#completely made up science for a completely made up substance

[lovely-writes-alot]

Chapter 1

Maisie

I have spent hours of my life wondering why my parents didn't seem to care about me as much as my siblings.

At first, I figured it was just everyone adjusting to the fact that they had just adopted a teenager.

The kids had the adjust to a stranger sleeping in the next room to them, our parents had to adjust to other kid and that schedule, and I had to adjust to the fact I could hear my own thoughts, plus a camera being shoved in my face all the time. What Joy.

Even with that grace of knowing it would take time, I still felt like I was on the sidelines of their lives. I still do.

Take my current predicament. The state science fair.

It was something that my school got a few students to do. Perks of private schools, they can actually fund these endeavours.

Now, I clearly had the extremely optimistic thinking that, for once, I would have something that was going to be my own, considering the fact it wasn't organised by my parents, but instead, I was currently struggling to set up my stall as three small children ran rampant at my feet whilst my parents were standing off to the side, on their phones.

"Ooooo pretty!" Hayley exclaimed, reaching for brightly coloured substance that I had placed on my table.

"No, no! Don't touch that!" I quickly set the box I was moving onto the table and pulled her away from it. My eyes darted to my parents. "Uh… Ame-mum- Austin!" My hand shot out the stop his head from smacking against the table.

"Delilah, honey, behave." Amelia said half-heartedly, barely sending a glance our direction.

"Dad would you-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever your mother said." He muttered. "When's the photographer coming?"

"I don't know, Matthew! I'm trying to get him on the damn phone!" Amelia snapped, turning around. "There's no service in here! What kind of building like this has no service!" She marched off angrily, disappearing.

"Maisie, watch them." Matthew waved his hand in my direction, before trailing after her like a lost puppy.

I just stared at the spot they were just standing in for a moment. Even after this happening over and over again, it still left me crushed.

The people who were meant to be my parents treated me like their co-worker and/or live in nanny, and I was meant to be grateful?

I snapped out of my shock, just to grab a test tube from Hayley's hand. "Go look in my bag." I mumbled, slightly defeated.

Hayley groaned, as I felt a slight tug on my arm. "But I've look through your bag like a bazillion times!"

"but what if bazillion and one is your lucky number?" I asked her, as I felt another tug. "One sec Lila."

"It won't be." Hayley argued.

"How do you know that- One moment Lila."

Hayley paused, whilst Austin chimed in. "Whoa, you have a light saber in here?!"

"No!" My head snapped around the face him. "Put that down! It's not a light saber!" I tried to take the glowing object from him, but he turned away from me, waving it away as he made light saber sounds

Delilah tugged on my arm again.

I felt the guilt slowly growing in my stomach. "Delilah, I promise, just one moment- Austin, give that to me!"

"But it's my light saber!"

"No, it's dangerous is what it is. I need you to give it to me."

"No!"

"Austin-"

"Oo!" Hayley piped up. "I know because of probability!"

"That's great, Ley- Austin, I need that. It's not a toy." I reached for it again. Austin swerved again.

"No! It's my light saber!"

"It's not a light saber! It's dangerous!" I used both my arms to stop him from turning away and pulled it out of his hands.

If eyes weren't on us yet, they sure were now as Austin started to screech, to the point of ear piercing.

I stood there, slightly unsure of what to do. I hadn't really had to control Austin's meltdowns. Normally Amelia swept in to play 'caring and wonderful mother' once he started.

Delilah buried her head in my stomach, and Hayley just stood there, staring, stunned.

"uh Maisie…" She started, her once confident tone turning into one of complete uncertainty.

I opened and closed my mouth for a moment, a few ums and uhs spluttered out.

I knew that I couldn't just get Amelia. She'd bite my head off for interrupting her 'adult conversation' and I shouldn't leave the three kids on their own whilst Austin's in this state.

As I continued doing mental gymnastics in an attempt to decide what to do, a familiar voice pulled me out my thoughts.

"What's going on here-" The friendly voice of Mrs Hayden broke through the screaming. "Oh wow, he's got some volume there. This one of your siblings?"

I nodded. "I don't know what to do." My voice quivered.

Mrs Hayden, knowing some of the background into my home life, was about to teach all my siblings a few new words that my mother would not like for sponsor ships.

"Right." She nodded slowly, going over to Austin. She started to talk with him, and as she does, the screaming starts to soften.

I sigh, the ringing in my ears becoming more apparent as Delilah removes her head from my stomach. "I'm hungry…" She whispered, like the very words could cause the world's demise.

"Didn't you eat breakfast before we left?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Mum was too busy with the photographer."

Now it was my turn to stop myself from teaching the kids new words.

"Um…" I turned to my bag, freezing as I see my empty table compared to everyone else's fully set up exhibits. A nervous whimper left my lips.

That didn't go unnoticed by Mrs Hayden, who had gotten Austin to get out of gremlin mode. "Why don't you guys head to the playground in the centre over there while Maisie sets up, hm?"

Hayley's face lights up. "Oo can we?" She turned to face me. I gave a weak nod, before pulling my bag onto the table.

Hayley and Austin went to leave but looked to Delilah, silently inviting her alone. She shook her head, before going to stand at my feet.

"Delilah will catch up with guys." Mrs Hayden reassured, gently guiding them in the playground's direction.

Hayley and Austin looked at each other, before shrugging and running off.

"Okay, so I don't have much, but I have a fruit bar?" I offered Delilah.

"Yes please." She said.

I pulled it out for her, and handed it over, before guiding her in the direction of the playground.

"Maisie, you got 15 minutes." Mrs Hayden reminded gently. I suddenly regretted every decision I have ever made.

Words got caught in my throat as I tried to let out at least some sort of acknowledgment. Despite the fact my parents, nor any of their cameras were here, I still felt the same feeling that they brought. I wanted to run, to just grab my bag, go to my car and drive somewhere far, far away.

My hands shook as I stared down at my box. Who was I kidding? I had no clue what I was even going with experiment. I was nothing more than a fraud. I had lied my way to my current position and-

"Maisie?" Mrs Hayden asked.

"I can't do this." I whispered, my voice cracking. "I can't. I don't know what I'm even doing. How have I've gotten this far? I've completely lied my way-"

"Hey, Hey, stop that." Mrs Hayden grabbed my shoulders gently. "You're getting in your spiral again."

Ha. Just a spiral. Cause I 100% understand what this is about and haven't just memorized it all.

"Do you want some help?" She asked. I stood there for a moment. I didn't want to be here at all but what choice did I have?

Mrs Hayden started to pull stuff out my boxes, and I placed them around.

The entire time I was scared basically shitless. I'd have zero time to to practice the speaking portion, barely enough to set up, and then I had to act normal for the cameras. Great.

As my box started getting closer to empty, Mrs Hayden got pulled away to help with someone else's. I was extremely nervous, and was going to cry in the shower tonight, but I should've be able to finish, or at least I thought that until the bane of my existence came in.

"Where are your siblings?" Amelia hissed from behind me, making me jump.

"Uh…" I swallowed, pushing myself again the table. "They went to the playground whilst I set up."

Amelia's face changed to something between frustration and anger. "I give you one job, and you can't even do that. They're nine, six and seven, for gods sake, Maisie! You can't just let them go off!"

"If I let them they stay, they would've-" I tried to explain.

"I don't care what would've happened, you were meant to keep an eye on them!" Amelia cut me off, starting to rant about it isn't that hard to watch a few kids.

I looked over to Matthew, who just stared back at me, wordlessly telling me to suck it up.

I knew that face. God, I saw it all the time. They argued, big time, and Amelia had to direct her anger somewhere before the photographer showed up.

So many feelings bubbled up. A part of me wanted to yell back at her, tell her that they were being reckless around the chemicals that could very easily burn them, but the other part of me, the part that was always louder, knew that it would only make it worse.

Even knowing that, I still felt all my emotions just as strongly. If Amelia was this angry in public, I knew it would be even worse in private.

Tears started building up in my eyes, and I tried to hide them. It would only make it worse.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Maisie. I'm not even yelling-" I heard a crack of glass, Matthew yanked Amelia back, and then a burning hot substance hit my skin.

I screamed in pain, my knees buckling as I noticed the glowing substance all around me.

I started crying, fully. I was in so much pain it overrode my need to preform.

Mrs Hayden ran over, coming over to me. "Someone call triple zero!"

Oh my god guys, I finally did it. FIRST CHAPTER FIRST CHAPTER *cheer for me pls this took longer than it should've*

You got thoughts? Feelings? You fucking hate Maisie adoptive parents? Good, that was the desired effect! either way please share them dear lord I love hearing other people's thoughts good or bad

@hellincarnation @daonedaonlysk @jerry-the-leech @sunnies-theory-of-happiness @dreamboyinthedarkvoid @childofthewargod @hello-i-am-an-idiot

[justwannabecat]

Haha… about that… Well.

“How do you know?”

“Phantom told us-“

“That ecto-scum?!?! You can’t believe a word it says. Obviously it’s just lying in an effort to make us stop- we must be going in the right direction then!”

Also, a bit more explanation on what I was thinking when I came up with this:

-Ectoplasm is similar to radiation. Over time, large amounts of exposure can add up. Too much (liquid form) will kill any normal person. However, small amounts will only burn (like if a regular human was shot with a weak ecto-blast.) Exposure never really goes away. If you’re shot with a blast, you will become just the slightest bit more liminal as a result. If your parents are liminal, you are at least a little bit liminal.

-Unlike radiation, ectoplasm is everywhere. This is thanks to a billion natural portals opening and closing, 99.99999% of which last for not even a fraction of a second+are too small for anything much more than a grain of sand. This is completely normal and common.

-Because of the background ectoplasm in the universe, most living organisms (that aren’t microscopic) have at least a little bit of liminality. Most of the time, this extends to the ability to learn. When an animal reproduces, its offspring already have the instincts necessary to survive in the world (mostly). That is thanks to a tiny little drip-down of ectoplasm from the parent. The ectoplasm has the knowledge, and passes it to the offspring.

TLDR: Sentience is a byproduct of mutualism between ectoplasm and other species. If you remove 100% of ectoplasm from a species and prevent them from absorbing any more somehow, they would stagnate, not evolving further. Maybe they would devolve, maybe not. But they certainly wouldn’t get any further.

“Yeah, see, the Anti-Ecto Acts are even more troubling than ‘inciting war with the Realm of the Dead and all its gods’ level.” Phantom began. “It affects the living, even outside of that.”

Constantine huffed, but didn’t disagree. Bruce could only guess what he was thinking.

“At least, from what Clockwork taught me,” Phantom continued, and that made Constantine snap to attention, “ectoplasm is just kind of… There. Floating around in the background, but at such a low level that it doesn’t usually manifest. But it’s still there, and it functions kind of like radiation: just being around it might cause you to develop liminality.”

“Liminality?” Bruce asked. Phantom shrugged.

“Any side effects you would notice are only caused by high levels of exposure, nothing like this low-level radiation. But, well… Ectoplasm is both attracted to emotions and attracted by emotions. And ectoplasm heightens emotions, too. The fact that the human race has been alive so long, evolved to feel more complex emotions, it’s because the ectoplasm bonded enough with humanity to allow that. Humans achieved sentience because they could feel enough to determine they existed. Without ectoplasm, slowly those emotions will fade. And…” Phantom hesitated.

“…I can’t say that humanity will become nonsentient once again, not for sure. But I can say that you will slowly, generation by generation, lose the feelings you have now.”

[bluesidez]

Can I request a Miguel O'Hara x Curvy reader where they both get intoxicated from sex pollen ??

[Sticky-Icky]

lab taster: @waterinthefire 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Curvy!Reader

summary: He's a lot less irritating when he puts his mouth to better use.

content warning: a PWP but you guys know me (there's a little plot), this is so 18+ that it's crazy so MDNI, sex pollen (or more like Miguel is playing around and doesn't know wtf he's doing), unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾) manhandling, temperature play if you squint, standing 69, facefucking, creampies, wrong use of webs, biting, breeding, spitting, squirting, cunnilingus, fellatio, fluff if you squint...I think that's it. my god.

word count: 4.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Listening to Sticky by Ravyn Lenae inspired part of this. Also watching several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, Hell’s Kitchen, and Law & Order: SVU in the bg kept me sane. And one more rewatch of ATSV.

My duty as a fanfic writer is fulfilled as I give you this mandatory trope. 🫡

When you first started working at Spider HQ, you were amazed by the fact that one man was able to create all of this.

It was astounding, beyond what the gray tones of Nueva York could ever present to you.

Now, you think back to your glittering eyes during the first year working here and laugh.

Working for Miguel O’Hara was like squeezing a watermelon through a straw. He was impossible.

Nothing you did was ever satisfactory for him. Something could always be fixed. Sometimes, you wonder why he still kept you employed here.

Currently, he was turning his nose up at a salve you were working on for spiders whose healing time wasn’t nearly as quick as others.

“Run a new test. This batch is no good.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The formula could be better, it’s too thick, and why does it smell like that?”

The scent was similar to one you wore often and a lot of the spider-people that swung by the pharmacy seemed to like it.

“Uh, jade tea.”

The pinch in Miguel’s eyebrows deepened as he sniffed the air.

“Switch it to something else.”

You huffed, already tired of this conversation, “Well, what smell do you suggest?”

“Anything but this.”

“How about lavender, then? Perhaps peppermint.”

“And now, you’re being childish,” Miguel put the tin down before placing his hands on his hips. “You know there’s spider-people who can’t smell too much of that.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He plopped a giant file on your desk, “Deal with that later. I need you to work on something else. For some reason, villains across dimensions are obtaining access to a substance similar to rapture. Every time there’s a mission, the spider-person of that dimension has been left affected. I need something to subside the effects until we can get them back here.”

“Ok, well do you have the substance with you?”

“No. But I’ll get you something soon. For now, I have a year’s worth of research on rapture. It should be of some use.”

You took the rubber band off of the manilla folder, something so old school for this era of tech.

You saw a line of formulas that started to make your head spin.

“Are there a lot of people affected right now?”

“Only a few. They’ve used the leftover solution I made a long time ago. It’s only going to work for so long,”

“Good. I need to sleep on this.”

Miguel’s head knocked back an inch, “Are you refusing work? The state of the heroes of different universes relies on this research. It’s not some science project-“

“I understand completely, Miguel, but I’m off the clock.”

He stopped and checked his watch, the red six o’clock burning back on him.

“I only work the hours you pay me, Spidey,” you reach to pat his arm and regret it when his stern face doesn’t move.

“Not interested in paid overtime?”

You bit your cheek to stop the laugh from coming out.

“That’s nice and all, but I’ve got plans.”

“Like what?”

“Like resting, sleeping, not touching lab work with a you-sized pole. All of these are things you aren’t familiar with. Plus, I have a date.”

A pause went through the room as you started to gather your things.

“Since when do you date?”

You push your chair under your desk harder than you mean to, “Since when do you care?”

“I,” he follows to the elevator, “care about my employees.”

“Sure, Miguel.”

If it weren’t for your tired state, you would think he looks a little sad at your statement.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

The doors start to close as you nod your head, Miguel’s gaze stuck just above your head.

Weird. Just like his frequent stops to your lab.

The feeling doesn’t leave your gut even as you’re smiling in your date’s face.

One minute, you’re laughing at a story about some amateur skateboarders Downtown, and the next, an electric billboard is being covered in tiny nano-spiders across the street.

“So the guy just takes one step on the board and then he’s flying. A straight line across the park.”

“That’s,” the spiders start to crawl into different lines. Then a logo forms, displaying the spider on Miguel’s suit next to an exclamation point. “So hilarious.”

Your date chuckles then follows your gaze, the silence too long, “Is there something wrong?”

The nano-spiders flipped around, the regular billboard showing like normal. You squint.

“No, I thought I saw something. Must have been my imagination.”

“You did say you were a little tired from work. Should we raincheck? We can always catch a movie another time.”

You wanted to say no, you’d been looking forward to tonight.

The billboard flickered to a little picture of Lyla with “SOS” above her head.

“Yeah, I should probably get going. Sorry about this.”

The way he doesn’t sweat you practically ditching him makes your heart pang. You’re already dreading another night exhausted and alone. Your date seemed promising.

You wave at him from your taxi, the route leading back to Spider HQ feeling like torture. You unclasp your purse and check your gizmo.

40 missed messages.

It’s not until you’re walking into the regular lobby that you turn it on.

“What is so important that you waste Margo’s time to interrupt my time?”

Lyla pops in your peripheral, hands up and wary, “I’m only doing what boss asks! Don’t get mad at me.”

“Lyla, why am I back here right now?”

“Well, Miguel has gotten himself in some particular trouble.”

You punch the elevator button, “Get to the point, please.”

“He went into your lab to try and start the solution he talked about earlier. After his first accident, he’s never had any luck with lab work, so uh. He’s kind of made a mess.”

The elevator moves and you look at Lyla, “What kind of mess?”

The doors open and you can smell it before you see it.

It’s poignant, like perfume soaked roses and patchouli. The scent hits you hard enough to make you grip the metal opening as you come out.

“What exactly did he do?” you breathe out.

Your limbs start to shake, nerves drumming from the inside out. A weight feels like it landed on your core, your stomach twitching as you continued to take in whatever had transpired.

“Something about DNA splicing and plants. I can trace his movements back if you’d like, but I’m also currently trying to figure out how to reverse it.”

“Great.”

You swing open the door to a disheveled Miguel. He’s sweating profusely as he tries to clean up your lab desk.

Before you can even begin to yell he’s fussing, “Lyla, I told you not to call her!”

“But you obviously don’t know what you’re doing.”

He bites his lip as he tries not to look at you, fingers trembling as he starts to store materials back into their drawers.

“Thought you had a date.”

“And I thought I told you stay away from my station,” you feel like a baby deer walking over to him.

When you get closer he sucks in his breath like you cut him, stopping in his tracks.

“I don’t think you should be near me,” he grunts. His eyes are dark, lips swollen with the way he’s biting them.

“What are you talking about? I’m trying to help you.”

You round the corner of the desk, the image of you two almost comical. Miguel moves to the edge of the desk, chest moving faster, while you chase after him trying to get a hand on his forehead.

He felt extremely cold compared to the numbness of your palm, despite how flushed he looked. His eyes close as your hand slides from his head to his neck, muscles there tensing.

“Please. Don’t,” he whispers.

“Who else is coming here to save you?” you ask, frustrated. “What did you do anyway?”

He doesn’t answer as he peers at you. Your heart is beating faster and you can’t tell if it’s because of the air or because of the way he looks like he’s about to climb you.

Every move you made felt like sharp pricks in your skin, the tight material of your dress digging into your hips. It felt like the ends of burning flames and you wanted it off. Your breaths were picking up and you couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on other than Miguel being your cooling solution.

“Miguel,” you sounded like you ran a marathon when all you did was step into his space.

“It’s the shocking formula that I screwed up. That’s why everything feels-“

“Like I need you,” you interrupt. “Like I want you on top of me.”

The insides of your thighs were fighting against themselves to stay together, the urge to let your legs fall around him strong.

“That’s just the chemicals talking. W-we can get somewhere safe and separated.”

You grab the back of his neck and pull yourself even closer, his hands gripping the table like a lifeline as he groans.

“So you don’t want me?” you press against him, caging a knee around him right next to his hand. “You don’t think about me?”

You can almost feel his heartbeat matching yours as you pull yourself up.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t wonder how I feel when you come into my lab snooping around? How I feel when you come in here barking orders?”

Your face is in his neck and you feel yourself clench around nothing as you take a deep breath. He smells like coffee and fabric softener, but there’s an underlying wave of musk. Of something so unbelievably him and you want to keep that scent close forever.

“I imagine you’re annoyed. But a job is a job.”

“But you still come in here asking for things you know someone else can do,” your panties are soaked, and from the way his nose flares, you know he knows. “Why?”

His teeth grit as you start to grind on him, the feeling giving you an inch of relief that only makes you want more.

“I, I don’t- It’s because I,” the counter began to crack under his hands. His muscles were pulled taut. “Dios, ayúdame.”

Maybe you were wrong, and your hazy mind only brought thoughts from the subconscious one.

“Fine. I get that you don’t like me but could you at least give me some type of relief?” you were whining in his ears at this point, a complete 180 of how you left him earlier today. With every grind of your hips, you left noises in his skin, desperate.

The desk made a terrible sound as Miguel finally lets go and grabs around your waist. Your breath is slammed out of you as your back hits the wall, Miguel’s hand holding your head to stop it from crashing into the wall too.

Your throat makes a gargled sound as Miguel licks down your jaw, his talons ripping into your dress. His tongue swipes into your mouth, breaths rapid as he finally gets a taste.

