#cw reproductive talk

[ineffableigh]

hooo lord the brain be spicy today my kingdom for a med to turn off the uterus that doesn't make my brain try to immolate itself a few months in, like jesus christ

[lesbian-salamander]

im in a minecraft mood sorry

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Allow me to be cringe for one moment and dump all the things I have thought way too much about the Bracken and how it relates to the au me and Egg have that really isn't a joke anymore below-

Just going off of their bestiary, they are solitary hunters with a low population making them very difficult to study due to their aggression. Though they typically back off when confronted, if they feel cornered or are stared at for a long time they will attack. Though with their skin being the color of a red beet and it's textured like it, if I had to guess before being brought to whatever the fuck the moon bases are, the bracken were probably from heavily wooded planets and/or moons. The leaves they have on their back being used for intimidation, but like most animals who have big plumage like that: probably attracting mates as well.

Now due to their low population and solitary nature I'd imagine much like slugs and certain species of fish they are simultaneous hermaphrodites meaning they have both sex organs that function at the same time and if needed can self reproduce, but much like especially flat worms: the aspect of reproduction is a fight for dominance to ensure you don't have to put in the energy to raise and inseminate offspring, you just lay and fuck off. Having a low population and being solitary doesn't mean you're always going to find another member of your species to reproduce with and with them being heavily plant themed I'd figure it would keep going in their reproduction as well.

Instead of having sex organs like mammals have, they'd probably have something similar to seahorses where there's an ovipositor and a brooding pouch with the eggs being fertilized by the submissive party within the pouch itself. Though again tying back to how they're plant themed and are also solitary, unlike seahorses where the eggs are carried until they hatch, they're carried until there's a suitable spot to dig a hole and lay them before covering them and leaving. And this one is purely for my own amusement and was completely Egg's idea: their ovipositors look like shampoo flowers and create their own lube for relaxing the brooding pouch the same way you'd milk one of those flowers.

To signal the mating season they find a high place, bristle their leaves and emit a sweet smelling pheromone that can carry on the wind for miles hopefully to attract a mate. Like I've mentioned before, they fight for dominance typically being ended in one being pinned due to this it's not uncommon for bracken's to have scars from those fights. A flood of endorphins and other hormones prep the brooding pouch for offspring and melt away once the act is over, same with the one whose laying except the hormones prep them for that process instead making it an overall enjoyable exchange despite how violent it can be before such acts.

Now with reproduction and sexual anatomy out of the way onto other things: Bracken have a nesting instinct that's very unique to them as an enemy in game, they have favorite rooms and drag bodies there using the vents. This is the same in the wild too where they create dens either in the trees or underground and drag prey back into it to avoid other predators that may want to steal their kills. They have a very successful kill rate and much like mountain lions you don't typically see them until it's too late. They blend in quite well in their environment and even though they aren't very social you can typically tell what one is doing by the position of the leaves on it's back.

When they're hunting they're pulled taunt against their skin to try and seem as low profile as possible, when they're threatened the leaves raise to try and seem bigger than they actually are and they rattle them to make a bristling sound, and when they're relaxed their natural position is slightly raised and draping like a roosters tail. Though outside of mating season they keep miles long territories with their nests typically being at the center, any other bracken that wanders in is met with hostility and like most predators cannibalization isn't uncommon.

Their main form of hunting is with their hands and claws, typically reserving their teeth to hold onto prey and carry it back. Typically they're ambush predators, stalking or waiting for things they can kill to pass by before grabbing them and breaking their neck, some are active hunters chasing prey down and killing it that way probably with smaller prey as opposed to anything large. This would function the same way on research bases or abandoned moons where they're typically encountered. They stalk and hunt prey, but if intimidated will just book it at the player.

They also cannot mimic human speech, they just don't have the vocal cords for it. Though they can learn to understand language, they will never be able to mimic it back like a bird would. Instead their vocalizations are limited to low growls, clicks, purrs, and hisses. They can also bristle their leaves for certain sounds by rubbing them together much like a cricket would it's wings, but those are typically reserved for mating displays in the fight for dominance. I'd also imagine they're typically nocturnal.

Sticking to the shadows of night to stalk sleeping prey and hopefully avoid anything that might want to harm them. They aren't described as being apex predators and even though their bodies rapidly decompose, it wouldn't surprise me if they did have natural predators given things larger than the sand worm exist and also giants are the other entity that seems like they could at least share the same biome as them due to their plant-like appearances. Giant's don't even have to eat, they just shove things in their mouth for fun.

To tie it into my hehe ship: Tarhos used to be on a research base until the project was abandoned and everything there was left to die or wander. He typically hunts hoarding bugs and snare fleas, they're the easiest for him to get his claws on and aren't as aggressive as things like the thumper. Due to how long he was being studied, he learned quite a bit of English and a bit of other languages here and there from employees interacting with him trying to get him to do certain things to test his intelligence. He still absolutely hunts every employee that enters the base he was abandoned in, but when he hears one of their voices he pauses.

It sounds a lot like the main researcher that used to care for him- that was the one human he ever really liked. And he stalks him. Over and over, getting closer and closer until Haru catches on that this one isn't hostile towards him just other people. He knows if he yells at it, it goes away, but he doesn't mind it sticking around since it kills things for him. That is until all of his crewmates go missing and it's just him... and the shadowy figure that's dripping in blood. Tarhos and Haru leave the former research base now a duo and collect scrap for quota while Haru writes down all he's learning about the bracken in his ship that he named after a tv character knew knew.

This eventually earns him a promotion into the research division and he gets to study Tarhos in a more normal lab environment. He still sneaks him out to stare at the trees and stars, but they've grown quite a close bond. That doesn't mean Tarhos is completely void of his predatory nature. No. Whenever Haru turns his back on him he still has that prey drive even if he doesn't typically act on it beyond caressing his head and his neck in his hands. He knows how fragile Haru is, he's learned that the hard way with how easily his claws cut his skin or his grip bruises, but those events are rare now.

Haru sleeps in his nest and writes in his journal every day reporting on what new things he's learned. No other employee is allowed in the room without Tarhos being locked in his nesting area, but some do it anyway and they're met with a swift end and a mess that Haru has to clean up. Tarhos is possessive and protective of him, but still respects the scientist as his own thing that can do whatever he wants. Most of their days are spent running various tests and writing reports, Haru hasn't had a day off in years though there is downtime due to the nature of his work. Who knows if he even remembers home.

Tarhos really doesn't due to being caught when he was young and practically raised in a lab environment. Haru theorizes this is why he's only partial to certain humans and not anything else. Though it could also be the simple fact that he trained him out of being wary of being looked at by him, so he doesn't feel as cornered or vulnerable around him. Haru like describing him as a cat to other employees and Tarhos doesn't even know what a cat is nor does he really have a concept of most things he and other employees complain about.

It's a lot of learning for both of them and that's fine. At least they have each other's company.

[astarion-ravengard]

okay this may be because i am insane but i am searching for the source on the common thing ive seen where people discuss dhampir being born seemingly stillborn and someone mentioned curse of strahd but boy am i having to comb shit to find this. there's so much surface-level talk of these things but i want it to be nasty okay. i want the details. and i want the SOURCES. cite your sources when you refer to esoteric dnd lore for people like me who want to read all of wotc has published so i can decimate it myself

[jymwahuwu]

-You play a stripping game with Aventurine! See how much you can win?

cw: yandere, dub-con, manipulative behavior, naive, drunk reader, reader has female reproductive system, creampie, getting stripped naked after playing games

"What? Did that customer really say that? This is so silly!" You held a wine glass with ice in one hand and giggled drunkenly. And Aventurine is sitting next to you now. He confirmed your question, causing you to snicker again. He adds the sweet golden liquid to your cup. "That's right - I always advised them not to… Who would have thought that that business would become so exaggerated?"

"Hmm, that's enough, that's enough…" You took another sip of wine, leaned on his table, turned your head, smiled, and looked at the outline of his face. It's been weeks since you talked to Aventurine like this, in his villa. But once you meet him, there is an endless stream of things to say, maybe this is the precious friendship.

"Anyway, how about playing a game when you have free time?" he suggested.

You got interested and asked him what his game was. Aventurine held up your palm and explained the rules to you several times. You nodded, but you didn't really understand. "Okay, okay, how many credits should we bet?"

"It's vulgar to talk about money all the time, my friend." He smiled and held up a finger. "How about taking off one piece of clothing after losing a round?"

"Take off… clothes?" You tilted your head… closed your eyes and shook your head. "ah?"

Aventurine said in surprise. "It's a popular game. Didn't you know?"

"I-Of course I know!!" You raised your voice, pretending you already knew everything. Thinking of the value of his outfit… "Hmph, I can take away your hundreds of thousands of outfits soon."

"1, 6, 2!"

"6, 6, 6!"

"It's time to take off your clothes." He raised his chin and reminded. You snorted, removing a jacket and throwing it on his couch.

"4, 5, 6!"

"6, 6, 6!"

"What?" You picked up the three dice, checked and struck them from different angles, but there was nothing strange about them. "Did you cheat? Why are the results always so incredible?" Aventurine chuckled and shrugged. "I told you before that I'm very lucky, don't you believe me?"

"Ah, okay…" You reluctantly stared at his exquisite attire, which he had never taken off, and then looked down at your own graphic t-shirt and shorts, which were pulled up so that the bra and the breasts wrapped inside were exposed to the air. Embarrassment tugs at your heart and you try to fight back. "Next round! I don't believe you can beat me!"

2, 1, 1.

6, 6, 6.

If question marks could pop up in reality, a thousand question marks would have popped up above your head. You stare at the results in disbelief. How could Aventurine be so lucky? You can't even take one of his watches or rings? And are you so defeated now that you have to take off either your bra or panties?

"I-I won't play anymore. Boring game!" You bluffed, asking to get your clothes back, but Aventurine raised his eyebrow. "Awwww, it seems there is a coward here…"

"Who are you calling a coward?"

"You didn't keep your bet."

You are not a coward! You took back the hand holding the clothes and tremblingly touched your underwear and bra. Which one should you take off? If you lose again, will you really be completely naked? How do you get home? In the midst of your thoughts and drunkenness, you settled on a bra, but then covered your bare breasts with your hands. "Humph, now is the beginning of my victory!"

Victory? Aventurine almost laughed out loud, holding back the ridicule rising in her throat, knowing that you might leave in a huff, and all the previous arrangements would be ineffective. You open a dice simulator from the Internet to avoid possible cheating from Aventurine.

5, 1, 3.

6, 6, 6.

…It’s really…BEYOND WEIRD. How on earth is this possible? Is Aventurine walking on some lucky path you don't know and being protected by the lucky Aeon? But anyway, now you have to take off your panties and keep your promise. Now you were completely naked, in his villa, in front of your friend.

"Hey! You... don't have to do this... " You watched as Aventurine put them all in a box and locked it up. These clothes…are no longer your property. "There's no way I'm going home naked!"

"Didn't someone just say they were going to take my clothes away? I thought you were serious?" He chuckled, pulled your arm, and guided you onto his lap. With your brain like a drunken fog and embarrassment, you knelt on the sofa in confusion, your legs spread apart, and the luxurious sofa sank. A gentle kiss. Bring some hot air. Like an electric shock. "Umm…"

"Too bad your clothes won't come back, but you can win a new set by…"

Aventurine's thumb rubbed against your hot cheek for half a minute before he reluctantly unbuttoned his pants and took out his long, swollen and erect cock, the glans teasing your slit. You whimpered, placing your hands on his chest, and the glans stretched your folds and the warm inside of your vagina. "I…"

This is really more incredible than these rounds of dice. You were bouncing on his cock, moaning and sobbing in ecstasy. His hand cupped your ass, occasionally slapping it in exchange for you squeezing his cock unconsciously, while rubbing your clit with his other hand.

