#hot blue and righteous

[dvchvnde]

EXCERPT: JOHN PRICE, WINTER SOLDIER AU.

You're still getting used to the sight of him—bare faced in patches: the beard shorn off into a mere shadow of what it was before; a choice he'd made for himself after scrubbing down in a long shower, refusing any help or medical aid—and he doesn't make it any easier for you in these brief, uncomfortable stages of acclimation you suffer through.

Hands lashing out into dead air. Fingers catching, unyielding and firm, on your skin. Nails—split and jagged; regrown in patches after being ripped off over and over again (for hree years, is the mocking whisper snaking along the nausea when you look at the pinked-tinged beds)—burrowing into your flesh. Anchoring you in place as he bends down, moulds his frame around you. Malleable shadow eating you whole.

Indomitable.

John Price was always an intimidating man.

Towering. Broad. Gruff. Surly. Mean old man was often thrown around amongst the new recruits, ones too scared to voice what they really thought:

Miserable fucking bastard.

His weight thrown around like an extension of himself—all raw, barely contained anger trembling out through the cracks. Lashing thick, brutal lines across his forehead. In the sharp, downward tug of his mouth tucked behind a bed of brunt umbre hair.

He was difficult to deal with on a good day, even when he'd offer that mocking smile of his. A parody of geniality—lips split upwards like a crocodiles maw.

(come, come, put your hand inside this beasts jaws; he won't bite—)

As fucking if.

You've only known him in pieces. Patches. Barely enough to make a whole picture, but you could still fill in the empty spaces with that grizzled anger of his that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

(no wonder he burns so hot—it's all that fury.)

Mostly, he'd come to dress you down in front of everyone watching. Snapping at the sight of your desk—organised chaos a true oxymoron (and for the most part, that seemed to be what he thought of you: a moron)—and how you handled files, and how you waltzed around like you owned the place—

and do you, sweetheart? do you own this place, mm? is that why you never listen to a goddamn thing i tell you?

All-in-all: a miserable fucking man.

And one made of sharp, brutal contradictions. Paradoxes layered over each other. Sealed with fury—of the righteous, pragmatic kind—and reinforced with an utilitarian core. Forlorn hope in the distinct shape of a man, one always readying himself for a pyrrhic victory (but a victory, nevertheless).

Easy, in hindsight, to deal with when you knew how to navigate the frothing gyre of anger and juxtapositions that made up the man who brute force, physicality, to get what he wanted.

By sharp contrast, the version of him who stands before is more enigmatic than the mangled mess of savagery and labyrinthine defenses. Almost unknowable. Unfathomable.

Even more so when he lifts his hand—scarred up, still blistered and bruised from fighting his way through fire and kin to get to you—and presses those mangled knuckles to the swell of your cheek, as tender as a man like him could ever allow himself to be, and runs a soft, shallow line down the side of your face. Eyes—still that same, dizzying blue—darken into liquid sapphire as he stares at you. Inexplicably soft. Lids crested. Half-mast in pleasure as if staring at your face was relaxing. Comforting.

Something swirls in those deep, endless lagoons. Some implacable emotion—all at once too much; too heavy—frissoning over his feature. A paroxysm. You can't catch it. Can't define it.

It's unquantifiable. Unknowable. And yet—

You know, instantly, that John Price would never look at you with something this archaic, this intense, brimming up like geysers in the endless spill of blue that can't seem to look away from you.

This man is not John Price.

But when he pulls you into a kiss—one softer and sweeter than you'd ever imagined the infamous captain could ever be capable of—you let him.

In fact, you kiss back.

And you'd really rather not think about what that says about you.

[grugruel]

I am-- in DESPERATE need of Prewar cooper Howard FILTHY smut. Taking his Co-star in his trailer on set on a hot summer's day and they're both sweaty and needy and he's got a FILTHY mouth on him. maybe she plays the damsel in distress and he can't get over how good she looks all tied up 🔥 she definitely enjoys teasing him but takes it too far,, poor cooper 😔😏

Yessss, currently feeling feral, so this was perfect. Did my best, hope you love it🫶

Quiet on set

Pairings: pre-war!Cooper Howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: wrapping yet another movie together, these co-stars take out their constant tension in Coopers trailer.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: (acted violence and death), pinv sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, edging, lap-riding, cowgirl, doggy, bratty reader, petnames (sweetheart, princess, girl, woman), praise, slight degradation, choking (blink and you'll miss it).

AN: Currently working through my requests, it might take some time for those of you that sent them in! But I appreciate you all, thank you!!

I could feel that heavy, star-studded aura bearing it's weight down on me, his eyes ransacking every part of my body as he awaited his cue. Through the blinding stage lights, just out off frame, he stood hungry, hands white-knuckling his belt and teeth sinkong into his bottom lip.

'Help! Somebody please save me!' I cried out, the rattling railroad tracks cool beneath my body. The air stuffy and clammy, the mid summer heat penetrating the studio walls. Truly making the desert set come alive.

Enter The Man from Deadhorse, walking into the picture with his signature gait, spurs jingling and eyes acting as he stared my captor down. Heat practically burning in his gaze when he delivered the infamouse line, "Feo, fuerty, y formal."

Although, a growing suspicion resided–perhaps it was not acting at all, but rather me, that had him ignite that way.

The bang of a revolver shot out, hitting the antagonist right between the eyes as a result of an experienced and deadly aim.

Dignified indeed.

I yelped, making my eyes big with shock. 'You came!' And then let a relived smile soften my expression.

The sound of a charging train began rolling, a billowing steam engine and a piping whistle thundering along a busy railroad. But it was no worry anymore, I was to be saved.

The sheriff's attention–his starved eyes, switched to me, and my bound form.

Swiftly, he moved over the dusty desert set in his blue and yellow getup. In a second of harrowing anticipation, placed in clever calculation to have the viewers at the edge of their seats, he loomed over me, that infamous gaze following every curve of my body. The rope circling me in such a way it accentuated my goods, and what the cameras did not see, was a ravenous smirk on the hero's lips–holding a silent promise ment only for me.

In a flashy movement, he cut the rope from my body and pulled me off of the tracks and into his embrace, the camera panning to us as the sound of the train just missing our bodies passed by the frame.

'Don't worry sweetheart, you're safe now.' He purred, voice drawling with that trademark smile accenting his lips, lips that only a second later collided with my own in a strong, righteous kiss-

'CUT!' A voice bellowed, and the set bustled to life with congratualations and handshakes as they were traded between the crew and cast, celebrating yet another wrap.

But his lips had stayed on mine for a second or two too long, and I had to pull away. Gasping for air, pretending that we simply hadn't heard the call over the ruckus.

'My trailer in 10 minutes, honey. Don't be late. . . I got a surprise for you.' He whispered in my ear, disguising our continued embrace as a friendly, celebrating hug. A hug with a condensed, slap off the ass–hard enough to sting, quiet enough to go undetected.

And with a wink, he was off. Chatting and laughing while coworkers patted his back with him returning the gesture. Meanwhile I myself became wrapped up in party-ready colleagues of my own. But the partying would have to wait, I had somewhere far more fulfilling to be.

I hadent been able to keep the 10 minute mark, the cast and crew had stuck around for longer than I'd thought. Which made sneaking to his trailer all the more difficult, but I managed. Eventually.

I opened the door to a dark, even hotter cabin, no movement or noise that I could detect. But the second I shut that door behind me, he revealed himself.

'There you are. . .' A low voice growled from the shadows. Then there was a sound of groaning threads, a woosh, and I was captured. A lasso had been thrown around my body, pinning my arms to my sides as I was blindly pulled into the depths of the darkness, and collided with something, strong, something hard. 'You kept me waitin' princess. Fame gone to your head already?' The words were breathed against my cheek, puffs of his sultry breath warming my already damp skin deliciously.

'I imagine I'll be on your level soon.' I hooked my index fingers through his belt loops, eyes adjusting to the dark as I pullied him closer with what little movement I was allowed. 'Now, I want my surprise.' I pouted, brushing my lips along his, the features of his face clearing up like the sea after a storm.

'This is it.' He flexed the rope between his fingers, feeling its coarse texture. Taking my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged.

'My surprise is a . . . rope?' I could't hide the sound of disappointment from my voice. 'Should I start playing the damsel now or? Oh. . . Please Sheriff, save me!' I mocked.

'Well yes, the rope is you're surprise.' He paused. 'Now, what makes you so sure I'll play the sheriff, huh?' He tightened the rope around me to emphasize. 'Perhaps I captured you.'

'Oh?' I was truly intrigued, but sighed an overly dramatic sigh, just cause I was hoping it'd get a rise out of him. 'C'mon now, cowboy. You can do better than that–thought I was your special girl.' I teased, eyeing his dark form through my lashes as I used his own words against him.

He nudged his nose against my cheek, his lips moving into a grin along my jaw. 'You are my special girl. . .' He confirmed, voice gravely as he pressed his hips against mine, letting me feel the hardness beneath his pants. '. . .and my special girl will be fucking pleadin' when this rope has served its purpose.' The lasso was thrown into serveral more circles around my upper body, wrapping me tighter as he imitated what he'd seen on set.

'That a threat?' I groaned, his stiffness rubbing against my mound. Creating friction so wonderful I found my hips automatically flexing against his. More. I needed more.

'A promise.' He fell back onto a couch. 'You'd better start ridin' before I put that big mouth of yours to better use.' He tugged on the lasso, helping me fall into position stradeling his lap.

I settled with a whimper, my core veiled by the thin fabric of my skirt as it made direct contact with his clothed member. But with the way I was bound, he'd restricted my arms further, they were unmovable infact. I couldn't support myself, couldn't unbutton his pants. 'Can't reach. . .' I whined, frustrated that I couldn't get his fucking dick out.

He hummed. 'Mmm, serves you right, dont it?' He pulled my skirt over my hips, and grasped the rope around my waist, making a point of not touching me as he pushed me downward and pulled forward, grinding my core against the coarse fabric of his pants. 'Now, ride.' He growled, the friction affecting him as much as me. For I had a simular reaction, if not worse.

The air was sucked right out of me, but I did as he ordered. Grinding my hips into his lap, over and over again, moaning curses left and right. But however much I tried I couldn't losen my restraints, couldn't get a grip on any part of him to work myself harder against him. I was stuck in a rut of superficial pleasure, with his occasional torturing tug. I just wanted to feel him, his touch, on me, in me. I didn't care, juat somewhere.

'Touch me.' I whispered, my head lulling against his shoulder as I desperatley tried increasing the friction.

He hummed, a breathy and guttural sound as he replied, 'Starvin' already?' He leaned closer, mouth hovering just above that sweet spot on my neck.

'Yes, yes.' I placed a kiss on his throat, grateful for what he was about to bestow me-

My button-down blouse was ripped open, buttons flying everywhere with a loud clatter as they hit the floor, the expensive prop ruined too quickly. 'Plead.' His rough knuckles brushed over the beginning of my breast, as they were now bare for him.

I gasped, 'What?' lust driven confusion clouding my mind. The stifling heat didn't help my mind to clear either.

'Plead, sweetheart.' He repeated, his murmur vibrating against my skin.

It was my turn to grin, my turn to drag my exposed teeth along his jugular, my lips closing around them as I kissed his jaw tenderly. 'I dont think so.' I purred, readying myself to stand up. 'Guess I'll have to find some other man the sate my needs.' I licked a stripe along his jaw before sitting back. 'My very, very. . . Slick needs.' And scootched back, leaving a wet inprint on the convex bulge of his jeans.

But before I could do anything too drastic, he grabbed my waist, he touched me, and pulled me back into a perch. A small victory for me, but the battle wast over yet. Now, our heads leveled with eachother. 'Don't you dare.' The jealousy was evident in his tone. 'Filthy little brat. . .' He hissed, 'I can play that game too, sweetheart.' He began unbuttoning his pants with the other hand, pulling his erect member out.

And drool dripped from my mouth as I got a good view of it, but he didn't lift me up and enter me, no. That would be too merciful. He simply pushed my undergarments to the side and pulled me closer, my slick cunt sliding over his length, wetting it as he let me feel the size of him, what I could get, but wasn't allowed. 'You aint to only woman in this cast.' His mouth trailed downward, lips following the valley between my breasts, the tip of his nose and chin collecting droplets of sweat along my skin.

His words stung, and even though I knew he only said them to rile me up, they worked. I didn't answer him, didn't deign to give him any words, but carefully began moving my hips instead, easing them into a slow rocking, and the few seconds I got were jaw dropping. I hoped he somehow just wouldn't notice, foolishly enough.

He hardened his grip, holding me steady, unmovable, as if he'd bound my lower body together aswell. 'Naughty fucking brat.' He leered.

Fuck, I just needed something, anything. The aching was building within me, unadultered want for pleasure. Pleasure which only he could give me.

'Fuck. Me.' It was an order, no sign of begging in my tone.

'Plead for me, woman.' He dragged the word out, chuckling. That ravenous grin on his lips he nipped at the soft flesh of my breast.

'Cocky bastard.' I scoffed, but yielded. 'Please. Fuck. Me.' But there was no weight behind them, the words fighting to stay in my mouth, coming out strained.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes searching my own as amusement filled them. 'C'mon now, you can do better than that.' He threw my words back at me.

But the desperation was seeping through my skin, into my quaking muscles and quivering bones. 'Please, please, please. . . Fuck me, Cooper. Oh, you big, famous movie star.' I whimpered. This time, meaning every word, although some in a more mocking fashion than others.

He faced me again, grinning as he shook his head in disbelief. 'Wicked fucking woman, I'll fuck some sense into you yet.'

'I dont think you have it in you, cowboy.' It took everything in me to keep my lips from curling into a smile-

Suddenly, I found my face pushed into the soft cushions of the couch. One hand pushed me down firmer by the neck, while the other lined himself up with my entrance. He stroked the tip through my folds, teasing me torturousley slow. The aching grew so strong I thought I'd break into a million pieces right then and there. 'Please. . .' I begged, the word half a whimper. '. . .please.' I had no self restraint left, no morals or standards to keep up. I just needed him, inside me. Now.

'About, damn time.' He pushed inside of me, wasting no time by setting grueling pace that had my body shaking. Muffled moans and whimpers escaped me, there was not a thought in my mind. No room for anything but him inside me. 'Yeah? You like that? Filthy girl. . .' He groaned, his hand colliding hard with my ass. The slap ringing out through the cabin, and it was glorious.

I nodded, or did the best I could while the force of his hold constricted my movements.

He hummed again, that low titillating hum. And leaned over me, bracing himself on the forearm that held my neck. His body laying flush over mine as his hips struck into mine, deeper, harder. His lips brushed against my ear, opening his mouth to whisper-

Raised voices, approaching, shouting outside the trailer. 'Better stay quiet now, sweetheart.' He breathed, and just then, out of spite, he struck into me harder, only to see if I could keep us secret. But I wanted to scream, needed to. So, I shoved my face into the cushion, muffling my crying out.

'Thats it. . . Good girl.' He praised, moaning the words against the shell of my ear. And as the voices approached, he slowed the thrusting, keeping the depth but dimming the strength. Softening the loud lewdness of our slapping bodies. His hand slid around my front, finding me clit with easy expertice. 'Good girl.' He breathed again, kissing my earlobe. As if it was my award for doing as I was told. 'Sticking my dick in you was all I had to do to fix that attitude of yours?' His fingers began rubbing circles over my clit, stimulating my already pulsating body further.

'Yes. . .' I whimpered, 'Yes, yes, yes.' And his hand moved to my throat, placing it between my jugular and jaw, tilting my face a sliver closer to his. 'Kiss me, please.' I pleaded, and he met my lips. His hungry, hungry lips surpassing the neediness my ownas be pushed his tongue into my mouth. He tasted heavenly.

The voices had passed since long, their drunk celebrating dissapearing beyond the lot. And his thrusts grew equally hungry once again, pushing into me, hitting my spot with reverance. The pressure was building, threatening to spill over the edge with every flick of his hips. 'Close. . .' I moaned into his mouth, my breath coating his lips.

'Yeah?' He moved his lips, kissing my cheek and down my throat.

'Yeah.' I shuddered, my whimpering indicating how close I was to release. The ramping, strained breaths between us almost sent me over the edge alone, white spots flecking my lids, lightning neighing in my nerves, the wall so close to collapsing-

And he pulled out, releasing my clit and pushed himself off of me.

No, no, no, Cooper please.' I whined, the pressure dissapearing, slowly seeping out into nothingness.

'There you go, sweetheart. Now you're pleadin' properly. . .' He basked in my despair, that smug grin of his adorning his face in all it's glory. He uncircled the rope, pulled me to his chestand twisted us, making us swap positions, with me once agains tradeling him as he laid on his back below me. 'Now ride me properly too.'

Oh I was, and I would get my revenge. I pulled my blouse and skirt off, I would have him pleading and squirming when I was done with him. 'That's more like it.' His eyes ravaged my body, staying longer on my nipples and hips, and cunt. 'Pretty little brat.' His tone so self-righteous it would've made me scoff, but I played along. Snaking my body against his, I wrapped my hands around his, finally able to touch him and pinned them both above his head. Then sat up and aligned myself with his length, slowly sinking down, greedily accepting every inch as he hissed. It dulled the pain he'd left me in, his member filling me up made me whole again.

But I wasn't done yet. Leaning in, I kissed him, distracted him, and carefully grabbed the discarded lasso. He would be pleading, he would.

And after a moment I sat back up, hands on his chest. Pushing him back down as he tried to follow me. Which is when he realised, that his arms wouldn't budge.

'Mmmh. . .' He chuckled, '. . .clever girl.'

I nodded, hands tracing down his sculpted abdomen. Transfering from his body to my own, I let them roam. Moving them along my hips, waist, stumache, breasts, throat. Just watching, enjoying every second of his growing displeasure, of his twitching and leaking inside me.

'Plead, cowboy.' I sqeezed my breasts, whimpering form the feeling. 'I'd much rather have you touching me.'

His lips drew into a thin line, hips bucking into me, slithering for any movement, any stimulation. 'It must be hurting.' I murmured, 'You can end it, just plead.'

His breaths were ragged, guttural and groaning. 'Cruel, cruel woman.'

'Now you're getting it.' I smirked. 'Plead. . .'

He scoffed, eyes hard as he opened his mouth, 'Please. . .' He mustered the word through clenched teeth.

Oh it felt amazing, the word as much as his member as I began moving along it, riding him. 'Fuck.' He grunted. 'When I get loose, girl-'

I laid my index finger against his lips, shushing him. Enjoying the sound of our wet squelching, his hard breaths and my own moans. I leaned down, my body rubbing against his while I kissed his chest and made my way along his collarbone.

'Why don't you give my lips some love too, girl.' He moaned, and I figured I could give him that at least. My lips met his jaw, bushed along his lips and then-

He grabbed me, locked his arms around my torso in a grip of steel, as he thrusted into me, rocking me violently into his arms.

'You really think I've never been tied up by a lover before?' He grunted, pushing his tongue into my mouth. And just like that, the pressure was rebuilt and released, washing over me in electric waves, shocking my body and nervous system.

'Easy girl, there you go.' He held me still, pecking me with kisses wherever he reached as he let my quivering body do what it needed, he himself coming moments later with a few last thrusts. And I collapsed on top of him, the strong rise and fall of his chest helping me calm my breathing.

'Wanna go again, movie star?' I asked.

'Which position, cowgirl?' He answered.

[tremendouscreationperson]

Sam decided that enough was enough. They had been dancing around each other for too long. He couldn't take it any more.

It would be subtle, his words weren't harmful or forceful. He simply commented "maybe if you had a more feminine vessel you could blink your pretty eyes and this would be over" as he exited the motel room, conveniently going to 'the library'.

Castiel frowned deeply.

He had not thought about this vessel, had not considered it to be incorrect. But as he digested Sam's words... Maybe it was. His feelings - new and uninhibited - were strong and he was fascinated with the older Winchester, however Dean glanced at women. Dean didn't glance at men and Castiel was technically a man.

Dean's gaze caught Cas', his mouth was ajar and he wore a matching frown. "Cas don't listen to that ass hat."

But Castiel couldn't help it. This was all new, he had been invited on a hunt and found himself enjoying the slow path. He liked living a 'human' life, the normality of it was refreshing. He didn't have to defend his position in Heaven or fight on the front lines. He could simply be.

Being in Heaven was horrid now he had openly defined God and his siblings in favour of the Righteous man and his family.

Castiel had made that decision and by doing so essentially snapped his own halo.

And now he was just considering that maybe he should have stayed up there. Stayed emotionless because why was this vessel not satisfactory? Why did he have these doubts that he would never had had years ago?

Castiel moved with an effortless grace to the bathroom and stood in front of the small mirror. His face was fairly symmetrical and he had proportionate features.

He didn't see the need for beauty in himself but his eyes caught movement behind his right shoulder and there it was. Dean stood, concern splattered across his features but by God he was glorious. Dean Winchester was perfect. He was beautiful in body and soul.

