#cw dosing a child

[all-my-friends-were-glorious]

“Though I haven’t slept in two days" Terrance to whoever's up

I Couldn't Find The Meme This Was From Oops

[ Terrance ]

[ Firkle ]

"Two days, huh?"

Pursing his purple-stained lips, Firkle rested his chin in his palms, his elbows resting on his knees. Sitting on the table part of the picnic table at the park, he considered the other for a long moment.

"Are you meaning to or can you just not sleep? I heard you have that kid with the baby living with you. If they keep you awake you could always get some whiskey for the kid."

Okay, maybe it was bad advice.

"Or spike their juice with Nyquil."

Worse advice, probably.

[reidrum]

the prophecy part 1:

cards on the table, mine played out like fools in a fable | s.r.

A/N: trying something new…..this one’s been on my mind for too long and the angst hurt too good. sorry in advance ! perhaps a part 2 who’s to say ..,,,..,. ?

cw: bau!fem!reader, spoilers for prison arc, implied talks of SA (referring to when lindsey doses spencer in mexico), maeve donovan, just angst bro this doesn’t end well

summary: you and jj accompany spencer to cat’s correctional facility to play her games, except there’s more than one loser

wc: 2.1k

part 2

——————————————————————————

Cat Adams’ taunts and demands have led Spencer, JJ, and you to visit her in her correctional facility to play whatever game she has for him. Emily had you and JJ go with him given his erratic state from just being released, in hopes that you both could regulate and monitor the whole meeting.

You and JJ watch Spencer walk in stoically, sitting down across from Cat as she smiles at him. He angrily demands for his mother’s location, but she gets upset and tells him that he doesn’t get to treat her like a criminal. She only agrees to tell him the location if he plays her game, and figures out the secret she knows about Spencer.

Spencer’s brain works overtime to figure out what he’s missing, what Cat could possibly be holding against him that would make him deny the truth of it. He runs through all the scenarios; Spencer being able to now understand how it feels to have a parent used as a pawn, Cat wanting him to admit his love for her. But she shakes her head and reveals that a clue was left in a scrapbook in Spencer’s apartment.

You remember you took a picture of it when you went with Spencer to scope it out, and pulled it out to show JJ.

“Is that an X and a Y?” She ponders, “What could that mean?”

“I think it’s…” You stop halfway, realizing what it means. Your face drops and you look back in the room to watch Spencer come to the same conclusion.

“We’re pregnant!” Cat sings.

You and JJ look at each other in shock, the blonde’s voice slowly drowning out as you sink further into the Cat shaped hole. You vaguely hear her mention going to the guard to find her medical records, but all you can think about is how she could be bearing Spencer’s child.

Spencer and you had been together for a little over two years now. While still in the relative early stages, a lot about your relationship had been figured out and solidified. It was the most secure you’d ever felt with anyone, and despite the road bumps with Mexico you felt that you both came through it as well as any couple would in that situation.

You loved Spencer, and Spencer loved you. Right now was just another one of those road bumps, just like Mexico. That’s what you needed to tell yourself.

JJ bursts through the door with the medical documents, “I got them.” breaking you out of your spiral. You both anxiously look at the paper to find a little (+) sign ticked next to the pregnant box.

Cat Adams really was pregnant. You think you could be sick, you feel JJ’s hand grip your arm in an attempt to tether you back down, but it’s a futile effort. Your brain has already taken the information and ran a billion different directions with it, each coming up with a more crazy conclusion.

You stare blankly into the interrogation room as Spencer vehemently denies the child being his, denying any such way that it could even be his. The disbelief is ruling his words as he shuts down any theory that gives it truth, until Cat reminds him of the heavy dose he was given in Mexico. It hit him then, if he could barely remember the third person in that room, he had no bearing on whatever else transpired.

Spencer tries not to let the anxiety and shock show on his face as he sits down to face Cat in the eyes, “How did you do it?”

“I gave Lindsey very specific instructions to get you in the mood.”

“She pretend to be you?”

“Why, would that have worked?”

“No.” he says sternly.

She pauses, ego clearly bruised, “Yeah, I know. I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid "Hot or Not" list. I told her to pretend to be Maeve. Maeve Donovan, who had her brains blown out right in front of you before you two could even kiss.”

Spencer’s face falls. No, he thinks, no no no. He looks back at the one way window behind him, knowing very well he can’t see you but you’re watching everything unfold disastrously.

Your heart drops so fast it could have very well been seismic. To your horror, Cat continues.

“I thought about telling her to pretend to be your little BAU girlfriend,” she chuckles, “But then I realized, you only had one love of your life. and you won’t let anyone else measure up.” She leans in closer, “By the way, I know that you still think about Maeve when you’re, you know, with your little crime fighter over there. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” She gives an over exaggerated wink to the window.

Spencer feels like he’s seeing white, anger coursing through his body as the reality of his situation comes to a head. He’s definitely not thinking when he pushes the table aside harshly, grabbing Cat by the collar and pushing her against the wall. He’s only able to stop when JJ is beside him suddenly attempting to pull him back, reminding him that she’s pregnant.

His fists are clenched and without a second thought he storms out of the room, his tunnel vision taking him right past you and JJ.

JJ doesn’t know what to do, she looks back into the room to see Cat smirking to herself, and god if she didn’t have morals she’d finish what Spencer started. She thinks it’s wise to go after Spencer and check on him, knowing that Cat’s timer is still ticking and the faster he gets back in there the sooner they can find his mother.

But then she looks at you and suddenly her feet are rooted next to yours.

She lays her hand on your shoulder and gently speaks, “Hey, I’m right here okay?”

You nod mindlessly, hoping you can keep the ocean of tears at bay with whatever resolve you can muster. She squeezes her hand at your acknowledgment and doesn’t move.

How is she supposed to even comfort you? How are you supposed to process this?

You knew how important Maeve Donovan was to Spencer. The whole thing had happened a year before you joined the team, only having heard the story through your teammates. It was tragic, there was no other way to put it, and your heart clenched for Spencer for having to go through that by himself. When you both first started dating, he disclosed the more intimate details to you, wanting nothing to be left unspoken about his past to affect his future with you.

What a cruel twist of fate.

“I—I think,” you stutter, “I have to go, JJ, I can’t be here right now.”

“But—“ She starts.

You cut her off, “No, JJ you have to go talk to Spencer and get him back in there. The longer his mom is with Lindsey…” you trail off.

She nods, understanding that you’re thinking about the priorities right now, “Okay, okay I’ll go find him. Where are you going to go?”

You could go home, the one you share with Spencer. Or you could go back to the office, the one you also share with Spencer.

Every realization adds another needle to your stack, and you’re about to crumble under the weight. “I—I don’t know.” You whimper.

JJ closes her eyes to think quickly and grips your shoulders, “Go back to the BAU okay? I’m going to call Emily and tell her to expect you back, you go straight there, do you understand me?” she emphasizes. JJ is smart enough to know that you cannot be alone right now, and that Spencer wouldn’t be able to scrounge up whatever focus he could into getting answers from Cat if he knew you had left by yourself to god knows where.

All you could do was nod, and hope and pray that your feet would carry you to the car and back to the bureau. JJ was nervous having you drive back, but she really didn’t have a choice. All she could do was notify Emily, as well as Penelope for tracking purposes, that you were headed back, and to not ask you too many questions.

After you left, JJ stood in the waiting room for a brief moment before going to find where Spencer went. She finds him sitting on the floor of an unused interrogation room with his head tucked into his knees.

She speaks quietly to not startle him, “Hey.”

He looks up at the voice, JJ noticing his eyes flit around and behind her as if looking for something, or someone. His eyes sulk back when he’s unable to find it.

Spencer opens his mouth to speak, “Is she—“

“She’s going back to the BAU, Emily knows she’s on the way,” she cuts him off already anticipating his question, “Listen, whatever you’re feeling about what just happened right now has to be paused. You need to focus and finish this stupid game with Cat so we can find your mother and be done with her.” She grits out.

He sighs shakily, he doesn’t even want to think about what must be going through your head. As much as it pained him to experience her vitriol first hand, you were on the other side of that window listening to every word Cat spewed out. And somehow, knowing you watched all of that hurt worse than Mexico, worse than Tobias Hankel, and even worse than Maeve Donovan.

Cat was playing a deeply fucked psychological game with him, and she had now called you in as a pawn. You, his darling girl. The one who made him see the light of the sun after it was constantly being put out, the one who loved him through his mother’s illness and wrongful imprisonment, the one who is, with all and every bit of certainty, the love of his life.

If the velvet black box in his sock drawer was any testament to the power that love held, he hoped it would take mercy on him in this moment.

He stands up and paces the room for a moment before kicking the chair to the other side of the room. JJ startles, her eyes widening but attempting to remain neutral faced as Spencer sorts out his emotions.

“Spence, we need to focus,” she reminds him, “Time is running out.”

“I know,” he mumbles and paces the room hoping to have a stroke of insight, “I have an idea.”

———

You must be no better than a zombie in the final apocalypse when you walk into the bullpen, stumbling around with glassy eyes, no regard for what’s in your way. The apathetic coping mechanism you’ve deployed almost makes you seem as mindless as those monsters, if it weren’t for Penelope to show up and steady you.

“I gotcha, honey,” She makes eye contact with Emily, acknowledging that she’s got you, before turning back to you again, “Come here, let’s sit down.” Penelope sits you down in the nearest chair and drags another one for her to sit right next to you.

You don’t speak for an hour after sitting. Penelope doesn’t ask, only checking in every ten minutes to see if you want a snack or some water, to which you shake your head no every time. She’s too busy typing away on her laptop getting information that could help the team find Spencer’s mother, the last thing you want to be is a bump in the road for them.

Another hour passes before the team exits the conference room, alerting you and Penelope that they think they’ve found the cabin where Diana and Lindsey are. Emily gathers everything they need before approaching you in the bullpen.

“Do I have to be here when you guys come back?” You ask quietly.

Emily sighs, understanding the gravity of your circumstance, “No, you don’t. Will you let Garcia drop you home though? Give us all a peace of mind.” She chuckles humorlessly, unknowingly squeezing the other shoulder JJ didn’t.

You know the ‘all’ she’s referring to really just means one person. It doesn’t make you feel any better, but you don’t think it’s meant to. She brings you in for a tight hug, “I’ll check on you after, okay?”

You nod and release from her embrace. Penelope gathers her things next to you and you both walk to the elevator.

“Honey,” It pained Garcia to see you like this, and she didn’t know how she could help, “What can I do?”

You sniffle and shrug, there isn’t much she can do. There isn’t even much that you could do. Not that anything you could do would be enough, it was never enough. Not for you, not for the team, and not for Spencer.

With a bitter chuckle you answer Penelope’s question,

“Bring back Maeve.”

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

THE BOY IS MINE ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ ariana grande — the boy is mine ♩

pairing: mayor!rafe x catwoman!reader.

cw: supernatural abilities, hybrid!reader, a whip, leather, violence, drugging, sexual content, dubious consent.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day one.

mayor rafe cameron was a fascination.

he had a way of captivating an audience, without necessarily being smooth speaking and self assured. there was something… off about him. confident in himself, dare you even say arrogant — but with each press conference his eyes dart around, pupils enlarged, tongue poking out to lick his lips and he would often grow passionate and jump over his words. each night when you’d tune into his speeches on the television, claw grazing the static of the screen you would wonder — how could someone so untouchable seem so… human?

“and uh, to target this rat infestation across the city… we will be releasing the stray cats.” he speaks into the podium microphone, illuminated by the flashes of the paparazzi and press.

“yes, you will.” you whisper, face so close to the screen you could hear the buzzing of the electrics. he was just perfect.

you’d always figured ‘love potions’ were a little phony. how could a feeling induced by oxytocin and noroadrenaline be replicated with a drug? how could it replace the feeling of first locking eyes, or the warm tingling feeling in your stomach when you hear their laugh? desperation costed you sleepless nights in your apartment, failed scientific concoctions upon failed scientific concoctions until you reached a breakthrough. perhaps it wasn’t to be so phony after all, but you had one perfectly crafted dose — and there was only one way to find out.

you don’t like to waste time, so the next thing you know you’re standing in the pouring rain, suited up in skintight black, feeling free. you’d let your true self take its form, fangs glimmering in the city lights and twitching ears perfectly cupped by your suit hood. what was the point in hiding? if all went to plan, rafe cameron would love you for you.

leaping across the skyline, you travel to what can only be described as the most luxurious penthouse in new york city — the perfect place for the man of your dreams to rest his head. you figured it would be harder to find his address, but for someone who could create a love potion from scratch — it was child’s play. you wondered if you could see this place being your home too, resting your head on the pillow beside him, perhaps curling up on the windowsill.

the large window looking into his warmly lit apartment allows you perfect access. your heart pounds so fast with excitement that you think you might pass out as you squat over the view, large pupils darting about the room until they fall onto him. the mayor, in the flesh, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

he wouldn’t think to look up and see you there, watching him. of course not — what human being would be able to scale a building just to gaze through his window? he should have been perfectly safe.

should have been. it was a good thing you weren’t human. not fully, anyways.

you gaze over him as he goes about his nightly business, blazer removed and top button undone now as he looks over papers and sips at his drink. you take a moment to groom yourself, tongue rolling over the back of your knuckles to lay down the fur on the back of your ears over your hood out of habit as you practically salivate over him. rafe cameron was even more gorgeous in person, especially candidly, more relaxed, when he thought no one was watching.

he wanders off to the bathroom, and you take your opportunity, slithering in through the window he’d left open. he always did like the sound of the pouring rain, there wasn’t so much of that back in the outerbanks, where he was originally from (according to his wikipedia page, anyway.)

it had been a rough day for rafe, dropping his glass down on the sink counter as he leans against it — staring down his visage in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. he wasn’t always sure if he was cut out for mayor. really, releasing the stray cats to tackle the rat infestation problem? there was a myriad of reasons that could potentially create more problems, bring disease and an even dirtier appearance to new york city — but he was lost on what to do. times like this, he wondered if this was what he truly wanted to do rather than what he knows his father wished for him.

he cups his hands beneath the running water, leaning down to flush his face with the cool liquid. another problem for another day, he decides. for now, he could clear his racing mind with none other than the beloved white powder he told himself he was quitting. who cares, today was a special occasion.

rafe stands up straight, and before he can bother to fix his messy curtain bangs, now a mess and haphazardly stuck to his wet forehead — he could have sworn he’d seen a dark black mass lurking by the doorway. it disappears as quickly as he’d spied it, and he blinks the droplets out his eyes as he stares through the mirror. he couldn’t tell you what he saw, its appearance too quick for him to comprehend — but it had unmistakably existed.

“hey…” he drawls, wiping his dripping chin with the back of his wrist as he edges towards the door. one footstep, another, he continually creeps through the hallway until he’s back to his large, luxurious bedroom — now the scene at which you sit, ever so casually on his bed. just… smiling. “wh— who the hell are you, huh?” his voice trembles. he’s even more gorgeous close up.

“you shouldn’t leave your window open, mayor cameron. might let in a stray.” you practically pur,

he looked like his soul left his body. you expected that, expected some pushback — it’s why you had the dosage ready, the syringe of abnormal pink potion sucked up and ready to deploy into his delectable veins.

“alright look, i’ve got security armed to the god damn teeth downstairs okay so — so i suggest you get the hell out.” he licks his lips, irritation that you’d even try to invade his space crawling up the back of his neck in a wave of frightened heat. your clawed hand curls around the whip tucked into your side, tilting your head with a mischievous smile. he’s too busy taking in… you to notice, and just as he does you take action — cracking it right at him, the leather coil curling forcefully around his ankle and with a yank, he’s falling.

“jesus— the hell do you want?” he hollers as you drag him closer, closer. you’re walking to meet him halfway now and his eyes just won’t leave you. everything about you is so feline, down to the way you walk— hips practically rolling in a hypnotising fashion side to side. if he wasn’t so frightened, well — he just might fall in love organically.

“c’mon mr mayor cameron, be nice t’me. i wanna play.” you pout, and his struggles stop in awe once you lower himself over him to straddle him, his big body encased by your leather clad thighs. in all honesty, he was too confused and entranced to fight harder. rafe always had that weak spot with women. “hands by your sides or i’ll slice you open, handsome.”

he reluctantly does as you say, but when you present the syringe, he starts to struggle again — so you tighten your legs around him. “hey, hey— wh—what is that?” he raises his voice and you furrow your brows, a clawed finger pressing to his lips, surprisingly silencing him.

“shhhhh, shhhh.” you hush, before your finger slides down to his chin, grazing the skin with your claw. it slides lower and he daren’t move now, the extension of you so sharp that he fears it could slit him if he wasn’t careful.

“think you’re gonna get away with this, huh? breaking in like this?” as your claw slides directly down to his chest you smile, so casually — not a care in the world. you rip his shirt open, buttons clattering against smooth wooden flooring and his eyes widen, just so you can access the skin over the hard planes of his chest.

“you wouldn’t turn me in.” you tell him confidently, and he actually huffs out a laugh of disbelief, jaw tense and eyes wild.

“oh i wouldn’t huh? alright uh— and why the hell not? who the hell are you?”

you pierce his skin with the needle and his jaw drops, injecting the potion directly into his heart.

“the love of your life.”

rafe cameron’s eyes flutter shut, and it’s only a few hours later when he comes to— laying in the centre of his bed.

“hu—huh wait uh—” he croaks the second his eyes flutter open, only to be silenced by a claw over his flushed lips just like before. it was dark now, all artificial lights cut — you always preferred the light of the moon anyway. his eyes hadn’t adjusted and yet he knew it was you, felt your familiarity, your warmth all around. he pants, and you shush him.

“shhhhh, shh shh shh.” its like dragging your fingernail along velvet — soft, addictive, feeling each tiny feathery bristle caress the vulnerable skin beneath your nail. he stares, wide eyed and parted lipped, somewhat aware of the fact his hair is a mess. he doesn’t care to fix it.

you’re straddling him, all of your body weight and yet somehow you’re feather light — knees pointed upwards, the leather of your suit glowing and catching the light.

“you’re finally awake.” you hum, a vibration behind your voice, a true purr — like the hum of an engine. something below ignites, his crotch heats.

he’s overly aware of the fact he doesn’t mind you there, wishing nothing but to observe you for the moment. you lean back, bone coloured claw hooking into the zip at your neck as you drag it down, lower and lower — revealing the glow of soft skin beneath. rafe can’t look away, you’re like nothing he’s ever seen before. you’re beautiful. you’re… beautiful? the woman who trespassed onto his property? he urges himself, with everything in him to fight — and suddenly he’s catching you off guard, gripping your neck and flipping you onto your back.

you seem taken aback, a break in the confident routine as you blink up at him, the colour of your eye no longer visible, overtaken by inky black pupil. as your back hits the mattress, your plush tits bounce with the movement, now nearly completely exposed by your unzipped catsuit, cool metal zip below your belly button. at the sight of this, rafe winces — overcome by his desires and can’t help but press his erection harshly against the mound between your legs.