As the cream spurts into your body, ecstatic bliss fills you. You tighten your limbs, your butt trembles, and you wrap your hands around his neck, gasping for air.

"You win. I'll give you a new set when you wake up, okay?"

[reiding-writing]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.

a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.

cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism

“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”

What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.

“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.

“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”

“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.

Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.

“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”

We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”

There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.

“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.

You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”

“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.

“No.”

He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.

He does have some self restraint.

—

Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.

It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.

You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.

It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.

Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.

“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”

“So our unsub had his own key then?”

“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”

There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”

“Will do,”

“Got it,”

There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.

—

Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.

“Professor Callahan?”

“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.

Morgan and Spencer share a glance.

“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”

Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.

“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”

Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.

“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”

His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.

“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.

Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”

Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”

Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”

“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”

As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.

Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.

Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.

“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”

“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.

“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”

There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.

“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.

“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”

Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”

“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.

“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”

“We’ll let her know,”

—

“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.

“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”

She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”

“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.

The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.

“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”

Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”

You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”

It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.

You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”

Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.

“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.

“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”

“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”

She frowns. “it’s awful,”

“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”

—

“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”

Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”

“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.

“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.

“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”

“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”

“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —

“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.

“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.

The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.

“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”

Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”

“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”

You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”

You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”

“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”

“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.

“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”

“I hate you,”

”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.

The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.

“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.

The room erupts into motion.

—

When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.

“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.

You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.

Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”

Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”

Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:

“It was meant to be you.”

You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.

But you can’t say that. Not yet.

“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”

“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”

Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”

“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.

“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.

You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.

It was meant to be you.

The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.

—

“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”

Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”

He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”

“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”

JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”

You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.

“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”

Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

—

You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.

“It was meant to be you.”

You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.

You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.

“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.

—

Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.

But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”

Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”

“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”

Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”

Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”

JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”

You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”

You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”

Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”

“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”

The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.

“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”

You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.

—

Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.

You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.

“You’re not fine.”

The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.

He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”

You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.

“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,”

His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”

You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”

The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.

“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”

Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”

“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.

“It was consensual.”

Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.

He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.

"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."

You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.

You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.

Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”

“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.

“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”

You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.

But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.

“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.

Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.

“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”

“Don’t say that.”

Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”

Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”

“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”

You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.

“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”

“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.

“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”

Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.

“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

He lets out a sigh of your name.

“Promise me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”

—

The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.

He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.

“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”

He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.

“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.

You don’t move.

“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”

“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.

His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”

You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.

He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”

“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”

He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”

You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”

You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.

And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

There it is. The control slipping.

Good.

You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.

You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.

“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.

Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”

Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”

Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”

“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”

He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.

“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”

Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.

You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.

“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”

His face remains eerily blank.

“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”

His entire body stiffens.

“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.

Then, without warning, he moves.

His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.

But you’re faster.

Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.

“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.

Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.

For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.

—

The team is listening.

They hear every word.

Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.

They could go in. They should go in.

But they don’t.

Not yet.

Because this isn’t their battle.

Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.

And then—

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then a single gunshot.

—

“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.

His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile.

“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”

The words hang between you, heavy and raw.

For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.

The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.

“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.

“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.

He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.

“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”

“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.

“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”

Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.

“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”

Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.

And he knows it.

The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.

For a moment, the world is frozen.

The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.

You don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.

A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Then, his knees buckle.

He collapses.

The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.

Weak.

The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.

And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.

You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.

And then—

It’s over.

—

The gunshot sends the team into action.

Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.

But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.

Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.

For a second, no one speaks.

Then you move.

Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.

And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.

You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.

You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.

You just keep walking.

Because it’s finally over.

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.

Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.

The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.

You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

You know it’s them.

You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.

Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.

Then there’s Morgan.

He looks… shaken.

Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You blink, caught off guard.

“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.

Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”

You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.

“I know.”

It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.

Morgan nods, accepting it.

Spencer is the last to approach.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.

You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.

—

The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.

You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.

You should be exhausted.

You are exhausted.

But sleep won’t come.

Your mind won’t let it.

The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.

Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

He just sits.

And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.

Sleep comes a little easier after that.

[izvmimi]

cw: minors dni. smut. first time sex. literal breeding. sci-fi themed. female body parts for reader. izuku is bigger than reader. size kink if you squint.

The dynamics of the world as you knew it thousands of years ago are now gone, and ever since you awoke from cryogenic slumber just 24 hours ago, the next phase of humanity’s plan to continue to exist and expand through the stars is now in progress.

Repopulation.

The new Earth substitute you inhabit is practically devoid of humans and will need bodies, at least until enough of you can build robots to replace your physical labor. There are fifty of you in total, of reproductive age and of peak physical, intellectual and emotional ability (aggregate, with some compartments allowed to be lower than others), and you are assigned to partners based on your compatibility.

They call you terraforming partners. It’s a euphemism for mate. Your only job is to breed.

There are of course other departments to work in the colonizing efforts. Some of the selected fifty have double appointments in the repopulation department and in research and development, others in art and communications, still others in nutrition. You failed to select a secondary appointment prior to your assignment to this planet, and thus have the appointment of Propagator-09A.

It is time to meet your mate. Taking in a deep breath, you leave your quarters, housed in one of two L-shaped buildings surrounding the Nexus or central headquarters, and walk straight down the hall of the dorm building into the designated repopulation centers. These are where you will perform your duties.

The two of you will enter a dome-shaped building from opposite ends of the room. You’re not sure who awaits you on the opposite end of the door, just that they are sexually compatible with you, and pass other measures of compatibility based on a predetermined algorithm. This algorithm is not meant for love, not meant for marriage, just sex and reproduction. Will you two produce at least two minimum viable human children that can be turned over to the administration to be raised? That’s all that is asked of you, and that is what you are contracted to do -

... regardless of who will show up in the next few minutes.

The watch on your wrist monitors your heart rate and everything other than it, and it is starting to beep in concern of your rising heart rate. You suck air into your lungs and let it blow out of your nose. 

Mates are not allowed to hurt you. They are to watch for your comfort, as you are to watch for theirs, they are to stop if you’re not ready, and you are allowed to leave at any time. They are meant to fit you perfectly, and you were specific enough in your application to explain how you liked to be held and pleased.

This will be okay, you tell yourself. It will all be okay.

The door slides upwards into the apex of the dome, and you step into your new home away from home, at presumably the same time as your mate. Marching straight into the center of the room, your eyes lowered to the ground to steady yourself, you don’t notice that the man on the opposite end has not yet begun to move, and when you look up finally once you’ve reached the center, you see him for the very first time, and his cheeks are tinted with the deepest of blushes.

The young man’s lips are parted wide, his hands balled into loose fists at his side as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Immediately, you recognize him from the debriefing session just prior to the cryogenic freezing and the young man - tall, handsome, far too talkative with a voice gentler than expected for a man of his stature but in keeping with his softened but still masculine facial features - seems to hang in the frame of the door, transfixed. Not one word comes out of his mouth. You notice the top of his head, covered in mossy green curls, just barely grazes the top of the door, remembering that the domes have much lower ceilings than the buildings back home.

“Hi,” you eke out, then quickly add, “watch your head.”

Your voice is smaller than usual as you offer him a slightly nervous, strained smile, and he looks as though a shock runs through his body as you speak to him, bumping his head anyway as he walks in despite your warning. You raise your eyebrows, and he laughs just as nervously before meeting up to you.

Standing just inches apart, he scratches his neck, and the pink beneath his freckles still hasn’t abated, but at least now he can talk.

“Sorry about that haha, I’m… I just didn’t realize you’d be so pretty.”

Your own face deeply warms at those words. He’s easy on the eyes too, and you’re thankful for it, but he doesn’t need to charm you as easily as he does. 

Shy yourself, you’re at a loss for words to reply, even thank you failing to be generated. He notices the silence, and quickly fills in the space.

“I’m Izuku. Izuku Midoriya… uh, your terraforming partner. Nice to meet you.”

His hand stretches out to shake yours, and you shake it. It’s larger, warm, and heavily calloused. You wonder what type of work he does, before the mission or now that he’s on this planet with you. With those broad shoulders and impressive biceps of his, you figure it could be something manual, but he’s always sounded quite intelligent so perhaps the muscles are more for show.

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.”

As if on cue, once you’ve introduced yourselves, the doors slide down behind the both of you, closing you in. There’s a loud click, and then the pod announces that it’s moving underground, and you steady yourself as gravity shifts. Your partner’s hands extend reflexively to hold you to prevent you from falling, but he’s careful not to touch you unless the motion is invited.

The pod settles onto solid ground again.

The space isn’t small, but it’s not large either, and while it’s mostly monotone, a smattering of whites and beiges and glass, many of the surfaces are soft and plush. A large, round bed with many pillows, a glass panel that doubles both as a window and a screen is across from it. When you try the window, you realize your pod hasn’t moved completely underground, and you can still see the suns’ rays in the afternoon. You’d heard that the pods are set up this way for insulation. For heat, and for… sound.

You look towards Izuku again. His back is turned from you and he’s looking around the pod as well, examining every corner and crevice, his fingers rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s a caricature of a thoughtful person, you think, soon distracted by the way his shirt hangs over the muscles of his back. He stretches for a moment, and you see the muscles flex under the thin fabric. Something stirs in your chest, then you look away quickly, deciding to search through the closets.

These algorithms hit the nail on the head when it comes to your type, you hate to admit.

Poring through the closets and drawers reveals all manners of lingerie and loungewear, as well as a few very specific costumes that seem to be for roleplay. Your face warms as you see a set of angel wings, and a bunny leotard, then you glance at him, wondering if these are the types of things he’s into. When you see the gladiator suit hung neatly right next to it, you can feel your blood run cold. 

Yes, it’s what you’re into.

There’s a fridge in the center of the room with protein drinks, meal replacement shakes, fresh fruit, wine, chocolate and other sweets, as well as a call button for meals. Cutlery and dishes find themselves in another drawer, along with a small table spread and two chairs that appear at the click of a button in the wall. A makeshift fireplace. 

Anything to set the mood.

Pornography in abundance. Dirty comics. You and Izuku both stare in awe at the sheer collection of spank material, then look at each other, and can’t help but laugh.

They really prepared for everything.

By the time you’ve looked at everything, your stomachs are growling. You share a meal together in polite conversation, which turns into friendly banter, laughter, and then soon, back into pregnant silence as you realize the sun is setting, and you remember there not on a date, not to become friends but for a purpose. 

The ability to delay the inevitable is now being lost, and eventually you’re both acutely aware of the body that occupies the same space. Izuku looks up at you, clears the plate before him, and broaches the subject first.

“Have you ever-”

“Yes,” you lie.

“Oh.”

He looks down for a second, then looks up at you. You wonder if he’s disappointed, but soon he adds, “I’m sorry if I can’t meet up to expectations but I’m willing to learn how to make you feel good.”

Your stomach twists for a moment, but you offer a smile. He looks sincere, no waver in those bright, green eyes, and it warms you. The two of you clear away the dishes soon, and Izuku tells you he’ll be careful with your body, once clothing has been stripped away, and the two of you are bare and facing each other.

You don’t know what that will entail before he touches you, but the inevitable attraction you have towards him, the magnetic draw that he has to your body, informs you soon. Your lips meet, you on your tip-toes, and his arms reaching carefully around his waist. The first kiss is reticent, soft and anxious, the second is hungry, the third is greedy. His tongue tastes everything your mouth has to offer, yours fights to get its share as well. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, as your chest presses against his. Your hearts beat in time with each other. Thump, thump.