Castiel realised now that 'blinking your pretty eyes' could work if it was Dean doing the blinking.

"Do I not have 'pretty eyes'?" Cas' eyes were small and blue. There was not much else about them.

"Cas, you're fine. Your eyes are 'pretty'." Dean's own stared a hole into the back of Cas' head.

"Is this vessel displeasing?" Castiel observed his face again, each line, each hair, each imperfection.

"No." Dean was firm. He broke eye contact, looking around the subpar facilities before coming back to Castiel. "You're not displeasing."

Cas couldn't believe that. How could he when it was plain to see? Memories flashed of Dean putting distances between them and breaking their prolonged eye contact and being the first to tell Cas off. Dean was disappointed. He found it hard to be close to Castiel in public and in private which felt... It felt sore? There was discomfort. Castiel found that he was fond of Dean, so so much, but Dean was embarrassed. He clearly didn't like this body.

"Do I embarrass you?" Castiel found himself asking. His hands plucked at the trench coat. "I could change my appeara-"

"No." Dean was firmer.

"Dean."

"Cas."

"It is no bother." Perhaps if he pretended it wasn't Dean would feel comfortable?

"Cas, you're fucking gorgeous." Dean snapped, rolling his eyes.

That took Castiel aback. He was gorgeous? The Angel found himself looking at his borrowed face again. He didn't see it.

He was just human.

Nothing special.

But if Dean thought that...

"If you're s-"

"I'm sure." Dean spoke, he had closed the distance, his words were quieter due to the proximity. "You're-" He swallowed. "You're hot."

Castiel couldn't stop the expression if he tried. The mirror showed his coy smile and Dean smirked back. Castiel's face felt warm, Dean was correct, he was hot. "I'm not sure why Sam would say such a thing."

Dean swallowed, his tongue scraped against his teeth. "He's trying to get a rise outta me."

Cas quirked his head to the side and Dean's eyes crinkled.

"Fuck it, it's been long enough-" he sighed "-Sam knows I find you attractive and I'm sorry if that is strange. I know it isn't you and I've been dealing with the fact that you're a man but fuck it- it's not the body that hot, it's you, Cas. It's the Angel who saved my ass, it's the friend that laughs at my jokes when I know you don't understand them, it's the way you wipe blood off your angel blade." He made a humming noise and Cas found himself short of breath.

"I-" Cas cleared his throat. "Dean."

That word snapped Dean from reminiscing and the human spun Cas to face him. "This is exactly what Sammy wanted and I'm going to fucking kill him but God you're sexy."

Cas watched Dean wet his lips and dragged his eyes back up. "I find you equally as attractive."

That's all Dean needed to hear.

He crowded Cas, who was already leaning against the sink, and kissed him with years worth of want.

He poured everything into the kiss. Every want, every need, every almost, every if, every dream, everything. So much so that he hoisted Cas upon the sink and found himself in-between Cas' thighs.

Dean had to breathe. Fuck being human. But he didn't let that stop him. He kissed his way down Cas' jaw and nipped at the exposed skin of his neck. Dean had always appreciated from afar the loose tie and undone buttons but close up he was buzzing. He finally was able to suck at Cas' jaw and bite and lick along the veins that teased him.

"Fucking beautiful." Dean didn't speak that for Cas. He merely stated the obvious for anyone to hear.

Cas found himself twitching and gasping at the sensations. Finding that he loves the sound of Dean's voice right at his ear, it made his spine straighten and his abdomen had developed a warm feeling.

"Dean." Cas' voice was deeper. How had his voice become deeper?

The human looked up at Cas and he was struck, once again, at how perfect Dean was. Physically he was beautiful, he would've had his own temple if he was born a few hundred years ago. But his soul danced around, glowing iridescently from his being.

Unbeknownst to Dean his green eyes reflected all of this. All of his soul and hopes and desires and everything the little human wanted to give.

"You-" Cas tried. "Your eyes are-"

Dean let them fall to Cas' lips and back up to meet his blue orbs. "Not as nice as yours."

Cas didn't know how to respond. He hadn't known how to navigate any of this but he did what he thought was best; he lent down and met Dean's lips.

[lalunanymph]

who’s your (baby) daddy. [4] 

╰┈➤ After being dumped by your boyfriend of 3 years, you decide to switch things up and go on your own version of a “hot girl summer”—subsequently finding yourself with a surprise that would arrive in 9 months time. The catch? You have absolutely no idea which of the men you slept with is your baby’s daddy.

𖨆♡𖨆 nanami x reader, gojou x reader, toji x reader, sukuna x reader

# tattoo artist sukuna, talks of pregnancy, semi-public sex, mentions of blood, reader gets a tattoo, mentions of food, fem!reader, pregnant!reader, ieiri is a girlboss, gojo is actually sweet in this, soft!sukuna

‗ ❍ masterlist  

If you thought your already wacky life could not get anymore crazier, that was nothing compared to the shitshow that waited for you one fine Monday.

Nothing was out of the blue; it had been two weeks since that altercation in the OBGYN room and you decided that even if Gojo would walk out, at least you still had your job and burgeoning career to support you.

… or not. 

“You’re fired.”

For the longest second, you did not speak, swivelling your head to the side to check if there were cameras spotlighting you; whether there was a man in a chicken suit standing in the corner waiting to jump out and yell you’ve been pranked!

But, there were no cameras—not even a goofy dude in a chicken suit—just the strict-faced new HR and Mia’s pinched expression. 

You gazed at her in aghast, crying, “Huh? You can’t just fire me for being pregnant!” 

The woman with slicked-red lips pouted those obviously fake plumpers at you in an attempt to seem sympathetic yet righteous at the same time. “It’s not because you’re pregnant, Y/N. That whistleblower piece put us in hot water and we have to cut our losses.”

Turning your gaze to your boss, you gesture wildly for her to butt in. “Mia—!” 

“Y/N is one of the best and she’s right—she’s pregnant. What would other companies say when they hear how badly we treated someone who has been with us from the very start?” Despite your boss’ furrowed brow and solid argument, Miss I-Have-A-Stick-Up-My-Ass did not seem too pleased.

“I understand that Y/N has been with us for a long time, but trouble is trouble and she is plenty of it.” 

Knowing that not even your boss could fight off regional HR if they chose to take action, you stood up, albeit with some difficulty with your four-month baby bump. Sure, you may not have been the model employee; you often stole sachets of coffee from the pantry, occasionally threw up in your waste paper basket because you were too tired to walk to the toilet and even once used Mia’s face spray liberally to cool down your neck in a flash of maternal hormones, but you were an asset.

You were an asset to this company. 

Or at least, that was what you had deluded yourself into thinking. Hands cradling your palms, you fixed her with a determined glare. “Look whatever-your-name is—”

“It’s Kuragi-san.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you muttered dismissively. “If being a mother has taught me one thing, it’s that integrity and the truth is very, very important.” You swallowed at the thought of your future now that you were jobless, but the anger forced you to spill out the words you might not otherwise have had the courage to say. 

“And if I were to be working for an organisation that does not value the truth—as painful and dangerous as it can be sometimes—then you can keep destroying this once grand company with your narrow-minded, and frankly, cowardly ways.”

You spun on your heel, passing Mia who gave you a high-five. The clacks of your low heels resounded through the halls, and you almost missed how the other staff—from the junior reporters to even the office girls—drew their heads back into the cubicles, chagrined at having been found eavesdropping on your bombastic statement.

But after the high of standing up to Kuwagari or whatever-the-fuck her name was subsided, you found yourself on the roadside curb next to your car, pregnant, jobless and carrying a small box filled with the sparse office mementos you had collected from your decade at Tokyo Today. The building loomed over you, its shadow keeping you cool from the striking sun and you allowed yourself to exhale—to truly absorb the fact that you had done it now. 

Did I make a mistake? 

There was nothing for you to do but to accept and acknowledge that it was your own doing that led you here today. You palmed your rotund belly, whispering to it softly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I thought I could make it better for you but I went and messed it up.”

Okay, new goal in life: no matter what, you were still going to provide for your baby by any means necessary. You still had some savings in your bank and if all else failed, you supposed your parents would rather you home (albeit pregnant and unemployed), than if you were off searching for fast money in clubs and bars to feed your daughter. 

The thought alone scared you and for the first time in your life, you came to terms with just how small of a speck of your life was in the great fabric of things. In some ways, you were still that little girl looking both ways before she crossed the street; always ready for the first sign of danger so she could run away and hide. 

No. Nope. This was not happening. You would rather trade your left kidney than to be caught crying in front of a company that booted you out heartlessly. Mia had already texted you and left you some numbers that you could call; connections that were searching for a business writer, but you had left her on read to lick your wounds in peace. 

Perhaps you would return her messages tomorrow. With any luck, maybe you would sleep past the morning so you would not have to wake up for breakfast—one meal of the day saved from your sheer laziness. 

You staggered into your old car and locked the doors, starting the engine and sinking back into the worn leather seats. 

This was it. It was time to say goodbye. You glanced up at the place you had paved your career for a good ten years and sighed. Since your pride was already in shambles and you had no one to share your sudden sadness with, you dialled the first number that came to mind. 

“Hey, mama,” Gojo’s voice chirped from the other end and you never expected that simple greeting to lift your spirits. 

“Hey,” you muttered, tapping your steering wheel with one finger. “Something happened.”

“Damn. Are you going into labour already?”

You scoffed, biting down the urge to grin widely. “Really funny, Satoru.”

“What can I say—I strive to be the best at everything, including cheering you up. So, what’s up?”

Trying hard not to burst into tears, you cursed your raging hormones when wetness trickled down your cheeks, expelling a quick laugh and swiping at your eyes. “I just got fired.”

There was a crackle of silence over the line. “Fired? Why?” 

“Apparently we’re getting sued… and I was the cause of it.” 

You could imagine cerulean blue eyes lowering and perhaps, his peachy lips would be turned down into a frown. Part of you expected him to mutter some form of half-assed condolences, and not say: 

“Stay put, okay?” 

“Satoru—”

“I’m coming for you. You’re still at the building?” 

You gripped the phone tighter, unable to believe the extent of his kindness. “Mhm hmm.”

“Okay, be there in a flash.”

He stayed true to his word. Gojo arrived in all his glory; a sleek white Aston Martin, neatly pressed suit and shades lowered to hide the twinkle in his eye. He took your keys and tossed it to a familiar woman who smiled at you in greeting. 

“Utahime-san, please take Y/N’s car and drive it back to her residence. I’ll take her from here.”

“Yes, sir.” 

There was no room for you to gawk at the grandness of the car before Satoru was ushering you in, taking care to brace his palm on your head so you wouldn’t accidentally collide with the low beam. 

“This is… wow.” Your murmurs caught his attention and you glanced at him to find a smirk on his face. 

“I couldn’t just leave my baby mama all alone now, could I?”

“You’re too nice, Gojo.” 

The despondency in your tone was apparent enough for him to detect. He switched gears and the car tore down the street, towards the highway. Gojo had even made sure you wore a seatbelt and despite his hellish speed, he was surprisingly good on the road. 

“Say, what about we take a day off? Let’s go to this place I know and get ice cream.”

You perked up at that suggestion—or rather, your cravings did and you nodded enthusiastically. 

“That sounds perfect.”

He made small talk with you while he drove you to this little parlour in Odaiba, the Rainbow Bridge never looking this bright until you were sat next to Satoru who made you laugh at every little thing he said because he was too damn charismatic for his own good. Slowly, the dark mood you had on from your sudden change lifted and you followed him, arm-in-arm, into a tiny, spotless café where the owner called out to him in a friendly greeting.

Apparently, the wealthy and famous CEO of Gojo Holdings was a regular in this humble little shop, and the owner didn’t even hesitate to remark on how beautiful the two of you looked as a couple—a statement that Satoru did not deny. 

Buying your favourite flavour of that sweet treat, he sat down next to you with his own bowl—chocolate and macadamia nuts with a healthy drizzle of cherry sauce. It was a good choice and he was kind enough to let you sneak a few spoons, sensing it was your cravings that caused this lapse of manners and not your usual shy self. 

“So, what’re you gonna do now?” Satoru had this habit of licking his spoon between every mouthful of ice cream and you had to stop yourself from chortling at how that habit reminded you of a little boy. Unbidden, you wondered if your baby girl would inherit his love for sweets as well—if she was truly his flesh and blood. 

“I guess I'll live off my savings for a bit. Mia is talking to some publishing companies to see if they would have me. Let’s hope they love sloppy seconds.”

“Mmm, I like sloppy seconds.”

The innuendo hit you a second too late and you pretended to be cross with him. “You’re gross.”

He didn’t find any offence in your quick retort and hummed. “Was I the first one you slept with?” 

You hesitated and dropped your gaze to the sundae cup. There was a part of you that had already buried the idea that it could be Nanami’s baby—your ovulation had not begun when you slept with him for the last time… but Gojo did not need to know the full details.

“Yes.”

“So, she must be mine.”

You fought back a smile and busied yourself with another spoon full of ice cream before speaking. “Y’know, you’re taking this very well for someone who just found out your baby mama slept with two other guys.” 

“Ah. Crazier things have happened.” 

That admission got your eyes widening and you giggled. “Really? Tell me.”

He divulged you with every mind-boggling tale he had in his arsenal—from a psychotic ex-girlfriend who once spiked his drink with Viagra, to his parents’ divorce, the messy custody battle for him, his father’s new girlfriend that was Japan’s first Playboy bunny and his mother’s penchant at sneaking disses at her ex-husband whenever she was interviewed by a lifestyle magazine for her interior designing prowess—Gojo was giving you a front row seat to the mess behind the class.

“Damn. Are you sure you’re not living in a K-drama?” 

He gestured to your belly with a wide grin. “At this point—can we say we’re not?” 

Satoru definitely had a point. “Touché.” 

After dessert, he took you for a walk in Odaiba, pointing out a few cafes that he loved to frequent and even making plans for the both of you to try it whenever he could find a sliver of free time like today. You were coming to discover that Satoru was an impulsive man and had the filter of a seven year old boy who could not control his tongue. That was evident when he hung his long limbs over the metal railing that overlooked the sea, the warm tones of sunset drenching his handsome features and lighting up the blue in his eyes when he grinned at you. 

“I like you, Y/N. If you need anything, just let me know, kay? I know this is hard for you and I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Whether from the hormones or the stress of the day, you found your eyes smarting and you dropped your gaze to the gently crashing waves under the floorboards of the bridge, nodding. 

“Thank you, Satoru. I’m glad you’re here.”

“No worries.” To your mortification, he got down onto one knee and pressed his face into your belly—in the middle of broad daylight without caring that passers-by glanced at this six-foot-three man making kissy noises into your stomach.

“Satoru,” you giggled, and attempted to bat his face away. “Tickles!” 

“There’s that pretty smile,” Gojo said and straightened to touch your swollen belly with his larger palm. “Let’s get you and the pretty baby home, okay? Mama definitely needs her rest after a long day.” 

In her life as an OBGYN practitioner, Ieiri had thought she’d seen everything. 

From women who were ecstatic at the idea of being mothers, to those who were shocked at the idea of conceiving a life into this world when they weren’t ready, and everything else in between. She had seen fathers who had been there every step of the way for the love of their lives, and sadly, mothers who had to pave the way for their family all alone.

But, she had never seen a case like yours in all her years of experience. 

There were some days when the other staff members in the OB GYN department would inquire about the deeper circles under her eyes, the longer smoke breaks, but she couldn’t break patient confidentiality with you and disclose the details of your pregnancy. 

Besides, she was also your friend to boot and did not want to betray your trust in any way that was deemed inappropriate.

However, that became hard to do when she felt the presence of someone approaching her. She looked up from her haze of smoke and nearly choked on those nicotine wafts when she recognized who it was. 

“Kento?”

Before her, stoic and tall, was your ex-boyfriend. The young doctor lowered her cigarette and forced herself to smile—though with how taken aback she was at the sight of Nanami himself in the flesh, she was pretty sure it came across as a grimace instead. 

“Shoko. I’m so sorry to have snuck up on you like this but I’ve been trying to call Y/N and I haven’t heard back from her. She called me about a few months ago but hung up. Is she okay?”

You hadn’t divulged any of this with her and Ieiri was not sure how to respond. She chose a neutral route and diverged the topic back to him. 

“Hmm. Aren’t you supposed to be in Malaysia by now?” 

It was to her immense surprise when she heard his next words. 

“I cancelled it.” 

Shoko stared at him, the cigarette in her hand forgotten. Though she had never been close to Nanami Kento, your best friend could not deny that it was the happiest she had ever seen you when you were dating someone. Ieiri had even once jokingly called you a scumbag magnet—if there was a bum within a five mile radius, it was almost a given that you would’ve fallen head over heels for him. 

But, Kento was different. He was stoic, aloof and according to you—a genuinely good man who you could envision marrying. That was until he chose his career over you. 

Why would he turn down this opportunity of a lifetime? Shoko was familiar with how the Masamichi group was  expanding into Southeast Asia because of a bigger demographic and a plethora of opportunities; it would be a chance for Kento to purchase his house on the beach and retire early from the success of this expansion. 

So, why was he still here? 

Ieiri got her answer not even a second later. 

“I’m worried about Y/N. I… I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

The guilt she felt on your behalf pervaded through her chest and Ieiri coughed lightly, finally putting out her cigarette. Your life was already a mess with the potential of three baby daddies and the new issue of you losing your job. You didn’t need Kento coming back in the fray to give you more stress.

So, Ieiri decided that it was her duty as your friend and a decent doctor to break the news to him. 

“Nanami, there’s something you should know about Y/N…” 

He had straightened, broad shoulders going rigid. “Is she hurt?”

Far from it. Ieiri decided it was better to rip the band aid off than dance around the issue forever and she took a deep breath. 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

For a long minute, the blonde man did not speak. The hard expression he wore fractured at the edges as he absorbed this information. But, he was first and foremost a logical man—emotions would come later, and he had to uncover if this was the reason why you were avoiding him—with the possibility that you were carrying his child being the biggest cause of your radio silence.

“And I’m the father?”  

A flash of something like pity flitted across Ieiri’s pretty features. 

“I should let you know… she kind of had a wild few weeks and…”

Kento interjected before she could finish. “Is she fine?” 

“Yes. Well—no.” Ieiri took another deep inhale. “Y/N is pregnant and we don’t know who the father is because… she slept with three other men after your breakup.”

The breeze picked up, carding through her brown locks and his lighter ones. For a few minutes, Nanami did not speak. 

“Kento?” 

As if a spell had been broken, he snapped awake from his trance and jerkily bobbed his head. 

“It’s getting late and I’ve taken up too much of your break.”

“Kento—”

He spun around, all sharp edges and muffled emotions scattered across his angular and striking features. 

“Give Y/N my best.”

She stopped him before he could leave, needing to know what was his current headspace. Ieiri would be a huge liar if she did not admit that the reason for her curiosity was because she wanted to assuage the guilt at being the bearer of bad news. 

“What’ll you do now? Are you going to talk to her?” 

But he did not answer, ducking his head down so she could not see his reaction. Eclipsing his weary thoughts for his own morose rumination. 

“Goodbye, Ieiri.”

[A few months ago]

Once you had gotten over the sting of being creamed by your fling’s bitter ex, you came to the realisation that if life wanted to fuck you over, you may as well have fun with it. 

“A tattoo?” Ieiri was in disbelief the moment that request flew past your lips. 

Grinning, you nodded. “Yup! One on my hip.”

Beside her, Getou who was sipping on his matcha latte quietly gave a snort. “You almost cried when you had your cartilage pierced; are you sure you can handle a tattoo?”

You levelled him with a look. Dressed in his designer polo shirt and crisp pants, one would think that Suguru Getou was not the type for something as improper as tattoos. But, the dragon design around his neck begged to differ and even if you had wanted to dismiss his words, he had a ton of experience when it came to needles—more than you, obviously. 

“I think I could.”

The silence that spanned across the coffee table where all three of you had met for an impromptu brunch was riddled with disbelief. 

“Are you sure it’s professional?” Ieiri broached the topic, knowing how corporates, especially publishing ones, could be particular with the sight of ink on their employees skin. It was up there with dyed hair—who could take a business reporter seriously if they had hot pink locks? 

You pouted and it didn’t take long for your best friend to sense that there was nothing she could say to change your mind. “I’m not getting a big ass one on my face like those rappers,” you mumbled defensively. “It’s just a tiny one on my hip.”

That was apparently enough of a reason for Suguru to grab both you and Ieiri downtown to his favourite tattoo parlour. The smell of lavender and antiseptic reminded you of a hospital if it existed in another dimension. All around you, inked men and women waltzed around the premise, calling out a greeting to the tall Getou heir, friendliness in their words reminding you how you this was his turf and you were in safe hands. 

