#i'm a reblogging fiend

[umbralsong]

I was expecting something more thematic regarding Wyll's transformation, especially since there are obvious Beauty and the Beast parallels that are just ripe for the taking.

I genuinely expected this character, a heroic monster hunter so in love with fairy tales and romance, to strengthen the narrative surrounding the Tadfools and their fear of death, metamorphosis, or further transformation. For him to bring a completely new thematic resonance to the Emperor's story. For him to embody the city on the verge of discarding their soul to Gortash, the artistocrats, the vampires, and the (maybe futile?) attempt to save the city once again.

Instead, he is simply punished for his good act, and in a way that isn't close to his vow to kill Karlach on his "one good eye."

I really don't know what they were going for with all of that. *Warlock voice* And her contract doesn't make any fucking sense, as pointed out [here].

That's why I personally discard it, but I'm curious about what all of you amazing Wyll fans would have done if Larian gave a shit about him. What would you have done?

[raptorrobot]

getting another tattoo tomorrow...... grins

[causeitshellthatfollows]

SCOTT SMAJOR

⤷ he/hue/hell/gore/gut/rot

┆chrono 21 ― consang ― IRL

┆radqueer ― paraphile ― DID

┆ rq-demonbro -> rq-ausmpscott -> demonbro-rq -> causeitshellthatfollows

note ⋮ mutuals, please come back. Especially my lovely anonymous askers.

Cis ⋮ aspd, npd, did, irl/delusional, psychotic

Source Cis ⋮ murderer, royalty, demontailic, horned, programmer

Trans ⋮ fanged, controlling, sickfuck, immortal, coffeeaddict, npd, programmer, abusive, accent (scottish)

Perma ⋮ demon, harmful, abusive, rude, angry, manipulator, god complex, obsessed, controlling

[optiwashere]

Dying/killing angst in D&D is why I wrote both of the fics in this series. Hopefully I'll have a Gauntlet/Nightsong fic to round out my "alt canon/mild canon divergence" by the end of the year so I can put Her Private Shore and Bend to Break to Mend in that series like I want to eventually. That way people can actually get to know Asheera in a linear fashion, and I can slot in one-shots as I write them.

These were some of my notes while writing the first fic... so if you're like out here trying to dodge fic spoilers (is that a thing?) then ignore this lmao:

If Shadowheart had done what Minthara wanted, Minthara was absolutely going to use that scroll of revivify to resurrect Asheera and make her do it again. Repeated action, repeated trauma. Possible total breakdown?

Killing someone is traumatic for the overwhelming majority of people that have done it. It doesn't matter who you are or what you do as a profession, and even in a setting like the Forgotten Realms that still applies since people are people. And when it's someone you care about?

Second fic is all aftermath. I was pleased with how it came out, even if by nature it involved a fair bit of cyclical storytelling.

Imagine you're someone who lacks memories entirely. Imagine you only know your goddess, and you have such a deep connection with her (you think) and that you believe you are meant to be her #1 favorite. Then you meet someone that you're kinda into, then you realize you're more than into her only for your goddess to smack your hand and say, "no!" Then you've almost killed that person, and that's one of the only memories you have + your goddess being pleased you almost did it + you feel even closer to that person that you almost killed + oops, all that memory wiping has made your mental state incredibly unstable and prone to dissociation? That's a delicious cocktail for heavy angst.

Anyways, yeah. I like those fics a lot and felt like I was actually writing something worthwhile by the time they were done.

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |10: Blood & Honesty|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.3k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

a/n: So...I've been gone for a bit, but now I'm back after that unexpected hiatus. This is the installment that I have been wanting to scream about because of where things are about to eventually go.... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @millennial-birkin @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock @writtenbyred @idontevenknow1359 @scriptedmoon @sarraa-26 @barnes21cz @loves0phelia @3sriracha @kmc1989 @midnightramble @marissamejia19 @ardent-crow @ujws5 @livvyliv15 @sweety18 @energerstar @steve-chandler @librarygremin @wanda-maxamommy

It was a surprisingly warm night tonight. Spring had finally drawn nearer to Hell's Kitchen with the way the evening chill had begun to lack its usual bite. As Matt limped his way across the rooftop, sweat dampened the fabric of the mask as it clung to his forehead. His shirt was torn and his torso bleeding after the knife-wielding criminal he'd just fought now sat handcuffed in the back of a police car. He was tired and ready to end the evening, but somehow his feet had taken him to your building. It was a place he’d been avoiding ever since what had happened the last time he’d tried to stop by your apartment just about a week ago.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d ended up on your rooftop again tonight, or what had even compelled him to carefully lower himself down the side of the building towards your fire escape. Though he’d been hesitant to throw his senses into your apartment tonight, nervous of a repeat situation. But you were in fact asleep this time. He could hear your even breaths and your steady heartbeat coming from your bedroom as confirmation.  

With a faint sigh of relief, Matt focused on your fire escape next. Easily enough, he caught the usual scent of food that meant you were still loyally keeping the Devil’s Pantry just outside your window for him even though he hadn't taken anything out of it in two weeks. A tinge of guilt hit him at that realization. He’d been avoiding your place, but you’d still been thinking about him. Despite his absence, you'd still been worried about him staying fed and hydrated.

Crossing the two small steps towards the bin, Matt crouched down and removed the lid with a wince, the cuts on his torso stinging at the movement. If he was here, he figured he should probably leave some sign of it. Some sign acknowledging that he still appreciated you leaving this out for him–like actually taking something out of it. 

Reaching a hand inside the container, Matt grabbed a bottle of water. He pulled it out and twisted off the lid before drinking half the bottle down in a matter of a few deep gulps. Feeling a little more refreshed, he found himself grateful that you were still this thoughtful despite the silence on his end of this unusual friendship. Though Matt had convinced himself that you most likely didn't mind that he had stopped barging in on you all of the time. You were seeing that guy now. You had other things going on to occupy your thoughts and your time. The Devil’s Pantry only remained on your fire escape because you appreciated what the Devil did for the Kitchen. That was the only reason. 

Setting the partially drunk water bottle down beside his feet, Matt reached a hand back into the container. He’d been going to grab a protein bar, but his gloved hand hit something flimsy, the sound of paper rustling meeting his ears. He froze, a frown settling on his lips. Had you left him a note again?

Withdrawing his hand from the bin, he worked on removing his glove before setting it on the fire escape beside his feet. With his other hand, he reached back inside the bin to pull the slip of paper out. His ungloved fingers ran over the top of your note and the unmistakable indentations of a pen met his fingertips. You had in fact left him a note, but one so short that he didn’t need to repeatedly trace his fingers over it to make sense of it this time.

I miss you, Devil.

The frown deepened on Matt’s mouth, his lips twisting in confusion. What had you meant by that? Did you really miss his unannounced visits? Didn't you have that guy to occupy your time with now? Weren't you appreciative that he was leaving you alone and giving you your privacy? 

Maybe you missed the jokes between you both–Matt certainly did. You were always so funny. And he hated to admit it, but if there really was some sort of friendship that had formed between the pair of you, communication was required to maintain it. Which meant checking in with each other. Talking. But how was he supposed to stand in your apartment and hold a conversation with you after how he'd eavesdropped–despite his best attempts not to–on such a personal moment of yours that he'd then shamefully taken far too much pleasure in the last time he’d stopped by? 

His fingers ran over the little note again, his focus on the soft lines and gentle curves of your handwriting. As he read it once more, the steady sound of your heartbeat in his ears, he heard the words as if you’d spoken them in his ear. 

I miss you, Devil.

His attention shifting from the note in his hand, he focused on your bedroom window next to the fire escape. A frown tugged at his lips as he continued to listen to your even breaths.

“I miss you, too, angel,” he whispered.

Partially distracted, you tried to focus on putting away the load of clean dishes that had recently finished washing in your dishwasher. For the entirety of the night all you’d been able to think about was the new mistake you'd managed to make earlier at work. While truthfully it hadn't been that big of a deal, your least favorite co-worker had made sure to take every opportunity to torment you about it today. And that had only made things worse.

Simply put, today had been a bad day for you. It also didn't help that it had been over two weeks since you'd last seen the Devil. And you knew he'd finally stopped by your apartment three nights ago to grab some water and snacks out of your Devil’s Pantry because a few items had finally been removed after the past couple of weeks of it remaining untouched. So you knew he'd read the note you'd left for him. But you still hadn't seen him since, and at this point you were convinced that he really was done with you.

So you'd come home miserable tonight and had immediately gone into a stress-induced cleaning frenzy. You'd folded the laundry that had once more piled up in your bedroom after throwing another load into the wash in the building's laundry facility downstairs. You'd not only scrubbed your bathroom sparkling clean, but you'd even dusted and swept the whole apartment. Afterwards, still trying hard not to think about your disappointment at never seeing the Devil again, you'd methodically organized the clothes in your closet by color. You'd only paused long enough to throw together the saddest salad, too morose to actually cook tonight, before moving on to emptying your dishwasher. 