“I do like you. More than I should,” his words were passed right into you. “You and your smart mouth.”

“Then stop talking and do something about it.”

A yank in your hair stops your complaints, Miguel kissing down your side. Every press of his lips left a chilly flutter. Your hips are moving frantically, patience wearing thin. Right as you’re about to say something again, he flips you, the layers of your dress falling as he rips into your panties.

The blood rushes to your head as he takes a bite into your thigh, sucking as your legs fall to his shoulders.

You moan his name, hands gripping at his thighs. His kisses led to your lips, swollen and dripping. From your clit to your entrance, he groaned as he covered you, drinking like you were water in the middle of the night.

You felt like you were going to slip, but Miguel’s arms were looped around your legs, not letting go. His suit was in your way, your mouth salivating as his crotch stared back at you. Your fingers could only dig as far as his suit allows and you have half a mind to call Lyla to disengage it.

“Please,” you sigh as you rub his bulge with your cheek. “I need it so bad.”

“Cállate,” he hums, face delving deeper into you. The sound of him licking up every drop echos off the cool walls and the light of his suit dims away letting you see what you’ve been waiting for.

His length hits your chin, precum spilling down and you’ve never been more excited for a man to go commando. You open your mouth and let your breath hit him as you take a swipe down to his balls.

Miguel’s grunts and shifts his hips back. His tip swerves around your face as he tries to find your mouth without unlatching his jaw from your sex. You help out with the last bit of sanity you have, and once you wrap your lips around him, his hips snap hard onto you.

All you can feel is Miguel entering you from top to bottom, his hands keeping you stationed in your position. There’s no room to do anything as he’s devouring you and taking your breath away at the same time. Two of his fingers sink into you, and you jerk from the difference between his skin and his tongue.

Miguel nibbles at the hood of your clit, urging you to be still. Whenever his fingers leave you, his pelvis fills your senses. Your throat gags around him, spit building to keep up with his thrusts.

“So good,” he hums. His pace picks up and the tears in your eyes fall to the floor. “Made for me. Only me.”

Your fingers wrap around his thighs and squeeze tight, your vision fading as you try to take in pockets of air. The shake in your legs and the broken moans that escaped your lips only ignited him.

“Bebé,” his hips stutter. He’s sloppy as he drools over the entrance, voice loud. “Bebé, you’re so, ngh.”

He cums down your throat, balls twitching against your face. You close your eyes and try to swallow everything, jaw aching. Miguel groans your name as he slides his dick out to the tip, a few spurts still landing on your lips. You cough, position making everything go north.

The taste of him was delicious, but you needed more of him elsewhere. Your mouth was as drenched as your cunt and yet you still felt empty.

When Miguel flips you back upright, you’re ready to pounce on him again. The state of you both is alarming. Your breasts have completely fallen out of your dress, that black thing barely holding on by its zipper. Miguel’s suit is phasing in and out in the most obscene places. There’s slick up to his eyebrows and his cum is all over your cheeks.

He grabs your jaw and runs his tongue over your face, cleaning up his mess. You let him live in his own bubble before that burning in your core came back.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your whispers of “more” come to light. You’re clawing at him like a cat begging him to do something, anything, to make this feeling go away.

“Miguel,” you gasp as he sinks his teeth into your skin. “Miguel, it hurts. Fix it, Miggy, please.”

You guide his hands down your body and place them on your ass. His touch sates you for only a moment, but your body reacts as if he needs to be deep in your bones. He spreads your ass and groans as the sound of how eager you are for him follows.

“You’re not ready,” are the words that make you even more frustrated. Your hands pushing and pulling at him, ready to try and put him where you want him to go.

He clicks his teeth and flexes his wrists. His webs tie your wrists together, neon red strings leaving a buzz on your skin. He yanks your dress off and you stumble with the motions.

The clinical room doesn’t aid the building heat you feel, but Miguel turning you around and pressing you into the wall as he cuts the rest of your panties off does.

He squats and grabs two hands full of you.

He spits onto your hole, mesmerized as he watches it slide to your entrance. “Qué hermosa,” he whispers.

You bend, whimpering as your folds cover his nose, clenching and grinding.

“God,” you sigh. Something this small was going to bring you to the edge so quickly. “D-don’t stop.”

“Greedy,” Miguel says as if he’s not moving the fat of your ass to nudge his face into you. The arch in your back deepens as he continues and your whines get higher.

He smacks your right cheek, sound echoing off the metal tables, and you shout his name as you coat his tongue.

Tranquility clears your mind for a second, one where the flowery scent in the air is less strong.

The peace leaves just as fast as it came when Miguel gets rid of his suit and stands behind you in all of his glory.

His eyes followed from your dewey face to the curve of your hips to bitten thighs to feet with one heel still on.

“He didn’t deserve to see this,” he says.

“W-what?”

Miguel ignores you and pulls your wrists up straight, a confused noise leaving you. He wraps another web around your ankles and huffs. He sets your arms under your chest, your hands in front of you like a prayer.

When he picks you up by your waist, his dick lines up with your ass.

He groans as he grinds, watching himself disappear and reappear.

You try to move with him, “No, not there. Inside.”

“You’re always so distracting,” he growls. He slides his length between your thick thighs and you nearly scream as his hips hit your ass, his tip just barely passing over your clit. “Can never think straight when I see you.”

He rubbed over the bite he left on your shoulder, “So pretty. My pretty baby.”

His low voice right in your ears only made you wetter. He was holding you like you were his toy, fucking the inside of your thighs with ease.

Miguel could cry watching your ass bounce on his stomach. Your legs were soft and warm and he just couldn’t stop.

“Want you so bad. Need to fuck you again and again and again,” he said as your thighs quivered around him.

“Please, Miguel. Make me yours,” your voice crowded the sound of his grunts as he held you up and pounded away.

Those were the magic words to get him to lean back with a firm grip on you and release all over the wall. It was everywhere, from your legs to the wall to the ceiling.

He set you to the floor with shaky arms, and you started to sob.

All of this and you still wanted more. If this was making you feel this insane, you can only imagine the small relief Miguel was feeling after being exposed for longer.

“C’mere,” he pulls you to the bare floor and cuts the webs. You immediately try to climb him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He was painfully hard for someone who came twice now.

Your cries of “inside” slur together, tears running down your face. Miguel was no better, fangs dripping with venom and the hairs on skin raised.

The two of you tussle as Miguel tries to keep your hips to stay stationary. You kept jerking in order to get some sort of friction but he was baring his teeth to get you to quit.

You dip your nails into his shoulders and arms while he drags a talon down your sternum to snap your bra off.

A clatter of your stiletto sounds off across the room as he pinches your thigh, “Easy, beautiful. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Fucking hurry,” you whine.

He shushes as he plunges inside of you, the noise you both make as loud as a choir.

Your eyes roll back as Miguel presses, bending your body in half.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Miguel leans to whisper onto your lips.

Tight is the first thing that comes to mind and heat is the next.

He moves his hips up and slams back down, your ass shifting from the pressure.

“Miguel!”

“That’s it. Talk to me.” All of that chatter earlier and now you can barely get out a word.

“H-harder,” your hands don’t know where to go. They’re grabbing Miguel, they’re falling next to your head, they’re grabbing at your breasts as Miguel jerks your body.

Miguel goes to open your jaw, lips pulling on your tongue to suck. It’s tender and sensual compared to the way his balls are slapping against you. There’s a ring of white on his shaft getting thicker and thicker as he continues.

“Pretty thing,” he says as he lets your tongue go, a string of saliva falling to your neck. “Watched you on the cameras. Always.”

That stirs something in you, a spark in your chest as you see stars.

“Did you want to do this to me when you watched me?” you manage out.

“Yes.”

“I can put on a show for you next time.”

“Yes.”

“You can come in here. ‘N fuck me over the counter.”

“Sí, sí, baby,” his hands push your knees next to your head and he ruts against you. His thighs were straining as he took and took.

A yell pulls itself from your core, that burning feeling getting a crash of cold water. The dam bursts and you’re running all over Miguel, essence leaving every time he inches out and back in.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, eyes glazed over.

You nod your head, clenching and pulsing around him.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he shudders against you. You suck him in, gaining a deep moan from him, “Así, bebé. Take it.”

It’s like you can finally think as his cum overflows, your heart rate finally slowing.

He stares at you as you both come back to reality. Your body is limp, the weight of Miguel making itself known.

“Holy shit,” you wiggle and he catches the hint. He lifts a bit and pulls out. The swirl of you two falls out of you in waves. “What. The fuck.”

“God,” Miguel mumbles. “No shocking way we just did that.”

“You can’t say that when the evidence is leaking out of me.”

Miguel groans as he watches you, your face pouty and your hole glistening. It was intoxicating.

His dick twitches, coming to life again the longer he watches.

“‘M sorry in advance,” he says as he pulls you into his lap.

“Just take care of it, O’Hara.”

The two of you sat in the middle of the floor, breathing hard. Pieces of consciousness were starting to come back.

“You looked stunning tonight,” Miguel said. He looked at your shredded dress on the floor. “I’m glad he won’t see you in that dress anymore.”

The snort that leaves your nose turns into a full-blown laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You just took my soul ten times over and you’re worried about a guy I just met less than a week ago. I fear I’m ruined for anyone else.”

“Oh,” he smiles. “Good.”

“You still should take me on a date. You’ve got a lot to explain.”

Flashes of him confessing to his habit of watching you from afar come back, “O-of course.”

“And you owe me a new dress.”

“On it.”

Lyla pops up next to you both, a blindfold over her shades, “Is it safe to talk to you guys now?”

Miguel checks his gizmo, “I think we’re good for about forty minutes. The effects are starting to wear off.”

“Excellent!” She throws the fabric to the side, “Oh my god, this room is a mess.”

You look at the array of substances over the room and grimace. The entire hall will have to be on lockdown.

“Well, I managed to vent out the solution. You two should be ok soon.”

You lean on Miguel’s chest and close your eyes, happy to hear good news.

“Kind of sad that this is what it took for you to confess, Miguel,” she comments.

“Lyla!”

You laugh again, “Some confession.”

“That’s enough,” Miguel scowls.

Your giggles die down as you pull yourself onto Miguel’s thigh, bubbles in your chest molding into moans as you start to grind over his thigh.

“I’m starting to think you guys are just bluffing,” Lyla gags before she disappears. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“I think,” you nuzzle into his neck, “this’ll be the last time. I’m tired.”

“If not, we can take it to my house.”

The world blurs again as you and Miguel connect under the white lights.

Take a shot every time I say breath or breathe 😭. Anywho, as always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

[hivemuthur]

Request: something with sex pollen or accidental aphrodisiacs (science experiments?). And not like dubcon. More like Viktor/Reader have unconfessed feelings and apparently one or both of them needs to be drugged and desperate for sex to get them out. Idk if it’s your thing but I’d be interested to see your take on it.

I remember the evening I got this ask. I was like yesss and my friends gave me the look, you know?

Unknown Variable

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! sex pollen, but I've managed to plot it up a bit. From warnings: unsafe sex, rough sex, lots of fluids, brief mentions of experimenting on animals. The substance here is based on how fentanyl works, sort of :') I had to make myself a loop hole for something I wanted to write for the longest time :v

word count: 4,5K

author’s note: Freaktor Nation, how we feeling? Thank you for granting me another porn-writing fiddler milestone Anon :') beautiful artist behind the cover is @petitesieste 🖤

—

Your idle hand plays with the pendant of your necklace while the other scribbles down notes from the last test. Another miss. And life goes on in pain.

Finding a medication that alleviates pain without an endless list of side effects has been Sisyphean work, to say the least. Every time you think you’re close, something immune to compromise pokes its insistent head through the crack you’ve made in the never-fully-open door to the human pain receptor map.

To be honest, your ambitions to cure pain have long been tempered. Now, it’s merely about making it less relentless—offering people who struggle with it a brief reprieve, something to make it manageable. Not that Viktor was your inspiration, but he is a constant reminder of why you should keep going when every trial eventually turns to dust.

"Why do you insist on keeping such thorough documentation of the rejected ones?" The said reminder peeks over your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek.

You huff, masking how startled you are, and mutter, "Of all people, you shouldn’t be asking stupid questions."

"There is no such thing. Only stupid answers," he counters, eyes still glued to your notes. "It’s a very noble goal, you know, but you might have to come to terms with the fact that a complete erasure of pain may simply be impossible."

"Again. Of all people, you should not speak of the impossible, Viktor," you smile under your nose and turn your head just enough to see that he’s smiling, too. A jest.

"I'm only teasing you," he hums, reaching out to point at something on the page. "This… is not bad. Persevere, you will get there."

His fingertip lands right next to where your hand has frozen mid-writing, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his palm. For a brief moment, you allow yourself the illusion that Viktor is doing it intentionally. But the thought vanishes as soon as he straightens and clears his throat.

"I'm not sure I will continue with this one," you admit, tapping your pen against the page. "It gets rid of skeletal pain but gave my rats a headache to die for."

"Oh, no, no." Viktor shakes his head, eyes still scanning your notes. "This one, you shouldn’t abandon. Perhaps just tweak it."

"Tweak it?" You scoff, slumping back in your chair. "Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tweaked it?"

"I can only imagine," he replies with a wry smile. Then, after a beat, he leans in again, tapping a precise point on the intricate web of chemical formulas—lines and hexagons scrawled across the page. "I am no chemist, but this… just tickles the wrong part of the brain. Make it tickle the right one, and it might actually work."

It’s hard for him to mask the undertone of hope lingering in his voice. Hope that you will find the answer. Hope that your relentless pursuit of relief for those who suffer will finally bear fruit. And, if he allows himself a moment of selfishness, hope that his own pain, the dull ache that never leaves him, might one day be eased.

But there is something else, something unspoken and far less rational. Viktor has always found himself drawn to you, not just in admiration for your intellect, but in the way you work—how you lean too close to your notes, muttering under your breath, the way your fingers absently play with whatever they can find when you are deep in thought.

Since the early years at the academy, he has enjoyed working by your side more than he would ever admit. When your paths eventually diverged—yours to chemistry, his to engineering—he felt the loss more acutely than he had expected. There was pride, of course, in seeing you forge your own path, and such a noble one at that. But the empty spaces where you used to be, the missing sound of your voice arguing a point over some formula or blueprint, left a quiet ache that he did not know how to soothe.

Sometimes, when the solitude stretches long enough, he allows himself the indulgence of believing he was your inspiration. That some part of your devotion to this research, to this particular pursuit, was born from those long nights spent together over textbooks and dimly lit workbenches. But the thought is always fleeting, because minutes later, you will wave a dismissive hand at him, shooing him away to his own lab with a teasing remark, and he will remind himself that he is a fool for entertaining such notions.

It is not as though there have been no opportunities. There have been moments—unguarded, lingering occasions where it might have been easy to reach, to say something, to step beyond the line of friendship. But somehow, the time was never right. And so, this one thing, he never felt like he could touch.

You blink a few times, scrunch your eyebrows, and hum. The pen gets trapped between your teeth as you pick up the sheet and bring it close to your face, as if looking at it from a smaller distance would somehow make it clearer.

“You know, you might be right,” you finally say in a tone that suggests Viktor is never right.

A chuckle rumbles out of him. “Unthinkable,” he snorts, leaning on his cane and offering you a smug, satisfied grin.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be so pleased with yourself,” you chide, but the corner of your mouth betrays a smirk. “Thank you. I must ask you to leave me to be a genius now.”

“Ah, there it is,” he sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Served my purpose, and now I’m being unceremoniously chased away.”

“Don’t sulk,” you tease, waving him off as you set the paper back down. “I’ll even put your name in teeny-tiny little scribble on the leaflet.”

“You spoil me,” he deadpans, shaking his head as he turns to leave. He pauses by the door, glancing back at you with an affectionate smirk. “Fine. Let me know how it goes.”

Before you can say, “You’ll be the first one to know,” Viktor is already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You give yourself a moment to rub the stupid feeling of light-headedness away from your temples before setting back to work.

What was meant to be a small tweak stretches into hours. Then days. Then, after two weeks, as you stand in front of the blackboard, the realisation you hadn't anticipated settles over you. Whatever you’ve created will inevitably end the already miserable lives of your test rats. Other than that, the medication looks as ready as it will ever be.

You could wait, of course—gather a group of willing human test subjects and conduct the trial properly. But let’s face it—you’ve waited long enough. And it’s right there.

Your jaw aches from hours of clenching, your sleep has been erratic at best, and now, to top it all off, a dull pain throbs in your tooth. You could just check. Worst case? You die. And if that happens—well, you won’t care anyway, will you?

As for the side effects? Manageable. Irrelevant in the grand scheme of the doctor-patient relationship. So yes—it seems you’ve very much done it.

The sun sets at some point while you debate with yourself—to drink or not to drink. When you finally do, all your hesitation, all your pain, the aches and nagging little pokes you hadn’t even realised were there—vanish. They melt into a feeling of softness and lightness, enveloping you in a warmth that feels almost like a gentle embrace.

Your fingers flex as if testing for any lingering pain, but there is none. Even the dull pressure behind your eyes from lack of sleep has dissolved. A laugh bubbles up, unbidden, and you press your palm over your mouth, giddy with disbelief. It worked. It actually worked.

Then, just as quickly, your thoughts snap to Viktor.

You scramble for your notes, knocking over an empty vial in your haste. Ink smears as you flip through your pages, but you hardly care. Grabbing one more vial—just in case—you cork it tight and shove it into your pocket. You need him to see this. Now.

Your heartbeat pounds as you rush out, barely remembering to lock the door behind you before taking off down the corridor. The lamps lining the halls have already been lit, casting flickering pools of gold onto the stone floor. You don’t stop to enjoy it.

Viktor’s dorm is far from your lab, but somehow the jog doesn’t get you tired. On the contrary, it feel great. You reach his door and rap your knuckles against the wood, shifting on the balls of your feet with barely contained excitement.

“Viktor! Open up—I’ve done it!”

The door swings open faster than you expect, and Viktor is already halfway through a hasty, "Shh!" before you shove the stack of notes into his chest. He stumbles back a step, catching them with one hand while bracing against the doorframe with the other. His hair is tousled, his vest unbuttoned—he must have been in the middle of something, though whatever it was is immediately forgotten as he frowns down at the crumpled pages.

"What—?" he starts, but you barely hear him.

With a triumphant little flourish, you hold up the test tube between you, the liquid inside gleaming under the candlelight. “I did it,” you whisper, grinning. “It works.”

Viktor’s gaze flickers from the vial to your face, eyes narrowing. "It? You mean—?"

“If this isn’t enough evidence—” you gesture to the notes he’s still sorting through, his confusion growing by the second—“I might have secretly tried it.”

His fingers still against the parchment. His head snaps up. “…You what?” Voice pitches embarrassingly, sharp with alarm. He glares at you as if he might physically shake the confession back into your mouth, but it’s too late.

You shift your weight between your feet, the initial rush of excitement dimming just a little under his scrutiny. “I tried it,” you admit again, slower this time, watching as his grip tightens around your notes. “And it works, Viktor. No pain, not even a little. I feel…” You hesitate, trying to find the right words, then settle on, “Light. Like I’m floating.”

“That is not reassuring,” he snaps, finally stepping back to let you inside. As soon as you cross the threshold, he shuts the door with a soft but urgent click and turns on you. “You—” He exhales, dragging a hand down his face, visibly forcing himself into something calmer. “You did not even hesitate?”

“I hesitated a lot,” you counter, but that does nothing to ease the storm in his eyes. He looks down at your notes again, scanning them, flipping through pages. His brow furrows deeper with every line.

The rustling of paper sounds unbearably loud in the silence, the only noise countering it the pounding of your own heart in your ears. He says nothing, eyes scanning the pages with intense focus. He’s not just skimming—he’s memorising, cataloguing every formula, every line of documentation. His lips part once, his expression shifting from concern to consideration.

Finally, he lifts his gaze, hopeful and searching. “And the side effects?”

“Very unlikely to make an appearance. Oh, hey!” Your sentence stutters to a halt as you catch Viktor tilting the vial at his lips—and swallowing. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You said it’s safe. I trust you.” He shrugs with a grin, then his eyes flutter shut. After a moment, a quiet, breathy laugh escapes him. “I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “It does work.” As if testing a theory, he exhales deeply, then sits on the sofa and stretches his legs out experimentally. “Please, continue.”

You blink, thrown off balance, but quickly shake it off. “Uh… very unlikely,” you repeat, resuming your pacing in front of him. “Whoever prescribes the medication would have to be attracted to their patient, and vice versa, for any additional effects to take place. And they would both have to ingest it. So, you see—”

Through your excited rambling, you don’t immediately notice Viktor clearing his throat uncomfortably. You frown briefly, a strange warmth blooming in your chest, but your mouth refuses to stop moving.