Well, almost. From across the room, you caught the eye of a sullen looking, pink-haired man. Recoiling slightly, you held a macabre fascination for the tribal-like swirls around his face, and neck. As if sensing your stare, he lifted his brown eyes, and stunned you into silence. Fuck—he’s hot. 

A hand on your back made you startle and Getou’s crescent-eyed smile carved itself into your periphery. “Sukuna—hey! Long time no see.” 

Like a switch had been flipped, the scary looking man trailed his intimidating stare from you to your friend, easing up with a genial smile. “Yo, Sugu. Been a long time. How’s that new one healing up?”

Much to your consternation, Getou lifted the hem of his black t-shirt, giving the entire shop a peek of his washboard abs and deep ‘V’, along with the tiger tattoo scrawled across his hip bone. “Perfectly, man. You knocked it out the board, as usual.” Chuckling amicably, he gestured towards you. “But, that’s not why I’m here—my friend is getting her first tattoo.”

You tried hard not to shrink back when Sukuna’s gaze met you again. This time, a teasing smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Oh, she’s your friend? Thought she was lost for a bit.” 

Before you could open your mouth to sarcastically retort that you weren’t, Sukuna gestured to an unattended room down the hallway. “My schedule is pretty free today—I’ll take her on.” 

Getou nodded enthusiastically. “Alright! You’ll be fine, Y/N. Sukuna here is the best at what he does. You’ll love your tattoo.” Like a proud father handing his reluctant toddler off at a daycare, the raven-haired man nudged you towards the tattoo artist, beaming brightly. “Ieiri and I will be next door having a massage. You call me once you’re done, okay?” 

You tried not to whine through gritted teeth for Getou to follow you into the room, watching helplessly as he spun around on his heel and left you alone, Shoko following behind and giving you a big thumbs up. 

Traitors, you thought murderously. They were supposed to be here for you, possibly even holding your hand in the tattoo room as you cussed your heart out, but they had left you on your own to fend for yourself. And your growing anxiety around the statuesque tattoo artist. There was a twitch in your left eye which was exacerbated the moment Sukuna scoffed.

“You're gonna stand around all day? Come on.”

You mirrored his scoff, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Are you always this rude to your clients? I could write a really bad review and affect your business.” 

For a second, your audacity sent him into a disquiet, and then, Sukuna chuckled. “Sure. I can play nice for a bit.” Cocking his head closer, he assumed an air of playful sobriety that was seriously off-putting with the ink on his face. “I apologise for my behaviour, miss. Please follow along with the sterilisation process.”

You opened your mouth to retort, wanting to ruthlessly mouth off until the smug smile from his face was gone when he ambled down the hallway. While getting a tattoo has always been what you wanted, could you bear getting it from such a rude man that brought out the inner Karen in you? 

Suguru did say this place was the best around Tokyo and he is paying for my tattoo… 

Ugh. Fine. You made up your mind and trailed behind the behemoth of a man, careful to set your purse down and sit daintily on the bench as you adjusted the hem of your knee-length skirt.

“It’s good you came prepared in a skirt,” Sukuna commented, shaking you from your reverie and tossing you a disarming grin. “Gives me easier access to work on you.” 

Your face felt way too warm for such a casual remark and you dropped your gaze from his piercing one, twisting your fingers together. “Just don’t fuck it up, okay? Or else I will literally bring my lawyer on your ass.”

That was a lie—you didn’t have a lawyer. But, what this smug asshole didn’t know would not hurt him. Sukuna lifted a brow and remained mum. He nodded towards a tray of tools. “I’m going to sterilise this first. You can go ahead and remove your blouse and hang it up there.” He gestured towards the coat rack. 

While the idea of stripping in front of an attractive man scared you, it was nothing in comparison to the idea that he would be evading your personal space. Literally touching your skin with his black-gloved hands. Feeling you tremble underneath him.

Fucking Toji. It was because of him you were still like a bitch in heat, ready to latch onto any available cock in sight. 

As if you were a bloodhound, you tried to keep calm when the scent of his rich, aquatic cologne hit you, your shoulders tensing when he sat on the metal stool next to the bench and tapped on the headrest. “Lie back down for me?” 

Doing your best to comply, you twisted your torso slightly, the makeshift blanket almost falling down to reveal the rise of your cotton-clad breasts. Sukuna must’ve been unaffected by your near nudity because he didn’t even react when your bare waist came into view. Probably used to seeing tits in his face all the time. 

Those rubbery palms touched your hip, smoothing a cool liquid over your skin that stung slightly. “Okay, I’m starting the needle.”

There was a whir in the background and you flinched when his palm tensed around your hip bone, nearly bolting out of the chair when the point of the needle touched your skin. 

Sukuna jerked and stopped the machine pen, shooting you a glare. “Hey, quit it. You gotta relax for me, okay? I could’ve tore through your skin with the—”

“I hate needles.” 

The admission fell between both of you like a pin dropping sharply from the edge of a table. Pinging and fracturing around with incredulous silence.

Sukuna gave you a look. “Then what the fuck are you doing in a tattoo shop?” 

Unbidden, tears glossed in your eyes, and Sukuna set down the metallic tool, sighing. “Let me take a wild guess—your ex-boyfriend dumped you so you want to get inked as a sign of your freedom when in fact, you’re still grieving over the relationship, right?” The corners of his lips twitched. “You’re not exactly hard to read.” 

You sniffled pathetically, never imagining in a hundred of years that you would be close to bursting to tears in the middle of a tattoo parlour. 

Evidently, Sukuna may seem like he had a grasp on the situation, but he was just as clueless as you were and had rightfully offended you.

The air was thick with tension, uncuttable and gooey with some unnamed emotion. 

Sukuna decided not to say anything else and pass you a tissue, switching off the running machine with a soft sigh. “If you’re not paying me for a tattoo, at least make it worth my time by entertaining me.” Sitting back, he crossed his arms across his very broad, very sexy chest, and lifted a brow, a ghost of a smirk ready to tug up in the corners of his lips. 

“Go on, tell me your sob story. Might even throw in a complimentary spa voucher if you move me real good.” 

That’s it. You snapped your mouth shut and hopped down from the bench, throwing off the blanket with a sharp swish of your wrist. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” There was a familiar steel in your tone which you often used on errant reporters and underlings that had the power to make anyone cower. 

But, for Sukuna, all you succeeded in doing was making him confused. 

“So, you don’t want my listening ear?” 

You could no longer hold back the vitriol ready to spill from the tip of your tongue. 

“Look here, mister. Yeah, sure, you may be the best tattoo artist in this district and a good friend of Suguru, but I won’t tolerate your rudeness, especially when it comes to commenting on my life.”

The flinty edge in your gaze shocked him. “So, you can keep all your wisecrack jokes to yourself and I will see myself out. If you want me to bill you for the consulting fee, you know who to ask.” 

As you were about to tug on your shirt, you heard him click his tongue. 

“Hey—I’m sorry.” 

You froze, about to jam one arm into a sleeve when his rueful apology reached your ears. 

A heavy sigh resounded, and you turned around to face him, blouse still askew over your head. “Well, you’re not forgiven.” 

Sukuna’s lips twitched again, and he helped you tug down your shirt. 

Unbidden, the tips of his fingers grazed your exposed abdomen, and you couldn’t hide a shiver at his calloused touch. 

Face still stuffed halfway into your shirt, you were helpless to stop Sukuna from trailing his touch down to your stomach which was now exploding into a million butterflies. 

“Sukuna—”

“Do you ever shut up?” He murmured, and as quick as his touch came, it disappeared from your body. The tattooist showed you a fleck of stray ink staining his index finger. “Accidentally spilled some on ya. Sorry about that.”

He nodded towards the exit. “You can wait for Suguru to be done outside in the lobby. I won’t charge you for anything today.”

His sudden niceness threw you off, and you narrowed your eyes. 

“You’re strange.” 

The corners of his lips twitched, his amusement contagious. “Rich coming from someone afraid of needles in a tattoo shop.” 

Sukuna rubbed his hands, huffing. “Well. Get out of here. I have another customer.” 

But, the masochist in you pinned you down to the leather seat, stubbornly warring with yourself to get this through. 

“Do it.” 

Sukuna cocked a brow. “What?” 

“I’m ready to be tattooed.” 

In answer, he sank back down, pulling out his gun—whether emboldened or amused by your sudden resolution, you had no idea.

“Okay. Take off your shirt. We’re doing this, and—”

He gave you a look, one which froze you in place.

“—no backing out of this. Or, I’ll take your entire your deposit. Deal?” 

After what seemed like hours, your fresh tattoo was ready. 

Your clawed grip on the leather couch had left indents, and you were positive your molars were grinded into a pulp from how hard you had clenched your teeth.

“There,” Sukuna hummed, wiping away the dots of blood with a sterilised cloth, his smile small and a little proud. 

“You did so well for me. I’m proud of you.” 

Unbidden, his words cracked something in your mind, and the tears overflowed. It was mortifying to be like this—crying your heart out in front of an incredibly attractive man who had no idea how to handle your switching emotions. 

Embarrassed, you tried to play off your sudden outburst with a nervous giggle.

You expected him to kick you out—weirded by your reactions—not sigh and sit down next to you, his gloves in hand.

“Do you wanna talk about your relationship?” 

Mutely, you shook your head. 

“Do you want a drink?”

The mention of alcohol made you perk up and you nodded.

Sukuna exited through the curtains and returned a minute later with bottles of beer—one for him and one for you. You both clinked in morose cheers and drank in silence; the alcohol taking away the edge of pain from both your throbbing tattoo and your broken heart. 

“You’re better off without him,” your tattooist said after a moment. “The dude, I mean. Fuck him. You’re pretty—you’ll find someone good soon.”

Cracking a watery smile, you chuckled. “You think?” 

“I know.” His smile was confident and his charm irresistible. “A good girl like you will make a great one for any guy.” 

Good girl. 

Oh. 

Heat slicked down your spine, curdling somewhere in between your thighs. Sukuna watched the effects of his words play across your face—calculating the exact point when you were weak enough for him to make his move.

It was when your mouth fell slightly open, eyes darting over his face tattoos to fully drink in his own vermillion eyes, did he lean forward and kiss you.

You drank him in, no longer shy or subdued—turned flirty and lethal from the coasting hormones the pain elicited and the strong beer. His kisses rained like warm dew drops down your neck, your shoulders, and in between your exposed cleavage.

Sukuna hitched you up higher on the seat, knocking the beer bottles over. They shattered to the floor, and someone yelped in the room next door.

“Sorry,” he grunted, frantically groping under your skirt to pull your panties off. “Kicked something over.” 

He slapped his other palm over your mouth, pushing two fingers into your slick hole. Sukuna finger-fucked you fast and hard, the muted squelching of your pussy creaming all around his black gloved fingers effortlessly.

You whined and squirmed, eyes rolling back into your skull. Unable to take the searing pleasure.

Sukuna didn’t let up. He was ruthless—making you cum quietly in the back of his shop. Those warm and slightly chapped lips latched onto your pulse point, kissing down your shoulders as you convulsed and twitched in his arms.

Not giving you a moment to catch a breath, Sukuna unsheathed his cock from behind his acid wash jeans. You whined softly, impatiently pushing up his shirt to expose his washboard abs. 

Sukuna took the hint, ripping off his shirt and yours.

The air between both your lips tasted like ripe honey, and you lapped at his lower lip, swallowing his scratchy moan.

His voice alone could turn you on—and knowing the effect he had on you, Sukuna cooed, like an owner speaking down to his pet as he propped you onto your hands and knees. 

“Hold the chair tightly,” his whisper was hot against the sensitive shell of ear. “And don’t make a sound, you understand? One single moan and I will stop everything.”

As he spoke, he rutted the tip of his cock in between your thighs, and you were glad you wore a simple skirt today. It made it easier for him to pull down the crotch of your panties to the side. 

Sukuna slipped his entire prick inside of you without much prep, and your entire body tensed—your previous release helping to ease him all the way to the hilt. 

His hands were clawed on your hips, using them as an anchor to jackhammer your willing cunt.

Too fast—this is too much.

“Too much,” you murmured, wincing when he pried his entire length from your creamy depths only to sink back into you unceremoniously. “‘Kuna—”

“You can do it.”

The sensation of a rubber covered finger tapping and rubbing on your clit added another layer of debauchery to this unexpected tryst. A mewl ripped past your clenched teeth, and true to his word, Sukuna stopped all movement.

“‘Kuna,” you mumbled, peeking over your shoulder with wide, teary eyes.

“Don’t give me that look.” 

The tips of his pink hair were slick with sweat; falling right into his face, giving him a shadowy intrigue which shot straight into your neglected pussy. 

“I told you I would stop.” Without waiting for your reply, Sukuna sank his teeth into the tip of his gloved middle finger, yanking off the rubber in one smooth move. He repeated the motion with the other hand while you were spread legged and dripping onto his chair, waiting for him to move. “And you didn’t listen.”

Clinically, almost cruelly, he buried two fingers into your gaping hole, curving them upward. This time, he took a moment to inspect your folds and squeezing cunt, his face almost close to your ass.

“Hmm.” 

It was dehumanising to have a stranger do this to you, but you couldn’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him. 

“A pretty pussy,” he mumbled, and withdrew his fingers, leaving you aching and empty again. 

Sukuna leaned forward, the heat of his body seeping into your bare thighs. “One more time, darling. And this time, be good for me, okay?” 

Nodding, you arched your back and he laughed at your eagerness. At how you presented yourself to him like an offering on a silver platter. 

“Slut,” he rasped, taking control of your body once again and bullying his cock into your tight heat. “Such a fucking eager little fuckdoll.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from moaning. There was only a curtain to separate both of you; anyone could walk in and see your tattoo artist balls deep into your creaming pussy.

Sukuna’s free hand had reached under your shirt, expertly tugging your bra cups down to pinch and roll your nipples.

The fact you were both still halfway dressed made you burn with both embarrassment and lust. Nothing else was heard around the room except for the soft squelches of your pussy taking his cock and his heavy breathing growing even denser.

Sukuna’s hips stuttered, and you could tell he was close. He bucked and undulated against you, a choked moan that almost sounded like pain caressing your neck.

“‘Kuna—” your whine was cut short by his rough hand tugging your face to his, lips crashing onto yours.

A dark sort of emotion overtook you, and for one split second, you were no longer the heartbroken girl trying to find meaning in life. Sukuna’s touches made you feel alive; brimming with vitality and hope.

Warm spurts filled you up and you gasped into his mouth, feeling him filling you up like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

When you both could finally speak, Sukuna gently withdrew himself and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

You closed your eyes, leaning back into him, exhausted to the bone.

“Keep the deposit,” he rasped in his low, deep voice; chest rumbling underneath your cheek. “The tattoo’s on me.”

After the disastrous week that was the result of your unfair dismissal at work and the revelation that Gojo Satoru wanted to be in your life not just as your baby’s daddy, but as a friend, things seemed to look up. 

Granted, your bank account was slowly dwindling by the day, and the food in your fridge was becoming just as sparse as your finances; you didn’t have anything much to do in the day but read up on business news and take baths—but all the hardships made you work even harder, determined to make a better life for your baby. 

Shoko had heard of your predicament and called you up for a wine night—or in your pitiful case—a sparkling wine night and teasingly asked you, “Why don’t you get Gojo to pay your bills?” 

“I’m not a sugar baby, Ieiri,” you had grumbled and she snorted, looking resplendent in her floral summer dress while you felt like a whale beside her. 

Stupid pregnancy belly. Your clothes were becoming too tight around your hips, and squeezing into your jeans made you feel like your thighs had turned into pieces of meat being squished into a sausage skin. 

Whoever said that women were the most attractive during their pregnancy obviously missed the mark by about a whole mile. 

“Money is money, Y/N. Besides, you can always use the excuse that you need it for the baby.” 

You had shot her a look over your sadly non-alcoholic glass of despair and frowned. “Are you teaching me how to swindle money from a CEO?”

“I’m teaching you how to be in your bag, Y/N,” she corrected with a smirk.

That was a few nights ago, and the idea still replayed in your mind. However, you recalled Gojo’s happy smiles and how he was genuinely ecstatic to be having a child and you reasoned her suggestion did not seem so farfetched. 

Winter was steadily approaching as seen from the snatches of cold air circulating around the apartment, and with it, Gojo’s increasing busyness. You had not heard from the white-haired CEO for almost a whole week and you were growing antsy. Your phone was resolutely silent as well, your messages to Toji and Sukuna going unread since that disastrous day in the OBGYN room. Trying hard not to let the winter blues and the chill of those two men get to you, you decided to take yourself out on a date. 

Bulging belly apparent under your sweater, you winced at the tenderness of your breasts and massaged them gently while you tried to bend over and lace your boots. Deciding that you did a good job, you huffed, dragging your puffy coat over your frame. Appraising yourself in the mirror, you had to bite down on a laugh at how much you looked like an inflated Michelin man. A part of you was saddened that you could no longer dress up in babydoll dresses and sleek winter coats; since becoming a mom, practicality had very much taken over fashion. 

The streets were bustling and you stayed closer to the walls, people giving you way once they noticed your swollen stomach and reddened face. How did all these Hallmark movies make pregnancy seem almost effortless? All those actresses had dewy skin, perfectly rotund bellies and a doting husband near them at all times—none of which you had with you right now. 

The cafe you wanted to visit was too crowded and you huffed, taking out your phone and deciding to move to a different location. But before you could waddle away in disappointment, a harsh wind picked up and snatched your loosely tied scarf, the red material shimmering from your grasp as you exhaled out an exasperated, “Ugh—seriously?”

Moving as fast as your swollen legs could carry you, you rushed to grab the evasive material, nearly twisting on a patch of ice and tangling in your undone boot laces. For one split second, gravity seemed to elude you and you cried out, terrified beyond belief, the one warning flashing in your mind: my baby!

But before you could careen down to the ground, a strong arm caught you. 

“Y/N!” 

You gasped and held onto the defined bicep for your dear life, the blood rushing through your ears loud enough to stifle the presence next to you. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright, love.” 

That voice…

Glancing up with teary eyes, you were stunned by who had caught you. 

“S-Sukuna?” 

He was dressed warmly in a cashmere sweater and a woolly black scarf, tribal tattoos on his face and neck standing out like a stain on his tanned skin; incredibly handsome under the slate-grey skies. The wind ruffled his rosy hair and you noticed he had a greasy box in one hand, the other still wound around your waist. 

Cognizant that he was still holding onto you, he reluctantly let you go. There was no mirth in his light brown eyes when he appraised you, apparently exasperated at your disposition. “Be more careful next time,” he clicked his tongue and took in your dishevelled state. “Jesus, who dressed you? A toddler?”  

Before you could protest, he set the box down on a shop’s window ledge and got onto one knee, lacing your boots tightly, straightening your collar and even adjusting some buttons of your coat that were askew. His brisk assistance left you with a light dusting of pink on your cheeks and you ducked your gaze down when he tried to meet your eye. 

A layer of awkwardness hovered between both of you and Sukuna eventually cleared his throat, picking up the box once more. 

“I heard about how you got fired. I was about to head over to your apartment. Um, I got you some pizza.”

He mumbled everything under his breath, as if he were embarrassed of admitting something simple as helping someone who was not himself. 

You blinked—once, twice—before finding your voice. “Oh. Thank you.” 

Sukuna shifted from one foot to the other, still unable to meet your eyes. “Um—do you wanna head back? I think it might get cold.” 

“Sure.” 

It was a short walk back to your apartment and even when you felt fine, you were surprised when he roughly tugged his scarf from his neck to sloppily wrap it around your bare neck. The smell of his musk and rich cologne pricked your nostrils and you hid your blushing cheeks in the folds of the soft material. 

He cleared his throat, attempting to make conversation. “Are you okay?” 

“I’ve been better.” In a quieter voice, you asked, “How did you know I was fired?” 

“Gojo told me. Fucking hell—that HR was ruthless. You sure you don’t want to sue her? Firing a pregnant woman is a discrimination.” 

Somehow, hearing Sukuna getting angry on your behalf made the warmth on your cheeks deepen. Hiding your quiet pleasure at how nice he was being for a change, you tittered. “I’m done with that line. I might just open a flower shop.”

“A flower shop? That’s so girly.”

Your apartment appeared and he helped you to unlock the front door, careful to usher you in first. Catching your breath, you responded to his jab a few seconds too late, your lagging pregnancy brain striking again. 

“Ooh, look at me, I’m a big, muscular, tattooed man who hates flowers. Real charming, Sukuna.”

Biting down a smile at how indignant you sounded, Sukuna settled himself on your couch, taking a gander at your space. You sat down next to him with two plates and two cups of Coke, sending him a mock glare. 

“No, no. I meant that as a compliment.” 

The pizza smelled heavenly and you indulged in two slices, the grease easing the disappointment of losing your favourite scarf. If he noticed the empty room you were slowly cleaning out to make space for your baby’s nursery, he didn’t say anything. 