Izuku’s skin smells like spring water and freshly cut grass, and is soft and warm to the touch; his weight against yours is a comfort you’ve needed your whole life. His breath against your skin, soft kisses along your collarbone, between your breasts, over your lower belly, and finally culminating with his mouth laying over your clit makes your body buzz. He whispers something about reading that you cumming first will make you accept him better, but the way he eats you out hungrily makes you think that it’s less tactical and more for the pleasure of it. He’s good with his fingers, too, thick and deep in your crevices, gentle but purposeful. 

The act of copulation can be such a solemn, resolute affair, but for you two it’s a new dance, where your bodies open up to each other in concert. Your bodies press and join together, your mouths each swallowing the other’s gasps as he enters you, as you take all of him in. You feel like heaven, he feels like paradise; the ebb and flow between you is perfect, unending. The sun sets without your notice because all you can see is each other.

Unconquered territory is discovered inch by inch, from inside out. Izuku makes your toes curl, your heart skip several beats as you cry out his name, even if you’ve just learned it moments ago. It’s a job, but the pleasure seems almost sinfully indulgent.

And you’re both extremely hard workers by nature. 

Breathless by the time he’s filled you to the brim, you have to remind each other that you don’t have to be pregnant at this very moment. He pulls out of you reluctantly, and your body tries to hold onto him, but all good things must come to an end, even if temporarily.

“Are you okay?” he whispers over your knees. 

You’re better than okay, full of affection and hope, flooded in hormones. You nod, Izuku offers a kiss to both your kneecaps as he applies just enough pressure with a forearm to keep your folded position. Parts of his semen slips out of you and he asks you if he can, and when you nod, cheeks warm and breathing steady, pushes the slippery substance back into your body with two fingers. 

A timer goes off and he sighs, laying down beside you.

“Testing is at the end of the week,” he muses. He’s staring at the ceiling. You want to reach over to him, but it feels too intimate for a first meeting, even if he’s been in your guts, even if he’s planting himself forever into you.

“Yeah.”

“I think we can do it,” he adds. Your worn out body warms, wanting more already. 

It’s just a job, you remind yourself. It’s work, not play. Duty, not love.

“Me too.”

Izuku turns to look at you, and he’s so earnest and sweet, you can practically imagine you are lovers, instead of biologically matched mates, and that rather than this transient mission, you’ll be together for the rest of your lives.

[latenuitrambles]

CW: nsfw thoughts ! Read at your own risk. Not proofread because I'm having a brainrot.

I have been having such disgusting brain rots about very specific scenarios with very specific fictional men.

Domestic brain rot with Nanami !

Just absolute hate fuck with Toji who would destroy you<3

Old man Welt yang who lets you take charge because he gets out of breathe and tired so quick, but you are so young and energetic so he lets you take the lead while he recovers his stamina so that he can go at it again<3

Neuvillette who knew that humans did have sex for reasons other than just reproductions, but never understood why, but after meeting you he cannot stop. You show him just how pleasurable it can be and now he cannot go even a single moment without dreaming about having fucking you! (he tells himself this is all so that he can better understand humans but he's lying to himself he is just addicted to you)

Absolute menace of edging Sampo who would keep mocking you and acting soooooo smug!!!

And secret Mean!Dom Jing Yuan who at first seems like a soft!Dom because he is not very loud or rough but he would just mock you and talk to you in such a gentle but condescending tone pretending to be clueless and act oblivious to your needs and then act surprised when you become too needy from all his teasing.

[auspicioustidings]

Mermen au with mer TF141 and researcher reader trying to learn about their. . .biology :Dd Or them trying to bring progressively bigger fish trying to woo and then Ghost ends up bringing you a fucking orca or some shit,

...I had to look up the reproductive cycle of several marine animals for this I hope you are happy.

Deductive Reasoning

Words: 1.3k

CW: ...light fish porn (?)

It was just fascinating. It would have been dreadfully difficult to not talk about this every chance you got and thus break your NDA if not for the fact that you never left this secure little island base. You were permitted to, but why would you want to? You were speaking with living, breathing mermen almost everyday.

4 of them, although they had alluded to their being more out there. These 4 were a... well that was the question wasn't it? Only one shark did not make a shiver, only one seal did not make a herd, only one walrus did not make a rookery and only one mandarinfish did not make a shoal. Was there a collective term for mermen? You were told you were now the leading researcher in the world for this new species, so perhaps that meant you got to decide.

Or maybe you'd just ask. They spoke to you sometimes, or at least made noises. They seemed to understand each other at least which was intriguing on its own.

It had been Soap you had met first. You had been basically abducted and hurried to this island facility where they had captured a real life merman. You were enamoured immediately by the furious thing in the tank. Half seal, harbour seal you thought. Top half looked all but human (skin must be different to allow for underwater living and ah, yes, you could see gills), hair in a mohawk (which suggested someone had cut it to look like that, who? Was it a ritual? Did they have community? Was it an emulation of human culture? Perhaps some mating strategy?), eyes somewhere between human and seal (his physicality was a similar story, he was built strong and thick, a healthy layer of fat over hard muscle).

You perhaps felt a little bashful looking back. You had been so wildly excited, asking a thousand questions and going into chaotic science mode that it took you a whole 16 hours of straight observations and notes to realise there was a creature of higher intelligence being held captive in a tank. You did, of course, apologise profusely. He clearly did not understand what you were saying, but the emotion was human enough. Bemusement.

Soap had come about because he was slippery. Well, actually he wasn't, but the story was that he was slippery. Because if the military knew you had actually been helping him escape you were probably going to get disappeared. It was lucky the facility at that time wasn't as high security, you had gotten away with it.

You had met Gaz right there on the coast when Soap went slicing through the water. You thought looking back that Price and Ghost had probably been there, just out of sight. They had come for him. Gaz was a magnificent thing. His tail was the same pattern as a madarinfish, bright orange with gorgeous blue markings. You had shown him a tin of irn-bru once with a grin and learned then that Soap could laugh. He had come right up to you and after some form of exchange with Soap had been playful, showing off his tail and holding his hand out to you. You had been existing on caffeine and noodles so hardly your fault you took it, getting dragged into the water.

Oh how thrilling an education you received in the courting practices of Dragonets! He had made quite a show of displaying his fins, including a gorgeous dorsal fin on his human looking spine. You knew you simply must see them again if only to study why Gaz's eyes were more human while Soap's leant towards seal like. He was certainly the most expressive of them. His name had only come about because you had tried every other one and he made his disdain for them very clear. By the time the merman had been rubbing what you would call his ventral fins against you, Soap had grabbed you and soundly deposited you back on shore. Just in time too for the soldiers to find you because the doctor later told you that you were in the early stages of hypothermia. Totally worth it actually.

You talked the powers that be into allowing your pet projects to free roam, after all they kept coming back to see you. Over the course of a year the facility was upgraded and a channel added from the sea to an indoor pool that would allow for better study. Soap and Gaz didn't run on a schedule exactly, but they seemed content to swim in every so often and let you poke and prod. Fascinating that they should both be half human but their other half was so entirely different. Soap was half mammal, retractable penis something he was very proud to show off anytime he was in the observation pool. Gaz was half dragonet, and while you tried to put a clutch of eggs in the pool to see if he could fertilise them he had only raised an eyebrow at you and tried once again to pull you in. Tough luck, you had learned your lesson about going into the water with them when you had met Ghost.

It had been the middle of the night when he swam into the pool. Silent, you hadn't heard him (that's where that name had come from in the end). So unsuspecting were you that you were too near the edge and his hand had snaked around your ankle, one sharp pull dragging you in after you fell to the ground (hardly avoiding a broken nose). It wasn't only his tail that was shark, he had a sharp set of teeth that he sank into the meat of your shoulder without much ceremony. His claspers had been strong as hell holding you there, the only thing likely saving you his frustration at your clothes. He must not have understood the concept very well because he released you and dove, pawing at your trousers to try and figure them out. It was an endless source of fascination for him anytime he visited after. He would lean his arms on the pool edge and just stare at your legs, tracing the outline of your body with his sharp eyes. It only seemed fair to let him look since you spent an inordinate amount of time staring at him. He was sleek and muscular, every inch an apex predator in his prime.

It was a contrast to who you would say was the leader of their group. The merman who had saved you from Ghost that first time you met him, who had ripped him away from you when his teeth had sunk into the meat of your thigh through your trousers. Price had hauled you out of the water with ease. He was part Walrus, huge and soft with a layer of blubber similar to Soap's that hid considerable strength. Of all of them his animal half was most pronounced, his canines elongated into tusks and his hair thick and whisker-like around them.

As a scientist you could not possibly play favourites. Price was absolutely your favourite. He would be still and patient with you when you were working with him. He would gently run his fingers over whatever parts of you were in reach. When you babbled excitedly he seemed to listen as best he could.

If you had taken more than a moment to really look into it, you might have realised you were not the only creature conducting research. If you had used some deductive reasoning, you probably could have anticipated that fateful day you were dragged into the sea, never to be seen by the human military again.

[ashe-smash]

Baby Talk | Chapter 1: Conception Ao3

Piccolo x Reader

Tags/ CW: Infertility, Themes of Infertility Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alien/Human Relationships, Namekian Biology, Piccolo has a Diccolo (Later Chapters) Oviposition, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Alien Pregnancy.

Word Count: ~2.4K

Summary: You’ve known Piccolo and you reproduce differently since the beginning of your relationship- before you were ever really dating. You thought it was fine until it’s not. Piccolo and Reader have to navigate their reproductive incompatibility. (Aka Writer takes some significant liberties with Namekian biology)

Big thanks to @ginrastandsby for beta-ing and the DB reader discord for support with my fics ! 🫶

FYI, this it technically in canon with another wip. I consider them the same Reader Character- for context 1) Reader is a childhood friend of Videl, shes Pan’s godmother. 2) Piccolo and Reader can have sex. He had an “appendage” that’s sheathes thats similar to a penis. It produces lubrication, but no genetic material/ sperm.

Piccolo stares at your sleeping form. He knows you don’t like it, but he’s feeling things he’s not quite sure how to process. It’s not like he needs sleep like you, so maybe if the Namekian stares long enough the puzzle will piece itself together. 

Eventually you rouse from it, mumbling a reminder and beckoning him to join you under the warmth of your comforter. Ready to drift back asleep. He usually lies with you, meditating until you wake but he doesn’t feel like joining you right this moment. 

“You want a baby.” Piccolo says flatly. It’s not a question, because he knows it’s true. He hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop on you or anything, he simply has very good hearing. Chatting with an old friend who’d just had a baby during a chance encounter earlier that day. Something about you wanting one of your own if the cards were ever right for you. 

You’re much more awake now. “This isn’t a middle of the night conversation Piccolo.” 

Piccolo knows that, he thinks. Navigating a relationship is new for the Namekian, while he’s been friends or allies with earthlings for two decades- most of his life- this is his first romantic and physical one. 

But he knows he loves you. It feels a little foreign, unlike his love for Gohan or Videl and Pan and maybe that’s why this bothers him. He can’t even place the feelings he is having now: he’s not angry, he knows anger, he’s not scared- this seems a little silly to be scared over? Worried. He thinks he’s worried. 

Piccolo touches his throat, it’s almost absentminded. “I can't … do that.” 

“I know.” You sigh. Not disappointedly, he thinks. You’re just tired. “Lo I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.” He’s not quite sure why either. It’s just bugging him and he’s not used to that.  

You huff, a little grumpy at being woken up. He acquiesces and crawls into the blankets with you, attempting to appease his slight of having woken you up. You curl up at his side, body warm with sleep. Piccolo always runs on the cooler side, not warm blooded like humans. You change that tucked into his side. “Can we talk about this in the morning?” 

When you do fall asleep, it’s restless. Even in the deepest parts of meditation he can tell you aren’t sleeping well. You can’t seem to get comfortable, nor does it seem you ever fully fall asleep.Eventually when the morning is still silver blue, you give up and wake yourself up. “You know, there are human men that couldn’t give me a baby right?” 