You wondered if your note had been the final nail in the coffin for the Devil and your friendship. Because he had eventually come back just once after you'd made the mistake of toying with his jealousy. That had to mean something, right? But then why had admitting you missed him made him disappear again? You figured he'd want to know you'd been thinking about him if he was jealous.

Maybe you should have written him a longer note. A note that told him you'd ended things with Dylan a long time ago. That you sat in wait for him pathetically every night just for a glimpse of him outside your window. That you couldn't stop thinking about him. That you wanted him.

But you'd once again lost the opportunity to tell him how you felt. And now you'd never have the chance.

With a heavy heart, you set the two glasses you were holding up on the cabinet shelf. Turning back towards your half-empty dishwasher, you headed back over and bent down to pull out one of your larger knives from the top rack. But as you stood back up, a voice to your left startled you so much that you jumped on the spot. 

“You still kept it unlocked.”

Head darting over your shoulder, your eyes widened in shock when you saw the Devil standing just beyond your kitchen in his black, form fitting suit. Mouth falling open in surprise, you couldn't believe he'd actually come back. You'd been positive he was gone from your life forever. 

“You–you’re here,” you stammered a little breathlessly. “I–ah!”

A sharp stinging burned its way up your arm just as the Devil’s head tilted to the side. Before you could even register another thought beyond pain, his lips had set into a firm line as he darted across the room straight towards you. You’d caught the soft, panicked curse he'd muttered under his breath as he hurried to your side.

Glancing down at where the pain was focused on your arm, you gasped at the sight. Blood was seeping out of a cut along the top of your forearm. Judging from the red on the edge of the knife in your other hand, you must've accidentally cut yourself when you'd startled and then been too shocked at the sight of the black-clad Devil to immediately realize you'd even been hurt. 

Black gloved hands were on you immediately. One of the Devil’s hands gently grasped your injured arm while the other carefully retrieved the knife from your other hand. He was silent as he set the knife down on the counter behind himself before he returned his attention to your injury. Delicately twisting your wrist back and forth in his hold, his masked face focused on your cut as he examined it.

“You're lucky,” his gravelly voice said. “Doesn't sound like a deep cut.”

Face screwing up at the comment, your eyes darted up to his masked one. Curiously you watched him through narrowed eyes as he stood there still tenderly grasping your arm in his hand and examining the damage you’d accidentally done with your knife. What did he mean by it not sounding like a deep cut? Didn’t he mean that it didn’t look like a deep cut? Had he just misspoken? As much as you’d been tempted to ask for clarification, after going weeks without seeing him you weren’t feeling inclined to take the risk of asking and touching on something personal that would send him running away from you again. 

“I should clean this,” he murmured, still focused on your arm. “Don’t need you getting an infection. You’ll certainly need a bandage, but it doesn’t seem deep enough to need stitches.” 

His face finally rose, his eyes behind the mask seeming to fix on you now. You could feel your heart pounding a little harder beneath his mysterious covered gaze; it had been so long since you’d last felt the weight of it on you.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” he asked. 

Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus on the answer to his question and not the fact that he was here and that you’d also just accidentally sliced yourself with a knife. It didn’t help that his gloved hand was still so carefully holding your wrist.

“It’s–it’s in the bathroom,” you answered, voice still coming out a little breathless. “Under the vanity.”

His head cocked curiously to the side. “There a towel I can use to clean this in there, too?” he asked next.

You nodded, still partially in a daze. “Mhmm,” you hummed back. 

He released your hand, his head gesturing behind himself to your couch. “Sit,” he ordered. “I'll be right back.”

The Devil turned, striding his way across your apartment and towards the bathroom with an urgency in his steps. He moved without making much sound as you stared after his retreating form. You genuinely wondered how he did that. He really was just like a cat. 

Still in shock that he was even here, you maneuvered around the kitchen counter and headed over towards your couch. As you settled down onto the cushions, you glanced over at the short hallway he’d disappeared down and held your bleeding arm upright. Curiously you noted he hadn't even bothered turning on the bathroom light in his haste so that he could see what he was doing. But by the time you’d had that thought, he was already making his way back out of your bathroom, clearly having found what he wanted as he brought the items over. 

The Devil sat on the couch beside you before reaching over towards your coffee table to set down the first aid kit and the damp towel. In silence you watched as he began peeling his gloves off of his hands one at a time, the innocent gesture somehow seeming to cause your blood to heat. You swore you could feel his own body heat radiating off of him from where he sat so close beside you removing each glove, your eyes focused on the deft movements of his fingers.

It didn’t help that you were far too aware of how close his large thigh was to your leg right now. You couldn’t resist glancing down at it, staring at how easily it filled out the black pants he wore. Curiously you wondered if you’d even be able to fit both of your hands around the circumference of his thigh with how thick and muscular it was. Swallowing thickly, you felt your body warm a bit further, your mind going to places it shouldn’t have been going right now. Like sitting on his lap.

Your attention had been so focused on his leg in his tight pants that when he turned back towards you, you visibly startled on the couch. The Devil paused with the damp towel in his hand as he stared back at you, clearly having caught the way you’d jumped. The corner of his lip twitched, almost as if he’d wanted to smile, but then his expression quickly returned serious.

“Give me your arm,” he ordered.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you awkwardly held it out towards his awaiting hand. Gingerly his fingers wrapped around your wrist, drawing it further towards himself as his masked face once more focused on your cut. His other hand began lightly washing the blood that had coated your forearm with the towel, goosebumps beginning to dot your skin under his attention. 

The Devil had never quite touched you like this before when he’d visited you in the past. The hold he had on your wrist was delicate despite the roughness of his fingers. There was also care in the way he was methodically cleaning your small wound, almost as if he’d done this before on someone besides himself. You found yourself wondering about that for a minute, curious as to who it would’ve been that this man had often tended to like this. 

“Keep this right here,” he told you. “I’m not done yet.”

With the blood cleaned from your arm, the Devil momentarily released it from his hold before he leaned over towards your coffee table, setting down the damp rag. Opening your first aid kit, his hands reached inside and his fingers fumbled around, shuffling items out of his way as he searched for what he wanted. Eventually you saw him grab a cotton ball and that tube of Neosporin you’d used on the injury for his ass a few weeks ago. The sight of it immediately reminded you of that night and how you’d messed up, and the sudden urge to rectify that situation before he disappeared on you again hit you hard as you watched him smear the ointment on a cotton ball.

You cleared your throat as he once more grabbed your wrist with his hand, his other one gently dabbing the ointment over your cut. Wincing slightly as he worked, you tried to find a way to begin the discussion you wanted to have. With how quiet the Devil currently was this evening, it didn't seem like he’d be sticking around for conversation much longer after he finished bandaging your arm. 

“So uh–”

“I’m sorry for this,” he murmured, cutting you off.

Brows drawing together at his unexpected apology, you watched him in confusion as he reached over and set the cotton ball down on your coffee table. Briefly he released your wrist again, his hands searching for the correct size bandage in your kit.

“What do you mean?” you asked him. “It’s not like you stabbed me. Pretty sure I was the one holding the knife, Devil.”

“I shouldn’t have just barged in,” he replied, picking up the bandage he wanted and beginning to open the package. “I scared you. Should’ve known you were holding a knife.”

Your head tilted curiously to the side, your brows still knitted together. One of these days you were determined to figure out what he meant by all these odd things he said. Assuming, of course, he kept coming back long enough.

“It was an accident,” you reminded him. “You don’t have to apologize for an accident.”

He emitted a single grunt in response as his warm fingers once more encircled your wrist. His other hand very carefully laid out the bandage over your forearm before his fingertips gently smoothed it down over your skin. Eyelids fluttering beneath the tender, light touch, you once more felt your pulse accelerate. But when he spoke again, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach.

“There,” he said, placing your arm back into your lap. “I’d keep it from getting wet in the shower for a day, but otherwise you should be alright.”

“Thanks,” you replied, scared he was about to bolt any second now that he'd finished his task. “I suppose of the two of us, you would be the one to know about healing knife wounds.”

This time, the corner of his mouth did pull up into a faint smile. The sight of it gave you the sudden courage to speak before you could stop yourself–or before he left.

“Did you read my note?” you blurted.

He’d been reaching back out towards your coffee table for his gloves, but at your question he’d paused with his hand outstretched above it. You saw the muscle twitch in his cheek before he continued retrieving his gloves from off the table. Nervous sweat pricked at your palms as you waited for his response. 

“Yes,” he answered a little stiffly. “I did.”

Terrified of how to broach the topic, you just continued barreling forward, trying to choose honesty. After all, you either scared him away or you didn’t at this point. You were hoping the truth–or at least some of it–might keep him returning to your window.

“You’d disappeared for a while,” you cautiously pointed out. “I…missed you.”

“Figured you'd been busy,” he stated simply. “Didn't want to bother you.”

“Busy?” you asked, pulling a face. “Busy with what?”