You were coming to discover that Sukuna was more of an action-based person; preferring to speak with his carefully crafted gestures compared to flowery words. In that sense, he was different from Gojo, and you welcomed the change. 

For instance, Sukuna’s hesitation was apparent when he placed his palm on your belly, the warmth permeating through the thick material of your sweater. It was quiet except for both of your in-sync breathing. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the windows and exacerbating the silence within the walls. You didn’t break the heady solitude apart, content to bask in his affections and attention when those dark brown eyes flashed in wonder, cradling your bump with his larger hands. 

You shifted your feet into a lotus sitting position and winced. Sukuna noticed your lapsing gesture and gave you a quizzical look. 

“My knees are swollen.”

You didn’t expect what he did next. Gently grasping your ankles, he unfurled your legs and set them on his lap, removing your socks and massaging your feet. An unrestrained groan of relief slipped from your mouth and he chuckled in low tones. 

“Shit—that feels good.”

He hummed, not wanting to break that blissful look on your face so he stayed quiet, pressing his knuckles into the arch of first your right foot then left foot to ease the tension . 

Completely lost in the pleasurable relief, you almost didn’t feel the wetness seep through your panties, the quick twist of your womb. It was only when your abdomen started clenching harder that your eyes flew wide open and you squeaked. 

“Sukuna—um, I think—oh shit.”

He stopped his ministries instantly, tribal tattoos crinkling as he frowned. “What’s the matter?” 

In answer, you whimpered, and pointed to your soiled jeans. 

His dark eyes widened. “Did you piss yourself?” 

Your glare was marred with pain when you shook your head, resisting the urge to sock him right in his handsome face. “No, you dumbass—”

Breaking off, you clenched your teeth, doubling over with a gasp.

His reaction was immediate. “Oh. No. Are you—?”

Sukuna’s first instinct was to wrap his arms around you, hustling you out of the apartment and into the cold.

You nearly screamed at him to get you back into your warm apartment, but from his pinpricked pupils and heavy breathing, Sukuna wasn't exactly thinking straight.

Frantic vermillion eyes darted around the snow-flooded street. Shops were closing and many people were hiding from the flurry of snow falling from the sky. 

The entire world was shutting into itself to brace against a snowstorm and your baby had decided this was the perfect time to arrive.

You grunted in pain, fisting the front of his winter coat. "'Kuna, I wanna go back in. I—"

"You need a hospital," he urged, the panic in his voice unshakable.

The look on your face was brimming with pain, cheeks ruddy from the cold.

“My water broke,” you muttered, as if it wasn’t obvious what you were going through. “‘K-Kuna… help me.” 

Snapping back into action, Sukuna hopped up, holding onto you carefully as he made a few calls. But, with every single rejected dial tone, his panic was increasing.

“Shit,” he cursed, calling another hospital in a different district. 

Of all days when his potential baby mama had to pop, it would be when he didn’t have his bike with him. 

It was stuck in a workshop, the radiator frozen after these unprecedented winter nights. Sukuna was starting to grow desperate.

Another sharp gasp of pain from you rattled his chest, and he tried the ambulance one more time. 

Finally, someone answered.

“Hello?” He rushed without preamble. “My girlfriend is about to give birth. We need an ambulance down Kosai Street, stat.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the operator sounded regretful. “The snow is piling up and our ambulances were already deployed to other cases.”

He heard the meaning loud and clear: you’re not important enough to waste resources on. 

The tattoo artist sneered, teeth bared at the stupid woman’s simpering. 

“Fuck, no,” he snarled. “This is important, too! We have no mode of transportation and—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeated again, this time more firmly. “We just received word of a huge accident down the Shibuya intersection and I’m afraid we have to respond immediately. Please allow us two hours to reach you and in the meantime, keep your girlfriend warm and out of the weather.”

The dial tone echoed down the line, and Sukuna thought he had hallucinated the whole conversation.

But, before he could go on a rant about how terrible and unfunded government hospitals are becoming in this country, you grabbed his arm, wincing in pain.

“Call Satoru,” you said in a strangled voice. “Call him and he’ll come. T-take my phone from my pocket.”

Sukuna did as you asked, putting his ego aside to call up the white-haired motherfucker. 

However, just as he was about to press the button, a soft voice interrupted the both of you.

“Do you need a lift?”

Haloed by his car lights, a tall, blonde man strode towards them, his hands in his pockets and a look of solemn worry on his face.

Sukuna didn’t know the guy, but evidently you did when he heard your soft and pained gasp.

“K-Kento?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He sounded formal, though the look in his eyes was steeped with regret. 

Something about how you said his name made the other man think this Kento guy was special to you.

But, he had no time to ask if this was the same ex who had landed you in this pickle with three other men; your legs had given out and you were sinking into the snow with an agonised cry.

Using all his strength, Sukuna hauled you into his arms, ignoring your shriek of surprise.

Looking this Kento stranger in the eye, he nodded towards the humming car. 

“Thanks. You came just in time. Y/N needs a hospital.”

Kento’s eyes never left your prone form in his arms, and Sukuna was starting to feel like he had unwittingly landed in the middle of something entirely too intimate.

The both of you were locked in a silent staring competition, and the tattoo artist had just about enough of this unspeakable tension.

“Oi,” he barked, loud enough to startle Kento’s attention back to him. 

“Are we just gonna fucking stare around? Y/N’s about to pop out her baby. We have to get to the hospital—now.”

— reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost, or claim as your own

[yestrnight]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ WANT U SO BAD, MISTER !

FROM : gepard / fem! reader

SUBJECT : it's immoral to want a sweet little thing like you, especially when he's well into his 30s and you're still a youngling in your 20s. but should he really feel guilty, when you want him just as bad?

( hopefully this is a bit more tame than my other works; age gap; pússy rubbing; gepard feels guilty; dubcon turned consensual )

gepard knows you’re a sweet thing. when he walks into serval’s workshop for his visits, you always greet him with a smile so sunny it could combat the eternal freeze. you’d drop the little machine you were tinkering with and head into the back to pull out a tray of desserts you’ve baked and trot right over to him. they’re originally for serval, who’d usually become too immersed in her work to remember to eat. but you are ever the dutiful assistant, looking after her whilst picking up some of the more trivial machinery to fix.

when he picks up a still warm cookie, he thanks you. his eyes linger a bit too long on your back when you run off to where you originally were.

serval leans over the counter with a shit-eating smile, chomping into a cookie. “oh, my cute lil brother,” she laughs. “you’ve got a decade on the kid. does the righteous captain of the silvermane guards really wanna go down that alley?”

the next time he comes over, serval is nowhere to be seen. you occupy her usual place at the counter, tongue peeking out from the side of your mouth as you focus on picking apart a faulty machine. you barely hear the chiming of the bell when he comes in, and only come to your senses when his broad shadow looms over you.

“oh, dear!” you gasp, pulling up your goggles. “i am so sorry mister gepard. i didn’t hear you come in.”

something about being alone with you without his nosy older sister in sight makes him even more awkward and nervous. “that’s alright,” he coughs. “where is serval, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“she was called in by the supreme guardian to discuss some internal repairs to qlipoth forth’s security devices.” you quickly sweep off the machine parts off the counter and smile up at him, to which his heart skips a beat. “sit, sit! i baked a fresh new batch of pastries in the back. i’ll bring it right out.”

so when he does take a seat and see you scamper off to the kitchen, he is left alone with the silence and his thoughts… of you, and those particularly nice tights you’re wearing. young belobogians often have their fashionable trends to combat the cold, but he wonders how warm those tights might be if they’re so thin they show off those pretty legs of yours.

white lace patterned in seductive heart patterns, teasing his eyes with the smooth skin beneath them. where those pretty tights end, they dig into your skin and emphasize the softness of it. he buries his face into his hand as he thinks of squeezing and grabbing them, trailing kisses up them till he—

“mister gepard?” your worried face suddenly appears in front of him. “oh no, did i turn the heater up too high? ah, i’ll fix it right now!”

“n-no, it’s fine, [your name],” he grabs your wrist, still blushing. “it’s not hot, really. just that…” his eyes wander into the plush skin between your shorts and tights, before he catches himself and forces to make eye contact with you. “nothing… it’s nothing. i… really should be going now.”

“even when i have something for you to eat?” you pout. “please stay for a little while, mister gepard.”

“angh… [your name], please, this isn’t appropriate…!”

“what’s wrong, mister gepard sir?” your face bearing the innocence of an angel, you cock your head at him as if you’re not milking his cock dry. through your panties (blue and white stripes, gepard’s mind unnecessarily observes, and he blushes) your pussy lips hug his throbbing cock between them, and you let out a keen moan when his fat head grinds against your clit. “but you looked so hungry! i thought maybe i’d let your friend have a taste.”

his big hands clench the sheets behind them, trying to stop himself from grabbing your hips. he grits his teeth and he looks up at you with a desperate pleading look. “please, dear,” he near begs. “you shouldn’t be doing this with a man my age.”

he’s in the early stages of his 30s, you’re barely 20. he’s lived an entire decade more than you, have touched and broken the hearts of women older than you, have tasted and succumbed to the pleasure of bodily desire more than you have— gepard can imagine that you barely had your first kiss. it’s like he’s taking advantage of you, even when you’re the one who unbuttoned his pants and pulled his erection out of them. he doesn’t want this, doesn’t like this— even when his breath goes ragged at the heat of your warm pussy.

“but!” you pout, and you squelch your cunt against an angry vein running along the side of his dick. you’re so fucking wet, it’s unimaginable. are all young pussies like this, or do you just want him that bad? he throws his head back when you drip all over him. “i’ve always admired you, mister gepard. you’re so handsome and gentlemanly, and then i catch you looking at me like that. don’t you think it’s unfair for you to reject me like that?”

“i—! a-ah…?!” a sharp moan comes out from him when you thumb the slit of his dick. “it’s no good for someone like me to… ngh… to chase after you. it’s— it’s wrong!” his protests barely reach you as you marvel at the heat in your palm. it’s sooo big, and your thumb and index finger can only slightly touch each other. you drag your throbbing cunny again, making sure to coat the entire length in your own slick. gepard whimpers with every drag, eyes peeking out from behind his hands as he watches you debauch your body with his perverted length. it’s disgusting, he shouldn’t be doing this to you–!

you can barely control yourself as you sit back and admire his cock, shiny with your slick and throbbing needily. a gentle graze of your finger already has it twitching like mad.

“poor thing…” you say in pity. “looks like you need a loooot of help, mister gepard.” 

“please, [your name], dear.” he sounds breathless as he begs you not to do this to yourself. his heart beats louder and louder as he watches you prop yourself up with a cunning smile, and tease your hole with his leaky tip. you grab onto his chest for support, looking down at him like an angel-turned-devil.

“this is my thanks for protecting us from the eternal freeze~” no no no no, the tip of his length is sinking into you, and the pulse of your warm pussy is making him lose his mind by the second. his thighs are shaking as he controls himself to not plunge it all in. you’re not a monster, gepard, he scolds himself. just tell them to stop. they’re a sweet kid, they’ll un–

“f– fuck!”  gepard yells out when you sink onto the rest of his length, and his back is arched while you smile in ecstasy after finally taking the whole thing. “[y - your name]...! you…!”

licking your lips, your hand trails down to your stretched out cunny, spreading your legs as you show off the pussy lips that have taken in his dick. it’s a perverse, filthy sight. it’s exactly the kind of thing the landaus have taught him not to fallen prey to. he was to marry a gentlewoman, of proper breeding, and make love to her in a noble and loving way.

but here he is, breath cut short as he stares wide-eyed at you. you and your pussy dripping around his throbbing length, hands stretching your lips so you can show it all off and remind him just how much he’s fallen.

and with the way you look at him, he thinks he was wrong in even thinking you were ever a good kid.

[kurishiri]

THE CHARA CAFE × Ikemen Villains menu translation

(src) this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties. You can click on the image for better quality. Please reblog, not respost!

which ones would you order? ✨✨

To my precious robin and from the self-righteous king, a most sinful love: a frozen strawberry drink (William)

strawberry ice cream

strawberries

milk

strawberry sauce

whipped cream

I encaged the scenery I saw with you inside this glass: a blue ocean drink (Elbert)

blue raspberry syrup

lemon water

lemon slice

gold leaf

Drink this if ya want. I ain’t drinkin’ it though: a ruthless butterfly pea soda (Jude)

butterfly pea syrup

carbonated water

lemon syrup

violet jelly

I want your greatest happiness: a berry tea of happiness (Ellis)

berry tea

blackcurrant jam

For you, the sinful one who wandered into a den of evil: the death god’s hot chocolate (Victor)

cocoa

whipped cream

coffee sauce

Blooming in the dark night, a violet cream soda

cider

purple melon syrup

vanilla ice cream

cherry

wafer cake with bean jam (monaka)

I swear a most sinful love to you on this wedding mocktail

pink grapefruit syrup

peach cheese

carbonated water

edible flower

“So that you, the one I love, may smile, I cast a magic spell on this”: the Cheshire Cat’s fresh fruit salad (Liam)

salad mix

smoked salmon

raisins

grapefruit

diced nuts

lemon dressing

black pepper

edible flower

wafer cake with bean jam (monaka)

“Nothing like meat for a reward, don’t you agree, lil lady?”: the egoist’s roast beef plate (Roger)

roast beef

rice

rock salt

baby leaves

parsley

mini tomatoes

camembert cheese

steak sauce

The Crown members’ favorite! The head chef’s special tomato sauce pasta

pasta

tomato sauce

bacon

consommé soup

parsley

crouton

“Hey, wanna split this half and half with me?”: a chocolate mint parfait of the Lying Fox’s charm (Harrison)

bavarois

mint jelly

chocolate corn flakes

whipped cream

mint chocolate ice cream

chocolate sauce

mint

brownie

“Aha! It’s my creation, as someone with a steel stomach”: a special scone set made by Alfons

scone

vanilla ice cream

blue raspberry syrup

whipped cream

chervil

biscuit

silver dragee

A vow to fall deeper into your sinful love: a wedding berry cake set

berry cake

macaron

cookie

whipped cream

mint

cotton candy

rock salt

wafer cake with bean jam (monaka)

Dessert of the robin on a moment’s break: a fresh fruit cocktail

cider

orange (mandarin)

yellow peach

cherry

strawberry

three-colored agar agar

heart-shaped gummy

popping candy

if you order something from the food or dessert menu, you’ll be gifted a 2L photocard (top), and if you order a drink, you get a coaster (bottom).

[ckret2]

Chapter 36 of human Bill Cipher is on death row in the Mystery Shack and would rather not be, featuring: the author being pissed as hell after spending all day drawing eight pictures for a comic oh my god it really took all day, and then discovering that the Internet connection is so shitty the images won't upload, so y'all have to pretend that I included eight pictures here and cheer and clap and applaud for them.

Insert colorful pictures here. 💦 Use your imagination. 🚗 I'm so tired.

But more importantly: Mabel makes Bill do community service.

EDIT FEB 8: i finally got around to uploading the art lmao

I don't know why I thought all that effort was a good idea. Please appreciate the hell out of it.

####

Two blue- and orange-haired girls trailed after a pink-haired girl as she furiously stormed into the stark white control room. Each wore the same uniform—a skintight space suit with a pleated skirt and heart-shaped patches that matched their hair colors on their sleeves—but the pink-haired girl had taken off her helmet and ripped the patches off her sleeves. "Please, Momoko-chan," the blue-haired girl said, "don't do it. What if you make the director angry—?"

"That devil can't feel a human emotion like that," Momoko snapped, making the blue-haired girl gasp in horror. "I've made up my mind, Aoko-chan! Are you joining me or not?"

Aoko bit her lip, pressing one hand worriedly over her chest. "I can't."

"What about you, Orenjiko-chan?"

The orange-haired girl shook her head, her curly corkscrew locks bouncing inside her helmet.

"Fine! Then I'll just do it myself." Momoko stomped into the aisle between the computer consoles and looked up at a shadowy figure at a desk, overseeing the control center from a mezzanine level high above. "Hey, Director!" She threw her heart-shaped patches to the ground. "I quit!"

The shadowy figure didn't flinch. A cold, emotionless voice said, "Is that so."

"I've had enough of your lies! You told me my anger was just me tapping into the righteous fury I needed to protect humanity—but it isn't! These battles are... doing something to me!" She held her hands in front of her face, watching as they trembled. "Every time I'm on the battlefield, my berserker rage keeps getting stronger and stronger. The last time I lost control, I turned on my own friends and nearly killed..." She looked guiltily at the cast on Aoko's broken arm. "I won't do it again. I want out."

"It's too late for that." The director leaned forward into the light. A small floppy-eared albino bunny in a navy blue suit sat on the desk, the reflection on its sunglasses hiding its cruel pink eyes, its fuzzy white paws pressed together in front of its face. "We made a deal, Momoko-chan. I gave you your wish, and you gave us your heart." A wall lit up behind the bunny, displaying a dozen glass terrariums. Each one contained a live, beating human heart. "The battery we replaced your heart with must be running low. You'll need to recharge it, whether you want to or not."

Momoko flinched. She reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a heart-shaped crystal on a chain like she was retrieving a pocket watch. It faintly glowed a hot pink, but even as she looked at it, it faded closer and closer to black.

She frowned and stuffed the crystal back in her pocket. "Then I want to trade back."

"What?!"

"My heart for my wish."

"You can't," the bunny said. "That wish is the only thing protecting your friends! If I reverse it—"

"That's just it," Momoko said. "When I made that wish, I thought my friends needed me to protect them! But now, having fought alongside them..." She looked to Aoko, and then Orenjiko. "I know the truth. And it's that they never needed me to save them! They were always strong enough to save themselves. I just needed to have faith in them."

Aoko's eyes watered up. Orenjiko said, "Oh, Momoko-chan—"

The bunny pounded a soft paw on its desk, calling the girls' attention back. "When will you learn, child! Once you've made a choice, there's no way to undo it! None of your mistakes will ever be erased—and no matter how you grovel, God will not forgive you! So will you die in shame like a worm? Or will you shoulder the burden of your sins and carry on into the future?"

The bunny sat back and looked at a photo in a cracked picture frame on its desk. It showed another bunny in an apron with big golden hoop earrings, holding a tinier bunny that was sucking on a pacifier. A tear rolled down the bunny's fuzzy cheek, hidden from the girls behind its paws.

"We must all live with the consequences of our choices," the bunny said. "Now you must live with yours."

Aoko and Orenjiko frowned and looked away from the bunny, afraid to meet their director's steely gaze. Even Momoko's scowl wavered with doubt.

The bunny adjusted its sunglasses, reasserting its cool, detached demeanor. "The next angel attack will reach Retro Tokyo at midnight. And if I'm not mistaken, you have less than 24 hours until your batteries run dry. You'll need to be in your cockpits to recharge them. You might as well fight."

Aoko's shoulders sagged in defeat. Orenjiko murmured, "Yes, sir." They meekly crept out of the control center.

Only Momoko remained, glaring up at the director. It glared down, unmoved. Momoko grit her teeth and growled at it.

"Enough foolishness. You know what you have to do," the bunny said. "Get in the Fukuin robot, Momoko."

"Dang it!" She stamped her foot with an angry grunt and trudged out of the room.

The shot closed in on the bunny's face as it murmured, "Someday, you'll understand," and then the screen went black. The words Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation! Episode 23: The Dark Heart of the White Rabbit! flashed on screen as the ending theme played.

Soos said, "If you ask me, that's one of this season's best episodes. It's often forgotten for the lack of spectacular mecha combat Annihilation is known for, but I find the emotionally-driven episodes give me more to think about later, and we couldn't have gotten this kind of character development out of Momoko in a more action-packed episode. Plus, it gave Director Bunbun some much-needed depth. It doesn't excuse its actions, but it explains them."

"This is exactly why Bunbun's my favorite character," Melody said. "It feels so bad for its mistakes, but all it knows how to do is double down on them. I just wanna give it a hug."

"As much as you want Bunbun to stand down, it's clear why it thinks it can't. It's a textbook example of the sunk cost fallacy," Ford said thoughtfully.

As the episode credits played, Fiddleford leaned over to whisper to Ford, "I think I might've figured out a way to synthesize that paradox element we're needing."

"Did you? Fiddleford, that's amazing—"

"Don't get too excited just yet, I only might've figured it. Usually, I'd want to run a lot more calculations to confirm it—but considering the dire circumstances, we might just need to run the experiment and see what happens."

Ford stared at him. "Skipping calculations? Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Heh! You hush. It ain't dangerous, I just don't know if it'll work. We'll have to pull a fast one on the universe."

Ford was dying to know what that meant; but before he could ask, the credits ended and Momoko's voice actor perkily announced, "Next time on Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation!"

A school exploded. A bright orange combat mech as tall as a skyscraper exploded. A steel grey warship exploded.