“I don’t … want you to do… that.” 

“I don’t want that either. I mean, even if we can’t have a baby together it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Even if I want a baby, I still love you.” 

He turns his head and kisses the palm you tucked against the side of his face. You love him regardless, even if he can’t give you it. 

You eventually roll onto your stomach to look at him.“Is it even something you want.” 

For him, it feels very complicated. Very few Namekians ever reproduce. He thinks it sounds horrific. Not to mention his own relationship with his own father- or lack there of adds another layer of complexity. 

You having your own child through whatever alternative ways would just mean there would be another human in his life that he would eventually outlive. However, he doesn’t want to take that away from you. 

The two of you are reproductively incompatible. Technically, you’re both the egg bearers. Sex is only possible because Namekians still have vestigial appendages that are similar to penises. 

“I don’t know.” 

If he slept maybe he’d dream of it. Silence hangs in the air between you two. If his hearing wasn’t so good, he might think you were sleeping again. 

“Are you sad?” 

You take a deep breath before answering, which almost is an answer in itself. “A little bit, yeah. I knew you couldn’t- we couldn’t … do that since we first slept together. But I guess it feels different when we actually talk about it.” 

You curl yourself back up to his side. “Do you want to go back to sleep?” 

You nod. “You can go meditate outside if you want.” 

He usually does around this time in the morning while you sleep in. Piccolo shakes his head. He thinks he’d rather stay here with you. 

He has a feeling this topic is only shelved for later.  It’s not like you’re going to stop wanting it, even if you also love him. He wishes it was simpler, at least for your sake. 

At least you sleep a little more peacefully after that. 

… 

It’s a few days later when Pan is over that it comes back up again. The two of them are training and you’re sitting under the big tree outside your home. Usually you’d sit in your office to work, but it seems there’s been a bit of unspoken clinginess between the two of you. Luckily you already work from home and can work from almost anywhere as long as you have your laptop. 

“Pico, why is Auntie crying?” 

Piccolo turns his head to see you slip back into your shared home. He doesn’t see your face though. 

Piccolo ruffles a hand through Pan’s hair. “Go take a lap, I’ll make sure Auntie is okay.” 

You’re in the kitchen and you duck your head so he can’t see your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. I just-“ Your voice cracks, betraying your words. “Just need a minute.” 

“Why are you crying?” He steps up behind you, but he’s not sure if he should touch. 

You shrug. “It’s fine. Go- Go train with Pan.” 

“She’s worried about you.” Maybe it’s a little cruel to play that card but if it will get you to tell him what’s wrong. When a fresh wave of tears starts, Piccolo can’t stand it anymore and tucks you against his chest. Wraps an arm around your crossed arms. 

“It’s awful and I feel guilty for feeling it.” You sob. 

This is the worst part- when he doesn’t know what to do. Usually you’re there to help guide him through it, but that’s wildly inappropriate at this moment. 

“Deep breath, please.” It’s shaky but you manage it. He lets you take another one too. “I’ve heard some pretty awful stuff, I doubt you could say anything as bad.” He strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. 

“It feels mean to say to you, Lo.” 

“Do you intend to hurt me with it?” You shake your head. “Then please tell me so I can understand?” 

“Pan’s an only child…” He’s aware of that fact. You take another deep breath. “T-that’s fine, I just… I always figured it’d be okay cause she’d have a cousin or two eventually.” 

Goten’s still pretty young- by the time he might have kids, Pan will probably be a teenager… Oh. “Because you thought you’d have kids?” 

He’d never thought about it. He’s technically an only child, Gohan and Goten are far apart in age- at least Goten has Trunks to play around with. Bulla and Pan are close enough in age but that hardly means anything. 

You want to give her a playmate. 

It makes sense. The two of you love Pan more than anything, probably more than each other. 

“I'm sorry.” You say wetly. “I’m not trying to guilt you or anything…  I’m just sad about it.” 

“What can I do for you?” 

“I really just needed a minute, Big Guy.” You squeeze at an arm that’s wrapped around you. “I think I might go lie down for a little bit?” 

He holds you for another minute then lets you go upstairs. He waits until he hears you get into the bed before he leaves

When Piccolo comes back outside, Pan is sitting in the grass poking at a bug. She’s more like her dad than one would first believe by looking at her. “Why was Auntie crying, Piccolo?” 

“She’s sad, bud.” 

“Are you getting a divorce?” 

“What? No, where did you even hear that?” Technically, the two of you aren’t even married. Can he even legally get married? 

“One of my friends at school’s mom and dad are getting a divorce. Her mom is very sad when I see her.” 

Oh, that makes sense. 

“We had a grownup conversation recently and it made Auntie sad.” It’s hard because Piccolo can’t exactly talk to her about the truth. 

“When Daddy makes Mom upset, he buys her chocolates and flowers! You should do that Picco!”

“Yeah? Auntie’s laying down right now, think we should go get her something to cheer her up?” 

Pan nods enthusiastically. She hops up to take off to fly towards the nearest store. Piccolo glances back at your home before he takes off to join her. Hopefully you’ll be alright for a little bit by yourself. 

…

It seems fine at first. Piccolo has an armful of treats (all picked out by Pan). She’s not worried anymore, eager to help Piccolo “fix” your sour mood. 

Until they walk straight in front of the baby section. Rows and rows of pastel baby clothes. Bottles and pacifiers line the adjacent walls of the section. 

Something curdles in Piccolo’s stomach. He’s assumed he’s been feeling this way because you’re feeling sad and upset about this. Maybe he does want a baby? As bad as you do. Especially with the realization that yours and his baby would grow up with Pan. 

Pan tugs on his gi. “What’s wrong, Piccolo?” 

He blinks. “Just thinking that Auntie’s up by now.” He shrugs the arm holding all of the snacks Pan picked out. “Do you think this is enough?” 

It’s a bit early for him to be dropping off Pan but he feels it’s necessary.  Videl seems a little concerned but mostly just surprised. He assures her that something just came up. He’ll make it up to Pan another day. Maybe you and him can take her out for a fun outing when you’re in better spirits. 

He takes the plastic baggie of snacks and heads home. 

You’re still lying down when he returns. Laying on your stomach, face practically smothered in the pillow- he really hates when you sleep like this. Based on your breathing, you’re not quite sleeping but not quite awake. 

He crawls on top of you being careful to not put all his weight on you, but enough. You once told him about weighted blankets- that it’s comforting to have the extra pressure sometimes.

“I wish I could give you a baby.” 

“We could.” You mumble. Your voice is scratchy from sleep and crying, probably. 

The Dragon Balls? So you two could have a baby together? It feels ironic that Piccolo hadn’t thought of that. It’d be relatively easy- Bulma keeps them constantly collected and protected to be used if needed. 

He lets you turn over but he doesn’t get off of you, his head resting on your belly. “Do you really want to do that?” 

You shrug. “What if they were needed for something… more important?” ‘Something more important’ goes unsaid. Piccolo nods. That would be an awful thing for your baby to have over their head their whole lives. 

“If you really wanted… what’s it called when another man fathers a child for someone who can’t?” 

“Donor?” 

“If you really wanted it… you could do that.” Piccolo really doesn’t like that. He’d love your child because they’re part of you but he’d still struggle. 

“I… I want your baby, Lo.” You pout. “It’s selfish but I want you to get me pregnant and I want to have your baby. I know it’s unrealistic to want that but I do.” 

“But we can’t do that and we can’t… make it happen other ways… So?” 

You turn your face away. “I guess we just …don’t.” 

He rubs your hip, he hates that you’re sad and he can’t really do anything about it. “You’re still sad about it though, right?” 

“I might always be sad about it, Piccolo.” You sigh. “But we have Pan.” 

He nods. “We have Pan.” 

“And I love you. You know that right?” 

Of course he does. It’d be awkward because the two of you are so interconnected in your lives but if you didn’t want to be with him anymore- he’d understand if you left him. Being with a man who looks like an alien has been quite the adjustment. 

“Please don’t cry again.”  He points to the bag of acquired goodies. It’s set on the edge of the bed, but he doesn’t move away from you to actually retrieve it. “Pan picked you out snacks.” 

“Yeah? That’s where you went?” You giggle, a little forced but it lifts the mood. “Can I eat them in bed?” 

Piccolo grimaces. He takes the sanctity of your bed very seriously, you sleep there after all. “... If you really want to.” That makes you laugh a little more genuinely. 

Ultimately you decide to go eat your snacks downstairs during a movie. Snacks for dinner, though Piccolo will insist you eat something more substantial. You think maybe you’ll entice him into a warm bath later. 

Your phone buzzes: 

>> (Del) Pan said you were upset earlier? Everything alright?? 

You expected this. Pan’s still little and likely can’t keep a “secret” especially from her mother. 

Truth be told, Videl and Gohan have been far too involved in your relationship with Piccolo. Sure, they are your respective best friends- Videl is the reason you’re together. 

The first time you two had a serious argument, the married couple seriously meddled into getting you to talk to Piccolo again- even though you both really just needed some time to cool off. You know they were just trying to help but you don’t need that now. 

You sneakily snap a pic of your partner. He’s sitting with your feet in his lap, holding a plate of your treats so they don’t spill while you’re texting. 

>> (You) Just having a hard day. Nothing >> Sorry Piccolo brought Pan home early. 

Maybe someday they’ll be told. Perhaps you’ll sob to Videl after one too many glasses of wine on your rare Girls Nights or Piccolo will confide in Gohan about it. 

But for now it can just be between you and him. You’ll have to get used to that now, after all.

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 14 - Save Me

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 7.2k words. Let's save Piper! Go team!

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, torture, descriptions of torture, descriptions of wounds, death, use of weapons, HORRIBLE military inaccuracies, dissociation, blood, medical inaccuracies, panic attacks, talks of death, Mr Jonathan “I can justify my actions” Price, bombs, angst, all hurt no comfort, fuckin’ Graves and his shadows are everywhere like a cancer.

AN: Name a chapter the omega hasn't cried in... I'll wait.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy!

Dr. Piper opens her eyes properly for what feels like the first time in hours. She’s alone in the room, though the camera is still set up. She looks down at her arm. He’s still bleeding her; she’s being killed by her own invention, a repurposed dialysis machine built to keep just enough blood out of her body so she can’t heal her wounds. Fitting really. 

She feels weak and her head is swimming. He can’t keep her hooked up to this much longer or it will kill her. Maybe that’s his plan? She wishes he would just shoot her, at least that way it would be quick. She wouldn’t be so lucky though. He needs to keep her alive. 

She looks around the room. The lights are harsh, bright white in her eyes. She remembers him recording the video, or at least him yanking her hair around. She can remember his demands too. It’s supposed to be a swap. It’s the worst case scenario. 

She made sure to put in the letter to John not to come and save her. She knew this was a death sentence, all to keep the omega safe. You are safe and you have your pack to protect you. It doesn’t matter what happens to her. She just wants to get this over with quickly. 

Hale gave them 48 hours. That means she’s going to have to suffer through this for at least another 2 days. The pain’s not too bad, when she doesn’t move. Her heart aches for you, though she knows you’re in the best possible place and with the best possible people. She hopes you’re on your way to the UK or wherever John thinks it's safe. 

She’s not religious but she’s praying to any God who’ll listen to keep you safe. 

The door to the room opens and Hale walks in. He’s changed clothes. There are no windows, no clock. She’s been unconscious too many times to try and keep track of what time it is or how long she’s been here. He puts a bottle of water down on the table, and it makes Piper's mouth go suddenly dry. She can’t remember the last time she had a drink. 

“No word yet,” Hale sighs. 

Piper looks up at him. Good. What is she supposed to say, ‘oh well, let's make another video.’  She doesn’t even want to look at him. 