“Your new boyfriend,” the Devil answered.

The way he'd said the word ‘boyfriend’ with such obvious distaste had been all the verbal confirmation you needed. Beside you, he'd begun pulling his gloves back on. You figured it was now or never to have this conversation with him. 

“He was never my boyfriend, Devil,” you told him. “We never made it past that second date. I ended things before they'd really even started. The day after your last visit, actually.”

The Devil's hands hesitated as he'd been fastening his last glove on. His body stiffened beside you on the couch, his masked face almost determinedly focused away from you.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought you liked him?”

Feeling an embarrassed flush spreading its way up your neck, you glanced down at your own hands. “When I told you about that kiss, I wasn't entirely honest with you,” you began carefully. “It wasn't like any other kiss I'd had before because it was devoid of anything in it. There wasn't any spark, I mean.”

Your hands began fidgeting faster with the hem of your shirt. Trying to admit your attraction to him was more terrifying than you anticipated it to be, especially because he was now sitting quietly beside you. His silence was somehow making him even more intimidating.

“And I felt that with someone else,” you continued slowly. “So I didn't want to keep dragging Dylan along when I knew that it wasn't going to work out,” you confessed. “Because I–” you sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as the words came out in a rush, “–have been attracted to you for a really long time now. Pretty much since you fell on my fire escape.”

Exhaling the breath, you bit your lip and glanced over at the Devil from the corner of your eye. He'd gone completely immobile on your couch now. You weren't entirely sure if he was about to confess his own attraction or run for your window with how still he’d grown, and that had your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. 

“Can you please say something before I puke?” you asked awkwardly. “The lack of words coming out of your mouth is making me nervous.”

The Devil’s head swung in your direction, your pulse somehow increasing further at the abrupt gesture. Fingers still toying with the hem of your shirt, you felt your breath come in faster. 

“This can't be what you want it to be,” he stated. “We're just friends. That’s it.”

“Okay,” you replied slowly, still refusing to meet his gaze. “But can you be honest? Those two times in my apartment–you know which ones. We almost kissed, didn't we? I'm not crazy, am I?”

The Devil abruptly rose to his feet at your questions. He began to hurriedly skirt around your coffee table and you knew exactly where he was headed. He was running away. Leaving. Panicked, you rose from the couch, determined to finish this conversation.

“There was something there,” you continued, chasing after him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice it.”

“It's just attraction,” he told you, shaking his head as he walked. “That's all that was. I don't want you mistaking it for anything else.”

Brows drawing together in confusion, you halted in place, staring at his retreating form as it continued towards your window. Trying to ignore the way your stomach had fluttered at his admission to being attracted to you, you knew you needed to think fast if there was ever a hope of him returning to your apartment. And after two weeks without a sighting of him, you desperately wanted him to come back. So much so that you stupidly spoke without thinking.

“Who says it has to be more than that?” you blurted out. 

The Devil stopped in his tracks, his masked face shifting over his shoulder back towards you. Swallowing hard, you wondered what the hell had compelled you to say that and internally you blamed that tight black suit. But you quickly latched onto that idea since it had actually caused him to stop his retreat.

“I'm attracted to you, too,” you admitted awkwardly, the words falling out of you without much forethought. “Why does it have to be anything more than that? Anything more than…friends who are attracted to each other?”

His head tilted to the side, his mouth a straight, hard line as he stared back at you beneath his mask. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach at his pause.

“Because I know that's what you want,” he finally answered. “Something more. And I'm not about to become your boyfriend. It wouldn’t work. I don't do relationships.”

You shrugged, shaking your head at him. “With respect, Devil, don't tell me you know what I want,” you shot back. “Because I can still be your friend who is sometimes…more than that. Right? I mean I'm–I'm open to it if you are. I know what I felt those two times when you were here. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it, too.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, your eyes drawn down at the movement. Briefly you wondered what that was about before he spoke again, your attention returning to his masked face.

“I don't think what you're suggesting is a good idea,” he warned you, voice dropping to something lower. “You don't even know me.”

“I know you well enough, Devil,” you countered. 

He gave a grunt in response, his head darting forward as he once more focused on your window. You felt your entire body deflate as he continued towards it, throwing it open wide before he climbed through it. When he was standing on your fire escape, you watched helplessly as he reached up and grabbed a hold of the window. There was a stern set to his lips that had you worried this could truly be what scared him away once and for all.

“Goodnight, angel,” he stated.

Shoulders dropping in defeat, you watched as he slammed the window shut before he turned and tossed himself over your fire escape. He was gone before you’d even known how to recover from the situation.

With a sigh you turned around, dejectedly making your way back to your couch. Sinking into the cushions and burying your face in your hands, you wondered how you kept managing to mess things up with him. Why the hell had you gone and just offered to be the Devil’s friend with benefits tonight? Especially since you knew you had actual feelings forming for him and wanted more than just something physical–no matter how much you really wanted that, too. Clearly he wanted to keep things strictly friendly, but now you really had gone and made a mess of things. All you could do was find hope in the fact that he’d said ‘goodnight’ and not ‘goodbye’ this time.

[tinyluvs]

Soft Reid NSFW headcanons? PLEASE !!

your wish is my command, tysm! *mdni!!*

he loves boobs, making you lay down so he can flop down on top of you, using them as pillows, big hands cupping them through your top, thumb stroking against the side gently

he's a fiend for your pretty lingerie, rubbing his fingers over lace and embroidered flowers, eyes widening when you gasp at the friction over your nipples

it escalates most times, his hands slipping under your top to inch it up until cold air is causing your nipples to perk up just before he's pressing gentle kisses there and when your hands find their way into his hair, he starts to suck and pinch

you whine for him to touch you more, just anywhere and he's all, "i know honey, i'm getting there," while pressing kisses over your ribcage, hips and tummy

he will eat you out for hours. laying between your legs, letting you pull at his hair, just making you come over and over again while his fingers stroke up and down the backs of your shaky thighs

he ruts against the bed, whining and huffing to himself, muffled by your wet cunt, almost edging himself over and over again but never giving in

your mouth around his cock? he's a mess, "fuck, baby, wait" when you're trying to swallow him down in one, "honey, please" when your tongue is tracing up the vein on the underside

he's so gentle though, raking his fingers from your hairline and backwards, keeping your hair off of your face while you suck him

a tad harsher when you don't listen to his warning, "i'm gonna come, no," he's tugging on your hair pulling you off until the tip is just between your lips, "shit, please, wanna come in you" he's all whiny, eyes pleading until you pull off of him

he's a sucker for missionary, wanting to be able to see your face when he pushes into you, stretching you around him. wants to be able to look down to where your joined to see how wet you're getting him

did i mention he whines? face hidden against your neck, whining and panting, raspy and light, breath fanning against your skin

praise !!!! "feels so good angel," "you're so good for me, doing so well, i love you so much" "look at you, my sweet girl"

he knows when you need to come, watching your chest, tits, rise and fall faster, feels your thighs practically vibrating against his hips, huffs when you tighten around him

"i know angel, hold it for me," his lips press against your forehead, "i'm so close, you're doing so, so well"

he kisses you when you both come, it's messy while you whimper into his mouth and he grunts into yours, kissing you all the way through it

he keeps kissing you after, letting it get slower and slower, your bottom lip slipping between his as you tap out. he repeatedly mumbles about how much he loves you while you're brain kicks back into gear

cockwarming is always guaranteed, he turns you both slowly until you're on top of him, head lolled against his shoulder while he strokes gentle patterns all over your back

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily !! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!

[smileysuh]

hello !!

im the same anon who messaged recently about the new mark fic :) since you're one of my favorite authors on here do you have any fic recommendations? Im interested to see what you deem a good fic

hi!!!! This is such a good question! You can find my archived rec's here. tbh, I don't read that much, and when I do read, I'm usually already friends with the author, or through reblogs and such I become friends with the author- so Imma tag some of my favourite writer beans :)

@domjaehyun (masterlist) - NCT & others

Jewel has a writing style that I can't even quantify. Her stuff is INTENSE, it gets you in the moment, it's literally everything- she's got some long fics that pass so fast cuz you're just THAT into what's going on. Her Hyuck filth is GOD TIER

My favourites are: Pussy Fiend & Quarentine Chronicals & Kiss U Right Now

@sehunniepotwrites (masterlist) NCT & others

Nikki is another one of those writers who I could read forever. Her stuff is so wholesome and sweet, but the smut is also hot as hell. The amount of detail is astounding- literally publishable work. Like, babes, write a book already

My favourites are: Going For The Gold & The Midnight Shift

@milfgyuu (masterlist) NCT & Ateez & SVT & others

Lana is so good at everything she puts her mind to. Like, the multi fandom in me lives for her blog. I started reading for her SVT stuff, died for her nct content, and I was foaming at the mouth when Ateez was added to the mix. 10/10 content no matter what group.

