#he will be extra sluggish otherwise

[n4rval]

i lied. here's a bonus.

[konigsblog]

how's breakfast/lunch/dinner with farmer könig around the table? (maybe with his twins babies too). are they quiet or loud? talk abt what to do today etc etc??

farmer-könig headcannons... ☀️🌾🌽

könig spends the majority of his day outside in the searing hot sun, doing work on the field with the animals, which means that you do the cooking and cleaning. although you're not complaining, it's rewarding to see that chunky, large man crawl inside after a day of hard work, devouring two servings of your nutritious, calorific food.

while könig is eating, he'll spoon-feed one baby, while you feed the other. it's always pretty noisy, especially with the babies sweet giggles and könig making aeroplane noises to encourage them to eat their food. a mess is always left behind, but könig insists that he'll help you despite stinking of sweat and freshly cut grass from hours on the field.

breakfast is usually something fruity, something including strawberries (of course, könig's favourite fruit HAS to be included) or perhaps a traditional meal könig's mother had taught you how to make. he needs his breakfast, otherwise he's cranky and sluggish. if you don't eat breakfast, könig will be concerned until lunchtime rolls around. he might force you to drink a glass of orange juice in the morning so that you don't faint, even if you're not likely to faint.

lunch is something quick, like soup, or even a quick sandwich. sometimes könig will have both, wiping his mouth and kissing your cheeks, thanking you for the delicious meal. he works up an appetite out there.

dinner is always made with lots of love, even if it's something quick and easy, perhaps even something microwavable if you're poorly. könig needs lots of calories, so you'll make extra just for him. the majority of the time — if not all the time — könig will eat two, perhaps even three servings. if he doesn't, he'll it as leftovers for lunch the next day. :3

[spencerreidenjoyer]

take care of you | spencer reid x reader

Sometimes, Spencer needs you to take care of him.

wc: 3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: submissive!spencer, s2/glasses spencer, pegging, face sitting, face riding, cunnilingus (fem!reader)

a/n: couldn't stop thinking about spencer in glasses getting absolutely wrecked. i love him so much!!!! (you can also find this fic on ao3!)

You can tell how much Spencer needs this. He’s been stressed out from work – sure, his job is always kind of stressful, but he looks so exhausted that you feel it in your bones.

Spencer’s never been good at asking for help, either. But the sluggish way he’s been moving around lately, his eyebags somehow even darker than usual, even Penelope texting you after a rough case to take care of Spencer: they all tell you that Spencer needs you more than ever.

“Hi, my love,” you greet from the couch when he opens the door. 

Spencer jumps slightly, perhaps not expecting you to be home when he’d gotten to the apartment. He relaxes quickly enough, his tight-set features easing up as he sees you. He smiles, kicking off his shoes, and is quick to let you wrap your arms around him. He melts into your grasp. 

“Hey,” Spencer says in a soft voice, but he hugs you so tight you feel a little breathless. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, love,” you hum into his neck, nose ticklish from how his hair is growing out, curling beautifully at the nape of his neck. “Rough day?”

“That’s an understatement,” Spencer sighs. “God, I needed this.”

While you’ve been dating for more than a year, Spencer being happy to touch you always makes you feel proud – it reminds you that you’re special to Spencer, that Spencer trusts you. 

“I know, sweetheart,” you say softly, your hand petting his soft hair. “Do you want– Do you need me to take care of you tonight? To shut your brain off for a little bit?”

Spencer’s sharp intake of breath is loud in the otherwise silent apartment. He pulls away, wet, brown eyes looking into yours. “You– Really? How did you–”

“I guessed you needed it,” you say, reaching to hold his hands in yours. “Do you need that?”

“Yes, please.” Spencer’s voice is practically a whisper. 

“Come on, love,” you smile, tugging him into the bedroom.

You take care of him like this: taking off his tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing him as you undo his belt and push his slacks off. Spencer is laid on the bed for you, only in his underwear, laid out bare for you.

Spencer looks so cute wearing his glasses, and you tell him that when he moves to take them off. He blinks at you. “Do you want me to keep them on?”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “Makes you look extra fuckable.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, smiling, but Spencer’s mouth falls open in a gasp as your hand reaches for his cock, touching him through his briefs. His cock jumps at your touch. 

You sigh contentedly. “You’re so pretty like this, Spence.”

He whimpers, lower lip pulled between his teeth. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I just want to take care of you, love.” You hum, meeting Spencer’s eyes as you slip your hand down the waistband of his underwear, wrapping your hand around him. 

“Oh–” He moans at the contact, hips instinctively bucking up into your touch. “Mmm, please.”

“Want me to fuck you, baby?” 

Spencer nods, but you can tell he’s still on edge, attempting to give up control. He’s never been too good at that.

You lean forward to kiss him. He moans, kissing you back quickly enough, desperate and hungry. He needs you, wants you, and the attention makes you preen.

You’ve pushed Spencer’s underwear down by now, unabashedly stroking his fully-hard cock. He’s leaking all over your hand now, so the slide of your hand on him is easy. His moans against your lips turn you on to no end, getting him off while he’s like this almost feels like your duty. 

“Come on, baby,” you murmur as you pull away. You’re met with a whine from Spencer, like he’s too far gone to realise you plan to give him more, instead of just taking his pleasure away from him. 

This is good. His colleagues have always joked that Spencer’s IQ drops when he’s around a pretty girl. Maybe you’ll be able to stop his overthinking mind tonight.

“Oh, don’t pout, darling,” you coo, finding it amusing how Spencer is basically throwing a fit over how you’ve stopped kissing him, stopped touching him. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

Spencer’s face is red in an instant, like he’s shocked at the sudden brazenness of it all. He pulls his lips into a thin line, sheepish, but he nods. You smile and say, “Then let me get ready for you, darling.”

He finally lets you go, but his eyes are wide and wet as he looks up at you, as you stare down at him. He looks like he wants to ask you something, but can’t find the words. “Tell me what you want, Spence.”

“I want– Can I touch myself? While– While you get ready?” He’s tripping over his words, and you feel like screaming into your hands just because he’s so cute. 

“Yes, darling. Don’t make yourself cum just yet, though,” you hum. “Wanna see you cumming on my cock.”

Spencer lets out a whimper, nodding as he wraps his hand around himself in an instant. He’s desperate, needy, and you feel so crazy about him that you feel the adrenaline in your veins as you get your harness out. Your hands shake as you attach your pink, sparkly dildo to your harness, as you take your clothes off (Spencer stares at you, making you feel so desired), strapping your harness on tight. 

In your bra with a dildo strapped to yourself, you sit between Spencer’s legs, spreading for you as he lays back on the bed you share. Lube is squeezed into your fingers, you warm it up between your thumb and index. You notice the way Spencer isn’t fully out of it yet, not in the way you want him to be.

So, leaning forward, you take Spencer’s cock between your lips, enveloping him in wet heat inch by inch. You watch his face morph with pleasure, perfectly ruined by your mouth. He always gets like this when your mouth is on him, loses his mind a little, loses the words to verbalise his pleasure. (And he always has the words.)

Spencer lets out an open-mouthed gasp, delicate and needy. His large hand comes up to his face, pushing his glasses up like he needs to get a better look at you. Spencer is desperate, eager, hips stuttering up into your mouth. You push his hips down with a firm hand. He moans.

You take the lead as you suck him off, acting more of a distraction as you rub your fingers over his hole, slick with lube as you get him to ease up. Spencer’s always been stubborn, but when you have him like this, he gives in rather easily. 

“Fuck, please, please,” Spencer’s begging now, and you’re so turned on you feel your head spin, your heart pounding in your chest. You slip a finger in, giving Spencer the pleasure he needs, and he moans so sweetly you feel like you need to fuck him right now. 

Now that he’s a little less on edge, you pull off of him, focusing on fingering Spencer. You work him open rather meticulously, coaxing him open slowly. When Spencer’s in a headspace like this he gets needy and a little helpless, letting you take the lead (and not helping much). He whimpers and gasps as you fuck one finger into him, then two, hitting that sweet spot inside of him as you get him to relax. His cock twitches with every stroke of your fingers, leaking pathetically all over his soft stomach.

“Feels good, darling?” you hum.

Spencer moans. “Yes, so good. I– So good.”

“So pretty for me, Spence,” you sigh, smiling up at him. You slip a third finger into him and he cries out so pathetically you feel like you’re losing your mind. “You sound so pretty too.”

“Fuck,” Spencer gasps, as your fingers work inside of him. His face is pushed into the pillow underneath him, his glasses sitting awkwardly from the angle. He’s wiggling his toes, writhing, and you can tell that he wants more. He tries to say something else, but it comes out garbled. 

You pull your fingers out, and when Spencer whines from the loss, you coo, “Okay– Okay, darling. I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

You press a kiss to the soft skin of his inner thigh, and when you look up at Spencer, he smiles so wide. You want to kiss him. You pucker your lips at him obnoxiously, and he giggles. 

Getting on your knees between his legs, you slick up your strap with more lube. Spencer is sickeningly adorable as he watches you stroke the dildo, a perversion of the way it usually goes. Spencer looks enthralled, as if you stroking yourself is doing something for him, even if it doesn’t do anything for you. You smirk at him, and his cheeks flush.

You wrap your hand around Spencer’s cock and stroke his cock with whatever’s left on your hand. The extra slick slide aided by the lube makes Spencer jolt and buck his hips, your hand feeling particularly amazing on him. 

“Come on, baby,” you coo, as you press the blunt head of your strap to Spencer’s hole. “You’re gonna take me in so well, aren’t you, Spence?”

Spencer is all gangly limbs, but he’s so desperate that he feels so small underneath you. His cock is leaking, and his flush has moved from his face all the way down to his chest, which rises and falls as he breathes hard. His gorgeous, lovely eyes don’t leave your frame. No matter what, he looks at you like you hung the stars.

“I will,” Spencer says softly, adoration in his tone. He’s holding his breath, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as he looks up at you. You smile at him, before you press your strap into him. His mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut, gasping as he feels you inside of him.

You press into him so slow, taking your time, your head spinning with how pretty Spencer looks under you. While you always enjoy the sight of Spencer on top of you, he’s gorgeous like this too. Spencer’s always a little timid, submissive for sure. You find it cute. Sometimes, taking care of him like this just makes sense.

You watch as Spencer swallows you up greedily, the length of your strap disappearing inside of him. He shudders as you press your hand down on his lower abdomen, the softness of his stomach grounding you as you start to piston your hips. “Is that good, darling? Feels good?”

He nods hastily with a whimper. The bottoms of his glasses have fogged up, with the gentle sheen of sweat on Spencer’s skin and how warm his face must be by now. He’s sinfully innocent, and you resist the urge to bite him. 

Instead, you wrap your hand around his cock. He moans loudly, eagerly. You curse, your own arousal heightening even with the lack of physical touch. You keep thrusting into him, getting off on the way Spencer squirms and whines. “You sound so pretty like this, Spence.”

“Please,” Spencer groans, his voice coming out whiny and broken. “I’m so close, I wanna–”

“Already?” You feign your disappointment, even though you can’t blame Spencer for being needy in the slightest, especially since you’ve made it so easy for him to let himself go tonight. “I’ve barely had my fun with you, baby.”

He gasps, hurried and desperate: “I– I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

To be fair, you weren’t planning on denying Spencer of an orgasm, but you’re more than happy to take Spencer up on that offer.

You grin. “Cum for me then, Spence.”

You watch his features scrunch up with pleasure as his orgasm hits him, his load splattering all over his stomach, dribbling down your knuckles as you stroke him through it. It’s adorable, the way his hips stutter, the way his mouth falls open in little, incoherent gasps as he orgasms.

You feel like you could admire him like this forever, the softness of his frame and features, the gentleness as he catches his breath. He’s gorgeous, and you can’t take your eyes off of him. Spencer smiles once he catches your eye, sheepish at your intense gaze and the attention you’ve given him. 

Sitting up, Spencer’s hands reach for your waist, fumbling to undo your harness. It’s adorable, and you rest your hand on his to get his attention. He looks up at you, hair messy, eyes wide. You kiss him softly, slowly, Spencer reaching up to cup your cheek as he kisses you back sweetly. 

You feel the harness loosening around your hips on the left side of your body, and it makes you pull away with a grin. “Multitasking, I see.”

“I want to make it up to you, my love,” Spencer says quietly, earnest. “I’m just in a hurry to get to it.”

You laugh, kissing the corner of his grin once more before you let him get back to undoing your harness. You take your panties off, tossed aside to be dealt with later, and Spencer dips his fingers between your legs. You feel his long digits swipe at the wetness that’s gathered there already. “You’re so perfect.”

“How do you want me, darling?” you hum, moaning softly as his fingers start to rub at your clit. 

“Like this.” Spencer lays back, pulling you forward by your thighs, until your body is hovering over his neck, just enough where you can meet Spencer’s eyes. 

