#feeling brave will tag them all

[averagecatdoodlesenjoyer]

yttd cast but i only gave myself 30 seconds for each character's lineart

[dragondawdles]

get dragon'd IDIOTS (affectionate)

(plus dlc pack:)

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[el-buzz]

📚 Cg! Clay HCS!!! 💚🎶

Aggagaggaggag first hc list I do EVERRR (so please be kind (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) /💗💗)

Cg! Clay x Agere! Reader!!

pretty much gender neutral!!

Cw: caps lock (just me having happy outbursts), um lotsa author notes and commentary I just wanna talk about him and about how he would be as a cg :ccc, also this is incredibly self indulgent

Also there was no proof reading ☠️

(Crossposted on ao3 @Soft_Buzz!! oh and I’ll update this if I get a new hc idea)

Anyways here you go 💚:

•nicknames for you: kiddo, baby, bubba, bubba wubba (he’s squeezing your cheeks and baby talking you 😭😭), prince/princess/ lil highness/royal, and a number of other sweet nicknames or any that you prefer!

•he would be suuuuuch a sweet and doting caregiver waaaaaaah but he would definitely ensue rules for you! Calm and Strict(ish) cg! Clay would pull up to make sure you are safe and healthy even if you are feeling big!!

•he’d hate to see you hurt or sick, but he’d do everything thing in his power to nurse you back to health :]!

•Clay would definitely provide his kiddo with healthy snack or with fruit or veggie cups!

•Although Clay’s sorta strict he can be soooo soft he always want to hold you, whether it’s your hand/pinkie or cuddle up with you.

•You are his battery and he wants to recharge.

* HE WOULD SOOOO READ TO YOUUUU AHHH he loooooves reading so ofc he’d love to share that interest with his little one

• (please it’s the cutest thing ever)

• imagine him beside you with a book open (he has his reading glasses on :3) and as he reads, he gives all the different characters different voices and will always put emotion into his reading voice, which always leads to you giggling or you gasping in surprise.

• One time you insisted that you were big enough for his sad book club and that you wouldn’t become a big puddle of tears so he gave you Charlotte’s Web to read.

• You were a mess. You didn’t stop being sad for the next couple of HOURS (yes this is a reference to that JD fan art ifykyk☠️)

• Clay had to give you so many hugs, cuddles, and kisses to make up for it. He thought it’d be funny, but he sorta forgot how emotional of a little one you can be.

• “I’m so so sorry baby.” *kiss* “How can I make it up to you?? I’ll do anything”

• oh you’d grin a that. You choose to either do dress up WITH make up or draw on his face and mess around with his hair. AND ice cream.

• You took soooo many pictures (and you may or may have not shared them with Viva, Poppy, and his brothers) Clay says he hates you for it, but secretly believes it was so worth it to see that sparkle in your eyes

• he bought you a piggy and a spider (with little bb spiders) stuffie. Even if you have arachnophobia, you hugged those stuffies while crying happy tears. You gave him a tight hug which he softly returned and gave you a forehead kiss.

• (This whole event was also the birth of your happy scrapbook club!! (even though it just you :} ) )

• You and Clay will just sit together while reading different things. Him with some well recognized and praised novel or book and you with a happy lil scrapbook in your hands!

• I’d also like to think he has a puppet character like Bandit does with unicorse! (Maybe a dragon but that just me :])

• (Clay and Branch be matching with their ventriloquism skills lol)

• If you seem to be clumsy or fall often he starts to develop a sort of spider sense for it and will catch you before disaster happens

• OKOK I know this is gonna sound random buuuut I believe Clay is the type to carry lollipops, and sometimes other candy, around. Idk like I can just picture him a with a lollipop in his mouth trying to look all serious/mysterious and nonchalant LOL

• ANYWAYS back to the Agere stuff

• I think that after completing a task or being good, Clay would def give his kiddo a lollipop as a treat!! that orrrrr if his kiddo seems to be regressing in public and they really want/need a paci or just something to fixate on then boom!!! Lollipop! :D

• Talking about rewards

• This man would sooooo spoil you!! you’re his treasure and he wants you to know it!!

• He’ll either get you food you’ve been craving or a stuffed animal/little gear orrrr both!!

• (Because of the two of you, you now have a chest fuuuull of stuffies Woops💧)

• You always try to show your appreciation by giving him small handmade gifts!! A lil pop up card, bead bracelets (you definitely have matching bracelets), even something crocheted/knitted, and pretty much any arts n crafts you can make!

• Now onto funny business ( •̀ - • )!

• so ofc when it first came to having fun and being playful with you he was bit scared

• can you blame him???

• He’d spent A LOT of time trying to get rid/away from the tittle of being the fun boy

• Ofc through lot of reassurance you let him know that he can have fun and play with you and still be a very serious caregiver!

• you help him understand that being funny and silly every once in a while doesn’t hurt and that he should try to find a balance that work for him! Which he eventually does :D!!

• I like to believe that he’d be great at playing pretend and hide and seek!

• “Worry not your highness!! You will protect you from the dragon!” (It’s one of your plushies)

• “Wherever could my kiddo be?? They must have turned invisible!!” (he can hear your giggles which just makes his smile wider)

• Although he really tries to be there for you, he’s a reaaaally busy man :((( but he still tries to spend time with you through parallel play! While he’s doing his grown up paperwork, you get to colooor!! (or draw or scrapbook or anything really) as long you promise to be good and not distract him

• (plus the sooner he’s done the sooner he can give you all his attention! so it’s a win-win situation :D)

• Actually if you were feeling extra lil you’d just get a paper and scribble on it with crayon trying to copy Clay’s mannerisms (when he sees this he’s physically holding himself back from just picking you up, cradling you, and just babying you waaaah you’re gonna be the end of him)

• oh and he would sooo keep your little artworks in his working area (they bring a sweet smile to his face and warm his soul you’re the best kiddo he could have ever asked for)

• You also get to have cuddles while he works! Sometimes he’ll just sit you on his lap with a stuffie or two while he wraps an arm around you and litters your head or face with kisses!

• Now onto not so funny business ૮๑ˊᯅˋ๑ა

• sometimes Clay’ll have a rough or tiring day :((

* and that’s okk caregivers have their moments too!

• He’ll usually want to cuddle with you and hold you close. (You are his stuffie :D)

• He might even tickle you or blow raspberries on your tummy (if you give him permission ofc!!) which often leaves you with a giggling and squirming fit.

• He just loves seeing you laugh and smile (especially if it’s him who made you happy :] you just brighten his day so much sometimes)

• One time he was just so tired and just laying down on the couch and then you brought one stuffie to him and then two till you pretty much had him buried under almost all of your stuffies!!

* You then proceeded to lay on top of him, and Clay just sticks both arms out from under the pile while smiling softly with his eyes closed.

• Let’s just say you guys woke up with stuffed animals scattered eeeeeverywhere

• If you’re a kiddo/baby who tends to get overwhelmed easily, he’ll get you some noise canceling/dampening headphones and just wraps you in a soft blanket like a little burrito.

• He’ll also either get you an eye mask or will lower the lights if he can. (And if you’re feeling lil enough then a paci too!!)

• After doing any of this, he’ll just bring you onto his lap and whisper sweet lil nothings to you till you feel better or seem to fall asleep :D!