My favourites are: Babe Watch & Bingo & Peach

@seokgyuu (masterlist) SVT & others

Mitchie my love- I'd been meaning to read her long standing chaptered series for a while, put it off- finally started and couldn't put it down. Read the whole series in a day and now I'm obsessed. This hoe holds it over me tho- who is mc going to end up with? we don't know- but I think I'll cry no matter what because it's the end of an era

My favourite is: the Challenge Me Series

@bitchlessdino (masterlist) SVT

Nana is such an interesting writer. One of the softest bitches I know, down BAD for Dino- and then just pops up with a Halloween fic that included blood play. I really can't even with this girl- all I know is, her mind is amazing, and I wanna read more.

My favourites are: Scream Your Heart Out & Nobodys Home

@honeykyeom (masterlist) SVT

Mo is another one of those writers who does poetry. I've sat with this girl for hours and she types out one like four paragraphs of some of the most thought inducing, detailed shit I've ever heard. Fics like hers take time, and it shows

My favourite is: White Noise

[kaija-rayne-author]

Do whatever you want, believe whatever you want. And using Veilguard as any sort of source for anything remotely related to canon Lore is just ridiculous. It's so... awful, IMHO, to use it to defend any sort of point.

I'm not certain if this would be considered critical, so I'll put it under a cut. Potentially critical of Veilguard.

Though I'm really just talking about the Lore.

I point out 4 massive retcons in Veilguard that blew my mind and that I see people commonly using as arguing points. And yes, if someone wants to pay me for the time, I can prove all of it with sources.

What little canon Lore they actually used in Veilguard? They twisted beyond recognition.

Just a few examples.

1. The blight is NOT, in fact, (or even in Veilguard) 'everywhere in the Fade'. It has always been contained to the Black City, that floats disconnected from everything else in the Fade. It's why the previously golden city is black ffs! Even in Veilguard, it's really damned obvious that the Fade isn't full of blight. We hop in and out of the Fade throughout the whole damned game like it's a shopping mall.

2. The Fade is not full of demons. Demons are spirits (people) of emotion. What usually twists them into demons is coming through the veil! The only reason there was the big demon in DAI is because it was attached to Coryphyfish. There's probably some, but it's an arguable point that an emotion spirit of, say, anger, or spite is actually a demon. Emotions aren't bad. They wouldn't automatically be demons simply because they reflect a negative emotion.

3. The veil has been canonically choking the life and magic out of Thedas for thousands of years. If the veil didn't come down, there would be no Thedas. This is clearly spelled out in canon. The veil was never meant to be part of the world. At the end of Trespasser, the veil is as holey as my grandmother's doilies. It's not as they tried to depict it in Veilguard, a firm, whole wall holding hordes of demons and the blight of blights back. That's such a bullshit retcon, and I make weird faces every time I try to figure out the mental gymnastics necessary for someone to come up with that idea.

4. It's also a massive retcon that Solas lies. (Sigh. Yes. It really is. No matter what you believe.) He canonically does not. They rewrote his character for DAI so that he doesn't lie because it weakened the character. He was originally written as much more similar to Blackwall. They decided it weakened Solas as a character and made sure he doesn't lie. He obfuscates, misleads, doesn't answer, and is really good at letting people make assumptions or even leading people to make assumptions. Because that is what a Trickster does! But in all of DAI and Trespasser, he does not lie except once. At the Winter Palace when you ask him where he got the experience of court. No. A 'lie of omission' is not a lie by the definition or philosophical understanding of what a lie is. You, as the player, not paying close attention to what he says doesn’t mean he lies either! He is not the 'god of lies'. That's Epler's hate shining through. Throughout 3 games, many dlcs, books, comics, short stories, the Dread Wolf is known as the Trickster. The god of rebellion and sometimes the god of betrayal. He is never once referred to as the god of lies in anything pre-veilguard. It's. Bullshit.

And Solas is an absolutely terrible liar. He stumbles all over himself trying to do it in the winter palace. It's hilarious tbh.

There were more retcons. But I need to go help with dinner.

Just, even if you liked Veilguard, don't use it as a defense in any sort of discussion of Lore. Perhaps listen to us Lore fiends, instead? Because they shat all over the Lore for Veilguard.

Real talk? It makes you look ignorant to anyone who actually has been paying attention to the Lore.

FWIW? I'm not in the best of moods right now. Please think twice, then a third time before responding/reblogging in disagreement. (Unless you're polite and actually have sources I haven't seen. I'm usually willing to have polite discussions or answer questions. I'm also willing to stand corrected if people actually can prove me wrong with sources attached. A 'nuhn unh, Solas lies cause I believe he does', won't get you far with me.) Nor will using anything from DAV to support an argument. I've relegated DAV to the graveyard of not-canon because of the complete disrespect of the Lore.

And I'll just laugh at you if you try to attack me. Internet randos filling my responses with shit doesn't phase me, bother me in the slightest, or make me upset. I find it incredibly, laugh out loud amusing because I've lived through so much more than that in my life.

[thefreakandthehair]

Spicy Six -Ber Month Fanworks Challenge

It's that time again! I'm so excited to host the Third Annual Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge, with a twist this year! Rather than winter-specific prompts, we have a mix of both fall and winter prompts. With all of the fun October events happening, this felt like the best way to capture both seasons. The past couple of years hosting the seasonal challenges has been such a blast, and I can't wait to see what people come up with this time around!

Here are the rules: 

It's a Spicy Six challenge so of course, you must include someone from the Spicy Six (Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, Steve, Argyle). Don't feel pressured to include everyone, of course. You can be ship-specific or general. Chrissy is also included! (I know that makes seven– I just don't want to change the title, honestly.)

There are two links below, one for dialogue prompts and one for more general prompts. There will be a claims process, but I've decided to make it easier for everyone (myself included) and will not be limiting how many people can claim the same prompt this year. In years past, it's led to a lot of back and forth trying to choose second options, third options, etc. and there's more than enough creativity in this fandom for people to make vastly different interpretations of the same prompt!

To claim a prompt, simply shoot me a DM with which prompt you'd like from what list (i.e.: prompt 6 from dialogue prompts'). Since I'm not limiting prompts, don't worry if I don't get right back to you!

One prompt per person. You're welcome to use as many as you like, but you can only claim one.

No restrictions for fanart, and no word count minimum or maximum for fics. Long fics, ficlets, drabbles, all are welcome.

Posting will run from November 15th through December 31st. Additional posting details here!

When you post, please use the tag spicysixbermonthchallenge and tag me so I can see and reblog it!

Please feel free to reblog to spread and signal boost.

Dialogue Prompts Here Inspiration Prompts Here

tagging some peeps who've been along for the ride before/expressed interest & some writing/art pals (this is open to everyone!! not just those tagged!): @starrystevie @hexiewrites @stevespookington @withacapitalp @maxinemaxmayfield

@maxineholtzmann @stevethehairington @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @formosusiniquis @sourw0lfs

@steddieas-shegoes @steddieasitgoes @judasofsuburbia @kkpwnall @thisapplepielife

@werepuppy-steve @medusapelagia @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @starthecozy @sidekick-hero

@shares-a-vest @steddie-island @acasualcrossfade @hbyrde36 @ao3usermelancholyhues

@cuips-not-cute @arelliann @stervrucht @griefabyss69 @kaspurrcat

@sparkle-fiend @ahhrenata @nostalgicbones @henderdads @undreaming-fanfiction

@riality-check @wynnyfryd @aidaronan @stevesbipanic @hereforanepilogue

[mickimagnum]

🦇 Happy Halloween, my devilish little fiends! 🔥

I'm back with yet another spooky month CAS challenge. This year, it goes with the theme of my Simbrleen treats. I kept this challenge intentionally short because I know there are going to be other amazing challenges out there you're going to want to do, too.

The Rules:

Create a new Sim in CAS for every day/theme of this challenge. How they best embody the theme is totally up to you. It's your interpretation.

You can go in order or you can go in whatever order you want. I don't care. Do you.

Want me to personally reblog your creations? Tag me (@mickimagnum)! You can always use the tag #littledemoncas.

Most importantly, have fun! As always, I look forward to seeing your twisted, horrifying creations.

You can start October 1st or at any point during Spooky Month!

Title of this challenge is inspired by this song:

@simblreenofficial

[juniperdugong]

Couple Costumes Maknae Line ver.

What you guys would wear as a couple on Halloween and how they react!! || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line || A/N: I tried to make these examples as inclusive as possible, if you don't like that THEN GET OUT! Also, the characters or costumes I mention DO NOT correlate to the boys' personalities and this is all just for some silly Halloween fun! I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE ART, all credit goes to their respective artists!

Seungkwan Sun & Moon/Doraemon

He's another one who thinks it's silly at first but puts up with it because it's you! Really, for such an extrovert who loves being a comedian, he tends to get embarrassed a bunch. But as it goes, he is willing to do anything for love—of course with his own "professional input."