“the hell is goin’ on, alright — who — what did you do?” he emphasises with a hard squeeze to your neck making your eyes flutter, and yet your smile — all curled and deranged and your canines glimmer in the low light, the purring sound only getting louder.

“dont fight it, mr cameron. just do what feels good.” it comes out strained from the way he’s squeezing your neck and he lets go, sitting up on his knees but making no move to leave. dragging a hand down his jaw, he results back to staring. “cat got your tongue?” you whisper, sweetly amused. he licks his lips instinctually, moving to choke you again, stop you, but his hand rests there lightly — the two of you locking eyes. angrily, he leans down and kisses you, wet and sloppy.

you take the opportunity to lock your legs back round his waist and flip him back onto his back, grinding your crotch down onto his, making him groan.

“thats better, can’t have you trying to kill me again.” you tease before pushing his ripped shirt open to touch his skin. he winces, irritated and overwhelmed when you drag claws down his chest hard enough to leave chemtrails of pink skin down the muscled planes.

“yeah? thought you cats had nine lives?” he grumbles, gripping your hips and grinding you harder on his lap, causing you to mewl — digging your mouth into his shoulder and sinking his teeth in. “jesus— okay.” he squirms, unsure if you bit hard enough to draw blood.

he decided he didn’t care if you did. what was he so mad about again anyway?

[rememberwren]

Ghoap x civilian!reader who comes home from work in a teary panic attack. Simon and Johnny obviously rush to her and try to calm her down. When asked what happened she explained how she was SA’d or harassed by a man on her way home. Simon and or Johnny are SEETHING with anger that someone would dare lay a hand on their girl, but they do their best to stay calm in front of her, silently agreeing to each other that they’ll find that son of a bitch later. Their main priority is to take care of her. One or two of them gets her in a bath, washes her hair and just overall being an amazing fluffy boyfriend/s while soothing her and kissing away her tears. If only one of the boys is doing that the other one could be pacing around the house seething with anger, trying to find out who that man was and where they can find him. Idk up to you, just a random thought :)

(This goes without saying but you obviously don’t have to write this if you are uncomfortable with the situation. I just love fics where the boys are lovingly (and reasonably) protective of reader. Love your fics btw thank you for being such an awesome writer💖💖)

CW: recent non-con.

“Tell me again how you’ll do it,” you mutter, half asleep with your arms on the ledge of the bathtub, chin resting on your folded hands. Goosebumps have bloomed along your shaking limbs. Johnny reaches out and lays the back of three fingers against your shoulder, feeling the chill of your skin. He reaches out and turns the faucet back on, letting the hot water run and run until you stop shivering. 

“Slow,” says Ghost from where he’s perched on the edge of the vanity. His arms are crossed, fists tucked out of your sight. “That’s what it comes down to. It’ll be slow. He’ll be alive for most of it, alive well past the moment when he wishes he weren’t.” 

You give a sleepy smile. It wavers, suspended for an endless moment on your pretty face, and then it falls, tears filling your eyes. You shift away from the ledge and dip beneath the water, hair floating up toward the surface as you stay under until your lungs burn. They wait. When you come back up, gasping for breath, you can pretend that the water on your face is from the tub. 

Johnny turns the hot water off. He hands you the washcloth again though you have scrubbed yourself raw already; a well worn routine. He goes to add a dollop of your favorite soap—the kind that smells like almonds—but you stop him and ask for the soap that they use. 

“I want to smell like you,” you say, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Johnny reaches for the proper soap and squirts a health dose onto the washcloth. He winces when you shove the washcloth below the water and between your legs. 

“Don’t, love,” he says. “Yer going to hurt yourself.” 

“I’m already hurt,” you snap, the tenor of your voice fragile, friable. You take a deep, trembling breath and let it out. Then you say: “Tell me again.” 

“SlowIy,” Ghost says, patient. He has answered this question in various gory forms for the last two hours. “I want him aware, for as long as possible before I kill him.” 

“We,” says Johnny firmly. 

“We,” Ghost amends, nodding. 

“What’s stopping you?” you ask morosely. 

“Just a dog waiting to be let off the leash,” says Ghost. 

The washcloth between your thighs slows, then stops. You let it float to the surface of the tub and reach out a pruning hand towards Ghost who slips off the vanity and onto his knees on the wet tiles, slipping his hand into yours. He helps you stand, your legs shaking, unused to the cramped position the tub demanded of you. 

Johnny is there with a towel. He presses the water from your hair and wraps you up, gentle against your chafed skin. They help you into bed, pulling back the sheets and tucking you in like you haven’t been since you were a child. The tears come back, and this time you have nothing to blame them on. Nothing. They drip down the sides of your face towards your temples, but Johnny catches every single one.

“Ghost?” 

He turns, head cocked, ear towards you while he waits for your word. 

You say, sleepily: “Go get him.”

[lesservillain]

alpha!steve harrington x omega!reader

cw: omegaverse dynamics, knotting, bonding/marking, breeding kink, unprotected piv, semi public, mutual pining

wc:~5.7k

Music plays at a low hum from the small radio at your desk. The only station that comes in clear has been taken over by Christmas music since Thanksgiving break. Not even Wham!’’s Last Christmas was giving the same sense of relief after hearing it every day for almost a month now. 

Despite the winter wonderland outside, you still seek out the coolness of your water bottle against your skin, the chill helping to ease the flush that’s been making you sweat like it was mid July in Texas. You’d even cracked the window behind your desk in hopes that the fallen snow would help with your elevated body temperature. But you knew that all of your efforts were for nothing. That no matter how cold you made it, there was really only one thing that would actually be able to ease the discomfort that you felt spreading under your skin; the burden of being an omega in this world. 

Ever since you split with your ex this past spring you’ve been having to deal with your heats on your own. It's not impossible for an omega to go through heats without an alpha to ease the pain, but when you go cold turkey after years of having someone there to satisfy the overwhelming biological need to mate, it can take a huge toll on any omega. 

Science has made leaps and bounds over the last 20 years to improve suppressants for both alphas and omegas. They’re not perfect by any means, but they’re better than dealing with the intense urges that you feel when that time of the month comes. 

The current suppressants you're taking are…experimental. Mixed with a birth control that’s supposed to be able to stop even the swimmers of an alpha in rut from reaching an egg of an omega they’ve marked. They were suggested by your doctor as a preventative, since omegas after losing their long alpha tend to subconsciously scent to seek out a replacement. 

And they worked really well the first few months, not having a heat for nearly half a year. But the added stress of moving to a new town on your own and starting a new job where you were constantly playing catch up after inheriting a mess from the school’s previous nurse, your heat came back full swing within the first month of the school year. The dizziness, increased appetite, a dull ache in your lower back, and hot flashes put you out for three days before you could get a suppressant strong enough to make you functional again. 

Now you’re having your winter heat, which, so far, has been much tamer by comparison thanks to the increased dose of your medication. But the combination of your heat with the influx of students seeing you due to peak flu and strep season, your body has been practically screaming at you by the end of each day this week to go home and relax. 

The sudden overzealous opening of your office door takes your attention off your sweltering body. The all too familiar voice of Mr. Harrington calls out “Helloooo, nurse!” as he occupies the space in the doorway. 

Steve Harrington was one of the school’s sophomore history teachers, as well as the football and basketball coach and the leader of the Student Achievement program. All of the staff, and probably some of the students, swoon over him at any given moment, his presence never missed due to the air that surrounds him. Unfortunately you’re not immune to his charms either. In fact, the natural attraction between the two of you was palpable at times, regardless of how much you try to ignore it. 

Steve could feel it, too. And maybe it was the way his alpha brain was wired, but his flirty personality is jacked up to 10 whenever you’re around. It’s not on purpose, at least not in a conscious way. His amazing hair, the way his clothes hugged his toned body, and his almost unnaturally handsome face made him the poster child for the perfect alpha partner. 

Well, perfect except for the fact that he’s the clumsiest man you’ve ever met in your life, leaving your office at least once a week with a Strawberry Shortcake bandaid after giving himself a paper cut or an ice pack on his head when a ball hits him in the face. 

Despite his accident-prone nature, Steve is a highly desired, single alpha in his prime. And with you being the only unclaimed adult omega in the building, it’s put a huge target on your back for your jealous coworkers who think they have a shot with him. To remedy this, you’ve maintained a firm level of professionalism and platonic friendliness at all times with him, despite his flirty personality testing your willpower.

His intoxicating scent invades your senses sending  a wave of warmth to wash over you before you can even give him a quick glance. You pull at the collar of your blouse willing the air to cool down your shirt. “You feeling okay there, nurse? You look a little flushed. Or are you just that happy to see me?”

“Mr.Harrington,” you say flatly, following with teasing sarcasm as you continue looking over your paperwork, “I was starting to worry you weren’t going to see me this week. Thought you’d finally broken your streak of bad luck.” He lets out an airy chuckle that makes the sides of your lips threaten to curl.

“Oh, honey, you know I can’t stay away from you.” He means it. He would fake appendicitis if it gave him a greater chance to be doted on by you. To get closer to you. “I would have been in here sooner if I hadn’t been glued to my desk all week getting grades in before break,” he says, voicing his grievances that were the result of his own negligence. 

“I see,” you hum, continuing with the sarcastic tone. “I guess I won’t have to replenish my box of bandaids just yet.”

“Weelll,” he draws out, “All that sitting time must have built up my bad luck, because, uh, I think this one may need more than just a bandaid.”

When you finally lift your eyes from your desk, they almost bulge out of their sockets at the sight of him. Where you initially thought his arms were just crossed, you see his right hand is actually covering his left bicep, blood staining down the sleeve of his light and navy blue striped dress shirt. The lack of urgency in his tone had you thinking nothing was wrong, but of course Steve Harrington would find the time to flirt with you while he’s bleeding. 

Tossing your water bottle on the desk and jumping up from your seat, you practically fly across the room to assess the damage, pulling his hand away to find a tear in the sleeve and blood spread messily on his skin underneath.

“Oh my goodness, what happened?” You ask with concern, pulling him into the office by the hand and leading him to a cot, shutting the door behind you. 

“Mrs.Harmon asked if I could stay and help set up stuff around the auditorium for the choir performance tonight,” he explained as you pulled at the material of his sleeve, trying and failing and get a better look at the wound, “and I accidentally knocked a shelf off the wall while trying to get the decorations out. I moved fast enough that it didn’t crush me, but it did knick me a little.”

“A little! Mr.Harrington—” you start with a stern tone, preparing your normal lecture to him about being safe. 

“Steve,” he corrects with a smug grin, insisting that you call him by his first name since you’ve met. 

“Mr.Harrington,” you repeat like a warning, trying to remain professional when he’s so close to you. It’s hard when he’s staring at your face with those big hazel eyes as he watches your face scrunch in frustration while you fiddle with his shirt. A shirt that’s straining to stay together around his large bicep, leaving no give for you to get a better look at his wound. 

Losing your will to argue with him, your hands rest to your hips with a sigh. “Can you, just, slip your arm out of the sleeve, please?”

“Of course,” he says with faux seriousness as you can see his all too satisfied smile, rolling your eyes at him.

Turning on your heel, you walk a few feet to grab the things from the supply cabinet to treat his wound. Your back is turned to him as you fill your arms with gauze, tape, cotton balls, and anything else you may need for a cut that large.

 “You know, you’re probably the clumsiest alpha I’ve ever met,” you tease as you turn to face him again, “Sometimes I think you get hurt on purpose just to see m—“

The rest of your remark dies on your tongue as your mouth goes dry. Taking liberties with your request, you watch Mr.Harrington completely remove his shirt, dropping it on the cot behind him and facing you once more. The white under tank he’s wearing leaves little to the imagination as it hugs his broad chest tightly, thinning the material and making it almost see through. His skin still has the last lingering tint of the tan he was sporting on the first day of school, and different sized freckles and moles decorate his body like constellations in the sky. You’ve never seen so much of him all at once, head feeling fuzzy as you drink him in. 

“I think you might be drooling a bit there, Ms. Nurse,” he says pointing to the corner of his own mouth to further his teasing. But you can barely hear him, the words muffled as your ears start to ring and your vision tilts as if you’d been drinking. The boil you’d been dealing with all day felt like a slight shimmer as your fever suddenly spikes, your body on fire as the scent coming from his newly exposed skin has you reeling.

The supplies you’re holding dropped to the floor, freeing your hands to grasp at the counter behind you. Steve rushes to your side, wrapping an arm around you and easing you to the ground. He barely makes it without dropping to his knees himself, the smell of your pheromones hitting him like a brick. 

“H-hey, what do you need,” you hear him ask, but you can hardly register the words as his scent in close proximity only spurs your heat on more. Even with your clothes covering your skin, the touch of his hand on your waist and the one he’s rested on your knee make you crave more of him in a carnal way, the urgent need to close the gap between the two of you has your body shifting until you’re on your knees and crawling towards him. 

His hands hover in the air, slightly trembling as you lean into him. He falls back on his ass as you get closer until you’re practically laying on him, rubbing against him with your face like a cat. “I need you, Steve,” you purr. He takes a sharp breath in through gritted teeth as your hand drifts lower, lower, until your fingers land on the very prominent bulge straining against his deep blue slacks. “Shit,” his head snaps back at the contact, before dropping back down to look at you with hungry eyes.

“What happened to keeping it professional?” He tries to joke, unsure if this is all just a test from the universe to see how he would react to having his nightly fantasies come true. And while Steve may be resilient in many ways, he wasn’t sure if he could hold back with the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes as if he’d hung the moon and the stars. The scent of his musk permeates the room as he gives into your needs, his desires, letting the primal urges he’s been pushing down since the day he met you front in his mind. 

If you were in a different state of mind you probably would have laughed at his comment. But the intense ache that bloomed between your legs as all your senses start to leave your body has you whimpering against his chest. 

Strong arms scoop you up swiftly, tossing you down on the cot and pulling the privacy curtain behind him. In the split second he was away from you, you managed to grab his discarded shirt and pull it to your nose, inhaling his lingering scent. It was like a drug that you couldn’t get enough of, your thighs rubbing together and hips moving against air as your body seeks out any kind of relief for the ache. 

Suddenly, the shirt is torn from your grasp roughly. You cry out, hands reaching out aimlessly before they’re being grasped tightly around the wrists and pinned to the bed. The cot dips as a weight wedges its way between your legs, pressing against your core in a way that has you instantly bucking against it with reckless abandon, your clouded mind only thinking about satisfying the throb in your core. 

“God, look at the mess you’re making on my thigh already,” Steve says with a low growl, watching you use him in a pathetic attempt to relieve yourself. The grit in his voice hits every nerve in your body on its way from your ear drums to your cunt. 

“You smell so fucking sweet,” he groans as he brings your wrist to his nose and inhales, “Like vanilla or honey, o-or something better,” he stammers. He leans over you, hot tongue licking a thick stripe from your collar bone to behind your ear, lightly biting the lobe and pulling, goosebumps rising on your skin. His hair is just as soft as you imagined it would be as it tickles your cheek, a sharp contrast to the way his teeth bite at your neck, his tongue soothing over the skin. 

You press your cheek into him, whining his name right into his ear, practically begging him to put you out of your misery. He releases one of your hands to grab your face, lips pursing together, making you look him in the eyes. His pupils fully blown out and close enough that you can see your own fucked out reflection in them.

“Listen to me,” he says, swallowing, eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips. “I’ve been wanting to do this for five fucking months. Five long months of fucking my fist to the thought of getting you under me just like this, making you a mess and having you beg for me.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring as the last bit of his resolve begins to waver. “So if we do this, you’re mine from now on, got it? No more of this back and forth, pretending you don’t want me as much as I want you bullshit. Once I start…I’m not going to be able to stop. Do you understand?”

There’s no hesitation with how quickly you try to nod your head against his grip. The heat coming off of your cheeks warms the tips of his fingers. “Nuh-uh,” he tuts, giving you a little shake, “Need to hear it. Tell me you want this.” 

“Want you, Steve. Need you. Need your cock, please, please please.”

 He curses under his breath before his lips crash into yours. The kiss is hot and heavy right off the bat as teeth clash and tongues dance together in desperation. Your free hand finds its way into his perfect hair, pulling slightly at the nape, eliciting a moan from him that you catch as it leaves his lips.

Steve pulls away from you with a wild look in his eyes. Both of his strong hands release their hold on you so that he could rip open the front of your blouse, sending buttons flying and hitting the floor with a clatter. His mouth is back on you, nipping and biting the skin while his hands pull your tits free from the cups of your bra. 

Mouth moving at lightning speed, he hungrily takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and tonguing the bud while needing at your other breast with his hand. His eyes are glassy when they look up at you, half lidded and unfocused, drool dribbles down your breast from his mouth. 

Everything next happens so quickly you can barely register it. Steve pulls away from you completely, standing up fully to rip your pants down your legs. Once he throws them to the floor, he’s making quick movements to undo his own pants, his right thigh drenched from the slick that had soaked through while grinding against him. 

His cock is so hard that the pressure against the crotch of his pants has the zipper undoing itself once he frees the button. Wasting no time, he shucks down his slacks and boxers in one go, his large cock and heavy balls now on full display for you, the sight making your eyes widen in surprise—and maybe fear?

Alphas are known to be bigger than even a well endowed beta, and omegas are built to handle the size of an alpha’s better than a beta can, but the size of the Steve’s cock less than a foot from your face has you mesmerized at the sheer size of it. But while your mind may be in shock, your pussy has a mind of its own, slick dripping in anticipation for the stretch you’d be receiving. Even in his large hands it looked massive, bigger than any alpha you’d been with before. 

You sit up in the bed slightly, reaching out to take him in your hand, your fingers barely able to wrap around him as you stroke the angry red tip. He curses under his breath as you let your hand roll over the tip, feeling the veins against the skin of your palm with each stroke.

 A little bead of precum bubbles at the tip and something in your mind snaps. Your mouth is on him in an instant, any sense you may have had left is completely gone out the window when that salty taste hits your tongue. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he cooes, followed by a guttural moan at the sight of you trying to take as much of him in your mouth as you can. “Such a good girl. Trying your best to take me in that pretty little mouth of yours, huh?” His words egg you as you continue to suckle at his tip, lapping up any of his spend that leaks out as you keep pumping at his shaft.