“Oh,” you say. “You- You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. I want you to sit on my face,” Spencer says simply, and you feel like melting. Sure, you’ve been together a long time, but you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious, being close to Spencer like this. Will you be too heavy? What if you suffocate him, or worse, crush his neck? He can clearly tell you’re overthinking it, because he adds, “Come on. Please?”

“This is one hell of a way of making it up to me,” you laugh. 

Spencer’s completely serious about it, though, as he furrows his brows. “I mean it. You’re not going to hurt me. It’s statistically improbable that you’d break my neck or something. You’ll feel good, and I will too. I’ll be careful if you’re worried.”

“Okay,” you say softly, feeling slightly more comforted by Spencer’s words. He presses a kiss to your thigh, smiling up at you.

Spencer pulls you closer, urging you to sit down. You don’t put your full weight down on him at first, but the way he pulls you down onto him startles you, so you can’t even attempt to control how hard you sit on his face. He moans when you’re seated, as you feel his lips between your legs, his nose nudging at your clit. His glasses are askew on his face but it’s too late for Spencer to take them off, and it doesn’t look like he cares to, either.

Spencer’s a god at giving head – Lord knows where he learned that from – but it’s even better when he’s needy. The best orgasms you’ve had were after Spencer was particularly worked up, extra needy over you, and dove between your legs like his life depended on it.

Today is somehow even better.

Maybe he’s made pliant by the way you fucked him earlier, but it feels so right, the way Spencer coaxes your hips forward. With his glasses digging into your thighs and his arms hooked around your legs, Spencer pulls you towards him, letting you ride his face to get you off. It’s like he needs to make you cum, like he can’t carry on if he didn’t.

There’s an added desperation you feel, deep-seated in your bones, wanting Spencer to pleasure you like you did with him. It’s never been transactional with Spencer, both of you naturally wanting to please – but Spencer is so sweet and kind with you, and you’re turned on to no end because of him. 

You feel his tongue lap at you, over your leaking hole, over your swollen clit. You feel so loved, so taken care of, just like you took care of Spencer. You only see the rims of his glasses, his brows furrowed and his eyes presumably squeezed shut as he eats you out, but God, you adore him. 

“Please, Spence,” you moan. You feel like you can’t explain it, but you ramble, “Feels so good, you’re– You’re so good for me, baby.”

He moans, pulling you closer to him like he can’t get enough of you. You’re afraid he won’t be able to breathe, but he’s doing just fine burying his head between your legs, giving you everything you need. He pleasures you like he needs it too. 

Everything is just right, his eagerness to make you orgasm, coupled with the way your head is spinning from his lovely submissiveness from earlier. Spencer is perfect, and you think you should do this more often.

You rock your hips forward, letting his hands guide you through the motions. He’s got a one-track mind, only focused on your pleasure, and you’re shaking with your orgasm before you even know it. You cry out as your orgasm wracks through your whole body, your thighs clamping down on Spencer’s face. His own moans are muffled between your legs, which push you further over the edge. You ride out your orgasm just like that, with Spencer whimpering as you use him. 

You put Spencer out of his misery when your hips slow to a stop, pulling back as you roll onto the mattress next to him. He looks like he’s in bliss, like he could’ve died happy between your legs. He turns to look at you, the lower half of his face wet with slick, his glasses sitting skewed on his nose. He swoons, “You’re the love of my life.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “I know, darling.”

You lean over to rest your head on him contentedly. Unfortunately, despite how satisfied (and admittedly tired) you are from tonight, Spencer seems to have other ideas.

“You’re hard again,” you note, eyebrow raised curiously.

Spencer smiles sheepishly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Let me take care of you, then.” With your hand skirting down his stomach, you press your lips to his, with his sticky chin and all.

“Happily,” Spencer grins.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

So I 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The extra money makes the after-hours work a little less sluggish. It will be worth it when you get the deposit. Even so, you’re only human and the needling between your brow pangs deeper and deeper. 

You can’t help but mourn your free time. You haven’t been to the gym in more than a week and most nights you fall asleep without dinner. It’s a stepping stone. Once you have a handle on things, it won’t be as bad. 

You yawn and lean your head in your hands. You glance up through the transparent walls of your office. Those in the shared space are long gone. There might be a few other execs like yourself left but otherwise, it’s desolate. It’d be peaceful if traffic wasn’t rushing and honking below. 

You rub your nose and sit up. As you do, your door swings open, jarring you so your chair squeaks shrilly. You blather out nonsense as Bucky strides in. His hair is sweaty and slightly askew and his metal arm is on full show as the left sleeve of his jacket has been removed to accommodate it. You haven’t seen him often in anything other than his faded tees and jeans. 

“Oh, hey, uh...” you blink and fix the tilt of your seat. “What are you, em, doing here?” 

He snickers and strolls around your office. He stops at the shelf mounted on the wall and toys with the little golden rose in a crystal vase. It’s one of the few pieces of decor you’ve moved in. 

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he plucks out the stem and admires it. “Working late? Again?” 

“You too.” You sit back to watch him. You cross one leg over the other and angle your head coyly. 

A ripple washes over you at the memory of your last time together. He was so rough and demanding. He’d kept you up all night, and in the morning, you as good as pushed him out your door. Something’s changed. Something you don’t quite like. 

“Oh, don’t play casual with me. I can hear your heartbeat jumping just like you wanna jump out of your panties,” he scoffs. 

You roll your eyes, “How many time do I have to--” 

“You say it but what woman doesn’t want a man who knows exactly what she’s thinking?” He interjects. 

“Like you do.” You shake your head and fold your arms. 

“Ah, come on, it’s been a while.” 

“I know. I’ve been busy. Working.” You pull your arms apart and roll closer to your desk. 

“I just got off myself so why don’t we get off together,” he twirls the rose as he nears. “Pull that skirt up, gimme a peek.” 

“Right. I really don’t have time. Sorry.” You look back to the screen as he stands just on the other side of the desk. Sweat beads in your scalp as he lurks there. He drops the artificial flower on the wood and huffs. 

“Strange. You’re too busy for me. Suddenly. Weren’t too busy a couple weeks ago. I seem to remember some begging,” he laughs. 

“Would you quit?” You sniff and look up at him, folding your hands atop each other. “This isn’t a game for me. I can’t fuck this up. Look, we had fun. It’s been fun but I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s... too much.” 

He’s quiet. He slowly leans down and plants his fingertips on the desk. He stares you down and you look up at him cautiously. A divet forms between his brows. 

“You can’t break up with me. We’re just fucking, so save the it’s not yous, it’s mes,” he hisses. 

“Exactly. We’re not breaking up, Bucky, because this was only ever sex, so please, just go. Find someone who give you what you want. Once you figure that out.” 

His cheeks tauten and his jaw squares. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“I’m not trying to hurt you--” 

“Hurt? Like you said.” He pushes himself away and the desk lurches. “It isn’t a relationship. Just a dirty, nasty hook-up.” He paces around your office. “The way I had you on your knees. Fuck, the way you wagged your ass for me. Good times.” He stops and claps his hands as he faces you again. “One last hurrah, how about it?” 

You sigh. You shift uneasily and grunt as you try to put your desk straight. It’s just another reminder of how he can do more. 

“I don’t think so.” You look up at him. “You need to go.” 

“Really? I came all the way here.” 

“I didn’t ask you to--” 

“I know you didn’t fucking ask but you were desperate for me every other time, weren’t you? Don’t act like you never wanted me.” He charges forward and you press yourself against your chair. You gulp and bat your lashes. He stops short and snorts. “Relax. What am I gonna do, huh? What did I ever do but exactly what you begged me to do?” 

He throws his hands up and shoves the air. 

“Enjoy your fucking soul-sucking job.” He twists on his heel and marches to the door. He lingers in the frame as he turns his head, his profile shadowy in the dim light of the outer offices. “See how far it gets you.” 

He storms out, leaving you stunned. You rehearsed it over and over. What you would say, how you would say it. You saw him laughing it off. You saw him shrugging and sighing. That was more than you could predict.  

It was him who insisted it was nothing from day one. You agreed because that was easy. Now it feels a lot more complicated. Or rather, did. 

[python333]

soft spot — python333

— — — —

synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?” 

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised. 

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly. 

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago. 

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table. 

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself. 

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you. 

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment. 

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask. 

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.” 

You know it’s not just stress. 

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it. 

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action. 

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again. 

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations. 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it. 

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?” 

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.” 

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.” 

You give him a confused look. “You do?” 

“‘Course I do.” 

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?” 

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask. 

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.” 

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you. 

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful? 

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?” 

Oh God. 

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.” 

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned. 

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.” 

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair. 

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down. 

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright. 

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” 

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird? 

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish. 

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent. 

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew. 

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress. 

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—” 

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…” 

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh my God. 

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything. 

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small. 

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now. 

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all. 

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do. 

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise. 

“What was that?” You don’t answer him. 

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively. 

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain. 

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?” 

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you. 

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.” 

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button. 

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention. 

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer. 

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.” 

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago. 

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor. 

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain. 

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it. 

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?” 

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so. 

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?” 

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that. 

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.” 

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?” 

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face. 

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?” 

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.” 

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling. 

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do. 

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest. 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

 You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice. 

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up. 

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best. 

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you. 

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?” 

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod. 

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours. 

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you. 

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?” 

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine. 

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week. 

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention. 

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level. 

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.” 

— 

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression. 

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all. 

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions. 

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids. 

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates. 

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques. 

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired. 

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his. 

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents. 

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much. 

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't. 

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?” 

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.” 

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago. 

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. 

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?” 

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts. 

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe. 

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.” 

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down. 

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned. 

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.” 

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole. 

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead. 

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever. 

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow. 

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them. 

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience. 

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet. 

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better. 

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly. 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.” 

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why? 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep. 

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.” 

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle. 

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?” 

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?” 

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.” 

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.” 

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?” 

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind.  Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?” 

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out. 

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed. 

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” 

— 

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up. 

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge. 

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying. 

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now. 

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace. 

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in. 

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed. 

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you. 

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely. 

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[wolven91]

It's Cold Outside

Space isn't as cold as one expects.

Oh sure, in the shadow of something; it's freezing, but exposed to a star and no way to naturally dissipate the heat? It gets hot quickly. Having a robust method of cooling one's ship is vital, otherwise the crew would cook within hours. One's ability to cool one's systems is the deciding factor of how much a ship can do in most situations. Problem arise though when that system goes on the fritz and doesn't stop cooling.

On its own, Neil wouldn't have really had an issue. Maybe put on an extra jacket or hoodie? Sure, it was cool, but it wasn't cold. Unfortunately, Yil'ro was a ssypno and cold blooded.

She wasn't cruel, evil, or mean. She was not cold blooded in that sense, but more literally; she made very little of her own heat and without enough heat, she would slow down, become sluggish and eventually fall into a coma. The ship wasn't huge, it was enough for a grand total of eleven crew members. Yil'ro was missed when she didn't appear at breakfast.

When the human had gone to check on her in her, comparatively to her size, tiny quarters, he'd keyed the door open to find her trying desperately to warm up. Blankets covered her and several instant hot food snacks resting against her gently steaming into the air-conditioned room.

"It's... Not... not enough..." She explained haltingly. Coiling herself into a tight knot, causing the hot-pots to wobble. 

Neils, unafraid of the blue Titanoboa, stepped up and placed a hand on the nearest loop of her tail in a show of care and solidarity.

"Is there anything I can do? I can bring more blankets?" The man suggested, genuinely concerned for his friend of the last three months. However, she reacted to his touch, pushing into his palm.

"By the storm snake's blessing, your hands are like a fire..." She murmured, seemingly not hearing him.

Emboldened, the man rubbed his palms together quickly and placed both back onto the coil, which surged up again and into his hands. Neil had always delighted in the deep blue scales of Yil'ro, they were so dark that without light they looked almost black. Currently they shimmered and moulded under his touch. 

"Is this helping?"

"Yes!"

"Should I get everyone else?"

"It doesn't work like this with t-them. Too much fur. Feels cold."

The skin. Humans were alone in the universe with regards to how little they had to cover them. A bit of hair, here and there, but nothing even close to the full head to tail covering of pelt that most of the other races had. Skin on scale transferred heat with such efficiency, that it had been reported that humans who touched the draconians, geckins or the ssypno; felt heavenly.

Neils frowned as he tried to think of a solution, before his mind offered him one.

There was a second of debate, but all it took was to see Yil'ro's miserable face, pulled tight against her coils to make the decision for him.

The man put his weight onto the coil in front of him and vaulted it, swinging a leg up and over it. The size of a ssypno can not be understated. They regularly reached forty to forty-five feet in length with the potential to get much, much bigger. Even with his leg thrown over one of her smaller coils, his toes barely touched the floor.