He runs the show in terms of what y'all are picking. He needs it to be a good mix of funny but cute ALWAYS. I see a small argument as you guys go back and forth on what to wear and how it should look. But ultimately, if you really pushed for it... he would go with what you want because he's above fighting over costumes (sometimes)

He could settle for a simple sun and moon costume, he is after all the brightest sunshine boy to exist. But it's fairer to say that y'all would end up going with a childhood favorite comedic character and who better than Doraemon! He would adore this idea up and down and out! Of course, he's gonna be Doraemon and you're going to be Mii-chan or Noramyako... let's be real he wouldn't let you get the chance to steal the Doraemon spotlight from under him.

Vernon Sarah & Wirt/Adventure Time

Go with the flow all the way~ Which is to say he'd love to dress up with you and go with whatever ideas you have for him in terms of costume. He doesn't play into it as enthusiastically as others would but definitely is supportive through and through, constantly pushing you to challenge your ideas of what the costume should be. Very much the type to be like "What were you originally thinking?" if he notices you trying to tone it down - because despite what people may think he is very expressive, especially through fashion (as we know)

If he did give any sort of input or inspiration forward I definitely think he would be going for some sort of cartoon or comics, he's mentioned Hellboy before so I feel like that's a good route, I can also see X-men being a thing. But I'm a cartoon nerd at heart and OG carats know he used to rave about Adventure Time so I can definitely see him bring Simon & Betty to the table, maybe Marshal & Gary, perhaps a Fin & Flame Princess, or Jake & Lady. I'm a sucker for the idea of y'all as Wirt and Sarah from Over the Garden Wall though, like would die to see him in the vicinity of that show.

Dino Morticia & Gomez/Scream

He is 100% the type to vehemently refuse, but as soon as you give him even an ounce of that sulky attitude, he changes his tune and is in for whatever you want. Such a lover boy, honestly. It's getting on my nerves how fast I see him change his mind for you tbh. If you actually get mad I feel like he would go off the rails and in a frenzy get a bunch of costumes as revenge/malicious compliance? In short, he gets mad at you for being mad but does what you want anyway... Yeah.

He's so Gomez Addams coded, I'm sick! Also you guys as the power couple of the Addams family? Yes, puhhhlease!! It's insane how much y'all would rock that shit. Down and out winning the costume contest, for sure! But I also see him turning down the idea if he doesn't know the movie... In that case, I feel like even if he hasn't seen Scream he would be down to do Ghostface. Not only would you guys look hot but he doesn't have to wear different makeup and I feel like that's a win for him in his book.

A/N: A day late but it's better than nothing! The jjk fiends will have to wait till tmrw for the official end to the Halloween event with a Gojo fic lmao

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed ! (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[dev1lm4n]

sinful reunion

masterlist | ko-fi (help me survive college :/)

pairing: engaged!joel miller x f!reader

summary: frustrated with how things were, you left joel and jackson for a whole year. today, you decide to give him a little visit and figure out that he's indeed engaged! joel trapped you in his bathroom to make you feel better

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit (18+), extreme dubcon, mean joel miller, fingering, infidelity, again.. joel miller is a mean, mean man.

note: do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :) i'm so exhausted from college i'm literally gonna pass out after i post this

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the quaint city had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which you remembered looking shrunken and bare when you left, had now burst into strong life and health. Branches doubled in length and girth, mantle of bright green draped over deep browns. Masses of white flowers brought memories of the late winter. A bubbling cloud of hot steam evaporated off your exposed forearm. The rolled sleeves settling right above your elbow was damp with sweat, same thing goes for below your arms and between your thighs. You sighed. The folded porno magazine you’ve been using as a shield above your forehead didn’t help much after all.

If it’s not for that old, obscene, grouch of a man, you wouldn’t have returned in the height of summer.

Things hadn’t changed much.

People are still as hopeful as ever. Their eyes shone with a renewed brightness, as if a full stomach and a roof over their head was simply enough to keep them satiated. They still bake apple pies, shovel their walkways, go to work (even if it's not to the infamous Wall Street), return home and share a familiar tequila with a friend or fiend. People are still people. And the pretend normalcy drove you insane. It’s confining and overall suffocating. 

Being safe ailed you. You couldn’t be that lady in old commercials. Plaid apron over her chest, sandwiches on the table, husband and kid smiling at her happily. You couldn’t kiss your husband goodbye or craft lunch boxes for your kid. You couldn’t live if it wasn’t on the edge of death.

You tried. For Joel, you swore you’d try.

It’s been a full year since you fled. Maxine, your dear horse being the only witness to your escape. That and the night guard you threatened with a shotgun, an unloaded one you’d argue, but it’d still have you in big trouble if it was reported. With a few old friends or two, you managed to slip back in discreetly. You disguised yourself as a patrol unit. Practical jeans, some stitches torn apart from prolonged use, and a khaki button up. Boots that’s dipped in dust and dirt tight around your calves, a bold contrast to the neat wooden boards underneath. Your eyes landed on the welcome mat in front of his door. A shrilling memory invaded your head‒ how you picked it out for him, all smiles and giggles at the corny line printed atop.

You stepped on the mat, mocking it by grinding your dirty heel atop.

Then you knocked. Precisely three times.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. It was shameless of you to return. Cruel, even.. disgusting for you to abandon someone who’s clearly dependent on you. 

He lived for you. Every morning he made sure to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, or your clit if he’s being kind. Every night he’d always tell you how much you meant to him, never an I love you, but always in the lines of dangerous situations and how he’d save you from it. You made a promise to stay. A promise to accept a ring around your pretty fingers when the time comes; doesn’t have to be shiny, you said, anything will do. But then you left. While he was out, keeping the city safe from any potential threats, you buckled up and tugged on your horse’s reins. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe you should just-

You jolted, even stumbled backwards when the large door swung open in one grand movement.

In panic, your eyes oscillated. His eyes were the same shade of brown you remembered him by, though this time it was much rounder, as if he’s truly surprised. Then it came to meet his hooked nose, the one you’d poke everytime you’re laid side by side post-coitus,. And his cracked lips, oh how you remembered kissing them better. 

Joel Miller hadn’t changed one bit. It freaked you out, how he looked the same as he did when he practically proposed to you or when you promised to still love him even when he’s no longer young and strong. Your breath quickened. Your heart froze, cold sweat dribbled down your temple even when the air’s hot and balmy. You clutched onto the rolled magazine. The salacious pages of nude girls in cowboy hats creased at the strength of your bare hands. Is he going to say something? Anything? You’d rather have him furious than silent.

“Who is it, honey?”

The air thinned.

“The turkey’s cooked, but it’s kinda burnt.” The voice giggled. “Oh, who is this?”

You counted to ten to ground yourself.

One.. Two..

“Just.. just an old friend,” he muttered.

There was a girl. A pretty one at that, standing on her tippy toes as she attempted to look past Joel’s broad frame to observe you. Her tanned skin glowed like a newly polished silverware under the summer sun. A cascade of glossy, ebony hair framed her round face, falling in gentle waves which closely resembled swaying palm trees in coastal beaches. You noticed that it was adorned with delicate, ornate hairpins as well. One of flowers and the other of a classic shape. Was it from him? He used to do that for you, picking up small items to gift like a bird in need of mating. The thin gold strap around your neck was from him, a gift from when the two of you were still operating high-risk jobs around Boston. A proof that you’re mine, he spoke that time.

Joel made the conscious decision to move to the side. Now you could see her more. How she’s cladded in a loose shirt with short sleeves rolled to her shoulders, how her shorts fit perfectly around her smooth thighs, how her supple breasts spilled out of the neckline. In any way you’d think of it, she was the better option. A masterpiece in the Louvre museum, a best-selling New York Times book. She’d be a model if the world wasn’t infested with flesh-eating nuisance. Your head lowered (you’re staring too much!), opting to scrutinize the details of your boots’ mud yellow strings. 

This was a bad decision. You shouldn’t have come. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d get on his knees and beg for you to stay. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d embrace you back in his large arms. If he’d fuck you ‘til your little brain stop working.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” The feminine voice spoke up. “Invite your friend in, Joel.”

“No- haha, no it’s alright,” you panicked.

“No,” she reached for your hand. The free one, not the one with the porn magazine. “Com’on. I cooked a big dinner tonight! The more, the merrier.”

“I really shouldn’t,” you tried to convince her.

Her soft, greasy hands ‒ probably from stuffing the turkey she’s claimed to make ‒ led you through the entrance despite your many reasons. You found it a little funny that you still memorized the layout of Joel’s house like the back of your hand, like an old corny song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. The dining room was to the left, you remembered. It was just as you left it. An old, dull rectangular table sat in the middle. It used to be only filled with bread and fruits you pick up from the market. Sometimes you’re diligent enough to create a sweet jam, but there was never a fresh meal on the table. There’s no time for that. He would often times heat up a can of Chef Boyardee when you’re sick, or when he’s ruined your little hole so much that you’re pretty much bedridden, but that’s about it/

“Your name is?” you questioned, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Summer and yours?”