Viktor speaks your name softly, trying to halt your trot. Then, again. Then, once more—his voice lifting just a notch in urgency.

You finally pause, eyes locking onto his. “Chances are… very slim,” you finish the sentence, but your voice falters into something dangerously close to a whine.

Viktor stretches his legs out stiffly, his hips jerking once as his fingers clench into the fabric of his trousers. A flush creeps up his neck, blooming across the cheeks and he exhales sharply through his nose, shifting as if trying to find relief. His chest rises and falls fast, and when he swipes a hand over his face, his lips part, damp from where he must have licked them. Another small jolt runs through him, thighs pressing together, and his knuckles go white where they grip his knees.

But above all of this, he just looks… incredibly hot. And as if the sight alone isn’t enough to nearly undo you, he speaks.

“Aphrodisiac.” Comes a low mutter of disbelief. “Brilliant, really,” he chuckles weakly, though there’s little amusement in it—only breathlessness. Brilliant, how you connected the dots. So incredibly brilliant to tickle, as he advised you, the parts of the brain that entwine both—pain and pleasure.

“But, oh… f-fuck,” Viktor stutters, a sharp inhale cutting through his words as his body betrays him. His hand twitches towards his lap before he catches himself, fingers gripping his wrist in a desperate attempt to resist. A painful cramp of lust wrenches his stomach into a knot, his entire frame tensing. “You’ve missed a variable, I’m afraid—”

You stand frozen, staring at him, torn between bolting out the door and throwing yourself at his feet. But then the realisation crashes over you, scorching hot, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your pulse slams against your ribs, your skin suddenly feverish—damp forehead, shirt clinging to your back like a parasite.

“You…” your voice wavers as you step forward, heat curling low in your stomach. “It means—” Viktor swallows hard, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, pupils blown wide. “Oh, gods,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. “You like me,” the truth spills from your lips, the weight of it sending another sharp pang of want through you.

“Immensely,” he admits, voice strained, thighs pressing together as another tremor runs through him. His face is painted in apology, but his hands reach out for you.

You take another step, closing the space between you, and his breath stutters. “Since when?”

“Always, ah—” he gasps, struggling to keep control. His fingers tighten into fists against his knees again. “You?”

Your throat is dry. “Oh… s-same,” you choke out deciding the time for embarrassment is long gone.  

His head tips back, jaw clenched, a strangled sound slipping out as he exhales. “Gods.”

And it just fucking hurts not to touch him. The pain you had so recklessly rid yourself of is back with unnatural force—aching, unrelenting—and gods help you, if you don’t rut into his lap any minute now, you’re going to die miserably.

When you get close enough, his fingers brush yours pleadingly, and the touch feels like a punch to the gut. The mere ghost of his skin against yours bends you in half, has you leaning over him, gripping the backrest of the sofa for support.

“Can I?” he asks, his hand hovering under your skirt. The sweetness of it—this man, asking permission to touch you when you’re so clearly drenched, when you’re convinced he can see the slick dripping down your thigh—makes you want to weep.

You nod desperately, breathing out a tearful, “Please.”

Viktor immediately comes to your aid, his palm swiping up the dampness on your leg before pressing flat against your cunt. The sound it makes—slick and obscene—has him gasping. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers, bewildered.

His neglected cock aches, trapped painfully in his trousers. With the hand not already between your thighs, he fumbles with his belt, freeing himself—but to no avail. His left palm is even clumsier than the right, which now falters, frozen between your legs, his drunk mind unable to do more than one thing at a time.

Desperate for friction, you grab his wrist and rut against his palm, spreading slick all over his fingers. Viktor whines, overwhelmed by both having you and not having you where he needs you most. Then, with a sudden motion that makes you gasp, he moves your knickers aside, hooks two fingers into your cunt, and pulls you down onto his lap.

The moment you're there, you begin to slide your pussy up and down his cock, and Viktor moans—a filthy, slutty sound that has you threading your fingers through his hair, tugging his head to face you.

He looks so gorgeous you could eat him and clean your teeth with his bones. Possessed by greed, you sink your tongue into his mouth and nearly stop grinding from the sheer feeling of it. His hands—gentle, reverent—cup your cheeks, soft lips nipping at yours, his eyelashes tickle your skin when his eyes flutter shut in relief.

It had never crossed your mind to just kiss him. And oh, you’ve missed out on so much.

Because Viktor kisses like he’s been wanting you for the longest time—slow and deep, breathing in through his nose as he presses his face into yours. Close, so close you could melt into him, dissolve into liquid and flow down his throat, straight to his heart. His scent floods you, sweet on your senses and unmistakably him, nothing in particular yet everything at once.

Your hips move once more, but he doesn’t let you go. He groans into your mouth, biting down a moan when your pussy lips hug the underside of his cock, teasing the spot just beneath the head. You stay there, rubbing your clit in short, frantic movements, the sinful sounds falling between you, making you ache for more.

Desperation floods your veins, your slick coating every inch of him as you grind into the ridges of his groin, each drag of your clit sending ecstatic warmth down each of your limbs. Viktor is no better—his breath comes in ragged pants. He grips your hips unsteadily, trying and failing to guide you into something slower that he could endure.

“F-fuck… you are—” His voice trembles, his forehead falling against yours as if the weight of his pleasure is crushing. “So wet. You feel so—so good.”

You can barely reply, too lost in the heat of him, the feeling of his length dragging through your folds, the head catching just right where you swell, the sensation buzzing, building up. Still, you manage a breathy, “Your cock feels amazing,” and the whimper Viktor lets out is nothing short of wrecked.

His hands slip up your back, holding you close, his lips brushing yours as he mutters sweet, broken things—bits of words and phrases in his native tongue. You don’t understand them all, but the way he speaks them, ardent and needy, has your stomach tightening, your whole body scorched.

“Viktor, I’m—”

“I know. Please, cum. For me,” he pleads, his hands gripping you tighter as you begin to lose your rhythm. It’s there, you can already feel it creeping up your spine, twisting and prickling your skin where Viktor touches you, coaxing it out.

The heat in your belly snaps, and you cry out, trembling in his arms as your release gushes over him, soaking his cock, his thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wetness, the sheer warmth of you, sends him over the edge in turn.

Viktor shudders beneath you, his voice breaking on a guttural groan as his cock twitches and spills, ropes of hot cum streaking over his stomach, mixing with your slick into a sticky, messy heat between you.

Your mouth falls back to his, kissing away the sweat from his lips, your pelvis still rocking gently through the aftershocks—the slide so easy now that you feel like a whore doing it. Viktor hums when you pull his damp hair away from his forehead, his breath slowing down when he exhales a breathless chuckle. "You will kill me," he murmurs, voice hoarse and fucked-out.

"No," you whisper, nuzzling into his cheek, your body still moving against him, slow and unhurried. Like a cat rubbing against its keeper, needy and content all at once. "No, I would never. I need you."

Viktor groans softly at that, his hands tracing your sweat-slicked back before settling at your waist. "What do you need from me, sweet girl?" His voice is low, the tone suggesting that anything you ask for, he will give you.

"Please, fuck me," you breathe, pressing closer, your lips brushing against his jaw. "I feel so empty." Only now you begin to undo the buttons of your shirt and Viktor does the same, pressing your damp stomachs together. He inhales your scent from the crook of your shoulder and hums, eyes rolling back in his skull as if the words physically unravel him. His grip on you tightens briefly before he smacks your hips with both hands and says, “Get up. Please.”

Your legs nearly betray you, thighs shaking and knees weak as you try to rise from his lap, only to almost collapse back at the sight of the webs of your shared release stretching between you. It makes a sticky sound, gross and hot, and to your relief, Viktor must find it hot too—because he’s nearly fully hard again.

You don’t know if it’s the medicine or something else. You feel different now, though it definitely still holds, since Viktor gets up with ease, turns you to face the couch, and presses his fingers to the back of your neck, squeezing gently before bending you over. “Ass up, head down,” he says, a renewed lewdness in his tone.

You turn your head, catching him in the corner of your eye, and at the flicker of concern on your face, he smooths a hand along your spine and murmurs, “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” He peels the sweat-dampened shirt from your back, and you smile at your shared state of half-undress—the way no time is wasted getting fully bare, the discomfort of parting greater than the inconvenience of underwear pushed aside clumsily and trousers still pooled around his knees.

Only you know how many times you’ve pictured this exact scene. But your mind never drifted far enough to conjure exactly how wet and scorching everything would be, how your thighs would quiver in anticipation. The cushioned seat dips next to your knee as Viktor sinks down beside you, close enough that your legs touch. His cock hovers below your pussy, his hands undo your bra, then settle where your hips crease.

He rocks back and forth and tsks when you shift needily. “So impatient,” he hums, sickly sweet in your ear. “But I suppose I have your lack of restraint to thank for being here in the first place.”

A clever retort sits at the tip of your tongue, only to be punched back down when Viktor slides inside you with one smooth thrust, hitting deep. He groans, wide and loud, fingers digging into your flesh—but you don’t see his face. You barely see anything through the tears pricking your eyes, forcing you to squeeze your lids shut. Your nails bite into the couch, and your back arches to meet him, presenting your ass just as he asked.

Still tight from your last climax, you hug all of him snugly, yelping when his balls slap against your soaked lips. It’s slow, almost teasing—the way he stretches you out. He’s too busy gaping at his cock, appearing and disappearing inside you, to hear your little mewls of incoherent begging, the word please tumbling from your lips over and over with no meaning beyond desperation.

Finally, you’ve entered the realm of things he can touch. And it’s dishonourable, the way it happened—but he doesn’t care. The ability to touch you, to fuck you, quickly erases all shame as he slams into you, hard and measured, knocking moans and ragged pants from your throat. It feels better than anything he’s ever felt.

He fucks you hard and rough. Each thrust is forceful, precise, driving deep until the sound of bodies slapping against each other is all you can hear. When enough pressure builds, and he feels your walls tightening, clenching closer and closer around his cock, he fists a hand in your hair and yanks you up. A sharp cry spills from your lips, your belly presses out, and you have to brace a hand against the couch's backrest. His arm comes around your shoulders, holding your back flush against his chest. The other hand—the death of you—slides between your legs, fingers pressing ruthlessly against your clit.

No restraint, no kindness—no nice boy left in him. His teeth graze your ear before sinking into the straining flesh of your neck, his voice a ragged whisper against your skin. “Take it. Where do you want it?”

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open as you breathe out a tired, “Inside. Please.” He bottoms out and wrenches it from you—an orgasm so violent it has you screaming silently into the ceiling of his dorm room. It’s devastating, ripping away all muscle control as your cunt seizes tight around him, milking him without mercy. Your hands tremble, knuckles whiten as you struggle to hold yourself up, trying not to slump face-first into a pillow.

It’s all too much for Viktor. He falters, his hand slipping from between your thighs. He whispers your name distantly, voice raw, and ruts upward—once, twice—before spilling inside you. Hot cum floods every crevice, thick and unrelenting, leaking out even before he pulls free.

Everything melts into one—your shared breaths, the wet warmth between you, the sluggish rhythm of your heartbeats syncing. Viktor sits back on his heels and wraps his arms around you, nosing into your neck. Leaves soft, loving pecks there, trailing from your collarbone to your temple.

“You really didn’t know?” he asks quietly, his thumb stroking your lip.

You swallow against the dryness in your throat and chuckle. “Oh, gods, no. I’d like to think I have more decency than to drug you into this.” Your face tucks into his throat as you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have never been more pleased about someone missing a variable,” he mutters, and he’s back—himself again. His hands are gentle as they cup your cheek, swiping away your worry. His lips are sweet on yours, licking the salt from your skin. What this little mistake has just opened up for you—you have no idea. But you can’t wait to find out.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Valentine's day spirit. Superbat edition.

When Phantom sets foot on the Justice League base many years later, he expects anything but not Flash pointing finger at him and screaming about "legendary child who made Superbat canon".

~~~~

Being in Metropolis because of a ghost hunt right in the middle of a battle between Lex Luthor and Superman was not the best outcome, especially considering that Jack had his three-year-old son with him. But without such a combination of circumstances, they would never have found out that "Ghost!" "Daddy, no!" Ectoblast that Jack shot at the target of their hunt touches Superman and..really hurts him.

There were two sides to Danny-the ghostbuster's son and the astronerd. It is clear which half of him did not have a chance to win.

Danny threw his space rocket toy aside and grabbed father's arm. In the next second, boy had already sunk his teeth into Jack's fingers, forcing him to drop weapon. Youngling quickly jumped off and picked up ectoblast and then ran towards Superman. "Fly away! I'll hold him!" Danny stood up to try to cover up ghost (or alien?) in case Dad took not one but a whole bunch of shooting things with him again.

Jack: Get away from my son, ghost. Superman: Sir, I'm sure this is some kind of misunderstanding, I'm not a ghost. Jack: Danny, come to me, he's trying to hide his identity and manipulate us. Danny: No. If the heroes are being attacked, then someone must protect them too. Jack: But he's a ghost.. Danny: Alien or ghost is not so important, Daddy. He's in pain, and he's protecting this city, not haunting it. It's wrong to try to catch him for experiments. I forbid you to do that. Jack: Danny, champ, you're wrong.

Lex: Hah, what an interesting substance. Despite the other aggregate state, or rather its absence, it is so similar to kryptonite. Superman: Lex, is this a portable lab? Now is not the time, in case you haven't noticed. Lex: There is always time for science. I think my colleague will agree, right? "Similar to kryptonite?" Jack muttered to himself.

Jack: So Superman wasn't my target. And we are not colleagues. There is only one insanely rich man with questionable moral values with whom I am ready to do work, and your surname is clearly not Masters. Lex: It's a pity, but still, if you want to carry out the delivery of your wonderful weapons or exchange experiences, then call this number. Luther quickly shoves a business card into Fenton's hand. Jack*throws it away*: Come on, son, let's go back to the hotel, you've skinned your knees.

~~~The Evening. The Roof of the mentioned hotel~~~

"My friend Sam is also very frightening. And she also likes dark.“ The boy paused for a minute of thinking. “You want to kiss your goth friend?" "W-What makes you think that, kid. We’re colleagues, I respect him very much and.." "So you want to. It’s okay, I’d like to kiss Sam too but I’m afraid she’s gonna hit me. You have the same problem?" "It’s a little more complicated for adults." Kal begins to explain but stumbles upon Danny’s completely unimpressed look. Yeah, this boy apparently has heard 'kids would understand when they grow up' lectures at least thousand times. "But you’re basically right."

~~~~

When Batman himself comes to their hotel the next day as a representative of the Justice League to make sure that Mr. Fenton has no desire to harm Superman in the future and to tell that Superman is not going to press charges because of the ectoblast that injured him, Danny refuses to leave the room.

Jack: Oh, Danny, I thought you dropped your space rocket yesterday, it's a good that Alicia's Christmas present isn't lost. Danny: Well, dad, I left it on the roof of a bad bad man, yeah, but Uncle Kal returned it last night and we talked for a while. Jack: About what? Space, my little star? *Father immediately assumes that Danny would like to ask about everything real alien*. Boy*blushes and shakes his head negatively*: No, not about it.

Jack: Then what it was about? Danny: Secret superhero things. I can't tell you. I agreed to withhold that information as part of a pinky swear. Batman: And what about me, young man? You can tell me, right? Batman couldn't resist talking with such a cute kid. The boy thinks only for a second before hurriedly trying to push his father out of the room. Danny: Dad, come out for a minute and don't eavesdrop. I'll tell you when you can come in. The big man laughingly obeys. Lil child checks the reliability of the closed door and runs up to Batman. Danny: And so, Mr. Batman, first promise not to laugh or hit Uncle Kal. Batman: I promise? Danny: Good. This is very important information. Batman: I'm listening.

Danny: He thinks you're terrifying and wants to kiss you. And since he is afraid that you will hit him for this, I recommended him to appease you with a pie cooked according to his mother's recipe. Well, you know, since you love sweets and his parents' farm has the most wonderful apples in all states. He rarely cooks himself, but he will try for you, so even if he doesn't succeed, pretend that you liked it, please. Batman:...

Batman: Would you like to work in intelligence for the Justice League when you grow up? Danny: Actually, I want to be an astronaut. Batman: Our base is located in space. Danny:

Danny: Hmm, then I'll think about your offer.

Batman: Great. It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fenton. You can count on a job recommendation from me. Do you want anything as compensation for your consultation? Danny: Actually, yes. Mr. Batman, tell me honestly, are you a bat on a frugivorous diet like Giant golden-crowned flying fox or you are a Vampire Bat? Sam says that such a big bat can only be a vegetarian and uncle Kal said your son was more than happy to steal strawberries from his garden with Superboy but..

~~~

Batman tries to behave naturally for a week. However, the sweet tooth inside him still makes him clamp Superman in the corner and question him. "Where the hell are the pies you promised to cook for me, Clark?"

[m4iya]

──★ ˙🧷 Anon has chosen to study Science, 1 hour a day for 2 weeks with Kuroo! He's been hitting the books lately and insists he's prepared! Let’s see how they go..

Kuroo is a little cockier than most people you know. Always dropping comments about his training, time efficiency, and most of all, his grades. Though, he isn't the type to actually show off about any of it—in a way, you know that he says things like that because he's comfortable around you. So seeing that he was so comfortable—so confident, you made sure to ask if the two of you could study together for the upcoming Science exam.

He definitely isn't a cookie cutter example of what you'd imagine a nerd would look like, but here he was, sitting in front of you, tapping his pen onto your notebook as he explained the difference between organic and inorganic substances. Whenever he'd ask "Are you listening?" You had to constantly snap back to reality, nodding your head and replying with an "uh-huh". You were listening to him, though specifically to his voice, forgetting the concept he'd explain mere minutes after he'd done so.

Something had to be done about that—you didn't know how he'd react if you completely bombed the Science exam, especially with the hours that he'd spent on you. And so you made sure to actually concentrate. The smile on his face and jump in his voice as he drew diagrams, solved formulas and wrote example questions for you to solve—you imagined the way it'd fade if he figured out none of it was being used.

So you began to study for real this time. Receiving practice exams from him, you'd take them home to solve later, using the notes you'd taken on his explanations as well as separate printouts he'd given to you. Slowly, you even began to notice a shift in your information retainment. Instead of listening to his soft voice, following his hands as he'd point to specific elements, bringing his pen around the periodic table as he circled atomic numbers and whatnot, you looked beyond that.

You even found yourself looking beyond the content itself—you began to think about him, but this time, more so to do with what he did to get to the place he was now. Joking that he had barely studied yet somehow constantly scoring first place, complaining about the workload, yet finishing the assigned tasks before even leaving school the day they were assigned; he'd also mentioned being the captain of your schools volleyball team.

But you weren't going to fall behind this time around. He was so busy, always seeming to have a jam packed schedule, and you who did little to no studying each day wasn't achieving the highest at all. You knew you could definitely make your marks soar—you just needed something cemented. You'd both constantly joke about how he'd continuously managed to maintain first place and that 'you'd soon be taking his spot'. He'd laugh, running a hand through his already messed up hair as he did so, teasing, "Wow, I'm soo scared."

Though you knew he wasn't expecting to be overthrown. Not this time around, not this quickly either, and definitely not in Science of all things! Smugly placing the paper on his desk, you giggled. His mark was only two points behind yours—absolutely unheard of. However one thing was for sure. He was going to found out how you did it, how you managed to score higher than him even though he knew the content inside and out. And to do this, his plan included hanging around you for an extended period of time—watching the way you do things with a concentrated smile, looking through your notebooks when your weren’t around to see what methods you used for memory recall.

Though over the weeks, you started noticing less that your items were tampered with, a sign of him physically being around you often. The way his eyes would linger on you a little longer after you finished speaking, a pink hue glazing your cheeks as it did his; this was no longer about the exam.

From my exam season event ✩ other works

[sweet-pea-channie]

Shadows of the Exile - Part 8

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N perfects a healing salve, determined to prove its effectiveness. After self-testing, she hopes to heal even deep scars. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with her absence, missing her presence at the Town House. When she finally returns, an unspoken connection deepens between them.

Warnings: self-experimentation & medical procedures, mentions of scars & past injuries, emotional distress & isolation,

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: It's a short part, but an important one. Hope you like it!

series masterlist

Y/N took a deep breath as she carefully applied the cool salve with her fingertips. The gentle scent of the rare flower from the Spring Court, mixed with the earthy notes of the remaining ingredients, filled the room. She had spent the last month perfecting the formula—this time, she would not fail.