Director Bunbun's voice said, "Remember, Momoko, your true enemy isn't the angels, but entropy itself. We are fighting to save the universe from a cold grave. If God wants to kill us, we'll just have to kill God first!"

A giant one-eyed mechanical angel spread out four white-hot arms and six wings with metal feathers like enormous knives. It threw back its inhuman head and trumpeted toward the heavens. And then it exploded.

Tate pointed at the exploding angel, pointed at his father, and said, "Don't even think about it, Dad."

"I wasn't! I ain't got enough beards to run all them arms." Between episodes, Fiddleford hissed to Ford, "I'll explain tomorrow. Come over with Stanley and Soos. I'll need all y'all's help to pull this off."

Ford nodded. He'd have to tell Stan in the morning. He just hoped whatever Fiddleford had in mind would work.

####

As soon as the vending machine opened, Ford could hear Mabel in the living room: "Checkmate! You owe me a soda."

"That's what yooou thiiink," Bill said, voice sing-song. "Congratulations on cornering my king's body double."

"Aw, man! I hate when you do that."

"Good luck finding him amongst all my pawns!"

They were up this early? Ford had thought he'd have to wake the kids. (He'd hoped he would get to them before Bill was up.) He leaned into the living room to see what they were up to.

Bill and Mabel were sitting at the table, playing chess. He recognized some of Mabel's "fairy chess" pieces on the board. They were obviously well into their current game; each had claimed about half the other's pieces.

(It was eerie how much more Bill looked like Bill these days; he'd somehow found a top hat to add to his ensemble, and now when Ford saw him from behind—yellow hair blending into his yellow hoodie, with the eye on his hood laying flat on his back—for a split second, he nearly looked like himself again.)

Mabel waved. "Good morning, Grunkle Ford!" (Bill glanced back at Ford over his shoulder, and the illusion was shattered.) "You're up early!"

"Good morning. So are you." He nodded toward Bill with a disapproving frown. "You do know he cheats, right?"

Mabel gushed, "I know! It's so fun!"

"She's a worse cheat than I am," Bill announced proudly.

"It's not cheating when I do it, I'm a senator!" Mabel leaned across the table, snatched the top hat off Bill's head, and proudly set it on her own. "I can legalize anything I want!"

"Well oh-kay, Miss Senator." Bill stole the hat back. "We're still monarchists on this side of the board."

Ford took a few steps closer to inspect their game more closely. "Why are there sandwich cookies on the chessboard?"

Bill said, "Mabel's got the knights all cozy in the horse stable," he pointed at the "nest" Mabel had made by folding the bottom of her sweater up, "so I'm trying to coax mine back out with delicious treats."

"It'll never work!" Mabel crowed. "The horses are too cozy!"

"I'll get them eventually! Even the loneliest monkey goes to Wire Mother to feed!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ford said, "He's referring to an important psychology experiment where baby monkeys were..." He caught sight of Bill's face, looking right at him and grinning oh so brightly, and mumbled, "Never mind." He cleared his throat. "Anyway—Mabel, when you've finished your game, could you head downstairs? I need to discuss something with you."

"Oh. Okay, sure," Mabel said, giving him a questioning look.

"How come?" Bill's exposed eye was locked onto Ford like a laser. "Is it about the Mysteries?"

The what? Before Ford could ask, Mabel quickly said, "I haven't told Bill anything about the Mysteries, I promise!" She winked at Ford.

Hmm. Ford looked at Bill and said coolly, "I don't think the Mysteries are any of your business, Cipher." He had no idea what game he'd just been roped into, but he was gratified by how quickly Bill scowled.

"I'll be back downstairs in a few minutes," Ford said; and then left to pass the same message on to Dipper and Stan.

####

Ford woke Dipper; told him, like he'd told Stan, not to go through the living room to reach the elevator so Bill wouldn't notice how many people were congregating downstairs; and then headed back down. Stan was out of bed by now, drinking coffee and still in his underwear as he spectated the chess game from the doorway. Stan nodded, "Morning."

"Morning." Ford paused to watch alongside him.

Over thirty years ago, Ford's chess games with Bill had been minor acts of psychological torture. In their first meeting, after flattering the dickens out of Ford's intelligence, Bill had set up a game of "interdimensional" chess; Ford had quickly figured out from Bill's moves that some rules of interdimensional chess were different from Earth's chess; and then, afraid of looking ignorant in front of this strange, friendly muse, Ford had decided to try to pick up the rules of interdimensional chess based on what Bill did rather than ask for an explanation.

The challenge of figuring out the new rules might have been fun, if he hadn't lived in fear of making a fool of himself in front of an interstellar angel. As it was, though, he constantly fell into traps he didn't know were there ("Rookie mistake, by using your bishop to check me you activated my wormhole!"); he never seemed to remember all the things the pieces could do ("Sure, I upgraded my queen to ricochet off the edges squares—I'm surprised you haven't yet!"); and more often than not, when he tried to emulate Bill's moves, Bill gently "reminded" him that it wasn't the right time or place for Ford to do that; and Ford, humiliated and sheepish, had "corrected" his error. He won rarely, but not often.

It took years for Ford to learn there was no such devil as "interdimensional chess." Bill had used the name as a ruse to make up whatever rules he wanted. And on top of that, Ford had it from several reliable sources that Bill wasn't even that good at chess.

Now here Bill was pulling the same con on Mabel with "fairy chess"—and when he tried to tell her it didn't matter that she'd taken out his (disguised) king because the queen was co-regent, she told him that her pieces had democratized and Bill couldn't win until he'd defeated all of them. He not only allowed her this rule; he actually seemed thrilled. Proud.

It was so different from the cordial, half-interested way he'd played chess with Ford.

Ford was sure Bill had just decided this was the best way to keep Mabel's attention; she would have seen secret rules as an unfair imbalance rather than a mental challenge, she had no doubt asked Bill to explain how "fairy chess" worked rather than stupidly tried to guess herself, and if she noticed her opponent was disinterested she'd probably lose interest too rather than try harder. Obviously, Bill had to handle Mabel differently than Ford.

But a small part of Ford wondered: if he'd ever looked Bill dead in the eye, moved a rook like it was a bishop, and confidently informed him that the board had slipped into a mirror universe—would Bill have laughed in delight and congratulated him on figuring out the game?

Stan nudged Ford. "Hey. You look like you could bite through a chair leg," he murmured. "Are you alright?"

Ford snapped, "No, of course I'm not."

Stan gave him a surprised look. "What?"

"What?" Ford shook his head. "Sorry—I misheard you. I thought you asked if I was jealous. Of course I'm not jealous; and yes, I'm alright." He cleared his throat. "What was I—? The study. Right." He clasped his hands behind his back and marched across the living room, nodded to Mabel as he passed, ignored Bill, and swept into the gift shop.

Stan stared after him, stared into the living room trying to figure out what the heck Ford could possibly be jealous over—Bill and Mabel were cracking up over a rook Mabel had turned upside-down and debating the mechanics of a reverse-gravity chess variant—then shook his head and headed back to the kitchen.

Mabel took out one of Bill's bishops and snuck two sandwich cookies off the board to eat without him noticing. He was only half focusing on the game now, distracted by the sound of the most beautiful word in the English language ringing in his head: jealous, jealous, jealous.

####

Stan was the first down, followed by Mabel—"Grunkle Ford, just so you know, I told Bill you gave me that clear pyramid because you inducted me into the Mysteries! He's been going cuckoo trying to find out what that means!"—and then Dipper, hair still disheveled from sleep. Ford nodded. "Good. Everyone's here."

"Great," Stan said, "now what's going on? What's with the whole cloak-and-dagger act?"

"Yesterday, Fiddleford informed me that he may be on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—but he needs some assistance. Stanley, he specifically said it's crucial that both of us and Soos help."

Stan groaned, rolling his eyes. "If this is another one of his cockamamie giant robots..." (Mabel laughed, "Cockamamie.")

"It isn't," Ford said seriously. "Soos is already prepared to go. But if the three of us are at the Northwest estate..."

Stan nodded in comprehension. "And Mrs. Ramirez is out visiting family today." He looked at Dipper and Mabel. "So it'll be just the two of you in the shack with the demon today."

Mabel nodded. Dipper frowned; he'd had an investigation he wanted to go on today. "So, this scientific breakthrough—is it...?"

Ford paused. "Too soon to tell. But, if everything goes stupendously well... it could be, yes."

"What are the odds of it going that well?" Stan asked.

"At a loose, uneducated guess? 20%. But I'd give only 20% odds that it will end in complete failure, too. Far more likely, what we do today will just bring us one step closer to... to." He shrugged. "To the end of everything."

There was a split second too long of silence as everyone tried not to look at Mabel to see how she took that. But she just nodded again.

Ford took in a deep breath and nodded. "So. Dipper, Mabel, you've got Soos's number in case of emergency," he said. "I know you've dealt with Bill yourselves a few times, but—are you both confident you can handle him entirely alone today?"

Stan laughed, breaking some of the tension in the room. "Of course they can handle him! Have you seen 'em? Mabel's got that monster doing anything she says!"

"Oh, come on," Mabel said, waving off the compliment but grinning. "I just get how he thinks, that's all."

"Yeah, and that makes you the only one!"

Dipper gritted his teeth. It stung that only Mabel was getting a vote of confidence—what, did they not think he could handle Bill, too? But he supposed he couldn't argue with it. Mabel was the expert on Bill. Dipper couldn't even have a full conversation with him without getting tangled up in weird haunting metaphors about caves and shadows.

Ford nudged Stan. "But they still need to keep their guard up around him." To Dipper and Mabel, he said, "Do not tell him we're gone, so he can't try to take advantage of the adults being missing. And don't leave him unsupervised. We should be back by dinner."

"Got it," Dipper said.

Mabel snapped off a salute and said, "You can count on us!"

####

Mabel burst into the living room, made a beeline for Bill lying down on the couch, and flung herself across his stomach. "Hey Bill! If you don't tell anyone that I told you that the adults are gone, I'll take you outside to do something fun!"

Bill grinned and tossed aside the Gold Chains For Old Men issue he'd picked up. "Deal!"

####

"This is such a bad idea," Dipper told Mabel as she collected buckets and towels. "You don't trust him that much, do you?"

"It's fine. We have an understanding now," Mabel said. "We speak the same language!"

Dipper grimaced. "I don't really think..."

From the entryway, Bill called, "Found the bracelets! They were hanging on the coat rack." He ducked into the kitchen, already wearing one half of the enchanted bracelets. "Ready?"

"Ready!" Mabel grabbed her half as she ran by, and they were out the door.

Dipper reluctantly followed.

####

On Summerween, some kids had gone at Stan's car with eggs, toilet paper, and—by the looks of the damage—probably also several rocks, keys, and the scratchiest branches they could find. Stan had already washed off what damage he could; but there were still some bits of egg stuck in the seams of the car, and the paint job was a tragic scraped-up disaster, capped off by the giant phrase "TRICK-OR-CHEATER" scratched across the driver's side doors.

Mabel led them to the car and set down her buckets. "Wait here, I've gotta get the hose."

Bill studied the contents of the buckets—cleaning brushes, towels, various liquid soaps. "So, what are we doing?" He emptied one bucket's supplies. "Adding to the damage?" He lifted the metal bucket over his head, prepared to throw it down on the car's hood.

"NOOO! BILL!"

He laughed, "I'm messing with you!" He set the bucket back down.

Mabel returned with a running hose and started filling the buckets. "Grunkle Stan was complaining about how hard it is to repair a classic car like this," she said. "So, I thought we could surprise him by fixing it while he's gone. And you can show everyone how much nicer you're getting by helping!"

"Aw, what?" Bill planted his hands on his hips. "You took me outside to do community service?"

"Bill." Mabel grabbed his arms. "I think it's really important that you show everyone how much nicer you're getting. Really."

Bill swallowed down the urge to scoff. "Sure—but by doing chores for Stan? I'll be nice, but I won't be boring."

"We can play with the hose, too!"

Bill thought that over. "Okay, I'm in." It was an opportunity to get some sunshine, at least.

"Good!" Mabel grinned evilly, lifted the hose, and sprayed it at Bill's face.

He ducked just in time for the stream to miss his head and knock off his hat (which Mabel had generously permitted Bill to hold onto, since she'd forgotten she owned it). He snatched up a brush and a towel like a sword and shield and backed away from Mabel. "Ha! You'll have to do better than that, kid! I can see every possible future branching out from this moment—you'll never land a surprise attack on me!"

"You can see the future, but can you see... this?" Mabel yanked on the hose. It pulled taut behind Bill's ankles.

He tripped, yelped, and landed on his back. "No," he said, staring at the sky. "Apparently I can't."

Mabel sprayed the hose in his face.

Within a couple of minutes, they were on opposite sides of the car, lobbing soggy soapy sponges and towels back and forth at each other—and, in the process, accidentally managing to get the car a tiny bit cleaner as their projectiles drizzled soap over it. Bill had thus far successfully dodged nearly all of Mabel's projectiles—his lower legs and sleeves were more soaked than the rest of him, and mainly from preparing his attacks—while Mabel was quickly drenched and accusing Bill of cheating. Waddles, who had been allowed outside (and, Bill noted, not required to wear a leash), elected not to join the battle, but was quite content to bask in the mud puddle expanding around the car.

And Dipper, meanwhile, sat on the porch, his journal open and ignored in his lap, glaring at Bill and Mabel, disapproving of this scene as hard as he could.

"Okay, truce!" Mabel shouted. "Time out! Pause! Sto—" A soaked towel landed on her face as Bill cackled. She pulled it off. "My bucket's empty, I've gotta refill it."

"You think I'd show mercy just for that?"

"Seriously, Bill!" She ran over to the porch with her bucket and hose.

"Coward!" Bill called; and then, bereft of any targets to attack, entertained himself by picking up a sponge and actually starting to clean the car.

Dipper leaned over toward Mabel. "This is such a bad idea," he muttered.

"No it's not, it's great. Look, he's already helping."

"I'm serious. His aim's getting too good, he could throw a bucket over the top of the car and knock you out or something—"

"But he won't," Mabel insisted.

"How do you know?"

"Because..." Mabel attempted to convey her knowledge by swinging her arms emphatically. "Because he won't, okay? Bill's gonna do community service today and nothing's gonna go wrong!"

Dipper glared toward Bill—just to see that he was looking straight at them, not even trying to hide that he was listening in. He flipped up his eye patch to wink at Dipper.

"Fine." Dipper slammed his journal shut and got to his feet. "But I'm not sticking around."

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Dipper? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Just Mabel thinking washing a car would make Bill worthy of coming off of death row—which meant she wasn't taking the threat he posed seriously. Which apparently she didn't need to, because she understood him so well—everyone said so—while Dipper, official junior paranormal investigator, somehow wasn't the one who understood the alien demon, and now Mabel kept spending all her free time around Bill because they got each other so well—but Dipper didn't care. Why would he care? There was like a 20% chance Bill could be dead by the end of the day. Which wasn't big, but it was something. "I just don't wanna sit around watching you wash the car, okay?"

"Oh," Mabel said, shifting awkwardly. "You could help out?"

"No he can't!" Bill yelled.

Dipper ground his teeth and tried to ignore him. "I've got other stuff to do. I have a paranormal investigation to go on. It's what I wanted to do today until we got stuck on triangle-sitting duty. So if you're so sure you've got the situation under control, I can just go ahead and do that anyway." Under his breath, he muttered, "I thought we could do it together, but if you'd rather hang out with Bill..."

Mabel bristled. "Well—fine, then! I do have it under control. Thanks for noticing." A tad guardedly, she asked, "So... what's today's big investigation?"

Dipper hesitated, trying to decide how irritated he really was; but if Mabel had extended an olive branch, so should he. He flipped through his journal. "You know about all the recent nighttime burglaries?" He showed Mabel a page where he'd glued a printed-out photo of a long-legged, armless, ghostlike creature, and next to it paperclipped an article cut out from the Gravity Falls Gossiper. "Something's been stealing jeans from every clothing store in town. Based on the surveillance footage, I bet that it's a mysterious, little-known creature called—"

"The Fremont Nightwigglers?" Bill cut in. "Yeah, this is about the time of year their migratory route should take them through Oregon. You oughta check the dumpsters in town. They flock in parking lots at night, but during the day they tend to nest together in half-empty dumpsters."

Dipper stared at Bill.

"You're welcome!" Bill said.

Dipper couldn't even enjoy a good old-fashioned monster hunt without Bill stealing half the thrill of discovery. "Great," Dipper grumbled. He'd better get out of here—before Bill also spoiled what planet the Nightwigglers were from. "I'll see you later, Mabel." He trudged off to find his bike, angrily kicking a patch of grass as he went.

Mabel watched him go, half considering chasing after him.

And then Bill very carefully lobbed a soaking sponge straight at the back of her head.

Mabel squealed—"Bill!"—and charged back into battle.

####

It took them the better part of the morning to finish washing the car—in part because the growing mud puddle kept undoing their work. When they were done, Mabel stepped back and announced, "Okay, great work! Now it's time for... part two! Covering up the scratches." She whipped out two aerosol cans, "With spray paint!" She rattled the cans like underwhelming maracas. 

"Whoa, and you didn't even bring me safety goggles?"

Mabel stared at him. "Since when do you use safety anything?"

"I'm just saying. I'm not sure I trust you wielding spray paint near me."

Mabel thought it was still too soon to be cracking jokes about anything that happened in the Fearamid; but she punched his arm and said, "You'll be fine as long as you don't try to kill me. Here!" She handed him a third can.

He accepted it and shook it up. (Mabel felt like he was just doing it to hear the little ball rattling, too.) "So what's the plan?"

"Grunkle Stan said usually, car dents are... hammered out? Somehow?"

Bill nodded. "Intriguingly counterintuitive."

"But I don't know how to do that," Mabel said. "But! I saw this great makeup tutorial that explains contouring! You use makeup a little lighter and darker than your skin to make fake shadows so your face looks like a different shape!" She held up her cans next to Bill's; his was as near to the same color as the car as Mabel could find, while the other two were a bit lighter and darker. "So I thought, maybe we can use different shades of red to contour the dents and make them disappear? If we spray the shadowy parts with light red and spray the pokey-outie parts with dark red?"

Bill looked at the car thoughtfully. "Yeah, that makes perfect sense! I mean, what's 'three-dimensional' vision anyway?" He set his can on the ground so he could hold his arms out, forming a rectangle between his thumbs and forefingers, framing the car in between like it was a picture. "It's just a two-dimensional view that you take on faith is three-dimensional, because your mind's learned that highlights and shadows are the curvature being revealed by sunlight!"

Mabel had never considered that her vision of the world was a 2D view that looked 3D; but she had taken a lot of art classes, and the first lesson of a new art class was always drawing a circle and carefully shading it in pencil so that it looked like shadows being cast on a ball, so she kinda sorta figured she got it. "Yeah! Exactly like that."

"So you're absolutely right: shadowing the highlights and highlighting the shadows will just cancel out that curvature and make it look perfectly flat," Bill said. "You're an art genius, Shooting Star. We'll have this car looking good as new in no time."

####

Thirty minutes later, they had a scratched, dented car covered in terrible-looking mismatched blobs of red. They actually made the dents stand out more.

Mabel and Bill surveyed their masterpiece silently.

"I've figured out our problem," Bill said. "We forgot to account for Earth's rotation. As the planet turns, the sun casts shadows at different angles, so the dents' shadows will look slightly different."

"Ah. Yeah," Mabel said. "That's gotta be it."

"When I take over this town again, I'll freeze time and we can paint this thing properly."

Mabel wondered if there was a way to briefly freeze time with the time tape they'd confiscated, before quickly remembering exactly what she'd been trying to do when she'd started Weirdmageddon in the first place. "Let's come up with a plan that doesn't involve messing with the fabric of spacetime."

"Hm." Bill planted his hands on his hips thoughtfully. "I have a great idea. What if we cover up the dents with something cooler. Like—flames. Or lightning—"

Mabel gasped, "Or a wizard!"

Bill gave her a puzzled look. "Where are we going to find a wizard—? Oh, right, painting a wizard."

"Bill, that's perfect. We could give Grunkle Stan the airbrushed wizard van of his dreams!"

"Oooh. Oh yeah. I love that." Bill nodded appreciatively. "I've always thought Stanley was more of an 'airbrushed hot babe' guy, though."

"We can put a hot wizard babe on the other side," Mabel said. "And the wizard could be fighting a unicorn! Because that's awesome! And the unicorn probably deserves it. Grunkle Stan would totally fight a unicorn if he ever met one."

"I think we've got a plan."

They retrieved a wider variety of spray paint cans from inside the shack. Mabel took over the majority of the art duties—she was the only one of the two of them who could draw wizards or unicorns—and she left the little details (stars and lasers and so forth) to Bill. He got sidetracked several times drawing multiple copies of his own face around the battle scene, until Mabel pointed out Stan would get arrested driving around with those so they'd just have to cover them up.

