or lean in with hungry stares, Michael sits still—hands resting on his knees, mask tilted ever so slightly, eyes locked on you. You might think he’s unaffected…until you notice his breathing pick up and his grip tightening slightly on the chair.

When you approach him, the temperature seems to drop. He doesn’t lean forward or make room, but he doesn’t stop you either. He allows it. Which, for Michael, says more than words ever could. You straddle him. And for a split second—just one—his chest rises sharply. You move slowly, sensually, teasing your fingertips along the neckline of his jumpsuit, arching your back, letting your breath tickle the blank white mask. His hands remain rigid at first, curled into fists on his thighs.

Then—contact. Your hips roll against him. His eyes, dark through the mask’s hollow sockets, stay trained on you. Studying the way you smirk, the way you dance like you aren’t afraid. Like you know the risk and don’t care. But he does eventually put a hand on your hip.

He tilts his head ever so slightly when you leave, watching the sway of your hips. His hand stay outstretched for a moment longer, fingers still faintly curled where your body had been.

His chest rises again. Slower this time. Controlled. And though he says nothing, you can feel it: he liked it.

Freddy Krueger:

“Oh-ho-ho, baby, you’re speaking my language.” Freddy is hands-on, mouthy, and teasing the entire time. He’d throw dollar bills like a drunk uncle at a Vegas show and demand an encore. Flirty and crude, but underneath it all, he’s way more into the attention than he lets on. “Ohhh, damn, sweetheart. This is better than any dream I’ve ever stitched up.”

He doesn’t shut up the whole time, muttering dirty jokes and praises like a sleazy lounge host. His hat tilts back as he leans in, ogling you with zero shame. But unlike the others, Freddy interacts—when you get close, he runs one gloved finger along your thigh, teasing the line of your outfit, his smirk widening with every beat of the music.

But the minute you turn around and grind on him ? His cocky persona falters just slightly. He bites his lip, real need flickering behind the grin. Afterwards, he claps slowly, theatrically, leaning back. “I knew you were gonna be fantastic, babe. And you didn’t disappoint. Papa Freddy is extremely happy right about now and hard as a rock.”

Bo Sinclair:

“Well, aren’t you a piece of work…” He smirks, eyes devouring every movement, but he gets cocky—leaning back like a king on his throne. It’s not his first time. It shows. Bo’s legs are spread wide, lounging in the chair like a man who owns the world. He licks his lips slowly, arms stretched out behind him.

As your dance starts, he keeps his hands to himself…barely. You feel his breath hitch when you slide down in front of him. His eyes darken, smile twitching wider. He murmurs praises under his breath—low, gritty words like “good girl” and “keep movin’ just like that.” 

By the end, his fingers are curled around the edge of his seat, holding back from pulling you onto his lap. “Goddamn,” he chuckles, “Best fifty dollars ever spent in my entire life.”

Vincent Sinclair:

Embarrassed immediately. Turns red, avoids eye contact, tries to hide behind his hair or sketchpad. But his eyes keep sneaking glances, and he can’t help the way his fingers twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t dare. The moment you step toward him, he tries to shrink. Not literally, but everything in his posture folds inward. His hands fly to the edge of his hoodie, and he hunches as if to hide his face under his hair. But he doesn’t look away.

Not once.

His eyes follow every movement with trembling fascination, like he’s afraid to blink and miss a frame. When you get close—really close—he stops breathing altogether. His fists ball up in his lap, and his cheeks are flushed pink under his hair and mask. He doesn’t move an inch, but the heat in his gaze is molten.

Later, he sketches you from memory. Every curve. Every glance. Every emotion. He liked the experience, wouldn’t mind reiterating said experience.

Norman Bates:

To be fair, Norman had only accepted because Nurse Y/N had told him to keep an eye on the other slashers. But, when he sees the place they are going to ? He suddenly feels a lot less confident. “I—I don’t think this is very…proper—” but he’s also not stopping you when you start dancing. His hands hover in the air helplessly, and he tries not to breathe too loud. Afterward, Mother’s voice in his head is screaming, but Norman ? He’s still blushing and very confused. But also…not all that repulsed.

His hands twitch at his sides, desperate to touch but too afraid. You brush your hand over his chest, and he whimpers softly.

After you walk away, he’s breathless, shaking slightly, muttering apologies to no one. But then he looks up again…and there’s a new kind of hunger in his gaze. He smirks.

…Yeah. That one is definitely going to become a regular.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba makes a squealing sound the moment you straddle the chair. It’s unclear whether he’s scared or excited. His face turns bright red, and he flaps his hands like he’s not sure what to do with them. He hides behind them for half a second before peeking through his fingers.

Blushing hard. His hands flap, he whimpers a little, and he might hide behind his hands. But he’s also clearly enjoying himself. His big grin shows it. When you grind a little too close, he lets out a surprised squeak and covers his face, but peeks out and watches everything.

When it’s over, he runs up and gives you the biggest bear hug, spinning you around once in celebration. He won’t stop clapping for you the rest of the night.

Thomas Hewitt:

Growls under his breath, fists clenched on his thighs. You’re testing his self-control, and he knows it. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, and the longer it goes on, the more unstable he becomes. He breathes hard the moment you strut in front of him. You’re not even dancing yet and he’s already looking you up and down with something between awe and animalistic restraint. His large hands rest heavily on his thighs, clenched tightly.

As you dance, he watches every motion with dark. His chest rises and falls more rapidly as you get closer, his entire body coiled with tension. You swear you hear a low growl deep in his throat when you drag your hands over his chest.

He doesn’t touch you at first.

Eventually, he might lift you right into his lap and kiss your neck hard. He is the only one who might get mouth-to-skin contact. But don’t worry, he won’t bite. Not unless he wants to be electrocuted and turned to pixie dust. ☺️

Jack Torrance:

He hoots and hollers through your whole performance like he’s in a cabaret bar. “That’s it, baby ! Look at those moves !” He’s 100% the loud drunk in the front row who starts singing along to the music and snapping his fingers.

“Ohhh, baby, you sure know how to treat a guy.” Jack leans into it, encouraging, smirking, whispering lewd things. He loves the attention and makes constant eye contact. Afterwards ? He’s smug as hell, walking around the hotel like he just won the lottery. He also thanks Bo profusely and they become best friends for the night…

Pennywise:

From the moment the music starts, Pennywise leans back against the shadows with his long fingers steepled under his chin, watching you with intense curiosity. His golden eyes flicker like candle flames, tracking your every movement.