The transformation of the brew into a working salve had been a process that required precision. First, she had brewed the original mixture once more, meticulously ensuring that she removed it from the fire precisely on the sixth full moon. Then, she had thickened the liquid substance in a slow, careful process using a blend of beeswax and dragonroot essence. The temperature had to remain constant—one degree too hot or too cold, and the consistency would have been ruined. Finally, she had infused the mixture with a pinch of crushed moon herbs—a final, crucial step to stabilize its effects.

Now, after several days, she was testing the salve on herself. And that was the reason she hadn’t been at the Town House for so long. She couldn’t afford a mistake—not after spending a year developing this healing formula.

She ran her fingers over the spot on her forearm where she had applied the salve. Where there had once been a deep, deliberately made cut, only a thin, pale line remained. The healing process had been accelerated, almost in a way that resembled magic—but it wasn’t. This was science, combined with healing arts, a fusion of nature and alchemical precision.

A tremor ran through her fingers as she traced the healed skin. It worked. Her heart pounded faster as she turned the glass jar containing the remaining salve in her hands. She hoped this was finally the solution—that with this formula, she could heal more than just small wounds. Maybe... maybe one day, she could create something that even made scars disappear, something that could heal deeper injuries—ones even magic couldn’t completely erase.

A sigh escaped her as she leaned against the wooden table. She had hoped that neither Azriel nor Cassian would be away on a mission during this final, critical phase. If either of them had stormed into her clinic injured, she would have had to drop everything—just like last time. But this time, she had done it. No one had interrupted her, no one had come in badly wounded, demanding her full attention.

Azriel leaned against the doorframe of the Town House’s kitchen, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. His gaze rested on the table—more precisely, on Y/N’s untouched place. The chair remained empty, the plate untouched, as if it was an unspoken certainty that she wouldn’t show up tonight either.

Cassian had already given up asking about her. He knew Azriel had noticed—that she no longer came to meals regularly, that she barely spent time at the Town House anymore. But no one spoke of it. It was obvious she was busy with something, something important to her.

Azriel knew it mattered, that she had buried herself in something that demanded all her focus. But that didn’t mean it didn’t bother him. That there wasn’t this quiet pull in his chest, a dull ache every time he looked at her empty seat and wondered if she would return today.

Today was one of those nights.

He pushed himself off the wall, picked up his plate, and carried it back to the kitchen. Without another word, he disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him and letting the silence of the space settle around him.

The shadows in the corners of his room moved sluggishly, as if even his magic reflected his unrest. He sank into his chair, pulling one of the reports Rhysand had sent him closer. Routine work. Normally, he would have read through the lines with effortless concentration, but today… today, he read without truly absorbing the meaning of the words.

His gaze drifted to the candle on his desk. The flickering light cast long shadows on the wall, distorting the room’s contours. He rubbed his temple with two fingers and leaned back.

She will come when she is ready.

He knew he had to give her space. Y/N was someone who withdrew when she was working on something. Someone who only emerged when she was ready to share what she had been so obsessively perfecting. And he respected that.

But that didn’t mean it was easy.

He stood, stepping to the window. The night over Velaris was clear, the full moon casting a silver glow over the quiet streets. The city’s soft shimmer seemed colder tonight, less alive.

His jaw tightened.

Come home, Y/N.

He knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t push her, couldn’t go looking for her. All he could do was wait. And hope she returned soon.

Y/N sat on one of the low wooden stools in her small, makeshift workshop within the clinic. The cool night air drifted through the half-open window, while the candles on the table cast a gentle, flickering light over the five small salve tins.

Five attempts. Five possibilities.

She had already tested the first tin—the mixture with moon herbs. It had worked. The wound on her arm had nearly vanished, as if it had never existed. But now, the real test lay ahead.

Her fingers traced over one of the other tins. This one contained an additional ingredient—a rare essence known for its regenerative properties. She had blended it with one of the base components of the original salve, melted it down, stirred it until the mixture took on a silky, almost pearlescent consistency. This salve was different. Stronger. Maybe even dangerous.

A deep breath.

Y/N stood, the small jar in hand, and moved slowly toward the mirror in the corner of the room. The reflection staring back at her was one she had avoided for years. Her hands didn’t tremble—at least not outwardly. But inside, uncertainty pulsed, a heavy weight in her chest she could not shake.

She untied the laces of her top, let the fabric slip from her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Cold air brushed over her skin, raising goosebumps—but it wasn’t the chill that made her breath heavy.

It was the sight.

Slowly, she turned so that her back was visible in the candlelight.

Where her wings had once been, two large scars remained. They weren’t just pale, fine lines—no, the skin was uneven, thicker in some places, almost sunken in others. Where the flesh had healed, it was hardened, rough, reminiscent of old burn wounds. Scars that marked not just her body, but her soul.

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to look. She wanted to forget.

But she couldn’t.

She took a deep breath, then opened the small tin in her hand.

The familiar scent of herbs, wax, and something light, fresh, rose to her nose. It carried memories—of long nights experimenting, of hopes and setbacks, of all the moments she had wondered if it was worth it. Her thumb brushed over the surface of the salve before she scooped up a small amount with two fingers.

Then, she touched the scars.

A faint tremor ran through her body as she carefully applied the cool salve to the scarred skin. Her fingers moved slowly, massaging the mixture in, feeling the unfamiliar sensation on a part of her body she so rarely touched. A place she avoided, a place she didn’t want to feel.

She held her breath.

And waited.

Seconds passed. Then a minute.

At first, there was nothing. No warmth, no tingling, no noticeable change. But then—a faint, barely perceptible pull beneath her skin.

Y/N’s heartbeat quickened.

It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t exactly comfort either. It felt as though something was waking, as though nerves long silent were responding to a whisper. An echo from the past, reminding her body in a way she had thought impossible.

She looked into the mirror, searching for a change.

Nothing yet.

But she would wait.

She had to know if it worked.

If all the years of research, of experimenting, of hoping—if it had been worth it.

Slowly, she closed her eyes. Her fingers still rested on the scars.

And she waited.

Azriel sat at his desk, surrounded by reports and parchment scrolls, yet the words before him blurred, lost their meaning, became mere symbols on yellowed paper. The candles in his room burned down slowly, their wax dripping silently onto the tabletop, while his shadows stirred restlessly in the dark corners of the room. Normally, he would fully immerse himself in his work, spending hours poring over reports on enemy troop movements, espionage missions, or diplomatic negotiations without losing focus.

But not today.

Six days.

Six days since he had last seen Y/N.

His shadows had told him that she had spent almost all her time at the House of Wind, dividing her days between research and self-experimentation, barely taking a break. She ate, she rested, the house took care of her—but was that enough? Azriel knew how she was, how she lost herself in her work when something mattered to her. He knew she wouldn’t spare herself, not when she was finally on the verge of the breakthrough she had worked toward for so long.

He wanted to give her space. He respected her independence, her dedication. But that didn’t mean it was easy for him.

Sighing, he leaned back, rubbing his temples with two fingers. The dull headache that had been threatening for hours intensified, yet he knew it had nothing to do with his work.

Then—footsteps in the hallway.

Soft, deliberate. And then that familiar knock.

His door was open, but Y/N always knocked.

Azriel looked up. There she stood in the dim light of the hallway, and just the sight of her made something in his chest ease. She was here. Back.

He stood, pushing the reports aside, and stepped toward her.

"Do you have a minute?" Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

He studied her. She looked exhausted, but satisfied. Her entire posture spoke of the weight of the past days, but also of a success she had yet to put into words.

"For you, always."

They sat down on the edge of the bed, the wood creaking softly beneath them. For a moment, there was only silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that existed only between people who knew each other, who understood each other without the need for many words.

Then Y/N turned slightly toward him, looking directly at him.

"You know the flower we took from the Spring Court was efficient for something special I was working on, right?"

Azriel nodded slowly.

Without another word, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a small glass container. When she opened it, a brown, creamy substance came into view. A faint scent of fresh herbs and something sweet lingered in the air. Azriel observed it but said nothing.

"May I?" She reached out to him, and he let her.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should pull away, as he always did. No one touched his scars. No one traced their fingers over the rough skin covering his hands, a testament to all he had endured.

But Y/N wasn’t "no one."

She had never looked at him with pity. Never with disgust. Never with the question of what exactly had happened.

And now, she touched him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if he weren’t broken.

Azriel felt it instantly.

The coolness of the salve, the gentle glide of her fingertips over his skin. It was a touch he wasn’t used to. No hesitation, no fear. Only warmth. Only care.

His mind screamed at him to pull away, to put on a mask of indifference. But his body did the opposite. He relaxed.

His shoulders lowered, the pressure on his chest eased slightly, and the faint trembling that ran through him wasn’t out of fear. Not out of resistance.

It was something else. Something he couldn’t name.

Y/N kept speaking, her voice soft as she massaged the cream into his skin.

"I tested this on myself the last few days, and I can confidently say that it’s successful. I can still refine the formula, but I think it’s good enough as it is."

He couldn’t help but look at her. Her eyes, her expression, the quiet determination in her voice. She was proud of what she had created, and yet there was that tiny flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. As if she were waiting for a reaction, for some sign that her work hadn’t been in vain.

Azriel felt the warmth spread beneath her touch. No burning. No pain. Just a subtle, pulsing warmth spreading beneath the scarred skin, as if something old, something long-rigid, was slowly loosening.

He didn’t know if it was the cream.

Or her.

A part of him wanted to say something. Wanted to find words for what was happening inside him, for the quiet pull in his chest that grew stronger the longer she touched him.

But instead, he just sat there. Felt. Allowed it. And maybe, maybe that was enough.

"I actually wanted to give this to you for Solstice."

Solstice.

She had made this for him. Not for a patient. Not for a mission. Not out of pure scientific interest.

For him.

Azriel swallowed, but his throat suddenly felt too dry to utter a single sound.

"But then everything with the incident and Rhys got in the way, and the cream wasn’t finished in time. And now I didn’t want to wait any longer and decided to give it to you now."

He couldn’t stop staring at her. Her voice was calm, a little hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how he would react. "I always see how you rub your knuckles. And I know what it feels like when scar tissue rubs against certain spots."

His heart clenched. She had noticed.

The small, almost unconscious movements he made when the scarred skin on his fingers felt tight. How he often ran his thumb over it, sometimes without even realizing it.

"The cream won’t heal the scars, but it will ease the pain."

He heard her words, understood them—but all he could do was continue to stare at her.

Y/N hesitated. Her eyes searched his, concern flickering in them.

"Are you okay, Azriel? Does it hurt? I can take it off immediately, I—"

She moved, reaching for a cloth, but his hand shot forward, gripping hers.

"No, no, no, no."

His voice was rough, urgent. He held her hand tighter than he intended—as if he had to stop her from taking away this touch, this feeling, this moment.

"It doesn't hurt at all," he said quickly. "It feels quite nice, actually."

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Then something in Y/N’s face softened, and a small, gentle smile flickered across her lips.

And Azriel … Azriel was suddenly no longer sure if it was really just the cream that felt so damn good.

Azriel slowly felt it—the tension in his hands easing.

He was used to his scars hurting, to the skin tightening when he curled his fingers into fists or gripped his blades for too long. He had never complained, had never really thought about the possibility that it could be different. It was just the way things were.

But now … Now, it felt as if something was loosening, as if the constant strain he had long stopped noticing was finally dissipating.

His grip on Y/N’s hand relaxed slightly, but he didn’t let go.

She didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she didn’t show it. Instead, she took a bit more of the cream onto her fingertips and began to treat his other hand with the same care.

As she massaged the salve in, she continued speaking, and her voice held that light, cheerful undertone he heard far too rarely.

"The mixture was enough for five small jars."

Azriel watched her, listening as her fingers glided gently over his skin.

"One jar was designed to make cuts heal much faster. Faster than even my magic could. It’s phenomenal! You can take it with you to your mission to heal smaller cuts yourself."

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, and Azriel knew—this was her passion. Her research, her knowledge, the way she created things to help others.

"Then I used the second jar for my own testing, and this one is now the third." She lifted a finger at him with a mock-stern look. "You have to use it sparingly. I only have one more jar left."

Azriel huffed softly—not in mockery, but in amusement. “You’re giving me something that works this well and then telling me to ration it?”

Y/N chuckled quietly as she worked the last remnants of the cream into his skin.

“The last jar, I refined it again with moon herbs, so it heals cuts. That way, I get more use out of it too.”

Azriel felt the warmth of her touch slowly fade as she pulled back, and his body almost protested the loss of it.

“And maybe,” she continued, “I can go back to Spring Court next year and look for the flower again. Then I can make even more.”

She sounded so determined, so certain that her work was far from over.

And Azriel…

Azriel had never wished so much for someone to just stay.

For someone to keep looking at him like that, to keep touching him like that—like he was worth caring for.

He moved his fingers cautiously, curling and uncurling his fist.

No pain.

Just warmth.

Just Y/N.

Since Azriel was still a little stunned and not saying anything, Y/N tilted her head playfully. “You’re really quiet. Is that a good sign? Or is the Shadowsinger having an existential crisis because someone actually made something for him?”

He let out an amused huff and just shook his head. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised that it works? Or surprised that I care about you?” She grinned mischievously, but her eyes studied him carefully.

He couldn’t hold her gaze for long, looking away instead, his fingers still flexing slightly. “Both.”

Y/N gently nudged his shoulder. “Idiot.”

He couldn’t help but laugh softly.

When Y/N finally closed the jar and stretched slightly—maybe a bit too abruptly after the long days at the House of Wind—her face twitched unconsciously.

Azriel, of course, noticed immediately.

“You’re exhausted.”

Y/N waved him off. “Just a little sore. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But Azriel didn’t think—he just acted.

Gently, almost hesitantly, he lifted a hand and placed it on her shoulder. His touch was careful, as if he was afraid she might pull away.

But she didn’t.

She only exhaled softly, like she was finally allowing herself to relax for the first time in days.

And Azriel realized he liked that feeling.

He didn’t pull his hand away immediately.

Y/N smiled at him—tired, but full of warmth.

“You should get some rest, Y/N.”

“I will. Just… let me sit here for a bit.”

And Azriel only nodded, like he understood without her needing to explain. He simply stayed with her. Maybe for a minute. Maybe longer. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt just right.

Y/N rubbed her tired eyes and rolled her shoulders slightly. The long hours spent sitting, the intense focus on the smallest details of her salve—it had all settled into her muscles.

Azriel watched her in silence for a moment before he decided to speak. “You should lie down for a bit.”

She blinked at him. “I’m fine, Az. Really.”

He simply raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Humor me. Just for a while.”

She sighed quietly, but before she could protest, he added, “I’ll get you something to eat. You haven’t eaten properly in days, have you?”

Y/N opened her mouth, then closed it again. Of course, he had noticed.

“You like the cinnamon-almond pastries from that café near the Sidra, right?” He looked at her calmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world that he knew this. “I can get you some.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a tired smile. “Az, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

Something warm spread through her chest, but before she could say anything, he added with a light, almost mischievous glint in his eyes, “And if you lie down right now, close your eyes, and actually do what I say for once, I’ll even bring you that other pastry you always get.”

Y/N frowned slightly. “What other pastry?”

Azriel’s mouth twitched. “The one you think no one notices you buying, but I do.”

She blinked. Then shook her head in disbelief. “Of course you do. Spymaster and all.”

He shrugged, as if it was obvious.

She laughed softly. “Okay, fine. But only because you bribed me.”

“Good.”

Y/N stood up, intending to return to her own room, but Azriel stopped her with a gentle shake of his head. “Stay here. Just rest. I’ll be back soon.”

Something in his quiet voice, in the unspoken promise within it, made her pause.

Y/N slowly removed her boots and placed them neatly at the foot of the bed before sinking backward. Her limbs felt heavy as she pulled the blanket over herself, curling into the soft, familiar fabric.

The bed smelled like Azriel, like the space he so often occupied—cool, mysterious, but somehow comforting.

She let out a quiet, content sigh as she nestled in, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The day had been long, her eyes burned with exhaustion, and she felt utterly drained. But it was a good exhaustion—the kind that only asked for a moment of rest before diving back into the storm.

With one last glance at Azriel, who was still standing in the doorway, she grinned. “You better wake me only if the pastries are still warm. Otherwise, let me sleep. And don’t wake me unless it’s something really important.”

Azriel stared at her for a moment, his lips twitching into that mischievous smile she knew so well. He shook his head slightly, as if to say she could never hide anything from him. But then he simply nodded. “I won’t wake you. You rest. But if you sleep too long, I’ll eat all of them myself.”

Y/N laughed softly, already half-buried in the pillow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Azriel only grinned and stepped back, closing the door quietly behind him. But as he took one last glance into the room, he couldn’t help but watch her—how she curled up so peacefully under his blanket, how her features softened as if she was finally allowing herself to let go.

It was a moment of stillness, one just as unfamiliar to him as it was to her.

But before he could let himself dwell on it, he turned silently and left—to bring her what she wanted.

Taglist: @princesssunderworld @tele86 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @rose-girls-world @iluvyewman-blog @gluecksbaerchieee @lreadsstuff

Want to be added? Let me know! :)

[octuscle]

Dr. Jekyll

Alexei had been working on this project for weeks. He had been very lucky to be doing a research semester in England when the special military operation began. He took a dim view of any form of war. He was a scientist, not a soldier. But somehow he wanted to play his part in putting the aggressor in his place. As a biochemist, he would not be able to develop weapons. But his plan was to develop a substance that could help increase resistance to injury. And increase the resilience of a wounded body. He was on the verge of a breakthrough. Yesterday he had first inflicted a small cut on himself and then swallowed his substance; today there was no sign of the wound. Not much was missing and he would be able to heal even more complex injuries.

It was already dark. The last colleague had finally said goodbye. Alexei was alone. The last tests with his Laovor rats had been promising. This time he would not inflict a small cut on himself. This time he was going deeper, in the truest sense of the word. To be on the safe side, he had prepared disinfectant and bandages. He took a scalpel and pressed it against his forearm. He had trouble getting the ultra-sharp blade to penetrate his skin at all. There was a short glistening red mark. But it closed again after just a few seconds. No scar, nothing. It had worked! Damn it, it had worked. Alexei was not a person of great emotional reactions… But this, this went right through him. And it went down his pants. In the form of a boner. Fuck yes, his success made him horny. He couldn't help it, he had to jerk off. Here and now in the otherwise sterile laboratory. His otherwise not particularly impressive cock quickly grew to an impressive 20 centimeters. Alexei wanted to enjoy this orgasm, no, he wanted to celebrate it. He wanted…. FUUUUUUUUCK!

There was a huge mess on his lab bench. Test tubes, bacterial cultures, even his lab rats were splattered with an amount of cum that Alexei, as a scientist, would have thought impossible from a human life. And as a scientist, he only needed a few seconds to recover from the orgasm of his life. And he began to clean up the mess. He had amputated a leg from one of his lab rats, one of the first he had experimented with. The wound had closed on its own and quickly, a complete success. But now… Bloody hell! There was no leg missing. And the rat somehow looked… How should we put it…? It was a rat… But a magnificent animal! In a second cage, Alexei saw a rat slurping his cum with its tongue. And here, too, the holes in the gnawed ears closed up and the fur became thicker and shiny. Damn, his cum? A miracle weapon? There was plenty of the stuff left. But Alexei wanted to examine fresh sperm. And yes, he was still or already horny again. He took his cock out of his pants. A long thread of precum shimmered in the lab light. Alexei jerked off, a beaker ready to hand. Even now he didn't have to wait long… He felt it coming and he held the glass to his cock. And again: FUUUUUUUUCK! And another mess. The glass hadn't been able to hold his whole load.

The rat had licked his cum just like that and pure… He wouldn't be able to finish this beaker now. Especially as he wanted to examine a little cum too. But a sip like that…? Alexei was a little disgusted. But it was for science… He had no idea what cum was supposed to taste like. It was kind of interesting, yes… But he had lost a lot of time. He wasn't there yet He began to examine his sperm under the microscope. He didn't know much about human semen. Not his discipline… But this one seemed very agile… Even the one from the first load he had shot. He was getting warm. The lab coat felt tight. He took it off. The T-shirt was also uncomfortable. He was alone, who was going to mind if he worked bare-chested…

Alexei began to work with his cum, fascinated. He chased it through filters and centrifuges, he extracted proteins, he produced new samples. And then he went all out, mixing his previous preparation with a portion of concentrated cum from his last orgasm. No spoon this time. This time a big gulp! Alexei used the scalpel again. First on his forearm. He had considerably more strength than the last time he tried. He managed to make a wound a few millimeters deep. But it healed immediately. It didn't take a second. Alexei started a next attempt. This time not on his arm, but on his free upper body. His chest muscles offered even more resistance than his arms, but here too he managed to produce a briefly bleeding wound. But this also healed in a fraction of a second. Alexei recorded the results in his lab diary. He checked the wound on his forearm again. It was visible. Not as a scar. But in the form of colorful lines. Tattoos were growing on his skin where he had applied the scalpel. And where he had cut his chest, hair was growing!