You mentioned your name half-mindedly as you sat down on one of the creaky chairs. You opted for the one on the left, your favorite one as it always gave you a five-star view of the lovely trees beyond. The room was much cleaner, curtains drawn and ceilings dusted. You’d even bet money that ‘Summer’ had also dusted all the compartments of the chandelier, wiped each and every window panel, and vacuumed the rotten patterned carpet underneath. The rounds of your pupils settled back on the sight unfolding ahead of you; how the Joel Miller, the same person who needed an entire year or two to be comfortable in expressing his feelings to you, led his new lover by the waist. He then proceeded to pull her chair back to aid her, a gentle smile on his face at all times.

He changed.

He looked exactly the same, but there was just.. something off about him. Was he a doppelganger by chance? Joel Miller is never warm. He’s naturally a tough lover. Reluctant, even mean at times, but right now he’s acting like the picture-perfect husband. A righteous man, which you knew he ain’t.

“So where’d y’all know each other from?” 

Her lovely, cheery voice pulled you out of your dazed state. You raised your head slightly to flash a small smile her way. The chair creaked once more at Joel’s weight as he settled on your right, heavy frame and all extremely obvious from the corner of your eyes. A man, his lover, and his sort-of-ex having dinner in the late afternoon of a warm summer day‒ how ironic! You couldn’t even look at him, because sparing him a glance meant that you had to look at those manipulative eyes of his. Those browns that could impose a certain feeling deep in your chest, whether hatred, fear, or something close to love.

“Work,” he spoke up, “used to deliver packets.”

Half the truth. Packets? Sure, but not ordinary ones.

“Mhm. We arrived at Jackson together.”

As lovers, you’d like to add.

“Long time friends then?” Summer beamed a sweet smile your way. 

Guilt pooled in your stomach almost instantly.

“Yup.”

“Oh well, me and Joel met last Winter. He’s fond of the horses and I work at the stables so things worked out,” she mentioned dreamily, “the winter festival’s our first date.”

An eerie tension stood between you and him. It was thick, as thick as blood and as nasty as pus on a wound left unattended. 

He stood up after a moment or two to help slice open the thick turkey and only then did you dare to look at him. To ogle at his large forearms that’s tightly gift-wrapped in a thin breathable shirt, to dig deep into where his veins start and where it ends, to finally relish in the sight of his thick, bushy hair. It’s been awhile. A long time actually since you get to properly look at a man. You continued to watch as he sliced a chunk and placed it right on top of your empty plate, the knife he’s holding reflecting his tight-lipped smile your way. The winter festival’s supposed to be your thing. The two of you’s thing, where you’d gift each other a surprise and smoke a blunt or two and maybe fuck, but you left.

“That’s nice,” you replied, albeit a little dry.

“He’s a nice man,” Summer chimed in. “Kind, caring, a true Southern gentleman that is.”

You could argue on that.

“Is he now?”

“True thing that is. Swear on my life,” she continued. “Must be nice having him as a friend.”

“Well, don’t toot my horn too much, darlin’.”

There it was. That masculine drawl. That voice that’d have you begging on your knees if he asked you to. You’d commit the greatest crime‒ no, you’ve commit notable crimes just to have him stay right by your side. Just to have him acknowledge what you’re capable of, so he’d take you under his wings in the depth of Boston’s trenches, because protection from him meant a good life. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be to him, a little bird to protect. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever be to you, a protector in times of need.

“It’s a little warm here in Jackson,” you chuckled. “A cold beer might help a lot.”

“Oh sorry, honey, we don’t drink alcohol ‘round here.” She sounded apologetic, but you swore her almond eyes were judging you for a second.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Summer leaned her head to the side. “Been going to church these days. Pastor said it’s better to pray than indulge in past addictions. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

“That’s right, honey,”

Joel Miller is a church-goer now? For the first time in forever, you had the courage to look him in the eye. He was looking right back at you when you looked, though he had one of those expressions you couldn’t quite decipher. His tired eyes were hooded, enough that the top and bottom curve of his dark pupils are nowhere to be seen, along with a much obvious glint of mischief. It was either morbid curiosity, rooted hatred, or desires of past addictions as Summer puts it. The strands on your brow bone twitched ever so slightly, as if in pure disbelief that a man like him would kneel for a God. It’s not that sinners couldn’t repent. It’s him that you knew could never change. You took a bite out of the supple meat, never leaving his eyes as you do so. Maybe.. just maybe he’d crack under pressure.

“You go to church too?” Summer questioned, mouth full of boiled asparagus.

“No, not really.” You chuckled awkwardly. “There’s not a lot of churches out in the wild.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go to church with us this Sunday? A lot of fun y'know.”

You plastered on a smile, before briefly scooping some of the stringy meat up your mouth.

“I’ll consider it.”

Joel was the first one to snip the ungodly attraction‒ his eyes torn away to meet Summer’s much brighter gaze. Your gut tightened, gag reflex emphasized even more at the sight. Joel Miller was yours, that’s all you could remember despite the extent you took to avoid him, and having him give his precious attention to someone other than you brought a sense of disdain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't land his eyes on anyone other than you, weren’t you the best thing he ever had? It took awhile to school your expression to a level of believable nonchalance. You found the vintage canvas hung atop of the fireplace a great help in distracting yourself. It’s easy to get lost in every stroke, every clash of colors, instead of the green man squeezing himself between your heart chambers.

“Oh, when did you-” you paused mid sentence.

A ring. 

“Ah.”

Your vision blurred, splotches of red and blue tearing at the edges.

“Engaged, huh?”

A solitary engagement ring encircled her long finger, miraculously preserved by time’s embrace. A relic at times like these. You watched as it glimmered under the orange hues, jaw propped up on your palm to stop it from gaping. A small, radiant stone set in tarnished silver‒ the object mocked you silently, a red flag in front of an agitated bull, it’s purposefully making you reel into the depth of your hatred. Where the you one year ago rested in peace, where the you you’ve been trying to erase off the planet’s surface hibernated, and everything’s starting to resurface all at once. The need. The desperation. The desire to be wanted by something.. someone you couldn’t acquire entirely. You laughed. A dry one at that. Might even sound condescending if it were a tad bit shorter.

He fucking proposed to her. 

Of course he did.

Of course he had to change his ways after you.

You don’t deserve being treated right. She does.

“Oh, you noticed,” she giggled, the noise shrill in your ears. “Just last month actually. We were having dinner and I-”

“Sorry, I..”

You were suffocating, chest inflated twice the size.

“Feel a little sick. Gonna go to..” you held your hand over your lips, genuinely feeling like emptying your entire stomach. “To the bathroom.”

You stared at your own reflection, pitiful, glazed with a layer of disappointment and grief. The vision you had for this visit slowly crumbled. Every unfulfilled dream, every missed opportunity, and every question left unanswered converged into a heartache‒ dull yet throbbing, coursing through every inch of your skin and crawling much deeper. The laughter and conversations you had with him seemed so.. distant, as if they were mere echoes of what once existed a million lightyears ago. You held yourself, worn down fingers clinging on your forearms, nails digging down onto the warm skin underneath. What were you expecting? For him to mourn your exit for the rest of his life? Perhaps. Joel Miller was great at making you feel like shit, but today takes the cake.

Leaving was the only thing on your mind and so you gripped the rusty door handle. A quick exit, you knew you were good at that. Though instead of a brightly lighted hallway, your chest collided with a tough chest wrapped in a flannel shirt. A sandalwood, musky flannel shirt you might add and all those plans you had in mind dwindled down like a damp paper airplane. Plan A, B, and C were quickly crossed out on the chalkboard. Frozen, your lips trembled in fear. You stumbled backwards. Boots thudding against the old tiles, you’re afraid. Chest inflated with fear, you’re terrified!

“Move, Joel.”

Silence.

“Fucking move. Get out of my way.”

You threw quick, meaningless punches on the broad of his chest. It did nothing but made him get bolder with his actions. He took a step back, which you’re grateful for, but not when you realize that it was to lean back against the bathroom’s door. You’ve come a long way from how meek and helpless you were in the QZ, managing to survive the scary outside world for a whole year and keeping all your limbs attached, but you knew that you’d never manage to budge his weight. He was heavy. Used to be a massive ball of muscles, though now slightly worn down by his age. Joel threw you a look. A dirty, demeaning one that’s always been reserved for you. Only you.

“Fuckin' hell are you deaf?”

You bubbled up.

“Fuck you and your little play house. Going to church? Should repent the many souls you took yourself,” you seethed. “You’re just a big asshole on legs y’know that? Now fuck off. It’s a fucking mistake coming to see you.”