As you dance closer to him, his expression shifts. The smile fades ever so slightly. Not in anger—more like uncertainty. You reach toward him, slow and teasing, and he goes completely still. No sound. No breath. Just those eyes, narrowed.

The moment your hand comes too close to brushing his cheek or chest—he vanishes. Blink. Gone.

But when you turn around again ? He’s right there. Closer now. Watching. Still not touching. He doesn’t want you to touch him.

At the end of your dance, when you bow or step away, he claps once. Just once. Slow. Deliberate. Like a judgment being passed down.

“You move like you know what you’re doing,” he says with a grin. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Penny:

He claps, giggles, and cheers mid-dance like he’s at a burlesque show. “Encore ! Encore !” He might offer you popcorn or cotton candy, completely delighted. He doesn’t always understand why people do sexy things, but he loves the performance. He sits on the edge of his seat like a kid at the circus, kicking his feet and giggling.

“Ohhhh, sweet little treat,” he croons, voice sing-song and warped. “You’re like a cherry pie with hips. Can I eat you ? Please ? Just a nibble ?”

He gets too close.

Just as your back is turned, he lunges—mouth wide, eyes flashing, teeth glinting with glee as he moves to take a bite from your shoulder like a rabid animal.

But slam !

In an instant, Pennywise materializes behind him, his massive clawed hand snapping around Penny’s jaw with a sickening crunch. He slams it shut, hard enough to rattle Penny’s fangs back into his throat. Penny stumbles slightly, blinking in surprise.

Pennywise doesn’t even raise his voice. He leans in and whispers:

“…Not that one.”

His golden eyes flick toward you. Not warm, not fond—but fixed.

“She dances pretty.”

Penny, whimpering like a scolded mutt, rubs his jaw and slinks back with a pout. “I was only gonna take a bite, brother…”

But he obeys. For now.

….

You’re barely catching your breath, still flushed from your bold little performance—knees slightly wobbly, heart hammering in your chest—as you glance up…and realize you’re surrounded.

They’ve all circled you.

Jason looms like a mountain, machete slung lazily over one shoulder. Michael stands just behind you, silently staring. Freddy flicks his glove fingers playfully, grinning like he’s already rehearsing round two. Thomas is breathing heavily through his mask. Even Vincent, half-hidden, is watching you like you’re made of gold.

And then, Bo Sinclair steps forward, slow and deliberate, boots heavy on the floor. He gives you a long, shameless once-over, smirking like the devil just gave him permission to misbehave.

“Well, ain’t you somethin’ ?” he drawls, voice like warm whiskey. “Gotta say, that was…real good stuff. Me and the boys were impressed. And we ain’t easy to impress.”

He looks around at the other slashers, then back to you.

“See, sugar,” Bo says, “we had a little plan goin’. End of the night ? You weren’t supposed to be breathin’.”

Your stomach drops—but before panic can settle in, he leans in close, his voice lowering to something darkly amused.

“But after the show you just gave us ?” His smirk widens. “We had a little change of heart.”

Without warning, he slaps your ass, the sound echoing in the stunned silence.

“Thanks for the show, darlin’.”

You hear Freddy whistle low and impressed. Penny claps like a delighted child. Norman’s flushed to the tips of his ears. Michael simply stares at you, head tilted—but he nods at the end.

You swallow. What the hell just happened ?

You then are about to turn around to leave when Pennywise appears out of nowhere and winks cheekily at you before raising two finger with a good sum between them.

“Here. A lil’ extra for…the dance.”

You hesitate before taking the money. “Hum…Thanks ?"

The clown smirks and waves you goodbye before vanishing…That was definitely weird. Who were those guys ?

…

The van rolls up late at night, headlights slicing through the darkness as the hospital doors creak open. One by one, the slashers spill out—disheveled, flushed, and strangely quiet. Nurse Y/N stands at the front desk, arms crossed, waiting. The clipboard in hand is more for show—because what she’s really doing is assessing. Making sure no one’s covered in blood. Making sure no one’s missing.

Bo’s the last to step in.

He glances at Nurse Y/N, eyes gleaming. There’s a cocky smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. He drags a finger across his jaw, then clicks his tongue and chuckles low.

“Best birthday ever,” he drawls, voice rough with satisfaction. He steps close—closer than usual—and before she can sass him or ask questions, he leans in and plants a surprisingly soft kiss on her cheek.

“Thanks for tonight, nursey. We had a lotta fun with the guys.”

Nurse Y/N raises an eyebrow. “You all behaved I hope ?”

Bo shoots her a wolfish grin. “Define behave, sugar.”

And just like that, he saunters off, whistling a tune only he knows—birthday boy glowing in the aftermath of the most chaotic lap dance club outing the hospital has ever approved.

The next day…

It’s quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

Nurse Y/N is sipping her coffee, enjoying the brief calm after the storm that was Bo Sinclair’s birthday lap dance club field trip. She’s finally thinking she can make it through the day without someone licking a scalpel or breaking a vending machine.

Then, she hears soft footsteps.

She looks up—and freezes.

It’s Vincent.

He’s standing there in front of her, hands behind his back, hair slightly messier than usual. There’s something different about him. He’s fidgeting—not the usual nervous twitch, but…expectant.

Her nurse senses tingle.

“Vincent ?” she asks cautiously, setting her coffee down. “You okay ? Did Bo tie you to a chair again or something ?”

He shakes his head slowly. Then, with a little more confidence than she’s used to from him, he extends a neatly folded piece of paper.

“You need something, sweetheart ?” she asks kindly as she takes the piece of paper with a smile. He fidgets. Hovers. Shuffles forward. Y/N reads it and—mid-sip of her coffee—nearly chokes.

Scrawled in careful handwriting:

Me and Bo are twins. I haven’t asked for my gift yet…but now, I think I would like another session at the club. Please. Thank you.

Her eyes go comically wide. Her mouth opens, then closes. She nearly topples over in her chair, catching herself on the edge of the desk. He looks at her with the most innocent expression, head tilted, hands neatly folded in front of him like he just asked for more applesauce.

“You…you want what ?”

He nods. Slowly. Firmly.

“…Another session ? And Bo did not influence you ? You can tell me if he did…”

A beat. He nods again. This time more enthusiastically.

She slaps the desk, turns on her heel, and walks in a circle trying to collect her thoughts. “I—I’m gonna have a heart attack before this week is over, Vincent. A lap dance isn’t a birthday cupcake !”

He taps the note again, politely reminding her of the whole “Bo and I are twins” logic. As if that made any more sense. Yeah. They are twins, but that doesn’t mean they would like the exact same gift ! She expected things like paint, a new set of canvas, anything else but what Bo asked for !