• would enforce a bed time >:( (he is a very very veeeery serious guy after all)

• but luckily bedtime means a bottle or sippy of sweet sleepy tea and a storyyyy :D!!

• Forehead kisses!! (CALL ME BIASED CAUSE I LOOOOOVE FOREHEAD KISSES but I stand by what I say.

• Oh and if he’s ever gonna to be very busy for the day and he won’t be able to take care of his kiddo, he’d ask Viva to help him take care of you!!

• Plus who doesn’t love babysitter Viva??? She’s so energetic and fun with you, but she’ll definitely tone it down for you 💛

• she’s also super strong so she’ll definitely carry you or give you a piggy back ride if you ask :>!

• She also give you lots of candies and sugary foods but shhhhh don’t tell Clay itsa secret (but I think the sugar rush/crash you have when he picks you up from Viva’s tells him more than enough

• (I feel like he would trust all his brothers with you (especially Bruce) except JD 😭😭)

• He would sooooo grab your cheeks and squeeze them like he did to Branch when first seeing him again

• Expect him to do that whenever he just wants to dote on you and baby you even if you’re feeling bigger than usual he just loves youuuu! 💚💚💚

In summary: I need this man bc he is the bestest boyfriend and caregiver ever!!

Final notes!:

I love likes but comments and reposts are greatly appreciate (I love to talk if you can’t tell) type something out and let me know what you think 💗💗

If anybody would like to use any of the hcs/scenarios for a fanfic tots fine with me just don’t forget to tag me for credit and so I can see it :DD!!

[deadrlngers]

WIP DAY

i was tagged by @moonmothers @devilbrakers @flymmcargo @nuclearstorms + @hibernationsuit thank you guys so much!! <3

tagging: @morvaris @faarkas @shadowglens @voerman @faerune @ladyshar @liurnia @halsin @gortash @risingsh0t @necroticpetals @druidgroves @malefiicarum @feypacts @florbelles @calenhads @thedeadthree and anyone else i missed! can't remember exactly who writes or not so if you see this just say i tagged you

disclosing my violante/ruven/gortash (pre-game events) agenda,,even if it's mainly vio here but if i added any more of the wip in here you guys would kill me bc it's already so long. anyways who doesn't like masked balls?

“Dare I ask who I'm in the presence of?” The gems nestled in the fine silver net adorning her hair made a gentle tinkling sound as Violante tilted her head forward in a courteous bow tasked to open the dance. When she rose to meet her partner’s gaze once more, she resumed: “And most of all, is it friend or is it foe?”

Even beneath the mask, the wicked shine of Enver’s dark eyes appeared brighter than the play of light on the golden wings that stretched from the front of the mask to his hair. “Vicare, the only human man that could fly.”

Vicare – Violante wished to laugh. Was his arrogance the cause of her amusement? Or perhaps it was his full, unabashed, commitment to that little theatrical play they were staging? Whichever the reason, she found that trying to conceal her smile around him was beginning to verge on the impossible. Disgraceful…but thrilling, she couldn’t wait to let Ruven hear of it.

The music carried their voices along the notes like they were part of the sheets; it was a concerto of violins, lutes and harps. Violante could hear the distinct sound of a few wind instruments as well but failed to recognize them. The melody was slow and soothing, inviting the dancers to know one another, play their coy games before dealing their full hand when the culmination of the song would strike.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, barely letting the fabrics of their clothes brush one another as they drew a circle on the floor with their steps: a dance that resembled more the stalk of two wolves ready to attack, reach for the throat and sink sharp teeth in the flesh and let fate settle who was going to bleed out first and declare the other victorious.

“The name holds a familiar sound.” She spoke calmly, voice just above a whisper but carrying confidence, pride. A pride soon betrayed; a quick glance stolen with the tail of her eye to the dark haired man, searching for any hint on his half covered face that would reveal his thoughts to her. She hoped for the stars, yet she was no astronomer at all. Whatever Enver Gortash was thinking, from amusement to annoyance, remained a well guarded secret. “I’d like to hear the tale of the man of the golden feathers, if he’s willing to share.”

The violins played a grave note and as if spells were casted, each performing pair jumped into position – facing each other, one arm up as the back of their hands brushed the one of their partner in a gentle kiss of the knuckles. His hand to her waist, her touch above his shoulder. "Do I have to tell? I'm sure you know well how the story goes. The one that dreamt of flying too high in the sky – accused of free will, punished with the amputation of his wings.” He leaned forward, a cunning smile curling his lips upwards charmingly. “They used shears, if I remember correctly, to make me never wish to fly again. Quite the gruesome spectacle it was.”

Enver’s back was straight, tense as the string of a bow ready to let its arrow strike the prey, yet the movement of his steps was nothing but light and elegant as they spun in unison with the other dancers like a gentle breeze barely caressing the marble under his feet. He was a great dancer, Violante couldn’t deny it.

“Yet you persist, don’t you? Behind those walls you still look up for the cobalt sky.” A swirl, restrained in perfect graciousness learned in years of training with a certain drow, the rich crimson fabric of her gown twisting around her body like a tail. “Which amount of punishment is enough to make you learn, I wonder.”

His eyes narrowed yet that wicked grin didn't falter. “Flying is a thought, and nothing can stop an idea. The wind reached me even when my feet were bound to the ground." They waltzed into an outside spin and moved into the next step with a final touch of the wrist, pulse against pulse. “Besides – I can take a fair amount of penance, if rewarding.” His fingers twitched against hers, nothing more than a controlled and quick brush tauntingly demure, yet just enough to make Violante wonder, take the hint of that touch and let her mind carry it on as it pleased. The power of a thought, wasn’t it? 

Enver appeared no less pleased, be it the quick flash of her surprised expression or the sudden rigidity of her muscles. “Now that I’ve answered your question, allow one for myself: who are you in turn?”

Violins stood out from the choir of instruments with a strident sound this time, separating the couples as if the touch of one another was akin to reaching for a flame with naked skin. Violante arms rose up in a fluid movement, like the fluttering of a bird’s wings or the stroke of a brush, while Enver’s form bended in a half-bow, one arm behind his back and the other circling his waist.

“Death.” She expressed sharply, excited as if her time in this play had finally come. “And if I recall correctly, even Vicare couldn’t escape Death.”

[rotisseries]

actually now that the clique thing is a few days old, i didn't really get involved for a reason and I don't feel super strongly in either direction

but I will say that like. while there's certainly a problem of less interaction on the fanworks/posts from less popular blogs, this isn't really a byler exclusive issue? this happens in most fandoms these days, interaction is just on a decline in general which IS. a problem but not really a "byler tumblr is cliquey" problem. in regards to any actual cliques I wouldn't say they don't exist but I don't think it's "the popular kids" themselves doing this. I don't know if the rest of you have some other bloggers in mind that I don't know about, but as someone who is mutuals with a fair amount of who I thought were the popular blogs, they are always very nice and welcoming to me, and actually easy to talk to once you just. see them and talk to them as a normal human and not an omnipotent fandom god. so this is all to say that if there's a clique issue I think it's from the outside. I think maybe people are perceiving these bigger blogs who all happen to be friends as these untouchable idols in fandom and it's. making it cliquey from the outside. like are they a clique or have you just convinced yourself they wouldn't want anything to do with you and isolated this group from everyone else. this isn't to say that people can't be assholes of course just that I don't think any of this is intentional

[pepprs]

the mortifying ordeal of today being a potluck day.