"Ooh.. What-? Neil?!" Yil'ro started, apparently opening her eyes to see what had just briefly provided two legs' worth of heat across one section of her tail. "What are you... you doing?" She asked, flinching as she shivered with the cold.

"It's an old human trick, sharing body heat."

"But-"

"In life and death situations, skin on skin contact can save your life. I'm not offering, I'm instructing you-" Neil removed his top, the frigid air making his skin pebble. "-To coil me. Shut up! Just do it." Neil ordered with a firm tone, silencing Yil'ro before she could say another word.

Despite her cooled state, the speed at which a ssypno could move shocked the human as her torso appeared from the depths of her coils and embraced him with all four arms. Then, thick, muscular coils wrapped and coiled around the pair of them, sandwiching them together before the outside world was lost and all the remained was the sound of the ssypno and the human's breathing.

She was cool to the touch and Neils could feel the heat sap from him, before the air in the confined space began to warm notably.

"Oooh..." the chest Neil was pressed to rumbled. "Oh my..." Yil'ro murmured.

"I had always wondered... what it was like to hold you- I mean a human..." She corrected hastily. Neil just grinned.

"Enjoy what you like, I just want y-" Neil's words were cut off as he squeaked. One of the broad hands that were clasped down his back had twitched sidesways and given his rump a hard squeeze having him jerk forwards into her.

"You said 'enjoy'..." Yil'ro giggled, already seeming much closer to her old self. "Can we... do this every morning? It would definitely help me get moving..."

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[eldritch-spouse]

i cannot believe no one has suggested this

imagine zizz walking in (or waking up to) on his queen humping one of the plushies

[This isn't exactly what you want it to be, but I had a massive brain vomit moment. Fem reader. There's art in this one.]

TW: Plushophilia (??? There's a doll monster is what I'm trying to say)

Rare are the days where you wake up alone in bed.

Zizz actually sleeps in quite a bit later than you. Granted he usually also settles down for the night much later. Nevertheless, it has become a habit of yours to wake up between his arms, tucked under his chin, or perhaps even being spooned, his hips somewhat restless behind yours.

It must have become an increasingly important aspect of your routine, because you find waking up alone to be more and more insupportable lately. So much so that you groan, immediately disappointed as soon as you register reality- No extra warmth, no gentle breathing beside you, no rumbling purr or claws petting across your hair.

Part of you wants to close your eyes, roll to the side, grab the nearest pile of softness and go back to sleep- Waiting for your King to return so you can wake up properly. And yet, another part is also restless.

What is he up to?

It's not as if you're worried about Zizz, he's probably busy with some project you can't be fucked to care about, but you're almost... Indignant. Some petty little voice in you demands you find the King and plop yourself on his lap, impeding him from working any further as punishment for denying you wake up affections.

When you yawn and make to get up, a slight tug is felt on your arm. Reflexively looking back, you find several of the stuffed companions you share with the ruler crowding your side, as if knowing you intend to leave and attempting to beckon you otherwise. It's tempting.

But not enough to halt you.

Because only a few moments later, you sluggishly take a stand, moving towards the large doors leading out of the bedchambers. All is fine until you turn one of the handles and... Nothing moves.

It actually takes your sluggish brain a couple of static-fillled seconds to register that. The realization followed by another tug, a harsher one to the twin handle, a fierce shove. Nothing. Not a budge, nor a creak.

They're... Locked?

In the relative darkness of the room -Kept this way to cater to Zizz's light-sensitive eyesight- You only note the piece of paper stuck to the left door after an embarrassing amount of jostling the fancy handles. Irritation makes you rip the notice away, squinting so as to make sense of the scribbled writing.

" Your excellence,

I lament to inform you that King Zizz has been called for an extremely urgent matter that requires his immediate attention. Under his command, I was instructed to keep you inside the bed chambers at all costs until his arrival. According to Lord Zizz, it should only take a little while. You may even still be sleeping by the time he returns.

Regards,

Jayde. "

Fury makes you crumple the sheet of paper into a ball, chucking it at the doors as if the force alone would cause them to suddenly part ways.

He's just going to keep you locked up in here like a doll? Like some pet?! The nerve.

For as much as Zizz says he loves you infinitely, incidents like these really serve to highlight a bitter truth you often turn a blind eye to. That he thinks less of you, that he doesn't trust you to handle the smallest things on your own. Maybe because he thinks you can't, that you're so limited to the point of having to be kept in a bedroom like some child.

Mind ping-ponging between all sorts of unearthed emotions, you consider behaving in exactly the way he seems to see you- By throwing a petulant tantrum befitting of someone truly as limited as he thinks you are. And just as a not so smart voice in your head congratulates you for such a thought, a touch halts that process entirely.

You jolt slightly, glancing down. One of the stuffed dolls from Zizz's endless collection lies on the carpeted ground, little rounded hand outstretched towards your foot. Have you seen this one before? It's hard to tell.

He's cute, a crocheted demonoid made of a mix and mash of pink yarn hues. The only other color on him is black, on his wide button eyes, a silk bow around his neck and his adorable tail adorned with jingling bells at the bottom. Why, he's so lovable! Is this one new in the King's collection? That doesn't make sense, Zizz would have shown you if that were the case, he always does. It must have been one you just don't get to see as often- Lord knows some of them are perpetually buried in the ocean of fluff and warmth that suffocates this room at times.

" Aw, aren't you cute? " You coo at the little thing, eyeing his little curved horns as you speak mostly to yourself. They listen however, you know they do.

" You want me to stay? If you reeeeally mean it, I guess I can... "

The choice isn't there, you're just trying to make yourself feel better and avoid getting angry until Zizz comes back.

As soon as you turn back, jingling and rustling can be heard. It's not cause for alarm, you're well aware these cotton and silken entities move on their own frequently, especially when no one's looking their way -It stopped being creepy after the first few days- So you assume the little pink thing is going to crawl back to its resting spot now that you have been successfully convinced to drop the doors.

Instead, you feel a much bigger pair of hands quickly shove your back. You yelp, a clumsy foot catching on your flowing nightgown and swiftly sending you tumbling onto the bed. It'd be lying to say that a small inkling of fear didn't course through you, steadily growing as you gather enough wit and reflex to roll around on the mattress and spot your assailant.

At the foot of the bed stands none other than the same plush you just talked to.

But he shifted.

Now much bigger, the yarn that once composed him has become a finely molded pattern over a much more humanoid form that shifts and moves exactly like your own. An amused, definitely mischievous smile creases the edges of his soft cheeks, covering up a bit of those button eyes- Surprisingly expressive for a thing that's supposed to have a fixed expression. It's extremely odd to admit this, but the more you look at him, the more weirdly attractive he becomes in spite of his strange fabric-based biology. Part of you almost wants to reach out and touch him.

Mild apprehension doesn't allow you to.

These creatures only shift into bigger forms of themselves when there's a good reason for such. Like imminent danger, intruders, tasks that require more refined figures. Most of the time, from what you recall being told, they're content to ragdoll and observe things or simply become inactive. So why is this one so active? Does he think you're going to try to escape? Yeah right, no amount of luck could make it happen.

" ... Buddy? "

The plush monster perks up, and when the ringing of tiny bells hits your ears, you realize he's wagging his tail happily. Not a second later, the yarn entity has climbed atop the bed and looms over your form with great stitched glee in its face. You don't even get to ask him what's happening before the pink thing sinks to snuggle against you in a warm hug.

He's so bizarrely soft.

As the monster silently rubs and nuzzles his head everywhere on your neck, chest and cheek, you can only marvel at the almost unbelievable smoothness of his... Skin? Not really. The sensation is so new that you don't even deign to think too much about what's happening, happily giggling when you bury your own face in the pleasant pink fuzz of his of his head. Okay then, he's just feeling affectionate, you can deal with that. In spite of the plush texture, experimentally grabbing at his arms reveals that there isn't as much give to him as you'd expect, like something more solid lurks beneath that friendly and deceitfully fragile exterior.

You toy with his bow a little, twirling the ends as you sigh.

" I'm not leaving, you know? I can't. "

He nods under your chin, face dipping towards your cleavage as smooth claws edge up the length of your legs. And while you allow it to happen, the gears start turning in your head. They're not really supposed to do that, are they?

You've seen many of the dolls shift, seen them perform a couple of menial tasks, asking for attention, but you never saw them... Being so bold. Sexual even. Are they capable of that? You'd like to think you're not a pervert, but built so well as this one is, maybe this is his function. You have caught the King with pillows and stuffed bedmates between his legs before- It wouldn't be that surprising if they're meant to do this from time to time.

But then... The one currently groping your thighs... If you let him continue, would you be cheating on the demonlord? No. Surely not, right? He uses them for pleasure too, it would be hypocritical of Zizz to become upset over something like this. You hope, at least. Still, you're not sure how to feel about it.

As you lie there still, deliberating on the situation unfolding, his shiver-inducing dance over your legs reaches your thighs. He's gentle, massaging from the outside, upwards, gripping your hips, then following the line of your panties back down to your inner thighs, a sensual and slow stroke that has you relaxing and sighing in pleasure. You recognize the motions, these are gestures Zizz likes to use on you, to hear you softly moan and smile, spreading your legs for him further. It shouldn't surprise you that some -Or all- Of his plushies would know how to touch you too. They're constant observers.

He looks content to have you so pliant beneath him, and you're sure the monster would be rumbling like its master if it was capable of making sounds. The frequent jingling of his swatting tail is evidence enough of his approval. Yet, as pleasant as this is all being, you reach for those pink wrists when a claw tries to slide your undergarments aside.

" Hey. " You start, having to squeeze a little so he puts his whole attention on your face. The doll monster tilts his head. " I'm... We shouldn't do anything, Zizz isn't here... "

The entity tilts his head more, as if not really understanding where you're coming from, silence stretches on for a small eternity between you, your heart pounding in your chest.

You can admit to yourself that it's more than a little thrilling to give this a shot. To see what it's like to bed one of the King's stuffed dolls. After all, there must be a reason he likes them so much... But you don't want to go too far. Not without knowing more.

" We can't- Uhm, we can't have sex, okay? " Gods you've never cringed at yourself so hard.

The doll seems to flinch at the mention of sex, horned head shaking frantically as he quickly removes his featherlite fingers off your figure entirely. Though a smile stretches his yarned cheeks when he wags a finger at you, proceeding to use both hands to frame... His slit.

Because it can only be that between his legs. It's the same exact color as the rest of his body, blending together amidst all the rounds of fabric that compose his body. You can't be blamed for having missed it at first. More important however, is the strand of white yarn stitched over said area, in the same way you'd sew someone's wounds, though with a small bow at the bottom.

It takes a bit for you to piece what it means together.

The monster reaches to try and slip a finger under the yarn, trying to dislodge it off him, but it seems to be well secured. He then casually taps your groin, then his, shaking his head again.

Ah.

" Oh! " Your eyes widen. " So you can't... It doesn't come off? " Penetration is not on the table.

The pink doll nods. Honestly, you have no idea what kind of cock this type of being can have...

" O- Okay. " That does make you feel better about things for now. Though it begs the question. " Did Zizz put that on you? "

Another nod.

His brows furrow as he seems to be thinking of something for a few quiet moments. Then, a tad suddenly, the doll moves off you to thump soundlessly beside you on the bed. He spreads his legs some and makes an eager beckoning gesture towards you.

Not really understanding but too curious to deny him, you do as told, getting the picture when he slides one of your legs over his right one, making you straddle it. This time, when he looks at your face and slowly slides your panties to the side, there's no misunderstanding between you.

Not that your face isn't heating up at the implication.

The monster's chest shifts and his mouth parts like he's mutely lauging. And it makes sense, the doll has probably seen you and Zizz get up to some pretty shameless stuff in this very room, he likely thinks it's hilarious that you're hesitating to do something as simple as ride his thigh.

" Oh shush. "

Soft claws rub down your back, cupping the globes of your ass underneath your gown and starting a slow, luscious rhythm on his leg. The monster happily allows you to adjust, learn what angle provides the best friction on your clit while he kneads and gropes greedily at your cushion.

You don't really consider yourself to be much of a humper.

Of course, you've done it before a couple of times, the difference here being that none of the things you used would stare knowingly at you, would smirk when you shuddered in pleasure or even minutely push back against your movements. They wouldn't squeeze approvingly at your hips and waist, reach to fondle the peaks of your tits- To say that a plush lusts after you would be madness. At least until today.

Restless thighs clench around his own as you speed up, rocking harder, grinding yourself, soaking his fabric in your own chase for a peak that you didn't even know you were craving so bad up until now. Distantly, you wonder how many are watching now, if they feel any jealousy towards the brave and lucky plush that dared make a move.

Unfortunately, you're having trouble getting there on your own, cursing underneath your breath while your body tenses and coils but never enough to trigger that sweet release. There's no way he doesn't see you struggling and sweating on him, the little bastard's likely just enjoying the show. Ugh.