“Are you sure, Vincent ?”

Vincent just stands there. Silent. Tilts his head ever so slightly. Then—he nods.

Dead serious.

As Nurse Y/N tries to gather her wits after Vincent’s note, the door creaks open just a little wider, and out steps Eddie Munson, his usual chaotic energy practically radiating off of him. His eyes are wide with excitement, and he’s looking from Vincent to Nurse Y/N like he’s stumbled into the best surprise of his life.

“Hey, uh…I’m gonna be honest, I heard about the lap dance session thing, and uh, I was wondering—” he begins with big bright sparkling eyes, and Nurse Y/N groans, rubbing her temples. Of course. Freddy must have told him. Like father—like son. Figures.

Before she can respond, there’s a crash from the hallway—a crash that sounds suspiciously like a door slamming open. Seconds later, Five Hargreeves appears. One of his hands is stuffed in his pockets while in the other he is holding a cup of coffee, but his eyes have the same glint of mischievous intent. He then doesn’t even hesitate before sitting on her desk—knee-crossed—sipping loudly while staring right at her.

“Sooo…I heard that something interesting happened last night. Didn’t know things like private shows were on the table for us, Nurse Y/N ? Or else I would have asked for that kind of service a looong time ago.” Five asks, his voice dripping with disbelief. He raises an eyebrow and takes another sip.

Before Nurse Y/N can even process what’s happening, Eddie leans against the desk too and flutters his eyelashes at her, grinning like the devil himself. “So, uh, since Bo, y’know, got that as his birthday present, do you mind if we—join the fun next time ? For Vince ?Hmm ? Come on. We will be sooo nice. Promise. And also, Brahms wants to join in too next time. Seriously, we were kinda disappointed not to be included. Like, rude…But a mistake can always be repaired. Part of our lesson on redemption and…stuff.”

Five cuts him off with a dry, “I’m not missing the next round of that. But you. You’re still a kid. What are you ? 18 ?”

Eddie frowns at him.

“22. And says the seventy-something old guy trapped in a 12-year-old body.”

Five rolls his eyes and Nurse Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation…She is really reconsidering her life and the choices she made that led up to this moment…Bo saunters past the doorway just in time to catch the scene and lets out a bark of laughter.

She glares at him.

“BO SINCLAIR ! COME BACK HERE ! SEE WHAT YOU DID ?! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU DEGENERATE PERVERT !” She shouts and Bo only laughs harder as she chases after him—barely missing her shoe as it flies past his head.

Eddie raises his hand like a student eager to answer. “So, uh, about that invite…What time are we leaving ? I’m assuming we get VIP treatment, right ?”

Five adds with his usual cool, nonchalant voice, “If it’s anything like what the guys had last night ? I want to be front row.”

[enthyrea]

topguntober days four, five, and six! "you came; you called," "wedding," and "hard deck"

prompts are from here <3

[aromanticasterisms]

the epic highs and lows of rereading your own writing to seek out parts you disliked and analyze Why you disliked them to do better in the future

[dangoulains-devotion]

yuffie has many interesting elements to her but people refuse to move past "i find energetic kids annoying" and it makes me sad

[honey-tongued-devil]

▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]

If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!

Jayce:

  - It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm  

  - But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different  

  - When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions  

  - It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look  

  - And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day  

  - It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts  

  - Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second  

Viktor:

  - For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one  

  - He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway  

  - That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet  

  - What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer  

  - The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you  

  - And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body  

  - Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them  

  - For the nights when he feels lonelier  

Ekko: 

  - Communism  

  - There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore  

  - The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it  

  - But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes  

  - Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket  

  - It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it  

  - And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you 

 

Vander:

  - Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you  

  - When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by  

  - And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin  

  - “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else  

  - After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift  

Silco:

  - Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places  

  - Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them  

  - The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it  

  - Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his  

  - That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you  

  - But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe  

  - “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump  

Jinx:

  - Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare  

  - She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean  

  - It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it  

  - It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it  

  - Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable  

Vi:

  - Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed  

  - Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it  

  - That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month  

  - The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you  

  - When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt  

  - She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to  

  - But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others  

  - That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life  

Caitlyn:

  - Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need  

  - And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen  

  - So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform  

  - Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you  

  - It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you  

  - The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers  

  - There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often  

Mel:

  - For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you  

  - “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked  

  - It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body  

  - It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something  

  - But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless  

  - When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her  

  - And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects  

  - Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare  

  - Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had  

Sevika:

  - Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous  

  - But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders  

  - And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers  

  - It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do  

  - And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours  

  - But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it  

  - In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously  

  - And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable  

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[highdramas]

ok but first or second year resident flirting with jack’s wife knowingly or unknowingly that she’s jack’s wife and jack is losing it over the whole thing and keeps giving the newbie death stares from across the room whenever the newbie is near is wife and dana sees this all go down from the nurses station and just prepares for jack to go ape if the newbie crosses a line

rookie mistake | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!attending!wife!reader

warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), jack defends you because you are his lovely wife <3

word count: 1.8k

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. ANON THANK YOUUUU FOR THIS REQUEST <3 i adored this one <3 this is a continuation of ring of fire set in the future, but it's not necessary to read to understand this fic. if you would like to, though, you can find that here <3 not proofread so apologies for any errors!

on monday, you resign yourself to cut the newbie some slack. i mean, alex doesn't know, and if he did, you're almost certain that he would knock that shit off immediately. but... there's a small part of you that finds it a little bit amusing. and maybe you should be good and hold your hand up and say the words that would make any wise man run far, far away: "sorry, kid. you know your attending? yeah, that's my husband."

but that would just be too easy.

tuesday, you're ultimately surprised by the gumption that he has to continue to flirt with you. he says your name like he's purring it, and you can't help but scrunch your nose up slightly, looking up at the board to see where your skills are most needed. the amusement has mostly dissipated, being followed by a certain brand of annoyance that only a twenty five year old boy can draw out of you.

you roll your head to look at your forty nine year old man, coming out of the trauma that had come in thirty minutes ago, only to find that his gaze is already on you. his cheeks are slightly red, hands on his hips, eyebrows screwed up in that way that indicate to you that he's weighing his options about what the best course of action is, here. you wave at him with your fingers, and the new resident, alex, follows your gaze. he gives a big toothy grin to your attending and it takes everything within you to keep your face as neutral as possible. "man, abbot's a cool fuckin' dude," he says under his breath with a truly earnest reverence, and it almost makes you feel bad. almost.