“I guess you didn't really wait long before setting her up with an alpha,” he scoffs. She can hear the irritation in his voice. Yeah, she did it on purpose. Maybe John had figured it out, maybe not. She needed you to be in a pack to keep you safe. You needed to be claimed by an alpha, and she needed to make sure it was as difficult as possible for the Professor to get to you.

“Why bother with the contraceptive suppressants?” 

“A purebred is still pure, it doesn't matter who the alpha is,” he replies. 

She scoffs, shaking her head. 

“She would never have been able to carry to term. Her whole reproductive system is a mess,” she says, remembering what she saw on the ultrasound.

“I’m sure we would have been able to figure something out. You’re a good doctor,” he says, smiling. It makes her feel sick. She shakes her head, looking away. She’s a doctor first but she would never subject you to the surgeries he’s thinking about. 

“Do you remember the research we did on the betas? The one with the claiming?” Hale asks, picking up the water bottle and opening it. She nods at him. She learned how to do autopsies that week.  A smile grows on his face. It makes her angry—he shouldn’t be smiling. 

“We never quite figured it out did we?” he says, talking about their work like they’re old pals. He takes a sip out of the water then walks over to her. He brings the bottle up to her lips. She keeps her lips closed. She won’t take anything from him. 

“I don’t want you becoming dehydrated. You’re a doctor. Don’t be stupid,” he says. She looks up in his eyes, his dark, tired eyes. The eyes she used to see determination in.  She used to think he held the world in his hands, that the scientific marvels they would discover would change the world. Then you came along and his vision changed, and he became obsessed with creating the perfect omega. 

She wont accept anything from him again. 

He sighs, gripping her hair, yanking her head back. Her body tenses as he moves his hand to her jaw keeping her head in place as he forces the bottle past her lips. She doesn’t have time to clench her teeth as he forces the bottle in her mouth squeezing. 

She immediately chokes on it, water filling her mouth and nose, slipping down into her windpipe. He squeezes until the bottle is empty, most of the water being forced back out her mouth. She’s coughing and spluttering as she gasps for air. 

“I guess you learned to be stubborn from the omega,” he says, throwing the empty bottle on the floor. “I knew I should have never let you get close to her.” He sounds angry, his mood changing. His fuse is getting shorter. He’s getting impatient. 

“Why don’t you get it over with now then. You’re going to kill me anyway, there’s no swap,” she says between gasps, her throat raw. 

“I know that,” he says scoffing. “I expect the 141 to come here and try to save you. Then the omega will be left all alone in a base surrounded by people I pay.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’m not worth anything to them,” she says, her voice shaky. 

“Sure you are. You’re their key to a cure,” he laughs. She looks at him as he walks back over to the door.

“Besides, they’re soldiers. They like to think they're the good guys. Rescuing you or letting you die? Which do you think they’re picking?” he asks, laughing again as he opens the door. 

“And when they turn up and kill you? Then what?” she spits back at him. 

“Four of them against all the security I have here? I’m not worried. You should be though, because when I get the omega back, I’m still not sure if I want to keep you around. We never did test what happens when a bond is forcefully broken.” His voice is low, the smile still on his face as he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. 

She hangs her head. She was blindfolded when she was bought into the building. She has no idea what kind of system he has or how many people are here. She sighs letting fear rise in her. She knows he’s right. She knows they’re going to come. They are good people. They’re going to risk their lives to save hers. 

She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve the rescue. She hopes John will listen to her message and just flee. It’s the only way you’ll be safe. Hale can’t chase you forever, especially when you’re being protected by your pack. 

John’s hands are gripping the cup as he hears your wails. Simon and Kate are sat at the table, Kate looking through the intel she’s managed to find on Hale’s Seattle home. His head is spinning. You’re in pain, mental and physical. He can’t do anything about it other than try and get Dr. Montgomery back.

It’s risky. You’re not safe when they’re not around you. Based on what Kate has been able to dig up, the place is definitely going to be protected. He needs everyone for the mission to be successful, which means he’ll be leaving you alone with Kate. 

He sighs, taking another sip of his tea. It’s cold, but he doesn’t care. Simon looks over at him, then back down at his own mug. He’s struggling. They all are, and maybe it’s normal. You being upset must affect the pack's mood in some way. He wishes Dr. Montgomery was here to help, or at least to explain. 

Kyle comes out of John's room.

“Did she sleep through the night?” John asks. Kyle shakes his head. John sighs watching him going into the bathroom. 

He’s not sure how long Johnny has been with you. The sobbing seems to have died down, though. Kyle comes out of the bathroom going over to the kettle. There’s a heavy feeling in the air. They can’t talk about their plans here. Simon and Johnny searched the place but they couldn’t find anything. John still doesn’t trust it. 

Kyle is boiling the kettle when Johnny comes into the common room with you in his arms. John’s heart breaks when he sees your pale, bandaged figure pressed up against his chest. He walks over to the sofa placing you down. You’re murmuring something under your breath as he pulls the blanket over your shoulders.

“S’aright lass, let’s get you that cuppa.” 

Your murmuring stops as he says that, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

You look over at the table. You can see Kate and Simon's backs. Then there’s John sat at the head of the table. He looks over at you, and sadness bubbles up inside of you. You look away. The house on the hill, the pies, the lake, the summer’s evening. Johnny comes back, placing the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of your face. 

You don’t want it but you can smell it.  Johnny always makes it extra sweet. Johnny kneels down next to your head stroking your hair. He lets out a sigh.

“You need to try and drink something,” he says. 

You blink at him. You're not thirsty. You don’t want anything. You look away from him at the mug of tea. Johnny sighs, getting up and going to the kitchen table. 

It’s just so much pain. You keep your eyes on the mug watching the steam swirl in the air. 

“When are we leaving?” Simon asks. They’re keeping their voices low. You don’t know if you want to know what's going on. You close your eyes and you’re back in your happy place. 

The house on the hill, the pies, the lake, the summer’s evening. 

You didn’t mean to fall asleep but you wake to John squeezing your shoulder. The mug of tea is still there. Your arm is numb. You force yourself to sit up. The moment you move John’s hands are on you helping you. You look round the room. It’s just John but you can see they’re getting ready to leave. Bags and weapons strewn everywhere.

“You’re leaving,” you say.

John sits next to you. 

“We’re going to get her back. We’re going to get her back and kill Hale,” he says, squeezing your thigh. You nod, trying to keep the relentless tears back. There’s a pain deep in your core, a throbbing in your body, something you’ve never felt before. It’s because your pack is going away. They’re going away to do something dangerous.

“Kate will stay with you.” His hand comes to your chin pulling your face to look at him. “You have to promise me if anything happens you will listen to her. You’ll follow her instructions. She’ll take care of you.” 

You nod, fear gripping you for a second. His expression softens. 

“Please save her,” you whisper, choking down the sob rising in your throat. He reaches over, pressing his lips onto yours. It's been a while since he kissed you. Even during your heat it doesn’t happen that much. You let yourself relax focusing only on the kiss, his soft lips, his warm tongue. You melt into it, letting him caress your tongue with his.

His hand runs up your back, firm and warm as it stops on your shoulder blades. You don’t want the kiss to end, you want to stay in this perfect moment forever with your alpha. He pulls away when your tears reach your lips. He looks at you sympathetically, thumb coming to brush the tears away. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. You nod. “Good, then trust that we will bring her back. I promise.” He presses a kiss on your forehead and gets up. You lay back down pulling the blanket over you as silent tears run down your face. You watch as he leaves the building and Johnny and Kyle come in to collect the bags.

John walks over to Kate talking to Simon. They stop talking as he approaches. 

“Are you sure you want to do this John, she did say not to come after her,”  Kate says. 

“We’re going after Hale too,” he reminds her. Simon crosses his arms.

“You know what to do. As soon as Shepherd gives the order you take her and run,” John says. 

“The truck’s hidden 2 klicks south. Here are the keys,” Simon says, handing them to Kate.

“You’re sure no one knows about it?” she asks.

“No. If it’s gone, head to the rendezvous point anyway. We’ll find you,” John says. She puts the keys in her pocket, reaching into her back pocket bringing out a phone. 

“Keep it off until you need it, you know the drill,” she says, handing John the burner phone. He smiles at her. 

“Stay with her, and do not let anyone near her,” Price says. “Try and keep her calm, if she panics—” 

“She’ll distress, I know I’ve been reading Montgomery's USB. Go John, she’ll be fine,” Kate says, almost pushing him towards the car where Johnny and Kyle are waiting. 

“Here,” John reaches to his side, handing her a pistol. He trusts her. He knows she’ll keep you safe, but it doesn’t make it any easier. They know as soon as Graves gets the word they’re at Hale’s house, Shadow Company will be after them. 

John nods at Kate and heads over to the car. He looks over at the barracks one more time. He knows the likelihood of them going back there is low. He gets in the back, Gaz already taking the driver's seat. 

“Laswell will take good care of her,” Soap nudges him. He looks up in the rearview mirror. His eyes meet Gaz’s and he nods. The car drives off. 

He really hopes that he’s making the right choice. 

It’s raining. Of course it is. The rain seemed to start the moment they made it onto the motorway. The sky turned darker as they drove the hour-long trip. The ride had been mostly silent. Even Soap’s chipper attitude seemed mulled out. 

When they made it to the location, the sky was almost black. Price checked his watch. It was almost 5, and it would be getting darker soon. That’s good, they can use that to their advantage. They park down a dirt access road hidden from the main road. 

The road runs about a kilometer, and then it’s dense forest all the way up to his house. The place is guarded by Shadow Company. There should be 10 or so people, not including Hale and Montgomery. They all get out of the car, picking up their weapons, putting on the rest of their gear. 

Ghost swings his sniper over his shoulder, checking his watch. He looks over at Price who nods.

“Ghost, head east. There’s an abandoned outhouse at the end of the drive that should give you a good vantage point to set up.” Ghost nods heading off into the woods as John heads to the north, following the dirt path until it merges with the trees.

When they make it to the house, it’s bigger than Price thought it was going to be. Modern and brand new. How he can afford all this, Price will never understand. He must have a mansion in every state at this point. Dr. Montgomery was right, no matter where they went, Hale would chase them, and you would never be safe.

They all kneel down in the bushes to the side of the high wall. The whole place is surrounded by walls, the only opening being the front gate. 

“Remember, the moment we make our move we’re on a timer. We find Dr. Montgomery and Hale then we get out.” Price says over the radio. “How are we looking Ghost?” 

“Got two Shadows on the main gate. You’re clear to jump that wall.” 

Price nods at Gaz who gets in place to boost Soap over the wall. Price hears him land on the other side before taking his turn. He turns at the top of the wall reaching down to help Gaz over. 

They all land in bushes keeping their backs to the wall. 

“Need help dealing with the Shadows?” Price asks.

“Negative. Side entrance looks clear,” Ghost says. 

“Copy,” Price says and they start to move over to the side door. At least the rain has slowed. Soap tests the handle and it’s open. Price nods and they go in. There are some lights on. They move in silence as they make their way through the rooms. The place is almost barren of any furniture, and what is placed around the massive rooms is covered with plastic sheets. 

“Think he’s renovating?” Soap whispers behind Price who shushes him as they reach a closed door. There is light coming through it. Gaz toes the door open an inch and Price can hear voices, at least 2 people, but he can’t see anything through the crack. He looks round at them both before nodding and putting his hand on the door.   

He pushes on the door as Soap and Gaz rush into the room. Two shots, two people down. They keep walking down the corridor. This place is like a maze and they haven’t even been upstairs yet. Price takes the lead as they continue through the rooms. 

It’s corridor after corridor, temporary walls and scaffolding all over the place. The smell of fresh paint is strong in the air. They make it through to a larger room. The whole place looks like it’s being fitted like a lab. It reminds Price of his old chemistry classroom back in school. He’s building a new lab. 