[andessence]

@polarean // continued.

Fuck. Well that just slips in right under the armor, doesn’t it? Insidiously gentle. The moment of silence is just enough for his temper to even out before he feels his hand entwining with Philoctetes’ (without need of his mind to prompt it) and hears those words that push softly, ‘just one more word, one more thing.’ And he barely has time to cringe back toward his defenses when the reassurance comes. ‘I wasn’t rejecting you. ... It doesn’t mean I want you, or love you, any less.’ Gods, it’s all so SAPPY! ... So why does it make him release some breath his didn’t know he was holding? Why does it make him want to squirm, want to sink into Philoctetes and his stupid, corny little assurances?

He can feel the color rising in his cheeks.

FUCK, really!

It’s embarrassing how badly he suddenly knows he needed to hear that. He remembers now that Philoctetes understands, even when Pyrrhus doesn’t want to be understood — even when he doesn’t understand himself. He wants to say... He wants to tell him... gods, something, but the something doesn’t take the shape of words. It takes the shape of want, warm in his skin, a craving to be held, kissed all over. He wants that mouth to press those words all over every inch of him and still the wounded pride that just can’t settle. He gets more than his looks from his father, after all.

He squeezes Philoctetes’ hand, and brings it still locked with his own to his lips, kissing the knuckles, and mumbling against them like an I love you, “I’m gonna fuck you so good you don’t even remember that stupid fucking word. No more ‘doctor,’ old man.” He lets his legs spread and a knee nudges Philoctetes. But he doesn’t jump on the lewd suggestion right away, even if his unresolved recreational endeavor of an hour ago has left him still more wound up than Philoctetes has any way of knowing, and commits internally to giving his boyfriend at least a good five minutes before Pyrrhus starts to paw at him. And then, as if the other words made it easier to finally, really, dislodge it from his throat: “I love you.”

[stoatsaturday]

WHEN I SAY I'LL GET USED TO A WORLD WITHOUT YOU BUT I'D RATHER JOIN YOU IN HELL

[thelovelymoongoddess]

So I looked on Etsy to try to help @1greenteasupernova figure out how to make jewelry from her old vials of estrogen. I specifically looked up estrogen and EVERY RESULT I GOT was testosterone and I was just so confused by that being the ONLY thing I was getting. All she had to tell me is that I was experiencing the same thing she described d when she was 16

[throughpatchesofviolet]

Heathcliff E.G.O - Default | Corrosion

[vaguely-human-man]

Idk who needs to hear this but take that early transition girl out. Dress her up all pretty and assure her that anyone who dares to say a negative word will have to contend with you. Do her makeup and gently talk her through the steps, do one eye for her and let her try the other one on her own. Kiss her lips and watch the way she grins like a maniac at the imprint that her black lipstick leaves behind. Take her out to the movies or to the mall, walk around and buy her a pair of good boots without letting her look at the price tag, watch the way she smiles shyly and swoons even while insisting she doesn't need them. Tell her 'My love. You loved them instantly and they had your size- it's fate, they're meant to be yours,' and then help her sit down in one of the mall chairs to put them on, watch the way she prances around in them like an excited little girl.

Hold her hand and talk to the lady at Rue 21 for her because you know she's insecure about her voice. Go in the dressing room with her and gently help her into the skirt she was eyeing- one foot, a second, shimmy, shimmy, up- followed by a wonderfully soft sweater that falls just right over her frame. Hug her from behind while she looks in the mirror and feels beautiful, basking in her euphoria. Whisper into her ear how proud you are of her- how brave she is, how beautiful, how honored you are to be able to share this journey with her.

Take her to dinner and kiss her while you wait for your food, run your hands down her freshly shaven arms and gently caress over the back of her neck. Offer her some of your ramen while you take a bite of her fried rice, and clumsily attempt to feed her a bite of sushi with some chopsticks.

And then. Take her home, with all the bags that now hold the beginnings of her new wardrobe, and help her hang them up, try them on. Let her have a fashion show and gently wipe her makeup off before sleep. Kiss her and caress her and shower her with affection, with praise and love and adoration. Let her melt into your arms and if she cries let the tears soak into your shirt. Gently caress her hair and say 'its okay, baby girl. I love making you feel beautiful,'

Or something, idk.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: HUNGRY FOR MORE

✩ ‧ ˚. serial killer!gojo x detective!reader: fucking the serial killer you're supposed to be arresting might be the best (or worst) decision you've ever made. PART 2 | NSFW

contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, public sex (in an alley), p –> v, orgasm denial, fingering, he cums inside, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, lil' bit of dumbification, hair pulling, squirting, dirty talk, manipulation/coercion, mentions of murder (he's a serial killer what did u expect), non-sexual mentions/usage of guns, probably more. 3K words.

author's note: wrote this instead of writing my research paper and studying for my math final. if this flops i will actually become the serial killer /j. anywaysss tagging @satoruhour @screampied @satorena.. and yes, the "season 2 coming soon" in the banner means something ;)

“looks like your little killing spree’s gonna have to come to an end,” you muse, crossing your arms and cocking an eyebrow at the man across from you. he grins back at you, and it’s almost unsettling—he looks a little too smug for a killer who’s just been caught.

“i don’t think so, sweetheart,” the man responds dryly, leaning back against the alley wall, features relaxed and at ease. he—satoru gojo—has been your target for a couple weeks, and now that you’ve finally cornered him, you find yourself feeling a little… unfulfilled. usually, when you caught criminals, they begged for mercy and showed a little more emotion than what satoru’s shown so far. 

also, the criminals usually weren’t this good-looking.

you maintain eye contact with satoru while you carefully reach into your coat’s pocket, withdrawing your phone and unlocking it. unexpectedly, satoru doesn’t make any move to stop you from dialing the number to your boss, instead smiling coyly as you do so.

“so, you’re one of those guys who don’t care what happens to them?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the phone to your ear. satoru shrugs and his grin only widens the longer your phone rings. ten seconds pass before your phone tells you that the number you dialed is currently busy, and satoru’s muffled laughter becomes unbearably suspicious. you narrow your eyes and involuntarily take a step back. “what’s with the smile?”

satoru scoffs and dips his head, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step towards you. “y’know, you’re rather brave, comin’ out to catch a serial killer all by yourself. and in the middle of the night, too.” he stops advancing when he sees you pull a gun out of your pocket and hold it up threateningly, a look of warning in your eyes. “okay, okay, relax. i’m not gonna do anything to your pretty face.”

“what did you do?” you ask suspiciously. satoru widens his eyes in mock disbelief, as if he’s completely and utterly shocked that you’d ever accuse him of anything.

“besides the fifteen separate counts of murder? not much, really.”

“i’m not an idiot,” you snap, cocking the gun and aiming it at his head. “you’re not the one in control here, satoru gojo. spit it out before i put a bullet through your skull.”

satoru laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “fiesty, aren’t we? it’s alright, i like my girls with a little fire in them.” he tilts his head to the side and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on parts of you that suddenly make you feel naked, despite the coat covering most of your figure. “put down the gun, sweetheart, then we can talk.”

you wait a second, scanning satoru’s overly relaxed face before cautiously lowering the gun. “what are you hiding?” you ask again, eyes hardening.

“a lot of things. but i think you’re talking about what i did to your boss, right?”