"he's the best of us," you say, and it's entirely truthful. you can tell that jack is still cued in on your conversation. you slide your glance back over to him and wink before you look back to alex.

"yeah." he doesn't take a beat to look back at you with that unbridled hunger that he had been throwing your way through both of the shifts you'd worked together. "so. what're you doing after all of this?"

with raised eyebrows, you shrug your shoulders. "i have an idea or two." he looks just a hair too excited, and your face drops. "not like that. you know, if you want to be a doctor, you do need to actually have an attention for detail." you raise your left hand, revealing the gold band that you wear when you're working. “less flirting. more charting. go.”

when you look over at abbot with a slight exasperation, he just raises one eyebrow at you, and offers a tentative thumbs up– almost a question.

you give him a thumbs up back.

–

the next day, alex was going around to every person that you both worked with, attempting to get intel on you, and your love life.

dana scoffs when she hears the words come out of his mouth. “i mean, he can’t be all that. there’s no way he’s better than me. i was a diver at duke! i had a full ride!” the words are said with such true arrogance that even dana has to laugh.

“oh, kid, if only you knew.” she claps him on the shoulder and points her finger at him. “i’m only gonna tell you this once, alright– after that, you’re on your own. and don’t say i didn’t warn you.” she looks at him down the bridge of his nose– a remarkable feat, considering alex is nearing 6’1. “you don’t want to try your luck. you feel me?”

“but–”

“ah– what did i just say? you don’t want to try your luck. believe me.” she claps that same shoulder again. “and if you do, i knew nothing, and had nothing to do with it.”

you lean against the counter, very obviously eavesdropping, not like you really care– when abbot slides up beside you. he looks over his shoulder at alex, who is, of course, already looking at you. when he meets abbot’s gaze, his eyes go wide and he turns right around, going back to north-11 to finish up with the norovirus patient that jack had put him on. following jack’s line of sight, you can’t help but smirk as you watch alex take in a big gulp of air, slap a mask on, and step into what you’re sure is a hell made entirely of shit and vomit.

“you know,” you say lowly, your elbow brushing jack’s. “that is just mean.”

“all interns get a noro case when they come in,” he says seamlessly, looking between the board and the patient notes that he’s trying to wrap up. “it’s textbook.”

“his first day was three days ago. you usually give it at least a couple of weeks before you start sticking them on noro or food poisoning.”

“not all interns flirt with my wife, relentlessly, in front of me.” jack puts his undivided attention on you.

“oh my god.” you’re smirking. you’re smirking, wide, at your computer. when you look over at jack, you say, “you’re not seriously jealous of the kid?”

“it’s about respect.”

“i don’t think he’s even picked up on us yet. which is hilarious, in and of itself.” you finish up with your chart and put a hand on your hip. “no one’s telling him.”

“he keeps this shit up, he’ll be hearing it from me.”

you hum and pat your hand on his chest. he catches it, his thumb rubbing at the ring you wear. “you’re sexy when you’re jealous,” you say under your breath, close enough to him that you can get away with a little workplace flirting.

“i’m not jealous.”

–

he is jealous.

he’s jealous when he watches this kid– yeah, you may only be five years older than him, but he doesn’t linger on that fact too long– blatantly flirt with you. he gets jealous when alex leans in slightly towards you during shift, just a little too close than is friendly while you review patient notes and ongoing care. but then, he watches you do your little semi-awkward shuffle to the left, and he can’t even help his smirk. and then you look over your shoulder, make this face that says, can you believe this guy? and suddenly, it’s not that he’s jealous. it’s just that he loves you.

but then, on that thursday, alex touches you.

at first, you don’t even notice what he’s done. a little piece of hair has fallen into your eyes out of the tortoiseshell clip that you love so much– the one that jack picked up for you at a cvs because he knows how much you love tortoiseshell. and it’s so faint that you barely even register it. but it doesn’t matter. because you may not have realize, but jack certainly has.

alex’s hand hasn’t even dropped from where he’s tucking that loose piece of hair behind your ear when jack surges up, dana hot on his heels. “woah, woah, woah, let’s all cool it–” dana starts, but it’s no use.

jack puts a firm hand on alex’s shoulder, squeezing tighter than necessary. certainly firm enough to drive home his point. “hey, buddy,” jack says lowly, just enough so that alex can hear him loud and clear, without causing a scene that draws the attention of the entire emergency department. he has that sort of simmering intensity that always makes something swirl in your belly. “look, i’ve tried to be cool, man. i really have. but i’m only going to tell you this one time before i pull in a favor with gloria so that you complete your residency somewhere else. keep those grubby fucking hands off of my wife.”

mortification is an understatement for what you assume alex must be feeling. his face is beet red, eyes darting between you and abbot so fast you’d want to get him in for a head CT if he kept it up any longer. “i– holy shit– i did not know.”

“i know you didn’t,” jack says with a resolute nod. “but now you do. so keep your hands to yourself and we won’t have a problem.” he pats alex’s back once, and you cover your mouth with one hand and peer over at dana with wide eyes. she, can only shrug, roll her eyes, put her readers back on, and turn back to the charge desk. “go get a sandwich from the bin and take ten minutes. go.” 

alex looks at you and you feel bad, almost. you smile at him and say, “next time, if a woman says she’s not interested… take it at face value, before jack abbot has to get involved.”

“yes, ma’am. it will not happen again.” alex gives one last nod to jack, like a nervous teenage boy, before he’s off running towards the staff lounge with his tail between his legs.

jack rubs a hand over his face. you bite down on your lip, look at him, and you start to chuckle. soon, jack’s laugh begins to mix with yours, coalescing until you’re leaning against the charge desk with tears clouding your vision, his dimples fully out and on display.

“man,” he says, shaking his head. “i feel a little bad.” he says, his laughter still holding him by the sleeve, begging to tug him back under.

“you should be. you’re scary,” you say while his thumb catches one of the stray tears on your cheek.

he snorts. “i’m about as scary as a kitten.”

“i dunno. i think our friend would beg to differ.” you lean into him and squeeze his arm before you force yourself to pull away– you like to exude some semblance of professionalism at work. even if the thing you want to do is drag your husband to the on-call room and ravage him for defending your honor.

“yeah, well. guess i reserve it for special circumstances.” he crosses his broad arms over his chest and looks you, up and down. they land on your face and soften. “i love you, kid.” the way he calls you kid, versus alex, makes your chest squeeze. an old habit from your residency, a reminder of where you were and how far you've come now.

the fondness that you feel for him never gets smaller. the longer you've been with him, from that time where you were his resident, smoking weed on his living room floor and wondering if there was a world where this could all work... the thing that always remained true and steady was how much you liked jack. right down to his bones, you liked him.

how can you capture that all in a sentence?

you don't know. but you settle on, "i love you," emphasis on the most important word there is.