Mabel had finished the first mural and was working on the hot wizard babe (it was riding a dolphin) when Bill called from the other side of the car, "Head's up, we're out of orange."

"That's the fourth color you've run out of. What are you doing?" Mabel circled around to the other side of the car to see his work. He'd added some graffiti across the windows in an alien alphabet—Mabel recognized some of the letters from when he'd left coded messages in Dipper's journal—and between the wizard and the unicorn...

Mabel wrinkled her nose. There was an immense multicolored blob stretching between the two figures, scribbled over multiple times in random patterns with every color they had. Well, now she knew why Bill was running out of colors. "Bill, what is that?"

"It's the wizard's magic rainbow laser! The one he's shooting at the unicorn."

"It's too many colors," Mabel said.

Bill gave her a shocked, deeply offended look. "Too many—? Who are you and what did you do with the real Mabel?"

"You can't use every color. For a laser like this, it's gotta be three or four colors."

"Unbelievable."

"And they need to be straight! If it's scribbled like that, it looks like a blob."

"It's more realistic that way! Wild magical powers don't go in a straight line—the more powerful it is, the more chaotic it gets!" Bill gestured insistently at the blob. "I'm doing a perspective thing, here—the colors layering over each other shows how they're all weaving together and wrapping around each other! See?"

Mabel studied the blob more closely. She shook her head. "Sorry Bill. It's just a mess."

Bill threw the empty orange can on the ground and flung his hands in the air. "I can't believe you of all people don't appreciate my art."

"The stars look nice," Mabel said. "And the alien text. It looks like magic wizard runes."

Bill grunted.

Maybe they needed a break. "I think we need to buy some replacement colors before we can finish," Mabel said.

"Yeah, sure," Bill said. "Pop open the car door for me, I can drive us to the hardware store—"

"Nope!" Mabel didn't trust him that much. "You're staying here. We'd get in too much trouble if anyone finds out I let you drive."

"You worry too much about getting in trouble," Bill said; but now that the conversation had moved on from the blob, he already sounded less irritated.

"Sorry, but you've gotta wait here while I get supplies. I'll just bike to the hardware store." She pointed at the house. "Back inside!"

Bill considered the command like he thought he had a choice in it; then nodded in approval. "Fine. Just help me get lunch outta the fridge before you go."

Surely he could find some way to entertain himself, all alone in the Mystery Shack, completely unsupervised.

####

(This chapter was a nonstop train of the most ridiculous scenes I could think of, I hope y'all enjoyed. If you did, I'd love a comment—some of my favorite jokes and character moments so far are in this chapter and I wanna know what y'all liked. Also after spending 9 hours on a comic my internet is too shitty for me to post I could really use some nice comments, thank you, I suffer so much for my art)

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

Fellow Travelers Fic Recs | Hot July

It’s the middle of summer and the mercury’s rising… Why cool down now? Here’s a long list of hot and steamy fics to keep you busy for a while. A variety of kinks for all persuasions–BDSM, Dom/sub undertones, Father Skippy fantasies, student/teacher sexy times, getting off at the office, Rehoboth Beach bondage and spanking and so much more. One thing’s for sure, they’ve all earned their E rating. Crank up the A/C and check them out!

The list starts with the top ten highest rated NSFW fics in the fandom, followed by everything else in no particular order.

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🍑 sacred word, bind me [E, 8K] By brokendrums | @brokendrums Tim takes a vow of silence, Hawk vows to break it.

🍑 We are tragically meant to be [E, 1K] By Fuddlewuddle | @fuddlewuddle He looks softer in his sleep, Hawk muses; fingertips lightly skimming over the ridge of Tim’s cheek bone, the curve of his ear feeling the small indent from where the frames of his spectacles rest whenever he’s awake.

Part 1 of Fellow Travelers

🍑 Teacher's pet [E, 11K] By ascandalinpink | @ascandalinpink Tim’s first class for today is his first class ever in this particular elective. It’s a foreign affairs course taught by professor Fuller, whom Tim has never met, but he’s heard about him. All high praise, which leaves this course highly sought after.

As the professor enters the classroom and the chatter around him dies down, Tim understands perhaps why this course is so popular. And it might have nothing to do with the curriculum itself.

Or, Tim starts sleeping with and develops feelings for his college professor.

🍑 Mad about the Boy [E, 5K] By redmyeyes | @redmyeyes “Tell me,” Hawk said, tilting Tim’s head back to give his forehead a quick kiss, “what does my boy want for his birthday?”

“Am I still? Your boy?”

Part 4 of Fellow Travelers

🍑 More. [E, 2K] By redmyeyes | @redmyeyes Tim wants more. Hawk obliges.

Part 2 of Fellow Travelers

🍑 Feeding on chaos and living in sin [E, 2K] By Fuddlewuddle | @fuddlewuddle Tim doesn't expect Hawk to call. And even when he does, the call doesn't go as Tim expects. But then he should probably stop trying to predict what Hawkins Fuller will do.

Part 2 of Fellow Travelers

🍑 I Guess I've Got The Christmas Blues [E, 5K] By captainquint | @jesterlesbian Tim Laughlin stood in front of Hawk, one hand still raised as if to continue banging on the door, his tweed jacked dotted with snowflakes. Water droplets were trapped on his glasses, maybe from melted snow. But with how red-rimmed his eyes were, there might have been teardrops on his glasses as well.

Hawk’s slightly intoxicated reflexes took a moment to spring into action upon seeing Tim. “Skippy,” he grinned, “what, did you miss me that much? I’ll still be here after New Year’s."

Tim’s face screwed up in a look of righteous fury that Hawk knew meant an argument was coming. And before he could react, Tim was shoving Hawk backwards and into the apartment, slamming the door behind them.

“You absolute ass!”

Or, Tim confronts Hawk about his being investigated by the M Unit.

🍑 the thrill of your sweet embrace [E, 4K] By redmyeyes | @redmyeyes 1957 anthology series. Standalone chapters of missing/extended scenes from 1957.

Part 7 of Fellow Travelers

🍑 Love [E, 2K] 💠 By Ikharys "It's going to be okay," Hawk whispers. Something in Tim's eyes makes it clear that he doesn't believe it, but he's not willing to argue. Or, the cabin scene, but a little different.

🍑 Lost Somewhere [E, 1K]💠 By Anagrrl Humming to himself a little, fingers digging into his palms briefly, Tim leans forward.

🍑 Can I? [E, 3K] By mailboxbutterflies | @mailboxbutterflies The kink is consent. The kink is open communication. (But also the kink is praise).

Or, taking the "Is this alright?" line from Ep1 and running with it.

🍑 Who Do You Belong To? [E, 2K]💠 By mrschesapeakeripper “That’s my good boy.” All those years later and the praise still made him blush. Or, the missing scene from the mutual masturbation episode. None of that "no touching" nonsense.

🍑 You taste divine [E, 1K] By nightfall_in_winter | @carnivalrow Hawk joins Tim in the shower in episode 6 because he wants to kiss him...there!

🍑 Love Is An Angel Disguised As Lust [E, 2K] By ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank Hawk's eyes darkened, from outshining the daytime sky to rivalling the night. His lips curved into a wicked smirk. If Tim didn't know better, he might suspect he'd just played right into Hawk's hands. "Educate me." That wasn't exactly what Tim had intended. But, his attention caught by the glint off Hawk's wedding ring, Tim decided he could work with that. Or, the edging fic that's probably sixty percent soft.

🍑 I want you to fuck me [E, 2K] By nightfall_in_winter | @carnivalrow THAT scene from Episode 8 but slightly different. :) Chapter 1 is Hawk's POV, Chapter 2 is Tim's POV.

🍑 Educate Me [E, 13K] By fullerthanskippy | @fullerthanskippy A Hawk x Tim AU in which the timelines jump from 2012 to 2014 to present day 2024. When present day Tim receives an invitation to the 10 year reunion of his Georgetown graduating class, he is filled with both hope and dread that he will run into one particular professor.

One man who was the through-line of his two years in grad school. The man who taught him more than he could have ever learned in the classroom.

When Tim is re-acquainted with Professor Hawkins Fuller, he immediately flashes back to 12 years prior, when he first encountered the man that he had no idea would be the greatest love and loss of his life.

Or, tons of garbage filthy smut sprinkled in between pining, angst, and fluff. Contains explicit material including but not limited to the likes of top!hawk, bottom!tim, top!tim, bottom!hawk, dom!hawk, sub!tim, bratty!tim, and much, much more. Enjoy!

Part 1 of Educate Me

🍑 you’re a gas leak and i’m a woodhouse [E, NR, 2K] By Anonymous “I want you to treat me like one of those bathhouse boys.” Part 2 of we do have reputations, we keep it secret

🍑 Rail me until I can't stand [E, 4K] By nightfall_in_winter | @carnivalrow Various missing scenes from episodes 1 and 8. Chapter 1 is Hawk's POV of their last time before Hawk's betrayal. Chapter 2 - Tim's POV of the same scene. Chapter 3 is a missing scene from Episode 1. Hawk is Tim's first because Skippy never went all the way with Bob...

🍑 After Hours [E, 1K] By ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank “That’s it,” Hawk praised, petting through the soft strands of Tim's hair. “Good boy.” Tim moaned softly around him, swallowing him deeper into the blissful pressure of his throat. Or, The office sex fic that no one asked for.

🍑 I Belong to You [E, 2K] By Cyantific | @beyondxmeasure This isn’t even close to how he saw their night ending, but here they are, and if Tim wants it rough, who is Hawk to deny him? Or, the ‘Hit me.’ scene… but a little different. In which Hawk still hits Tim, just not where you think.

🍑 in the still of the night [E, 1K] By thewindyoubargainedfor | @thewindyoubargainedfor Tim stayed up, waiting for Hawk to call. Hawk made it worth his while.

🍑 Only Himself To Blame [E, 1K] By ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank An evening out leads to some fun on the floor.

🍑 All Tied Up With Nowhere To Go [E, 2K] By captainquint | @jesterlesbian “Are they too tight?” Hawk asked, tugging on Tim’s wrists.

Tim’s wrists were, at that moment, bound to the headboard of Hawkins Fuller’s bed by some carefully knotted neckties. Tim was struck by the thought of Hawk wearing one of these ties to work on a later day, becoming distracted in his office thinking of what they had done with them on this night. His mouth twitched up at the corner.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Hawk placed a hand under his chin and tilted Tim’s face towards Hawk’s own. “This is important. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tim rolled his wrists and wiggled his fingers to show they were fine. “I’m not made of glass, Hawk, you don’t have to treat me like I’ll break.”

Hawk teases a tied-up Tim Part 2 of FT Valentine's Day 2024

🍑Shut Up and Drink Your Milk [E, 4K] By bre_thomas | @bre1995 ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank It all started with Hawk's "shut up and drink your milk" and then whispering how he wanted Tim to "fuck him". With those words alone, Tim doesn't hesitate. An extension of the Episode 8, '57 sex scene.

🍑 they said beware (lord hear my prayer) [NR, 2K] By Anonymous Tim’s eyes strayed to the windows, what lay beyond them—who lay beyond them.

🍑You're an Angel, I'm a Dog [E, 2K]💠 By spiffyyy He was never that good. “Father, forgive me for all the times when I fall short of your standards…” He took a breath and watched the ceiling fan rotate once, then twice. “And I’m sorry for this. It was what you gave me.” Tim picked his phone up and swallowed dryly before tapping on the notification to open Grindr. Or, the unlikely pairing of religious trauma and a Grindr hookup.

🍑Control and desperation [E, 3K] By mailboxbutterflies | @mailboxbutterflies Now Tim was really confused. "H...Hawk I really need to pee—" "I said no. You want to be a good boy for me, don't you, Skippy?" Tim nodded slowly as he started to put the pieces together. "Then hold it," Hawk repeated coolly. Tim saw a familiar fire behind Hawk's eyes. The kind that suggested he would be rewarded if he obeyed. "Okay, fine." And then, "Or at least I'll try." Or, Hawk makes Tim wet himself and then rewards him with shower sex.

🍑 Bloom [E, 2K] By hot_hellboy | @hot-hellboy Hawk fists Tim for the first time.

🍑 Fetch [T, 1K] By Deputy_Buck | @deputy-buck Hawk was consumed in drafting a small speech for a function Senator Smith had organized —something about acknowledging McCarthy's threat to the State Department but encouraging diplomacy— when Tim showed up on his doorstep looking like a kicked puppy. His boy promised that he would be quiet and that all he needed was to be somewhere safe while he felt this way.

🍑 Forgive Me Father [E, 2K]💠 By Loopygrove Hawkins lets Tim finish.

🍑 I want you to fuck me [E, 2K] By nightfall_in_winter | @carnivalrow THAT scene from Episode 8 but slightly different. :) Chapter 1 is Hawk's POV, Chapter 2 is Tim's POV.

🍑 Like Other Couples [E, 4K] By palfriendpatine66 | @palfriendpatine66 After the trip to Rehoboth Beach in ep 3 “Hit Me”, Hawk takes another shot at giving Tim the romantic dinner he wanted, this time opting for a more private affair.

🍑 Have You Ever? [M, 1K]💠 By Cozy_coffee “Has anyone ever licked that cute little ass of yours?” A fic in which a bold Hawk introduces a somewhat shy Tim to the pleasures of rimming.

🍑 hell is empty, and all the devils are here [E, 4K] By alorchik | @alorchik Hawk Fuller, a committed skeptic, spends his summers in a country house, living a solitary bachelor's life. His routine is disrupted when he unexpectedly encounters a young local priest who now constantly occupies his thoughts.

🍑 Our Little Remedy [E, 2K] By captainquint | @jesterlesbian A pinch of teeth at his neck made it known that Tim had heard him. He seemed restless tonight, rowdy in a way he got when too worked up about something. And it usually ended in one of two ways. Either an explosive argument that ended with one of them storming out, or fucking until they both lay exhausted, sweaty and sated. He could work with that. “Skippy, are you trying to ask me for something?” Or, bathroom blowjobs at the Cozy Corner.

🍑 all of my fighting done [E, 1K] By startagainbuttercup | @startagainbuttercup How he spent four weeks not kissing him, Hawk would never know. He doesn’t want to ever, ever stop, as he presses Tim to the door and gently licks into his mouth, touching his face and his solid body under him.

🍑 Chain of Command [E, 2K] By ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank Corporal Laughlin and Sergeant Fuller have some fun together.

🍑 'Home' [E, 4K] By bre_thomas | @bre1995 Hawk comes to visit Tim after a rough visit with his parents. And then spends the next morning with Tim. Filler/Missing Scene from Episode 2 'Bulletproof' The "It doesn't matter, I'm home now," kiss.

🍑 Two Can Play At That Game [E, 7K] By bre_thomas | @bre1995 ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank Hawk and Tim spend a very enjoyable morning together.

🍑 Got It Bad, Got It Good [E, 4K] By ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank Tim is in training for a marathon. Hawk thinks his Skippy ought to stop teasing him so much.

🍑 I Wanna Be a Cowboy's Sweetheart [E, 3K] By captainquint | @jesterlesbian Hawk tipped his hat politely towards Tim, the way he always did when he rode back into town and stabled his horse at the Liberty Bell, where Tim worked as a stablehand. The pay wasn’t much, but it was steady work, and the off-chance of spotting Hawkins Fuller in leather chaps astride a horse sweetened the pot considerably.

Hawk flashed Tim the look that he understood meant “Meet me around the back,” so Tim dawdled for a few moments more, trying in vain to wipe off as much dirt and muck as he could from his shirt before oh-so-casually strolling to behind the stables, where it met the treeline and provided just the right amount of cover.

🍑 Don’t Pull Your Love Out [E, 5K] By Cyantific | @beyondxmeasure Hawk visits Tim in prison, and it stirs up a lot of feelings, and a lot of memories. Part 4 of Man's Second Best Friend

🍑 It's Rude To Speak With Your Mouth Full [E, 1K] By ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) | @bluebellsinburbank Hawk was playing with fire, he knew, but the minute Tim had walked into his office, eyes lighting up just from the sight of him, Hawk had been powerless to resist. Whatever his boy wanted, he would have. And when Tim stepped between Hawk's legs, dropping to his knees with the grace of a lifetime of devotion - well, there were definite perks to working late.

Yet another office sex fic.

💠 Authors: If your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it. Or, if you are linked, and you'd rather not be, please contact me to remove it.

[heartofmortis]

✧ the night we met

. *. ⋆ Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

summary: you confront anakin on mustafar

warnings: angst, no y/n

note: thank you so much for the love on my first fic!! here's a gift 🫶

word count: 489

Sword in hand, you are ready for battle. The glow of your lightsaber is calming against the odds. Heat prickles your skin as lava bubbles around the two of you. (You search Anakin’s eyes for the crystalline blue you have loved for so long.)

Mustafar is a horrid place. You feel the claws of the dark side attempt to cling to your sandy robes. Your resolve is strong. You will never embrace the darkness. (But your knees still try to buckle when Anakin sets his amber gaze on you. And the flutter in your stomach will not leave.)

"Come with me," pleads the Sith apprentice masquerading as your lover. "We can be free now."

"Anakin." His name scratches your throat, the hot air drying your voice. You want to scream at him to undo what he has done — but it is done. The Jedi are gone, the war is over. "I can’t."

A spark of anger in Anakin’s frame sends chills down your spine. Against the raging fire, you did not think the dark side would also feel cold. Suddenly, his eyes are soft and you want to run to him — safe in each other's arms. "Don’t you leave me too."

Your heart aches, the weight (the fate) of the galaxy pushes you low. This is the cost of love. This is what the Jedi warned you about. There is a fine line between compassion and attachment — you and Anakin had crossed it without hesitation. There was such beauty in your love for each other. Could you really give it up now?

I am a Jedi, you whisper in your head again and again until it forms a mantra. You are a Jedi. To be a Jedi is to love and let go.

(How did we get here? You wonder, heart aflame.)

You and Anakin stand in a forest clearing. A clear sky of moon and stars above you. Night birds sing and luminescent bugs drift like stars themselves through tree branches.

Hearts in hand, you vow to each other: never to stray, never to forget. Together in life and death.

You dance and whisper under the stars, hands clasped tightly for the universe to see. Until the sun rises, it is just you two Jedi risking everything for each other. In the twilight of war, how could you know your love would destroy everything you hold dear?

You first met on a night like this: a cloudless sky, lost beneath woodland. (Mustafar once had forests too. Nothing lives forever.)

Too many have died for you to walk away (with or without Anakin). You stand between a Sith and oblivion. While you draw breath, no more Jedi will fall by Anakin’s hand.

The glow of your lightsaber is calming, a righteous voice to push you in the right direction by the Force’s will. Sword in hand, you are ready for battle. (One or both of you must die tonight.)

[midnightsunnyday]

And One Day He'll Be Known As... ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

➠ word count: 1564 ➠ characters: Lucifer/Reader, Lucifer & Reader ➠ cw: none, yet read at your own discretion. ➠ a/n: will there ever be a day I don't write a story about this man? No, not really. Also, not really sure what this is, but I wrote it during lunch break on my phone at work after reading through a "particular book." Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Before the day could even be called day, a light was born in a formless, empty world.

The light had no name, no shape, but it was conscious and very, very hot. In that moment, a great fear overtook it, for the light did not know these feelings it possessed, nor why it was brought forth. It then cried out into the void and from its cries, came many other lights and shapes that spiraled and crashed and split apart. It was then a voice rang out:

“Do not fear, for I am your Father, and all things that come from me are good, and from you, good things have formed."

The light then stilled, knowing that he was not alone here, and saw that these “good things” that formed were called stars and planets. And while the light was still scared, it knew that it was “good” and continued to help make good things.  

For many, many, many days, the light sat and watched as the Father worked through all his creation. It saw the void split in two, and learned that the brightness would be called “day” and the darkness “night.” Its home was now above the waters, which sat atop creation, and below it, the land, the sea, and its creatures. The Father would call this little blue ball “Earth,” and was very pleased with it. And while the light did not understand, it found it…so.

Soon after, the light was given a “brother,” and that brother would help lead the Father’s children beyond the firmament. By then, the light was now “he” and given a form that pleased him, with many wings and eyes as red as fire. He even had a name, “light-bearer" and like his sibling, a purpose: to watch over creation as its guides and judges.

One day, the light-bearer stood from above, looking down upon the Earth. Despite the passage of time, there were still many things he did not understand. If all the Father’s things were “good,” then why were some things “not good?” Why did beasts of land eat the smaller beasts? Why did the moths mistake the flame for light? Why did the birds fly themselves to death? And why did humans, who’d been given eternal life, forsake it to wander the wilderness? And these strange beings with horns and wings that stalked the night and preyed upon the humans. Are they a part of the plan? Because of these questions, the light-bearer couldn’t help but ask:

“Why is it all so…flawed?”

From above, his brother--now Michael--heard him and rang out.

“What do you mean, brother?”