You want to keep going, want to be good for him, but ache between your legs is becoming unbearable the longer you go on. Slick is slipping down your thighs, a puddling forming under you on the sheets as your body involuntarily preps itself to take Steve’s massive cock. You look up at him with teary eyes, lifting your ass in the air as a silent plea for him to take you like the bitch in heat that you are. 

And as much as he’s loving watching you pitifully mouth his cock, seeing you present yourself for him turns off the evolved parts of his brain, leaving him to run on primal instincts only. 

Grabbing you by the throat, he manhandles you onto your back and positions you so your ass on the edge of the cot. Your legs fall to the sides, opening as wide as you can get them, pussy on full display and ready to be taken. 

“Hoooooo, fuck,” Steve shudders, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping cunt, hole clenching around nothing, begging for him to fill it up. He runs his fingers through your folds to collect some of your arousal, barely brushing over your throbbing clit. He brings his fingers to his mouth, shoulders slumping in satisfaction.

“Damnit, of course you taste sweet, too. Can’t wait til I can get you in my mouth,” he says with a slight slur. 

You panic for a moment, unsure if you could wait any longer for him to finally be inside you. As if he can read you like a book, he lets out a soft chuckle, taking his cock in his hand and pumping it slowly. “Don’t you worry, baby girl, I’m not gonna keep you waiting any more. Next time, though…”

The sticky tip of his cock taps your clit, sending shock waves throughout your body with every touch. It’s too much and not enough all at once. His name falls from your lips, and he shushes you in return, lining himself up with your entrance.

The breach of his tip stretching you wide is like a shot of morphine in an IV drip, your body becoming numb and a live wire at the same time, replacing the pain with a fuzzy haze all over. 

Steve watches the way your face contorts with pleasure as hips rock back and forth slowly. His teeth bite down on his bottom lip, trying his hardest to hold back so you can get used to his size, but the vice grip you have on his cock has him quickly losing his resolve. Body falling over you, he brackets your head between his forearms as he finally folds. His breath fanning over your face has your eyes fluttering open. Met with the most divine visual of Steve’s pinched brow, scrunched up nose, and slack jaw fill your vision entirely. Your breath is punched from your lungs as he makes that final thrust, bottoming out inside of you with a shuddered whimper. 

“Oh, my god,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, rubbing his face against your skin, marking you with his scent. He begins to move, setting a pace that makes every thrust feel like heaven, the tightness of your walls amplifying every ridge and bump of his cock as it drags back and forth. “Fuck, Steve, you’re so big,” you whine, “Never felt so full be-fore!” The last syllable comes out as a gasp as he thrusts into you hard, spurred on by your words. 

His arms wrap around you tightly, laying all of his upper body weight against you to pin you in place so he can fuck into mercilessly. The feeling is mind melting, nonsense words mixed with repeating his name over and over fall from your mouth with each punch of his cock against your cervix. Each thrust hits that spot inside of you dead on, throttling you towards the edge quicker than your mind can handle in your current fucked out state. 

“Fuuuuck,” Steve’s voice is strained next to your ear, thrusts slowing as you “Don’t squeeze so tight, baby, I don’t wanna cum yet.” 

His words have the opposite effect on you as your whole body trembles beneath him, cumming so hard his cock your vision goes white. Your chest presses into his as your back arches off the mattress, the skin to skin friction against your hardened nipples stimulating you more as he fucks you through your high.

He lifts his head to watch you come undone with a wide eyed, feral look. He’s panting, too, with a string of saliva from his tongue to the skin of your shoulder where he had latched on, the skin red and already speckling with broken blood vessels. 

 “You’re so pretty when you cum on my cock like that,” he says with heavy breaths, “Wanna see you do it again, and again, and again,” he babbles, leaning in to trail kisses along your jaw, continuing to thrust into you harder and harder, in his own world now. You can only cling to him as he ruts into you, nails scratching down his back. “Gonna fuck you over and over and over until it takes. Big, round belly on full display for everyone to see. You gonna tell everyone Mr.Harrington got you pregnant when you can’t hide it anymore? What will all the other teachers think?” 

“Fuck, Steve, please.” 

“What is it, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“Want it, Steve. Want your knot.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Suddenly, he pulls away and out of you completely. It’s such a shock to the system you can help but cry out at the loss of him. But the vacancy doesn’t last long, his strong arms lifting and flipping you with ease until you’re face down into the mattress, ass being propped up on shaky legs so he can bottom out in you once more. 

This new angle changed everything. A wanton moan feels like it was being pushed out of you as it felt like his cock was in your lungs. One hand grabs a hold of your hip while the other pushes down on the back of your neck, effectively pinning you down so he can pick back up his brutal pace. There was no rhythm to his thrusts, driven purely on animalistic instincts as he chases his own pleasure, using you as a means to get him there.

“You want my knot, huh?” The question is rhetorical, said in the heat of the moment as he feels his peak nearing. “Want me to give you my knot and really knock you up? I’ll ruin you for any other alphas that think they have a chance. Cause you’re mine now, aren’t you, sweet girl? No other alpha’s gonnna fuck you like I can, right?” 

“No-no, Steve! Don’t want anyone else! Only want your knot! Please, please!” Your eyes lull as he fucks you stupid, mouth parted open as you drool onto the sheets. 

His weight shifts, trailing kisses down your back until he gets to that spot on the back of your neck. A chill runs down your spine as his teeth scrape against the skin over your scent gland. “Well, if that’s the case…Guess you wouldn’t mind if I held you to that, right?” 

The primal part of your brain is screaming for him to do it; mark you and make you his, permanently. The logical side fights for dominance, reminding you that you never wanted to be owned by an alpha, which is why you and your ex broke up in the first place. But the way he was making you feel right now had you second guessing all your morals. He hums over you, lips lingering against your skin as he speaks. 

Before you could answer, his hips were stilling inside you, the base of his cock swelling as he pumped you full with his spend. It would have been painful if it didn’t trigger the release of oxytocin in your body, making you cum with him. Your legs start to give out, but his hold on you tightens as his spend continues to spill into you., the  His body shakes above you, chest heaving as tries to catch his breath.

The two of you take a moment to come down from your highs. The air around you feels electric as the two of you become one, his knot settling within your walls snuggly, the steady stream of Steve’s cum filling you to the brim until you couldn’t possibly take anymore. He rests his head over your scent gland, rubbing his face against it out of comfort while you still emit that sweet, sweet smell. 

Everything feels right in the moment, until it’s interrupted by a knock and an intruding aroma. To you, it smells like smokey wood and cinnamon, but to Steve, it’s a threat. The smell of another alpha trying to get near his omega and claim her over him. You can feel his body tense up, breathing picking up in a panic, lips pressing against the skin as his mind races.

“Steve?” You say his name meekly. There’s a short pause between you, a split second before you feel it, his teeth clamping down on your skin. It’s like every nerve in your body lights up all at once. The sensation is powerful it makes you cum again, clamping down on Steve’s still hard cock buried inside of you. The moan he lets out against you is pornographic, teeth still clinging to your skin tightly as his saliva mixes with your body’s natural scent.

“Hey, everything okay in there?” The muffled voice calls from the other side of the door.

“Get the fuck out of here, Eddie!” Steve yells out to the janitor, another alpha that you’d seen in passing, pinching your skin as he does his best to keep his teeth on you. It’s quiet for a moment, and you think that Eddie left until you hear a loud, booming laugh, and a faint “About damn time!” as the new smell starts to dissipate. 

Steven feels your body jolt slightly beneath him and refocuses his attention on you. You do it again with an audible snort. At first he thinks you might be crying, guilt creeping in as he’s realized what he’s done to you. But as you get louder, it’s clear that you are actually laughing. 

“Was tho funneh?” He asks, drooling down onto your back.

“I don’t know,” you say through fits of giggles. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Thounds like et,” he says, laughing along with you.

“Sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting any of this.” Your body shifts under him, growing uncomfortable in the position you were in. Steve senses this, releasing your skin and licking your wounds so that, with careful maneuvering, he’s able to get both of you comfortably on your sides. He wraps his arms and legs around you, holding you close to his strong chest, eyeing his handiwork of his mark as you rest your head on his arm.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for,” he says softly, kissing the back of your head. “If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I took things too far…But if I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t regret it.”

It could be the residual high from your heat, or the change in your brain chemistry from his mark, or just the fact that you’ve been pushing down how much you really wanted this with him from the moment your hands touched when you both went for the same bagel at the first staff meeting over the summer, but you couldn’t deny that you didn’t regret it either. 

For so long you’ve been in denial, trying to ignore that he was the reason your suppressants stopped working because you wanted him so badly that your body was rejecting them when he was around. Denying how happy you get when he brings you coffee in the morning, or how much you look forward to when he sits with you during his lunch period to talk about whatever shenanigans his multitude of friends get into, or how the whole reason you started this heat was because he let you sit in the passenger seat of his BMW while he jumped your car after work on Tuesday, the inside smelling so overwhelmingly like him that you had to jump out and rush straight to your car before you ended up jumping him in the middle of the parking lot. 

“Steve?” You request his attention just above a whisper, breaking the silence between you. He hums quizzically, resting his cheek against yours. “Did you really need to grade papers this week, or have you been avoiding me this week because you knew I was going through a heat?”

His cheek vibrates against yours as he chuckles from his throat. “You’re so smart, you know that, right?” He kisses your cheek before settling back with his head on the pillow, forehead resting against the back of your head. 

As the two of you lay there you ask him a million questions, picking his brain to its fullest extent with this new closeness the two of you share. Really, you just like the sound of his voice, but he does say a few things here and there that make you belly laugh.

“Don’t do that,” he laughs along with you, “We’re never going to come undone if you keep squeezing me like that!”

“I can’t help it,” you wipe a tear from your eye, trying your hardest to suppress your giggles. 

Thirty minutes pass and Steve’s knot finally goes down enough that he can pull out of you. It feels like a part of you is missing now that he’s no longer occupying you after so long. Hot, sticky cum pours from you like a storm drain onto the sheet below. With a sigh, you make a mental note to add new sheets on your list of things to replace, right under a new box of bandaids.

Oh, shit. Steve’s arm.

As he starts to gather the discarded clothes on the floor, you see that that blood has dried up and mostly rubbed off after everything. After the two of you redress, you wearing Steve’s button up after he made your blouse no longer wearable, not that you were complaining as the need to nest was starting to kick in, you cared for his wound. Just a cut left behind that would be okay with a little disinfecting and a few steristrips. 

“You forgot the most important part,” he says with a shake of his head as you place the last strip on his arm. You tilt your head at him in confusion, a smile forming on his face as he looks at you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Aren’t you gonna kiss it better?”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twelve

authors note: ya'll remember the theme song from wizards of waverly place? 'everything is not what it seems'? yeah....remember that.

also, don't cuss me out for the ending, pleassseeee.

shoutout to the lovely @fearlesschimera for helping me with the italian translations! ❤️

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: violence against women, scene of dv, slight fighting? language, angst, fluff, sexy time scene aka mild smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k (unhinged)

So, I remember when we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk

City lights laid out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder

And I, I had a feeling that I belonged

I, I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone

Nina’s singing and subsequent light laughter is what tears away Solana’s focus from her artwork. Turning away from the paper on the dining room table, she angles her body in the chair, swinging her legs around as she watches her mom dance around the kitchen.

Nina’s voice is soft and melodic, a nice compliment to the singer whose name Solana can never remember despite this being one of her mom’s, if not thee, favorite song.

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs off the chair and runs up to hug her mom from the side.

Nina’s smile grows even more as she looks down at her only daughter. “Mija.”

Solana looks up, big eyes reflecting the same amount of love and adoration. She responds in her mom’s native language. A ‘secret’ little thing they do in times like this where her dad and brother are gone. Communicating in only a way they can understand. 

“I wanna dance with you, mommy!”

Nina’s laughter is similar to her singing and speaking voice. And it’s infectious too, Solana joining in as Nina playfully spins her around. “Then dance with me, mija.”

Solana doesn’t need to be told twice. And maybe it’s less dancing and more moving around in a way that represents the happiness both mother and daughter feel in this moment. A brief little thing, something that happens in small to medium doses infrequently. 

But when it does roll around, the both of them capture and hold onto it with all that they have. 

When the song finishes, Nina turns down the music system as she redirects Solana to her art. “Can I see what you made?”

It’s a question she already knows the answer to. Solana nodding furiously as she takes her hand and guides her over to the table. Pointing, Solana explains, “look, mommy, it’s you and me!”

Nina gasps quietly. Even at seven, her daughter seems to have a gift with the arts. Reading, writing, and drawing. It hurts her sometimes that she can’t feed it more. That she’s limited to so little resources when it comes to helping Solana better her craft. 

Nina lifts up Solana and sits down in the chair, her daughter on her lap. “It’s beautiful, mija. You’re so talented.”

The complement brightens Solana’s smile. “Just like you, mommy!” Solana lifts up the page, offering additional explanation. “See, that’s you and me at the Play—playa—”

Nina helps her out, “Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres?” 

Solana nods. “That!” 

A brief sweep of sadness overcomes her with memories of home. Memories of simpler, happier times. Her children still bring her a sense of fulfillment, but it’s often weighed down by the trauma of everything else. “Oh, I wish you could see the water, Sol. It’s so beautiful, so clear. It’s like heaven on earth.”

Solana looks up at her with all of her naivety and innocence. “We can go there one day, mommy, right? Just you and me?”

Her throat constricts at Solana’s question. Nina doesn’t have it in her to expose her young child to the ugly truth. “Of course, baby.” She brushes some of Solana’s hair back. “What about your brother?”

It’s not missed upon her how the mention of Wesley makes Solana’s smile dim. “He doesn’t like us….”

“Oh, baby…” Nina brings her hands to gently cradle Solana’s face. “He does. It’s just your father….your father tells him things about us that’s not true, but he does like us. He loves us just like I love you and him. I love you both so much.”

There’s not enough time in the world or ways that she can say it to truly exemplify just how much she means it. Even with Xavier doing everything he can to keep her away from her son, it doesn’t extinguish her love for him. 

If anything, it just makes it stronger. 

The sound of the garage doors lifting brings Nina back to her crushing reality, from her brief escapism. “He’s home.” Wide eyes dart to the kitchen as she realizes dinner is still about twenty minutes out from being ready. “Come, mija!” Nina jumps from the table and is quick to gather all of Solana’s artwork. She knows how this will play out, and she refuses to allow him to destroy Solana’s work the same way he often does her own. Reaching it to her, Nina hurriedly advises, “go to your bathroom, lock the door, and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?” Trembling hands reach Solana the CD player and headphones. “Don’t take these off, you hear me?”

Solana’s smile is completely gone, her eyes watering, “he’s gonna hurt you, isn’t he?”

Nina swallows back her sob. “‘Don’t worry about me, Solana. Just do as I say, okay?” The sound of the door to the garage being ripped open alerts her to just how pressed for time they are. With all of the urgency, she pleads, “go!”

And despite everything in her wanting her to stay, to help, to do whatever she can, Solana does as she’s told.

Rushing up the stairs, Solana doesn’t stop until she’s in the bathroom. She locks the door and falls on the floor, back up against it, eyes watering even more.

She moves as fast as she can to put her headphones on, but it’s not fast enough. She can’t make out specific words, but it’s not needed to know and hear her father’s angry yelling followed by the pained wails of her mom. Glass breaking, items being thrown, Xavier’s screams of unbridled fury.

That’s when the dam breaks, tears spilling out of her eyes as she hits play to sound out the noise that never really goes away, never really stops haunting her, from making her chest feel so full and heavy.

This….this is the soundtrack to her life. 

Solana isn’t unsure how long she sits there, working so hard to drown out the cries and screams of her best friend. Long enough to where she falls asleep only to be woken up by the same woman whose shouts of terror unintentionally and tragically lulled her to sleep.

The first thing Solana notices is the blood, followed by the puffy, blackened area under her right eye. Still, her mom is only focused on her, hand under her chin as she asks, “are you okay, mija?”

The tears return as Solana is face to face with the result of her father whose anger knows no bounds. “Mommy….”

“Don’t cry, baby.” Nina pulls Solana against her chest, braving the pain coursing through her body, particularly her ribs. “I’m—I’m okay.”

She hates lying to her daughter, feels almost sick with herself for gaslighting her. Solana is wise and perceptive. She knows that her mother is far from fine.

“What if—what if one day he hurts you real bad?”

Nina wasn’t expecting this question, wasn’t expecting her young daughter to ask something she herself has thought about from time to time. 

What happens when Xavier finally takes his beatings too far?

Shoving away those dark thoughts, Nina shows Solana her inner forearm. “What is this, Sol?”

Solana wipes at her eyes and focuses on the beautifully, dark inked hummingbird tattoo on her mom’s skin. “A Hummingbird.”

“That’s right.” Nina wipes at her tears. “And what did I tell you about Hummingbirds? Hmm? What do they mean to our people?”

Solana sniffles and explains in a quiet voice. “They’re messengers from the spirits in heaven.”

“Exactly, so that means even when people leave us in one form, they’re still here in another. Still here even if they look a little different.” Nina’s voice cracks a bit as she promises, “I’m always with you, Solana. No matter what.”

Emotion building back up, Solana thrusts herself against Nina and cries into her chest. “Why can’t we leave, mommy?” She looks up, full of confusion and fear. “Then he can’t hurt you anymore.” Nina swallows. “We can run away where he won’t find us!”

Nina has a hard time holding back her tears. A dream. That would be a dream. If she could somehow escape this hell, take her children from this nightmare. But, it's just that, a dream. Because this is the life they live. This is her reality. 

And there’s nothing that can change that.

Not without her putting her children’s lives at risk, because Xaver has made it abundantly clear in a variety of violent ways what will happen should she ever be “stupid” enough to think she could leave.

“Listen to me, Solana.” She wipes away the tears of her sweet child. “This…what your father does to me….it’s not love, and it’s not okay. I don’t want you to ever let a man treat you that way.” It feels almost bitter leaving her mouth, the amount of hypocrisy she feels at saying such a thing. If only she could practice what she preaches. “You are so special, and your heart is so big.” She places her hand over Solana’s chest. “This is your biggest gift, and you must always be careful who you share it with. Because yours is extra special.” She presses her lips against Solana’s forehead. “No matter what, never forget that life is a gift. You are a gift, Solana.” Her eyes shut, absorbing all the love and comfort. “My sol.”

________

Memories of much darker, sadder times have unintentionally become a motivating factor for Solana during training. She finds a sort of strength and fuel at reflecting on times from the past where she was bogged down with such fear. 