[pukicho]

hey @pukicho i saw your art and i thought it was super cool! you improved so quickly (really impressive btw), and i was wondering what resources used to study art? and what app/website you digitally draw on? and your brushes if your okay with sharing them? and literally ANY other information you had because i would love to learn how to draw?

i feel like a victorian street rat asking for more bread

I use an XP-Pen Pen Tablet and Clip Studio Paint as my program of choice, but any pencil and notebook will suffice for learning, and may even be better. As for learning, I use books, baby!!! BOOKS! I'll even be nice and tell u which ones, because I am a lover of shared knowledge:

How To Draw by Scott Robtertson - deceptively complex book on perspective. It tells you how to draw a box, I then suggest you draw a fuck-load of boxes in correct perspective before moving forward. Having a strong grasp on planes and perspective allows you to properly grasp the volumes and shape of almost anything. It's the baseline principle to visualizing what u wanna draw. Without simple forms understood in perspective, you merely lack the skills necessary to draw from imagination.

Carlson's guide to landscape Painting - A good book, even if u don't intend to draw landscapes. Tons of clever explanations on lighting and value. Tons of useful relational shortcuts to understand complex scenery in smarter ways. I like the way he explains things, it makes me go ohhhh.

TACO point character drawing 1 & 2 - Two NEAT anatomy reference books. It's mostly just a collection of simplified, anime-esque proportional figure drawings. They're a great reference, but I absolutely wouldn't use it as my only set of books on anatomy. It's still useful to use and learn, but in a more general way - and I can't currently apply everything the book tells me yet, because I haven't learned the forms in more detail first.

The Human Figure by Jon H Vanderpoel - this is a short, but VERY useful anatomy reference book. The Author is from the early 1900s - real oldschool, which is good. He has a very useful, matter-of-fact writing style. This is the better starter book to use in order to remember the proportional relationships of the human body (even then, it's still not enough)

The Practice of Oil Painting & Drawing by Solomon J. Solomon - I'll be honest, this one makes sense to me conceptually, but I cannot fucking execute some of his practices. This dude is from the victorian era, his paintings are in museums and they're too good. It only makes sense that his views and approach to art are headier than some of the other suggestions on this list. The book is still useful, and I presume will only grow in usefulness as I learn. It does still have some cool ideas in the first-half of the book that you can easily apply to your art studies! But the second half is a series of master-derived schools of learning that I have yet to dare touch.

(also check out loomis books. I hear they are good)

ENJOY

[coffeebanana]

some things i've been thinking about (this was supposed to be separate ideas but now i guess it's a rough fic outline in bullet points kasdbfksbjd):

marinette telling adrien the truth YEARS later, after everything's settled down and the butterfly's been recovered and their identities are revealed

maybe they live together. maybe he was getting ready to propose

after his initial shock, anger, time he needs to process, mostly he just wants to understand WHY she lied

when she tells him the she just couldn't bear to hurt him any more than she already had to by telling him his father died, and some part of adrien sees that as his own failing--surely if he'd been stronger, if he'd been the kind of person she thought could handle the truth, then she would have given it

maybe they go to couple's therapy. one of the exercises they're given is to practice honesty with each other and marinette goes... a little overboard

adrien thinks it's sweet, at first. until he realizes she's scared to leave a single second of her day unaccounted for. she's stressing out because she forgot to tell him something minor and he doesn't want him to think she just decided not to tell him something again

he realizes just how much she's been beating herself up about this all these years. just how much she's always loved him despite her mistakes

he remembers the ring he has stashed upstairs

and maybe it's not the time for proposals. but all he can think is that even at their worst, he still wants forever with her

of course, he's never been one for keeping his affections to himself. so he tells her.

it's not a question, it's not an offer. it's a fact: I want to spend the rest of my life with you. i want to marry you. she looks at him like he's crazy, so he pulls out his ultimatum. but i need you to forgive yourself first

all these years, marinette's been secretly awaiting her punishment. secretly awaiting having to pay for what she's done. forgiving herself was never on the table

do you forgive me, she asks in a quiet voice

i don't know, he says, and marinette's heart sinks until he adds, but i know i want to

and in the end, it's not so hard for him to get there. for him to forgive one decision she made under the worst possible circumstances. one mistake in the midst of all the ways she's made him feel safe and wanted and loved. all the times she's held his hand or helped wipe his tears, all the times she's let him do the same for her

when it comes time to exchange vows, for better or worse is already something they've agreed to

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: Since getting married, Joaquín has discovered he loves hearing you call him your husband. So much so, in fact, that he'll do almost anything to get you to say the word. Warnings: Mentions of food, gets a little spicy at the end (not the food). Word Count: 862 A/N: Another one where I've had the idea sitting in my notes for weeks. It turned out a little different to what I expected but I still love how this ended up so I hope you all love it too.

“Say it again,” Joaquin says, practically skidding into the kitchen where you’re cooking.

It’s a rare night where you’re making dinner instead of Joaquin. You found a new recipe online that you really want to try and Joaquin always loves when you cook – while he loves being the cook of the family, he also loves the food you make him.

There’s something he loves more than that though.

You spin around from where you’re standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “What am I saying again?” You ask, a little confused. 

Joaquin walks further into the kitchen, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. “You just called out to me and said husband, come and try this. Call me husband again.” 

You huff out a small laugh. Ever since you’d officially tied the knot just over a month ago, Joaquin had discovered that he had a thing for hearing you refer to him as husband. It was like when you referred to him as your boyfriend or your fiancé, but better. And then there were the few times when you called him marido instead of husband, which almost made him weak at the knees on more than one occasion. 

“Husband, will you try this and tell me if I need to add more salt?” You oblige, holding up the spoon a little and smiling to yourself as he leans forward over your shoulder and licks some off the spoon.

“Mmm,” Joaquin hums, right in your ear. “It’s delicious, angel.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “It’s perfect, it doesn’t need anything else. But personally, I could do with hearing you call me your husband again.” 

Rolling your eyes jokingly, you drop the spoon back in the pot and spin around in Joaquin’s arms. He loosens his grip on you a little so you can spin around easier. “Remember before we were married and I’d refer to you as Joaquin or baby? What happened to that? What is it about husband that makes you react like this?”