" Mm- Finger me, please. "

And yet, no matter how sweet your tone was, how you used manners, he didn't budge, smile climbing further up his rosy face as he shook his head, tail thumping on the sheets. The blatant denial makes you halt entirely, frowning.

" Wh- What do you mean no?! " That sounded a lot more aggressive than you meant it to be.

But still, these monsters are servants, their purpose to fulfill the royalty's orders, that's what they strive for. If you tell one to touch you a certain way, surely they'd be more than happy to do so, right?

The entity merely shakes his head again. You're getting a little annoyed by that gesture, even if it's one of the few ways he can actually communicate with you coherently.

Your arms cross beneath your chest, not so much mad as you are confused. " Aren't you technically supposed to obey me? "

The doll shakes with laughter again, and part of you almost wants to push him right off the bed, hormones still jumping in your system. He wags an index again, then wiggles his fingers above his head, between his horns.

As he repeats the motion, you can finally focus enough to make sense of it. He's trying to imitate the blob of energy that his master sports between his own horns. That little thing you've tried to grab before even though it's touch averse, slipping between your digits right at the moment you think you've got it.

The message is clear- He obeys to Zizz specifically.

You make a 'tsk', rolling your eyes at the monster. " So you're not going to help me? "

Another shake.

" Not even a liiittle bit? " And you reach a hand beneath the silk of his dark bow, scratching at his chin.

The contact has him leaning instantly, attitude faltering, his response coming in a clumsy shrug. A sort of "We'll see".

Fine.

Undettered, you offer him no more sweet talk when you resume the previous pace, caring none for his comfort as you steady yourself on his abdomen to harshly thrust your hips on his leg, almost jostling him for a second. The plush monster's tail wags near violently, apparently loving this newfound roughness.

You're not sure what has him so enthusiastic out of nowhere, but any suspicion drops immediately at the first hint of the bumping and grinding his own leg against your twitching cunt, hands eagerly helping you spread yourself. He practically fucks you onto him, seeming to shiver in his own weird manner at the high and whiny noises you belt out.

When your orgasm crashes upon you, the pink creature doesn't slow down, making sure to milk it as hard as he can, he himself enjoying getting humped while you finish, soaking him further in your arousal. Your legs are still rocking gently, the first aftershocks settling in when-

" I'm glad you were able to entertain yourself. "

The way you jump off the monster nearly has your soul leaping out of your throat when you whirl around to find none other than Zizz sitting by the edge of the bed, chin framed by his palms as if he were watching a movie unfurl.

" D- Did-? " How long was he actually here for? How come he manages to be as silent as a mouse when he's so huge?! " I'm so sorry- "

The demonlord huffs. " For... What exactly? "

" I- Well- Your-...? " You glance beneath yourself to the plush monster still laying beneath you with a slightly smug smirk on his face.

Zizz nudges you off the doll carefully, tugging him down closer with a lot less care as he removes his veil. Wide eyes blink in panic, you assume he's going to maybe hurt the entity or chastise you for making a mess of his treasured collection piece- But surprisingly, he clutches the toy's leg and casually licks the slick of your climax that wasn't rapidly absorbed by yarn.

O-Oh okay.

The other seems to like this well enough, letting himself ragdoll, once again wagging that jingling appendage.

" ... He was only doing his job. "

The King releases his minion, sparing you a lidded look.

" You can use me now. "

(As a bonus, here's what the ""doll"" looks like.)

[celestiaras]

can we get a submissive ver with a dom reader? Let's say you gave him an aphrodisiac and... yk...

ft. ver vermillion x gn! reader — xsoliel, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ ver testing out some aphrodisiacs without you┊0.6k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub/solo ver┊aphrodisiacs, masturbation (ver), getting walked in on, slight voyeurism & teasing, handjobs

➤ author's note: on the shorter side and i misread the prompt unfortunately T-T i hope it’s still okay though!!

it looked just like a standard bar of dark chocolate, but the fancy packaging it was stored in implied otherwise. supposedly, it was laced with an extra-potent formula to increase the erotic effects of the treat, but how strong was it exactly? you bought it after it caught your interest and decided to try it out with him, but then left to run a few errands and left him with piqued curiosity. he really shouldn’t have since he was waiting for you to come home, but he was just itching to open it and take a bite. he wanted to know if the taste of the cacao was altered, how strong it was, and how it would make him feel. with a little bit of deliberation, he gave in to the temptation and was gone a few minutes after the bittersweet dessert melted on his tongue (he’s glad he didn’t give in when he wondered if he should eat another one when it didn’t work right away).

it left him sweaty with need, taking deep breaths for air as a flame of desire was ignited and burned wildly within him. he couldn’t help himself from palming his length behind his pants and soon found himself stroking it in the middle of the living room while biting on the collar of his shirt. instead of keeping his horniness at bay as he had hoped, it turned out to increase his frustration even more as he only felt hotter and none of the edge was getting off.

now he was really regretting trying it out while you were gone, forgetting about the fact that he struggles to get himself off without your help. it just isn’t the same if you weren’t there with him, it doesn’t feel half as good without your hands on him and cooing about what a good boy he is or doing the complete opposite by degrading him about what a whore he is. he tried to imagine your voice guiding him through all of it, telling him were to put his hands and how to touch himself for a release, but it wasn’t even close to real life even though he was moaning your name like you were next to him.

he didn’t even realize that you already opened the front door and walked in on him in his own little world, the tips of his ears nearly as red as his hair and his head thrown back with his eyes closed. you were close to audibly giggling upon seeing him, so needy and pathetic when he doesn’t have his lover around to relieve him after acting in something like this alone. ver didn’t even look shocked when he finally noticed you were there watching him, not needing to say anything since his pink eyes said everything about how relieved he was that you were there and pleading for you to help him cum.

unfortunately, you didn’t really want to and would have preferred just to watch him jack off, struggling to reach his orgasm and panting like a dog in the process. he almost came on the spot when you slowly replaced his hand with your own, massaging his cock at a sluggish pace that had him begging you not to tease him and that he was already learned his lesson, but you told him that you weren’t quite sure if he was truly sorry. in fact, what you wanted was to admire how pretty he was with his skin all crimson and so desperate to climax for just a little bit longer even at the expense of his pleasurable agony. you were sure that you will buy more of the chocolates in the future and that they are going to be a more common practice in your sex life, completely worth it to see him looking like this.

[callunavulgari]

Chapter 9 is up (otherwise known as the Robin interlude!!!!!!!) for our @steddiebang2024 project! Chapter banner by the lovely @firefly-party! <3

.

Robin watches with glee as the bambi-legged fucker all but trips over himself getting back into his apartment, the door to 6A slamming behind him. She wouldn’t have even needed to see the door that he disappeared behind to know that the messy-haired, cow-eyed loser is the Eddie that Steve’s been mooning after for months. The Eddie of the horrible no good rock music. The Eddie that Steve’s been making sad puppy dog eyes over ever since he stopped playing their silly little game.

The Eddie, Robin thinks, a thrum of excitement fluttering through her chest as her gaze lands on the lopsided pyramid of Campbell’s soup cans stacked in front of her doorway, that just left Steve a cute little care package.

Robin gathers the cans up slowly, tucking each of them against her chest one by one until their sharp metal edges are digging into her ribcage. She has to fight not to drop them as she attempts to get the front door open and still manages to drop one on her foot by the time it finally swings open. She curses, wincing as she ducks down to scoop up the wayward soup that’s rolling its sluggish way across the open hallway.

There’s a groggy noise from the direction of the living room as she sets the extra cans onto the table and kicks the door closed behind her.

“Rob…?” Steve’s voice is weak, thick and miserable. He gives a wet, mucousy sound sniffle. 

She grins, still riding the high of actually seeing Steve’s very own white whale, and skips her way down the hallway. 

“Saw your booooy today,” she sing-songs, dropping the last can of soup into Steve’s lap. She stoops as low as she dares with Steve still gross and hacking up both lungs, hunkering down over the couch that he’s curled up on and crossing her arms over the back. She grins down at him and jerks her head towards the soup, waggling her eyebrows. “Special delivery.”

Steve blinks his sad wet eyes at her, still looking adorably confused.

She rolls her eyes and leans in to knock her knuckles gently against his forehead.

“Your metal man, dingus,” she tells him affectionately. 

Steve’s eyes widen. They jerk down to the can in his lap. “Wait, Eddie? You actually saw him?”

“Sure did,” Robin crows. “Turned red as a tomato and bolted the second that he clocked me standing there, but it was definitely him.”

Steve hesitates for a minute, eyeing the can of soup in his lap like it’s the second coming of the dear sweet baby Jesus. She watches him chew on his lip for a second and then he opens his mouth and whispers in a quiet voice, “What did he look like?”

Robin snorts. Of course.

“Bit of a beanpole,” she tells him with a shrug, rounding the couch and lifting his gross hairy feet long enough to slip in beneath them. “You know the type. Thin, lanky, lots of hair.”

Steve gives her a wobbly smile, honking out an attempt at a laugh. “Great hair?”

She makes a seesawing motion with one hand, hems and haws a little to really sell it. “Maaaaybe if you’re into that kind of thing.”

[philistiniphagottini]

waa,, if it's possible could i request goro akechi with 🥞 for the domestic bliss event?,, it's a pancake i had to /j

tysm in advance 🤧🥰💕💕!!

Thanks for sending in a request for the event. I hope you enjoy it.

cw. fluff, gender neutral reader

Domestic Bliss

You rose in the early hours of the morning to a sweet scent wafting through your open bedroom door. The cloying scent coaxed you awake, the warm rays of sunlight kissing your skin as you peeled your eyes open. Your nose twitched as a hum bubbled up your throat, the sweet aroma already making your mouth bud with saliva. Your stomach suddenly growled and with a weary sigh you hauled yourself from the warm cocoon of blankets to follow the alluring smell. 

You snagged an extra shirt on your way out of your room and slipped into a fluffy pair of slippers to stave off the cold morning chill. You idly rubbed your arms to spark a fraction of warmth back into your body as you lightly shivered, the cold nipping at your face quick to waken your sluggish senses as you trudged your way to the kitchen. When you rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, you weren’t quite expecting the sight you were greeted with. 

Akechi stood in front of the stove, spatula in hand and a frilly, pink apron tied around his waist as he finished flipping the pancakes over. They sizzled softly in the pan as more of the sweet fragrance filled the air and you had to swallow back the drool that dripped from the corner of your lips. You rubbed your hands under your tired eyes, your palms digging in just under the sockets as you wiped away the sleep clinging to the edges of your vision. You observed him for a long moment, simply watching Akechi cook like he was in his natural element in the kitchen. It technically wasn’t far from the truth. Pancakes were his specialty. 

A soft sigh breezed past Akechi’s lips as he suddenly turned his gaze towards you, eyes locking onto your form lingering at the edge of the hallway as you silently watched. 

"You’re not supposed to be up" Akechi said, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. 

You blinked owlishly at him, your defrosting brain trying to process his words as you followed the movement of the spatula hovering over the simmering pan. 

"I’m not?"

A soft chuckle warmed Akechi’s chest as he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips at the confused look tugging at your features.

"No. Because how am I supposed to serve you breakfast in bed if you aren’t in bed?" he mused.

A soft ‘oh’ fell from your parted lips as your head finally caught up. A faint heat dusted your cheeks as you shyly rubbed the nape of your neck, ruffling the baby hairs as the small wisps curled around the tips of your fingers. You suddenly felt a little bashful at Akechi’s heartfelt gesture, your blood singing with elation as your heart swelled with affection. 

"Aww, Akechi, that’s so sweet of you" you whispered softly.

Akechi hummed in response; his warm brown eyes soft when he gazed in your direction. 

"Now, hop back into bed. I’ll be there shortly."

You played with your fingers as you nodded along to his words. "May I have a kiss first?" you inquired. 

"You may."

You eagerly trotted over to him, the sound of your slippers scuffing against the wooden floorboards loud in your otherwise silent apartment as you approached Akechi. He tilted his head to the side, eyes focused on his task as you leaned up on the tips of your toes to place a fleeting kiss on the corner of his mouth. You stepped back, intent on turning away but you were stopped when Akechi looped an arm around your waist and caught you, dragging you right back into his personal space. He turned around to face you now, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair out of your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. 

"You missed" he said with a playful lilt to his voice. 

You half-heartedly rolled your eyes in response before you repeated earlier actions, raising up onto the tips of your toes as you planted a kiss on his lips. Akechi hummed softly in content as you pulled away, tongue poking through the seam of his lips as your taste still lingered on his mouth.

"Much better. Now, run along back to bed."

[void-ink-studios]

Nightmare's Rampage

Inspired by a comment left by @scumbkat, behold, a very very bad night for Scarab.

Not much left to say other than that, so enjoy!

TW: Implied/Referenced torture, Scarab has a major nightmare/PTSD response.

Word Count: 2,100

"Scarab..."