Now though, it’s not as much fear as something else that’s unfamiliar but not unwarranted.

Anger. 

It’s what helps and almost keeps her on her feet and in the game as she spars with Bayley, knife in the back of her shorts. It’s the first time she’s done as such, practiced training, practiced fighting, with that little thing that’s caused her so much pain throughout her life.

But now, she’s the one with the blade, with the ability to use it against someone else vs it being used against her. 

It’s a different feeling, still uncomfortable, but also empowering in a strange sort of way.

Naomi is on the side, calling out various tips and reminders as Solana is able to successfully avoid certain hits and attacks from Bayley. She knows her friend is still holding back a bit, but not nearly as much as she did in the beginning.

Solana slightly appreciates that.

She feels….she feels good almost knowing that the progress she’s made isn’t because it’s been given to her. It’s been earned.

And unbeknownst to her, there’s an audience observing the sparring, an audience that consists of none other than the twins, Nia, and her husband who watch from the balcony above.

Roman had a meeting with Nia earlier in the day, hence his presence at the Warehouse, but staying after to silently observe Solana while she trains wasn’t necessarily on the agenda. It just happened.

Much to the chagrin of Wise Man who once again tries to remind Roman of what he already knows. He clears his throat, nerves big and evident, “sir, I hate to interrupt, but we do have to meet with—-”

“I’m aware.”

Paul swallows, closing his eyes as he sends up a prayer, asking for mercy. “Of course, sir, but—but, if we don’t leave now—”

“The meeting will start whenever I arrive, and I’ll get there when I get there.” Roman’s dark, irritated gaze falls on his chief advisor. “Is that understood?”

Paul straightens, more than familiar with that look. The look that can be followed up with an act of violence. “Y—yes, my Tribal Chief.” 

With that shit straightened out, Roman easily falls back into the almost trance he’s in watching her. 

Updates with her progress from Naomi and Bayley have been one thing, but it’s another to actually see her in action. 

See the precision and speed in which she moves. She seems almost….in her element.

A far cry from the terrified mess she was when he first met her.

She’s coming into her own, and he loves to see that shit. 

But, it’s when Bayley lands a particularly harsh blow against Solana, one that has her holding onto her face that Roman steps forward. A fresh wave of anger comes over him at the fact that Bayley could be so stupid to hit her so hard. She should fucking know better. 

Who the fuck does she think she is to hit Solana?

He’s stopped, however, when Nia extends her arm across his big body, preventing him from checking on his wife. 

He turns toward her, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead. “Move.”

She rolls her eyes, unbothered, motioning for him to continue watching. “Wait.”

Roman has no fucking intentions on waiting. Not when Solana could be hurt. He’s going to tear Bayley a new one for that. Why the fuck would she hit her so hard?

But, it’s as he’s watching and sees Bayley move toward Solana to check on her, that he realizes why Nia may have stopped him from acting too prematurely.

Because Solana is suddenly no longer doubled over. She’s bringing her knee up to Bayley, forcing the other woman to double over from some level of pain. But Solana doesn’t stop. She instead uses her leg to swipe Bayley off her feet, sending her into the ground.

Solana pounces on top of her, forcing her on her stomach. Straddling her, a fist full of her hair as she yanks her head back and brings the knife up to her neck.

Roman smiles.

Around him, the twins start to make a whole scene.

“Oh shit, okay Soso! I see you girl!”

“Alright, sis! That’s how you do it!”

Roman watches as she drops the knife almost immediately but not before she smiles, emotional almost, while being cheered on by Naomi who runs over and hugs her from the side. Solana laughs as she stands up, Bayley also jumping up, joining in the celebration.

“You know, it’s not very often that I'm wrong, but I gotta admit.” Roman turns to Nia who also looks a level of impressed. “I was wrong about Princess.” Nia chuckles. “Girl’s got some fight in her after all.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, but that’s not out of disagreement.

Solana might be one of the strongest people he’s ever met.

And it has nothing to do with what he just witnessed.

Nia continues, announcing, “I think she’s ready to advance to the next level.”

Roman has his own definition of what that is, but he’s slightly curious about Nia’s take. “Which is?”

“She needs to start training with a man.”

He nods. They’re on the same page then. “I’ll talk with her about taking over—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Nia has always been outspoken, but there are some days he has to remind himself that she’s family. Because her smart ass mouth on anyone else would have them six feet under.

“She’s comfortable with you. It needs to be with someone she doesn’t know.”

And this time, Roman is the one shooting it down. “No.” To make Solana train and fight with a man, a stranger at that, seems like it would be triggering for her. In no way, shape, or form will he let that shit happen.

Nia, however, seems intent on just that. “Look, four months ago, I would agree with you, but look at what that girl just did. She grounded Bayley, Roman.” He looks away, running his hand over his face. “She’s come a long way, and to stop her now would only be a disservice. You’d be hindering her.” When he says nothing, mostly because he knows she has a point and he hates that, she continues. “And I’d say have Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum do it, but she seems to be comfortable with them too. For some reason.”

Jey finishes chewing his snack, most likely a creation by Solana, asking with all the obliviousness, “hey, what’d you say?”

Roman ignores him while Nia rolls her eyes. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Roman, but you’re not stupid.” He looks at her. “You know I’m right.” 

He turns away,  watching as Bayely and Naomi talk to Solana, clearly providing her additional instruction. He’s focused on Solana. She looks so….relaxed. So in her element. It’s such a far cry from the first time he met her.

She’s almost like an entirely different person. This causes him to sigh loudly. 

Nia is correct. He’d be hindering the growth that’s got her to where she is today.

And that’s something he could never forgive himself for.

“I’ll talk to her.”

________

Bayley: If ya’ll could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Solana is taking a brief break to check her phone, mainly for any texts from Roman, when Bayley sends her message in the group chat that the three of them share.

Naomi: Ooooh, Bora Bora! Heard it’s beautiful!

Bayley: Nice! I’d say the Maldives. 

Bayley: Solana?

It’s a good question that she doesn’t really have the answer for. 

Solana: Idk. I’ve…I’ve never been out of the country, so it’s hard to say.

Naomi: Seriously? Never traveled at all?

Solana: No. 

Bayley: So then there definitely has to be someplace! 

It takes a minute for her to really think about how to respond, because her initial instinct is to double down on her first answer. But, it’s when her memory from earlier in the day returns to the forefront of her mind that she finds herself being more open than she anticipated. 

Solana: Playa Norte, Isla Mujeres. It’s in Mexico. My mom always said the water was so beautiful. 

And that they would visit someday.

That never happened though.

It never happened because she was murdered before she could make the dream come true. 

An uncomfortable blanket of sadness comes over her, forcing Solana to put her phone down and resume her work, an effective distraction. 

She grabs a set of books that need to be restocked and makes her way over to the appropriate aise when she overhears low sniffles.

Frowning, she places the books down on the cart and follows the sound of the sniffles that sound a lot like someone crying. It's when she moves to the next aisle that she finds the source.

A little girl. No more than 6 or 7. She’s sat up against a row of books, little legs pulled up to her chest as she cries into her knees.

Solana’s frown deepens as she slowly approaches the child, leaving enough distance to not startle her. Solana knows better than most the detriment of being taken off guard when already upset.

“Hi there.” Her head snaps up, and right away Solana is met with striking blue eyes that are blurred with tears and an emotion Solana knows all too well.

Fear.

“It’s okay,” she comforts, intentional about keeping her distance and voice soft. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The little girl who, in a strange way, reminds her a lot of herself with her light complexion and russ brown hair that’s a combination of curl patterns, stammers with a response. “My—my mommy and daddy said I can’t talk to strangers.”

Solana smiles warmly. “Your mommy and daddy are very smart.” Staying where she is, Solana slides down onto the floor. She brings her legs to her side and offers her name. “My name is Solana. I work here in the library.” Wanting to earn some level of trust, Solana informs, “I really like to read.”

Her eyes light up a bit. “You do?”

She nods, keeping her smile. “My mom used to read with me all the time. Does your mommy ever read with you?”

The little girl nods and wipes at her eyes. “Yes. Daddy does too sometimes, but he works a lot.”

Solana’s smile dims a bit. She can both relate and not relate. Her father was never really home, and she preferred it that way. But when he was….it was hell. 

Using the opening, Solana asks softly, “where is your mommy?”

She hesitates, and her bottom lip trembles a bit, but she ends up explaining her presence. “I was walking outside with mommy, and I saw a butterfly, and—and I wanted to catch it, but then I got lost.” She starts to cry as Solana puts the pieces together, realizing she ran off, got lost, and maybe ventured into the library to ask for help. Or to cry in a safe space.

Solana gets that too.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll help you find your mommy, okay?” 

The offer seems to settle her emotions a bit. Solana watches as she wipes her eyes and almost asks in a hopeful tone. “R–really?”

Solana smiles again and nods. “Of course.” She stands up, not moving from her spot but offering her hand. “You want to come with me?”

The little girl nods and stands up, slowly walking up to Solana and taking her hand. She looks up, sharing in a slightly more confident tone, “my name is Emma.”

“That’s a very pretty name.” Solana gently squeezes her hand. “Now let’s go find your mommy.” 

Solana notes how Emma squeezes her hand back. It warms her heart.

She guides Emma toward the steps, careful to not walk too fast, mindful of the fact that Emma is still, wisely, very cautious of the fact that Solana is still a stranger.

Solo meets Solana at the bottom of the steps, his unkind gaze falling on Emma who hides herself behind Solana.

Looking down, she advises her, “it’s okay, sweetie.”

Solo rolls his eyes, gesturing with his chin. “Who is this?”

Solana looks back at him, answering while intentionally not providing a name. Emma provided Solana her name, not Solo. “She got separated from her mother. I’m gonna help her find her.”

He scoffs. “Ain’t that what the police is for?” 

Frowning, Solana finds herself defending her actions. “She’s already scared.”

He cuts his eyes, voice sharp as she reminds her of his role. “My job is to protect and watch you. Not some random badass kid—”

“D–don’t call her that.” Anger. Solana finds herself growing angry with Solo’s disposition. A rare emotion for her. But, she can’t stop thinking about the scared little girl clinging onto her leg, finding some form of comfort in her. She can’t stop thinking about how she used to be that little girl. How she used to cling onto her mother for comfort. 

Until she couldn’t.

“I’ll help her by myself. I—” Solana swallows. “I don’t need your help.” 

The library is in neutral territory. She should be fine to walk up and down the street to help an innocent child without the protection of someone Solana is realizing really doesn’t want to be there in the first place.

Gently encouraging Emma to follow her, Solana leads the little girl out the double doors of the library and onto the busy sidewalk.

Solo never comes after her.

And in a weird, sort of unfamiliar twist that she doesn’t really understand, Solana prefers it that way.

She prefers Solo not toggling along, his negative energy not interfering and exacerbating Emma’s fear.

Leaning down, Solana asks, still with that gentle smile, “do you remember which way you came from?”

Emma frowns again, shaking her head. “N–no.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just look left and right.” Straightening up, Solana decides to go to the left first, knowing that there’s a kids boutique a few doors down. It seems like a good place to start. And it’s while walking, Emma suddenly asks a question that literally makes Solana feel like she’s gotten the wind knocked out of her.

“Are you a mommy?”

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue why it takes a second for her to answer such a basic question. The question, in terms of complexity, is simple and can be answered with a single word. But everything else with it is…..not easy. Because she has no idea why her tone suddenly shifts to something sad as she finally replies.

“No.” And before she can think about what’s leaving her mouth, before she can even process what she’s saying, Solana adds, “not yet.”

It takes a lot for Solana to not backtrack, to try to offer some explanation that probably wouldn’t make any sense to such a young child why she was taking her answer back. But beyond that, there’s a part of Solana that doesn’t want to take it back.

She doesn’t want to take it back because….because maybe it’s the truth. 

Emma looks up with a small smile, revealing a missing front tooth. “You’re gonna be a nice mommy.”

Her chest constricts, and Solana feels her eyes watering from an emotion she can’t pinpoint.

Emotional smile and all, she manages to keep the tears at bay. “Thank—”

“Emma!”

Solana and Emma snap their heads and attention to the source of the voice, as Emma drops Solana’s hand.

“Mommy!” 

Solana jogs behind Emma who makes a mad dash in the direction of the woman who called her name. Solana stops when a large man moves in between her and Emma and the woman.

Emma’s little voice calls out at the same time Solana backs away, a bit of anxiety growing in her stomach as she thinks about the knife in the back pocket of her jeans. “No, she’s my friend!” 

“Bron, back off.” The woman speaks, and almost instantly, the large man with cold eyes that remind her of Solo moves away. The view and path is cleared again as Solana sees Emma being held by a woman who could never deny the child in her arms belongs to her. Emma is her twin outside of the blue eyes Solana would guess she got from her father.

“Mommy, this is Solana.” Emma introduces, pointing and waving. “She helped me find you!”

The woman, a few inches taller than Solana, with hazel eyes and almost perfect facial features, smiles. Again, Solana sees nothing but Emma. “Thank you so much—”

The large man who Solana hasn’t forgotten about and vice versa chimes in. “Brandi—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Bron.” She cradles Emma closer to her chest, as Solanaa clears her throat.

“Of course.” She points behind her. “I—umm—I work at the library. I—I do a kids reading club on Mondays, if—if Emma would like to join.”

Emma’s eyes light up at that as she’s pulling on her mom’s sleeve. “Mommy, can I go?”

The woman, Brandi, as Solana heard the large, unkind man refer to her frowns a bit. “After today, I’ll be lucky if your dad lets you or me leave just to check the mail, let alone go into town again.” Still, she turns to Solana, “but thank you for the information. She loves books, so I’d know she’d love to attend.”

And it’s then that Emma throws out with all the innocence of a child. “Solana’s gonna be a mommy too! Just like you!” 

Her breath catches. Solana once again has to fight back the tears that don’t make sense as well as the sadness that doesn’t make even more sense. “Some…someday.”

Brandi offers a smile that’s reassuring. Like she understands what doesn’t need to be directly stated. “Well, I wish you all the luck.” She tickles Emma’s stomach and jokes, “they’re a handful.”

And for a second, just the briefest of a second, solana visualizes just that. Visualizes herself holding a child, a child that would have her smile. Roman’s eyes. His strong will. Her innocence.

A perfect representation of them both.

But, it’s quickly pushed away, stomped on by logic.

That…..that’s not even something she should allow herself to consider right now when they haven’t even consummated their marriage.

Even if that very visual is exactly why the marriage was arranged in the first place. 

She clears her throat. Despite being outside, Solana all of a sudden feels almost closed in. “I—I should get back to work.” 

Brandi nods. “Of course.” She doesn’t even have to direct Emma to say goodbye, as the little girl with a sweet smile full of innocence is already on it.

“Bye, Solana!” She then adds on with all of the hope. “I hope I see you again!”

Solana hopes the same too.

After parting, Solana noticing the almost menacing glare that ‘Bron’ man sends her way, she walks back to the library in complete silence, feeling so conflicted and torn by emotions that usually don’t work in her favor in general.

But, it’s when she’s about to head up the steps, Solo appears again wearing an almost smug expression, that she stops in her tracks at his comment. “You done playing mother Teresa?”

She doesn’t know where it comes from. Doesn’t know how she’s even able to allow it to leave the safety of her mouth, the confines of her thoughts vs being expressed. But, that’s exactly what happens. 

Solana turns to him and doesn’t stutter as she asserts, “you don’t get to talk to me like that.” Swallowing and with an uncharacteristically amount of confidence, she warns almost, “Roman wouldn’t let you talk to me like that.”

And it seems like that not so little reminder of who her husband is triggers something for him. Solo clears his throat, muttering almost, “my apologies.” He asks, a perfect combination of forced concern and obligation, “whose kid?”

She starts not to answer, but being a form of assertive and dismissive feels like too much in one day. “I don’t know. Some man with her called her Brandi?”

At that, his attention seems almost intensified. He’s quiet for a moment. “Brandi?”

Confused at his subtle but noticeable change in demeanor, Solana nods. “Yeah. I think she called the man Bron?” 

Solo looks away, like there’s something about these two pieces of information that are important. So she asks, “why?”

Solo’s gaze is back on her, and like a snap of a finger, the intensity in his expression melts into something cavalier. “Nothing.”

Solana is quiet. And suspicious. Something in the pit of her stomach tells her there’s something he’s not telling her, something he’s keeping to himself. 

But she doesn’t push it.

She’s got other things on her mind.

Other things she shouldn’t have on her mind. 

But, she does. She really, really does.

________

Later that evening, the strange, conflicting emotions from her encounter with Emma and her mother, Brandi, are still plaguing Solana. She’s grateful that Roman has to take his dinner in his office due to work, because it at least gives her space to process such big emotions without him picking up on anything being wrong.

He seems to be very good at that. 

In preparation for winding down for the evening, she’s at the sink, washing the dishes when Roman comes up behind her. It’s only a brief second of tension that’s easily settled by his arms around her, his mouth on her neck. 

She smiles, noticing the increasing amount of comfort and want she’s experiencing at him touching her.

It’s getting to the point where she almost craves his touch.

It’s…comforting. 

Roman makes a sound, lips moving up to kiss her cheek. “Meet me at the pool in an hour.”

She frowns, turning toward him. “What?”

He brings hand to her mouth, thumb gliding over her bottom lip. “You said you wanted to get in, right?”

“I—” And she can’t protest, can’t find a way to politely disagree. Because she did say that. And he’s clearly holding her to it. “Yes.”

His hand slides down to cup her ass, Solana gasping quietly as he smirks. “Then let’s do it.” Her eyes shut, and she bites down on her bottom lip as he whispers in her ear, “I want to see that bathing suit of yours.”

Another gasp as he squeezes her ass. “Roman.” 

He says nothing else, walking away. Solana takes a second to reflect on the interaction, sits on the fact that he was able to touch her and she didn’t tense up. Didn’t freeze up. She almost…she almost liked it.

But what she doesn’t like is the fact that she now has to apparently meet this man in the pool wearing that bathing suit that nobody but her made him aware of. He would have never known she even owned it she hadn’t opened her mouth in a poor way to distract him.

And now he wants to see her in it.

And now the anxiety is growing again. 

Because while she’s grown more comfortable with his touching her, she’s been almost entirely clothed during those times. Even with the more revealing outfits. This one will definitely take the cake. She’s not sure her lingerie from their wedding night was as showy as this bikini.

She takes her time finishing up the dishes and is at least grateful to see he’s nowhere near their room or bathroom as she sneaks in and locks the door to put it on. 