You stormed his way. Big mistake. He took you by the shoulder. Rough fingers dug deep into where your bone sits, his knee quick to slot itself between your legs. He was quick to switch the dynamic, to be the offensive one instead as he had you pinned on the wall. The frail wooden bathroom door creaked at the contact, its hinges banging against one another. You looked like one of those dead butterfly displays, spread out forcefully to show your entire potential. Was he going to murder you? Was he going to bang your head against the mirror and leave you there to bleed? He looked like it. With those blown out pupils, you're not even sure if he’s going to keep you alive or dead. If he's going to finally end your misery at last.

“You’re gonna kill me?” You tried to shove his chest back, but it’s no use. “Gonna choke me to death?”

“No!” The grip he had on your shoulder never once loosened, even at your viscous accusations. “You really think I’d kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyebrows sunken in sorrow.

“You don’t know?””

“You’re not the man I once knew, Joel.”

“I’m-”

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re not the same.” Your feet tried to tackle his legs, a move he taught, but he stayed unbudged. “You’re kind, attentive.. you’re there, Joel. You’re present in time. You’re never present with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh fuck off, Joel. You’re not gonna gaslight me.”

That had him briefly loosening the grip around your shoulders. You were quickly met with his cold finger tips, grazing the soft skin of your cheeks, only to settle on your cracked, bloody bottom lip. In a haze, you’re unprepared for the hand slithering its way onto your throat. It squeezed tight enough to impede your airway for a brief second or two, only to loosened when your eyes grew teary. You gasped for air immediately.

“You left!”

“You proposed to her!”

His expression toughened. The Joel Miller you knew was back. The cruel one with tendencies to abandon, to be hollow of true meaningful feelings, and he was inching closer. His soft scruff brushed against the tip of your ears. Warm puffs of air made you turn your head to the side, avoiding his serpent-like hold. He's quick to guide you by your jaw when you start straying off.

“Didn’t know if you’re alive or dead.”

“Oh I bet you’d be enthralled if I were dead,” you chuckled humorlessly. “You hated me, Joel.”

“I was worried,” he continued, ignoring your comments entirely. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, slow and steady as if you’d vanish into dust once more if he was too rough, and proceeded to smother sloppy kisses down your cheek and onto your neck. It glided like warm butter or sunscreen on a beach day. Joel never forgot the way in which you enjoyed getting those sweet spots below your jaw sucked, a mark to show his claim over you, to show his ownership even if you had to drape a shawl over it every time you had to shop for groceries or go on patrols. You weren’t as pretty and prim today though. You were untamed, always attempting to pull yourself away from him, to avoid his rough fingers and needle-like beard.

“Went on a search team every day for a whole month,” he hummed. “What if my sweetheart’s bleeding out in the midst of winter? Low visibility and endless snowstorms. What if you’re shot dead or worse, turned into one of those creatures?”

“But you’re a smart little minx, ain’t ya?” he huffed, his fingers gentle as it slowly popped the buttons to your shirt. His musky scent infiltrated your head. You’re drunk on him. “Threw a tantrum so big you disappeared on me.”

“No, Joel, we- we can’t,” you forced those words out, even when your soft breasts were spilled out of your chest. Those sensitive peaks were already stiff, you’d lie and say it’s simply because of the cold, but there’s no such thing. “Can’t- you’re en- engaged..”

He toyed with your nipples, squeezing and tugging on the right one before giving the same attention to the left. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated as he swirled around the sensitive skin with his coarse fingers. Your breath hitched and your chest spasmed. Every inch of morality left your headspace at the twinge of pleasure, your knees grew weak and he had to prop you up against his strong shoulders to aid you.

“You’re cheatin- oh fuck..”

“I am, huh?” he chuckled lowly. “You don’t want this then? Want me to leave?”

“No! No, please please,” you begged as his fingers carefully began to undo the stiff belt around your waist. He tugged on your zippers, tortuously, slowly unraveling the pretty skin he’s been missing so goddamn much. “I need you..”

“Needy minx,” he insulted teasingly. “Shameless, aren’t ya? Didn’t ya just say ya hate me?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in any of the plans you’ve concocted, it was just pure desire. He felt sinfully good. So warm and firm against your body, so strong and dependable. His shoulder proved to be the perfect place to bury your head into, muffling out the noises you’re prone to make when he shoved his entire palm down your panties. Joel Miller didn’t tolerate the misdemeanor. The hand he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly, before he abruptly pushed you back onto the wooden door. The hard material thudded against your back, resulting in a soft, breathless whine for more. He might be a mean, mean man for afflicting such things, but you’re even more insane for tolerating it.

“Ah, look at you,” he hummed, fingers tapping slow beats onto the hood of your clitoris. “No one fucked you good enough out there.”

You shook your head no. Annoyed, Joel slid his index and middle finger down onto your slit. He cumulated the slickness gathered around your pathetic little hole, before he slid it back up to tease. Up and down. Up and down. Then a full circle. The motion left you breathless, thighs bucking up against his hand, but he’d give you a light slap on the thigh if that happens.

“Oh.. you haven’t fucked anyone else out there?” he cocked his head arrogantly. “Dunno if I can believe a pretty girl like you. After all..”

He had the audacity to slip his finger in. A whole knuckle down your entrance, which is much more than you anticipated. Almost instantly, a sticky clear substance started dribbling out, gushing all around the foreign object infiltrating your cunt. It’s been so long, far too long that you kept yourself untouched. You could basically be categorized as a virgin again at this point. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, it’s just that no one turned you on this much. No one could shove their fingers inside you without getting their head blown off. No one but him.

“You’re not the girl I once knew.”

He turned your little insults right back at you. A single tear dribbled down your warm cheeks, hot and invasive, your fragile heart torn into two and stomped on the ground. Joel retaliated by pressing his lips right onto yours. Starting out soft and smooth, gentle and reverent, as if it was his way of apologizing and professing his undying love for you, but then it grew rougher and unrecognizable. A clash of teeth, a vicious fight for dominance. You had to put up a little fight, show him the kind of girl you’ve turned into, but when he eased a second finger down the tight rings of your cunt, it’s all over. You squirmed, desperately grinding down against his rough palm.

“Fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Jo-”

A knock.

Your eyes blew wide open. The soft fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie shadow that danced across Joel’s expression. You let out a soft whimper, eyes pressed into a crescent shape as you felt the need to cry out of fear and guilt, a sobering shot that made you realize how wrong this was. How disgusting this is. Immoral. Even when he was still three knuckles deep inside your pussy, even when you knew you couldn’t push him away. Your knuckles grew white as it clung onto the fabric of his flannel. He didn’t pay any mind to the interruption, instead, he continued to thrust his dripping fingers in, reaching around to find that squishy spot of yours. The one that’d send stars onto your vision.

“Are you okay in there? I didn’t know why you got sick..”

The muffled voice strengthened the guess you had in your head. It’s Summer, the girl with the engagement band around her fingers, the girl who’s supposed to have his two fingers deep inside her cunt. Your heart raced like a wild stallion, thunderous beats resonating in your ears. A small moan barged its way out your lips when he pressed on your clit once more with his thumb, he quickly guided your jaw back to face him with his free hand. Joel’s expression hardened, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight-line, then his mouth contorted into shapes. A wordless order to stay quiet and respond accordingly. You nodded, bottom lip slotted between your teeths.

“Was it the turkey I cooked? Oh god.. it’s my first time cookin’ in. I didn’t know that it’d be terrible. I’m so sorry, do you need some help in there? I can-”

“No.. oh! No.. no.. I’m fi- aaagh- fine.”

Your eyes darted around the small space, looking for any means to escape, but the solitary window was far too small to be of any use. Panic had seized you, but Joel’s fingers brought you back where he needed you to be. On the edge of an orgasm that you knew was going to melt your brain and make you go dumb.

“Really? You don’t sound too good.. I could maybe cook you up a remedy.. Oh, or we can go to the infirmary together? Just I don’t-”

“No.. ooh. Summer, I’m- shit- Summer, I’m fine.”

“Oh.. okay then. I’ll be waiting outside. Um, do you maybe know where Joel is? Kinda wanna see if he has some meds for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to navigate your way to release. The thumb he had on your clitoris started rubbing faster, tighter circles, leaving you on the very edge of a dangerous cliff.

“Dunno- oh fuck.”

He’s in there with you for fucks sake. Her fiancé’s here fingerfucking you!

“Gonna cum,” you muttered out a little too loud.

“What was that?”

“Gonna.. mmph.. Gonna come out so- sooghn.”

Your knees buckled, for once he allowed it, and you buried your face onto the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to thrust in the perfect rhythm, fucking back in the arousal that’s slowly dripping down. You weren’t shy in grinding back down onto his palm, neither were you shy when you came all over his fingers, the remnants left in an embarrassing pool down your trousers. His thumb tickled your clitoris, making sure the sensitive nub deserved all the pleasure it could get as he watched you crumble. Everything was just how you remembered it. Sinful, warm, and helpless.

“Okay.. I’ll go look for Joel in the backyard shed!”