That's why they’ve been helping Shepherd track down ex-colleagues.

Price continues to lead through the rest of the ground floor, and they take out 3 more Shadows. Plus the 2 when they entered and the 2 on the gate Ghost took care of, there shouldn’t be many left. No sign of the Professor though. The corridors lead back around to the lab. They haven’t been upstairs yet but there’s a large metal door. 

Price goes over to open it and it’s a stairwell leading down. If Dr. Montgomery and Hale were going to be anywhere, it would be in there. 

Price goes down first. As he rounds the corner he sees a Shadow, firing off a shot taking him down before he has a chance to turn and see them. He continues down the narrow corridor. There are doors on each side. The first one is empty. The second, one more Shadow. There are fewer than Price thought there would be. It’s almost too quiet. 

“Soap, go back and shut the door,” Price says. They don’t need anyone sneaking up on them. Price peeks around the bend in the corridor. There is one room and then the corridor ends. Price turns back, pushing on the next door. 

When he looks in he sees Dr. Montgomery. She is still tied to the chair. She lifts her head up.

“I told you not to come,” she says, but there’s a smile on her face. Gaz puts his weapon down going over to her.

“Where is Hale?” Price asks. 

“Upstairs maybe. I didn’t exactly get a guided tour,” she says, gritting her teeth while Kyle cuts her ties. 

“The machine. You have to press the green arrow on the screen,” she says, nodding over to it. 

Price keeps looking down the hall.

“Ghost, we’ve found her. How's things looking out there?” Price says. 

“Quiet, no movement,” he responds. 

Soap comes round the corner, almost making Price jump. He turns back to look at Gaz and Dr. Montgomery. She looks beat up, pale, and she's attached to the machine next to her. 

“What’s that?” Price asks coming into the room and letting Soap take point on the door. 

“Drains my blood, making sure I don’t have enough in my system to heal myself.” She says leaning back on the chair. 

“The Professor sure is resourceful,” Gaz says, rolling his eyes. 

“It was my invention actually,” she says. Soap looks back at her frowning. “Did you forget that I'm not one of the good guys for a second?” 

“We need to get out of here,” Price says. She nods moving to sit forward in the chair.

“Soap, go check ahead. We still haven’t located Hale yet,” Price says going over to the door. 

Soap nods heading down the corridor. 

“Just pull it,” she says. Price turns to see Gaz holding her arm. She has bandages in her free hand. He lets out a breath and pulls something out of her arm. She grits her teeth letting out a groan as she places the bandages on her other arm. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Kyle asks. She moans nodding as she moves to stand up.

“Yeah,” she says as Gaz helps her to her feet. She’s unsteady, even swaying against him as he gets his arm under her armpit, so she can lean on him. An alarm rings out. 

“Soap!?” Price calls through the radio. 

“It’s not me!” he calls back.

“What’s going on?” Ghost asks. Price looks back at Gaz helping Dr. Montgomery. Fresh blood is dripping onto the floor. 

“Stand-by,” Price says as Soap comes back around the corner, Price leads with Soap watching their 6. They need to get out of here. Whatever set off the alarm it can’t be good. 

“Price you’ve got Shadows driving to the house,” Ghost says. Shit. There is no way Graves is here already. They must have been nearby. Not like the Professor to host his security inside his mansion. 

“Soap go ahead see if you can stop the alarm!” Price calls. Soap nods, pushing his way past them. Price waits at the top of the steps letting Soap go out first.

“How many Ghost?” He asks.

“10, maybe more, civilians too,” Ghost replies. 

Great, now they have to worry about civilians. He looks back down at Gaz supporting Dr. Montgomery. Gaz nods at him and they push through the door into the lobby.

Kate is nervous, and you’ve never seen her nervous before. She’s tapping her foot as she types on her laptop. It’s making you nervous. You get up off the sofa, wrapping the blanket around you and go to the table to sit with her. 

She looks up from her laptop as you do. You smile at her and she smiles back. 

“How long do you think they will be?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. They will call when they’re done.” 

“Do you think they can kill the Professor?” 

“Yes. They’ve had to do harder things,” she says looking at you.

“Like what?” you ask, curious. 

“Maybe you should ask John about that kind of stuff,” she says.

“What about you? Are you a soldier?” You realize you don’t know that much about Kate. 

“CIA,” she says, shaking her head. You’ve heard of them before. 

You sit there watching her type on the laptop and then your vision is pulled outside. It’s dark outside and you watch as the floodlights are coming on across the field you can see out the window. All of a sudden it feels like something has changed. A bell rings out and it makes you jump. 

Kate turns around in her chair looking out on the field as you see soldiers start running around. She looks back slamming the laptop closed. All of a sudden she’s out of her seat. Now you’re definitely nervous.

“Come,” she says, her voice level as she goes into John’s office. You nod, wrapping the blanket around yourself. She grabs a backpack and puts the laptop in, throwing it over her shoulder. She leaves the room without closing the door. 

“What’s going on?” you ask as she walks fast down the corridor, almost dragging you along as you head to the fire exit at the end. 

“We need to get out of here. Quick, put some shoes on. And do you have a coat?” she asks as you go into your room. You nod following her instructions, pulling some trainers on and a jacket. Almost as soon as you’ve zipped it up she’s gripping your arm again pulling you out the room.

“Wait,” you say, stopping her. You look around your room. You have a feeling you’re not going to be coming back here. You go over to your nest picking up Dr. Piper's scarf. It still smells of her. You wrap it round your neck, tucking it into your jacket. 

You go up to Kate. You're ready now. She nods at you, leading you out the fire door. You’re hugging the building as you follow her, trying to match her movements. Your heart is thumping in your chest. You don’t know why you’re being sneaky. You just follow her, keeping quiet. 

Before you know it, you’re at the exit you and John take to get to the forest. Kate pulls you up against the base’s wall. You’re hidden in the shadows. You listen to the trees swaying as the wind picks up. You can feel the electricity in the air, the rain moving in. 

“Stay close,” she whispers, inching forward to the corner of the wall. You’re holding your breath as she looks round the corner. You watch as her hand slides down her side pulling a pistol into her hands. You swallow the lump away as you watch her pull the barrel back. The pistol clicks and she brings it up to her chest. 

You keep quiet as you follow Kate as close as you can, your hand resting on her back. She’s peeking around the corner and before you have time to calm down, she turns, running through the exit gate. 

You follow her, holding your breath. As soon as you're through the gate you’re in full sprint forcing your body to move and keep up with Kate. You run past the path you would normally walk down with John and she keeps going.

You run with her until she turns to the right down what looks like a walking path. She slows to a walk and you let yourself suck in breaths of air, the cold making you shiver as the drizzle of rain falls on you. 

Kate doesn’t say anything, putting the pistol back at her hip as you continue to follow the path. You wonder what John is doing, what your pack is doing. You hope they’re okay. You don’t get long to worry about them as Kate takes a sharp turn off the path into the thick foliage of the forest. 

You wish you could enjoy the sounds of the woods, the smell of pine. You can smell damp, the ground after rain. It makes you miss John. You miss your alpha. 

“Where are we going?” you ask after a few more minutes of walking. 

“There’s a truck parked waiting for us. We need to get to it and meet up with John.” 

“Okay,” you say. You can hear the nerves in your own voice. You keep following her. You're not sure how long you’re walking for, trying to keep up with Kate as you stumble through the forest. Eventually you come across a truck. It’s one of the big ones with 3 seats in the front and benches in the back, covered in a tarp.  

You’ve seen them around the base. They always looked so out of place. You follow her into the front seat. It’s cold and the rain is starting to fall down hard now. You bring Dr. Piper’s scarf up to your nose. It smells of her, and you smile, breathing it in as Kate drives off down the dirt road.

“Ghost we need a way out,” Price asks over the radio leading Gaz out while Dr. Montgomery leans heavily on him. 

“Main entrance is a no go. Go back the way you came, through the side door,” Ghost says. Price shakes his head. They need to move fast. He’s frustrated. He can’t think with this stupid alarm almost deafening him.

“Soap, any luck finding the kill switch?” Gaz calls as loud as he can over the radio.

“Working on it!” he calls back, barely audible even though Price can tell he’s shouting. They make it up to the ground floor and the ringing just seems worse, the large empty rooms echoing, the sound bouncing off the walls. 

It doesn’t matter. They’ll be out soon. The building is like a maze, and Price has to really focus to remember the way out. He looks over at Dr. Montgomery. She looks worse. She’s going to need medical attention when they have time. 

Suddenly the ringing stops. There’s collective sighs of relief. Price’s ears are still ringing though. 

“This way,” Price says, leading them to a door with light coming through. It leads down a corridor. Now they’re heading to the west side of the building, which is good since that’s the way they came from. Price has to keep checking behind him to make sure Gaz is keeping up. 

He peeks into a room and sees Soap leaned over a table with a computer on it. There are monitors all over the wall and equipment everywhere. By his feet is a body with a knife sticking out of his neck. The whole room is covered in equipment. This must have been the main command room. 

“C’mon Soap lets go!” Price calls over to him.

“Wait Cap, you need to see this,” he says pointing at one of the monitors on the wall. Price sighs against his better judgment and walks in to see the screen Soap is looking at. 

It’s the Professor, his hands spread over a desk. He’s somewhere in the house, in an office watching from afar. Now Price needs to go find him. Shadow company are at the door. He needs to get Dr. Montgomery out first as he sees her walk into the room. 

“Hold on, let me,” she says, moving away from Gaz and over to the computer. Soap moves out of the way and she types something then presses a button on the console. The cameras move and everyone sees the door to Hale’s office lock. He can see him fighting with it as shutters on the windows slam down. 

She chuckles. She’s not done though as she continues to click through the computer until she finds something. 

‘Lockdown initiated,’ a robotic voice comes through.

“ Yes,” she says under her breath as a warning comes up on the screen. She clicks ‘accept’ and a big red button with a plastic cover on the console pops open. 

“I’m staying. There’s a kill switch here, and it’ll blow the place.” She steps back from the computer so they can see. Price isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at. Gaz and Soap step in to take a better look. 

“You can’t put it on a timer?” Gaz asks as he looks at the computer monitor. She shakes her head.

“That would defeat the purpose. It’s a suicide switch, a last resort. If anyone ever suspected the Professor, he would rather take everything down with him. He imagined himself going out in a blaze of glory, fighting till the bitter end. Covering up his transgressions as his world burnt around him. His last fuck you to the authorities.” She seems almost happy about it. Her energy seems to have picked up as she clicks through security cameras. 

“The investors are here,” she says as they watch the outside CCTV. They’re making their way to the front door. They don’t have long. They need to leave now. 

“It’s not your job to fix this!” Price says taking a step towards her. She backs up, almost bumping into Soap.

“I helped put the omega in the position she’s in now. It is my job to fix this,” she says, frowning almost like she’s annoyed. 

“It doesn’t matter, come on!” John snaps, grabbing her arm. It’s his job to fix this, not hers. She digs her heels into the floor holding her ground. 

“We could destroy it all, John. Professor Hale will be dead, and the chemical destroyed. The investors are here because he wanted to make this place his new lab. Everything is here, everything but the omega.” She looks him in the eyes as he thinks about it. 

He lets her arm go. Hale buried, the chemical destroyed. There would be no one left. They could end it right now. He can see the determination in her eyes. 

She knew this was a suicide mission. Now it still can be. 

“What, no! We’re getting you out of here,” Gaz says pushing in front of Price. She can see Price has already made up his mind. She smiles puling her arm away so Gaz can't grab her. 

“You would die too,” he says as a matter of fact. She nods as a beeping starts on the console and she swears under her breath, turning to the computer.