Scarab groaned. He was on the ground, he could feel cold tiles against his bruised and cracked shell. His limbs twitches painfully. Like they were... bent? Bent at wrong angles, twisted in some way.

"Scarab."

He tried to push himself up, but his arms and legs protested, pain shooting up and down his spine. His head throbbed.

"SCARAB!"

The beetle jumped, an undignified chirp falling out of his mouth. His wings twitched as he blinked his eyes open, trying to make sense of where he was, what was happening.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

A large shadow loomed over Scarab. The beetle could see the glint of those ridiculous sunglasses staring down at him.

"So. Have you learned your lesson?"

Lesson? What lesson was he meant to learn? His head was filled with wool, his thoughts sluggish and blurred. He couldn't speak, like something was sitting in his mouth.

"What...?" His voice sounded slurred. What had happened?

"Oh, Scrabs, buddy. Still? You still need to be taught?"

Taught what? What did he do?

"Wait..."

"Scrabs, buddy, you know I'd hate to do this to you." His sickly sweet voice dripped like poison over Scarab's head. "But you need to learn your lesson."

What lesson? Please, what lesson was he supposed to learn? Why did everything hurt? What was going on?

"Tell ya what. If you can tell me what you did wrong, we can be done for today. You can rest up, and get back out there. Just tell me what you did to deserve this."

Scarab wracked his brain. He tried to cling to memories, what happened before this? What did he do to make Orbo mad? What happened this time? Every time he thought he had it, the memory slipped through his fingers like water. He uselessly tried to summon words to his throat, but it was drier than a sand dune. His mouth and throat filled with gritty mud, drowning in silence.

"Really mate? Nothing? It's almost like you think you didn't do anything wrong. Pity. You know I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice. You know, order from the Higher Ups and all that junk."

Scarab saw the shadow roll to his other side. He tried to turn, tried to crawl, tried to do anything except lie there, but it was as if he had his strings cut. He couldn't move his limbs, could barely twitch his fingers.

"Please..."

"You're begging? Not very becoming of an Auditor, Scrabs. Just keep quiet and try not to make it worse on yourself."

The shadow let out a loud whistle.

Scarab heard footsteps, heavy ones. They surrounded him, boxed him in from all sides.

"Let's see... we took your antenna last time, already an improvement... what should we take this time? Something that'll make sure the message really sets in."

Scarab felt like a scientific specimen. His limbs were occasionally poked and prodded, lifted to be dropped, almost a little too much weight pressed into his hands and joints. He held his breath. He was waiting for it. What "it" was, he didn't know. He just knew it was coming, whatever it was.

"Hmm... No, you need your arms, you'd be useless otherwise... Legs are probably necessary too... What about your extra arms? You really need four arms, mate?"

Scarab made a light pleading noise, his wings unconsciously flaring out, trying to carry him away, away from here, away from the shadow.

"Ahh. Now there's an idea. Thanks for the suggestion, bud."

No. No no no no...

"Hold his back open. Ugh, it's gross that that's even something I can say. Let's just get this done quick so I don't have to look at it anymore."

Rough hands gripped the seams of his elytra, forcing them open as wide as possible, painfully pulling on the joints in his shoulders. His wings twitched, still trying to fight through this foggy paralysis.

"No... No please no..."

"Hmm? Fellas, you hear something? Me neither. Come on, get on with it."

He felt a hand grab at one wing, sending stinging shivered up and down his back.

This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, he couldn't be losing his wings of all things... He'd already lost his antenna; he could be losing his wings too... His beautiful wings, the ones he preened over, the ones others admired... they'd never been touched by anything but his own hands, until now. Until now, when they're being pulled by strangers he couldn't even see.

He wept. He pleaded in the murmurs that he could force through the muck in his throat and lungs, his wings thrashed as they were tugged.

He tried to pull his mind elsewhere. But all he could recall is the words of older members of the mounds, telling him to be careful with his wings. That they're meant only to be touched by someone special.

In this moment, even his own mind betrayed him.

"Do it."

And Scarab's back was set alight.

And all that could bubble up through the mud was a broken scream.

------------------------------

Prismo didn't think much when Scarab said he was tired. While he himself never felt sleepy, he could imagine it'd be different for someone who lived their entire life as a 3 dimensional living thing. Maybe it was just out of habit.

So, Prismo gave him a soft peck on the cheek, jokingly wishing him a good night, and watched Scarab slink into the basement, probably to one of his burrows.

The Wishmaster had assumed he'd see Scarab again in a few hours, they'd work on their story, and maybe browse the tv wall for something interesting.

What he was not expecting was a horrid scream, followed by a loud bang to echo up from the depths of the Time Room.

It startled the heck out of both him and the wish maker he was currently talking to.

"Uhhh... Wish granted" he panicked, not even thinking about how to monkey paw this wish, before sending the mortal on their way and diving into the basement.

And he was met with a wreck.

It looked like something had bulldozed its way through the walls, smashing everything it could find until the Time Room was some winding cave network.

Okay, this was bad.

"Scarab? Lovebug, are you okay?"

He followed the trail of destruction, a creeping feeling of dread bubbling into his chest. Claw marks scraped into the walls, along with dents that implied something smashing its body into the wall over and over.

"Scarab!" He yelled for his partner, growing a bit desperate.

"AWAY! STAY AWAY!"

Prismo froze.

That was not a voice he was used to hearing. He'd been told what Nightmo sounds like, a sandpaper like guttural hiss. Now he knew what they were talking about. It sent shivers down his nonexistent spine.

"...Scarab?"

He heard movement down a smashed open tunnel, a scratching, growling sound. He peered into the cave, drawing in a sharp breath.

Scarab was not here right now. His Nightmare was glad to meet him though.

His small, elegant Lovebug was not bound by his logical view of self anymore. This shadow stretched gigantic, almost the same size as Prismo himself.

It reminded him of a black centipede or spider almost. His limbs were long and jagged, fingers fused into sharp looking, stabbing hooks. His eyes were filled with a bright purple, mandibles much bigger and sharp looking, mouth filled with dagger like fangs of the same bright purple.

"Oh Glob..."

Prismo was at a loss for what to do. He knew what Nightmo was like in this state...

Whatever Scarab was afraid of was... intense.

"Hey... Lovebug? It's me."

He decided to try and do what he usually did when Scarab panicked. Offer a hand.

The Nightmare hissed violently, shoving itself into the corner farthest away from the Wishmaster.

"STAY AWAY! WON'T LET YOU! WON'T LET YOU!"

Prismo's hand stopped a few feet from the Nightmare's body, still clearly in its sight.

"I won't touch you, Lovebug. If you want it, you can come to me, just like always."

"WON'T HURT! WON'T HURT ANYMORE! WON'T LET YOU!"

Prismo gulped, feeling his heart break. Ah. So that's what happened. Scarab finally saw the Nightmare's extended wings, trying to look as big and threatening as possible. Its poor, torn wings.

"I won't hurt you. Scarab knows I wouldn't. It's nice to meet you. I'm Prismo. You know me, don't you?"

"YOUR FAULT, ALL YOUR FAULT! HURT WAS YOUR FAULT!"

The words stung, but he knew they weren't meant. Scarab had told him, he doesn't blame Prismo for what happened.

But it seems the Nightmare didn't get the memo.

"Hey now... The one who hurt you can't anymore. Orbo can't touch you anymore. I wouldn't allow it. The Organizer wouldn't allow it. You know her, don't you?"

"SHE LEFT US! LEFT US TO ROT! LEFT TO BE TORN APART!"

"She didn't leave you, Lovebug, you know that. You know how much she cares for you. Come on, come back to me, Scarab."

The Nightmare growled and hissed lowly, not convinced. It looked at Prismo's outstretched hand like it would bite.

"WON'T BE FOOLED! WON'T BE HURT!"

"You won't be, Lovebug. Come on. It's time to settle down."

Prismo conjured a small flashlight, at the ready in case this thing lashed out.

"Orbo's not here. It's just you and me. No one can hurt you here."

"LIAR! WON'T BE HURT!"

"You won't be. I promise you, you won't be. I know you're frightened. You're trying to protect Scarab. You're doing such a good job. But I can take it from here. You did so well, you deserve to rest."

The Nightmare warbled, a hesitant hiss echoing in the cave. It eyes Prismo's hand again. It stretched out, extending a claw, hovering a few inches away.

"WON'T BE... Hurt..."

"You don't be. You come to me when you're ready, Lovebug."

"Lovebug..." it whispered.

The Nightmare shrank, its rough edges slightly smoothing out. It hissed warily as it touched Prismo's hand.

"There we go... You did such a good job, protecting him... I'll take it from here, and finish what you started."

The purplish-black spider-like nightmare hesitated before folding itself into a protective curl, still touching Prismo's hand, as it faded into blue.

The blue shadow held still for one second, then two, then finally looked up at the Wishmaster with wide, uncertain eyes. He looked around at the cave he had built out of the shattered walls of the Time Room.

"There we are... Hey Lovebug..."

And Scarab wept.

Not like how he normally cries. This was a rough, breathless, heaving sob, one that made Prismo immediately curl around his poor beetle.

"I-I-I... I-I'm sorry..."

"Shh... It's okay, Scarab. It was your first time handling your Nightmare aspect... The Time Room can be repaired, don't worry."

Scarab shoved his face into Prismo's side, muttering apologies through his tears, his shell shaking, rattling even. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, unsure if he should cling to the Wishmaster, push him away, open his wings or keep them as tightly shut as possible.

"It's okay, baby. I'm right here. Let it out..."

Scarab shuddered, seemingly declining speaking for the time being. That was okay. Words didn't need to be said.

"Must've been some dream to pull you into your Nightmare aspect..."

"...I-I... I..."

"You don't have to talk. Don't force yourself to."

Scarab closed his mouth, his mandibles clicking nervously against each other.

Prismo decided to lean down and nuzzle. He did it exactly like how Scarab often did, nuzzling with the forehead on the side of the cheek. He planted his own little peck at the end.

"...Do you want to come up? Or would you rather stay down here for a bit longer?"

Scarab curled up tighter, right where he was. Guess that answered that question...

"Okay, Lovebug. We can stay right here. Just breathe."

The two stayed that way for a long time. No one word was exchanged between them. No words needed to be said.

Prismo just kept himself curled around Scarab, feeling his every breath and shiver. He softly, gently, pet the space between Scarab's wings. The beetle shivered and wept a little harder at the touch, but whined pitifully if Prismo tried to pull his hand away.

This wasn't a good night, and the Wishmaster knew that. But, he could at least be here to ride it out with his Lovebug.

He was needed.

And he were right where he needed to be.

[skyward-floored]

I think you mentioned at some point that if IAU wild didn’t eat enough sugar to sustain his power, he would crash. Would you mind explaining what crashing would to to him? Did it happened when he was younger or are time and malon just assuming?

Ahh an excuse to ramble about power headcanons >:D

The way I see it is that Wild is a bit like a hummingbird; nectar (very sugary) is a major part of hummingbird’s diets, and gives them energy to fuel their crazy fast metabolism. When Wild uses his super speed I’m assuming a similar function is at play, in that he needs a fair amount of energy to fuel himself, and sugar is a big part of that.

Now Wild can use his super speed without eating extra (sugar or otherwise), and it’s actually rare he would use it to such an extent that in day to day life he’d need a lot of extra sugar (it’s more like he eats a little more extra than most people would). But if he did use his speed a lot (like, say, after he’s a hero and is using it to a much greater degree) he would really need that extra boost.

So if he didn’t get that boost and used his powers a ton... he would definitely crash. I think it would be a mix of a couple things (since it’s super powers and I’m making it up lol), but he really would just... crash. Sluggish, exhausted, maybe a little nauseous. Like when you exercise but don’t eat or drink anything afterwards and feel like crap. Kinda like that. He’s just gotta hydrate and have some sugar and electrolytes and stuff, and then he’s good to go.

As for if it happened at all when he was younger?

Wild once drank some coffee by accident when he was small, ran around like crazy while the caffeine was going, and then more or less passed out for a few hours. He had some juice when he woke up and then he was good 👍 He and his parents mostly figured this all out by trial and error, and after that they kinda realized more of what was going on. So yeah, sort of both.

This is also kind of just a big reference to the fact that Wild/botw Link is a bottomless pit and seems to get most of his energy from food XD

[iamthecomet]

A vision came to me at work. Mountain's laying on the bed, unable to move his hands from the sheets until he's told otherwise. Big guys got a cock ring on (and maybe a plug pressed into his prostate if you're feeling extra mean) while our wet water boy is riding him within an inch of his life. If Mountain bucks his hips or lifts his hands, Rain stills and Mountain turns into a panicked, begging mess. Rain finds it very amusing. They've been at it for a while.

Budgie!

I love your brain.