Shit, it had been over fifteen minutes since he'd jerked off. This time he went to the toilet, massaging the hard-on in his pants. He wouldn't squirt all over the lab bench again. If he was going to make a mess, at least it would be in an easy-to-clean environment. His cock pulsed with anticipation, it took just a few movements of his calloused hands to produce a magnificent hard-on. And it was clear that he was about to squirt all over the walls as well as the toilet bowl. And indeed: BAAAAAANG! He shot off load after load. He tried to catch some of it with his hands in front of the glans. Shit, it got harder with every orgasm. Alexei licked his hands. It tasted so great. Milky pure manhood. He tried to tuck his cock back into his pants. That was harder than he thought. Alexei tried to wipe away some of the mess on the floor with a paper towel. His ass cheeks burst through his pants. And shortly afterwards, the seam on his thighs tore.

Alexei knew that there were a few amateur bodybuilders among the janitors. Maybe he could find something that suited him in their changing rooms. It wasn't really his style to rummage through sacks of dirty clothes. But what could he do? And sure enough, he found a pair of jeans that seemed to fit. A little too wide at the waist. But wide enough on his muscular thighs. He had to do something now. Right: log the latest events in the lab diary. He couldn't remember his cursed password from the notebook. So he took pen and paper.

“And then I'm like jerking my shlong, dude. And then I'm like totally busting a nut. And everything's dripping with my jizz. And I'm licking my fingers, 'cause they're covered in cum. And suddenly, my pants rip, bro. 'Cause, dude, my booty is in absolute competition shape like you wouldn't believe.” What else could he write? For fuck's sake, did this horniness never stop? His tattoos were impressive by now. So was the fur on his chest. Alexei scratched his beard. And shortly afterwards, his sack again. Something was strange here, something was wrong. And he didn't just mean those damn pants, which were too tight around the thighs and too wide at the hips. His crotch was wet from the precum dripping from his mighty boner. He had to get out of here. This air-conditioned air was taking his breath away. As soon as he was out of the lab, he took off his pants. Shit, he was naked, but he was probably alone in the building. There was a locker open in the scientific staff changing room. A racing bike outfit. The matching racing bike was leaning against the wall. Was there someone else here after all? He should have noticed that. He thought for a second about whether he should try putting on the cycling shorts. But they were obviously made for a slim man. And not for a giant 190 cm tall.

Alexei walked down the corridor towards the rooms for the technical staff. He was in the low-security area, where an iris check was enough to open the doors. He arrived in the changing room for the janitors and technicians. Had he been here before today? He couldn't remember… In any case, he found a jockstrap, socks and, above all, a boiler suit in the dirty laundry. It all fitted reasonably well. One of his colleagues also seemed to be in good shape. On the shelf of work boots, he found a pair in size 48 - thank God! The sun was rising, soon the place would be swarming with employees again like an anthill. He didn't want to be naked.

Alex had the feeling he had forgotten something in the lab wing. But he couldn't get back in there. An iris check wouldn't be enough. He needed his ID, which was in the pants he had taken off. He thought as best he could. What could he have forgotten in the lab wing? What would he be doing in the lab wing anyway? Beads of sweat glistened in his chest hair. He smelled under his armpits: sweat and musk. His cock was in someone's jockstrap, surrounded by cum-encrusted pubic hair. If anyone didn't fit into the clean air zones, it was a man like him. And anyway, this biology and chemistry shit wasn't for him. Blocked pipes and maybe a leaky roof: that was his world. But not today. The night shift had been exhausting. Now it was closing time. Maybe to the gym first. But then he was looking forward to a round of wanking and then his bed.

Dedicated to @guytransformedforever; Pics by @ki-kink

[ghcstao3]

(part 2) (cw fictional drugs, mild body horror, mild torture)

Shifters should be born, not made. That’s one of few things that science has been able to say for certain about the biology (and ethics) of the species.

Of course, this never stopped those truly motivated—for a few years now, there’s been a serum circulating black markets and cartels and terrorist rings, a dangerous, potent thing that allows for the temporary rewrite of human DNA; for just a handful of hours, this serum allows any non-shifter to gain a shifter’s abilities, often with the goal of making them stronger, deadlier when it comes to picking off their enemies.

Obviously, this serum comes with a few cons: a human cannot determine what animal a serum will give them until it is taken, and because its effects are only temporary, the substance becomes highly addictive. One taste is never enough—but after so many continuous uses, the drug’s effects change into something far more sinister. Potentially fatal; one might lose their mind if they’re lucky, or become some deformed half-thing stuck between human and animal if they’re not.

There’s a reason, scientists will say, that sometimes genetics, DNA is not to be tampered with to such extreme lengths.

But with this serum comes a rumour: somewhere out there exists a more permanent solution, a serum to completely change someone, to make a shifter. Something so strong that it can transform a person, though at a high risk of something going wrong.

This serum does exist, and certainly does hold a risk of things going wrong—the survival rate within days of injection is a measly 5%. The human body is not built to withstand the force of fundamental change, though some prevail; unfortunately, however, often enough they don’t survive long enough afterwards to meet the full potential of their new abilities.

And not necessarily because of the change itself—but rather because the people creating these abnormalities will often decide to erase their existences, once past their use and novelty. If this new creature cannot be leashed, there’s no point in keeping it, no point in allowing it to go free and revel in its newfound talents.

When Simon Riley doesn’t break the way Manuel Roba wants him to, he becomes a victim of this serum. He’s informed, in spite of his torture-induced delirium, that this injection will put him down one way or another—be it through the pain, the incompatibility with his body, or through his expired usefulness after Roba has beaten him into submission in whatever form Simon is blessed with.

The serum feels like hot, molten, infernal flame has been injected directly into Simon’s veins, searing his body from the inside out. The first wave of pain arrives in a flash, has him writhing on the ground as his muscles lock up and he’s gasping for breath to fill lungs already burned to ash. Throat closing up, bones grinding together, the ripping of flesh. He can’t scream. Can’t claw at himself until he’s bloody and raw and dead.

It just goes on.

Roba’s laughter rings through the cold, impersonal laboratory, four cement walls and a cracked floor, the reeking, cloying scent of mildew and rust and failed experiments—it’s all that Simon’s world has narrowed down to until he blacks out in his anguish.

When he wakes, everything is wrong.

Simon’s more than disoriented, though that’s hardly a surprise. But beyond that, beyond the usual aches and sores and bruises—the red of the bloodstained floor is dull, too dull, and his limbs don’t feel like his own. His brain is a fog, simultaneously exhausted and alert, and his tongue sits heavy in his mouth—Simon rolls over, sluggish, his tongue sliding languidly with gravity, picking over teeth sharper than he remembers them being.

The bars of his cell rumble open, the rattle reverberating through Simon’s body.

Wrong. All wrong, wrong, wrong.

It takes effort to lift his gaze, to meet Roba’s own where he stands in the doorway. Simon’s eyelids droop, weighed down by nothing he can discern, and all he can make out through the slits of leftover vision is that smarmy grin and those beady, oil-black eyes.

Roba grins wider when Simon stirs, shifting stiff muscles in a fool’s errand of attempting to sit up.

“I knew you would survive, English,” he says. Simon’s ear twitches. “Welcome to the first day of your new life.”

Roba’s footsteps are loud, grating in their approach. He crouches in front of Simon’s prone form, regarding him in a way Simon has been plenty subject to—always displeased in some capacity, sometimes for known reasons and sometimes not, but also plotting, envisioning the next methods he might use to drill obedience into the soldier, to rearrange his anatomy, to fuck irreparably with his head.

With a sigh Roba reaches into his breast pocket to fish something out, some antique compact with engravings on the lid that Simon is in no state to decipher. He opens it with a muted click, then holds it in front of Simon’s face with something akin to a sick glee woven into his expression.

What stares back at Simon is not human.

[cherri-tomato]

Venomous.

Chapter 1: The Laboratory

Pairing: SpiderMan x fem!venom!reader

Chapter Summary: y/n visits an abandoned lab to find some good photos for a class assignment but finds herself in over her head when she comes face-to-face with a creature calling itself venom.

Chapter content: Near death experience, descriptions of injuries, angst, potential body horror (its venom soo), brief mention of animal death, brief mention of vomiting (non-graphic), mention of assault (not to reader)

Series masterlist

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The old Oscorp laboratory that sits on the outskirts of New York wasn't exactly the place most college students expected to spend their Friday night. Even y/n, who usually spent her time alone or developing old photos in her university's old darkroom instead of hanging out with nonexistent friends, didn't make a habit of visiting dilapidated buildings alone with only a camera and a flashlight. 

The lab was in the middle of the forest, surrounded by a rusting chain link fence—a ‘CAUTION! ELECTRIC FENCE!’ The sign was on the ground beside said fence, having long since fallen off. Normally this would have made y/n turn around and try to find a less dangerous place to take pictures for her photography class, but it just so happened that a large, y/n sized hole had at somepoint been cut into the fence, leaving the perfect entrance for curious (and borderline suicidal) university students to slip through with relative ease. 

The laboratories walls were covered in vines, the plants wrapping themselves around anything their tendrils came into contact with. The door to the lab was gone, leaving just a gaping hole as an entrance, and y/n entered easily, snapping a few pictures of the outside as she did. The inside was, much like the outside, a complete mess. The walls, once a pristine and clinical white, now a dirty, greenish-gray, with splatters of what y/n could only hope was just some random chemical and not blood. Blue double doors lined the hall, a small rectangular window on each one. After opening a few doors and taking some photos of the old science equipment, she finally found herself standing in front of the last door at the end of the hallway. Through the small windows she could see it was a stairwell, and pushed the door open, entering the well and taking some pictures of the eerie stairs leading into the complete darkness of the second floor. 

Pointing her flashlight up the stairs, she began to climb. She stopped at the second level door which was marked with a large ‘2’, and gave the handle a rough shove to push the door open. The hallway itself was much the same as on the first floor, though it was certainly worse for ware. The walls were covered in an oozing black, ink-like substance, and a couple doors were completely gone. y/n took a step back, only managing to snap one or two pictures of the bizarre scene before she felt something under her begin to shift. The floor below her made an awful cracking sound and some debris crumbled from the ceiling above her. She took a shuttered breath and was about to turn and run when the ceiling suddenly gave out, and everything went dark.

A heavy pressure was the first thing she felt. Then, an excruciating pain shot through her entire body. She tried to scream, but the ruble covering—or rather, crushing—her made any noise impossible. All but her head was trapped. Above her, she could see the hole she had fallen through just barely in the dim light and dust filled air. She coughed, and felt the pressure compress her chest. She wondered, in a hazy and distinctly concussed way, if she was going to die here. Alone, crushed by the heavy cement ceiling of an abandoned building she was never meant to be in. Tears welled in her eyes, and she let them close for a moment before she felt something drip onto her face. ‘Blood?’ she wondered. Her eyes fell on the hole she'd fallen through to see that the inky black stuff was dripping down from the floor above and landing directly on her face.

If she could move, or even feel, her arms, she would have immediately tried to wipe the strange goo off her cheek, but she was immobilized and could only watch in disgust as the black sludge dripped onto her. Then, she felt the inky stuff move. And she froze. The slime wriggled against her skin and she could only hope it wasn't some sort of poison as she felt the thing be absorbed into her skin. 

Something changed at that moment. Y/n couldn’t tell what, but something did. She felt her arms twitch, and then her legs—which she was certain were completely broken—seemed to snap back together. She cried out in pain as her body's bones corrected themselves, her scraped skin gluing itself back together before she felt the same black sludge engulf her entire body.

Something was definitely wrong with her. That's the first thought that passed through y/n's mind when she felt herself standing, the rubble that was crushing her now light, and her body, which had previously been torn apart by the fall and subsequent cruising of all her bones, now felt strong, mended and somehow improved. She moved, though she felt as though it was both not her own movements and completely of her own volition. She lifted her hand and- oh. Yes, something was in fact very, very wrong with y/n. Her own hand was gone—or rather, covered by a longer and, well, sharper one. Her skin was instead a black inky mass of sorts—the inky sludge that had covered her no doubt—and her fingers were longer and clawed. She looked down at herself and was met with the same sight. An inky black mass was now replacing her once distinctly human form.

She must’ve passed out then, because when she finally came to, she was once again in the forest, laying on her back and staring up at the stars. She lifted her hand, which was shaky and scratched, but no longer broken or made of slime, so she supposed that was an improvement. 

“It's about time you woke up.” 

A voice said, and she sat up, looking around frantically for whatever had spoken, but found only forest. She tugged at her sleeve nervously. “Jesus, I must be losing it..” she muttered, trying to steady her rapid heart beat. 

“Think again, kid,” the voice spoke again, this time accompanied by a…head? It seemed to be emerging from her back. She turned, but there was no one behind her. That was, apart from the head, now grinning. Its mouth, which was put on full display thanks to that damned smile, was large and full of sharp teeth. its eyes were white and angular, staring into her very soul. 

“

“W-what…” She could feel herself break out in a cold sweat, goosebumps covering her skin. “What the fuck are you…?” She asked, because what else could she even say? 

“We are Venom.” it said, and her brow furrowed. 

“We?”

“You and I, kid. We are Venom. And we are hungry.”

She shook her head, forcing herself onto her feet. “For what? People!?” She stared at the head. 

“You learn quickly.” it—Venom—replied, and y/n’s heart dropped to her feet. 

“No. Absolutely not.” She took a step back, but Venom, of course, wasn’t exactly going anywhere. “I'm not doing any of this little shop of horrors bullshit!” She was practically screaming at this point. ‘this whole thing is crazy!’

“You owe me, kid. I saved your skin; now it's your turn.” Venom said, its grin growing impossibly larger. 

“I-i never asked for your help! I didn't even know you were…alive.” She shuddered at the memory of the inky slime covering her.

“Come on, y/n. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.” 

she froze, her blood running cold. “H-how do you know my name…?” She asked, and Venom made a noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh.

“Oh, I know everything about you, y/n l/n. I'm inside your head.” She flinched as venom leaned closer, its black tendrils brushing against her skin. “I know you want power. You want to be seen. I can give that to you.” 

she shook her head. “No, no! You’re… you‘re not real…” 

She turned and began to walk, ignoring the voice that continued to speak.

“Come on, kid. I know you want to.” 

“Shut up! You don't know anything about me!” She forced herself to walk faster, stepping over logs and roots as she finally made her way out of the forest and onto a street. “This is fucking insane. I’m losing my god damn mind…” She muttered to herself, walking down the sidewalk. She didn’t recognize the part of town she was in, but that was the last thing on her mind. She must've been walking aimlessly for quite a while, because when she stopped, she realized she was in the middle of the sidewalk in an area of town where a young woman definitely wouldn't want to be alone at such an hour. 

“Don't be scared kid, you have us now.” 

She startles, glancing around to try and spot the head of Venom, but not seeing any sign of it. “God, don't do that shit!” She hissed, rubbing the nape of her neck as though to remove Venom from her all together. 

She moved to start walking again when a noise stopped her dead in her tracks. It definitely sounded like a cry of some kind. She looked around, and wrapped her arms around herself nervously. Y/n slowly walked forward, not making it very far before she heard the noise again, and turned to stare into an alley. 

She narrowed her eyes; somewhere in the darkness she can see the form of two people, one cowering on the ground and the other standing menacingly over them. She bristled. ‘A mugging?’ That was probably the best case scenario all things considered.

“We could help.” venom said, its tendrils curling around her arm. “You want to. Just give me control.” 

She took a sharp breath. She could save them, but would the cost be worth it?

She didn’t get to finish thinking, because the looming figure pounced causing the person on the ground to shriek, and then something inside her snapped and she became Venom.

The fight, if you could even call it that, didn't last long. Venom wasn't lying when it said it was hungry, and the assailant was no match for its jaws. The person huddled on the ground—a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties—had run the second the person attacking her was distracted. Good. 

Y/n tried not to think about what just happened, even as venom retreated back into her and she ran from the alley, not stopping until she was standing in front of her dorm building. She unlocked  the door, stepping inside and letting out a sigh of relief as she collapsed onto her creaky bed, burying her face in her pillow, and then promptly getting back up to go vomit in her toilet.

Venom was quiet for a while, and she hoped it was because it knew she needed time, but maybe it was just digesting. She didn't sleep much that night.

────────────

Spider Man landed on a roof near the alley he had heard the screams from. It was quiet now, but he knew that wasn't necessarily a good sign. He dropped into the alley, looking around for any signs of someone in danger, and froze. A puddle of blood, some black, inky looking substance, and a woman's purse were the only things in the alley. He picked up the bag and cracked it open, retrieving a wallet and then an ID. He looked around—whoever left the blood was gone, but they obviously weren't looking to rob anyone, considering the wad of cash still in the woman's purse. He was about to investigate further when he heard sirens and carefully placed the purse down; they would have an easier time returning this to its owner after all. He swung out of the alleyway, still unsure what exactly went down in the small amount of time it had taken him to get to the scene.

────────────

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[skele-ghost]

Fuck in the Graveyard (not really)

Summary: (Graves/Reader) You’ve been taking illegal suppressants for wayyy too long, and when you miss a dose, it all comes crashing down.

Content Warning: A/B/O Omegaverse dynamics, reader is afab, female pronouns?, substance abuse, technically is a fuck or die situation, p in v, knotting, brief fingering

Graves is kinda sweet in this one. I’ve never posted my stuff anywhere before and this is the first fic I’ve written in second person. Let me know what y’all think. I do not take requests.

(*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

The thing about taking illegal suppressants is that you have to time them perfectly. You’d better have your cycle down to a science, and you’d better take them three days before your heat, during, and three days after—and don’t you dare take them any more than 24 hours apart.

That’s how you wound up completely fucked: you took one dose two hours too late, and now the suppressants were completely ineffective. Was it really your fault? No, you’d been in the middle of a firefight, for fucks sake! But by some sick case of luck and science that made next to no sense, your heat started to build.

You hid being an Omega as much as you could. It wasn’t exactly a secret—it was there in your file for anyone to see. But so long as your heats were taken care of and you weren’t sending every Alpha within a mile radius into a rut, the military was happy.

And you were happy to let them believe that you were taking the regular course of suppressants that they prescribed you, and not the dangerous, high-dose, illegal ones that you preferred. They made your scent next to undetectable and made sure you could actually think straight when you were suppressing your heat, unlike the regular ones.

You were a specialist, an asset of high importance, and you’d be damned if you’d let your own biology stand in the way of that.

That’s why you liked the Shadows. Graves sent you a job offer after working with you on a mission gone sour in Urzikstan. He admired the way you kept your head cool when the world was falling apart around you. Even when you disclosed your designation, he shrugged it off.

“As long as you can keep your head cool like you did out there, we won’t have any problems,” he’d said.

And you’d kept your promise for nearly two years, now. But that was a long time to go without a heat, and a long time to be surrounded by the heady scent of Alpha unclaimed.

You were ashamed of the way you had to take off earlier. Once everyone was back from the mission, in one piece, settled in, you bolted, feeling the heat and sweat cling to you like a second skin.

It was sheer resolve that allowed you to keep the scent patches on for so long, little bandages clamped over your glands with a strong deodorizer, not letting anything out. You nearly passed out from the intense pain of prying them off your neck and wrists, the scent glands over-sensitive to even a breeze.

You blink away the tears quickly; you have to stay focused. You’ll drive to the safe house and crash there, get something planned. You knew the consequences of completely suppressing your heat for so long with such toxic drugs. Now you had to live with the consequences.

The little white farmhouse is remote, nestled deep in an old growth wood. It was beautiful, living up to the pictures you’d seen when Graves had shown it to you as a precaution. It had been in his family for generations before he fixed it up and decided to turn it into a safe house.

You pant as you put the car in park, staring at the building for a moment, your thoughts jumbled and disconjointed. As much as you want to melt into the seat, you have to get inside. A cold shower—that’s what you promise yourself, meek little motivation.

It manages to pull you out of the truck, onto shaky legs that want to collapse underneath you, but you push on.

They key is behind a brick on the foundation beneath the porch. It takes you a moment to remember which one—Graves had only shown you once.

Since you are the only unclaimed omega in the Shadows, he told you where the house was and how to access it. Just in case you had, in his words, “omega-related problems.” It isn’t too far from base. You’d have to figure out some way to show your eternal gratitude for the man…if you ever saw him again.