“To be given life is a blessing," the light-bearer said. "Yet they do nothing but die and kill things, yet Father still finds them worthy of his creation. Why?”

It was not like one of the Father’s angels to question His creation, yet the light-bearer was not like other angels. He possessed a will far greater than most, and a mouth just as harsh. He was also very beautiful, yet such things did not concern him.

Michael laughed, admiring the way his brother bathed in the light. “An ant learns to find a path over the water when another drowns to cross it. Those things that are flawed give others the knowledge to do better.”

Lucifer pondered his own creation. He himself was created, not born. “So does that mean we have no flaws?”

“The Father did not intend for us to be flawed."

"Yet how do we have the knowledge to do better if we do not learn from our mistakes?"

"We were born righteous,” Michael answered. “And those things born righteous cannot make mistakes, as we already know our path and roles within it.”

“I see.” Lucifer gazed down at the vivid blue. Despite its size, it’d all seemed so boundless, stretching on forever. These creatures, not tied by what is good or not, had been given a choice. To choose one’s path and live with the mistakes within it. Such beings would be flawed, yes, but beyond that…

“I suppose I can see the beauty in it.”

And within him grew a feeling he could not yet explain.    

Of course, he did not know it then. But one day the light-bearer would come to know humanity very well. By then, he’d be known by a different name. One that the entire world would know. Not for all the good and light it helped create, but for all the evils that plagued it. A name known only as--

“—Oh, Luuucy!”

Lucifer knew of only one person who’d be polite enough to knock in this house and foolhardy to use such an embarrassing nickname. Admittedly, he found it refreshing.

“I know you can heeeere me!” You sung beyond the door.

Though if not a bit exasperating.

It was only natural that you came to him, as you did with all his brothers. You were kind, to the point of absurdity, yet it was a part of you he found charming. You entered—without answer, he’d add—holding a cup of his favorite tea, a clear means to soften the inevitable interrogation as to why, for the past several days, he hadn’t left his office. His brothers, having known the consequences of doing so, allowed him his peace. Yet you on the other hand, knew nothing of minding one’s own.

"We miss you at the table," your voice was low, biting your cheek as if to consider your next words. “How have you—"

"—I'm fine," Lucifer said, still pretending to scan through his paperwork. His response was simple. Pointed. And by your startled reaction, that should’ve been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

"I figured as much,” you said as you trotted carefully towards his desk. “Mammon said this was "normal" for you." You’d sat the cup beside him. The smell hit him with a bitter, floral odor, brewed extra strong to his liking. Your eyes lightened as you waited to see if he reached for it. He hadn’t. You inched it closer, smiling.

Lucifer removed his glasses, messaging his forehead. “Is there something that you need.”

You hummed as you tilted your head. “Not particularly.”

“So in other words, you’ve come to annoy me.” He sighed. “Wonderful.”

“Don’t think of it as an annoyance.” You plopped down into one of the chairs he kept in front of his desk. “More like helpful company.”

He hardened his gaze, yet your eyes refused to falter. Neither of you spoke, locked in a vicious game of eye-to-eye combat.

“You’re good at this,” you said. “What are you, the eye staring master?”

Lucifer tightened his lips. “I’m not playing a game.”

“That’s not what your face says.”

The grin you held continued to grow, until breaking into a fit of giggles. Without realizing, Lucifer snorted. It was small and he corrected himself immediately after, but it was too late. You’d taken his reaction as an admission of defeat, nodding your head in smug satisfaction for having managed to make the great Lucifer smile for once in his life.

“You’re truly a nuisance,” he said. He could feel his face heating. “A thorn in my side.”

“But I made you laugh, so I can’t be that bad, right?”

They were correct. But he’d never admit it. Not then, at least.

“But seriously, I don’t like seeing you cooped up doing nothing but work without break,” you said. “Maybe you’re used to it, but it’s not healthy. Even for a demon and you know…” You plucked at the skin of your fingers, a nervous tick not helped by your current predicament. “If something is wrong, you shouldn't hold it in. It's better to speak to people you love and trust."

"Oh?" He leaned forward, smiling. "And who might those people be? The ones that I love and trust?"

"Your family. Maybe Lord Diavolo," there was a brief pause, your fingers twiddling themselves together as if trying to solve a puzzle. "Or maybe you'd like...to talk to me?"

"That so? Tell me, which one do you think you’d fall into?”

“Oh.” You sat there, silent, your eyes pleading with the floor to swallow you whole. “Well you know I…it’s uh, you see—“

“—You’re right,” he spoke gently, reaching for his tea. “It would be nice to speak with someone I love and trust. Please, stay. And if you’re still interested in being helpful…” he tossed a stack of folders in front of you.

“Boo, paperwork?”

“Boo, paperwork.” He sipped his tea. Delicious, and admittedly, needed.

You pouted, yet accepted the stack nonetheless. In the silence he could feel your joy, the light dancing from your aura. It shined, almost as bright as they say his own. It’s also why, unlike anyone else that he couldn’t help but…

Well, such words were for another time, but for now…

“Thank you, for helping me,” he said.

A squeal, muffled by a cough. You were never good at hiding your emotions. “I mean, it’s no problem, really! Honestly, what would any of you do without me?”

“What would we indeed?”

How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! Or however said verse went. Yet clearly he wasn’t so low if he was still capable of a love such as this.

[buckrecs]

i am obsessed with husband!bucky and exhusband!bucky🖤 please help me find them ✨you are amazing! thank youuu

Husband!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

idk why but most of the ex husband!bucky fics are smut.. I was in the mood for some fluff so here are some husband!bucky (maybe with some smut cuz he’s hot)

here is my ex!bucky rec list so you can read some exes to lovers there :)

Story Time by @buckyalpine

Bucky tells your little one about how he fell for you.

Remnants of Life by @bi-disaster-yn

Bucky has the chance to get some of his possessions from his life in the 40s back but he needs his wife there to face it with him.

blue neighborhood by @sergeantxrogers

In a town full of self-righteous moms and their rich, suited husbands hiding secrets of infidelity, abuse and verges of bankruptcy, you felt utterly out of place. The target for all their jealous stares and mean comments, you were at your wits end trying to survive modern suburbia. It wasn’t your fault Bucky chose you, right?

Blue by @coffeecatsandcandles

Bucky reminisces your relationship when he sees you in a blue dress.

Bucky Wins His Thanksgiving Husband Card by @buckysforeverprincess

Gladly, Mrs Barnes by @itsbuckysworld

husband!Bucky gets mad when you seem to be spending more time with some other guy and not him.

The Winter Lover by @cat-scratch-fandoms

You and your newly married husband are granted a peaceful honeymoon to a ski cabin.

Video Tape by @botnasty

You don’t want to forget.

Imagine by @becca-e-barnes

Your first date night with Bucky after you have your second baby

Easy When It Rains by @lfaewrites

pure domestic fluff

swollen by @buckycuddlebuddy

evidence of the good loving you got was very visible.

small bump by @bucky-bucket-barnes

Bucky has fought literal armies, survived multiple murder attempts, and still nothing worries him like his pregnant wife.

honey, honey by @buckys-darling

You and Bucky spend your honeymoon in Paris.

Need more of that blue in my life by @foreverdreamland

Reader discovers she’s pregnant, and the reaction from her husband Bucky is not what she expected.

Blessings by @moonlight-prose

twenty minutes was all you had, so you were going to do what could to show your husband how much you loved him.

Under The Tree by @barnesmurdock

You and your husband have a picnic under a tree.

.

.

.

You and Bucky spend your honeymoon in Paris.

.

.

.

d

d

z

d

s

[snaggemon]

"Nightfall Over Lidellia City"

Two years ago…

“Glorious… Simply glorious! Oh, yeeaahhhh!”

Their voice carries over the sound of the blimp’s motors and the gushing wind blasting through the open hatches. At twelve hundred feet above the ground, it’s hard to tell whether the air is thin or if my lungs are being crushed by the gripping sensations of anxiety and frustration. You’d think that after ten years of chasing these mad Honchos and their Grunts, this wouldn’t affect me so palpably. But when it comes to St. Atticus… You never know what to expect.

“You never cease to amaze me, Champion… You truly are magnificent! Hahahahaha!”

St. Atticus grins at me from across the chamber, their pristine black hair flowing like a banner on a battlefield in the crossbreeze under the rim of their silver-trimmed, mottled black top hat. The air throws the corners of their long, midnight blue coat around the legs of their perfectly tailored pants. Every strip of silver ribbon, golden sequin and sapphire blue jewel on their body shimmers and twinkles as light fills the chamber, blasted in from searchlights on the ground, the rooftops, the helicopters circling the stolen airship. They step back and bask in the hot glow of the searchlights, throwing their gloved hands up like the ringmaster of the world’s craziest circus.

“No…! We are magnificent! The sounds, the sparks, the star power! Don’t you feel it?!”

This is exactly what they want. Even as they stand in front of me, defeated yet again, all St. Atticus is thinking about is how good they look doing it. And… Goddamnit, they look good. It’s almost sickening how well they take losing in their stride. The spectacle is all that matters. But as far as I’m concerned… all that matters is they’re beaten, and they have no more SnaggeMon left.

Their staff lays safely at my feet, the microphone built into the head ringing with feedback from being dropped. Inlaid into the body of the stick, fourteen inactive SnagStones glow red with warning… Fourteen SnaggeMon, a new record. They really were planning something truly horrible this time. But as dangerous as St. Atticus is when they have the stage all to themselves, as soon as you get within battling distance, all the bite gets ripped from their bark.

Out the corner of my eye, I look down upon Lidellia City. In the dark of nightfall, the chaos St. Atticus and their showboating Grunts have spread throughout the city tonight glows even brighter. Several buildings are barely left standing, and wide craters stand out in the middle of destroyed roads and former landmarks. And that’s just what St. Atticus did on their own, all part of their somber, striking, symphonic power ballad. If they even still had one of their SnaggeMon left by the time they reached the Concert Hall… they would have wiped it off the map.

“You see it, don’t you?” St. Atticus boasts. “The righteous chaos, the dazzling destruction! Is it as beautiful as I planned…? Does it finally illuminate the stage out from the shadow of the greed and corruption that built this city?” They sway, starting to twirl their body around like they’re in a one-person waltz. Part of me worries they’re about to throw themselves off the airship… “All that’s left… is the jewel in Lidellia City’s sordid crown… The Concert Hall!”

“Show’s over, St. Atticus,” I say, finally deciding to get a word in edgewise. “You’ve got no SnaggeMon left. You can either take your last bow with dignity, or wait for the League to board this giant eyesore and give you the hook.”

“Oh, nightfall…” St. Atticus says, shaking their head with an earnest, infectious chuckle. “As long as one star remains bright in the sky… The darkness will never truly engulf me.”

Suddenly, St. Atticus throws themselves towards me, towards their microphone. That’s when I see it: one last SnagStone in the base of their staff! My heart races, already picturing the chaos that even one more SnaggeMon would enable them to inflict! I kick the staff backwards, and it shrieks with static as it bashes against the back door. Owwww…!

St. Atticus collapses on the ground, their black gloved hands balled into fists at my feet. Their breath is running fast, and I can hear the power of their lungs from here, even in just the wispy sounds of their breathing… They reach out to touch my leg and raise their head to look up at me. I get a full view at my reflection in the lenses of their massive, blacked-out sunglasses. Some say that if you ever look St. Atticus in the eye, you’ll fall under their spell like the rest of Team Glameur… I think they started their rumor themselves, all part of their mystique.

But even more haunting is their smile. It’s so gorgeous, yet so haunting. How can they be so happy and full of life when their grand plan crumbles at their feet yet again?

“Tut-tut…” they laugh. “That wasn’t fair, Champion. The star belongs on their stage.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” I scoff. “You’ll be locked away for this disaster! People could be dead down there! You better have a damn good final line to exit on…”

“You… will outshine us all…!” St. Atticus promises me, reaching into their sleeve. What are they reaching for…? …Oh, shit! They’ve got a detonator! I have to grab it before they--

BOOOOM!

I’m thrown to the side as the starboard wing bursts into flames. I land painfully against the wall, right next to the open hatch, and see the fire spreading across the airship. And in front of me… St. Atticus glides through the air, laughing like a maniac as they soar towards the hatch! With one arm wrapped around the nearest solid fixture I can reach on the wall, I reach out and catch them by the collar before they’re thrown from the blimp and into the sky!

The world turns upside down… The blast is sending us careening away from Lidellia City, towards the harbor! And St. Atticus is still cackling as we hurtle towards the ground! We’re on a collision course…! If I can just reach Kinerret’s SnagRing…! But what I can’t…?! What if this is how I go down, crashing into a flaming tomb with perhaps the most dangerous person in the world?! Is this really how it ends…?! Don’t I even get a chance to say goodbye…?

…

I’m sorry… If you were here, this would never have happened… Goodbye… Bram…

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

'SnaggeMon! - Giving Up My Champion Rank To Date The Bad Guys!'

Chapter 8 coming soon to the official SnaggeMon Discord server!

[lottiecrabie]

warm me up – matty healy

after a freezing date, you and your boyfriend matty must find a way to warm yourself up

warnings: 18+, cockwarming, fluff

1445 words

The cold bites your cheeks. It seeps beneath your winter coat and the sweater you stole from Matty, beneath the two pairs of wool socks you put on, beneath even your blue mittens you’re rubbing together for a sliver of warmth. Matty chuckles at you as he unlocks the door, unfairly slow from his own numb fingers. 

He has a dust of snow over his dark curls unraveling from the merciless wind. You tried to tell him to wear a hat, but he’s always been more about style than function. The tip of his ears are bright red, so you feel a little vindicated. 

Your hand reaches out to tickle the icy skin, laughing as he scrunches into his neck, shaking you off. The door opens wide. Snow falls into the house as you step through with your wet boots. 

“Shit, it’s freezing here, too,” you say, unspooling your red scarf from your neck. Matty drops the two pairs of skates from his shoulder with a sigh of relief. The sound rings through the house. You wince at the poor floors. 

Matty racks a hand through his snowy hair. For a blink of a moment, it storms in the house. It feels just like him; creating blizzards from the tips of him, making the universe from inside a house. He tiptoes over your ridiculous collection of shoes, checking the thermostat. 

He frowns at the sight, pressing buttons at random. “I don’t think the heating is working.” 

“No way.” You’re still shivering for God’s sake. Matty looks back at you with an apologetic smile. You groan, dropping on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Winter sucks.” You sniffle, digging your red chin under his sweater. 

Matty laughs. He falls on the couch beside you, sighing with bone-heavy exhaustion. Any fight for righteous heating seems to fly out of you. “You literally just said you loved winter.” 

Your head rests on his shoulder. His skin is cold too, of course, but just the idea of him warms you up. You mumble, “That was when I was making snow angels and winning the snowball fight.”

“You didn’t win.” 

You gasp, sitting up. “I so did! I had you eating snow.” 

“Only because you cheated!” And, sure, maybe you did seduce him, sat in his lap, and then shoved handfuls of snow in his head, but that was a fair strategy. It’s not your fault he didn’t try very hard to push you away when you were giggling in his face, shifting your hips to keep him in place.

“You would too if it worked on me,” you huffed, nose upping. 

Matty laughs at you. It’s easy and open, some sort of secret shared between the sugar sweet space between you. His hand sneaks under his sweater, cold fingers pressing against your stomach. You squeak, pushing him away. “You’re freezing.”

“I know,” he breathes, nipping at your cheek. Even the tip of his nose is frigid. “Warm me up.” 

You roll your eyes. “How am I supposed to do that? I’m freezing, too.” Matty hums. He takes your leg, dropping it over his lap so you fit snugly against him. His smile rises as he watches you, hair falling around you like some lingering snow angel. “Want a rematch, huh?” You whisper cheekily. 

“Always.” His thumbs rub over your clothed hips. “I think I have a chance this time.” 

Your fingers bury in his hair. He sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Never,” you say against his lips, kissing him. He tastes like the hot chocolate from the walk back home, like thousands of specks of snow melting on his tongue, like the wind ringing through your ears. Maybe you do love winter after all. 

“I know,” he says back and it sounds a little like adoration. His hands climb up under the hem of his sweater again and you let him, only shivering slightly. 

His lips do a good job of distracting you, slow and languid and lazy like you. There’s no rush in this heatless space, nowhere to go but this beat-up couch. There’s something terribly satisfying about it. 

Time on tour, bouncing between two award shows, sloping through sleepless nights are all exciting. Being with him is like having a finger on a pulse; electric and alive.

But you love the quiet. When the world gets slow enough to pause, to breathe. When you hold him between two greedy hands and don’t wonder where he’s going next. 

“Warm me up,” Matty pouts, hands rising to your back. He manages to be everywhere around you, swallows you with his limbs like one of his sweaters. You want to drown in the feel of him. 

“Okay.” You can’t even hide a smile. It breaks across your face, a little too eager and crooked. 

Your fingers are still a little numb. They work sloppily at his belt buckle, frowning down at your work as Matty slips the hem of your leggings past your ass. You gasp at the cold air, giggling into his mouth. “Sorry,” Matty says. You shake your head. 

You draw him out of his trousers. He echoes the same gasp, which you laugh openly at and don’t apologize for. He’s already hard. You draw a delicate finger down the length, grabbing the base as you line him up. 

“Fuck, babe,” Matty moans, head falling against the back of the couch. 

He watches you; not your hands working him slowly, not your already wet cunt as he enters you, you. Your face as you settle down on him, breaking open with a breathy moan, laughing with relief. The smile coating your lips, giddy and lazy. 

He bottoms out with a glorious coil of pleasure. Your pussy throbs around him, finally full. Matty was right, infuriatingly so. The room feels hotter already, flames licking up your limbs. 

You don’t bother rolling your hips expertly, chasing a climax you know you can get under five minutes. Sitting there with his cock buried so deep, you enjoy the feel of him, the warmth of him. The mere fact that he exists and he’s yours. 

Matty kisses your cheek. “Didn’t even have to touch you to get you wet,” he says cheekily, though immediately contradicts his point by rubbing slow circles over your clit. You bite your lips, shuddering. “Thought you weren’t affected at all when you were using your feminine wiles to win the fight.”

“Feminine wi—” You laugh, tracing the shape of his elbow with a finger. “You make me sound devious.” 

He gives you a deadpan look. “Yeah, I make you sound devious.” 

Your finger travels to the apple of his cheek, swirling around the bone. You want to memorize him. Carve all the scars and dents in a wall for archeologists to uncover like some paleolithic cave painting. Make them wonder which God you were worshiping. 

You draw the edges of his jaw next. It tickles him, face scrunching as he shivers. The shift reverbs inside of you. You gasp a little, moaning, feeling a streak of hot bliss climbing up your veins. Still, you want to stretch the moment like toffee. You’ve always been greedy; wanting more than time can give is just like you. 

Matty doesn’t seem to be any more in a rushing mood anyway. He breathes heavily, chest rising and falling with yours. You caress his lips next. Don’t need to memorize those; you know them by heart. 

“Are you warm?” You whisper into him. It suddenly feels awfully unnecessary to speak any louder than this.

“Yeah, love,” Matty smiles. Sunshine drips on his cheeks. It’s not winter after all. “You warmed me up.” 

You blush, burying your head in his neck. The move resonates inside of you again. You gasp in unison, hot breath on his jaw. Your skin is frenzied, aware of every minimal motion like some heavenly butterfly effect. You’ve swallowed a live-wire, lighting up with electricity every time you shift. 

You are so perfectly full and complete. It’s like he was made for you, like he had been created to lay between your thighs. Your heart flutters. 

“I love you,” you say in his neck. You can’t hold the words; you burst at the seams. Sometimes you think he stretches the shape of your heart to fit all of him. 

Matty kisses your temple. “Me, too.” His hand grazes your back, raising the hair. Another shiver that buzzes through you. You sigh, clenching around him. Matty whines, grasping your back. “God, I love you.” 

You don’t want to let this moment go. “Can we lie like this still?” Chest opened, heart leaking out of your ribs. 

He laughs, nuzzling your cheek. “No other way to heat the place, darling.” 

[d3lly1000]

AU: TEAM SONIC HUMANIZED!

Hello! I don't post much here… But I want to change that! And to start, I finished the concepts for my take on "What if Sonic characters were human?" and voila. There it is!

I have HC'S and extra costumes for each one that I would like to share, so if you are interested, you can read this entire post to learn about my alternative :) (I will be giving credit for some versions that inspired me to create these babies too! X3) ~~~~~~ >>> SONIC, THE BLUE HERO

He is an athletic, supportive guy, loves running and likes to always keep moving. Contrary to what many people think, the "Blue Blur" cares a lot about his appearance and maintains his "SportLife" and "RacingLife" style;

He hates wearing pants. He always prefers baggy shorts!