Mountain's lost track of time. If someone asked him how long he'd been here, he wouldn't be able to say. Hours maybe, or years. His life has been reduced to sensation. To the unrelenting ache in his gut, to the shake in his thighs. To the screaming inside of his head. He digs his fangs into his lip in an attempt t keep himself together. Rain's slick and dripping down his shaft onto his balls as he grinds on Mountain's cock. The plug pressed deep into his ass, tight against his prostate, is creating an insistent, debilitating pleasure. The dark blue ring around the base is the only reason he hasn't cum. It's agony. Sweet and torturous. He knows the words to make it stop. But part of him hopes it never does.

He is using what little brain function he has left to keep his body in check. He's patient as a rule. Good and quiet, and obedient when Rain gets like this. He prides himself on it. But this is...Satanas it's too much.

His hips twitch up, he tries to stop it before it turns into a full thrust, but he can't. His body is getting sick of holding back. It wants him to take, to chase, to cum. Rain freezes on a down stroke. Burying Mountain as deep as he can go, and staying there. Rain doesn't move a muscle, not even a twitch inside. Mountain doesn't know how he does it. How he has such control even when his cock is drooling obscenely onto Mountain's stomach. Flushed dark and kicking with every grind.

Mountain digs his fingers into the sheets.

"Rainy--"

"You know the rules," Rain says. He sounds bored. Mountain feels like he's being turned inside out.

Mountain closes his eyes, he breathes. He tries to steady his shaking thighs, his hammering heart. He can't. He fights against himself. The lack of friction makes it all so much worse. Just Rain's wet heat surrounding him, giving him nothing.

Rain plants both of his hands on Mountain's chest and goes a tentative roll of his hips that has Mountain choking off a groan. It's so good and not enough and too much all at once and Mountain thinks this might be the thing that finally kills him.

Rain picks up the pace, bouncing on Mountain's cock, his head tipped back, dark curls spilling down his back. Mountain wants to surge up, wants to sink his teeth into the pale column of Rain's throat, wants to claim wants too-- Rain stops again. He looks down at Mountain, and he smiles. Mountain doesn't know what he did, can't figure it out until he realizes his hand is on Rain's thigh, pressing divots into soft milky skin.

Rain pulls it away, drops it back onto the bed next to Mountain's hip where it belongs. "You were doing so good too," Rain tuts. "Do you really think you're going to get to cum if you act like this?"

Mountain feels the walls close in. Sweat pricks at his temples. His voice is breathless when he speaks. He tries to stop himself, tries to keep the words in but he can't. They spill from his swollen lips anyway.

"Rain, Rainy, Raincloud, please. I can't. I can't. You have to move. You've gotta--"

"I don't 'gotta' do anything." Rain reaches down, he drags a razor-sharp claw over Mountain's jaw, and Mountain tips his head sideways, baring neck and throat to Rain's mercy.

"Please, Rainy. Let me cum, let me move. Give me something."

Rain laughs at him, soft and low. He pushes sweat curls out of his face. "Thought you had better stamina than this, Mount."

Mountain wants to argue with him, but his mind is sluggish, the words coming too slow. He has nothing to say, he can only dig his fingers harder into the sheets and make a pitiful noise.

"Please."

"You can't cum until I do. That's the rule."

"I know, I know. I won't. I promise, just let me--"

Rain dips down to kiss him. He licks into his mouth and Mountain resists the urge to tangle his hand in Rain's hair. He lets Rain lick into his mouth, lets him take whatever he wants.

"You can touch," Rain says when he pulls away. Mountain nods, his hands fly to Rain's waist, thumbs grazing over his hip bones. He drags Rain forward and back and Rain gasps. It's barely a victory, but Mountain takes it like one, despite the grin still tugging at Rain's mouth.

"But the ring stays on. And one twitch of your hips and we start over."

The ache in Mountain's gut doubles, he whines, but he can't hide the way his cock jerks inside of Rain. Rain's smile just gets wider.

"Anything you want," Mountain promises.

"That's my good boy."

[onemeangreenbean]

Anything Ch 3

SUMMARY: On the precipice of death Wynter does the only thing she can think to do to save herself. Something that is forbidden in her practice….to summon a demon and make a deal. The demon that answers her call ask what Wynter is offering  and in her delirious state she answers with the only thing she can think of  “Anything”.

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x BlackWitch OC 

GENRE: Demon AU, Mystery, Strangers to Lovers, Soulmates, Smut, Fluff, Angst, slowburn

WARNINGS: violence, gore, murder (maybe), eventual smut, panic attacks, honestly my brain has stopped but promise each chapter with have individual warnings!

WORDCOUNT: 5,550

Previous | Next

Anything Masterlist | Masterlist

Sunlight filtered in through the crack in the blinds. Slowly waking Wynter out of her sleep. Her body heavy and sluggish as she rolled over and to grab her phone. It was 7:45 am, meaning that she was already running late to work. While Namjoon did get to the store extremely early, he was usually busy prepping and maintaining all the spells or rituals that were working overnight. Though if she called and told him she wasn’t feeling well, he probably wouldn’t mind. Wynter had never called off since she started working, but knowing Namjoon he would stop by to check on her and that was not something she could afford with Yoongi posted up on her couch. 

Head pounding Wynter pulled herself up and texted Namjoon.

Wynter: Good morning best boss in the world! I will be a bit late. I’m feeling a bit under the weather but I’m fine to come in. 

Joonie: You don’t need to come in if you’re not feeling well. I can handle the place by myself today. I actually think Tae might be able to come and help today. I’ll stop by afterwards to check on you

This is exactly what she didn’t want. 

Wynter: Really I’m fine to come in. Nothing my mama’s secret tea can’t fix. I promise I’m fine. If I show up and you think otherwise you can kick me out!

Joonie: Okay…..but don’t push yourself too hard.

With some extra time added to her morning. Wynter removed herself from her bed and made her way to the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Yoongi was still sprawled on the couch asleep, feet hanging off the end. Only a little tuft of long black hair poking out of the blanket. Wynter smiled a little at the sight before closing the bathroom door behind her. 

Quickly showering and going through her morning routine. Wynter threw on her green silk bathrobe and went to go make her tea. When she exited she saw the Yoongi was no longer asleep but awake. Wrapped in her blanket he was watching tv and eating a bowl of cereal. Cheeks still puffy with sleep and hair a mess. His eyes slowly dragged their way over to her form in acknowledgment before going back to the tv. “Good morning.” Wynyer greeted as she made her way around the couch and to the kitchen. 

She pulled open the drawer where she kept her teas. The 1 oz  mason jars were organized in neat little rows labeled clearly on the top. The joys of having an herbalist as a mom was that Wynter never had a shortage of tea for any occasion or aliment. Finding the mason jar labeled “For Mama’s Baby” in her mama’s neat handwriting, Wynter plucked it up and opened it. The scent of peppermint and lavender filled her nose and instantly reminded her of home. 

It was a special blend that helped with illnesses of all sort. Really a catch all tea for when you didn’t know what was wrong - 9 times out of 10 it worked. Yoongi watched her from the couch as she walked around the kitchen and made her tea. When she made to turn around he fixed his attention back to the random show that was on and stuffed his face with more cereal. 

“Is it good?” Wynter sat on the other end of her small couch, leaving enough space for a person between them. Her floor length rope falling open a bit showing her smooth leg, while she sipped her tea. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi mumbled with his mouth full. They sat in comfortable silence and watched the anime that was on. Wynter wondered if this was what it was gonna be like for the next five years. That was honestly still crazy to her. Five years was so long. She watched Yoongi as he stared intensely at they screen, he brow furrowed in thought, pulling his lips into a pout as he tried to understand what was happening on the screen. Cute. 

“Do you plan on just staring at me all morning or do you not have work today?” Wynter chocked a little on her tea as he called her out. Feeling her face warm a bit. Yoongi smirked at how cute she looked flustered. 

Averting her eyes she took another sip of the calming tea before she spoke. “I wanted to say thank you for last night. You didn’t have to help me.” It had taken her by surprise that he took the time to help calm her panic attack down. While he was still aloof and cold his touch had been gentle, grounding her. 

Now it was Yoongi’s turn to feel flustered. Scratching the back of his neck, he placed the empty bowl on the small coffee table in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna do some digging into this Jiyeon girl and see if I can find out anything about her or what her motive could be. What all do you know about her?” He needed to change the subject, because thinking about how Wynter being upset had also upset him brought more confusion to his mind than he cared to admit. 

“Well, before she tried to kill me, allegedly, she said that she was a university student studying linguistics. Lives alone, single, interested in the occult. She herself doesn’t have a lot of power. I could barley sense it when we hung out.” Wynter rambled about what she knew, which honestly wasn’t a lot. Jiyeon had said that she was adopted and after some digging realized that her birth parents were shamans. She had confided in Wynter that she wanted to cultivate whatever magic she did have.

Magic was something that needed to be cultivated, practiced, and maintained, or it was lost. Which is way training usually started early. But depending on how strong your bloodline was you could cultivate at any age, it would just take more work. 

Yoongi hummed and ran his hand through his hair. If what Wynter was saying was true than this girl shouldn’t have been able to place this curse. Though it could also just be beginners luck. “Okay. I’ll look into it. In the mean time you go about like nothing is wrong if you run into her. Were you able to find anything yesterday?”

Taking another swig of her tea. Wynter could feel her body starting to feel lighter, her mama’s tea working. “Um, no. All the books in the store are rudimentary at best. I’ll have to look through Joon’s personal collection in the back if I want to find any info of use.” 

Yoongi still didn’t like the shaman that Wynter worked for. Still hadn’t ruled him out for trying to kill her but if he expected her to trust him he’d need to extend that same courtesy to her judgment as well. “Okay. Just don’t tell him what’s going on.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Wynter said as she downed the rest of  her tea and finished getting ready. Throwing on a bright yellow sundress since it was sunny and warm outside. The yellow popped against her skin making the brown deeper and richer like velvet. The low cut neckline made her boobs look great and gave the allusion that they were probably bigger than they actually were. The hem falling a little below her knee. Her mama always told her that if she didn’t feel good, at least look good. It’ll trick you into thinking that you’re fine. Now was that good advice. Probably not but it worked for Wynter. 

When she walked out of the bathroom Yoongi felt that pull in is chest again. She looked absolutely delectable. He felt his mouth water as he watched her put her bag together and throw her sandals on. Her curls hung in loose coils around her head, trailing down until about mid back. “Let me walk you to work.” Yoongi languidly got off the couch. For some reason he did not want to be out of her presence just yet. 

“You don’t need too.” She shook her head and walked out the door, with Yoongi trailing after her. “Don’t you have to go and spy on Jiyeon?”  Wynter playfully whispered as she made her way out of the apartment building. 

She was right. He should get started on figuring out what Jiyeon was up to but he also wanted to hold on to what little time he had left with Wynter this morning. No, that’s not why he was following her. He was just making sure that his “investment” made it to work in one piece. He needed to keep that distinction straight in his head. He would check back in with her later that day. Probably grab another coffee at the cafe across from the store. To make sure that she doesn’t get herself killed. 

Wynter walked stealing little glances at the pale demon who was clearly having some intense internal monologue. While his face remained pretty passive, he had a small twitch in his right eye that was giving him away. She figured he didn’t even realized he had the tell. “I’ll try to be back around lunch. Try not to die.” That was all he said before he disappeared into the ether. 

The rest of her walk went by without incident and when she made her way into the shop there were a few patrons milling about. Namjoon was over by one of the bookcases restocking the shelves. Wynter was gonna leave him to his own devices until she saw the look of clear confusion on his face. She placed her tote in the little space under the counter. “You look like you’re solving the world toughest problem over here.” She walked around some of the smaller shelves over to him. 

“I feel like I am. Is there a reason-” Namjoon turned around and let his sentence trail off. His mouth hung slightly open as Wynter tried to watch him reboot his brain. 

“Is there a reason why what?” Wynter suppressed her laugh as Namjoon clicked his mouth shut and cleared his throat. Pushing up his glasses he turned around and grabbed the tablet with the spreadsheet of the shops stock. 

“Why are these not in alphabetical order. It’s impossible to figure out where any of these books go.” 

“Well, Boss Man Namjoon, you said and I quote ‘No one knows who any of these authors  are they just know what they’re looking for’” Wynter dropped her voice and did her best impression of Namjoon. He stared at her owlishly from behind his glasses. 

“First off, I do not sound like that.” He pouted while Wynter laughed at him. “Second off, how do you even know where to place things.”

Still laughing Wynter just grabbed the book from Namjoon's hands and began shelving. “Just go back to your hideout and make potions. Leave the front of the house to me.” Wynter began shelving the books that he had placed on the cart easily. Her slender hands making quick work of the clearly offensive books categorized by topic. With her back facing him, Wynter missed the fondness and longing the filled Namjoon’s eyes at her referring to the shop so familiarly. 