Solana must mess around with the suit at least ten different times. Pulling. Tugging. Tightening. It doesn’t make a difference because the swell of her chest and backside prove too much. There’s not much to be hidden, to be camouflaged, to be covered up. And that’s always been her preference. Never in her life has she owned or even worn a two piece suit. And yet, here she is about to step out in one that leaves little to the imagination in front of one of the most attractive men she’s ever laid eyes on.

A man that gives her butterflies with just one look of his dark, beautiful eyes. 

She tries telling herself that it’s just Roman. That she shouldn’t overthink it so much. That he’s made his attraction to her clear, time and time again. But, it’s hard to factor those things in when he’s never seen this much of her, so much skin, so much scarred skin. Skin with stretch marks and cellulite. Scars from the stabbing. The pudge of her belly.

It’s all so…revealing. Physically and emotionally.

It’s almost to the point where she has more anxiety about him seeing this much of her body than actually getting in the water, which was and should be the main source of her abundance of nerves.

But, it’s not. It’s not because even with all of her progress, it’s so hard to not compare herself to other women he’s been with. Women like Samantha who look nothing like her, who must look better than her.

That brings on a deeper level of insecurity. 

Will he compare her body to Samantha’s? How can he not? 

They’re night and day. One is preferred. One is shunned.

And Solana has never been preferred.

Eyes watering, she reaches for the large t-shirt and slides it over her body, comforted by not being faced with so many flaws. Deterred entirely, she starts to think of an explanation she can give Roman as to why she can’t get in the pool tonight.

Or any other night. 

But when she steps out of the bathroom, that plan is thrown out the window because Roman is sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Shirtless.

Wearing only swim trunks.

She’s momentarily focused on him. Focused on every rippling muscle of his body that’s damn near perfect. So opposite of her own.

Realizing she’s staring, she shakes her head, “I—”

“It’s been an hour.” Roman drags his eyes over her, and it’s like she knows what he’s going to say before it leaves his mouth. “You’re not dressed.”

Pushing back some of her hair, Solana is very much focused on the piece of abstract art on the wall opposite his bed. “I was thinking—”

“No.”

That she wasn’t expecting. Such a….blunt rejection. Eyes back on him, she frowns. “What?”

“You’re not backing out.” Solana swallows. He sounds so definitive. “I won’t make you get completely in the water, because I understand why that’s difficult for you.” She says nothing, at least grateful for his understanding in that area. “But you can at least sit on the edge. Work your way up to it.” An ironic choice of wording considering the other thing they’re working their way up to. He stands from the bed, and as much as Solana wants to look away, she can’t. She’s focused on him. All 6’3 of him. So intimidating. But not to her. So strong. But he’s never used his strength against her. So attractive. The same way he feels about her. 

“Without the shirt.”

Her stomach drops, anxiety brewing again. “Roman….”

He’s suddenly in front of her, his hands reaching to pull her against him. “That’s not your trauma. It’s your insecurity, and I’m not accepting that shit because it’s not fucking fair for you to be as beautiful as you are and not see or feel it.”

She swallows as he reaches for the hem of her shirt. “Off.” It’s a statement, but there’s a questioning nature to it. Like regardless of how he feels, he’s still giving her the space to say no. 

To have that autonomy. 

It’s appreciated.

It’s also why despite her anxiety, with her eyes closed, she relents. “O–off.”

Roman doesn’t seem to waste any time pulling her shirt up and over her head. And as soon as she feels the chilly air of his room on her body, the realization that she’s more exposed in front of him than she’s ever been before, she’s crossing her arms over her chest. 

Hiding.

Embarrassed.

“No.” And his hands are on her forearms, pushing down, gently but with purpose. “No hiding.” She keeps her eyes closed as he forces her arms down at her side. “Solana, look at me.” And she wants to, she actually wants to, but it’s hard, because all she can imagine is his disgust, his disinterest. “Look at me.”

His tone is somehow forceful but gentle, in a way only he can do. In a way that never makes her feel scared, but always safe. 

So she obliges.

Roman’s gaze is on her, intentful and burning. His jaw is clenched. “It pisses me the fuck off that you’ve been made to feel anything less than fucking gorgeous.” And she watches as he travels his beautiful eyes over her body. Slowly. With a level of desire that she, even with all of her insecurities, can’t deny. Men like Roman don’t look at women like that unless they want them in that way. “The things I want to do to you….”

And once again, he’s affirming and practically repeating everything he’s assured her of several times now.

He wants her. 

“I’m going to make you believe it.” Wetting her lips, she watches Roman take her hand in his. “Come here.” 

He walks them over to the opposite side of his room where the black, full body mirror rests against the wall. His hands are on her hips, positioning her so that she’s standing directly in front of him, her back pressed into his chest. 

“Keep your eyes open.” His voice is commanding but still calm enough where it doesn’t unnerve her. “Spread your legs.” Solana is certain Roman can feel the way her body instantly tenses, because he’s kissing the shell of her ear, reassuring her. “Relax, baby. I won’t touch you there until you’re ready. Just trust me.”

And she does.

Maybe more than she’s ever trusted anyone.

It’s why she moves her legs apart so that her thick thighs are no longer rubbing against each other.

Again, he’s comforting her, “trust me…” Solana is briefly confused as to why he’s repeating himself when his hand is on her backside, squeezing in a way that makes her head fall back against his chest. “I love your ass.” She makes a sound, almost too low to hear when he moves his hands to her chest, big, strong hands cupping her breast. “But, I especially fucking love these.”

She moves her much smaller hands over his. For what reason, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that she nearly groans when his thumb flicks over her hardened areolas through the fabric of her swimsuit. 

“Roman….” Despite his clear directive, it’s hard to keep her eyes open when there’s so much coursing through her body.

“You know why I said your name when I was with her?” Not really, but also yes. It’s difficult for Solana to think straight with him touching her like this. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settling at the bottom of her belly. 

His mouth is back on her, kissing her jawline as he continues to caress her breast, alternating between light massaging and caressing her nipples. “Because I was imagining she was you. Because it’s you I want to be inside.”

Solana’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between open and closed, the soles of her feet  almost numb as standing suddenly feels much more difficult than it should be. There’s an unfamiliar ache in between her legs that has her thighs pressing back against each other. 

Her body is on fire, and despite this intimate touching, she has no desire to push him away. Doen’t feel shackled and stuck in a way that’s reminiscent of her trauma. She wants his touch on her. 

His deep, alluring voice is in her ear, watching every single one of her erotic reactions through the mirror. “There’s not a single part of you that I don’t want to touch….” Her breathing is labored and heavy almost as he moves his hand and trails his finger down the valley of her breast. “To feel…..” Her eyes are fluttering as his hand moves down to her stomach, hers shooting to rest on top of his, an unconscious effort to keep him from feeling the part of her that she’s always felt 

self-conscious about. Only for her to cry out when he lightly squeezes her stomach, rolls and all. “To taste….”

It should make her mortified, for him to be grabbing so freely a part of her that she used to cry over from embarrassment. But, it doesn’t. She’s simply trying to remain strong enough to remain on her own two feet.

Her body is on fire, and there’s this pressure building in her core. Intense but oh so delicious. A brand new sensation.

Whimpering, she moves her hand to his wrist. “Roman, I—”

“I know,” he coaxes, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “That’s what I want, baby.”  He moves his mouth over to her clavicle, tongue wetting her burning skin. “Want you to feel good….”

Good is an understatement. She feels completely overwhelmed in a way she didn’t think possible.

 And it only intensifies when his fingers create circles across her lower belly. Tears are pooling in her eyes, the throbbing in her belly and most intimate part increasing with every touch and every word that leaves his mouth. 

Solana also recognizes the wetness pooling between her legs. Something else she’s never experienced. Not like this. She’s been able to become aroused before, but never to this extent.

Not to this intensity. 

The pressure feels too much, too heavy, but she can’t seem to find the words to express as such while Roman continues to talk her through it.

“The next time you touch yourself, I want you to think of me.” His lips are ghosting the shell of her ear, his fingers continuing to trickle across the lower skin of her belly. “My mouth on you. Me inside of you.” 

She gasps, loud enough for it to almost echo throughout the room and almost bounce off the walls. “Oh my god….”

She feels just about ready to explode when his other hand has moved to her inner thighs, long fingers dancing across her skin and prying her thighs apart. She’s almost certain her essence has made her way past her bottoms and coats the tips of his fingers.  “I’m gonna be your first.” His words puncture her resolve, but it’s the latter statement that completely destroys it. “And your last.”

Solana cries out, stomach in waves as she squeezes his wrist, intense pleasure nearly knocking her off her feet if not for his strong arms around her. Solana feels partially discombobulated as he whispers things in her ear that she’s far too overwhelmed to make out.

She’s not sure how long she’s standing there, doesn’t know how long he’s holding her, helping her land back down to earth. She just knows there’s a pulsing between her legs that she’s never had before. An aftermath almost. 

The aftermath at what had to have been a climax. 

It takes a few minutes for her to finally be able to formulate words. She looks up at him, trying to not think too much of the way he circled his finger around the spillage between her thighs. It’s enough to make her womanhood start to pulse again. “how did—-I’ve never—”

Roman looks down at her, eyes almost narrowed with pure curiosity as she asks, “have you never had an orgasm before?”

Cheeks still flamed from what just occurred but also slight embarrassment at her answer, she explains, “I’ve—I’ve tried before, but I just—I couldn’t.”

He actually looks surprised but simply brings his hand to her chin, kissing her softly. “Well, it damn sure won’t be your last.” He gently bites down on her bottom lip before backing away. “Be outside in 10.” 

It takes a second for her to realize what he’s talking about. She’d completely forgotten what even kicked off all of that.

Watching him leave with her t-shirt, it’s only when he closes the door and she’s alone that something he said finally settles in.

Something that somehow gives her a sense of pleasure more enjoyable than even his talented touch. 

“I’m gonna be your first.” 

Just thinking of it brings tears to her eyes. For an entirely different reason. For so long, she felt so broken and devastated at having her virginity so brutally ripped away. To have it stolen from her before she could even understand what sex was.

And no, she can never truly get it back.

But this….Roman can give her. That first time of actually having a choice.

And that means more to her than he could ever know.

She cares for him more than she’s certain he knows.

And truth be told, Solana is starting to wonder if care is still a strong enough word to describe what she feels for a certain Roman Reigns.

________

After cleaning herself and gathering her bearings, Solana finds Roman out back already in the pool swimming laps as Dulce sits on the side just watching him, her tail wagging. She always seems so excited around him.

Taking advantage of him being underwater and not aware of her presence, Solana moves quickly over to the steps, faltering for a bit before stepping in just enough to where the water brushes against her knees. That’s when the anxiety starts. Her stomach begins knotting.

It’s also when Roman comes up from under, and she’s briefly distracted by just how good he looks while quite literally doing nothing out of the ordinary. She watches him swim over to her, one hand pushing back some of hair, the other reaching for her. 

She hesitates, and he sees it, gently reminding.

“I’ve got you….”

Solana just looks at him. He’s yet to not come through on that promise made time and time again. An oath almost, in every single situation where he’s asserted it.

It’s why she finds herself accepting his hand as she descends further into the water. And just as she recognizes her anxiety heightening along with the water that’s brushing against her chest, Roman tugs her against him. 

Gasping, her hands naturally move onto his shoulders, her legs naturally wrapping around his waist.

“Roman….” She’s looking from side to side as he moves them farther away from the steps. “I—”

“Can you swim?” His question both makes sense and serves as a brief distraction. 

“Y–yes, but I haven’t done it in years.” He’s still moving them though, and that still makes her nervous as more distance is created between her and a way to escape without actually getting under the water. “Roman, I—I can’t—”

“I know.” His assurance is soft, gentle almost. “I’m not gonna let you fall, Solana.”

And she swallows, because there’s an undertone to his statement. Like there’s another meaning that maybe one or both of them isn’t entirely ready to come to terms with.

It’s when they stop moving, she realizes that he wasn’t just aimlessly moving around. He wanted to bring them over to the stool within the pool that he sits on. It’s only then she really becomes cognizant of the fact that she’s straddling him as well as just how close her body is against his.

Not that he seems to mind.

His gaze on her is both distracting and tantalizing. She wants him to never look at her with such desire at the same time she wants him to never look away.

It’s….a strange experience.

Needing there to be some type of conversation, she goes with the first thing that comes to mind. “How….how was your day?”

Roman chuckles. “The same as most.” Solana makes an active effort to ignore how his hands remain planted on her ass, giving just the slightest pressure that makes her softly scratch at his taut skin. “How was yours?”

Eventful. She starts to tell him about Emma and Brandi, but that would somehow lead into a conversation about Solo and his odd behavior recently. And Roman already deals with enough. She doesn’t want to add onto his plate. 

She can handle that on her own.

It’s why she decides to share the most exciting news, a smile growing on her face. “I pinned Bayley today during my training.”

“Did you?” Something tells her that he already knew about this, that he was made aware of this occurrence prior to this moment. Regardless, she’s thankful for him trying to fake surprise. For him trying to give her the satisfaction of being the first to tell him. “Damn. They told me you’ve gotten good. That you’re fast.”

She nods, smile dimming a bit. “I do feel a little bad about how I did it though.”

“Don’t.” He’s quick to dismiss her concerns. “Bayley’s taken much worse in the ring.” After seeing Bayley fight on Night of Champions, she doesn’t doubt that one bit. “There’s actually something I want to talk to you about.”

Her anxiety returns at his ending statement. “O–okay.”

Roman seems to take a minute before explaining, “I think we need to expand your training.” Her confusion is evident and expected as he clarifies with all the preparation in the world for a less than pleased response. “You need to start training with a man.”

Deep down, she already knows his answer before she asks. But, she has to do it anyway. “Like with you?” Open to it, she even suggests, “or the twins?”

Safe people.

As expected, he shakes his head. “No. It needs to be someone you’re not familiar with. Not like you are with me or them.” She looks away, eyes focused on the spotlight on the opposite end of the pool. “It’s only to help you. You can fight now, that’s good. But, you need to learn how to fight someone you don’t feel comfortable with, because that’s the reality of our world.” He elaborates, seemingly pulling her closer to him. “I’m never going to let you be in a position where you have to defend yourself like that against a man, but it’s good for you to know regardless.”

That helps a bit. She believes him. Believes that he’ll never let her be in that space ever again.

But, there’s a ‘what if’ thought that she can’t push away. Because nothing in life is promised or final. Anything and nothing can happen. She could very well find herself one day on the opposite end of her brother, and the thought of him having that hold and power over her makes her sick.

Should that day ever roll around again, she wants it to be different. She wants to be different.

She wants to be able to fight back.

“I’ll do it.” She agrees in a quiet tone and goes on to briefly explain her answer. “I think—I think I need to do it for me.”

Roman simply nods and acknowledges her acceptance with a single word. “Okay.”

Solana is grateful he doesn’t follow up with additional questions. She doesn’t really want to talk about that, doesn’t want to participate in conversations that bring up old, painful memories. “Can I at least meet them before we start training?”

“Of course.” That provides another layer of relief. “Are you still alright with the Gala?”

And this time, she nods. A few days away, she’s already figured out her look for the evening, courtesy of Bayley and Naomi. Biting on her bottom lip, she finds her fingers moving across his chest. “I—I got my dress.” He makes a sound followed up with his mouth moving to her neck. “I think—I think you’ll like it.”

She struggles to keep her eyes open when he starts kissing on her wet skin. “I like everything you wear.” She smiles. “You thought about what you want for your birthday?”

 Once again, it’s hard to talk with him touching her like this. “No, cause I don’t–”

He chuckles against her. “Still on that shit, I see.” And before she can push him on that, he informs with all of the textbook coyness, “it’s alright, I’ve got it figured out.”

That makes her push lightly on his chest, to force his gaze on her. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” His words are intentionally vague and don’t manage to answer her question. It’s expected, not entirely out of character for him, but still a bit irritating. 

She sighs. The last thing she wants is for this man to go out of his way for her more than he already has. “Roman…

“Solana, I’ve got you in my arms. Half naked.” His eyes take on a dark, lustful glint as he focuses on her mouth. “I really don’t feel like talking, baby….”

He brings his lips back onto hers, but it’s hard to get too into the kiss when her mind is so focused on one little word. 

Baby….

A nickname he seems to use with her more and more, the increasing usage doing nothing for the butterflies every time he calls her as such. But this time, this time the butterflies are for something more, something different.

Something she’s not even sure she should be telling him right now when they haven’t even consummated their marriage. 

It doesn’t stop her from saying his name, her tone serious enough to alert him that she has something to say.

“Roman….” He lifts his head, gaze focused on her, and Solana finds herself momentarily captivated by him. He’s so handsome. So attractive. The embodiment of strength. In so many different ways. Licking her lips, it falls out almost accidentally but also with all of the determination. “I’m going to give you an heir.”

His expression falters only for a second. He’s so good at maintaining composure at all times that it takes her off guard. His voice is lowered. “Solana, I told you, I’ll handle—”

“I know, but—but, it’s not because of that.” And maybe a part of it is, maybe she feels guilty that she’s failing to do the one thing he agreed to marry her for. Maybe it’s out of her trauma. Maybe it’s a sense of obligation. Whatever the potential contributors, there’s no denying the largest chunk comes from a place of pure individualistic want. “I never thought that I could, but….but I can.” This part she knows to be true. Solana never envisioned a life for herself where she could withstand the touch of a man, the desire to have a man touch her. The ability to be intimate. But Roman has changed all that. “I know I can, so I will.” When he says nothing, she adds on, starting to feel a bit unsure of herself. “And we don’t have to now, per se, but….we will. I—I want to do that for you.”

For us.

He still says nothing, but Solana can see there’s a million thoughts floating through her head. She’s prepared for him to push back, to maybe chastise her or scold her for whatever reason. In her experience, men have never really needed solid reasons to be upset with her.

He does none of that though.

Instead, she seems something gleam in his brown eyes, something she can’t name but feels is eerily similar to what she feels whenever she looks at him.

“Non sei quello che mi aspettavo.” Solana has no idea what he’s saying, but with the way he holds her, the way he hikes her higher onto his waist so she’s almost looking down at him, wet hands moving to his face, she doesn’t really care. Doesn’t really need to know. “Ma credo che tu sia esattamente quello di cui ho bisogno…."

—----------

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Xavier smiles at the hint of nervousness in his son’s voice. Any other time, he’d scold him for weakness. But when plotting against the Bloodline, especially Roman Reigns, one can never be too careful.

“Not necessarily, but I do know your sister. She’s weak. Blinded by love.” Just saying the word leaves a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. “Your mother fed her that shit, and now she holds onto it. It’s how I know she won’t let him do anything.”