You retrieve the key and turn to make your way up the stairs, and that’s when things go sideways. You trip on the last step, crashing onto the porch with a force that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

The key falling out of your hand is the last coherent thought that you have before the pain takes over. Your sensitive skin and muscles cry out and it feels like hitting a sore bruise, everywhere.

You whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stare up at the watery image of the porch’s ceiling. There’s a wasp’s nest, gross, but it’s November. They’re either sleeping or dead from the cold.

And thank god it’s cold, because at least your skin doesn’t feel like it’s completely on fire.

You know this is bad. You’ve deteriorated too quickly, the heat sneaking up and hitting you like a blitz attack from the dark.

As much as you hate to admit it, heats are necessary. It gets rid of built-up chemicals in the brain, provides a release to make new ones. Not quite like sleep was necessary, but in a similar fashion.

You’re worried that this one might kill you. You’re worried that if this one isn’t quelled and satisfied, you might end up brain-dead or in an eternal coma like the people in those stories your middle school health class scared you with.

But in the face of death? All that you wish is that you could apologize for the inconvenience. What kind of paperwork would Graves have to fill out for your corpse? Would he get in trouble for not monitoring you, for not knowing about your use of the illegal suppressants?

You slip into unconsciousness, the word ‘sorry’ on the tip of your tongue.

-

A whimper is all you manage as you stir awake, the first thing you notice being the thick, heavy, intoxicating scent of an Alpha, and one you know.

Graves smells like bonfires and bourbon, or maybe it’s whiskey? You make a breathy moan at the smell, brows furrowing as you feel yourself being carried.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, his voice making a nice rumble trail down your spine.

He’s holding you bridal style and then holds you close to him as he sits down, tucking your head into his neck so that you can scent him.

It cools the flames slightly, letting your mind clear itself of the fog as you finally stir, opening your eyes.

“Com-mander?” You ask, voice not much louder than a whisper.

He pulls you back, glancing down at you, his blue eyes filled with concern. “(Y/N), what’s going on? You don’t smell right, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Suppressants…not working,” you grit out, whimpering as an uncomfortable cramp begins in your gut.

“The ones you’ve been taking? Why, what’s wrong with them?” He lays you down on the bed he’d been sitting on and you whine at the loss of contact, squinting your eyes shut at the cramping.

You can hear him search through your bag, the one that had been digging painfully into your back a few minutes ago, and you hear the rattle of a pill bottle.

“Oh, (Y/N), you didn’t…” he says, and you can only imagine what his expression is as he looks at the bottle. It’s pretty damning—the prescription bottle with someone else’s name blacked out on it, half empty, label reading exactly what’s inside.

Graves returns to your side, his cool hand on your cheek turning you to look up at him. He looks…betrayed? Crestfallen? Worried, above all else, as he holds the bottle up with one hand.

“(Y/N), tell me you didn’t take these—tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he demands, the command in his tone making a gush of slick escape you, adding to your already soaked panties.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper, tears blurring up along your waterline.

“Shit, (Y/N),” he growls, tossing the pills onto the bed, running his hands through his hair. “What do I do? You need to go to a hospital, is that it?”

You shake your head, “no, they can’t do anything. And I’d get arrested—ah!” You cry out, curling inwards as a sharp, painful cramp rolls through. Slick gushes out of you again, your organs overproducing as if they need to make up for all the missed heats. After a few agonizing moments it calms down and leaves you gasping, tears rolling down your cheeks.

You know what your options are, you know how fucked up this is, and you know that Graves is probably going to fire you after this—but you also know that you’re not ready for the final alternative.

“Please, it hurts!” You beg, pleading up at the sight of your commander above you, “please, Alpha.”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, pursing his lips in that way you’ve always found so hot, “are you sure? You’re not thinking clearly, (Y/N).”

You nod frantically, grabbing his arm and scenting his wrist, keening at the smell, “please, please, Graves.”

His restraint snaps and he climbs ontop of you, pinning your wrists to the bed and placing his mouth on yours. You moan into it, trying to lift you hips up to get some kind of friction to no avail.

He pulls away and you tilt you head aside to give him better access to your neck as he scents you, breathing in deeply and growling. You cry out as he runs his tongue and teeth along the glands.

“I never got a good smell of you, (Y/N), you always wear those damn patches and I always want to rip them off,” he nibbles along your jaw, your whines and whimpers filling the small bedroom.

“Alpha, please,” you beg, desperate, clenching around nothing when you want to be clenching around him. “Inside, please put it inside.”

“I know, baby,” he says, pecking your lips again before he pulls back, hands gliding along your sides as he pulls your shirt off. “You’re burning up.”

Tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you squirm, whining and babbling as he pulls your bra off, too. The cooler air feels nice on your sweat-sheen skin, and you buck your hips as Graves gets off of you, hooking his fingers to pull your pants and panties down in one fell swoop.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, then groans at the sight of your slick, how it clings to your parties in wet strings before he pulls them away.

Your boots are still on and he didn’t get your pants all the way off, but maybe seeing how soaked you are makes Graves hasty.

The most pornographic moan escapes you as he sinks two fingers in your hole, your sweet little cunt sucking them in and clenching down.

“Fuck, good Omega,” Graves groans, slipping in a third finger that has you moaning even louder.

Every spot he hits is the right one, every move pure ecstasy. Your voice is a broken babble of pleads and curses and moans, begging for your commander to fuck you, to take you, to make you his.

You almost sob when he retracts his fingers, not even caring to wipe them as he rolls you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and pulling them up into the air, right against his own.

Feeling his erection against your ass, you turn downright frantic, “please please please, please fuck me, Alpha, please I need your knot so bad!”

He hisses as you rub against him and he begins unbuckling his belt, which only spurs you on more. He manages to still your hips and get his pants down, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick.

You keen embarrassingly loud as he enters you, slowly letting every inch of himself be swallowed up by your greedy cunt.

When he bottoms out, pressing against your cervix, it’s like a switch flips. You cum, whining as your legs shake, as Graves gasps behind you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he drawls, squeezing into the meat of your hips. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

Your brain is too melted with lust to be able to form any coherent sentence. When he pulls out and slowly thrusts back into you, testing the waters, you all but go limp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you moan.

“Goooood girl,” he praises, speeding up his thrusts and finding a steady rhythm, your skin slapping together. “So slick and tight for me, omega, good god—“

All you can do is moan and take it. There’s no more painful cramping, and though your skin is still hot it’s not as bad. Your body is getting exactly what it needs: a good, hard fucking by a big, strong Alpha.

“(Y/N),” Graves moans, his voice sounding so sweet to your ears, “so good, baby. Better than I ever imagined.”

You keen at that, at your alpha wanting you—well, he isn’t yours, is he? It makes your heart sting slightly but that’s quickly forgotten with a slap to your ass, sending shockwaves of excitement through you.

You can feel yourself getting tighter, getting ready to be thrown over the edge again, and you can feel Graves speed up his thrusts, his knot slowly beginning to swell inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “gonna give you my knot, gonna fill you up good—“

His thrusts get even harder, even rougher, and you cry out, feeling yourself come tumbling violently over the edge as his knot catches on you, cumming in waves like the sea crashes onto shore.

Graves stills inside you, making good on his promise, shooting ropes and ropes of hot seed. You can feel his swollen knot inside you, just past your entrance, making your pussy full in the most delicious way. You hear him catch his breath before he carefully rolls you both over onto your sides, laying down with you on the bed.

You hum happily as he wraps his arms around you, placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder as both of your ragged breathing calms.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he says, his voice husky in a way that makes you wish you were his.

“Yeah,” you manage to reply, running your hands along the arms that hold you.

“I don’t want you taking those damn pills ever again,” he growls, making you shiver. “Understand?”

You open your eyes and turn to look at him, confused at the soft expression on his face. It’s almost…vulnerable? Wasn’t he going to fire you?

“Commander?”

“This isn’t up for debate,” he says. Behind his blue eyes is a fire you know well, akin to the one that dances in his eyes on the battlefield. “I’ll drug test you if I have to, but I’m not going to lose you to some stupid suppressants.”

You blink. “You’re not going to fire me?”

“What? No,” he says like you’re crazy for thinking so. “But if you want to stay, darlin,’ we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

“Okay,” you agree, relieved. You didn’t want to lose your job, it’s a good gig. The employee benefits are killer…and you’d miss your commander.

“It’s simple, (Y/N), no more illegal suppressants, and you come to me for your heats,” that bastard smirk of his returns and you giggle.

“Are you propositioning me, Commander?”

“Hell, yes I am,” he says proudly, reaching up to caress your cheek. “Probably should’ve done it sooner.”

You lean in and kiss him, enjoying how it sweetens his scent. Your heart flutters in place, content, elated; you had only ever dreamed of this. You finally have him.

“Oh, and no more scent patches. You smell too damn good to be covered up.”

You roll your eyes at him, still grinning. “You sure about that? I don’t think you’ll like every other alpha sniffing after me.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll keep you safe,” he says confidently, placing a lingering kiss to your cheek. His eyes hint at something darker, “besides… they’ll catch on.”

[mikavlcs]

Rebels and Renegades

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

Summary: Becoming best friends with a sentient hand brings many much-needed changes to your life, the biggest being the very girl he arrived at Nevermore with.

Warnings: this is so stupid, reader is incredibly unserious, many attempts at comedy, TERRIBLE pacing, bad writing, cursing, this doesn’t correlate properly with the timeline of the show but idc

Word count: 6.6k (sorry, this got very out of hand...get it?)

Notes: this is trash but it’s fun so who cares. this is entirely for @clexa-is-forever aka thing’s biggest fan. despite my writer’s block, i still had fun writing this. hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

If someone told you at the beginning of the school year that your best friend would be a sentient disembodied limb, you would’ve laughed in their face.

Not because you thought it would be too ridiculous or nonsensical, but because in your mind, it was far too interesting for what Nevermore Academy had to offer.

See, you were initially excited to transfer to Nevermore. To get away from the shallow depths of normie public school and be around people like you. But alas, it was too good to be true—or, maybe, you had gotten your hopes up too high.

Because it turned out that fantastical mythical creatures like vampires, werewolves, and sirens actually weren’t too dissimilar from their normie counterparts. They didn’t care about excitement or adventure or fun, they cared about partying and drinking and dating.

This duality created an atmosphere of contradictions. There were people with literal snakes for hair but also those stupid cliques of popular kids that liked to pick on people for no reason. Werewolves transformed into energetic beasts and prowled the woods together every full moon, but students’ biggest concerns were whom they were gonna ask to the school dance.

It was all strange and supernatural yet shockingly normal. And extraordinarily boring.

The disappointment you felt upon this discovery was immeasurable. It appeared that no matter how far you ran, you could never escape the clutches of adolescent desires and drama.

But there was nowhere else for you to go. This was it, your parents told you that definitively. So you resigned yourself to your fate and settled into life at Nevermore.

Months passed at a snail’s pace. Around the middle of the semester, a new student transferred in. Because nothing of substance happens, she was the talk of the town for a solid two weeks before her scheduled arrival, but you didn’t care.

You would admit that after finally seeing her, your interest was piqued. She certainly fit the murderer vibe. With her pallid complexation and dark eyes, she looked straight out of a black & white horror film, even complete with a black uniform instead of the standard purple (which you were so jealous of).

Temptation pulled at your chest whenever you saw her, but you decided to leave her alone. This school had disappointed you enough, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to handle even more. The decision to keep your distance was made and instead, you let your imagination run wild without the probable barriers of reality to inhibit it. 

Little did you know that only one day after the new girl transferred in, she inadvertently changed the course of your life at Nevermore forever. 

Advanced Gorgon Sciences, your last class of the day, had just ended and you were wandering campus wondering what you were going to do with your free time. You were contemplating going into Jericho when something smacked your cheek.

Pausing, you glanced down and found the offending object to be a small pebble. You followed its rough trajectory up to a ledge on your left and saw something scurrying across it. Against, your nonexistent better judgment, you moved closer and…

You blinked once, then twice, narrowed your eyes.

It was a hand—literally just a hand, cut off at the wrist but still scuttling and scurrying around with no problem.

So, you were definitely losing your mind. Honestly, it was about damn time.

Having nothing better to do, you decided to lean into the madness and approach the hand. At the sound of your footsteps, it turned and…looked at you? You weren’t sure, but it acknowledged your presence with a friendly wave.

You waved back, a laugh bubbling up in your throat as you hoisted yourself up to sit on the ledge.

Once you were up, you saw that the hand was fiddling with a makeshift slingshot, struggling to simultaneously keep it upright while loading and aiming it. His plight was fairly obvious and considering his circumstance, you couldn’t help but feel for him.

Abandoning the slingshot, the hand crawled over to you and started tapping insistently. It took much more brain power than it ought to for you to realize that he was trying to speak to you.

“Sorry, I don’t understand…that,” you apologized with a grimace. But an idea came to mind a moment later. “Can you write?”

The hand gave you a thumbs up. You dug around your backpack and pulled out a notebook along with a pen, flipping it open to an empty page and slid it over, setting the pen down on top. He picked up the pen and got to work, pushing the notebook back toward you a minute later.

Curious, you looked at the messy scrawl below.

Sorry, was aiming for the guy behind you.

You nodded understandingly. “It’s fine. Could I ask why you’re launching pebbles at students?”

You waited once more as he scribbled his answer and peered down when he pushed the paper over.

For fun.

Again, you nodded. You could respect that.

“Well, do you mind if I join you?” you asked, nodding toward the slingshot. “I’d imagine it would be a lot easier to aim with an extra pair of hands. And the accompanying body,” you added awkwardly at the end, hoping it wouldn’t offend the little guy.

Thankfully it didn’t. He gave you an excited thumbs up, scuttling back over to the slingshot while you scooted over. While he loaded another pebble into the pouch, you scanned the area below for your next victim.

Your eye snagged on a vampire for no real reason other than the fact that he just kinda looked like an asshole.

You pointed to him below. “How about him?”

Thing gave you another thumbs up. Nodding, you held the slingshot in place while Thing drew the pebble back and let it fly.

The shriek that came from your victim almost made you blow your cover. You grabbed Thing and hurriedly crawled back to where you were both out of sight, barely containing your giggles. Once the coast was clear, you cracked, pitching forward with your laughter as Thing drummed his fingers against your arm in what you assumed was amusement.

“That was amazing!” You looked down at him, smirked. “Wanna do another one?”

He tapped your hand enthusiastically, making your smile widen.

Thus was the beginning of an amazing friendship. Well, amazing for you and Thing—not for the rest of Nevermore.

The two of you were a match made in hell. Together you brainstormed a plethora of good pranks to pull on unsuspecting students and teachers.

Putting spiders (fake or otherwise) in students’ lockers. Setting glitter traps on top of classroom doors so whichever unlucky soul walks through first gets showered in glitter. Slipping mentos into people’s sodas. Setting trip wires to watch people faceplant around campus and many more.

It was glorious. Your own personal reign of terror, even.

Principal Weems had her suspicions, but no matter how many times she tried to catch you in the act, you slipped through her fingers. And without proof, her hands were tied. So you and your companion were free to keep enjoying your schemes so long as you were discreet.

For the first time since you enrolled, days passed by in what felt like minutes, the personification of the saying time flies when you’re having fun.

Through it all, you often wondered where the little guy was when he wasn’t with you. You hoped that he wasn’t causing too much mischief without you. He was your partner in crime, after all.

Two weeks in, you decided to ask him at breakfast.

The two of you were at your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. You were ranting about an upcoming Lycanthrope History test while Thing was launching the grapes you gave him to play with at nearby tables. After your rant, you finally gave in to your curiosity.

“So, what exactly are you doing at Nevermore? I know this place houses some strange students but, something tells me you’re not here to learn.”

He flicked a grape with precise aim, nailing a gorgon right on the forehead before giving you a series of taps. Your face scrunched in confusion.

“Babysitting? Babysitting who?”

Nothing could have prepared you for his answer.

“Wednesday Addams?!”

Your voice came out much louder than intended, turning a few heads around the cafeteria and making Thing jump. You didn’t care, plowing forward in your questioning.

“You’re ‘babysitting’ the school’s homicidal maniac?”

His stance straightened, his nonverbal tone somehow indignant as he corrected you.

You gave him a pointed look. “Attempted homicide isn’t much better, buddy.”

He seemed to contemplate flicking another grape, but seeing Miss Thornhill looking around, he chose not to. Instead, he drummed his fingers inquisitively at you, teasingly waggling his fingers at the end. You gave him another sharp look, insulted by his implication.

“Scared? What, no! This is amazing news,” you exclaimed. Then, an idea arose. “Hey, do you think she’d let us borrow any of her stuff for pranks?”

Thing mournfully shook his wrist. You let out a deep sigh, slumping over again. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve expected that answer.”

Wednesday didn’t really come up in conversation after that. You asked a few more times about her willingness to let you borrow her things, but after receiving the same answer, you gave up. Your paths had yet to cross, and you assumed that it would stay that way. But the universe seemed to have other plans.

The first time you formally met her was about a month after she transferred.

It was an appropriately cloudy day and you and Thing had just successfully completed a heist. You were in the Weathervane, both gushing over the fact that you had managed to steal fifteen scented lotions from Jericho’s local Bed, Bath & Body Works when a sharp voice interrupted you.

“So this is who you’ve been running off with these past few weeks.”

Both you and Thing flinched, looking up to see the Wednesday Addams staring down at you and your partner.

Offering a wave, you said, “Hey, Wednesday. Want a scented lotion?”

She ignored you completely. Her eyes barely scanned your figure before she was turning her full attention to Thing, her arms crossing over her chest in vindication.

“I knew you had to have an accomplice. You’re nowhere near nimble enough to properly set a trip wire by yourself.”

Thing slumped, obviously disheartened by the statement, but before you could defend his honor, your mind caught on something else.

“Wait…” You looked over at Thing, offended. “Have you been taking full credit for our pranks this entire time?”

Sheepish, Thing bowed, giving your hand an apologetic pat. You moved it away, crossing your own arms over your chest.

“Since this is your first offense, I’ll forgive you. But do it again and I’m keeping all of the profits from our future heists, got it?”

Thing jumped in alarm, tapping urgently. You smiled. “Good.”

Wednesday looked between you both, clearly unimpressed. You decided to take your shot again.

“You know, the lotion offer still stands.” You rifled through the lotions, taking note of their scents, and glanced back up with an apologetic look. “Though, we don’t have one that smells like stage 4 human decomposition, sorry.”

Again, she just stared blankly. You swore you saw her eye twitch but still, she said nothing and glared at Thing.

“Be back at the dorm by 7.”

With that, she turned and marched out of the café, leaving everyone in her path to fearfully stumble out of her way. Both of you watched, rapt, as she slammed the café door open and nearly nailed an approaching customer in the face.

Once she was out of sight, you turned to Thing. “Y’know, I think that went well, buddy.”

Thing said nothing.

You thought that would be the end of it, and honestly, you would’ve been fine if it had been. You made a good first impression and she now knew you existed. A double win!

But again, it seemed that someone had other plans—though this time it wasn’t the universe, but Thing.

Now that you and Wednesday had been semi-acquainted, Thing began inviting you to their dorm for hangouts frequently (because it was “his dorm too” …you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise). This set a few things in motion.

First, you met Wednesday’s roommate, Enid.

Enid was nice. A little hyper, like she was on a permanent sugar rush, but sweet, nonetheless. She gave you free manicures and skincare advice, and even let you borrow some things for pranks, so you hadn’t a single bad thing to say about her.

Second, you found out that you were very bad at scaling buildings.

Due to both curfew and Wednesday’s usual disapproval of your presence, Thing insisted on smuggling you in. By throwing a rope down to your balcony for you to climb. And…let’s just say that it’s a miracle you even survived the first time.

And finally, most importantly, you and Wednesday began to grow closer.

Only by about a centimeter, but progress was progress. And through sheer willpower and repeated exposure, you wormed your way into the tolerance stage, which is farther than most people who came into contact with Wednesday got, so you were proud.

She wasn’t warmer per se, but the sight of you in her dorm was no longer met with a throwing knife, just a death glare and some tentative (mostly one-sided) conversation if she was in a good mood. It was a big win.

Now that she wasn’t orchestrating any attempts on your life, you grew…not protective, but defensive of her, and Enid for that matter. Enid was your friend and Wednesday was…Wednesday. Willingly or not, they were part of your small circle.

So when a werewolf insulted Wednesday right to her face the day before the Poe Cup, well who could blame you for getting a little revenge?

You overheard him call Wednesday a frigid bitch, and he was right, but he didn’t have to say it like it was a bad thing. In retaliation, you and Thing gave him a special surprise involving shampoo and some of Enid’s hair dye that you were very excited to see the next day.