“you have five seconds before i shoot you.”

satoru makes a face and then rolls his eyes dramatically. “fine, since you’re bein’ so pushy about it. i killed him, obviously. you’re a smart girl, shouldn’t you have figured that out by now?” when you don’t immediately answer, satoru sighs and shakes his head. “and here i thought that the girl who’d been tailing me for the past week would have a little sense in that pretty head of hers. looks like i was wrong.”

“shut it,” you snap again, re-dialing the number and letting your phone ring for fifteen seconds. when nobody picks up, you internally curse and think about what to do next. dialing 911 would be worth a try, but the look in satoru’s ice-blue eyes makes you think otherwise. despite the gun in your hand, something about him makes you entirely certain that he could overpower you, even if you landed a shot on him. and even if you just shot him right now, he’s been shown in the past to be able to function fine with a bullet through his chest. that’s how two of your subordinates lost their lives to him—by underestimating your city’s notorious killer.

so you decide to bide your time.

“ran out of options?” satoru asks smugly. he raises an eyebrow when you slide your phone back into your pocket and exhales a laugh. “you gonna wait for a big, strong man to rescue you? ‘cause i’m right here, honey, and i could be your savior.”

“that was actually the shittiest line i’ve ever heard,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the self-satisfied look on his face. “are you seriously proud of that one?”

“well, it worked.”

he pushes himself off the alley wall and towards you so fast that you hardly even have time to process it, and before you know it, you’re the one pressed to a wall with a gun to the side of your head. satoru’s other hand grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head, and his face is close enough to the point where you can feel his breath—which is unexpectedly minty—on your cheeks as he grins down at you. “you really think i’d use a line as shitty as that if i didn’t know it’d make you lower your guard? tch, you really shoulda known better.”

you use every curse word you’ve ever heard in that moment and grit your teeth, rapidly thinking through all the possible ways you could get out of this situation, but nothing comes to mind. you’re quite literally stuck in between a rock and a hard place, with a gun pressed to your head and with your limbs out of commission. 

satoru clicks his tongue and widens his eyes at you, leaning in closer. his lips are uncomfortably close to your own as he traces the gun down the side of your face, cold metal brushing against your heated skin. “not gonna fight back? that’s no fun.”

“the fuck you want me to do?” you snap irritably, glaring up at him and curling your hands into fists. satoru tightens his grip on your wrists and cooes a sarcastic apology to you, taking his time looking you up and down again. if you didn’t value your life, you probably would’ve said worse, but seeing as you were the only person in this ridiculously isolated alley, it wouldn’t be worth much. 

“i dunno. didn’t that detective academy or whatever teach you anything?”

you roll your eyes again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you consider the possibility of your eyes getting permanently stuck in the back of your head just because of him. “y’know, you’re not giving me a whole lot of options.”

satoru laughs. “if i did, that’d defeat the whole purpose, wouldn’t it?”

at this point, death would be preferable to hearing his idiot talk any longer.

“so, i’m gonna be the one asking the questions from now on,” satoru continues, clicking his tongue disapprovingly when you scowl. “if you behave, i won’t hurt you that badly, ‘kay? keep that in mind.”

“thought you liked your girls feisty.”

“oh, that’s true,” satoru muses thoughtfully. “yeah, never mind, you can be a little bratty. i need a reason to fuck you stupid anyways,” he grins after a moment of consideration.

“what the fuck?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” satoru cooes, feeling his pants tighten as he watches your eyes widen. your “tough” demeanor drops for a split second, and satoru can’t help but want to fuck it off again when it returns. your scowl deepens and you frantically think through all your options again, but there isn’t a whole lot you can do at this point.

“if you wanna stay alive, you’ll be a good girl and you won’t scream,” satoru murmurs, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to yours. you grit your teeth and try to shove him away with your shoulder, but it doesn’t do much. satoru smiles against your lips and hums softly, pulling away with an almost affectionate look on his face. it’s so at odds with who he is and what he’s done that you drop your guard again, wanting to believe that he really will keep his promise not to hurt you.

satoru sees the shift in your features and smiles tenderly, all traces of his borderline-sadistic look gone. he studies your face for a moment and kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger for a second before he pulls away again. “i’m gonna let your hands go now, m’kay?” when he drops your wrists, they fall limply on his shoulders as you warily study him, eyes wide with confusion. it’s jarring, the way he just… changed personalities within the span of a couple seconds. “i’m not gonna hurt you, pretty,” he breathes, dropping the gun and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thwak. “this’ll be a lot more fun for me if you don’t resist, yeah?”

oh, fuck it.

“okay,” you murmur, ignoring every siren going off in your head. you don’t really have any other options, and honestly, nobody was going to walk by and get you out of this sticky situation anytime soon. and satoru was pretty attractive… and you could just arrest him afterwards, right?

as if he read your mind, satoru smiles and promises, “you can handcuff me after i’m done with you. just let me have a little fun one last time, baby.”

yeah, it’d be a stupid decision to believe the sweet-talker towering over you. there’s no way he’s just going to let you drag him off to jail, but there’s a reason he’s stayed out of the grasp of the law for so long. it’s hard to live a life as on-the-edge as being a serial killer, but the reason satoru’s survived for this long is because he knows how to use his words. he knows how to make a person go against every warning in their head, and he knows how to get what he wants.

which, for tonight, includes you.

“you have thirty—no, twenty minutes,” you mumble, knowing damn well that this would be the end of your career as a detective. whether or not you dragged satoru in after all this, you could never continue your work knowing you had sex with the biggest serial killer in the city.

satoru laughs and kisses you again, lips trailing down your face and settling on your neck. “haven’t i already made it clear that i’m the one in control here?” he muses as he slips his hands under your coat and tugs it off. it falls to the cold ground and bunches up around your feet, leaving you in a button-up shirt and flowy, dark pants. “c’mon, let’s get these clothes off you.”

within a minute, the rest of your clothes save for a black lacy pair of undergarments join your coat on the floor, and the chilly nighttime air nips at your skin. “i’m cold,” you mumble, feeling yourself involuntarily tense up everywhere but where satoru’s hands cloak your skin. satoru laughs in response and presses his knee to the spot in between your thighs, and something in you snaps at the point of contact. 

“you really are an idiot, aren’t ya,” satoru scoffs, hand sliding down to your waist. his fingers latch on the waistband of your panties and he tugs them down, exposing your already-wet pussy to the cold evening air and his eyes. “lettin’ a serial killer fuck you in a dark alley… what kind of detective does that?” satoru spits on two of his fingers and slips them inside you, instantly groaning when he feels you clench around him. “fuck, you gotta be the tightest pussy i’ve felt in a while,” he mutters, white hair falling into his eyes as he looks down shamelessly. “do you not have sex with other guys?”

“don’t have time,” you swallow what would’ve been an embarrassingly loud moan as his fingers go deeper and deeper. how long are this man’s fucking fingers?

“aw, look at you, you’re so cute,” satoru cooes, smiling down at your scrunched up face. you look back at him through squinted eyes, hips starting to roll against his fingers. it’s true—you really haven’t had time to have sex given your already-insane schedule. it’s almost like you spent more time tracking the man who’s now knuckle-deep inside you than sleeping, but the slutty part of your head tells you that it paid off.