Wes’s dark gaze rakes over his father’s still recovering state. “And yet he still put us both in the hospital.”

Xavier glares, voice icy. He hates being reminded of failure. “Watch it, son.”

We looks away, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his body. “I just think there is another way—”

“Have you heard from your sister? Found a way to get into contact with her without going through Reins?” Xavier already knows the answer but wants his son to recognize the stupidity of his stance. “This is the only way, and it’ll work. Trust me.”

Wes is still quiet, but Xavier is unbothered. He’s instead focused on his phone that vibrates three times, his lock screen showing a set of messages from an unknown number. And it’s in reading the messages that his day goes from good to so much fucking better.

“Well, I’ll be damned….” 

Wes notices the change in his father’s mood and gestures with his chin. “Who is it?”

“Not sure.” He reaches the phone to his son. “But, we’re definitely going to find out.”

And it’s when reading the text that Wes also smiles, the same wicked scheming oscillating in his father’s head traveling over to him. 

“Got you now, you little bitch….” Wes reads over the words once more, basking in the relief and potential this new development will provide.

Unknown: I believe we may have a mutual problem that needs to be….taken care of.

Unknown: Your daughter. Solana.

Unknown: Let’s meet.

—----------

translation: “you’re not what i expected, but i think you’re exactly what i need.”

[squiddy-god]

jjk men as dads

Re uploaded from terminated blog squid-god-supreme, this is something that I wrote a while ago that I'm re uploading, so I can't promise how good the characterization, and this is gonna be its probably very Ooc, but I don't give a fuck.

CW : implied fem reader, implied previous pregnancy, tooth rotting fluff, probably ooc, happy magical no gege Au lmao. Gojo, geto, nanami, choso

Gojo: 

Chaotic dad 101

Gojo is the embodiment of dad joke energy, he physically cannot stop himself from making those jokes 

Gojo is a fun dad! He likes to teach his kid things 

I can 100% see him teaching his kid to ride a bike 

So imagine this lanky beanpole running after/jogging behind your child as they wobbly ride a bike for the first time

🥺 adorable

Will do your kids hair and will be shockingly good at it

Don't be surprised if you come home and gojo is having a bubble bath and making a mess with your kid

Probably- no I know for a fact this man would have those fun bath paints you put on tile walls 

I don't take criticism

Your child will always have cute outfits that are a matching set (tell me I'm wrong) 

Gojo puts in considerable effort in making your baby/child the cutest

LOVES LOVES LOVES to play peek-a-boo and here those cute tiny baby giggles

Nanami:

HEAD EMPTY JUST NANAMI WAKING UP TO GENTLY ROCK THE BABY BACK TO SLEEP IN HIS ARMS 

Please I cannot function with this thought-

Hhhhhhnnngggggg just imagine walking into the room and there's nanami, baby in his arms, gently swaying with them akanskwsb

He's very extra gentle with the baby 

I have a very specific image of nanami sitting in a chair, baby in his lap while he reads the morning paper 

Gets mushy when he sees you hold the baby and thinks it's just a perfect sight

a protective dad but not overbearing

Let gojo (reluctantly) baby sit one time and it was the last- 😀 the mess smh

I want to see nanami with a little todler teaching them how to dance

Like imagine them standing on his feet while he dances with them i-

I am ascending

Geto: 

When I say if gladly have this man's kids- alwbeiebwiwbeiwbe 🤡

Carries your kid around a lot, like it's a common sight to see him walking around with his kid in his arms

Lots of piggybacks

Cooks cute breakfasts and the child has a matching apron 

Would sing to them but like in a baby voice  and it's really cute 

Dose the thing where you toss your kid a little and catch them 

So happy when they take their first steps (100% got it on video) 

Would always let them win at hide and seek and loves to see them get excited that they found him 

Isn't above pranking you with silly things

Has a picture of them and you on him at all times 

"That's my kid 😊" proud dad™ energy

Choso:

Vvvv protective and loving 

They're just so small and fragile 🥺

Will read them story's even before they can understand because he loves any and all time spent with them 

Really likes to read them picture books while they sit on his lap 

When they are a baby he will hold his hand against theirs and melt because they tiny 

Wholesome boy

Low key (read high key) a big softie 

You, him, and your child in one big ✨snuggle ✨ is his ideal time

Intimidating dad- has a tendency to loom if he senses a threat 

Very sweet and knows the names of all your kids stuffed animals

Choso is a good dad and loves his small family so very much

[pygmi-cygni]

Cold Feet - sickfic w joel miller

@chaithetics this is for you! xox feel better

cw: general injury/sickness recovery fic, nothing graphic but mentions of nausea, pain, dizziness, fainting, cute stuff idk, not really established relationship but joel be crushin fr fr

The dingy wallpaper swam in lazy eddies. You'd been laying on the couch, curled in the fetal position for hours, staring listlessly at the badly stained floral walls. The faded roses and lilies were swaying in an imaginary wind, fluttering in the woozy aftereffects of the pain meds.

It had only been an hour since your last dose, but you still felt like a rusted knife had ripped through your abdomen. A combination of a bad knife wound and the subsequent infection had incapacitated you for all of yesterday and today. If you had any rational thought, you'd be bored stupid. Instead, you were just drugged stupid.

Honestly, not much of a difference.

After staggering home from the med tent, you laid your meds, water, and two tureens of watery broth. That way, you didn't have to stumble to the kitchen every time you got hungry. Though even turning over to fumble with the pill bottle set fire to your belly.

The darkness of sleep sucked your mind into nothing as you blissfully lost consciousness.

Shhp. Shhhhp. Shhhh-

the sliding of something across your floor stirred your syrupy mind. Wincing as bright sunlight stabbed your aching head, you tried to focus blearily on the figure in front of you.

He - you assumed - was dressed in heavy clothes and grunting like a wounded bear.

"Joel?" Your voice sounded hideous, creaking like the wind in the trees. His familiar mop of curls startled, and he turned to look at you. He looked mildly ashamed, you thought, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Hey, sugar," he rasped, pausing what he was doing to limp over. "Didn't mean to wake ya."

You tried to raise your head but another sludgy wave of pain forced you to mash your face in the cushions. A pathetic whimper was muffled by the corduroy.

"You look a little rough, honey," he said, stooping to brush the hair from your face. You flinched a little at the sudden contact, sparks lighting at the point of contact.

Joel soothed an apology and went to close the blinds. "Tommy said you were down for the count, so I thought I'd stop by," he said hoarsely, blessedly dimming the light to darkness. You sagged with relief. Joel's soothing drawl rambled about his day while he sick-proofed your little room; placing a metal bowl for easy reach, grabbing a blanket from the adjacent bedroom, and replacing your water with fresh, cool water.

"Let me," he whispered, carefully maneuvering you into the sitting position so you could have some slow sips of broth. The movement made your chest throb, and you huffed in pain. A soothing hand stroked your hair. You could smell him, woodsy and warm on his flannel. Trembling from the roiling pain of your wound, you tucked yourself against his broad chest. Joel took the hint, and gently placed a pill in your open mouth.

You felt a little embarrassed, being this dependent on him to do something as simple as drink soup. You tried to voice your apology, but your weak state jumbled the sentence into slurred mumbles. Joel shushed you, rubbing your shoulder.

"'S alright," he murmured, "happy to help." Easing a drink of blissfully cool water down your throat, he gently lifted you and headed towards your bedroom. The light bouncing made you wince, but the soft brushed of his lips on your hair eased any discomfort.

"You'll feel better on a real bed."

You groaned weakly when your head hit the pillow. Joel tucked the sheets and blankets all the way to your chin, eyes soft and worried. "You been out a while, huh, baby?"

At your weak agreement he nodded and continued to smooth his hand over your sweaty brow.

"We'll fix ya up, don' worry about it," he assured, kissing the tears from your cheeks.

Lighting a sweet-smelling candle, he murmured a goodnight and left for evening patrol.

Hours later, he came trudging back. The gentle creak of the wardrobe as he hung up his jacket and rifle roused you, but only slightly. His warm touch and the feeling of his chest against your back rolled you right back under.

[will-o--the-wisp]

smut under the cut // MDNI

childe x gn!puppet!reader smut

cw: amab reader, dubcon (comes with being a puppet who doesn't know about the concept of sex), drugging, "human" experimentation, Il Dottore, unintentional aphrodisiac use, masturbation, anal sex.

It always feels cold in the laboratory, the room full of pristine white and cold metal surfaces. The doctor walks around the room, red eyes looking in concentration at the vial of murky liquid in his hand from behind his mask. 

They look at the man from where they are seated in one of the beds. They were called from their little room in the middle of the name, their creator telling them it was time for another experiment. They have a strange feeling travelling through their body, one they have come to associate with being in the laboratory environment. They don’t know what to call it, as they are not familiar with it, but they know that their chest feels tight and their body shakes. 

 “Puppet” The doctor calls their moniker, making them startle. They look up at the man, who is holding a syringe filled with blackish liquid, staring at them with a smile “Arm” He orders, reaching at them with his free hand. 

They don’t want to. They want to say no, to lash out against the man, to fight, but they can’t bring themselves to do it. They were made for this purpose, to be experimented in by the blue haired man in front of them, their creator. They know it will most probably hurt, but a puppet has no meaning if it is discarded by its puppeteer. So they raise their sleeve to their shoulder and offer their arm. 

The liquid doesn’t burn when it enters their bloodstream, and they’re thankful for it. They also don’t feel sleepy or dizzy after a few moments, so they know this is going to be different from the other experiments. 

“Lie down” Dottore orders as he picks up a notebook, where he starts to document the experiment “Acute dose, vial number 63, flaming flower stem extract and energy nectar. Desired effects are vasodilation and altered breath rate” He writes down, mumbling at the same time. 

The puppet looks at the pristine ceiling, feeling surprisingly neutral. Normally, the doctor’s injections have nearly instant consequences on their body. They look at their hands, moving and flexing their arms, but nothing happens. 

“Puppet” Dottore calls for their attention after a few minutes, standing at the side of the bed where they are resting “Effects?” He gets right to the point, no words wasted on his experiment.

“None” their voice feels foreign on their ears, throat rough from unuse. 

The doctor clicks his tongue in annoyance, giving them a look of disdain. He adjusts his coat, making his way to the entrance of the room “I’ll be back in a while” He grumbles as he walks out the space, closing the door behind him. 

They wait for an indefinite amount of time in the same position on the bed, feeling nothing but emptiness and boredom. They sit up in the bed, deciding that they’re safe to do it as nothing seems to be going on. They swing their legs as they hang off the bed, maybe if they move their body around a bit, the medicine will work faster. 

He suddenly feels a bit hot, like they’re a little too big for their skin, close to bursting. It’s uncomfortable, so they take off their long sleeved shirt, letting the air of the lab cool their skin. It feels nice, the contrast of temperature making goosebumps appear on their exposed skin, but it is just a temporary solution. 

The temperature of their skin keeps rising, and they get the instinctual feeling to rub their thighs together. They follow their body and do it, the actual feeling coming from it making a shiver go up their spine. It’s a new sensation and when they look down to see what happened, they only see a strange shape on the crotch of their pants. Now that they think about it, the area around his behind feels strangely wet. 

Concerned about the developments of the situation, one of their hands timidly reaches for the strange shape. The first touch is feather soft on the top of it, but it makes their toes curl in pleasure, their shoulders jumping from the feeling. They feel confused, tears welling up to their eyes at the strange feeling growing inside them as they touch around hesitantly. 

It’s when they have wiggled their pants and underwear a bit down releasing the hard appendage, instinct winning over their scepticism, the door opens again. 

“Dottore! Pantalone is searching for you” It’s one of the other harbingers, the young one with the red hair, he isn't paying attention as he walks in, his eyes focused on the document in his hands. They look at him, frozen in their position. They do not know why, but they feel mortified at the feeling of being caught doing something like this. 

“Dottore? Don’t be a fucker I know-” The tall man stops in his tracks as he lifts head to look in front of him, getting and eyeful of flushed skin and a pretty face. “Oh? Did I walk into something?”  The man says, a teasing smile appearing on his face as he walks closer to where they are seated. “You’re Dottore’s puppet, I’ve seen you before…” His eyes fall down to stare at the other’s problem.

They whimper, getting hotter by the second “Help” they say, feeling parched and craving something, but they don’t know what it is. “It feels weird…” They whine, palming their dick with a clumsy hand. 

The eyes of the man get darker as his smile grows “don’t worry dear” He coos, resting his hands in the puppets waist, rubbing their flushed skin softly with his thumbs. They feel almost cold in contrast to their feverish skin “I’ll make you feel so much better, just you wait.” The man kneels down before the bed, softly taking off the remaining of their clothing. “The name is Tartaglia, you’ll remember that right dear?”

“Tartaglia” They repeat, the sound of his name in such a sweet tone sending a shiver down Childe’s spine.  He shifts his hands, one moving to lift their legs to their chest while the other one explores down to their ass. The touch feels foreign on their skin, the muscles tensing and relaxing as the fingers make their way down, but they can’t deny that it feels extremely good, much different from the rough grabs from his usual caretaker.  

“Fuck” Tartaglia curses as he massages their hole, feeling the wetness dripping out the tight entrance. “Dottore made you self lubricated? I can’t believe it, you were made for this, sweetheart.”

They don’t understand what he means, but that thought gets discarded when Tartaglia slowly pushes in one of his sturdy long fingers. It feels like pure bliss washes over them, but it’s not enough, the fire in his veins getting hotter now that it’s been fed the first tastes of this overwhelming pleasure. 

“More” They whimper, trying to wriggle their hips to just get a bit more stimulation, desperate for anything and everything.

“Be patient” Comes the response from Tartaglia, but he picks up the pace, adding another finger when he feels no resistance to his movements. He stares at the blissed out face of the puppet, almost giggling at the fact that they are so gone with merely two fingers in them. “You want to be good right? Good for Tartaglia who is threatening you well?” He asks as he starts pushing the fingers in and out at an even pace, trying his best to explore all of the gummy walls. 

“‘M good” Comes their response in the form of a moan. The feeling of pleasure is overwhelming, whatever concoction Dottore had injected into them making their brain melt under the pressure of those fingers. Through their tear filled eyes they stare at the flushed face of the handsome man in front of them, an unquenchable thirst for more rattling his system. “Need more” Their speech is devolving into babbles, tears streaming down his face. 

“Seeing as you are so desperate, I’ll do as you wish” Childe frees their legs from where they were pressed into their chest, letting them fall into the bed, where they stay, shaking. He unzips his pants, moving his clothing around to let his cock spring free. “Let’s have fun, dear” He grabs one of their thighs, getting them close to the edge of the bed and aligning himself with their entrance. 

He wastes no time, pushing in until his pelvis meets the puppets' ass. “You’re incredibly tight” Childe grits through his teeth, struggling to contain himself “Fuck, how do you feel so good?” He leans down, sprinkling kisses in the other’s throat. 

They’re too far gone to answer any question, the sensation of fullness from the penetration hitting them like no other drug has done before. They feel like they are in heaven and hell at the same time, overwhelmed and in the same breath pleading for more. 

Childe starts with slow thrusts, but it doesn’t take long for him to start a harder pace, slick sounds filling the room as he manhandles the puppet’s body to meet his thrusts. 

“I-” The puppet slurs, feeling a knot form in their lower belly “I feel- It’s going-” They babble more, incapable of communicating their sensations effectively. 

“Oh? You’re close, baby?” Tartaglia smirks, thrusting like a man possessed, quick and hard. “You can cum whenever you want dear.” He changes the angle of the trusts, hitting a sensitive spot inside of the puppet, making them moan even louder. 

They feel incredibly close, so when Tartaglia closes a hand around their length as he bullies that spot inside them, their back arches and they cum. It’s their first time feeling such an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, it washes over them like a tidal wave, their vision whitening out as their cum spills on their belly. Their body relaxes at once, riding their orgasm as Childe’s thrusts become erratic. 

“Fuck” Tartaglia gives one last thrust as he fills them with his cum, collapsing on top of them on the bed. 

They feel comforted by the weight of the tall man on top of them and the softening heat inside of them, passing out as static hums through their brain.

masterlist

wanna request something?

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 18

Prompt: self administered medicine

cw: drug use, injuries, implied/referenced child abuse

Summary:

Roy flipped through the pages. Stopping at a blank one, he held the pen at the ready. “What do you want me to write down?" Jamie chewed on his lip. Roy was on the verge of repeating himself when he said quietly, “Summer 2009. Broken arm.”

Here on AO3

Once Roy got Jamie settled on the sofa, he diverted to the kitchen to grab the necessary supplies. Pill bottle from his bag and a glass of water, and because Roy was supposed to be trying to ‘embrace his instincts when it came to showing people he cared’, a sandwich appeared alongside the water. So did two mugs of tea.

Roy stared down at the tray and grimaced at how low he had sunk. Jamie was supposed to eat something with the painkillers, sure, but the Roy of before would’ve been content throwing a protein bar at his head and sending him home in an Uber. Instead he’d brought him back to his own house and broken out the good bread – the stuff that definitely wasn’t part of the nutrition plan.

He took a deep breath and braced himself for some mocking.

But there was no mocking to be found. Jamie was the same as he’d been since they’d left the doctors. With his face screwed up in pain, he dug the heel of his hand into the muscle above his knee, trying desperately to massage the pain away. Roy was familiar with the struggle. Knee injuries could be a bitch like that, the big nerves and tendons squeezed tightly between ligaments and bones. Rupture any part of the system and the rest became collateral, the inevitable victims of being too close to the scene of the crime. The pain was for sharing, and in spite of the localised anaesthetic, even smaller, inconsequential actions found a way of compounding into a larger toll.

Suddenly the sandwich didn’t seem like a bad idea. Even if it didn’t stay down, Jamie would need the energy. He certainly wasn’t going to want to eat when the numbing agents wore off.

“Here,” said Roy, setting the tray on the table. He grabbed the painkillers and shook out two pills. “Take these and a few bites of the sandwich, then you can pass out. There’s also tea.”

He tipped the pills into Jamie’s hand. Handed him the glass of water. Jamie swallowed the pills in one gulp, and a strange look crossed his face. Roy considered grabbing the waste bin, but the expression passed just as quickly as it came, and then Jamie waved for the sandwich to move closer.

Roy waited for Jamie to take a few bites before he finally sat down. He settled back on the sofa with a cup of tea in hand and switched on the TV.

That should’ve been that.

Halfway through an episode of Murdoch Mysteries, Roy was sure that Jamie should have passed out by now.