His hair is originally wavy, but as time goes by it has lengthened with the help of the wind that always messes up his strands;

He is very popular with girls, but he is not that interested in it;

Fear of water in large quantities, specifically deep oceans and rivers;

The Bracelet with the greenish sphere on his right arm was a gift from his old friend Chip, but known as Light Gaia;

He has always grown up with his considered brother, Miles, being one of his greatest inspirations;

Secretly tries to impress people, more specifically Amy;

He always arm wrestles with Knuckles, but he always loses; • After he grows up, he tends to reduce his playfulness. Although this is a characteristic trait of his personality, it is a way for him to convey confidence to those he loves;

>>> AMY ROSE, THE FEARLESS HEROINE

She is a kind, sweet, loving and very generous girl. Amy always helps people and tries to do her best to welcome anyone in need;

But don't let her loves fool you, she can also be quite aggressive and fearsome when necessary;

Boys are afraid of seeing her angry;

Her style is focused on delicate blouses, dresses and lots of bows;

Her high-heeled boots make her look a little taller, but she is actually short;

She really likes cooking and giving Sonic surprise Chilidogs;

Knuckles is like an older brother to her. He is super protective, although he doesn't doubt that she can defend herself;

Tails and her spend a lot of time together while Sonic is away, making her a great friend and advisor;

Amy "secretly" has a crush on Sonic, although she never confesses it directly, she finds the Blue Boy's unstoppable and righteous nature very attractive;

• She has a great appreciation for romance and hero movies. She is inspired to protect everyone and lead the Resistance, even though she is often under pressure, she is a good-hearted girl;

>>> MILES "TAILS" PROWER, THE PRODIGY GENIUS

Tails is a young prodigy, he loves technology and creating new technological devices never seen before. He is the great creator of several prototypes used during the Resistance War against Dr. Eggman's Domino World.

Despite being a young genius, he is still a child. He likes to read science fiction and watch movies related to Heroes, and Amy usually accompanies him;

He sees Sonic as his older brother and dreams of one day becoming as great as him;

He is very afraid of thunder, which makes him very distressed during storms;

Knuckles and he developed a great friendship, he venerates him a lot and also aims to be a great protector like him;

He has already created a little robot fox to help him on missions. In addition to being a faithful partner, it also contains several upgrades for attack, defense and even espionage;

Tails wears his sweatshirt tied around his waist the wrong way around, making a parallel from the sleeves to his 2 tails…

>>> KNUCKLES, THE LAST MASTER GUARDIAN

He is extremely strong, has great control over his strength and resistance. Even though he is considered a "hot-headed" guy, Knuckles does recurring meditations to be able to control his inner forces;

He and Sonic have a very competitive friendship, both like to tease and make fun of each other whenever they have the opportunity;

Knuckles tends to be quite protective of Amy, so much so that it is one of the reasons he tends to be hard on Sonic sometimes;

He and Rouge also live a great "cops and robbers", and even though the Bat clearly shows an interest in him, Knuckles does not understand this yet;

He is the Guardian of the Master Emerald, so he is quite committed to his responsibilities, being very strict about it;

He usually wears very baggy pants, tank tops, leather vests and his trusty "cowboy" hat; ~~~~~~~~ ALTERNATIVE COSTUME:

EASTER EGG COSTUME:

My Inspirations: - @/Hallsth_eien - @/Angie Nekoblue - @/Lauren Ilustrated Thanks for read this!! And sorry for my bad English <3

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Last sickfic! Can you believe that September's over?

Mood music that helped inspire the writing :)

Voted Sicktember prompt - Time cares for a delirious Warriors

The room was bathed in a warm, orange glow, but it couldn’t be colder. The light of candles danced merrily, but he couldn’t feel more somber.

Hands trembled as they reached out. Illness, the stench of it, ripped through the air.

The golden locks, usually fluffy and perfectly tamed, lay in tangled clumps, plastered to too hot skin. Lungs that usually bellowed with laughter or barked sharp orders were wheezing, pitifully letting air try to move through restricted passageways.

Since when had such battle-hardened warriors been bested by such an invisible enemy? Since when could a war go to a standstill as his army fell apart from the inside? He couldn’t let this happen, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The once proud, tall warrior looked so small in the bed. The dependable captain had fallen, succumbing to something he couldn’t combat with a sword. A small part of Time squirmed in painful, righteous anger – of all the ways to die—

Pale, blue lips, sunken eyes, wheezing and vomiting. His troops were dying. His troops were dying and he couldn’t do a damn thing.

Warriors shuddered, eyes staring off into the void, his mind lost far, far away. He hadn’t slept in nearly four days due to his illness, and it was finally taking his mind as a result. Time did everything he could to soothe the captain’s anxiety as he tried once again to prop himself up in the bed. He’d already fallen twice getting out of bed – that was when the eldest Link had decided to stay in the room with Warriors. He couldn’t be left unsupervised, even in the safety of his own ranch.

The men looked to him for help, for answers. He couldn’t provide any. General Impa wasn’t here, the princess wasn’t here. It was just him and Lana, and she was doing all she could but—but it—

It wasn’t enough. And she was beginning to grow ill as well. And they couldn’t lose her.

“Help,” Warriors whimpered, confused eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m here,” Time immediately whispered, taking the younger man’s hands in his own. “I’m here, Link.”

They were all going to die. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. Would he die too? Was this how the Hero of Hyrule was destined to fall? He hadn’t even defeated the enemy. Would an illness take him? Would he disgrace his destiny in such a manner? How many lives would be lost because of it?

“I’m sorry.” The captain’s voice broke, actively crying. He stared at the ceiling. Time could only imagine who he was apologizing to.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, brushing hair out of the man’s face. “You’re okay. Don’t apologize.”

Warriors’ gaze remained distant. Wherever he was, Time couldn’t reach him. But he would try, blast it. He would try.

What if they all die because of me? What if… what if I don’t want to die?

I… I don’t want to die.

A sob choked with a cough, and Warriors’ face turned red as he gagged on phlegm and spit alike. Time stood, quickly turning the captain to the side so he could cough up whatever was stuck in his throat. The door to the bedroom creaked as the others peeked in worriedly. When Twilight caught Time’s eye, the elder shook his head, and the younger retreated, herding the others away.

The flame on the nearest candle flickered from Time’s movements and nearly went out. Time held his breath as he watched it a moment, hand on Warriors’ back. The flame pulled left and right, nearly extinguishing. Warriors’ breaths rattled as if death itself were stealing air from his lungs.

The wick slowly burned, flame settling in a stubborn pattern of gently rocking to and fro. Warriors took a deeper breath. Time released the one he’d been holding.

A hand brushed Time’s knee, and he looked down to see Warriors trying to crawl out of bed again, halfway off the mattress. Time bent down, hands wrapping around his arms just under his shoulders, and gently pulled the young man back to the center of the bed.

“Link,” Time said gently, kneeling to be at eye level with him. “We’re at the ranch. You’re safe. You’re very sick. You need to stay in bed.”

Soulless eyes stared into his own. The face was far too pale, the chest far too still. Would they all look like this? There wasn’t even blood. He was used to seeing blood.

Eventually the wick would burn to its end. Eventually the gentle light in the room would vanish. Would it last the night? Would it hold on to whatever it could grasp, burning away at what little remained? Would it stubbornly cling to life until the sun could rise?

“Captain,” Time said, louder. “Captain, come back to us.”

Warriors’ hand snaked around Time’s wrist, making the elder jump slightly.

Everything was so far away. So quiet, muffled, like he was buried alive. Goddess above, he didn’t want to die, please, he didn’t want to die. Not like this. Let him die on his feet, in battle, like it was meant to be.

It was meant to be like that, right?

“Help,” Warriors pleaded, eyes almost seeming to look at Time for the first time all night.

Time’s heart and stomach clenched. “I’m trying, Link.”

The candle abruptly went out.

Time’s head whirled to the nightstand, an irrational fear gripping his soul, and he immediately felt out for Warriors, who was trembling.

“Captain,” Time said warily, holding the man tighter. “Come on now, Link. Talk to me.”

Warriors grew still.

“Link,” Time pleaded, shaking him.

A warm glow filled the room alongside a cool breeze. Time blinked tears away, his distress hidden in the darkness that was quickly receding, and he saw the others in the doorway once more, a candle in each hero’s hand.

Twilight entered first, eyes flicking between Time and Warriors, face stony. The others filed in behind him, expressions far too eerily familiar to the night Time thought he would lose his descendant.

No one dared say a word. Time’s death grip on Warriors slackened only a hair, land he looked at the ground, unable to offer the others any comfort. The flames flickered brightly in the quiet night, holding the darkness at bay, encasing Warriors in light.

[alexcors]

Tentazione

Sunday morning was pampered with coolness, even in the habitually stuffy, impregnated with the aromas of incense, wax and oak, the parish of a modest provincial church. The priest's voice fell in low notes on the sonorous singing of the tiny choir, over the whisper of the voices of the parishioners who read the prayer aloud.

Damian was standing a little behind, no longer trying to listen to the mentor's speech, as his deacon's rank and the duty of a righteous Catholic ordered. His gaze from the first minutes unmistakably found the one that had occupied all his thoughts for the last month and generated desires, which he renounced by entering a monastery.

Young Ravena Rothi.

The daughter of Sicilian aristocrats, sent by her father to this provincial Italian town with only governesses and companions, she was a true temptation for the future priest. A real creature of Hell in the guise of an angel. And Damian had served Satan long enough to understand such things.

A former member of the League of Assassins, from an early age he established himself as one of the best, thanks to diligence, skills and hot Saracen blood that flowed in his veins. True to the ideals hammered into him almost from birth, by the age of sixteen he managed not just to get his hands dirty in blood, but almost drown in it.

An endless series of broken destinies under the cover of darkness turned Damian's life into one continuous night, becoming unbearable, forcing him to wander in the darkness in search of at least a drop of light. And it seemed to the young man that he had found it, subdued his rage and thirst for blood within the walls of the monastery, and then the church, where he was about to take the priesthood.

But, at the crucial moment, She appeared.

A temptation sent to him by the Lord, the Devil, or both at once, apparently designed to test the fortitude of his spirit. And a body in which the familiar flame flared up again, as on those nights when Damian chased the victim like a hungry predator stalking prey.

A light draft, seeping through the cracks in the patterned stained-glass window, pulled a curl that had escaped from her hairstyle, shiny as a raven's wing. He ran it over the creamy white skin of her shoulder, slightly covered by the light, like sea foam, fabric of her dress. Again without the stole, which hung in folds on the girl's arms, leaving the neckline, shoulders and neck under Damian's greedy gaze.

And as if there were no three years of asceticism and humility! The young deacon shifted from one foot to the other, closing his eyelids for a moment, involuntarily wondering how such an innocent creature could push him into the abyss of all mortal sins at once? But, as soon as he opened his eyes, the answer was found in the same second.

Her gaze that was now gliding over the lines of a written prayer. Not meek and weak-willed, but direct, bold, almost audacious. Lilac-blue, like a forest blackberry, burning with magical lights in its dark depths. Damian couldn't help but remember seeing those eyes for the first time when Lady Ravena first came to church with the other young girls. Her polite but short bow, instead of a modestly lowered head, a soft but confident voice when talking to his mentor, a glance gliding around and burning with curiosity. That's what the former assassin caught that day. Like an arrow at the chest, which seemed to be aiming at the heart.

Then, having first mentioned the Lord in vain, the deacon walked around the altar, deliberately casually touched the edge of a dark blue stole with his fingers and threw it over the girl's open shoulder. Now his fingers tingled with the desire to repeat this gesture, to allow himself to touch the alluring skin of the charmer, at least through the fabric. The young man cut off more frank thoughts with prayer, like an old family sword.

The almost harmonious chorus of voices, the memorized text in Latin that Damian hummed with his lips, allowed him to even out his breathing and calm his overly restless heart a little. By an effort of will, the deacon forced himself to immerse himself in a personal copy of the Holy Scriptures, when the former killer's gut tugged at the inner strings.

Damian was always clearly aware of surveillance, whether it was colleagues, enemies or monks. But now a sharply upturned gaze caught an unabashed pair of violet eyes, forcing their owner to suffocate with surprise. To lose the rhythm, but to continue to whisper something with her deliciously pink lips, while a blush blooms on her cheeks, and her fingers pull at the corners of the pages of her prayer book. And all this without letting go of his gaze.

He'd better go away. To go down to his room, close himself in his cell and pray to the Lord for help, because the deacon's own endurance was thinning and melting, like the wax of a church sich, with every deep breath of Lady Ravena, which lifted her chest so seductively. But apparently his trials are not over for today.

"Damian?" – the mentor called when the final prayer finally subsided and the parishioners, under the creaking of benches, moved to the exit.

"Yes, Padre."

"Can I leave you to take care of the parish for a couple of hours? Madame Chantal asks to consecrate her house."

"For the fifth time?" - The deacon chuckled.

"Don't blame the old people for wanting to brighten up loneliness, my son."

"You're too kind to her, Padre," - Damian glanced briefly at an elderly woman dressed in the fashion of young ladies. - "This crazy Frenchwoman is just in love with you."

"And what is it? Love for one's neighbor is beautiful in all its manifestations."

The young man did not express his thoughts on this, only nodded briefly, promising to take care of everything in the absence of a mentor. Which the cheerful old lady immediately grabbed under the elbow, referring to her age, fatigue and, as if accidentally dropping the edge of the golden stole from her shoulder.

The long-awaited silence enveloped the church with the last slam of the high doors, giving the former murderer a couple of grains of much-desired peace, which, oddly enough, smacked of disappointment. And Damian tried to convince himself that he was disappointed by his own lack of restraint, and not by the missed opportunity to cross paths with Lady Ravena once again.

But it was worth, even mentally, remembering his personal Devil…

"Padre?" – a slender figure in a thin dress, tied under her breasts with a satin ribbon, slipped into the church with the ease of a shadow.

God help me!

"The Lord commands you to be more modest in His house, child,"- Damian said in a stern tone.

"Did He send you to report this or punish me?"

"Did you want something, Lady Rotti?" - The deacon asked as evenly as possible, ignoring her cheeky tone, the tip of the ribbon swaying in time with her breathing and the tingling on his fingertips.

This tantalizing piece of burgundy satin… He could untie the knot in one motion, forcing the light snow-white fabric to slip off the sloping shoulders. And watch as a pinkish haze of embarrassment spreads over the porcelain skin. How the breath is lost, forcing her tender lips to open a little…

God!

"Padre Riccardo," - Ravena's voice pulled him out of his sinful fantasy. - "He allowed me to borrow one of the parish books."

"For what?"

"I… wanted to teach the servants to read and write."

Damian didn't remember his mentor telling him anything like that. He could (should have!) to refuse this temptress, citing his ignorance, employment or something else. Because the very thought of a short solitude with her scared and caused a thrill, almost making you burn from the inside. And that scared me even more.

"I'm not sure…"

"Please?" Ravena took a step toward him, standing so close that Damian could smell her skin. Light, floral, mesmerizing.

How could he refuse this charmer when she looked at him like that, asked for it like that?

"Well," - the deacon stepped aside, motioning the girl to follow him. "Since the padre promised, I suppose you can take one."

Lady Ravena, with an easy gait, followed, first ducking under the canopy shifted by the young man, which fenced off the narrow staircase from the parishioners. For a brief moment, Damian allowed himself to enjoy the sight of her slender legs, barely showing from under the hem of her dress. Later he will have to atone for another sin…

In the lower room, the air was thicker, diluted with the smells of burning candles, ink and parchment. Among the dark wood that covered the walls and covered the floor, Lady Ravena seemed like a vision, a light white cloud, for some unknown reason, descended from heaven.

Damian watched as the girl concentrated on choosing a book, reading the titles and touching the spines with the tips of her elegant fingers. She glanced at some with an indifferent, almost bored gaze, glared at others with her eyes, as if wanting to take away not one, but several books at once.

Finally, a book slipped off the shelf, which in no way suited either a young lady, or, even more so, illiterate maids. But judging by how impatiently Lady Ravena opened the first page, and the look of violet eyes ran over the lines, this fact did not bother her a bit. The deacon chuckled: so a sinner got into offending him? It seems that he is not the only one who will need prayers today.

"Teach the servants to read and write a philosophical treatise?" - he asked, closing the distance between them. - "And in Greek?"

"Oh," - the girl abruptly closed the book. - "I'am…"

"Liar," the deacon breathed, leaning almost impermissibly close. His temptress smelled so delicious-lavender and foliage after the rain, clean and fresh.

"Why do you need a book, Lady Ravena?"

The edge of the stole slipped down again, exposing the shoulder of the girl, whose hands were busy to return the fabric to its rightful place. Damian's breath touched her skin, causing goosebumps and a barely noticeable shiver.

"I like to… read," - Raven muttered, clearly embarrassed, but not looking away.

"In Greek?" - The deacon ran his fingers over the letters on the cover, barely noticeably touching the hand with which the girl was holding the book to herself. So gentle…

"And in five more languages," - the lady lifted her chin, apparently wanting to sound smug, but it turned out only to expose her neck.

"This does not allow you to sin in the house of the Lord," - Damian hissed, through his teeth, with which he wanted to pierce the point above the pulse.

For God's sake, what's going on with him?!

"No… Does not allow…"

The exhalation touched his face, the candlelight reflected in the lilac eyes and tiny drops of sweat on the girl's temples. He could tell her to get down on her knees right now to atone for her sins. And she would have obeyed, sinking to the floor in front of him, revealing a delightful view of the inviting cleavage between her breasts.

"So confess me, Holy Father," - the stole slipped off the second shoulder, exposing smooth skin.

So hot…

"Forgive you, child?" His swarthy fingers slid down her arm, brushing and slightly shifting the tiny sleeve, catching the unruly burgundy fabric at the wrist.

"I'm sorry… For I am a sinner…"

"What is your sin, child?" Damian felt her pulse quicken, heard her breathing quicken, and seemed to be losing control of his own.

"In words. And in my thoughts," at the last word, her gaze dropped to his lips, and her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Go on."

"I lied in church, Padre," Ravena's voice dropped to a whisper. – "I Lied To You… I'm Sorry."

"I absolve you of this sin, because the Lord is merciful," - the learned phrase sounded lower than decency allowed, from which the girl shuddered, and the deacon's heart missed a beat. – "What was in your thoughts?"

Lady Ravena squeezed her eyes shut, almost making Damian growl–he wanted to see her gaze, watch it darken and shine, reflecting the candlelight and his own flame. But before he allowed himself to voice a demand to the girl to open her eyes again, she did the unthinkable – she licked her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

The light and quick movement almost awakened the beast in him, who did not want to humble himself and give forgiveness. Just take it. To take away the book behind which this temptress was hiding, to steal a kiss, to give free rein to his hands and, finally, to untie this damned ribbon! Enjoy the view of her lovely curves, try it with his own lips and tongue. Listening to Ravena repeat his name like a prayer, while Damian's fingers would touch her in the most forbidden places, squeeze and gently stroke her skin under a snow-white dress… He wanted, literally longed to kiss her thin neck, and then bite his teeth, leaving a trace as bright and vicious as her tongue, just moistened pink lips.

So hot, so sinful and so…

"Amazing".

"What?"

"You're amazing, Lady Ravena," Damian forced himself to take half a step back. – "Young and… lovely."

The deacon's fingers finally pulled the stole up, hiding the shoulders and even the neck of the girl from his own hungry gaze.

"Such girls are chosen by the Devil to inspire bad thoughts. Swoops down like a hurricane on a thin peach tree…"

"Do you think my thoughts were a temptation, Padre?"

You're a temptation!

"I think you should pray harder before going to bed," - Damian breathed, diligently chasing away thoughts of Ravena, in the thinnest nightgown, kneeling by her own bed.

God… Why her?

"Thank you, Holy Father," - the girl nodded slightly, still deliciously rosy.

She took a step forward, heading towards the stairs, and the young deacon, absorbed in his own feelings, guessed to move only at the last moment. And the lady had to hit him with her hip as she passed by.

Damian didn't know what he was praying for more that second-that he wouldn't moan loudly or that his temptress wouldn't notice the obvious bulge under his cassock.

Ignoring the rules of decency and not seeing the girl out of the church, he almost fell on a hard chair, again seeking salvation from Heaven. And forgiveness. And strength, because God knows Damian won't be able to resist this temptation forever.…

That night the deacon prayed three times–twice before going to bed, and once in the middle of the night, when he jumped up from his hard bed almost in a feverish sweat. In the darkness of the cell, images flashed before his eyes, from which his breath was knocked out and painfully throbbed in his groin.

God…

Damian could still see how her raven-colored hair spread out on the pillow, how her slender body bent under his pressure, and sweet moans and tender lips alternately touched his face. He saw, almost felt, and desired against all the laws of earth and heaven. He had no right to do this – not only to a young charmer who had been spinning his head for a month, a depraved nymph entering his dreams, but also to give up the only opportunity to find forgiveness. And peace.

@reverseoforah, I LOVE YOU!!!!!