“‘m gonna cum,” you whine pitifully, squirming around satoru’s fingers as he curls them inwards, making you clench around him even tighter. a shiver runs over your body, starting from in between your thighs and spreading all over you as satoru’s fingers move back and forth inside your soaking wet cunt. “g-gojo—”

“call me satoru, baby, and you’re not cumming until i say you can.” with that, satoru withdraws his fingers from your pussy with a pop! and grins at the way you glare at him sullenly. he mockingly pouts and licks his drenched fingers clean, tongue lapping up your essence. “heh, don’t worry, i’ll make you cum more than you knew you could once you’re stuffed with my cock.”

although you’ve determined satoru’s “promises” to be dubious at best, he fufills this one after he’s spread your legs wide open and positioned his cock at your entrance. “this might hurt, baby, but remember, no screaming.” after you nod in acknowledgement, satoru slips his tip in and watches, amused, as you try to close your legs on reflex. “uh uh, keep ‘em nice and wide f’me,” satoru tuts disapprovingly.

and true to his word, it hurts—a dull ache spreads throughout your legs as his dick goes farther and farther inside you, reaching places you hadn’t felt in a long time. satoru’s hands settle somewhere on your waist as he pushes himself deeper, ignoring your gasps and pleas for him to slow down a little. your shaky hands move to his hair and you unwittingly pull on it, somehow eliciting a soft groan from satoru’s lips, and somewhere in the back of your mind you think that of course a serial killer has a hair pulling kink—it just makes sense. 

“s-satoru, it won’t fit,” you whisper, feeling satoru hit an especially tight spot in your cunt. even with how wet you are, it just feels like you can’t possibly take any more of him—he might as well be ten feet inside you, given the pain in your hips. but, as expected, satoru only smiles tauntingly down at you and murmurs words of encouragement as he somehow pushes past the barrier and gets all the way in amid your pained whimpers.

“yeah, that’s it, knew you could do it,” satoru says sweetly, voice coated with poisonous honey. now that he’s all the way in, the ache from your waist down starts to fade into pleasure, especially as satoru starts moving himself in and out to get you used to the feeling of his dick. “just like that, pretty girl. jus’ like that.”

soon enough, he sets an unexpectedly harsh pace that makes your back arch off the cold, brick wall behind you, and even as satoru tries to keep up his “cool serial killer” act, you can hear his quivering breaths as he gets close to cumming. “shit, i forgot how fuckin’ good it felt to fuck a cunt this tight—” he mutters through gritted teeth. “‘m gonna cum inside, ‘kay?”

you nod breathlessly, chasing your own pleasure and not actually listening to the words satoru murmurs in your ear. at this point, it didn’t matter—all your pathetic little head could think about was satoru’s dick, and somehow, you forget that he’s a killer when he cums inside you. it’s hot and thick and it almost knocks you over—when was the last time you felt this good, if ever?

the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum with him, nodding along to satoru’s praises on how well you’re taking him. you squirt all over his painfully hard dick and suck in a sharp breath as you do so, body trembling from the force of both of your orgasms.

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” satoru murmurs when you both come down from your highs, stroking your hair almost tenderly. you bob your head in response, face warm and eyes unable to properly focus. he stuffs his fingers back inside your puffy cunt and scoops the cum dripping down your thighs back inside, mumbling something about not letting a single drop go to waste. “who knew the pretty detective i’d had my eye on would be this good to me?” he cooes, grinning snarkily.

satoru’s earlier promise floats through your head and you force yourself to look him in the eye. “y-you said you’d let me arrest you after,” you breathe, back still pressed to the wall as satoru surveys you amusedly.

“oh, sweetheart, you’re in no condition to be giving orders,” satoru says condescendingly, pulling up his pants and grinning at you. his cheeks are still flushed red, but whether that’s from the cold nighttime air or from the heated sex, you don’t quite know. “we should do this again sometime,” he continues conversationally as he picks up your coat for you. despite the fact that you’re still naked and trembling, satoru drapes your coat around your shoulders and helps you button it up.

“but you said—” you protest, but satoru cuts you off with a raised eyebrow.

“you didn’t seriously believe me, did you?” satoru tuts, shaking his head. “i’m a serial killer. i’m not gonna turn myself in just ‘cause of a detective’s pretty pussy, baby. you should’ve known better, doll.” satoru wraps an arm around your limp shoulders and tugs you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against your own for a couple seconds before he pulls away with a satisfied smile.

he leaves you with a promise to see you soon.

[humanjarvis]

blushing bandit: part 2

synopsis: when you caught caleb stealing your panties, you'd told him to ask you for the real thing next time. he disobeys.

tags: sub!caleb, dependent caleb, caleb steals your panties again, begging, facesitting, cunnilingus, handjob with used panties, mean reader, dirty talk, sexual condescension, caleb comes untouched (and then touched), overstimulation, slight aftercare, actions/positions may be anatomically challenged idk how any of that works irl pairing: caleb x reader word count: 2.3k

PART 1

a/n: so much love on the last one. i hope i did y'all justice

You’re not sure why your eyes flutter open in the dead of night until you hear the soft groans echoing down the hallway. 

As you come to your senses, a spark of anger dissolves your lethargy. It’s 2 a.m., you’d had a long day, and you really don’t feel like leaving the comfort of your bed to investigate. Whatever he’s getting up to, he can whimper his way through it alone, you think, nestling deeper into your sheets. 

That is, until you hear the faint grunt of your name float through the air, luring you in with the promise of punishment. 

With a grunt of your own, you swing off the mattress and pad down the hall, shivering from the chilled air prickling through your camisole and shorts. Great, and it’s freezing in here. Another grievance to add to the list.

Braving the cold, you come to a stop a few steps from his room, refusing to be caught in the soft light spilling from the cracked doorway. Two days before, Caleb had been reckless—he’d been moving so hastily to catch a glimpse of you touching yourself that you could’ve spotted his shadow with your eyes closed. 

No, you wouldn’t be so careless. This was your grand entrance to make, after all. You’d bide your time, make him wonder if you’d been serious about your request from earlier—if you cared enough to correct his misbehavior. 

Gingerly, you slink to the opposite wall, deftly avoiding the gleam of his floor lamp as you cross to the other side of the doorframe. 

As you peer through the gap in the doorway, holding your breath in anticipation, you expect to see Caleb disobeying the order you’d given him: to come to you for help, to ask you for the real thing. Check.

You expect to see a pair of your panties pressed against his face as he desperately fucks into his hand. Check.

You expect them to be the pair you’d so graciously gifted him two days prior, when you’d made him admit his thefts. But you’d underestimated him, it seems. No check here. 

Because pressed against Caleb’s nose are the lavender panties you’d worn during your trip to the mall this afternoon. He must’ve stolen them from your hamper while you were in the shower. With a quiet scoff, you slip into the room, your footfalls muted by his crescendoing moans and the soft rubs of skin on skin. 

Leaning against the wall in front of him, you take in his writhing form: his trembling hand molding your panties to his face, his muscled chest heaving through inhales, his swollen cock bobbing with his movements. His scrunched-closed eyes blocking the one view that might be able to get him off.

It’s when he huffs in frustration, clearly no longer able to find release without you present, that Caleb opens his eyes. Annoyed, he squints at the ceiling, then at his lamp, before finally spotting you in his periphery. 

You wear a blank expression as he meets your eyes, and flickers of alarm, then relief, then anticipation cross his face. 