He’d stopped rubbing at his thigh a bit ago. Hours of pained tension had melted away, leaving him boneless against the cushions. He’d also fallen for the lure of the strategically thrown blanket over the back of the soft and was now cocooned in fleece up to his chin. The pale tint of nausea had faded — though Roy still had the waste bin nearby just in case — and the half sandwich he’d eaten had brought some colour back. He’d be the very picture of cosy if it weren’t for the knot of confusion screwed up tight between his stupid, styled eyebrows.

For someone who’d just taken a fairly high dose of painkillers, he was stubbornly holding on to consciousness, and worse than that he only seemed to be growing more agitated the more they kicked in.

After a few more minutes of restless shifting, Jamie broke the silence to ask, “Can… can you… grab something for me?”

At least the medicine was working, if the slurred words were any indication.

“Sure,” said Roy. “What do you need? The bin’s right there,” he reminded him.

He did not want to help Jamie with the bin.

The knot of confusion turned into a knot of annoyance. “Not sick, ‘s… need my bag. Could you… the notebook in it… can you?”

Roy got up. This week’s tiny bag came in a burnt orange and teal striped combo that made Roy’s eyes water. By comparison, the notebook he found inside was small and nondescript: a simple black flip-over with a Richmond-branded pen tucked through the spirals.

It took two attempts for Jamie to take hold of the notebook. His movements were clumsy, his hands shaking as he struggled to untangle the pen.

Once again, Roy was struck with the stupid urge to take care of people.

He exhaled. “Here, give me that. I can write whatever it is down for you.”

Jamie hesitated. After a moment, he held the notebook up, his expression schooled in feign disinterest. Roy took it back, and Jamie listed unsteadily after it like a fish tugged forward on a hook. Roy had to brace by the shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

He flipped through the pages. Stopping at a blank one, he held the pen at the ready. “What do you want me to write down?”

Jamie chewed his lip. Roy was on the verge of repeating himself when he said quietly, “Summer 2009. Broken arm.”

Roy froze. In the raging quiet, he carefully transcribed the words, the pen creaking under the pressure.

“It’s for Dr Sharon,” Jamie explained.

Roy swallowed back a painful lump in his throat and shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, but in case I forget. I want… I need to…,” Jamie trailed off, argument lost. He stared at Roy with a wretchedly sad expression.

Roy capped the pen. It wasn’t like he would need to write this down to remember it later. Despite the short list of facts he’d been given, Roy hardly needed a calculator to figure out why Jamie might need to tell Sharon about a broken arm.

For a man Roy had only ever seen once, for about three minutes, James Tartt Sr left a visceral impression – and nothing he’d learned since then had weakened it.

He gestured for Jamie to get on with it then.

Jamie pushed himself upright against the cushions. He shook his head, scrunching up his face and blinking hard like he was trying to wake himself up. When he spoke, he sounded more clear-headed, but the words came out chopped, a staccato listing of facts that gave the impression that somewhere underneath a dog whistle screeched at full volume.

“It’s for learning my boundaries. Idea is to write down memories from when I was a kid, stuff that didn’t make any sense or that I don’t…can’t remember. Then I’m supposed to see if there’s a pattern. Especially if it involved…if I were angry or scared or anything like that.”

He stared vacantly at the tray where it still lay on the coffee table. Most of the sandwich was gone; the glass, empty. Only a half-drunk mug of tea and the bottle of pills remained.

A half-formed suspicion slithered into Roy’s gut, nesting into a quiet ache.

“All right,” Roy nodded encouragingly. The atmosphere in the room had turned into a fragile thing, hairline fractures ready to crack if he stepped too hard. “That makes sense.”

Jamie’s head dipped against his chest. “When I was twelve or thirteen or whatever, I don’t remember which, I broke my arm. Nothing that serious, I was just being dumb at training. Bet the team ten quid I could do a backflip on the first try.”

Roy snorted. The pressure in his chest released so abruptly he felt almost dizzy with it. “So you were always a cartwheeling troublemaker?”

“Yeah.” A small grin quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I really took to the gymnastics part of training. D’you know I can do a full splits?”

Roy scoffed, amused. “Fuck off.”

“Well, I could do it when I was seventeen. Could probably still manage it if I warmed up properly.”

The smile faded. “But I broke my arm, yeah? And mummy was essentially working two jobs at the time because she’d finally decided she wanted to stop waitressing. She’d started taking night classes, so I didn’t see her all that much. And dad was in his superdad phase, and he’d said he was cutting back on the drinking, so it was usually him that picked me up from training anyways. So when I broke my arm, that’s who they called to come get me.”

Jamie swerved from thought to thought, some of them not quite connecting but all of them on a horrible forward trajectory. It was like staring at a bus crash that Roy knew was coming. He just couldn’t see the death toll yet.

“I remember the hospital in pieces.” Jamie started to massage his thigh again; absently, like he didn’t realise he was doing it. “I remember them letting me pick the colour for my cast – City blue, of course. Had to prove to my old man I was still as dedicated as ever. It worked, too. In fact, in fact he wasn’t even mad I broke my arm that time,” Jamie said wonderingly. “He thought it was funny. Not like I need an arm to play football, right?”

Fucking Christ.

The smile slipped from Jamie’s face. He rubbed his thigh harder. “I remember… the doctors sent me home with some pills? I remember them telling me my arm would probably hurt for a week or two, and after that I could switch to paracetamol if it still hurt. But I remember seeing the pills. We went back to my dad’s flat. He gave me the pills, crushed ‘em up in my tea for me to help hide the taste. But that’s where it gets–“

He let out a ragged breath, his eyes screwing up tightly.

“Roy,” he whined. “Roy, this is the same stuff they gave me back then, but I don’t remember it feeling this way.”

“What do you remember?” Roy asked, trying to sound calm even as panic, dull and rusted, throbbed in his chest. It happened over ten years ago. They’d just come from the hospital. Jamie was alive in front of him. None of that stopped the foreboding from growing like a seed.

Twelve. He would’ve been twelve. That was a fucking kid.

Jamie shook his head. “I don’t know. But they didn’t taste chalky. They didn’t do this.” He gestured weakly at himself. “It didn’t make me numb. Didn’t make me tired. I had a headache the whole time, and my arm hurt so bad I kept being sick. I kept waiting for the pills to kick in. The stuff they gave me in hospital, that seemed to work fine. But when I got home the pain just kept getting worse. I couldn’t even get to sleep. Everything hurt.”

The more Roy heard, the more an ugly thought began to take shape in his head.

“Next day my mum comes to pick me up, and I tell her I don’t think the medication is working like it’s supposed to. She takes me back to the hospital; they figure I must have thrown it up in the night. They give me something there, and I fall asleep. I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t even remember going home. Next memory I’ve got is showing my cast off to the team and arguing with the coaches that I should still be allowed to train ‘cause who needs an arm to play football anyways?”

His hands lifted in a shrug, the blanket flapping up and down as if to say, ‘there you go.’

“That it?” asked Roy. He wanted to confirm he had all the pieces before he said anything.

“Yeah,” said Jamie, falling limp against the sofa. “That’s it.”

“Can I ask something?”

Jamie shrugged. Whatever reserves of energy he’d had, they were gone now, completely burned through with nothing left to stoke the fire in his wake.

But Roy still had an ember, and it pulsed hot and angry in his chest.

“What did your dad say?” he demanded. “When you were up all night, sick from pain and unable to sleep? What did he fucking say to that?”

“He didn’t say anything,” said Jamie. “He was asleep the whole time. I tried to wake him up during the night, but it didn’t work. Out like a light straight through ‘til mummy picked me up the next afternoon. I couldn’t wake him up.”

And there it was.

“Oh.”

Jamie snorted, a hysterically unfunny noise, wet and clogged and full of pain and disappointment and numb, numb resignation.

“Yeah,” he agreed. ”Oh.”

[voidwritesstuff]

Final Moments In The Blue Hour

Cw: guilt,death and his issues (which are A LOT).

Summary:Death reflects on his youth as he falls into the well of souls.Which makes him realize what hes always sought to be in life.

A/N: The other month old fic I've saved up for strife september. Yes its heavily centered around Death but theres a hefty dose of the gunslinger clown we know and love. @darkdemeter Eat up buddy, heres the other month old fic.

All throughout time,humans have described that when they're in a near death experience,they see their life flash before their eyes. Seeing all their good,bitter or bad moments go past in a frenzied flurry of feelings and sensations.

How funny is it that Death himself always found that odd? That he always thought it was human brains being weird?

And isn't it infinetly funnier that now he's living that exact same thing?

Feet brush against the edge of the platform within The Well Of Souls,air now blows past and within the strands of his black,messy hair. For the first time in milennia, he can feel the breeze on his elegant,handsome face.

Blue light Gently cascades down his body,his burning Orange and yellow eyes close as he gives in to the fact that him,the grim reaper, is going to die.

Perhaps that's what triggers the onlsaught of visages long past, or perhaps he simply wanted to remember good things before his final moments.

The rider has Many titles attributed to him: Horseman of the Apocalypse,Pale Rider, Kinslayer,Executioner.

Deep within his heart though,there's only one title that he treasures the most.

Brother.

He remembers holding the hand of a very chubby War when he was first born,how his face was all wrinkles And his bright white eyes glowed. His hefty Weight on his arms, how he cooed and babbled nonsense.

--Hello,little one --Death whispered,a finger tracing the soft,gentle features of the infant. His cool skin against his little sibling's Burning one made for quite a contrast,one the little nephilim seemed to like as he leaned into his touch.

A smile on his lips,he swore in that moment to protect War at all cost.

By then he had enough experience raising kids,Fury and Strife were well in their late teens.

Right. He had raised the other two...

The memory flashes Burning bright in his mind, he remembers an 10.000 year old Fury,covered in bruises and scratches,holding Back angry tears.

--How did this come about? --He asked,a single brow raised as he cleaned the light wounds on his sister. A cloth with a green solution pressed against one of the scratches, gaining a hiss from the child.

--They called me weak --She bit, voice wavering as if her body couldn't fit all the emotions inside of her.--When I...when I told them I wasn't,they came to beat me up to 'show' that I was. It wasn't a fair fight! They were four and I was-

Death raised a hand--Do not listen to them,child-- was that anger in his voice?-- you are not weak. And that was not a fair fight. But you don't have to fight fair if they aren't

A mischevious grin appeared on the girl's face--Soooo that means I can break one of their bones?

He laughed. Yes,laughed. And so loud,so warm ,he nodded his head and allowed his smile to linger-- As many as you're safely able to. Perhaps you could take Strife along. Or Me, if he's not available.

If her smile could grow wider,it would've in that moment-- And that would not be fair...

--Exactly.

The cloth pressed against the wounds again in gentle lines,dabbing the medicine across it. And with this New revelation she's just got,Fury Doesn't hiss or complain as she's hyped up on the idea of revenge.

It's so good seeing her happy. He wants her to be happy.

The memory flashes forward and he sees himself finish cleaning her up and now helping her to stand up. She carries fresh bandages and a renewed spirit.

--Strife! --The eldest Barked out,amused to see his brother run out of his room with Inmense speed,a little terrified-- Make some tea for your sister,just like I taught you. She's had...a rough day.

--So I've heard--Came the voice of the second eldest,it cracks but he pays it no mind to Keep his pride intact-- Next time those suckers come bother ya,y'lemme know and I'll give 'em some of their own medicine!

--May I suggest a rock next time?-- War peeked from the courtains that made up the door of his room.

Death snickered--Perhaps it's about time you begin your training,sister. Come find me when you feel better

--Where are you going? --Fury asked with a tilt of her head.

--To prepare everything for your training,of course-- He made a brief pause-- And to have a chat with some of the elders...

Strife chuckled,knowing trouble's on the way now. --C'mon,young Lady,lets get you some tea-- he Gently picks her up,setting her on his shoulder-- Up you go,princess.

The nickname makes her ego grow a little,she nodds and says-- To the kitchen,squire!

He laughed,such joy on his face-- Yes,ma'am.-- his head briefly Turned to the Hall containing their rooms--Yo War! You want some?

Quick paced,small steps begin to approach,War almost falls on his face and he excitedly follows after the second eldest.

Then,Death remembered the elder nephilim complaining about how their charges got beaten up by Fury. He only snickered and told them to either quit their whining or teach their charges some proper fighting.

All of this used to be hazy,now its crystal clear. He had almost forgotten they had a house,made of brick,mud and with a Thatched roof. Death had even managed to add a small fireplace for the colder times.

He now remembers the walls were always stained with paint,War loved to sneak into Death's room and steal his older brother's 'war paint' so he could smear it all over their home in patterns.

It had gotten to a point that Death no longer bothered to wipe it off or hide the pigments,somehow the youngest nephilim always found them and made a mess.

And for the longest time,he's avoided his fond memories with Strife for him and his sibling are too much alike. Aside from their quick wit and sarcasm,both were bull-headed,both handled their issues on their own even if it upset the rest of their siblings,both got lost in the past.

But the gunslinger always aimed for being better.Death,Until now,chose to remain stuck.

It was easier to deal with his grief If he didn't pay attention to the one brother that managed to somehow make his peace with it. Perhaps that's why he antagonized Him so much.

Now,he regrets it. He regrets it so,so much.

He willingly opens the box where this one particular memory was hid. He remembers it was well past midnight,that he was pacing anxiously in the room where the main door was,his feet almost digging a path from how much hes traced his same steps over and over again.

A cup of tea rested untouched on the rickety table they used for dinner and lunch,even if they didn't need to eat. Back then things were so much different. They Ate food not out of necesity, but rather...a social activity of sorts.

The reaper would never admit he only wanted to spend an uninterrupted time with his siblings.

Outside there was a storm brewing, the Howling of the Winds and the roaring of the thunder didn't help calm the rider's mind. Was Strife okay? Where was he? Why is he taking so long?

He was really close to putting on his cowl And going to find the damn rascal-

--oh crap. --Strife mused as he opened the main door,hes covered in mud and sticks are poking out of his spiky hair.

--Where in Oblivion where you?!--He barked,stepping up to his brother and taking his face in his hands. Frantic eyes inspected for any injuries,any wounds he ought to tend to.

The younger nephilim stands quiet and paralyzed as he sees the behavior of his sibling. He's never seen him like this,he's never been this utterly worried.

--'m sorry I scared you...-- He mumbled, looking at the ground.-- The guys had found a baby hellhound and I really wanted t'see it and- And then one of those idiots decided to pick it up and...The pup attacked and scarred half of that moron's face. I ran,just in case.

Death sighed loudly,hands wiping away the dirt on his kin's face--Imbecils,the lot of them.

--Shouldn't you add me to that list of idiots?--Strife asked with a scoff.

--you didn't touch it, did you?-- he shook his head-- Then at least you had enough of a sound mind not to mess with it.

The younger nephilim raised his brows--I was honestly expecting the scolding of the century.

--Your Friends' idiocy is not your responsability--the reaper concluded--Any injuries I should be aware of?

--Jus' a heavy scrape on my knee- I-I'll tend to it I don't want to bother y-

--sit --Ordered the reaper as he began to walk to his room where his medicine bag was-- I'll take care of it.

Oddly enough,Strife obeyed his brother and sat down Next to the cold cup of tea. He waited there flabbergasted at the sheer care his sibling had just displayed. As he grew older,he has been left to his own devices and the eldest nephilim dedicated his energy on training Fury and tending to War.

For a moment,he's forgotten his elder kin does really care for him. In his own sardonic way,mind you.

As Death tends to the injury,Strife remains quiet and his head hangs low with shame. It's a sight that even to this day,still unnerved the reaper.

--Never scare me like that again,understood?--He asked with a soft voice,still charged with worry and a little anger. Yet he's clearly still caring.

--Yes sir-- the youngest answered as the bandage around his knee is tied off and secured.

The oldest stands up with a Long,deep sigh,lessening the harshness he had just dished out--I'll make you some tea to warm you up,I don't want you- Need you to get sick on me now. Then you'll go Straight to bed.

--I'm caked in mud.

--You'll clean yourself tomorrow when the storm passes. There should be a lake nearby..

Strife nodded and did as he was told. He felt guilty seeing how much his brother had worried, How the old reaper didn't think about going to bed until he was back. He could see the light trace of his looping footsteps on the ground.

He felt inmense shame at the thought that he accidentally caused his brother more than the usual light,endearing and frustrating distress. That he genuienly,really,scared him.

After his tea,the youngest goes to his bedroom. But as he passes by his brother,he gets a gentle pat on the head,a single gesture that meant he was forgiven. Strife finds himself smiling just a little,and he swears he hears his sibling snicker with warmth.

--if you're going to mess with creatures,I might need to teach you magic --The reaper added,seemingly thinking outloud.

--Ha! Y'don't want to give me that kind of power.

Death scoffed-- It's a risk I'm willing to take...

God,they used to be a family.

Look at them now.

Broken,scattered to the winds in a land they don't know. Demons,angels and Creator-knows-what-else roaming about in the end times. They're all now far appart from eachother, no more lighthearted laughter and warmth.

He misses them.

He misses what they used to be.

Was their house still standing? Does he even remember where they used to live? Could they return to it and re-learn to be how they used to?

Death now realizes that the only thing he ever wanted to be was a brother . Not a kinslayer,a horseman,an executioner.

No. He was his happiest,he is at his happiest beside his siblings.

The final blue light of the Well of Souls pierces his eyelids and he holds on to those sweet memories as he's engulfed and consumed. His last moment is spent hoping his siblings can forgive him.

And he was ready for this to be the end,but then he felt the pull of life being breathed back into him in an instant. He wakes in the blazing sphere he's used to be in when he's sent on missions.

If hes alive,It means the final seal has been broken,how could it have remained intact up until now? War would have never ridden to the earth if the final seal hadn't been shattered.He has so Many questions.

The earth shatters as he lands on the ground in a crater of brimstone and ruination,he feels weak and disoriented. Yet his eyes drift upwards to be met with the gaze of Fury and Strife looking down at him from the edge of his landing zone with what seems to be...distress.

Have they felt him die? Was that fear in their gazes?

Without hesitation he walks up the slight slope, being helped up by his siblings who note something's off with him.

Desicive as he usually is,he pulls his siblings into a tight hug and he simply whispers--I'm sorry.

[september-rainn]

Donnie darko agere hcs perhaps? 🤨

Little!Donnie Darko Headcanons

✮⋆˙ 1/2/3 - 4/5/6 - 7/8/9 ✮⋆˙

I am surprised I haven't done this earlier, he's my everything. I cannot believe it took an ask to get this made. I've seen a lot of headcanons about him being transgender and I kind of see it, so I'm following the masses and incorporating it

CW: Mentions of pills & dysphoria

☆ Donnie's little age is anything pre-puberty, typically ranging from 5 to 8, but can slip as young as 2 when especially stressed or as old as 11 when on the cusp of regressing

★ He tends to slip into little space when with his therapist (due to hypnotherapy, though he hardly counts it), when extremely anxious, or when extremely dysphoric.