Joaquin shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think it’s the word itself, it’s just hearing it come out of your mouth when you’re referring to me. Like the other day, when we were out for dinner and you introduced me as your husband to your new co-worker that we ran into. I’ve never been a husband before.”

“Oh, I’d sure hope not,” you laugh. “I did think this was your first marriage.”

He grins, leaning in and pecking your lips lightly. “First and last, actually.”

“Well, I’m honoured, husband,” you smile. The smile on Joaquin’s face grows even more as the word comes out of your mouth. “Now, will you let me finish making dinner? I don’t think I can keep cooking it unless you let me go.”

Joaquin groans, irritated at the thought that he has to let you go. He loves holding you, having his hands on you, and if he could all of the time, he’s sure he’d find a way. “If you call me husband again, I promise I’ll leave you alone until dinner is ready.”

“Husband,” you start, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. “Joaquin Torres, my husband, the love of my life, the man I married… making him my husband…” You milk it a little bit, knowing that Joaquin will enjoy every second of it.

It surprises you a little as you watch him literally shiver at hearing you say the word so many times in one go. Joaquin finds it incredibly hot, especially the way you say it with your mouth so close to his. If he leans forward just a little, he could capture your lips with his and kiss you senseless until he could convince you to say the word again.

“Angel,” he breathes, face still close to yours. “It’s a good thing you’re busy making dinner right now because if you weren’t, I would be picking you up right this second, putting you on the counter and making sure you know everything that comes along with the fact that I’m your husband now.” 

It’s like a switch flips inside of you at his words – this time you’re the one having a reaction to the words instead of him. The fact that you’re mid way through cooking dinner is a thought that slips right to the back of your mind as Joaquins thumbs dig into your hips, his grip having gotten a little tighter after you called him husband again.

You turn your head and reach behind you to turn off the stove before looking back at Joaquin again. “Dinner can wait,” you mutter. “My husband is more important.”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to step to the side and lift you up onto the counter, away from the stove and your half cooked dinner. He steps in-between your legs, hands gripping at your thighs, and leans up to press his lips to yours again. The kiss is messy and passionate and everything he’s been wanting ever since he heard you first call out to him. 

You think you should definitely call him husband more often.

[bunnis-monsters]

Cat hybrid reader going through her first heat after taking heat suppresent pills all her life with werewolf husband(NSFW obv). This sounds kinda cute in my head.... I can't explain it.... Like getting married and then finally deciding that you want to let yourself go through a natural process which you were suppressing all your life.

Happy 5k! If this isn't something you'll write, I am sorry, please do not block me, I can't tell if this is following the rules or not.

Your husband held your hand as you started the morning without taking your heat suppressant pill for the first time.

You wanted to have kittens with him so badly, and he wanted to fuck you full of pups, so the two of you decided that it was beast for you to temporarily stop taking them so you could mate properly.

“You think it’ll be okay?” he asked, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

You frowned, leaning against him. “I’m not sure… it’ll take a few days for the suppressant to leave my system. I’ll find out then…”

And find out you did.

Your husband returned home after a long day of work, only for his cock to immediately strain against his pants when he picked up the smell of your heat. He could hear your desperate little mews from the bedroom, walking in to see you crying and begging for release.

You had never felt such an ache in your cunt, and had never really felt the urge to masturbate so you had no idea what to do. He watched you struggle to finger yourself and play with your clit, your pretty kitty tail rubbing against your fat, wet pussy.

“Poor baby, can’t even make herself cum…”

He fucked his fingers into you, making your back arch. “Mmph! P-please, need more!”

You panted, your body feeling like it was on fire. His fingers were a little help, but it was like throwing a bucket of water on a house fire.

You needed more.

“Shh, sweetheart. Gotta stretch you out, okay? Can you be my good girl and wait for me?”

He moved his fingers in a scissoring motion, trying his best to stretch you out as quickly as possible.

You nearly lost it when you felt him kiss your inner thigh, his lips moving to your fat pussy. He licked your clit, sucking on it as his fingers kept fucking into you.

After a few moments you cried out, cumming on his fingers and writhing on the bed. Orgasming while in heat was like nothing you’d ever felt before!

Your entire body spasmed as he pulled out his fingers from your aching pussy with a wet squelch. It took him a second to compose himself, watching your pussy ooze. There was a mess under your hips already, and your scent alone was driving him insane!

He already towered over you, but now he seemed to loom over your body like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

He rolled you onto your fat tummy, lifting your hips so he could properly mount you. By now, he was going off of pure instinct, ready to breed his fertile little mate.

“Mew…”

You let out a pathetic little meow as he sunk into you. The two of you had sex before, but now it was an entirely different experience.

The pleasure was multiplied tenfold, and he was so much more intense than he had been previously. “Wanna make puppies with you! W-wanna-!”

You buried your face into the pillow as he pounded your kitty cunt. His grip on your tail made you cry out, arching your back so he could reach you better.

Your hips and legs were easily lifted off the bed as he began using your fat pussy to get off, his mind fat gone. You didn’t mind, the feeling of him knotting you and filling your belly with cum over and over again was the only thing helping to calm the heat in your body.

The next day, your mate fussed over you, feeling terrible that he went overboard and lost control.

“I’m sorry, little one… your heat, it just-“

You butted your head against him affectionately, purring as he began to pet you.

“I think it’s what I needed… thank you for being with me for my first heat.”

“Of course… I’m your husband and mate, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

The two of you spent the morning cuddling in bed, soft purrs and loving mews filling the air.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljr

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6.5, 7

masterlist

Uncle!Sukuna who always hated the idea of settling down and having kids. he definitely did not want to be a parent.

Uncle!Sukuna who refused to even consider a pet because he didn't want that kind of responsibility.

Uncle!Sukuna who almost went off the grid when he got a call about stepping up as a guardian after his brother Jin and sister-in-law passed away, leaving their 6 year old son Yuji, who Sukuna hadn't seen since he was...1? maybe 2?

He hadn't been very close with Jin, and Jin's wife had always had "a bad feeling" about Sukuna, so it wasn't like he was going over every Sunday for family dinner.

Uncle!Sukuna who agrees to talk to Yuji's social worker, after multiple phone calls, to at least get an understanding of what's being asked of him, and what's at stake.

Uncle!Sukuna who the second he sees Yuji, knows he won't be able to say no to the kid. Despite being Jin's son, the boy looked exactly like Sukuna. The biggest difference in their appearance was the gummy grin that Yuji gave as soon as he saw his tall, broading, indimidating uncle. Sukuna was surprised at the...brightness the kid held, despite all he had lost.