Slowly, haughtily, you uncross your arms and push off the wall, stalking toward his bedside to tower over him with a sneer. As your eyes travel down his body, his length throbs under your gaze, and he moves to reach out to you before thinking better of it. With an unimpressed look that you hope masks your arousal, you quirk an eyebrow. “All that effort to disobey me and you couldn’t even come, huh?” 

His cheeks flush, and he looks down at his chest to escape your scrutiny. “I was almost about to—”

“You were almost about to give up and go to sleep with a leaking cock,” you say plainly, earning a garbled choke from the man beneath you. 

Sighing, you climb onto the mattress. “I distinctly remember telling you,” you start, crawling up his body, “the next time you want to get off, you ask me. You come to me.” 

When you reach his waist, you settle your hips onto his abdomen, resting your palms flat on his chest. “And not only do you choose your hand over my help, you also steal from me again. What do I say to that? What should I do with you?”

He feigns contemplation for a moment before smiling up at you, a coy softness in his gaze. “You could show me,” he whispers, circling his thumb on your hip. “Show me why I should come to you. What I've been missing.” 

You snort. 

“Right, of course,” you humor him, rolling your hips into the hard panes of his waist. “I should punish you by giving you a reward. Why didn’t I think of that?”

His hands, which had come up to grip your ass as you moved, flex in response to your teasing. “No,” he corrects, his breathy voice dropping an octave, “you should punish me by using me. Takin’ all your anger out on my face. I stole from you—woke you up, didn’t listen to you, right? Shouldn’t you use me? Put me in my place?”

You know what he’s doing. You fully know what he’s doing, but his display of docility has made you too wet to care. You’re sure he can feel it seeping through your shorts and onto his abs—that’s probably why his pupils push the purple from his eyes, his breaths coming out in soft pants. 

Lightly digging your nails into his pecs, you lean toward him, your cleavage hanging just before his chin. “Okay, Caleb. I’ll use you.” 

Shifting your weight, you inch further up his body, coming to kneel with your legs on either side of his head. Bracing one hand on the headboard, you start lowering yourself toward him, savoring the way he licks his lips in anticipation. 

But it can’t be that easy. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it your way. 

Halfway to his mouth, you pause, suddenly, casting an exaggerated frown down at his eager face. 

“I’m not sure I really should, though—use you, I mean. You were so ready to disobey me, I’m just not convinced. Maybe I should let you keep licking my panties and rutting into your hand—you seemed happy enough doing it earlier. What do you say?” you taunt, moving to lift off him. 

“No,” Caleb whines, bold hands coming to hold you in place above him.

You still in acquiescence—hell, you weren’t going anywhere, anyway—and tut down at him. “No?” you repeat, a mocking lilt in your voice. “Do you deserve it, then?”

You see the impish glint in his eye the moment he thinks of pulling you down himself, but you challenge him with a much less playful glint of your own. In an instant, his mischief fizzles, and his throat bobs in time with the blush blooming on his cheeks. “I deserve it,” he mumbles, his breath fanning your cunt. “Deserve to be used. By you.”

“Mm, you do? Then why don’t you say ‘please,’ Caleb?”

It’s a beautiful moment, the seconds where he almost breaks in desperation. The man who never asks for anything, suddenly forced to beg for everything. But before he can crumble, his faltering, scarlet face twitching from impatience, he schools his expression, returning to the simpering, pliable version of him that only you could bring out.

“…Use me. Let me have the real thing. Please,” he whispers hoarsely, pressing a light kiss to your inner thigh. 

With a fond, appeased smile, you finally sink down on him, aligning his nose with your clit and lips with your sticky heat. When you press flush against his face, he freezes momentarily, his fingers tightening around your hips as deep inhales flutter across your cunt. 

Recovering, he gives you a reverent, chaste kiss before flicking his tongue out, and as the tang of your flavor—right from the source—spreads across his mouth, an impulse to eat consumes his thoughts. In an instant, he parts your folds with a decisive lick, swirling his tongue to taste every part of you he can reach. 

As he explores you in warm, dutiful strokes, you thread your fingers in his hair, tugging up to bump his nose against your clit. When he feels the twitching bud, he pauses to give it an open-mouthed kiss before diving back between your folds. 

“Aw, look at you,” you giggle. “Isn’t this so much better? Imagine how much time we could’ve saved if you’d come to me earlier.” 

At your words, his lips release you with a lewd smack before latching back on with fervor. 

Emboldened by his encouragement, you tighten your hold on his hair and pull him to you, rolling your cunt against his face in a steady grind. Moaning into you at the friction, he bucks his hips involuntarily, and you grin down at him. “This fits you, don’t you think? Being used?” 

Humming against you in agreement, he burrows deeper between your legs, eyes screwed shut in concentration. 

“Eyes on me,” you order, stilling your movements to catch his attention. After a moment, his hazy violet gaze finds yours, and all the confusion he’s capable of mustering is evident on his face. “There he is,” you coo. “You didn’t want to come up, did you? Too shy to look at me?”

He shakes his head ardently, squishing your cunt harder against his lips. 

“No? What was it, then?” 

Conflicted, he whines at your prodding, clearly wanting to answer but unwilling to part from your core long enough to do so.

You laugh softly at his stubbornness before throwing your head back and resuming your earlier pace, dragging your slit up and down his ready mouth. “What, you wanna stay down there forever? Wake up under me, breathe me, live off my cum?”

As the suggestion rings through the air, a few things happen at once. Caleb’s lips detach from you with a wet pop, seemingly against his will, as his eyes roll back and he grips your hips so tightly you think they’ll bruise. 

It’s then that you feel something splatter against your spine, and you look back to catch his engorged, twitching cock spurting thick ropes of cum. As the heavy breaths that punctuate his whimpers fan into you, you conceal the smirk on your face and look down at him with a pout. 

“Already?” you whine playfully. “I haven’t even done what I wanted yet. You won’t wait for me?” 

Still recovering from his high, Caleb can only press a light kiss to your clit—a sign that it’s okay to continue. 

“I guess I’ll have to give you another,” you decide. “I’m feeling generous tonight, in spite of it all.” 

With a wink, you extend an arm to where your panties lay discarded and loop them through your fingers, wearing them like a glove. Threading your other hand in Caleb’s hair to stabilize yourself, you reach back and clasp his pulsing cock, the fabric in your fingers meeting his skin with devastating friction. 

Giving him only a moment to gasp into you, you slide your hand down his length, collecting his seed as you go and ruining yet another pair of your underwear. Once the material is coated with his cum, you repeat your movements—up and down, up and down in time with your thrusts against his face. 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, he grinds you into him, imprinting his head into the plush pillow beneath. With nowhere left to go and everything left to give, he frantically probes at your entrance, fumbling slightly before finally breaching your hole with his tongue. You gasp at the intrusion, instinctively clamping your legs around his head in defense, which only sucks him further inside. 

Wanton moans falling from your lips, you rock your swollen clit against the bridge of his nose, claiming every part of him as you chase your release. When his flicks and swishes between your walls become too much to bear, you clench around his tongue with a breathy cry and gush into his waiting mouth. As your movements stutter from the pleasure, your hand slips from its place on his cock, and the lace border of your panties snags on his tip. The dual sensations have him coming again, painting his chest and your lower back a milky, translucent white.