"Hale's trying to override the lockdown, he could trap you all in here. You need to go John." She says her voice filled with urgency, she quickly looks over at him before turning her attention to the cameras. Price can see the professor by his computer, the shadows are running up the steps to the front door.

“Is there anything you can do Soap, put this on a timer or something?” Gaz asks.

“With a homemade system like this it could take me hours. It’s impressive, built into the foundation of the structure itself,” he shrugs.

"I can keep Hale locked in his office. I can even cut off Shadow Company so you can get out." She explains turning back to look at Price. 

“Price, hostiles heading into the building. What’s your ETA?” Ghost says over the radio. Price can see they've breached the door. They need to leave now. 

“Your hands will be clean. You can take the omega and go on that holiday. You didn’t kill anyone, this will cover your tracks,” she pleads standing up and turning to look at him. The beeping stops.

“We’re leaving now,” Price says over the radio. 

“Cap, you’re not seriously considering this?” Gaz asks. Price can see the pleading in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Will you ever forgive him?

“What about the omega?” Price asks. 

She pauses and smiles.

“She’s your omega, you’re her pack. She doesn’t need me anymore.” She fights to keep the tears back. She’ll cry for you when they’re gone. Price's hand rests on her shoulder. 

“You’re a good person,” he says. She smiles at him looking down as he passes her a radio. “We’ll let you know when we’re clear.” 

She nods, taking it out of his hand. 

“Let’s go,” Price says, turning away and heading for the door. Soap lays his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. 

“I’ll make sure she never forgets you,” he says, coming into her view and smiling as he drops his hand. She smiles back at him. Gaz lingers for a few seconds watching her face as Soap jogs past him. He nods, his lips pressed together before he leaves the room too. 

Price leads them down the maze of rooms and hallways towards the exit of the house. Price tries not to think about you as he reconciles with the fact he's letting both of the people you consider anything close to parents die. 

The Professor was going to die anyway. Dr. Montgomery is a martyr, but it’s the right thing to do. Destroy it all, and then no one else can be harmed. No more chemical, no more Professor, no more unnecessary deaths. The investors will watch the building fall to pieces; they won’t want to invest in rubble. 

He can almost feel Gaz’s eyes burning into him as he justifies it in his head. They make it out the side door and back over the wall. 

When they make it over they follow the wall round to the front of the property. The blacked out SUV’s are parked at the end of the drive inside the gate. Price can see the investors waiting around as the Shadows have made it into the building. They’re going to be dead too. 

They follow the dark graveled road till they make it to the outhouse Ghost is set up in. He comes out when he sees them. They all turn to look down at the house a few hundred meters away. 

“Where is she?” Ghost asks. 

Price brings his hand up to activate his radio.

“We’re clear,” he says.

“John, promise me you’ll keep her safe.” Her voice comes through his ear piece. 

“I promise,” he replies. He feels guilt rise in him now, and he can feel everyone's eyes digging into him as Ghost figures out what’s going on.

“Simon. It’s okay you never forgave me. I never forgave myself.” Soap looks over at Ghost, watching as a breath leaves his throat. Price can smell the sadness in the air. 

“Price, what's going on?” Ghost asks. 

Price doesn’t say anything, the line goes silent. There’s heavy tension in the air, a distant rumbling and then explosions. The ground seems to shift as the explosions get louder. The building starts to crumble. The investors scream, running back towards the cars with whatever Shadows are still outside. 

“No, Price!” Ghost calls his voice catches in his throat. 

“Piper what the hell?” Ghost shouts over the radio.

“You’re a good man Si—” The transmission is cut off. The explosions are bigger now, he can see sections of the building blown off and then the building collapsing in on itself. Price can feel the eyes on him, the tension in the air. He doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn't want to face what he’s done. 

It’s for the greater good , he reminds himself as he turns to look at them. Ghost’s eyes are wide, Soap’s hand resting on his shoulder from behind. Gaz is looking down at the ground. 

“She’ll never forgive you,” Ghost says, his voice low as he composes himself, shrugging Soap’s hand off. Price nods. He knows what he’s done. Ghost shakes his head and turns to walk away. Everyone follows in silence. 

It’s for the greater good, he reminds himself, taking one last look at the ruined building as fires start. 

You’re waiting in the back of the truck with Kate. It’s cold even with the blanket you found. You know you’re never going to be going back there but even Kate has been vague with you. You were driving for what felt like hours before you ended up off a large road to a secluded spot in the forest. 

Now you just had to wait. Eventually a phone rings. You have almost dozed off when it jerks you awake. Kate answers it but doesn’t say much, just Yes, of course, see you soon. You’re playing with Dr. Piper’s scarf in your hand. You want to give it back to her when you see her. 

“They’re on their way,” she says, smiling at you. 

“Is Dr. Piper with them?” you ask. 

“I don’t know, I assume so.” 

You smile at her, that's good. Of course they rescued her. You never doubted them. You’re giddy, your body warming up as you think about Dr. Piper coming back. You even shrug the blanket off after a while. 

You hear them before you see them, the headlights of the car shining through the trees. You’re excited, smiling as the car pulls up, stopping. You hop out of the back of the truck following Kate as she walks over. They turn the car off and the lights go dark as people start to get out.  

John gets out first, then Simon, then Johnny. Your heart beats quicker, and your smile fades. 

You can’t smell her. 

She’s not with them. You swallow hard backing up next to Kate. You can smell sadness, guilt, anger. John walks over to you and stops in front of you. He hesitates. That makes the tears come again. There’s a chill in the air. Hidden under the canopy of trees it sounds like the rain is falling harder.

“We got to Professor Hale’s house. We found her,” he pauses. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to say it.

“And she was dead?” you ask, swallowing the sob building up in your throat. She was dead before they got there. There was nothing they could have done. That's what he’s about to tell you.

It’s worse, so much worse. He shakes his head. 

“While we were leaving she came across a room. A room she said could destroy Hale’s building, burying him inside,” he says. You nod frantically at him.

“The kill switch, she used to call it—” the words die in your throat as you realize what he’s getting at. The suicide room, she used to call it the suicide room. 

“No,” you sob. He takes a step closer to you, but you step back. 

“You stopped her right? You didn’t leave her to die?” Your eyes fill with tears. You take another step back looking around at everyone. Johnny and Kyle look sad, their eyes wide as the horror of what happened sinks in. 

“I’m so sorry,” John says, stepping forward. You shake your head, your hand coming to your mouth. 

“You could have saved her! You could have said no!” you snap at him, way louder than you expected. It even seems to shock him as you rub tears out your eyes. 

“I’m—” 

“No! You promised, you promised you would save her!” you shout at him. He starts to move towards you, but you hold your hands out, your anger strong in the air. He stops. 

You look at him. You can’t tell if he looks sad or not. You can’t tell how he feels. You can smell his alpha and it makes you feel sick. Your hand goes to the back of your neck where you can feel his mark. 

He let her die. He could have saved her and he let her die. You can’t look at him anymore. You turn to the woods letting your hand fall from your neck. 

You look out into the blackness of the forest. You can hear the wind and the rain, the air is cold. 

She’s dead. Dr. Piper is dead and it’s all John’s fault. You let the next sob die in your throat and sprint off into the dark.  

next

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren Sorry...

[ramblingsofaspinningmind]

Lift

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@ tinygiraffe.bsky.social

CW: Incest, implied beast "I just can't believe they gave me an F on my exam." Karla mumbled, her warm, wet mouth bobbing up and down on James' dick. The car was quiet except for her voice, and the sounds of her sucking. She always seemed to be able to talk with her mouth full, no matter what she was doing.

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding" James replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He was impressed that his daughter was able to give a blowjob while talking, but he didn't want to let on. "You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

Karla pulled her mouth off of him with a pop, and looked up at him with her deep green eyes. "But I studied so hard for that exam! I don't understand how I could have failed." She pouted, and then stuck her tongue out, licking the tip of his dick.

James sucked in a breath as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. "Maybe you just need to study differently" he suggested, trying to keep his mind on the conversation and not on the warm, wet mouth on his dick. "Or maybe you need to find a tutor to help you out."

The girl nodded, and then took him back into her mouth. She started to moan softly, the vibrations sending shivers down James' spine. He reached down and ran his fingers through her short, blue hair, marveling at how soft it was.

"I could find a tutor" She replied, her voice muffled by his dick. "But I don't know if I want to. I don't want some old man teaching me."

Her father chuckled. "I'm sure there are plenty of young tutors out there" he said. "You could always ask your brother. Or maybe you need to find a different way to study."

She pulled off of him again, and looked up at him with a sly smile. "Like what?" Karla asked, before leaning forward and taking him back into her mouth, pushing her head down as far as she could go until she felt the tip of her father's cock hit the back of her throat.

James raised an eyebrow at her. "Like… studying together" he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "You know, like we're doing now."

Karla let out a muffled giggle. James looks down at her, his hands still fondling her hair, watching as his daughter willingly chokes herself on his cock. He grins “You know, you really don’t have to do this. I can just pick you up like a normal dad.”

She pops up and gasps for air and shakes her head, removing her mouth from his cock, grinning at him "I like doing this. It’s fun." Karla giggles, licking her lips before taking his cock in her hands, stroking him.

"You know, I’m going to have to give a presentation in class next week, I’m kinda nervous." She says, still a bit winded.

"What is the presentation about?" James asks, feeling the pressure starting to build up in his groin.

His daughter pauses for a second as if she momentarily forgot what the presentation is about, before resuming pumping him, "Um… it’s on, uh… It’s on the human body." Her eyes focused on the increasing amount of pre-cum leaking from her father's tip.

"Oh yeah? You learning about the male reproductive system?"

Karla giggles, her cheeks flushed. "Yeah, something like that."

James watches her for a moment, his eyes locked on her hands as they slide up and down his shaft. He can feel himself getting close, his balls tightening up.

"You know, sweetheart, you could always practice on me if you need to study."

Karla places a finger on her father's tip and pulls it to her mouth, a string of bodily fluids connecting her lips to James’ dick. She grins, her eyes shining with amusement. "Dad, I’ve been practicing on you for years, as well as Loki and my brother."

“Well, you’re getting pretty good at it.”

Karla giggles again, her mouth dropping down onto his cock once more. She sucks harder this time, her tongue swirling around the head of his dick.

“Shit, Sweetie, I’m gonna cum.”

James lets out a loud groan, his cock twitching in his daughter's mouth. She can feel him cumming, hot jets of cum shooting into her mouth.

His daughter let out a gleeful squee, her lips still wrapped around him. He could feel her tongue moving, licking him clean as she ensured that every last drop of cum was sucked out of her father.

Karla pulled off of him, her mouth full of cum, and swallowed what he had given her. She looked up at him with a satisfied smile, and then licked her lips. "Thanks for the snack" she said with a sly grin.

James chuckled, and reached down to help her straighten her clothes.

"So, what about dinner?" she asked, her eyes trained at her dad.

James raised an eyebrow, "Dinner? You want to talk about dinner right now?"

Karla nodded, her short blue hair bouncing with the motion.

James let out a sigh, "Well, I don’t know. What do you feel like?"

Karla thought for a moment, her whole body being thrilled.

"I feel like sushi "She replied "and some sashimi for Loki too".

James let out a chuckle "Sushi it is, then, and some sashimi for the dog"

[writingdisposal]

Baby-trapping

~•~•~•~•~•~

synopsis: How likely they are to baby-trap you

cw: yandere themes, mentions of forceful pregnancy (includes non-consensual)

a/n: I don't know how reproduction works in the Hazbin's version of Hell, but let's just assume it still works.