And it didn’t disappoint. Seeing the flash of bright pink amongst the Furs, and a matching flush of embarrassment that was nearly the same color was the highlight of your day.

At least it was until the Black Cats emerged from their tents.

Given your positioning, you were only able to see them once they started climbing into their canoe, and needless to say that the team’s roster shocked you. There were a few girls you didn’t recognize up front, then Enid and, as her co-pilot in the back, Wednesday.

Your jaw dropped. Because not only was she competing in the competition, but she was also wearing a skintight black catsuit, complete with ears and a tail.

The laugh you let out was so loud that it startled the surrounding crowd. You felt something poking your leg, and looking down, you found Thing standing by your feet. You bent down, glancing over to the Black Cat’s boat.

“Hey, you helping out Wednesday and Enid?”

He bowed in confirmation. Nodding, you stuck out a hand.

“Punch at least one siren for me, alright bud?”

He shook your hand firmly, a promise to fulfill your wish, and crawled off to the boat.

The event itself was rather dull. With the way Enid explained it, you were expecting something a bit more grandiose, but in reality, it was just standing around and watching for boats. Boring.

But hey, it gave you a half-day of classes, so who were you to complain?

The results though, were much more interesting.

For the first time in decades, the trophy went to Ophelia Hall. You were happy, not because you had any buried school spirit, but because you knew how much Enid wanted this. Seeing the fish get knocked down a peg was a nice bonus.

Afterward, you pushed through the crowd to try and find Enid so you could personally congratulate her, but before you could spot her, you bumped into her co-pilot. Literally.

Blindly, you steadied the smaller girl by the shoulders, a sorry on the tip of your tongue, but it got swallowed down as you were crudely reminded of her current state of dress. You tore your eyes from her outfit and dropped your hands back to your side, meeting her glare with what you prayed was a straight face.

“Hey, Wends. Congrats on the win! Love the outfit by the way,” you said, trying your absolute hardest not to crack a smile. The large ears were making that exceptionally hard, however.

She scowled. “Don’t call me that and for your information, I was forced to wear this.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything without laughing. Thankfully, it seemed Wednesday wasn’t finished speaking anyway.

“I noticed that werewolf’s hair is now a rather putrid shade of pink,” she said. “Did you perhaps have something to do with that?”

Once again, you found yourself unsuccessfully fighting off a smile. “I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions. But it suits him, don’t you think?”

Before she could respond, a soaking wet Thing pulled on your pant leg and excitedly began recounting what happened. You bent down again, nodding along with his story, and beamed at him once he finished.

“Right in the eye?” you reiterated, and Thing confirmed. “That’s awesome. I knew I could count on you.” You gave him a quick high five then scooped him up, drying him off on your uniform and setting him on your shoulder.

You stood back up and saw that Wednesday was still there, staring at you so intently that you were sure she was somehow looking straight through you.

Cocking your head to the side, you went to ask if she was alright, but that must’ve knocked her from her stupor because, without another word, she spun on her heel and walked off, leaving you to stare at the spot she just occupied, thoroughly bewildered.

“That was weird,” you commented. Thing gave an agreeing pat.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t question her about it since you didn’t get the chance to speak with her again until exactly three days later.

It was just after dinner. Thing invited you over to help prepare a new scheme, and who were you to say no to the little guy?

Enid was visiting Yoko in the infirmary and Wednesday was nowhere to be seen, so it was just you and Thing, sitting by the window hard at work.

You tied the water balloon in your hand and held it in front of you, giving it a contemplative look. “You’re sure these will only give them bad rashes, right?”

The only response you received was a shrug, which was good enough for you, so you picked up the next one and got to filling it up. Not one to work in silence, you voiced a thought you’d been holding in for a while.

“So, do you breathe? Like, would be able to drown if you stayed under the water for too long?”

Thing shook his wrist matter of factly. You gasped.

“That’s so cool.” The flustered thuds you heard after made you chuckle.

Satisfied, you went back to filling balloons, but your head popped up only a minute later, another burning question on your mind. “If you can’t eat or drink, then what physically sustains you to keep you alive?”

Without missing a beat, Thing tapped out his answer.

“The misery of others?” You snorted. “Yeah, I guess that tracks.”

Conversation lapsed into quiet as you both focused on your tasks, and your mind wandered.

You wondered where Wednesday was. The hour just after dinner was her designated writing hour, and it was very unusual for her to be missing it.

You hoped that she’d be back soon, even if she only glared at you the rest of the night. Just seeing her would be enough to satisfy you.

Because in a somewhat cruel twist of irony, you were now falling victim to the very same feelings you mocked others for getting caught up in, and even more brutal was the fact that you didn’t mind all too much. Mostly because it was Wednesday.

Now, you were no poet or writer. You weren’t going to wax poetic and spew a thousand grandiose metaphors about how her eyes resembled that of a starless sky, no.

Wednesday was really pretty and genuinely interesting, and she looked at you like a predator wanting to tear apart its prey. And really, that’s all it took for you to dive right off that cliff’s edge into infatuation.

There was a certain excitement in knowing that she could dismember you with surgical precision if you ever went just a little too far, an irresistible thrill to be found in constantly toeing that line. Like walking a tightrope with life and death teetering on a knife’s edge—the perfect counterbalance to the endless loop of monotonous boredom your life had seemingly fallen into before her and Thing’s arrival.

The sound of the door opening interrupted your train of thought, and you whipped your head just in time to see Wednesday stride in with a book cradled in her arms and her usual annoyed expression adorning her features.

You perked up, and out the corner of your eye, you saw Thing do the same.

“Hey! How’s Nevermore’s resident tiny terror doing today?”

“Call me that again and I will disembowel you,” came her cheerful reply. You snorted.

“Uh-huh.” You finished tying the last balloon and looked back up, seeing Wednesday eyeing your prep work with distaste.

“Are those water balloons?” she asked, clearly unimpressed.

“Yep. They’re filled with holy water so we can throw them at the vampires who were teasing Enid last week for not being able to shift.” You grinned. Wednesday’s eyes widened a fraction.

“That’s insane,” she commented. Then after a beat, “Make sure to film it on your cellular device so I can watch as well.

“Of course,” you assured her, giving a dramatic bow as well. She rolled her eyes, and you watched her resign to her desk. Unable to contain your curiosity, you piped back up, “So what took you so long? I was expecting you to come in and kick me out hours ago.”

Her reply was instantaneous. “I discovered a secret passageway in the school, committed theft, and became the target of an attempted kidnapping.”

A twinge of jealousy pierced your gut. How come she always got to do the fun stuff? You quickly shook it off, focusing on the first thing she said.

“A secret passageway?” you asked, already thinking of ways to possibly utilize the space for you and Thing.

“Yes, I solved a riddle and uncovered a passageway hidden behind the Edgar Allen Poe statue in the quad.”

The Edgar Allen Poe statue… Recognition sparked, and the pieces slotted together, some of your prior jealousy abating.

“Ohh, you got kidnapped in the Nightshade’s Library?”

Finally, she looked at you, gaze so sharp it could’ve cut you in two. “How do you know about that?”

You and Thing shared an unsubtle sideways glance.

“Uh—”

“So what fingers do you do it with? Thumb and ring finger or thumb and middle finger?”

The pressing question was delivered in a whisper. It was late—at least an hour after lights out, but Thing promised to teach you how to snap before he left for his dorm.

So to avoid being caught, you and the appendage were tucked into the corner of a small hall that branched off from the quad. You were hunched against a tall Edgar Allen Poe statue while your companion stood next to you.

Thing waggled his fingers and pointedly put his thumb against his middle finger. You nodded and copied his movements, rubbing the fingers together to get a feel for it.

“So I just…”

You pressed the fingers together and made the snapping motion a few times in quick succession, beaming up at him when you managed to produce a few low sounds.

Suddenly, a deep rumble emanated from the ground beneath you as the statue you were seated on began to shift. You leapt to your feet, quickly grabbing Thing and placing him on your shoulder. You both watched, baffled, as the statue moved to reveal a long winding staircase.

Taking in a breath, you shared a look with Thing then looked back to the open pathway.

“Holy shit!”

“No reason,” you said far too quickly to be believable. Before she could question you further, you cleared your throat and moved on. “Did you have fun?”

“No. They were imbeciles that didn’t even know the basics of the art of abduction. It was pitiful.”

You frowned. “Oh. Sorry about that. I hope the next one is better.”

Wednesday shot you a strange look, studying you carefully before mumbling out a barely audible thank you, and turning back to her desk.

Since you were finished with the balloons, you slumped back against the window. There was nothing to do, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your eyes drifted back to Wednesday’s hunched form. Nosiness tugged at you. You wanted to know more about what she stole and why, and a glance at Thing told you that he did too.

Extending your arm for him to climb, you waited until he rested securely on your shoulder before heading to Wednesday’s desk to see what she was up to.

Lying flat on the wood before her was the book, opened to an illustration. On the left page was what looked to be a pilgrim extending a staff toward the figure on the right, who somewhat resembled Wednesday. You squinted. Scratch that, the girl on the right looked exactly like Wednesday.

“Is this what you stole?”

“Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look over my shoulder like that.”

Her words went in one ear and out the other, your mind too busy trying to decipher the meaning of the drawing to actually listen. Finally, the identity of the mystery pilgrim clicked, and you asked, “Why’d someone draw you in a picture with Crackstone?”

Her head whipped over to you, all complaints of you being there gone. “You know who this is?”

“Yeah,” you answered, “Joseph Crackstone. He’s like, Jericho’s chief colonizer. Founded the whole town or something.”

She didn’t respond, seeming to take in the information, but you didn’t want the conversation to die quite yet, so you carried on.

“Outreach Day is next week, are you excited? I, for one, am pumped to do menial work for no pay.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, then appeared to rethink her answer. “Actually yes, but not because of the forced child labor. I already have plans to further my investigation in Jericho.”

You perked up, leaning forward to try and catch her eyes. “Can I come?”

She didn’t even bother looking back at you when she answered, hard and firm.

“No.”

-

“Thanks for letting me come along, Wends!”

Wednesday clenched her jaw, expelling a sharp breath through her nose. This was the third time you’d said that in the past four hours, and while she was able to ignore the other two, the addition of that stupid nickname made holding herself back a third time impossible.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? And you’re only here because someone,” she sent Thing a murderous glare, “refused to cooperate without your agonizing presence.”

Your eyes widened, darting over to the hand resting on your shoulder. “Really?”

Thing gave a shy wave. A wide smile spread across your cheeks in response.

“Well thanks for advocating for me, bud. It means a lot,” you said with a hand over your heart, sounding far too cheerful for someone that just chased a dangerous monster.

Wednesday didn’t bother dignifying you with any more responses, turning back to the woods ahead. But that got her thinking.

Why had she let you come anyways?

There was no good reason that came to mind. You were insufferable. The human embodiment of vexation and foolishness and petulance. You were, in essence, all the traits she disliked in the general human race given physical form.

And yet, she had allowed you to come along.

Yes, Thing asked her time and time again to permit your presence, but instead of threatening his life like she should have done, she gave in with the silent promise of revenge.

It made no sense. You pushed boundaries, disobeyed orders, and disregarded her threats and insults with a garish smile like they were no more than a joke heard in passing.

And only now did she realize that she found it far less irritating than she did when she first met you.

The answer to why was unclear, but Wednesday wasn’t sure if that was because she was genuinely unsure of the reasoning behind her decision or because she didn’t want to figure it out.

Your annoying voice thankfully halted her mind’s trajectory.

“Of course, you’re my favorite Addams. You’re my best friend, the only other five-fingered appendage I’ll ever need in my life. Plus, Wednesday hates me so there’s no competition.”

Wednesday was once again stunned by the inane conversations you and Thing have on a daily basis. Some of the talks she’d overheard in the past months could be unironically described as mind-numbing.

Deciding to have some fun to pass the time, she turned to fully face you, running her eyes over your form before speaking.

“I don’t hate you.”

She watched your eyes go wide and you looked at her with some odd form of hope. The corners of her lips twitched.

“I despise you. There’s a difference.”

Your head dropped exaggeratedly, but when you looked up again there was a smile on your face, making any notion of hers disappear.

She couldn’t stand that—the way you were never put off by anything she had to say.

Enid had the same tendency to shrug off her threats, but even she was unnerved when she first met Wednesday. But not you. Wednesday couldn’t think of a single time when anything she said, threat or otherwise, made you uncomfortable or fearful, and there was seldom anything that got under her skin more.

“That was mean, Wednesday. Really mean.” She noticed Thing say something on your shoulder and you gave a playful gasp in response. “Don’t laugh, Thing. That wasn’t funny,” you said, even though you were giggling yourself.

At the sight and sound of your laughter, something strange happened. Something combusted within her, and the flames spread, licking her sternum with an uncomfortable intensity. Like someone crudely lit a match and let it fall inside of her chest, allowing the fire to wreak havoc on her insides. It was unpleasant.

Even more unpleasant was the knowledge that this was not the first time this had happened. And that was but another in the long list of reasons why she shouldn’t have permitted your presence today.

She faced forward abruptly and kept walking, but you entered her peripheral moments later, no doubt ready to bother her with something.

As always, she was proven correct. “Hey, so you said that Crackstone was in that vision with your ancestor, right? And he killed a bunch of outcasts?”

“Correct.”

That mischievous smile she had come to recognize spread across your face, pulling your lips up at a slightly uneven angle.

“What do you say we get a little revenge?”

“And how exactly do you propose we get revenge on a pilgrim that died centuries ago?” she inquired skeptically.

You hummed. “Undecided but you go on ahead and just let the masterminds cook for a bit. I promise we’ll come up with something great.”

You and Thing flashed her a simultaneous thumbs-up, to which she just blinked. Not needing to be told twice, she started walking again, leaving you both to linger behind. Once there was a sufficient distance between you and her, she slowed slightly.

Though she had just made a vital discovery for her case, she figured this brief period of quiet would be better spent unpacking that persistent internal conflagration that flared whenever you were near.

Deigning to use her tried and true investigative process, she tried to start from the beginning, to gather all the information she had and prepare it for analysis, but she immediately got lost because truthfully, she couldn’t pinpoint the start of your assimilation into her daily routine.

Her…acquaintanceship with you made little sense, even to her. Especially to her. The same could also be said about her budding friendship? with Enid, but that was easier to parse.

Enid was her roommate; someone she quite literally couldn’t avoid since they lived together. But you weren’t. You were Thing’s friend, sure, but that didn’t answer the question of why Wednesday was becoming entangled with you as well.

However, looking at it from a logical perspective, it somewhat made sense.

A mutual penchant for mischief and practical jokes is what drew you and Thing together. In that same vein, she supposed that your insatiable appetite for adventure and her unquenchable thirst for triumph put you both on a collision course that neither of you could prevent. Especially in such a creatively stagnant climate as Nevermore.

A rebel and a renegade—two of a kind. You understood her and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she understood you.

She just didn’t know how to interpret the unexpected side effects that came with that mutual understanding.

(That was a lie, she realized. Somewhere deep down she knew, but she didn’t want it to mean what she thought it might. After all, she couldn’t possibly be letting someone like you turn her into an apostate to her own beliefs and morals…right?

She thought back to what she said to her mother on her first day, how hypocritical her words looked in the face of this dilemma. God, how pitiful of a circumstance she found herself in.)

Either way, Wednesday had allowed the sparks to ignite, and she knew that any chance she had of tempering the subsequent wildfire it caused was lessening with every moment she knowingly spent with you in her space.

Part of her didn’t want to anyway.

Approaching voices behind her caught her attention. Focusing on the present once more, she listened in.

“That’s an awesome idea, right?” she heard you say lowly.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. Everything was either cool, awesome, or amazing to you. She desperately needed to expand your vocabulary if you were going to be sticking around. For her sanity.

Wet footsteps neared, and you ran ahead of Wednesday, turning to face her with a demeanor resembling that of an excitable puppy. She sped up her pace, but you matched it, even while walking backward.

“Ok, Wednesday, plan secured. You know what I need?”

“A thesaurus?”

You blinked, brows furrowed, then shrugged. “Yeah, probably but I was actually gonna say that I need gasoline, and matches.”

“Well, there’s a hardware store a block down from the Weathervane, you could get gasoline from there. I have the matches covered.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrow quirked, a grin appearing along with it. “You have matches on you?”

“Of course. I carry a box with me everywhere I go.”

Your smile widened.

Wednesday ignored the flames ravaging her organs and asked, “Are you going to tell me what this ‘plan’ is?”

“And ruin the surprise? No. All I’m gonna say is that you should have another song prepared for the unveiling.”

She narrowly avoided rolling her eyes again. Given the materials you needed, Wednesday had a good idea of what you were planning anyway, and thankfully, she had just the song in mind.

The three of you parted ways as you reentered the town proper, you and Thing running off to gather supplies, and Wednesday, after handing her matches over, headed into the square to prepare her cello.

Unsurprisingly, she was the first person there. She sat in the seat by her cello, languidly checking its strings more out of a need for something to do than because she needed to. Her cello was always perfectly tuned.

It didn’t take very long for you to follow, running into the square with a canister of gasoline and a bag of what looked to be gunpowder. She heard a low “let’s blow this fucker back to hell, Thing” before you split up, Thing pouring the gasoline in the base of the statue while you created a trail of black powder from the statue to behind the bleachers.

Wednesday watched you, the familiar feeling of being proven right tugging her lips upward. If nothing else, your flair for the dramatic was commendable.

You both finished and took refuge behind the bleachers just as people started filing in for the ceremony. As the normie high school band set up behind her, she took note of how nobody looked particularly enthused to be here (besides Enid, who would somehow find a way to be excited to watch paint dry).  

Soon, the ceremony was underway, and it was as underwhelming as Wednesday expected it to be. Just a plethora of fake smiles, stale claps, and off-key notes from the laughingstock of a “band” performing with her.

An explosion might not even be enough to resuscitate the audience at this point.

Once the fountain was turned on, Wednesday sent a sideways glance to you and you nodded, signaling something to Thing on the ground below. A trail of smoke and the telltale sound of burning gunpowder followed and Wednesday felt her dead heart begin to pick up pace at the thought of the coming anarchy.

Finally, the looming bronze figure burst into a brilliant ball of flame, the sound of the blast washing away the wretched off-key notes of the incompetent band behind her.

As the panic began to set in, her fingers moved on their own, relishing the familiar feel of the aching, discordant cords of Vivaldi’s Winter.

In moments, Jericho’s empty streets were flooded with people running in terror as sirens wailed in the distance. The harmonious screams that erupted from both outcasts and normies alike were almost more pleasant to her ears than the song that she was playing.

Principal Weems glared at her from afar, eyes narrowed in brewing suspicion, and Wednesday stared right back, lips coiling into a poisonous smile.

Tearing her eyes away from the principal, she peered through the haze of the smoke toward the bleachers. You were watching her with wide, awestruck eyes and a smile. You only looked away briefly to give Thing a fist bump before turning back toward her, but her gaze never faltered from you. Even with all of the glorious chaos happening around her.

That horrible, detestable feeling in her chest returned with a vengeance, blazing brighter than the raging fire to her right. But in this moment, she welcomed it, let it fuel her as the music reached its climax.

As the warm orange glow of the flames reflected off the raw excitement and amazement in your eyes and her treacherous song came to its end, Wednesday recognized that perhaps neither hatred nor disdain was quite the right word to describe how she felt for you after all.

And perhaps becoming a heretic and a hypocrite wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world after all (though it would certainly be close). 