Uncle!Sukuna who spends the next few weeks before he officially becomes Yuji's guardian getting his life together. He has money, owning his own bar and sometimes bartending there has kept his bank account more than happy. But he's never cared for big spending, except for his fancy car. So he moves out of his apartment, moving into a nice family house, in a quaint, safe neighborhood, neither of which he ever saw himself doing.

But the second he saw Yuji's face light up when he pulled up to the house for the first time, he knows he made the right choice. Even if he did grumble and act indifferent and uncaring.

Uncle!Sukuna who is suprised how easily Yuji takes to him, how comfortable he is so quickly. Considering the kid barely knew him, he acted like he had been around forever. He already calls him Uncle Kuna, and is not the least bit deterred by his hard, cold exterior.

Uncle!Sukuna who acts like Yuji is an inconvenience, an annoyance. He tells him he better not ask for anything unless he's willing to work for it. But he always finds himself buying the kid stuff whenever he goes to the store, whether it's a toy, a snack he doesn't need, a movie, or whatever. even if Yuji doesn't ask one.

Uncle!Sukuna who internally panics when there's an emergency when there is an emergency at his bar that requires his immediate attention. It's late, and there's no one to watch Yuji, and he definitely couldn't take him.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically drags a half-asleep Yuji out of the house, ignoring the kids mumbled confusion as he pulls him to the house across the street. He recalled seeing a kid in the yard the week prior, so he was taking a chance in hoping that meant there was a willing parent there too. Irresponsible and risky but he only had so many options.

Uncle!Sukuna who practically bangs on the strangers' door, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. He completely ignores the fact that it is 2 am and a weeknight.

When you open the door, rubbing your tired eyes to see a tense, tall man holding the back of a little boy's shirt, who is grinning brightly as if it wasn't 2 am, it takes you a moment to process. You glance between them a few times. They look familiar, but you can't place where you've seen them.

"Can i help you?" You eventually ask, confused and tired, and slightly annoyed at his previous banging.

Sukuna is a little thrown by the softness of your voice, by how sweet it sounds. Even with the clear tiredness and weary. He does nothing to hide his glance of..appreciation of your figure, but only lets himself get distracted for a moment before he gruffly explains why he was there, not even introducing himself.

You stare at him in suspicion for another silent moment, before glancing back to the boy next to him and giving him a kind, soft smile. Sukuna ignores the unfamiliar feelings in his chest when he sees that smile aimed at his nephew.

"I can watch him till the morning." You finally said, looking back to Sukuna. He took no time to push Yuji into your house, a breath of relief and a mumbled thanks leaving his lips before he turns, briskly walking to his car.

Once the door is shut, you stare at the child in your entry way, while he stares back up at you. You were still processing the situation, to be fair.

"Hi honey, I'm y/n. What's your name?" You ask with a tired sigh. he grins once more.

"I'm Yuji! you're pretty."

you chuckle, ruffling the kids pink hair fondly. Something about this situation told you this little boy and his unnamed guardian were gonna bring something totally new to your life.

----

not proofread

[swtheartz]

i loved your little drabble of the “breaking up with mark doesn’t work” post and i’d really like to hear your thoughts on how that would go down with some of his variants if you have the time pretty please🫶✨

ohh of course dear !! been thinking abt it and this req inspired me even more info : obsessive behavior, mentions and acts of murder, stalking, he’s crazy in every universe. gn!reader a / n : this is a gift to you guys for 348 followers. i’m soo grateful n happy <33

SINISTER MARK

he thinks it’s a joke at first. you’ve no real reason to actually want to leave him, right? he’s utterly convinced that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. and to be fair, there wasn’t. other than the fact he was possessive as shit and always had tabs on you. would scare off your friends and constantly linger around you whenever he wasn’t terrorizing the masses. the second he realizes that you’re serious? he doesn’t take it very well. you won’t ever find someone better than him. he won’t let you. just what human could ever be better than him?

“You’re not very good at jokes,” Mark says—voice and expression both hauntingly blank. It sends chills down your spine for the simple fact he’s never had such an empty tone. The way he looks at you is something that you can’t exactly put into words. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s annoyed, or expectant, or some other emotion that you cannot be bothered to decipher. Not when there’s blood staining your clothes and his, the floor, your cheeks and his hands. Whatever ‘friend’ you were hanging out with was dead before they’d hit the ground. It’s been twelve days since you had gathered the courage to tell Mark you wanted a break, and it took him this long to take you seriously. Thought, it hadn’t taken much effort for him to take a life. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. . .” He hummed, tilting his head as he crouched down in front of you, watching you tremble like a deer in front of an incomprehensible creature. ”But let’s not do this again, hm?”

OMNI MARK

calm. at least, he seems calm. but he also doesn’t take you very seriously. acts as he usually does, even asks you when the next date night is. as if he’ll even be able to make it with his schedule and how often he cancels on you. looks at you as though you’ve said something ludicrous when you answer that there isn’t a date night—you’re not together anymore. surely, you don’t know what you’re talking about. if you wanted him to plan the next date, you could have just told him. he’s usually the one that does all the thinking, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. honestly, what made you think you could walk away from him? the one human he cares for, and you’ve the nerve to try and separate from him? funny.

“We’re not dating, Mark.” The way the two of you stare at each other for a few tense moments is a little awkward, though he doesn’t seem to care. He holds eye contact with you before sighing—like you’re a child who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Like you’ve garnered the nerve to tell some dry joke. “If you have a problem,” Mark starts, arms crossed against his chest as he ignores your exasperated expression, “we talk it out. Like a couple is supposed to do.” “But we’re not a couple anymore. That is what I’m telling you.” You’re attempting to be reasonable, you really are, but you swear up and down he’s making you feel like the crazy one. This has got to be the third time you’ve had this conversation with him, and it hasn’t even been a week. There isn’t any way you can get through to him and you just don’t understand why. Mark scoffs, again, ignoring you. “I’ll make sure I’m not busy. Crime’s been going down, so it should be fine. They’ll manage without me.” “Just kill me already.” You mutter to yourself, unable to decide whether or not you’ll be able to ever get your point across. . . . You’ll just try again tomorrow.