~•~•~•~•~•~

Vox

He isn't fond of the idea. As Hell's most charismatic celebrity, Vox believes in his social skills to be enough to keep you with him. Naturally a baby would bind you forever more, but does he really want some shithead running around? Taking your attention away? The thought has him set in a bad mood. If you happened to get pregnant, he'd tell you to abort it. If you happened to have a kid before meeting him, he'll use as leverage in fights. He'd say, "Why are you acting like such a bitch? At least, I'm giving that little cunt a roof over his head, so listen to me before I stop being so generous!" It's by no means perfect, but Vox can be reasoned with. Well, most of the time anyway. Overall, he disregards them until they become useful. If there are no children, he won't force it.

Alastor

Haha, no. I think he would be a fine with children and he does consider the option, purely for the controlling and sadistic aspect. At the end though, it'll drive you further away from him, so he'll never force a chill. When you both fight however, he will come eerily close to you, static noise filling the room. "Don't underestimate my restraint, dear. If I wished, I could ruin you spectacularly." For this comment to slip, you'd need to really piss him off, like doubting his devotion or looking at someone else romantically. Overall, if you don't or do have children, you'll be fine. He won't really use them as leverage nor hurt them. Alastor would talk shit about you to your children though, not because he is angry with you, just for the entertainment and for your children to become offended.

Valentino

Yes, he would force you to have a child, regardless of the circumstances. It's not because he likes children. God, he hates those whiny little shits..., but they are a great reminder of how much power he has over you. Valentino likes tormenting you. That is the only appeal you have to him, being a fun toy. The children won't bind you, but that will never be his goal. Seeing you sob uncontrollably is what he seeks and enjoys. Everything after is disregarded. "Oh come on~! Was it really that bad?" He laughs mockingly, puffing his smoke, "You'll survive, love." Either way you're fucked.

[froggibus]

Time of the Month - Choso Kamo

Pairing: Choso Kamo x gn! reader (tho reader menstruates and is able to get pregnant)

Genre: hurt/comfort fluff

Word Count: 930

Summary: Choso is distraught to wake up one night smelling your blood

CW: menstruation, talks of blood, awkward conversations, Choso panics a lil, established relationship, mostly hurt comforty

WE'RE SO BACK!! had this idea for a while but im so glad i finally wrote it. was VERY tempted to turn this into smut but ugh. anyways, enjoy guys!

(also!! we are doing a vote rn over what we wanna do for valentine's day, so if you're interested, vote here)

Choso smells blood when he wakes up. The coppery tinge floods his senses, invading his nose, resting on his tongue. He sits up straight and rubs at his arms. He can feel the pull of it tingling in his fingers as if speaking to him, beckoning him closer.

His head snaps to the bathroom door. Light streams through the crack under it, and it’s only then that he realizes you’re no longer in bed with him. The blood pulls him again—pulls him to the bathroom door. What’s happening? Are you bleeding?

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and forces himself to his feet, dragging them the whole way across the room. He swallows his panic, and knocks on the door softly. “Y/n, are you in there? Is everything okay?” 

Choso’s voice snaps you out of your daze. You push yourself away from the counter you were leaning against, immediately missing the pressure of the cool tile, and dry your hands on the towel. You’d snuck out of bed a little while ago when you started cramping, utterly disappointed to learn it was your time of the month once again. 

“I’ll be right out,” you call, voice strained from the ache in your abdomen. 

Choso frowns. Although he can’t see you, he knows something is wrong. The stench of blood still clouds his senses—and have you been crying? His thoughts race, thinking of all the ways you could be hurt in there.

He sighs and leans his head against the door. “Is something wrong?” 

You open and close your mouth, hoping for an explanation to come out, but all of your words have abandoned you. You know that there are gaps in Choso’s knowledge, especially regarding human reproduction, but you never quite know what to say to him. Especially now.

“Are you hurt?” He calls when you don’t answer. “I smell blood. Please just—talk to me.”

You cringe. Of course he does. You’ve seen him perform much more impressive feats with blood before, sensing it is juvenile to him. You clutch your stomach and gain your strength, breathing deeply.

“Y/n?”

You unlock the door, head hanging as you step into the bedroom. “I’m okay—”

Choso pounces on you before you can finish your sentence, cupping your face with both hands to examine you. His dark eyes dart across your body faster than you can register, his hands sliding down your sides. You relax in his grasp and offer no protest. 

He nods in satisfaction, leaving his hands on your hips. “You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay.”

“But,” the dark marks on his face crinkle in confusion, “you’re bleeding?”

You gently grab his hand and lead him to the bed with you. You’re not quite sure how to phrase it, but you’ll bear the awkwardness if it soothes his mind. Just as you sit down, you double over in pain from your cramps. 

You desperately press your hands against the aching muscles and squeeze your eyes shut to brace yourself. Choso tilts his head at you, concern flaring in his eyes.

He waits for you to recover before asking, “what’s going on? Talk to me, love.”

You cast your gaze to his lap, to the spot where his bare torso meets the waistband of his black sweats. You reach for one of his hands to trace over. His skin is nice and cool, perfectly grounding you as you draw circles over his palm. He eases under your touch but the concern never leaves his face.

“Don’t panic,” you say calmly. “I am bleeding, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“But—” He stops when you shoot him a serious look.

“It’s my period. It’s just something that happens every month. It’ll stop after about a week, but I promise it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“This happens to you every month?”

You nod solemnly. “Unless I get pregnant.”

Choso considers this. From what he knows about sex, it makes sense. That doesn’t mean he likes it, though, especially when you seem to be so uncomfortable with it.

“And it hurts?” He asks.

“Sometimes,” you say. “It comes in waves and on some days, it’s worse than others.”

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, the other trailing up your cheek. He lifts your head up until his eyes meet yours. “Can I do anything for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh. It’s touching, really, the lengths he’d go to make you feel better. You’re sure if he could, he’d try and use his technique on you if it meant you wouldn’t be in pain any longer.

“Can we just lay down? I’m exhausted.”

Eager to help, Choso helps you get settled in bed. He bundles the blankets around the two of you and presses his body flush to yours. Your skin is boiling on the surface, and though it’s uncomfortable, he bears it for you. 

He trails his hands up your shirt, resting them on the spot you’d been clutching in pain earlier. His cold hands feel amazing on your hot skin and the pressure is almost enough to mitigate the pain of your cramps. You sigh contentedly and relax into your pillow. 

Choso plants soft kisses on the side of your neck and continues kneading your waistline with his hands. The lingering smell of your blood drives him crazy. He wishes he could do more for you, he wishes he could take your pain away.

“So, this is going to happen every month?”

“Pretty much.”

“Does that mean no sex?” He teases.

“Well…”

Your boyfriend cracks a grin, shaking his head at your antics. 

masterlist | jjk masterlist

(dividers + support banners from @saradika / @saradika-graphics !!!)

[avoidantvoidd]

Uh hi.

im back with my monsterfuker Altaïr propagate ^^. i hope i used that word correctly lmao

this one is based on medusa!desmond ask from, u gussed it @teecupangel :)))

uh im working on a lil comic of sort on it, but my motivation is next to none rn so... i'll just post what i've finished.

i gave (or tried to) desmond isu patterns for his uh.. paterns.. lol. They came out a bit thick but eh whatever i dont see much problems with it so im not going to fix it lmao.

and also their hight differnce in the pic is not 100% certin, i just gussed and bullshited my way around that. like most things in my life.

i hc that desmond can resize himself. in this pic he's 'fully shfited'meaning this is himin his normal size. but when he's w Altaïr or any other people he'll shift to the avarage human size.

his eyes r gold in his 'true form'and brown when he shrinks down. cuz i love his brown eyes ok?

Altaïr is ready to start a family with the snake man and Malik is concerned for him.

He saw des and Alt falling in love and he knew they were done for <3333.

as always, tap on the iage for a clear view. tumblr keeps messing up my stuff.

also i made something :).

CW: slight NSFW/suggestive themes. we're gonna be talking about reproductive systems & stuff so beware.

its blurry as shit i'm sorry.

so when i first saw 'medusa desmond' the very first thing that came into my mind was eggpreg.

why am i like this? well u'll never know.

does desmond have a penith? or does he only have a slit? its up to u bud. im not brave enough to draw dicks at this moment in time, that's why :>. The reason why I said 'reproductice organ which idk how to name' is cuz it's not a human organ nor is it a snakes. It's a bit of both if. Idk I tried to search for something but it didn't really fit for a half snake man, so I had to adapt.

uhhhh i dont think i have anything else to add. that's all folks. untill next time.

[jymwahuwu]

Wrote some!! This is the second part of the abo story, you meet your two future Alpha husbands😽😽

part 1

cw: dystopian au, forced breeding policy

You borrow some credit from a friend and save it to a temporary payment card for daily payments. Now your bank account has been frozen by the government - for the hilariously unbelievable reason of not being pregnant beyond the appropriate reproductive age.

You don’t really want to get married, and you’ve criticized and complained about this weird policy on social media in the past. Now you are faced with this situation… There aren’t many options here, and you have to consider marriage and having children. You have no doubt that this government will really force you to be sent to a breeding facility.

News channels have reported that Omega and Beta citizens who repeatedly ignored warnings were sent to breeding facilities and stuck on the wall to wait for thorough breeding and pregnancy. Those citizens who emphasized "reproductive freedom" had their mouths gagged and their hands tied behind their backs. They whimpered and struggled to be stimulated and expanded by dildos, and finally broke and apologized in the water pool.

You-you don’t want to experience…

Before heading out, you circled in front of the mirror and checked your clothes. The two Alphas made an appointment with you to meet and talk in a restaurant. Even though you're dating two people right now, you've only chatted with one of them on the site. He said that the other Alpha believed that marriage and dating had to be discussed in real person. He has a point too. You agreed.

You board a spaceship (no physical currency is required this time, so you breathe a sigh of relief), and check the planned route on the map app to note which station you want to get off the spaceship at. Cheap ships have their downsides. That means the time it takes to travel is doubled, and the number of stations passed is doubled. Tired and shaken along the way, you fell asleep on the spacecraft and finally reached your destination.

After searching for a few minutes, you looked up and were shocked by the decoration of the restaurant. The elegant and luxurious restaurant decoration uses black and purple as the main tone. A foreign song is faintly passed in the air, exuding a quiet and comfortable atmosphere. The Milky Way can be observed in real time outside the window. The sofas and seats for guests are spaced apart and organized. This is very different from the ordinary restaurants you usually go to. Embarrassed, you flipped through the electronic menu in front of the door, wondering if there would be a discount on takeout, and wanted to send a message to them to tell them that they made an appointment at the wrong restaurant. Alas…how are you going to pay for it now…

"Hello, do you have an appointment?" The waiter at the door was filled with a friendly smile. You just feel more pressure. "W-wait, I'll send a message to my friend."

You: I'm here, but wait, is this here? Did I go to the wrong place? 🥹

You: [Restaurant link in the food app]

Aventurine: No, that's right^^ We're already here.

You: okay

As soon as you enter the restaurant, a bouquet of flowers is blocked from view in front of you, the fragrance is overflowing, and the delicate petals are condensed with bright colors and vitality. What's this? You took a step back in fear. A head with blond hair poked out from behind the flowers, with dazzling bright eyes. "Hello, this is a wedding gift." He explained with a smile.

Wedding gift? You were so frightened that your hands trembled, holding a large bouquet of flowers. The flowers are so crowded that they must be leaned on your shoulders.

"Hmm…? Just kidding. This is an engagement gift."

You paused after hearing his explanation. You are not engaged, or even agreed to be engaged to these two Alphas. This must be Aventurine. He was just as flirtatious and cheerful as he sounded on the Internet, sitting down and placing the bouquet in your hand back in its place. Sitting next to him was a man with a frown. "I've had enough of your peacocking. It's so grandiose."

"Ah, of course the more expensive the gift, the better. Everyone's feelings can be reflected in it, right?"

"Hello, I'm Veritas Ratio." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded to you.