[mrcrawly]

house MD headcanons the threequel

hey so you guys? really liked the last one apparently? here's this AND a couple NSFW headcanons at your request you FREAKS!!!!! this is mostly Wilson and House but i threw in the ducklings too cause i love them

House:

actually kind of sensitive. typically only gets his feelings hurt by people he values and about topics he's touchy about but will take those things to heart if said about him

eats like a bird. im not sure if there's science to back this up but ive met a few people who were addicts (to a variety of substances) and it has something to do with how the drugs interact with certain receptors in the intestines (depending on the drug) and the fact that opioids can suppress hunger in some people, but he doesn't eat for shit. part of this is also because he's picky about what he'll eat

doesn't have the time or patience for pets, but has a bunch of houseplants

i like to think he got bored one day and named all of them and talks at them sometimes

misses going to concerts, but it's hard to go to festivals or concerts safely or comfortably with his cane (standing for long periods + people stepping all over him + sometimes lots of slopes and stairs)

oral fixation, always chewing on something

chronic stomach issues (again, opioids will do that to you)

genetically bad teeth but takes care of them religiously

likes treating kids because they tend to lie less or for completely innocent reasons, they also amuse him more

got insecure when Wilson made that comment about his thinning hair so he started oiling it (Cameron told him which oils to get)

will say sexual things to get a rise out of people and can take it in return if it's a joke, but if someone is actually flirting with him he kind of doesn't know what to do

water? what's that

almost exclusively drinks sodas/sugary drinks, energy drinks, or coffee

don't come at me for the next one i DO NOT WANT TO HEAR IT

he's almost definitely a bottom regardless of who's doing him

"what about cuddy?" Cuddy's got a giant pink strap and he takes that shit like a girl twice a week i don't know what else to tell you

has a thing for being praised and humiliated

brat obviously

will pretty much try anything and has tried pretty much everything

Wilson:

bad temper. before i started watching this show everyone made me think Wilson was like incredibly docile and sweet and quiet all the time and he's actually really not?

very easily agitated, but very quick to apologize if he takes it out on anybody

keeps every single thing his patients give him whether they make it or not

lwk i think the reason his marriages failed is because he's literally watched people waste away and did every day of his practice and he's scared to get to a point that he can't live without somebody and then lose them

im only on s3 though don't come for me

also goes all-out on people's birthdays. bought house's team birthday gifts which wouldn't be so crazy except house didn't even remember any of their birthdays

one of those people that's very passive about their own birthday and insists that people don't need to celebrate it but gets really happy and emotional when people celebrate it with him

carrot cake enjoyer

always designated driver for House

has literally never gotten a ticket or traffic violation in his entire life

bought House a bunch of stupid patterned ties for his birthday. like they've got fucking cats all over them or they're bright pink and polka dotted

God's most underappreciated brat tamer

that man gives it GOOD!!!!!!!! he didn't get no three (3) wives sitting around!!!!!!

also genuinely a very good bed partner. not pressuring not overenthusiastic very much a "what do you need" kind of partner, very affectionate if it's necessary for the other person's comfort

probably likes to physically restrain partners but won't admit it because he thinks it's weird of him

manhandling, giving praise, 'o' denial....... guys come on

would be willing to switch but being the one running things is more natural for him

Cameron:

probably got kind of into collecting things like Sonny Angels or Calico Critters

very casual about it though, just thinks they're really cute

loved strawberry shortcake as a little kid and once went as her for Halloween

victim of a really bad perm when she was like 14

also had this fucked grandma bob between the ages of like 7 and 11

me too girl 💔

used to be very acne prone but it naturally sorted itself out

literally does not have a skincare routine. sleeps in her makeup all the time. she does wear SPF though!

does not enjoy working with children whatsoever at all

really likes musical theater. this bitch keeps up with the Tony awards for sure

gives out the really good candy and full size bars on halloween

favorite movie is Ferris Bueller's Day Off

also really likes horror films i think

Chase:

he gives repressed bisexual so bad does he know it's legal now

takes care of his nails religiously because for whatever stupid reason he used to be insecure about them

likes to make little origami animals when he's bored and stick them in random places

started making yo mama jokes so much they know have an office rule that after three jokes a day he has to put a quarter in the "yo mama jar"

the yo mama jar is an empty and washed Vlasic pickle jar with the label still on that sits on the coffee station

house takes the money from said yo mama jar

i know this bitch buys Legos but not in a normal way he's buying a $600 dinner table sized replica of the Titanic and working on that bitch every day for six weeks

if he read The Song of Achilles he would never get over it

gives out the really shit stuff during Halloween like he's giving out toothbrushes and the shit candy nobody's ever heard of

..............mommy/daddy kink

WHAT WHO SAID THAT

Foreman:

i feel like he grew up in New Jersey but his parents are originally from the south idk why i get this idea

maybe it's that his dad is so staunchly Christian (i know that's not just a southern thing but it's super common here so)

after the episode where he got insanely sick he's a HORRIBLE hypochondriac and still terrified about losing cognitive function

gets nightmares about the experience

REALLY likes ASMR but not the gross wet lip smacking ASMR

y'know those ASMR videos that come up on tiktok live at like 3 in the morning with the hand puppets that have a bowl full of water and wooden beads? he would like that kinda stuff

watches war documentaries i genuinely can't explain this but i know this in my heart

not because he's interested in war in any particular way just because he really likes documentaries

also really likes David Attenborough and his nature films

would really like those Goetze's caramel things with the cream in the middle

likes caramel better than chocolate

also does a really elaborate Halloween costume

okay that's all i got for you gootbye 😇

[shini--chan]

Yandere Levi - Dregs and Driftwood

Chapter I - The Island

Word count: ~ 2k Synopsis: You wake up, to find yourself alone on an island. There is nobody else in sight. Trigger warnings: pure despair Author note: I've finally pulled myself up to continue writing "Dregs and Driftwood". One small first chapter to get the plot kickstarted

It took a long time for you to fully fade into consciousness. Perhaps it was because your mind was completely hazy, as if you had drowned yourself in alcohol or some other narcotic substance the night prior or due to being hit over the head. Your whole body ached, and therefore you automatically flexed one party of muscles after the other, checking for broken bones, starting by the toes.

Your feet were fine, just wet and cold. Your shoes felt disgusting on your feet, and you dimly noted that it would be a pain to take them off. Despite how numb and exhausted you were, you could still feel waves lapping at your sore legs 

A sharp bolt of pain shot up your spine when you clenched your calf muscles. They were bruised beyond belief. From what you could tell, the right leg hurt more than the left one. Something had slammed into it while you had been scrambling to safety. Your mind drifted between half formed thoughts and fuzzy images. 

There had been a lot of yelling and the cracking of wood had been downright sinister, that you could remember just fine. Your heart had hammered away in your rib cage like a woodpecker hammering at a tree trunk. Sweat, trembling hands had fluttered around. At the time, you hadn't known what to do with them, because your mind had been numb. After all, it wasn't everyday that you experienced a ship…

You shot up into a sitting position, the sudden movement making pain lance up and down your body, a lot of it also radiating from your chest. Agony and shock made you cry out. The end of it came gurgling, as your voice broke off. Panic clawed up your chest, making each breath painful. Or was breathing painful due to bruised ribs. You didn't know. All you knew was that you were lying on the beach of a godforsaken island, with sand in your hair and clothes and the cloth of your garments sticking to your body like a second skin.

Quickly, you screwed your eyes shut. Anything but having to stare at the gunmetal sea and the molten-grey sky. However, with your eyes closed, the memories came back - wood splintering as the ship broke intwine, the crush of bones and the sickening squelch of blood being splatter as falling furniture crushed your peers.

You choked back a sob - a great many of them were now dead. How could it have come otherwise when the ship had shattered? Your soul felt shattered and you nearly wanted to lie back down on the sand and feel your life ebb away. Because, how were you supposed to survive? When would you ever get off this island? 

Enough catastrophizing! You had to make sure you didn't die due to a lack of trying. Besides, it wasn't like you knew nothing or were surely alone. You knew what you could eat and couldn't eat due your background in the sciences. There could be other people stranded here with you!

Taking deep breaths, you resumed your own physical assessment, flexing your muscles and twisting your joints and shifting your appendages. After a few minutes of this, you did a quick rundown of your findings.

Surprisingly, you had come out of the whole calamity without any major injuries. The cynical part of you pointed out that if you had sustained any wounds that would have caused you to bleed, then you would probably be missing a limb due to a curious shark. A few of your ligaments were strained and your ribs were bruised, but nothing that required urgent medical attention. Now, just to get going.

Getting up was a whole ordeal on its own, with all the parts of your body that ached. Not to mention your waterlogged and sand filled clothing were highly uncomfortable. Still you dragged on, no matter how much your muscles screamed in protest, no matter that you had to keep your breathing shallow.

Forcing your feet to move over the sandy beach would have been tedious as it was, but the fatigue in your bones and your rattled body nearly caused you to face-plant a few times. When you finally reached the line where the beach met the forest and the sand gave way to clumpy soil, you stopped and gingerly sat down.

Even those few metres had completely robbed you of your breath and you were panting. Drained as you were, you forlornly gazed at your surroundings. To the left, a few more islands peeked over the waves. They continued in a chain, an archipelago until they disappeared under the horizon. No continent in sight, and worse, no ships on the horizon. 

Despair clawed its way up your chest and you found yourself having to force every breath as your throat tightened. You resisted the urge to curl up in a ball and just wait for death to come nocking. It just wouldn't do to simply give up. 

You clenched the damp fabric of your coat and closed your eyes. Slowly, you counted backwards from hundred, clenching and unclenching your hands in time with your counts. Once finished your mind was clear and you no longer were on the verge of dissolving into shouts and tears, still you kept your eyes closed as you ran over your current circumstances.

You were marooned on an uninhabited island, far away from any of the main continents and cities. Ships wouldn't be passing by anytime soon. It was the beginning of the wet season in these northern seas, storm season, and any sane captain wouldn't dare sail these waters at this time of year. The captain of the ship you had been on had been hesitant to take the route as it was.

No major injuries, but severe bruising and you still had the clothes you had been wearing when last conscious. While you didn't have any supplies, you did have some fundamental knowledge on which creatures and plants were edible and which were lethal. That was crucial to your survival; but not really enough.

Despite your practical knowledge that allow you to cling on, you still had large gaps. You didn't know how to light a fire without flint or how to fashion weapons that would let you catch fish. You were all alone on a lonely island - you often heard what extended solitude did to the distressed and unprepared mind and it wasn't pretty.

Drawing your legs up, you hugged them and soaked in the meagre comfort such a gesture offered. Either death or madness, what fun prospects. There was only a tiny flicker of hope and that was if there were other people stranded on this forsaken speck of land. But would it really do, just to sit here and wait for death? You weren't the sort to simply give in to fatalism. As of now, you were still alive and had a chance of surviving, no matter how small it was.

There were so many things you wanted to do and experience. Having just finished your studies and been assistent of a renowned professor in the natural sciences, you still had all doors open. You wanted to explore new lands, meet foreign people, pioneer in your field of interest. How could you possibly do that as a sun bleached skeleton on a lonely beach? Actions have consequences that you have to live with, and aren't just prepared to become your own undoing. 

Slowly you stood up, your spirit a bit lighter. Each movement causes your body to protest and ache, and breathing too deeply was painful. Nevertheless, you set off to the forest.

The sort of vegetation in any given land gradually changes as terrain and general weather alter. Abrupt changes in the species present owe largely due to strange anomalies or environmental isolation. As such, you weren't surprised when you found little red berries in the undergrowth. Painfully sweet and only poisonous in large doses.

You had to halt yourself from gorging on them, hungry as you were. Still it was enough to momentarily calm your stomach. Without a doubt, you would be able to find a lot more edible plants. Even if you don't find fruit and blossoms that are alright to consume, there are still herbs, grass even, if push comes to shove. 

Wandering through the spacious and lowgrown fringe of the forest, your clothes had dried and thus you started to feel warmer. That doesn't stop the fabric from from feeling unbearably itchy, due to a combination of crusted salt and sand on your skin. You do your best to ignore since, since you still feel raw emotionally from your nervous break down and stopping to clean yourself would result in you having to poke at still tender wounds. 

That said, it would be good to find a clean water source, or even just semi clean for the sake of bathing. Finding clean water is something that sends your mind buzzing as you juggle with possible sources. You didn't know when you last had something to drink, it could be days for all you. Having been adrift at sea, you had probably swallowed copious amounts of sea water, the one thing that would lead to you dehydrating even faster than normal. 

It is probably what had happened to you, considering how parched you felt. Your throat hurt from the dryness and the lack of fluid made your mind feel hazy. Swallowing the little berries had only brought you temporary relief, and afterwards left you more thirsty than before. 

The trees grew lighter and you began walking along that seam where the sand of the beach met the beginning of the forest. That was also when you saw it - a row boat tugged up onto dry land, far enough from the sea that even the high tide couldn't snitch it away later. The mere sight made your heart beat faster in excitement. Even if there weren't any people around, it still meant blankets, drink and some meagre rations. 

Rushing forward, you didn't even bother to check your surroundings as your feet churned up the sand, not even as the grains worked their way under your clothing. The boat and the things it promised, like blankets and alcohol. When you slammed clumsily into the prow, the pain caused from the wood digging into your gut barely registered. Clammy fingers scratched at the small doors to the compartment; it is only by the second try that you manage to wrench the wood open and that only with considerable effort. 

Haphazardly you tore a blanket out and pry it apart. The cloth was slightly damp yet it is far better than your grimy and salt crusted clothes. You were just about to reach in again to search for food when you were abruptly seized by the scruff of your neck and thrown back.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as you were tossed to the ground. The lack of oxygen and the pain paralysed you. And yet, in between your unclear thoughts, you recognised the man standing above you. Grey eyes, a sour expression and jet black hair - it was Levi Ackermann.

Just why did it have to be him? He was the last person you wanted to see!

[sidecharactersdomatter]

Here are my collected thoughts on why I ship Fenro and not Fendra

@shychick-52 @rommaru

First, if the DT crew wanted to make Fendra canon, they should’ve actually had more episodes building up their relationship, instead of shoehorning all that development in just Beaks in the Shell. Just like georgiarose answered in their respective post.

It wouldn’t have been hard to have Gandra genuinely apologize to Fenton for being in cahoots with Mark Beaks and lying to him in the process, but the show never does that due to the Duck family’s main character syndrome and the show’s cast bloat. Then there are the episodes in Season 3 where Gandra doesn’t interact with Fenton until the final episodes of Season 3, and her redemption arc doesn’t get developed throughout the same season, only in Beaks in the Shell. Heck throughout their “date” in Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee, Gandra did criticize two of Fenton’s experiments for not being risky “What if you don’t like glazed doughnuts?” -Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee” and for conforming with Mcduck’s corporate checklist “So, Rich boss McDuck gets to gobble up all of the Earth’s precious gems for himself? What’s next, some kind of Gold magnet?” - Same episode, although I do agree with her anticapitalist belief, which is the one trait I’m tolerable of. During that whole lab session she also demonstrated her own tech, her Eyebuds and Nanites, WITHOUT Fenton’s permission, to show how good her free lance tech is (which honestly felt like a red flag to me)

Exhibit A, Gandra testing her nanites on Fenton, without his permission

In the whole series, Fenton is a lawful good duck and Gandra’s obviously morally grey, and as you watch Gandra’s cover get blown during the climax of Dangerous chemistry of Gandra Dee you begin to become disappointed with her when she doesn’t apologize to Fenton for double crossing him, that very episode made me completely disappointed in the character herself.

Dialogue is also from The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee:

Fenton: So I’m the suit? You’re the one working for Beaks!

Gandra: I work for myself. I just …used him for funding and resources.

Fenton: For what? Was any of this real? What are you?

Gandra: A scientist, free of responsibility, and look …for what it’s worth, you’re a good scientist.

Fenton: And you’re a crook.

If you focus on Gandra’s lines, there is an underlying hypocrisy to her character, she is also responsible for creating the nanites to cause Mark Beaks to go berserk. The dialogue reaffirms that Gandra did not formally apologize to Fenton and took accountability for her actions at the end of her debut episode.

Reminder, I rage quit watching the Ducktales reboot after seeing spoilers for Beaks in the Shell. There was not a lot of compatibility and build up to Fenton and Gandra falling in love together near the end of the series. The reason they started their relationship is because of Huey and Webby forcing them to get together on a date, while completely disregarding Fenton’s boundaries in the process, and this is something you should never do IRL. Due to Gandra being a hypocrite claiming she’s a rebel scientist only to reveal she was forced to work for F.O.W.L. Through her sob inducing backstory (Playing the guilt card are we?) does sum up how her redemption arc or lack thereof, didn’t make it feel compelling to us at all. Since Gandra and Fenton only interacted in 3 episodes total, through Beaks in the Shell we learn that they’re in a secret relationship and run science experiments together in a virtual reality which also had so many plotholes. Beaks in the Shell made Fenton and Gandra’s relationship feel rushed and forced with no substance to it at all, they just made them canon to constantly enforce heteronormativity like Disney and pander to the Shippers.

And then you have Fenton’s relationship with Gyro who surprisingly interacted more with him than with Gandra in the entire series. Fenton may be lawfully good and friendly while Gyro is antisocial and focused on his inventions they actually have a solid dynamic and were able to play off of each other. Throughout season 1 and Astroboyd they had a gradual build up of care and respect and especially in Astroboyd Gyro ends up promoting Fenton to a doctor to show the respect he now has for him.

Dialogue is from near the end of AstroB.OY.D.

Yes, intern. I was once like you. Of course, I was a naive idiot back then. But if I had someone to actually listen to me, I might not have been so hopeless. So... you're hired full-time, Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera.

Fenro: That's not technically how doctorates work,and I don't care!

Gyro: Okay, everybody, the hugging is a "just for today" thing.

Exhibit B, Fenton happily embracing Gyro after being promoted to a full time job as a Doctor. Also this hug was before Gyro protected Fenton before Boyd could attack him and managed to apologize and embrace Boyd for the mistake he made in the past. Guess which scientist is more committed to their responsibilities in the whole reboot? Also Gyro reconciling with Boyd and promoting Fenton was the best way to have his character arc go off on a high note and helped improve his relationship with Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera.

Fenton and Gyro helped fight off the main antagonists in all 3 season finales of the Ducktales reboot, they had great chemistry together whenever they’re on screen, they’re opposites attract, they’re both brilliant scientists, heck, that’s why I enjoyed watching scenes of them together, and why I ended up shipping them even thought they didn’t end up together. Fenton and Gyro were awesome characters that had the best designs in the reboot. You’ll also know it’s a problem in the episodes featuring Gandra, the writers had to completely change Fenton and Gyro’s dynamic in order to have Gandra and Fenton be more “compatible”. Due to realizing that they ended up realizing they gave Fenton and Gyro way more chemistry than they did with Gandra. Look these two whole posts aren’t hot takes these are just my opinions I’m sharing with you. Also I wasn’t trying to antagonize the Fendra shippers at all in this critical post. Tl;dr, Fenton and Gyro’s relationship got no homo’d out of existence near the end of the series, and Fendra ended up feeling very forced and obviously rushed with Gandra’s character feeling poorly handled by the DT17’s writers. Fun fact, Beaks in the Shell was one of the least watched episodes out of the series.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

10 things for (maybe?) 10 people you’d like to know more about

Tagged by: @reconstructwriter

Last song: The entire Waitress soundtrack, because "What Baking Can Do," "She Used to Be Mine," "When He Sees Me," and "What's Inside," all vibe with different characters from my original fiction project. I've never seen the original movie, but I've watched an extremely legal film of the musical and want to get tickets someday.

Last book: Criminal Testimonial Injustice by Jennifer Lackey — research for my original fiction. To give an actual recommendation, The Wonder by Emma Donoghue is the story of a 19th century nurse using a combination of science and people skills to solve a medical mystery. It's gripping but also one of those books that's so intense I keep having to put it down and go walk around outside before I come back to it, so do not read if you're sensitive to terminal illness in kids.

Last movie: Anora, because we have a tradition of trying to watch as many of the Oscar nominees as possible before the ceremony. It was okay — not as good as Conclave or The Substance, lost its way a little in the third act. But at least it's more original than Dune and doesn't have an inch-deep take on a complex social issue like Emilia Perez, so there's that. I have more thoughts on Wicked than can fit in a paragraph, gave up on The Brutalist because it made me nauseous, and have been putting off seeing A Complete Unknown because if you've seen one musical biopic, you've seen 'em all.

Last TV show: Amputee OT on YouTube. Research for my original fiction, again, sorry these answers have nothing to do with Animorphs.

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Savory or spicy. Whatever the opposite of a sweet tooth is, that's me — I've never liked most cookies or pastries, and I'm constantly regifting candy.

Relationship status: Finally living with my spouse of 5 years! My fellow academics, can I get a hoo-rah? A cold and a lonely hoo-rah?

Last thing I searched: "Is it safe for cats to eat dried pasta". I'm sure you can figure out why.

Current obsession: Collaborative horror projects. SCP being the big one, but Backrooms lore and classic creepypastas and the Worm fandom are all infinite as well. Anything that involves 1000s of strangers working together to do something fun on the internet will always give me joy.

Looking forward to: Skiing with my cousins in a few weeks. Wicked Part 2. Longer days with more sunshine. The artist I commissioned sending a final draft. My next meetup on reproducible science. Attending Cory Doctorow's book tour. Student presentations.

Tagging (without obligation): @sad-blue-deer @lilacsolanum @zarohk @twilight0wanderer @miniaturetyphoonhologram @andalitebonsai @featherquillpen @axjake @vissermeme @forlay @nice-is-neat @thaylepo @andalite-angel @andalitean @andaliteful @church-of-crayak @tomberensonsghost @sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel @dorkbajirchronicles @animorphsdaily