FULL MASK MARK

more pathetic than mainstream mark. this man is like a wet cat in the rain. tries to maintain distance, but ends up following you everyday, texts you without thinking about it while he attempts to reason that it’s okay. you just need some distance and time, and maybe you’ll both get better. ends up outside your window after a particularly bad fight with a villain he had. he didn’t do it on purpose, he just sort of ended up here. call it muscle memory if you will. all he knows is that he’s a mess without you—needs you like oxygen, can barely think or focus on anything without you. probably the only one that tries to be the best he can be for you outside of the main universe. and probably the only one you didn’t really want to break up with.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Markus.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Mark sniffles, face tucked into your neck as he clings to you. You’d think of it as pathetic if it were anyone but him, honestly. He’d shown up with your favorite candy and drink, bloody and looking like a stray abandoned on the side of the street. You practically had to drag him through the window when he tried to turn back around. It took a bit of insisting and a med-kit to get him cleaned and patched up, despite him reminding you that he technically didn’t need it. You snapped at him to shut up before inevitably pulling him to your room again—letting him stay the night was an easy decision, almost too easy. As of right now, he was simply listening to the sound of your heartbeat, your soft breathing, enjoying the way your gentle fingers tangled in his hair. It was sweet. Familiar. Something Mark had missed so much it made his heart ache and hurt, to the point felt as though it was being ripped apart. Though, if it were done by your hands, he wouldn’t mind.

a / n : i liked writing this, i might make a part two to this and i’m gonna make the healer reader thing a series if you guys are up to reading that. mwah mwahhhh

taglist : @lxkoluvsu // @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha // @tokoyamisstuff

[plethorawrites]

I know a lot of people HC that Damian Wayne would be a terrible dad because of how he was raised and his own trauma keeps him emotionally detached, but imagine if his upbringing did the exact opposite? (1.2k)

He'd be terrified the moment he finds out his wife is pregnant, utterly unable to comprehend it. He wants to be excited, like everyone else in his family is about it, but can't bring himself to get over the fear. He's worried he won't love it or feel attached to it like she already is. Hell, he keeps calling it and IT.

That fear only grows and grows, getting infinitely worse as she's closer to having the baby. He doesn't feel worthy of being a parent, he's got too much blood on his hands to know how to be gentle or caring, especially not to someone as small as a baby. His wife alone had to break through a dozen of his walls before he fully trusted her enough to be vulnerable with her. But then, the baby is born. He's a dad. His wife is alright, which is his first concern, the next being making sure the baby is too.

She is.

She's a she.

He has a little girl and it's like time stops, staring at her little face, her dark skin, her full head of hair, her chubby cheeks. That fear in his chest both grows and disappears all at once. He knows then and there that his worries about not loving her were absolutely ridiculous. He's never let the world hurt her. But the apprehension about being good enough still persists.

He refuses to hold her, claiming his wife should be the first since she did all the work. Which she did. Then, he still refuses. He doesn't want to cradle her when he keeps thinking of all the blood his hands have spilled. His wife can tell and deep down it worries her too, but she doesn't say anything because she knew it would take a while for him to get used to being a dad. His family comes to see the baby a few days after they leave the hospital, they all hold her, but Damian keeps his arms crossed.

He's still terrified from afar that one of his brothers will drop her, though.

One night, after she got to bed, he hears her crying. His wife is exhausted, rightfully so, so he gets up. She's eaten recently so he has no idea why the baby is crying, just that she is. He shushes her while she lays in her crib but she's a few weeks old, so of course she has no idea what that means.

Finally, he reaches down, scooping her up into his arms, just to try to keep her quiet so his wife can sleep. "Shh. Please let your mother sleep," he whispers, his eyes softening as she immediately stops crying.

He puts her back down, the anxiety having already flooded him just by having her in his arms, but the second she's back in her crib, she's crying again. He's forced to pick her back up and the crying turns to soft cooing, staring up at him with wide eyes. He sighs, sitting in the chair his wife likes to rock her to sleep in, holding her close in her blanket. Which wasn't really a blanket at all, just his old cape that she had somehow taken to finding comfort in.

She reaches out, with that iron vice of a grip all babies seem to have, grabbing his finger with her hand. "Such a strong grip for such a small person," he whispers to himself or perhaps to her. "I love you, you know? More than anything. I just...feel like you deserve a better father than me."

She's still staring, silently, with absolutely no recognition of his words and his grips around her tightens as he leans his head back in the chair, falling asleep until morning when his wife finds him in the nursery with her still in his arms. He won't pretend he didn't feel a little bit of comfort holding her. But it was still frightening to him. Even if his wife assured him every other day that he was doing fine and she knew he could be a good dad.

He takes to being the one to soothe her at night so his wife can sleep, both because he's used to staying up at night for work and because he's somehow a lot better at getting her to calm down. He begins calling her 'beautiful' or 'darling' in Arabic, which always elicits a small smile. And he knows without a single doubt that he'd never let the darkness he's seen touch her.

The older she grows the better he gets at it. She's less fragile, he's more confident that he does deserve her. He can raise her better than he was raised. And he does. He can recognize each of her cries, knows what she needs, sometimes before she does. He presses a kiss to her head every night before she goes to bed and even when she starts sleeping through the night he'll still sit in her nursery for a while because he knows he'll never see her this small again.

She turns one and his whole family is there, spoiling her with extravagant gifts, even though he knows her favorite thing in the whole world is the blanket she sleeps with, made from his old cape. She's old to stand and starts babbling, not quite forming words, but it's enough that he knows what she wants when she points in a vague direction and starts getting frustrated about wanting something. He sits on the floor, holding her little hands while she stands, learning to take her first steps and his wife grimaces, worried the baby will fall.

She does.

Damian catches her.

She giggles and he can't help but grin with pride. "That's my girl. Already learning to walk a few months early." She's smart, he knows it. He doesn't boast to anyone aside from his wife or family about it, but secretly judges all the other kids in the group his wife takes her too. They weren't quite as advanced as his daughter.

After all, she responds to some words in Arabic. Her nicknames, mostly. Although she'll turn her head when he says 'look' or tells her 'good job' for finishing her mashed veggies. How many other babies did they know who were bilingual before two? Not many.

After fourteen months or so, her eyes change from blue to green and he finds himself even more transfixed with her wide eyes that track everything he does when he wakes up before his wife to make them all breakfast. He scolds her lightly when she throws the teething ring she loves at him, telling her "That's rude." Before handing it back to her and making her some steamed vegetables, since he always refused to give her store bought baby food.

It wasn't good enough for his child.

Around the time her babbling turns to poorly formed words, she starts calling him Babba and realizing how it makes him smile utters it over and over when she wants to be picked up.

She goes: "Babbababbababba." Like it's all one very long ramble until he lifts her out of her high chair and lets her rest on his hip asking her what she wants. "Stuffed animal?" He questions, pointing at her collection of them. She just repeats. "Babba." again, laying her head against him.

He realizes she just wants to be held and he gladly holds her for as long as she wants.