In the silence that follows, the only noises in the room your intermixed, shuddering breaths, Caleb laps at your release in continued reverence. When those laps turn to suckles, you clamber off of him before he can start again.

Supporting yourself with your elbows, your feet planted on the bed, you take in his flushed face, drenched with your essence and a mix of your sweat. Between heavy pants, he fixes his imploring gaze on you and reaches out with a whimper, to which you quickly oblige. Crawling to the headboard, you lean your back against it and wrap your arms around his spent body, pressing a long kiss to his damp hair. 

He folds himself into your chest, nuzzling against you, and the decelerating beat of your heart steadies his. Running a hand through his soft strands, you give his scalp a brief massage before asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment his moans disrupted your sleep. “Caleb?” you murmur into his ear. “You wanted me to hear you, didn’t you?” 

Sluggish, he looks up at you with a blissed-out smile, his unfocused eyes settling on your knowing expression. Wordlessly, he presses one kiss to your wrist, another to the valley of your chest, before nestling back down, his large hand resting on your still-leaking heat.

taglist: @mcdepressed290 @imiqz @silviex

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

first fall of snow

how spencer guesses you're pregnant before you actually tell him

fluff word count: 1390 warnings & tags & stuff: pregnant reader, slight issues with mother mentioned?, non-graphic vomiting, mentions/allusions to winter holidays being celebrated, kinda spencer's pov but still 2nd pov, reader is scared spencer will leave her lol, anxious!reader in general, mentions of death?, probably medical inaccuracies ive never been pregnant author's note: hiiii i'm forcing myself to post this because if i don't then i'll never post and i'm being BRAVE. i hope it can be a little comforting maybe. i've realllyyyy been struggling with my take on spencer's characterization lately soo this was kinda like a bootcamp/exercise situation into his mind and less an expression of my writing skills, iykwim. let me know your thoughts if u have any! i love you & have a splendid day!!

Spencer is walking—speed walking—toward his car, away from the case he just finished, away from serial killers and guns and geographical profiling and death.

He places his feet carefully on the snow-covered sidewalk with each step, the cold air biting at his face. He barely notices it, absorbed in the path ahead, as the snow provides a satisfying crunch underfoot—a nice background to his perpetually racing mind.

He doesn’t like the winter. It’s always too harsh outdoors, and too stuffy indoors, and he’s trapped in a suffocating haze no matter where he goes. 

His phone starts to vibrate gently in his pocket, interrupting his racing thoughts for a split second. His pace falters as he pulls it free, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees it’s your name on the screen.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks after picking up, watching his breath come out in puffs of vapor in the cold air.

Winters, however, have gotten progressively better each year he spends with you.

“...I’m okay,” you say, though the crack in your voice reveals the all-consuming ache in your bones and mind.

“No. You’re overwhelmed,” he guesses in his matter-of-fact way, voice gentle. You huff out a soft laugh at his ability to read you, never getting old.

“Yeah, I guess. A little. The holiday season, you know. Are you on your way home?” you ask, voice softer now. You’re sitting on the couch of yours and Spencer’s cozy apartment, wrestling with a blanket to cover your lap, and bouncing your leg relentlessly.

“I’m walking to the car now. Hey, have you done the crossword today?” Spencer asks, words a familiar, tender remedy for your nerves. You told him a long time ago that hearing his voice makes you feel better, and there are times, like these, where he just knows it’s what you need. You rest our head on the arm of the couch, curling up.

“No, I didn’t have the time. Why?”

“There was an interesting question about causes of death in Shakespeare plays, but they completely messed up the part of speech. It read, ‘Popular ways to die by the hands of England’s national poet’. I thought it was ‘poisons’ at first, but it was actually ‘stabbed’, even though the correct answer grammatically should’ve been ‘stabs’ or ‘stabbings’,” he says, his car now in sight through the steady sprinkle of snow coming down. “Do you think I should send an email to let them know? I guess stabbing does make more sense, though, versus poison, because throughout his works, thirty characters out of his 74 that died were stabbed compared to only four that were poisoned. Three were stabbed and poisoned. Did you know that two were actually baked into pies, which is a-”

“Oh my god, the pie,” you groan, cutting him off mid-sentence, sitting up hastily, the blanket falling to the floor.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. My mom coerced me into making it to bring tomorrow.” You pad over to the kitchen and crouch down to peek through the hazy glass of the oven, inspecting it. “Oh,” you murmur. “It’s…not pretty.”

He sandwiches the phone in between his ear and shoulder, gently opening the door to his car to sit down as he listens to you. He turns the heat on, exhaling in an exhausted relief, hovering his hand over where the air comes out. 

“Can you tell me what it looks like? Maybe I can help,” he suggests, leaning back against the headrest and letting his eyes close for a second. You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter as you bend down to take it out. “Don’t burn yourself,” he adds, hearing what you’re doing.

“I’m not going to burn my-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “Whatever. It’s just really messy. There’s like… liquid overflowing where the lattice should be.”

He hums. “How long has it been cooking for?”

“45 minutes. My mom sent me this one ancient recipe that I had to use written on parchment paper from like 70 years ago, and it does not have a bake time listed, so I’m just eyeballing it.”

“Okay. You could either put it back in the oven in hopes that more of the liquid will evaporate, or you can leave it out to cool down and hopefully thicken,” he says.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you sound exhausted and need your sleep.” 

You sigh, staring at your mess of a pie, hopes that you’ll appease your mother this year slipping further and further away, soon to be completely buried by the snow.

“Hey. I’m sure it’ll taste really good. Besides, people still liked Shakespeare, and he wrote about much worse pies than you could ever make.” 

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just leave it out to cool and head to bed. Will you stay on the phone a little longer?” you ask, padding over to your shared bedroom.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t start driving as you talk, not when nearly 2000 people die per year due to driving on icy roads, and two thirds of them were people who were reported to not be paying close enough attention.

And especially not when 54 hours ago on your last phone call, he noticed a drastic shift in your behavior, and was quickly able to tell that you were pregnant. 

He had too much waiting for him at home to be spinning out on black ice because he was talking to you and not watching the road.

He chooses instead to look outside at the falling snow, blanketing the city, his city, the very first for D.C. to have this winter out of the septillion snowflakes planet earth receives each year.

…

Spencer gets home a little later that night, holding another pint of cherries in his hands. Not for the pie—which he turns to see resting on the stove and winces slightly at—but for you. 

Cherries, with their 342 mg of potassium per cup, help replenish lost electrolytes and can soothe nausea.

He’s expecting it to start any day now.

He quietly steps into the bedroom, setting his bag by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. The soft glow of the lamp that was left on, presumably for him by your endlessly considerate heart, provides just enough light so he can get changed. He then finally clambers into bed next to you, one hand reaching out to lace in your hair, moving his fingers to gently scratch by the nape of your neck. He lifts the other to rest, like you're made of a delicate china, on your lower stomach, sighing in pure relief the second it makes contact.

You turn sleepily, humming when you’re met with the sight of him. “Spence,” you murmur, contented.

“Hi. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly.

“I'm glad you did. I like it when you wake me.” You tuck yourself closer to him. “I love you.” His hand comes to trace gentle patterns all over your back and arm, and he gives you a little kiss, adoringly.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

You let your eyes shut once again, this time much easier now that he’s with you. You inhale his scent, which you swear could repair anything broken or lost in this world. You exhale, wondering if he’d still hold you the same way after learning that you’re carrying his child. 