Her yellow dress swished around her as she went about helping costumers and cleaning. Wynter had never been more thankful to her mama then at this moment cause she felt nothing like she did when she woke up. Full of too much energy for how slow today seemed to be. While that meant she had enough downtime to go pursue the shelfs in Namjoon’s backroom. She was still trying to find a viable way get back there without drawing suspicion. 

The door bell chimed as she was on the ladder stocking the top shelves. “Noona!” Taehynug’s baritone voice called out over the low hum of the desk fan Wynter had on. He bounded over to her his chocolate hair flopping around him. “Hyung, said that you weren’t feeling well! You shouldn’t be up that high.”

He stared up at her with his puppy eyes, big and round in concern. Scoffing, Wynter continued to work. “You worry to much, Tae. I’m fine. Just hot.” The day had gotten increasingly hotter as it progressed, the large storm from the past two days making Seoul feel like a sauna. She wiped some sweat from her brow, suddenly regrating wearing her hair down. The curls clinging to the sweat slick skin on her back. 

“I worry the perfect amount. Jin hyung is the one the worried too much.” Wynter hummed in agreement as she made her way down the ladder. Tae held out his arm for her to grab onto as she took the last few steps. “He’s been making you his famous get well soup all morning. Been fussing over it not being right.”

Wynter wasn’t surprised that Jin was making her something to eat. The oldest of the Kim’s was a master healer, much like her mama. Jin’s mode of choice was food that contained potent healing properties. He had really perfected the art, even opening up his own restaurant down the street. Namjoon excelled in many things but particularly spell work. He could generate a spell out of nothing, always pushing the boundaries of what is and what could be. Did it help that he was a magical prodigy who picked up on most things quickly? Probably. Taehyung, was a seerer, able to have prophetic visions. According to him some events and futures were set but most were in flux. He helped out a both of his older brothers places when he wasn’t painting murals or commission pieces. 

She considered herself lucky to have found and been taken in by such a loving family. They treated her as one of there own. “Are you actually helping today or are you going to keep distracting me?” Wynter smirked as she walked over to plop in front of the fan, grabbing a wayward flyer to fan herself more. 

I would never distract you, noona,” Tae feigned innocence as he came and pulled himself onto the counter. 

“You’re brother doesn’t pay me to sit around and talk to you all day.” Tae furrowed his brows and looked around the empty shop.��

“I can see you’re so busy today.” Laughing Wynter hit Tae in the arm with the flyer He clutched his shoulder pretending as if she had given him some grave wound. “Besides, Joon hyung would pay you for just -” 

“Tae!” Namjoon stalked out of the backroom and up to his younger brother. “Stop harassing, Wynter.” Tae held his hands up in surrender as Namjoon’s ear began turning red. “I’m glad it’s slowed down so I could talk to you about why Taehyung is here.”

Wynter turned slightly to give Namjoon her full attention. Noticing that he had taken off his sweater and was only donning a thin white button up. “I didn’t want to worry you with it but a few days ago someone summoned a powerful demon.” Wynter hoped the deep breathe she took came off as anxiety about the big bad demon and not as anxiety about getting caught that it was her. “It’s nothing we can’t handle but we’re having a hard time tracking him. He seems to be highly guarded this time, but Tae has been able to track him to the area.” Tracking demons, was one of Taehyung's specialties, as he was able to catch glimpses of after images in time. 

“I’m telling you this in case you come across him. I don’t want you to be unprepared and defenseless.” Wynter took in Namjoon’s demeanor and could see that he was really worried about this. She couldn’t tell him that said demon was living in her apartment and that he was “highly guarded” because of her protection wards. “I made you these.” He handed her some bottles filled with a thick green looking liquid. “It won’t do a lot but it’ll give you enough time to get to safety.” 

Nodding, Wynter placed the small bottles in the pockets of her dress. It would be good to have them for later use. She still needed to find a way out of this contract after all was said and done with the Jiyeon situation. “Do you know who the demon is by any chance?” She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. 

“Yeah,” Tae answered. “He’s name is Min Yoongi. He’s a nasty demon too.”

“Oh,” Wynter responded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Oh yeah. He was this tyrant king who was so powerful that it took our clan teaming up with three others to defeat him.” Wynter felt herself shiver at the thought. It took four powerful shaman clans to defeat him. It somehow didn’t surprise Wynter that he was a king, since he looked like he’d never heard the word no a day in his life. “He’s bloodthirsty, cruel, and a different level of evil altogether, so we’ll have to take out whoever summoned him too so they can’t do it again.” 

Wynter knew that the brothers came from a long line of shamans. The knowledge from every generation was passed down to the next. Passing their memories and experiences down to the next set in order to keep the knowledge that they gained as pure as possible. Namjoon had explained it once. He had said that it was like looking through water. He could see everything his ancestors had been through, their love, their losses. It was a unique from of ancestor worship that the Kim clan had perfected. So if they had fought Yoongi before it meant that he was more powerful than Wynter gave him credit for. The Kim clan really only ever got involved with demons that threated the balance of good and evil in the world. 

They were going to kill her. Literally and figuratively, when they found out.  She was fucked either way. “But,” Namjoon cut Tae of before he could continue seemingly taking her spariling for fear. “We have it under control. With him only being in our realm for a short time he shouldn’t be at his full strength yet. So, please don’t worry too much about it. You’re too pretty for that,” he said softly as he moved a piece of her wayward hair out of her face. 

“Yeah. I’m totally not worrying.” She said tersely as she fanned herself harder. 

Yoongi had been trying to locate Jiyeon all day with no luck. He had tried the university where Wynter said she went and thought he caught a whiff of her essence but lost it. He knew what it he was looking for because all magic had a signature of whoever did it, no matter how rudimentary. What was irritating him was it was like as soon as he picked up on it and got close,  the trail would slip through his fingers like smoke. 

It felt as though he would make it to a place moments after she had left. If what Wynter said about Jiyeon’s power level was true then she should’ve been easy to track and locate. He’s found more powerful folks with less effort. Yoongi had been hopping across Seoul all day and was beginning to feel irate. He stood in a park next the the Han river. Watching as it meandered by slowly. It hadn’t really changed all that much from when he was ruler. A little ruddy, but that was it. 

The breeze ruffled Yoongi’s black hair causing him to run his hand through it to tame the flyaways once again. He needed to think. If he couldn’t find Jiyeon then that meant that someone or something was protecting her. Another demon or entity more powerful than him, which was a small but scary list. Something about the whole thing felt off because even if that was the case why attack Wynter. He needed to figure out where and when this death curse came from so he could narrow down who all would be involved. 

Yoongi inhaled at Han park and exhaled in front of an abandon monastery. The location was nestled deep within the Baekdu-daegan mountains in North Korea. The mountain range was known to pool massive amounts of spiritual power. There were many Buddist temples and monasteries along the range but Yoongi had discovered this one a few decade after becoming a demon. 

As far as he knew he was the only one that knew about it and he wanted to keep it that way. Yoongi was sure that Jungsoo had his underlings looking for him. He honestly didn’t need the headache. The stone steps were eroded and beginning to crumple as he made his way up the large staircase. It was a long walk but not too difficult, he couldn’t just apparate into the place itself as the Buddist monks had done an excellent job of putting up a barrier that lasted long after they had died. 

The wooded door opened with a loud creak as he slipped inside the long abandon halls. He made quick work of making his way to the library and going through the ancient scrolls. The only sound filling the space was the rustling of parchment and the wind coming in through the cracks. He was looking for any information that fit the bill for this death curse. 

Yoongi had seen his fair shares of death curse, and delt them out. They ranged in effects but were pretty fast moving. Draining the victim of their life essence through fear or brute force. From causing the victims to go mad and kill themselves, to creating vivid hallucinations of their worst nightmares, to causing a physical malice that ended in a horrible and painful death. Either was it was a shitty way to go. He had never come across or even seen the one that Wynter had. 

At the end of the day with folks who possessed magic a death curse would kill them, as well as destroy whatever magic they had. Tossing it into the void to be dispersed and reconfigured into later generations. It was complicated and many beings, including demons had me trying for millenniums to beat the system with deadly results. But someone had figured it out. The curse that Wynter had was not just killing her but filling her up. Pushing her soul out until whatever could inhabit her vessel. Keeping her magic in tact. 

Yoongi had to give it to whoever created the curse, it was innovative and good. Definitely not the work of a beginning practicineer. He doesn’t know how long he had been staring at the scrolls. He wasn’t really getting anywhere just that it had to be a combination of two separate curses,  but which combination was the problem. The ancient script on the scroll he was reading was beginning to run together. He was about to chuck it into the ever growing pile of useless shit that was behind him, until her saw something that made him pause. 

While rare it is possible for demons who were once humans to develop latent soul bonds that should have been formed in their lifetime. 

Yoongi readjusted himself at the stone table so that he could study the writing better. 

These bonds can be anything from parent to child, eternal enemies, eternal friends, but the most common form we see this happen with are soulmates. Humans who became demons renounce these soul bonds in order to tap into demonic power which is void of these bonds. Though if a bond is strong enough it can be reformed when the two are in proximity to each other. These bonds will feel distinct from contractual bonds that demons make with humans. 

Soulmates. Yoongi fell back in the chair in disbelief. He had made his fair share of bonds in his lifetime as a demon. They all usually felt the same. Soft and brittle forged from the fleeting expectations that comes with the contract. Always sat in his stomach for some strange reason. But the bond her had with Wynter was solid. It filled him with warmth and hope, and it was bright. If he really concentrated he could see the little golden string that bounded them together in the ether as it came out of his heart. 

 Yoongi didn’t have a soul so it shouldn’t even be possible, but still. He rubbed the offending part of his chest, willing the connection to tamper down. “Is there a reason you’re here in this dump?” The sound of Hosek echoed through this temple. He was walking through the door and towards Yoongi. His bright red hair and equally as colorful outfit standing out against the dark room. 

Rubbing his eyes, Yoongi sat back up in his seat. “Trying to get some piece a quiet clearly. How did you even find me?” Yoongi knew those wards were tough so he was honestly a bit concerned the Hobi had found him so quickly. 

Sitting on the bench across from him Hobi simply shrugged his shoulders and smirked. “I’m always gonna find you, bro. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your grumpy eternal life.” Yoongi just rolled his eyes. Hobi had been his head general, as well as his closest friend, when Yoongi was king. He had followed behind Yoongi without questions becoming  a demon, along with two other men of his trusted inner circle. 

“I wanted to give you a report on what’s been happening. I’ve been able to round almost a legion of demons to fight. Jungkook almost half a legion. Jimin is having some problems with Shindong in the south but for the most part he’s holding his own.” Hobi waited for Yoongi to respond but when all the former king did was stare at the table he continued.

“ We have almost ten thousands demons backing us. We’ve been trying to keep things as quiet as possible for planning but Jungsoo has his bitches attacking us from every direction. He’s sent Eunhyuk and Heechul to search for you. What are your orders?” 

Letting out a deep sigh Yoongi ran his hands through his hair. He didn’t want this. Any of this. In no way, shape, or form did he want to lead this rebellion. He truly just wanted to get out from under Jungsoo, the current king in the underworld, thumb. Didn't realize that everyone shared that same thought. “I don’t know. Why don’t you lead it? You seem to have everything under control.”

“Because you’re my king and where you lead I follow.”

“Hobi.” Yoongi sighed. “I haven’t been your king for over a three centuries. I keep telling you that we’re equals at this point.” Hobi just leveled a stare at Yoongi. His lips pulled down into a frown. Yoongi knew that he was going to get nowhere with this conversation anytime soon. With resigned breathe Yoongi ran his hand down his face. “Look, continue what you’re doing. We’ll need to have as many demons as we can on our side if we even have a chance at winning this. Also, tell Jimin to lead Shindong to Solar’s realm. I believe that she has a bone to pick with Shindong anyway so she’ll be able to help.” 

Humming, Hobi nodded in agreement. “What are you doing anyway?” He looked at all the scrolls that were surrounding Yoongi. Pulling another scroll over the one he was reading about soul bonds, Yoongi cleared his throat. 

“I took a contract.” Hobi raised an eyebrow for Yoongi to continue. “Some foreigner accidentally summoned me to remove a death curse. I was going to just leave her but saw her magic and I’ve never seen it before. Figured it could be useful to fight Jungsoo.” What he said was true, for the most part. Yoongi went on to explain the death curse and why he was looking at all the scrolls.

“I’ll keep an ear out for who’s experimenting with curses.” Hobi said. Yoongi’s shoulders sagged in relief. Hobi was great at gathering intel which was what made him Yoongi’s best general. “What’s her power?”

“I’m unsure, honestly. It’s dark in nature, like it’s absorbing light and energy around it. I haven’t gotten to see her use it in person.” Yoongi mumbled. “From what I can tell she doesn’t seem to want to use it or is scared of it.” Yoongi thought back to the dinner that they had and how Wynter’s brain went silent at the mention of failing her test. He figured it had something to do with her power. 