☆ He's primarily pre-puberty to help with discomfort in his body due to maturing. Part of it is because he mourns never having a "masculine" childhood, and wants to live that out like every other boy got to do.

★ He refuses to have a caregiver. He fantasizes about having one, and what it'd be like, but is too independent to allow anyone to take care of him

☆ Doesn't mean people, primarily his sister and mother, haven't tried. He's more open to letting Elizabeth care for him in small doses. He starts to get agitated if he feels she's impeding too much on his "little" time

★ THE KING OF TANTRUMS!! He'll scream, he'll cry, he'll stomp his feet, he'll throw things, he'll rip things up. He has a hard time managing frustration when he is little. This contributes to his adamancy on not having a caregiver; he doesn't wish to subject someone to his fits

☆ Fiddles a lot. He loves having things to fidget with. His go-to is the strings of his hoodie, and small handheld trinkets, like a Rubik's cube. Not much of a teether. Needs to keep his hands occupied

★ Loves coloring books!! He steals Samantha's coloring books, too shy to get any on his own. Samantha notices. She doesn't say anything

☆ He loves drawing too. Depending on how old he is, it can be pen scribbles or well-thought-out doodles. He holds the pen in his fist to make his drawings look more child-like

★ He still had the doggy stuffed animal he got from his therapist. He has an unhealthy attachment to it, In and out of regression. He panics if he doesn't have easy access to it. Washing it has always been a pain

☆ The only little gear he had ever gotten for himself (aka not stolen from Samantha) was a sippy cup. Mostly drinks mixed berry juices and sparkling water

★ Samantha and Donnie play together sometimes when he's regressed. The trampoline is their favorite toy to play with. Samantha isn't aware of his regression, but she's happy he plays with her

☆ Surprisingly, he's more willing to take his pills when regressed. His brain is too foggy to conceptualize if he needs the pills or not, nor what they say about him (will fuss a little. It's tradition)

★ Only eats soft foods. Things like cakes, bread, soup, bananas, etc.

☆ Unsurprising; He likes watching the Smurfs, alongside other cartoons. He loves to curl up with a blanket and his stuffed doggy and binge episodes for hours

★ Has glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, and a few dangling over his bed

☆ Despite his age being on the older side, he loves crib accessories, like mobile hangings and soothing bedside toys. He has one from when he was a child that plays a faint lullaby

★ Needs calming noise to sleep. Either white noise, a lullaby if he's feeling bold, or the calming voice of another. The latter hasn't occurred outside of his mind, but to him, it works all the same

☆ Plays a lot of board games. He has a hard time finding people to play with him. He's a sore loser. He plays with himself. It makes him sad. It makes him more regressed.

★ If he did have a caregiver, he'd want to call them mommy or miss. Not interested in having a male caregiver-- He's too much of a mama's boy. He's so weak to motherly attention

☆ Would cry if an older woman said he did good. Needs praise to survive

★ Someone kiss this boy on the cheek I think he needs it !!!!

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Pleaseeeee,i love how you write Viktor so much!!Also,i am ecstatic to still see people writing for our favorie pale victorian child-esque man!How do you feel about a request about tenderness?Maybe someone finding him to be their own little safe haven,even if that means just being in his company?

ask and you shall receive! we love a good dose of fluff <3

cw: viktor x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, dialogues — because i fucking love writing them. i couldn’t help but fill this with my stupid ass questionable humour — but i hope you darlings don’t mind me being a little silly. didn’t proofread this + i wrote it at 2 am with only one eye open, so don’t hesitate to slap me if i made some stupid mistakes.

wc: 600~

tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

Viktor’s workshop is a sanctuary of some sort, desk a cramped little shrine cluttered with his precious tools, and you wince, absorbing the rhythmic sounds of his scribbling — soothing and steady, mingling so smoothly with the thuds of hail. The absolute misery of the weather has treacherously decided to lock you up in his bizarre chambers — though it didn’t feel like being held hostage: you were a voluntary victim, wholeheartedly willing to spend hours simply watching him tinker. You wouldn’t dare to sneak out even if it did eventually brighten up — who needs sun in a world where Viktor’s eyes exist, warm and museful, orbs the prettiest shade of amber?

He sighs, living up to the proud position of being the most observant man you know, and a sinuous hand nimbly scratches the screwdriver against the nape of his neck — as if he somewhat felt your enamored eyes on the wild knot of shorter hairs sticking out from under the mess of longer ones. Has you worrying that your glances had just accidentally gained the power of giving him itches.

The gesture is charming in its frivolity, though Viktor seems rather unaware of it as he quizzically turns around, thick eyebrows forming a curious arch at your resonant chuckle.

“What?” he mumbles, dragging the last letter with that heavy accented voice — utterly dashing even in his confusion. “Is there something particularly entertaining?”

It takes you a moment to catch your breath — this man might just become the reason for your passing. You can already picture the epitaph — ‘blame my death on Viktor, who’d been cruel enough to overhumor me to the point of undoing.’ You should definitely demand he makes a joke at your funeral — that way mourning won’t overwhelm everyone present too much.

The thought makes you notice that you must inherited your lover’s view on mortality. That’s a little food of thought for another, less cheerful day.

“Your choice of a… scratching tool is rather unusual, that’s all,” the soft response earns you a wry smile on his behalf — no teeth, just a handsome stretch of slightly chapped lips into a thin line. “You could’ve just asked me to do it for you, you know?”

“I would hate to become a distraction for the foolish purpose of using you as a screwdriver,” he remarks with a hum, nodding in your direction. Though his concern about disturbing you vanishes the second you step closer, brushing his hair with a gentle stroke of a touch-starved hand, fingers getting stuck in tangled locks, reminding you to use an actual brush on him later.

“Ah, but I wasn’t busy,” you assure him, savouring the barely audible keen when you part the woven together hairs with the softest of tugs. “And I don’t mind becoming your tool for a minute or two. As long as I can be of service.”

“That’s very, eh… thoughtful of you,” he purrs a careful response, visibly savouring the tender gesture — the man is basking in your gentleness, and you’ll gladly offer him every last bit of it — if only he proceeds with being yours in return. “May I hope for your indulgence in case my tools accidentally become useless?”

He gives you another pretty grin — it’s a toothy one this time, and you stiffen, endlessly proud of bringing such a wide smile to his mostly demure face.

“Of course,” you respond with a sweet peck, placed precisely on the mole above his chuckling mouth.

Perhaps you should change the epitaph to ‘died of overwhelming love for a certain scientist’. Though now that you’re thinking about it — the quote is definitely a little bit too cheesy for your liking.

[atticssmellgood]

Love and snotty tissues

Summary: reader is sick and Spencer takes care of him

Spencer Reid x Male!reader(he/him pronouns)

CW: none! This is purely self-indulgent, tooth-rotting fluff🥰

A/N: I’m currently battling a virus right now, and I thought a nice sick!fic would help me feel better! Enjoy!

You sniffled, your head completely buried in the mound of blankets currently engulfing you.

You were completely, and utterly, miserable.

The past few days had felt like hell on earth due to the war your immune system was waging with the germs inside your body. The headaches, the vomiting, the constant cold chills…

Yep, you had definitely found hell.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you fought the intense waves of pain in your skull, like you could somehow banish the splitting headache with sheer will. In fact, you were so focused on this task that you hadn’t heard the squeak of the hinges as the door to your bedroom opened, or the light footsteps making their way towards your bed.

“Y/N? Love?”

You opened your eyes at the familiar voice and internally cursed. You thought about pretending to be asleep, but you knew that probably wouldn’t fool the genius. So, you reluctantly poked your head out from under the blankets, squinting at the sudden brightness.

You heard Spencer laugh quietly, the sound filling you with warmth even as you shivered beneath the blankets.

The doctor pulled back the covers to get a better look at his boyfriend’s face. You gave him a sheepish smile when you saw Spencer’s soft expression turn into a worried one. The hand he used to pull the covers off of you was now on your forehead, pushing back hair damp with sweat.

“Y/N, You’re burning up..” He whispered as his hand gently moved to your cheek, softly running his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.

You closed your eyes and leaned into the touch before responding with: “I’m fine, it’s just a cold, nothing to worry about.”

Spencer didn’t look like he was buying any of it as you opened your eyes to see him staring at you with furrowed brows.

You thought you could get lost in those big, brown eyes. The way they softened when he looked at you was absolutely mesmerizing, like he would give you all the love in the world and it still wouldn’t be enough to describe his feelings.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Spencer leaned down and kissed your forehead, removing his hand from your cheek.

“I’m going to call Hotch and tell him I’m not coming in today.” Spencer said with finality as he dug in his pocket for his phone.

“That really isn’t necessary—“ you groan, but by the time the words had escaped your mouth, he was already putting the phone up to his ear.

—————————

“No! I already told you, I’m not drinking that crap!” Y/N shouts as Spencer tries to give him a small dose of cough syrup.

He laughs as he watches his boyfriend pout like a stubborn child, standing in the kitchen, crossing his arms and turning his head away.

Spencer sighs and softly places his hand on your jaw, turning your head back towards him.

“Please, love? For me?” Your breath momentarily stops as his eyes gaze into yours, warm and inviting. After a moment of silence, you throw your arms up in defeat.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll take the god damn cough syrup, just stop looking at me like that.” He grins at you, making your cheeks feel warm in a way that wasn’t caused by your fever.

Spencer hands the small spoon over to you as you take a deep breath.

‘It’s just cough syrup, you can handle it’

Without another thought, you stick the spoon into your mouth. The disgusting flavor coats your tongue and you gag.

Fortunately, Spencer was already waiting with a glass of water in hand. You snatch the cup greedily, not even waiting for him to extend it to you.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” He smiled sweetly at you before taking the now empty glass out of your hand and setting it on the counter.

“Tell that to my tastebuds,” you grimace “I don’t think I’ll ever get that horrid taste out of my mouth.” It was true, the flavor still lingered even after you drank the water.

Then, without so much as a word, Spencer took your hands and guided them to his lips, showering your palms and knuckles in feather-light kisses. Once he’s done there, he makes his way up to your face, kissing both cheeks, your forehead, and your nose before finally bringing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is gentle, yet firm, his soft lips a stark contrast to your chapped ones. He holds your face in his hands, as if he was scared you might break beneath his touch. In that moment, you were the only people in the world. The feeling of his kiss drowned out the noise of the city, your burning fever, the headache, until all your senses were filled with him. You wrap your arms around his torso and pull him closer, desperate to make this moment last forever. Sometimes you wish you could borrow his memory, if only to remember moments like this, where neither of you felt anything but love and warmth and safety. Your chest felt heavy with longing as you breathe in the scent of vanilla and coffee.

The smell of him.

The smell of home.

He finally pulls away and you open your eyes slowly, the taste of him heavy on your tongue. You feel slightly dizzy when he stares at you, and only then did you realize;

The taste of the cough syrup was gone, replaced by the lingering sensation of his lips on yours.

You grin a giddy, lovesick thing.

“Have I ever told you I love you, Doctor Reid?” You say to him, watching as a pink blush reaches his ears.

The rest of the day was spent mostly in silence, save for the sounds coming from the TV and the occasional “how are you feeling” from your boyfriend. Spencer had made a cup of tea for you, which you were extremely grateful for. The hot liquid granted you temporary reprieve from the soreness in your throat, and tasted heavenly.

You sit on the couch with the warm mug in hand, contemplating just how god damn lucky you were right now.

You had a boyfriend, yes, but he wasn’t just any boyfriend. This man had taken time off of work just so he could take care of you. He didn’t have to, but he did. He cared about you in a way that you may never understand. He filled your life with so much love that you didn’t think it was possible to be able to feel anything else. Sometimes, you’d think your chest would explode from how much you loved that boy. He was like water to you, you couldn’t live without him. You wanted all your days and nights painted with him. His smile, his laugh, his soft touches and gentle eyes. His face, his scent, his voice, you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with Spencer Reid, telling him how much he was loved.

Spencer then came into the living room with a bowl of warm soup and a small stack of DVD’s.

“So, which one are we watching first?”

—————————

The sun had finally settled by the time you and Spencer finished the third movie. One long arm was wrapped around your torso, drawing small circles into you back as you laid on top of him, your head nuzzled into his chest. You sighed contentedly as his other hand carded gently through your hair.

“Hey Spence?” You mumbled, slightly raising your head to meet his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d like to be sick more often.” You say with a lazy grin. He chuckles at that, and you lay your head back against his chest.

Comfortable silence falls over the both of you once again.

“Hey Spence?” You whisper again, eyes half lidded.

“Hmm?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

With that, you close your eyes, surrounded by nothing but love and body heat, letting the steady sound of Spencer’s heartbeat lull you to sleep.

[genshinemblem564]

Sagau x SMT

Hi, sorry for being so absent. My anxiety meds lost their effect and I only got my increased dose prescribed a few days ago. I also picked up a copy of SMTV the same day and I have been HOOKED. So now that I'm able to function again, I thought I'd write something. SMTV is the only SMT game I've played, so i may get some things wrong if i go too much into details, and rather than be another fanfiction, this will be more of a storyboard. (I've already got two other fanfics I need to work on) Anyway, sorry this got a bit long, but I hope you enjoy.

CW: Reader, (Y/N), and you used interchangeably at the start

• There are many ways you could write this, but I find the one that works best for me is in the form of a reverse isekai.

• The characters that appear vary slightly depending on the reader's age and academic advancement. For example, if reader is in high school, Xingqiu may be brought along to help them get close to you. If (Y/N) is in college, it would be someone older like Kaveh. Regardless, the characters that would appear are Xiao for obvious reasons, Faruzan, because they at least gathered that your written language was different from theirs, a few archons of your choice, and Childe, sent by the Tsaritsa as he was the first, and only depending on your progress, Fatui member to earn their creator's blessing. There were supposed to be a few more, but I couldn't think of any at the time of writing this.

• The characters who are looking for you do their best to blend in while doing so, only speeking when prompted, while the others all take part-time jobs so they can afford any resources necessary to find you, and to make sure they aren't living on the streets.

• The crossover starts in the same way regardless. You and a character are walking home when you come across a crowd of people blocking the path. It seems transit had been delayed, so you decide to find a detour, and on a secluded road when the two of you are alone, a crack in reality forms before bursting open to form a portal.

• You felt uneasy, but before instincts could take over, a swarm of monsters came through and dragged the two of you through, the shock of it all causing you to pass out, and when you wake up the first thing you see is Xiao.

• The portal had long since closed as Xiao was preoccupied with your safety. He explains all of this before dropping two swords to the ground, whether it's the choice weapon of you or the character doesn't matter, the weapon he brought for you needed to be light or it would have only served to slow him down.

• From here, your elemental powers awaken slowly and in their weakest form as you strike down the first few daemons with zio.

• The way you recruit demons works more like catching pokemon. Walking through this strange world, you were ambushed by a pixie. You instinctually held out your hands to shield yourself, only to let loose a spell. When you opened your eyes, the pixie was still there, and Xiao was confused as the demonic energy had completely vanished from this being. You purified Pixie.

• After exploring this land a fair bit, you spotted a group of angels being attacked by a powerful demon, and you decide to help them out. After the battle, the angels expressed surprise at the sight of a group of purified demons, and they requested, almost demanded, you speak with their superior.

• After your demons grew enough in power, they were able to make their own portals to and from that world.

I think I'll leave it here, while I definitely would like to write more on this, this was also an exercise to get my brain back into the writing mindset after not being able to for so long. I also have two other fanfictions that I should focus on first, as stated above. I might write more on this as those come closer to ending, but if any writers want to use this, feel free

[squiddy-god]

dad albedo hcs

If you see this, and you're thinking, "hey, I've seen this work before" you're probably correct, I am the original poster, my blog got nuked I was previously squid-god-supreme. I'm re uploading most of my fics. If by the end of this, (which will be announced) you don't see a particular fic you remember me riding, you can always request that I post it and I will probably still have it.

CW : fluf, implied pregnancy, dad albedo, kids and stuff, mushy brain feels. Older fic

Ok so this man would be a great dad lemme tell you smth 

Albedo is someone whos is extremely patient, he also hardly gets extremely mad so he almost never yells and prefers to calmly explain things 

Speaking of witch albedo probably loves kids, kids are just so curious about the wold and always asks questions 

Which he is more than willing to answer! He could spend hours just answering any questions they have 

Also thinks babies are super cute (even if time consuming) 

So albedo has tons, tons of drawings of your kid from when they were a baby and of you with them, a picture of you holding them, another of them sleeping peacefully, one that he sketched while he held them, so many pictures. 

They’re tiny to, they definitely take after albedo in the size department lmao, both of them are smol 

Albeo likes to read books to them before bed whenever he can, usually it's alchemy books but sometimes he’ll make up his own storey to tell them 

Even if it's alchemy books they always seem to ask for another storey of for him to keep reading, and honestly? Albedo is weak and cant say no to the big adorable eyes 

If they don't want to eat something like their vegetables he makes up a storey and dose the airplane trick

Yes its the cutest thing 

It's not an uncommon sight to see your child waiting outside albedos lab for him to finish an experiment, usually he lets them watch if they promise to be good, but if he thinks it might be dangerous then he says they have to wait outside 

SUMMONS HIS ELEVATOR FOR THEM SO THEY CAN JUMP OFF AND LET HIM CATCH THEM 

Its so cute waiting them giggle while he spins them around after catching them 

*cough* imagine albedo singing them to sleep after they have a nightmare *cough* 

Kaeya babysits them pretty often if your both really busy (catch him calling them minibedo) 

Albedo 100% plays teaparty with them and auntie klee

Once you walked in on them playing tea party and you'll never forget the sight of albedo sitting there, clips and bows in his hair, teira on his head, makeup obvious done by the two kids, drinking pretend tea 

Asked if you wanted to join and ofc you did 

Albedo loves soft moments between you, like walking around mondstat together, each of you holding one of your kids hands 

Always loves to hear them talk about something theyre interested in, be it alchemy, clouds, plants, rocks, he loves to listen to it 

Teaches them how to cook! Bonus points if you also help! (albedo is a good cook fight me) 

Both of them have a sweet tooth and honestly how can you resist giving in when they are both so adorable 

They do finger painting together! They sit in albedos lap and they paint<3 its really cute and they always look so proud 

Ojinrbrfiuvneovnei ok maybe i'm soft and bias but Dilf albedo supremacy