It’s a scary thought, but you’re comforted by his warm touch, pushing you farther out into the deep sea of sleep.

Once your breaths get steady and your mouth parts slightly, he adds, in a whisper, “Both.”

…

The next morning, when you’re hunched over the toilet bowl, Spencer is there with you, rubbing your back and wiping your teary eyes. You look up to him after brushing your teeth, and no words are exchanged. He tugs you into his arms, silently quelling any of the countless anxieties swarming your mind, at least in this moment.

His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He lets it rest there, cupping your jaw.

“Let’s go shopping after breakfast today, okay? You need prenatal vitamins.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And a new pie.”

[science-fantasy-superheroes]

Big Brother AU

Inexplicably, I had a dream about Pixar’s Brave and now I have a new OC: Hogus, Merida’s older brother. (Thank my dream for the name.) As much as Merida is like Fergus, Hogus is like Elinor. He and Merida get along pretty well, but their parents are kind of the extremes of each other, so it’s a lot harder to connect with them. But Fergus usually lets Hogus slip out of rough-housing when Merida leaps onto his back with a battle cry. And Elinor lets Merida run off and be rowdy more often when Hogus is there and genuinely enjoying her tapestry lessons. Merida still learns proper etiquette, and Hogus still learns how to use a sword, but it’s a lot more bearable and less tense for everyone. Anyway, directly inspired by what I saw in my dream, I wrote a few scenes from when Hogus is 12 and Merida is 8 (about two years before the triplets are born).

[Content Warning: tween death]

As a battle between the clans rages on, Hogus, Merida, and some other kids come riding on horses to spectate from the top of the hill. Merida and the other kids are ensnared by the sight of valiance, but Hogus better understands the gravity of war and death, and though genuinely curious about the battle, his excitement quickly falls into something only meant to mirror the others’.

In the valley, Fergus rides his own horse, slaying down everyone who comes near him. Someone gets in a lucky hit that sends his sword flying out of his hand. His surrounding enemies think they’ve finally got an advantage on him until that same man is stabbed in the gut by a throwing knife, Fergus now wild with the delight of bloodlust. Still, they’re sure he has to run out of throwing knives eventually and close in on him.

The sword landed halfway down the hill, the hilt sticking up in the air as if to summon someone to pick it up. Hogus knows it’s dangerous, but he can’t let his dad get slaughtered. Before he can convince himself otherwise, he charges forward and grabs the sword.

The kids are shocked and start to move closer themselves, but even they are aware that some people don’t come back from the battlefield, and stop before they get too close to danger.

“Dad!” Hogus calls out, waving the sword in the air to get his attention. “Dad!”

But all Fergus sees is someone running at him with a sword. And with an admittedly expert throw, he stabs his own son in the shoulder.

His arm goes limp and he drops the sword.

“Hogus!” Merida screams, immediately snapping Fergus out of it.

The rest of the warriors back off, knowing not to interfere, and the rest of the battlefield gradually comes to a stop.

“Hogus…”

Hogus meets his dad’s eyes, and breaks into tears. He’s not mad or disappointed, he just wants his dad.

Fergus rushes forward, just in time to catch Hogus as he goes limp.

“Dad… I’m sorry…”

“No, no… I’m sorry…” He finally breaks and cries too. “I’m so sorry…”

Back at the castle, Elinor is startled by the front doors slamming open.

“Fergus! What—?” Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of her son. “Hogus…” her eyes fill with tears. She can only watch as he runs past her, yelling for a doctor.

“Mama!” Merida clings to her dress.

“Merida…” She picks her up and hugs her. “What happened? How did…? None of you kids ran into the battlefield, did you?” She wasn’t trying to be accusatory, but she needed to know what happened.

“Only Hogus! But he was just trying to give Dad his sword! And…” She sniffs as more tears start to fall again. “And Dad was throwing knives at his enemies… But then he missed…” She can’t continue and sobs into Elinor’s neck.

She just holds her closer as the horror of what really happened dawns on her and she cries harder too.

Several hours later, Merida nervously waits outside a room.

“Hey, Merida,” her dad finally pokes his head out. He’s exhausted, but smiling. “You can come in now.”

His smile makes her hopeful, so she runs in. “Hogus?” she calls out.

“Hi, Merida,” he waves, smile bright as ever.

“Hogus!” she jumps onto the bed to tightly hug him.

“Ow!” he winces, and Elinor pulls her into her lap.

“Careful,” she gently scolds. “He’s still healing; his shoulder’s a bit sensitive.”

“Oh! Sorry…” she sheepishly apologizes.

“It’s okay,” he smiles. “I’m happy to see you too,” he opens up his good arm.

She beams and carefully crawls around to his other side to hug him.

Days pass, and Hogus hasn’t gotten any better. He’s only gotten much worse.

“Mum…” his voice is weak as he struggles to breathe and his eyes are watery. “I… I think…”

“No… No…” she gently runs a hand through his hair, not able to handle hearing what she already knows.

“… Can Dad come see me now?”

She brushes her thumb over his cheek, “Running the kingdom is not more important than you.”

“It kind of is…”

Her hand falls to his good shoulder. “Not this time.”

She looks to Maudie, who dutifully nods as soon as they make eye contact, then exits the room.

“… I’m sorry to leave you guys like this… I don’t know why the will-o’-the-wisps decided this–” he gestures to his shoulder– “for me, but… I don’t regret saving Dad. I just… I wish he didn’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“He’ll be okay.” She squeezes his hand. “I promise.”

“And you, too?”

“…” She glances at Merida sleeping next to him. “We’ll all be okay.”

Just then, Fergus runs in, a bit out of breath. He relaxes at the sight of his son alive and awake, but the panic in his face, the fear, thinking that he was too late…

Elinor can’t take it anymore and lets her emotions spill down her cheeks.

It makes Hogus lose control, and then Fergus can’t hold himself together either and lifts his family into his arms, waking Merida up.

“Hm… Hogus?” she murmurs blearily. She sees the tear streaks on his face and jolts up, looking around at her parents. “Why’s everyone crying? You’re going to be okay, right? You just got sick like when I did! You’re just going to cough for a bit and then you’ll be okay! You’re not…!” She gives up trying to convince herself, and Hogus hugs her as best he can.

Fergus cries all the more. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault; you’re a really good warrior.” He looks up at him. “And a good dad.”

Fergus holds them as close as he can. “I love you, Hogus. I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Dad…”

After a moment, he feels his lung shut down.

“Mum… Merida… I love you, too…”

Merida can only bury herself in her brother’s chest, but Elinor speaks for both of them.

“Oh, my darling, we love you too… We love you, too…”

He squeezes his mom’s hand, presses close to his dad, and hugs Merida tight as best he can. His clothes end up bunched in Merida’s fists, and his parents bury their faces in his hair. They stay together– they stay with him– even after he takes his last breath.

Their grieving period is long– it doesn’t feel long enough– but Fergus finally finds the strength to summon the clan leaders. The meeting is a somber occasion, out of respect. Elinor is present, with Merida nestled in her arms.

“The warring has to stop or our children will be fighting next. And they—” his voice breaks, and he glances at Merida watching him while her head rests on her mom. “They don’t deserve to deal with our issues… So, men, what are your terms of peace?”