“Okay. I’ll leave you to you’re precious alone time and research. Be on the look out for those two assholes.” Hobi waved has he apparated  out of the library leaving Yoongi in silence once again. 

Wynter closed the shop up while Namjoon and Tae worked in the backroom trying to come up with a game plan to find Yoongi. It was still wild to her that they knew who Yoongi was. She needed to boost up the wards at the apartment so she could keep him hidden for a bit longer. Wynter really hated having to lie and hide things for Namjoon. It felt like a betrayal, even though she did not mean to summon a demon as powerful as Yoongi. 

She still had to get to the books that Namjoon had tonight. She couldn’t afforded to lose another day of research because she was scared Namjoon would see through whatever lie she came up with. As Wynter cleaned she did her best to hype herself up to talk to Namjoon. The sun was just beginning to set casting a orange hue within the shop by the time she had finished. After making sure everything was straight she ventured back towards his workspace. Knocking twice on the wooden doorframe, Wynter heard Namjoon let out a low “mmm” signaling that he was listening as he worked on a potion with Tae. 

Tae gave her small smile as walked in. They looked exhausted from working on this. “Is there a way I can borrow one of your books, Joon?” He looked up from whatever he was concentrating on to look at her. She swayed on the balls of her feet, hands clasped behind her back as she waited for his answer. 

“Yeah,” he says curiously. “Are you looking for books that will be helpful for controlling your power?”

“No.” Wynter tone was clipped as she forced a smile on her face. “Um, no. I don’t think I’m quite ready to deal with that yet.” Both Namjoon and Tae’s face morphed into ones of pity. It made Wynter’s skin crawl know that they pitied  her and her fear of her power, but if they knew what it could do they’d be scared of it too. “It actually has to do with that dream I had a few days ago. It’s just stayed with me you know.” She tried to sound as non chalant as she browsed through one of Namjoons many shelves. 

“Dream?” Tae’s interest was piqued. He was great at dream interpretation.

“Yeah,” Namjoon answered. “She mentioned it two days ago.” Wynter could see the wheels in Namjoon’s head turning. Making connections. “What was your dream about again?” 

He sat down the vial that was in his hand on the table, giving her his full attention. She started out slowly trying to piece together the right words to not alert Namjoon or Tae. “In it I was in a really dark room lying on the floor and there was a figure standing over me. It became really hard to breathe like my lungs were collapsing in on themselves, honestly it felt as though my whole body was being crushed and pulled apart at the same time.” 

Now that Wynter was recounting it she felt as though her body was reliving the trauma. “It was so hot, it felt like my blood was boiling out of me. I could even feel blood coming out of my mouth and ears and eyes. It –” Wynter felt her throat begin to close as the room begin to close in on her, fading to black along the edges of her vision. She didn’t even notice that Namjoon had stopped working all together and was standing in front of her, trying to get her to refocus, or Tae frantically searching for something on the shelves of potions. 

She didn’t even notice that blood had began to drip from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. “Hey hey hey,” Namjoon spoke softly. “Wynter can you hear me? Wynter I need you to look. Baby, I need you to focus on me.” She could barely hear him through the ringing in her ears. Wynter could see his eyes franticly searching hers as she tried to focus like he was asking her. 

Looking at his lips she could see that his was saying something but the ringing kept getting louder until suddenly it stopped, and Namjoon can into focus. The chocolate eyes searching hers, to make sure that she was with him. The fear that his gaze held scared her. “Namjoon, I don’t feel good.”

[peaches2217]

how would the bros' royal lovers feel about their post-partum bodies? of course, we all know they'd find peach/peas to still be beautiful no matter what, but would there be a level of self-consciousness there? this is the most wholesome stuff and you're giving me fictional baby fever, too!

Anon, I am so glad you asked! (And welcome to the club! 🥳)

TW: Body dysmorphia and related topics

Peasley doesn’t care. He knows he’s hot shit, no matter what he looks like. He’d dramatically strip naked for Luigi and say some shit like “Behold! This is the body which grew and nurtured our child, divinity itself!” and Luigi would be like “Hell yeah :D ” If anything, Luigi might end up worrying about his own appearance, since he’s normally so well-groomed; he’d lament that his hair and mustache look untidy because he’s just too tired from late nights with the baby to put as much thought as normal into his appearance, and Peasley would assure him that he’s just as handsome now as always.

“I don’t look quite the same as I did this time last year either, you know,” says the guy who, objectively speaking, looks way worse for the wear, “yet I’m still the physical embodiment of perfection. You’re no different, my love.” Luigi is one of the few people Peasley thinks of more highly than himself; there’s very little room for bodily insecurity. 😂

Peach is another story. I headcanon that she has insecurities regarding her body image, though it’s less to do with maintaining a certain physique and more to do with wanting to be healthy and physically capable (y’know that long-ass fic I keep talking about that I’ve got in the works? That’ll be one of the topics it touches on!). She does get self-conscious about her body sometimes during pregnancy, but it’s easily rectified with love and reassurances! Postpartum… not so much.

For whatever reason, the last month of her pregnancy takes a lot out of her, more so than expected, and it takes a few months to really gain her strength and energy back. She spends several weeks more or less confined to her chambers because she’s so frail, and when she tries to go for walks to get some fresh air and exercise, she gets winded and has to go back inside in like half an hour’s time. And by Toadessa’s assessment, there’s nothing they can really do to expedite the healing process — she’s doing everything right and is perfectly healthy otherwise. Some people just take longer to bounce back, and that process is complicated by the energy and resources needed to care for a newborn. The best she can do is rest.

And her frustration with her slow healing process ends up manifesting as frustration with her body as a whole. Like most people postpartum, she’s dealing with extra weight and stretched and sagging skin, and that coupled with the exhaustion of a new parent makes her feel like she’s some sluggish, disgusting creature that’s loathsome to even look at. She keeps expecting to see some sign of it reflected in Mario’s face, a look of pity or maybe even disgust that confirms her suspicions.

It should go without saying that that never happens. Mario knows how she feels, because this has happened before in another context (enter my long-ass wip!), and he knows “You’re still beautiful and perfect and I love you and (respectfully) want you to suffocate me between your thighs” ain’t gonna cut it when she feels so intensely about her body. So what’s a guy to do? Well, he knows it’s less about her physique and more about her vitality, so he helps her in regaining it.

He finds energizing exercises that are postpartum friendly for her to try and then does them with her, or he’ll join her for her walks, or anything else that will naturally build her back up, because she’s much less apt to get discouraged and call it quits when he’s there. It doesn’t matter how much physical activity actually gets done or if they spend more time taking breaks than actually moving. He gets her laughing and talking and thinking about things other than how inadequate she feels, and he makes sure she only pushes herself as far as she can reasonably go, and by the time Peach willfully puts an end to their routines, she already feels a thousand times better. When she feeds and rocks their baby, she spends less time staring in disdain at her figure and questioning how well she can raise a child if she can’t even take care of herself and more time reveling in the joys of motherhood, feeling on top of the world once more, and it’s a welcome change for all involved.

But above all, Mario makes it clear that, whether she becomes the buffest MILF on the planet or whether she wakes up tomorrow and decides she’s perfectly happy with where she’s at right now, he’s going to think she’s beautiful. He doesn’t care what she looks like so long as she’s happy with herself.

“You think my stomach’s finally getting a little flatter?” she asks one night, contentedly flustered beneath his touch.

“I think you look more confident than you ever have,” he tells her.

“You’re dodging the question, Mario.”

“Nope!” He kisses the tip of her nose. “Just focusing on what really matters.”

With time, Peach comes to agree with his sentiment.

[ripeteeth]

fragments: 07 (fitzier)

[I'm clearing out my incomplete wips and posting fragments that might stand alone as a bit of an amnesty of old projects. This is part of that series.]

Francis does not mention it. Instead, Francis is as he ever was - whiskey be damned - smiling genially at James’ tales, kicking his boots beneath the table when he meanders too long, scraping extra helpings of stews and puddings and cakes onto his plate when James isn’t looking. 

“You need your strength,” Francis says, his eyes crinkling, “and I will see to it that my men are hale and hearty, James.” He does not say I will see to it that you are hale and hearty, but James can hear it all the same; there are many insecurities in the core of James Fitzjames, but of Francis Crozier’s regard, he does not doubt. 

But there is one matter which James chews upon endlessly, and one matter which Francis never mentions. Kiss me, Hardy, James had begged, a broken body upon pale shale. The wind had shook the canvas tent, begging to come in. 

Kiss me. 

(No, Francis never does say a word.)

Once, James had imagined otherwise. Expected, even. Really, when it comes right down to it, it’s a bit absurd that Francis has said nothing. But, then again - James pauses, chewing on the inside of his lip; he pulls the silk banyan tighter about himself, frowning all the while. 

(Frowns do not become you, James, Francis would say. When has his inner monologue become Francis’ voice? When did he leave himself? He cannot hear himself inside his own head, only that beloved rough voice.)

He closes his eyes. The breeze seems colder; the curtains sound like canvas, not damask. His fingers graze his own flank, feeling for a wound that no longer exists. The gnarled scarred skin greets him like an old friend, safe and healed. Echoes of the past stitch their way into the present, and he does not know how to bend. Does anyone desire scar tissue? Does anyone desire a barely-closed wound, still pink and raw around the edges? He wants, but why would anyone want him back?

He’s a handful. A mouthful of tough, stringy meat.

Pathetic. 

In the mirror, exhaustion looks back. His dark hair lank, lines crowding around his eyes as if waiting for a sale. There’s tea and distaste on his own tongue. Look at him, thirty-six and washed up. Thirty-six and it’s too late to start again, when his own heart is so heavy and his blood sluggish. Weren’t you such a great walker once? Best walker in the service, he’d once boasted. Foolish, stupid. He is old and he has nothing to show for himself, save for a life of almost. Why would Francis want him? Open-armed Francis, who saved him from himself, ferrying him home on open seas?

No, James knows he is nothing but an anchor. Something dropped, something to moor you and keep you stuck fast, unable to be free. 

----

There is still food on his plate, no matter how he pushes it around with his fork and knife, lackluster and half-lost. 

“You’ve eaten little, James,” Francis says, gentle as a duck. 

“I ate earlier.” James doesn’t look up. In the brass candlesticks, he can watch how a melancholy smile ghosts over Francis’ mouth. They both know it’s a lie, and Francis is often good enough not to call him on it. There are limits, just as there limits to all things. James found the limits of his own life, his own prowess, and ruined himself by not knowing when to pull back. When to not push. He’ll ruin this too, finding the edge of Francis’ patience. 

“Very well,” Francis says. When the plates are cleaned, James finds himself settled with a glass of brandy and a plate of shortbread. There is little he can stomach these days. He cannot do meat, and most textures turn his stomach. Chocolate haunts him, the memory of the waxy white bricks they had been left to nibble on, between boot leather and rotten cans. But something sweet and mild as shortbread, easy to pick at, bite by bite, is acceptable. Francis has noticed, and in his quiet manner, always provides. 

“You don’t have to do this,” James says. It cracks in him. A howl. A storm in a chasm. 

Francis blinks, looking up from the fire. His eyes a pale yellow-blue, like light on the ocean’s surface. 

“I have been thinking I should find a place of my own. Rooms. I’ve leaned on your hospitality too long. You should not have to - “ Take care of me. 

Silence stretches. James fidgets. The ghost of his old self wants to laugh and make a joke of it. But that man is buried on the shale, and he does not know who it is who made it back. 

“I would like to,” Francis says slowly. “Care for you, I mean.” 

“Francis - “

“I would not obligate you to me, if you choose to leave. That is - that is not my desire.”

Perhaps it is the wine that speaks for him, when James asks. “What is your desire then?”

Red blooms across Francis’ cheeks. He toys with his tea in the old way he had once fingered a glass of whiskey, thumb dragging along the surface of the cup. What would it feel like on his own skin? 

“If you would let me, I would care for you. In every way.” 

Breath, caught. James inhales, looking not at Francis but to the fire. It’s too fraught to look across the sitting room, to see Francis in his wingback chair, the shadows making homes in his pockmarked skin. 

“Every way?” 

“Yes,” Francis says, his voice rough. “In every way, James.” 

“Francis,” James says, darkly, hesitating. But this is the edge, and he has never known how not to push. “Do not tease.” He keeps his eyes focused on the floor, shame burning high on his cheekbones. The wingback chair scrapes the floor as Francis rises, his knees cracking, the sound of porcelain as teacup meets saucer. Wide-fingered hands grip his own knees and then Francis is there, kneeling before him, between his thighs, thumbs pressing into his trousers. 

“Have I ever teased you? James, have I ever been less than forthright with you?”

His throat burns. James swallows. It’s the way Francis’ hands tremble that stops him. Something possesses him, hot and itchy, and his legs widen, knees spreading and breath catching. Francis watches him, eyes fervid as a flame, his thumbs still rubbing those steady circles into James’ inner thighs, slowly progressing upward.