[myers-meadow]

Raphael or Haarlep reacting to waking up as the little spoon, even though the little mouse is smaller than the fiend. Like Tav's chest is pressed against the fiend's back, arms loosely but tenderly wrapped around his torso, their head resting by his shoulder blades as he feels the mortal's peaceful breath gently fanning the base of his wings. Perhaps the fiend even realizes that his tail has ended up coiled around one of Tav's legs.

Here you go, love, and thank you for the ask!

Please let me know if you enjoyed, reblogs very welcome, I'm v enamoured with the half-devil <3 and I love getting to talk to others who love him too ^^

Summary: fluff, fade to black hinting at smut, sleepy cambion, no warnings.

Wordcount: 345

divider by saradika-graphics

How did the House of Hope come to be your escape, you wondered, absentmindedly, half asleep. You curled into the cambion in front of you, comfortable in between his wings, resting your chin on his shoulder. His heat kept you warm, but still you preferred a blanket. It felt more intimate to be underneath one together. His presence made Avernus feel like home, the sounds of the Blood War a far off noise that lulled you to sleep. It was never easy to sneak away from camp unnoticed to spend time with Raphael, but at this point, you didn't care what your companions thought. You slept best with the cambion.

The tail around that's gently curled around your leg, tightened for a moment, twitching as it stretched and relaxed. He's waking up. Softly, you pressed kisses into his skin, enjoying the ridges of his spine.

He hummed as he stretched the rest of him, tensing for a moment as the arm slung over his waist inhibited his movement.

"Comfortable, are you, my dear?" His voice was still thick with sleep. You tightened your arm around him, preventing him from turning around. It was nice to be the big spoon. Would he feel safe, as you feel when he holds you?

"You're very warm," you say softly, "I'm sorry if I woke you. We can still sleep a bit more..."

He lifted your arm to turn around, you let him this time. Immediately, he leaned in, noses bumping, and kissed you deeply. The sharpness of his teeth still delighted you, bringing up images from the night before. The bitemark in your thigh throbbed at the memory. His groan as you lick into his mouth was sinfully deep. With a big hand, he held your face still, to kiss deeper, so deep it felt like you barely got to breathe. He's truly a dream, you thought, moaning as you traced the ridges on his back.

He dislodged from you, holding you close, trapped within his arms, to say: "Sleep? Hm. Maybe there's something else we could be doing instead..."

[sarahowritesostucky]

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[bellaxgiornata]

Cabbage & Tears

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Mom!Reader Word Count: 2.3k [Collection Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: breastfeeding, postpartum hormones, emotional hurt/comfort, and a little sweet Matty fluff

Summary: For the past week since Matt and you had both been home with your newborn, you've been struggling with the initial drop in your hormones post-birth and breastfeeding. But tonight you finally hit a new low while Matt is out.

a/n: I'm attempting to keep these "blurbs" (I know, this one is more of the length of a one shot) as realistic to postpartum and pregnancy experiences as possible. Also, Matt was too perfect for this idea with his senses. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Collection Tag List: @danzer8705 @glowstick-lesbian @flowher @geminadeckerwritesstuff @shiorimakibawrites @beezusvreeland @ebathory997 @maryyymothhh @4happilyeverafter @sleepysleepymom @kezibear @charmedkim @midnightramble @carolinaxvz @1988-fiend @marcysbear

Sliding the bedroom door shut carefully after yourself, you held your breath in anticipation of the oncoming high-pitched wails from behind the solid wood door. It had become quite the familiar sound in the apartment over the past week now ever since you and Matt had brought your baby boy home from the hospital.

Standing entirely still at the door for a good few seconds, you continued to hold your breath, your hands still grasping the door handle in case you needed to head back into the bedroom to comfort your week old newborn. It was a long moment before you dared to finally take a breath in, the tension leaving your muscles when the apartment wasn't suddenly filled with the sound of a newborn crying again. Releasing a sigh of relief, you were satisfied that you'd finally managed to get the baby down to sleep for a bit tonight. 

Hands falling away from the door, you glanced down at your chest. Your breasts were sore and engorged, pain radiating through them as they sat confined in your nursing bra. For the past two days you had been struggling with the increased milk production that your son's recent cluster feeding had brought on. Now the next chore you needed to tackle on your list since you finally had a free moment was to unclog the milk ducts that you swore were leading you straight towards mastitis. From what you'd read about the infection online, and from how you'd been feeling further run down since you'd woken this morning, you figured you were already teetering dangerously on the cusp of it.

Slowly shuffling your way towards the kitchen on bare feet in the silent apartment, the light from the billboard across the street illuminating the space in tones of purple, you felt a wave of unprompted sadness wash over you. Truthfully you'd had these random moments of feeling absolutely miserable ever since giving birth, even if you were still overwhelmingly happy and in love with Matt and your new little addition. But now you weren't sleeping well through the night with the baby here, even if Matt was awake helping you as much as he could. And the over-the-counter medication that you were able to take only mildly helped to relieve the pain you were still experiencing in the aftermath of childbirth. Not to mention, having to wear the equivalent of a diaper afterwards in front of Matt had only made you feel worse about yourself and your changed body.

You knew all the crying you'd been doing lately was due to the significant drop in your hormones that you'd been warned about. The ones that made you an emotional mess far more than you'd ever been on just your period alone. You'd spent most of yesterday at home with the baby just periodically sobbing while Matt was at the office, and more than half the time you were aware the tears were unnecessary. You hadn't wanted Matt to know that you'd been crying at home though, so you'd done your best to fight the melancholic feelings back once it neared time for him to return from work that evening. If he somehow had picked up on the fact that you'd been crying with his heightened senses, he hadn't said anything. 

You had been determined not to bother him with your problems–something you'd been doing ever since you'd first found out that you were pregnant. Your problems just seemed trivial in comparison to what he was dealing with at the law firm and as Daredevil. So you kept pretending like you were fine, pulling out your usual tricks to keep Matt's senses from detecting any lies. Which was why you'd practically urged him to go out again tonight. You knew there was something big going on in the city and he was clearly itching to deal with it, and you had wanted some time alone to stop pretending that you were fine–and so you could deal with your clogged milk ducts while crying in peace. So you’d promised him that you had no issue watching the baby for a few hours more by yourself while he went out. 

And now that you were really alone, you felt the tears coming again as you stopped in the kitchen. Opening the fridge door, you carefully bent down towards the vegetable drawer and tried to ignore the pain shooting through your body at the movement. Reaching your hand into the drawer, you pulled out the produce bag which contained a fresh head of cabbage. 

Gently closing the fridge door with the produce bag in hand, a few tears slipping out of your eyes and trailing warm tracks down your cheeks, you brought the cabbage over to the counter by the sink. Feeling pathetic with what you were about to do as the tears began to pick up their pace, you began to tear a few leaves from off the head of cabbage. Switching on the nearby faucet, you rinsed them briefly under cold water as a choked sob fell out of you. 

You'd already tried many things for the clogged ducts by now, most of which seemed to prove fruitless. Warm compresses, hand expression, steamy showers, bags of ice on your chest throughout the day. You'd even desperately grabbed your vibrator and used it to massage your breasts in the hopes of breaking the clog and finding relief after some tips you'd read online, but nothing had really worked. Now you were so desperate that you'd had a head of cabbage delivered to the apartment this evening–which had woken the baby as he'd just been about to fall asleep on you an hour ago–to try what amounted to an old wives tale. But you were desperate for relief, so here you were willing to stuff leaves of cold, damp cabbage into your nursing bra.

As you stood by the sink adjusting the leaves in your bra, you felt like you'd hit a new low. The tears continued to fall despite the comforting chill of the cabbage that was reducing the burning ache of your breasts. With a sigh you readjusted your shirt before putting the rest of the head of cabbage back into the produce bag. 

Turning and heading back over to the fridge, you placed the bag back into the vegetable drawer just as the sound of the roof access door opened in the other room. The unmistakable heavy footfalls of Matt's boots had your eyelids slowly lowering, a soft sigh escaping you. You'd hoped he would be out for a bit longer still, not wanting him to witness you like this right now. 

“Sweetheart?” Matt called out, his booted feet making their way down the stairs to the living room. “Is something wrong?”

Inhaling a deep breath in, you willed the tears to stop as you closed the fridge door. Wiping the back of your hand across your damp cheeks, you shook your head and tried your best to smile.

“Just tired, Matty,” you answered him. “And I've got a bad headache. You know, from the lack of sleep.”

As you made your way out of the kitchen and over towards the living room, you saw the way Matt’s head curiously canted to the side at your response. The billboard across the street was casting a yellow glow over him as he removed the horned cowl from his head, his sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. 

“So was your night successful?” you asked him, hoping to change the subject.

“Yeah, it was,” he answered off-handedly. “Why have you been crying, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I–I wasn't. Not really,” you said before you could stop yourself. Catching the way the corners of his lips curved downwards, you realized he'd probably caught the lie in your words. “I mean, it was just rough getting him to sleep again tonight,” you backtracked quickly. “And you know–crazy hormones and all.”

Matt tossed his cowl onto the coffee table, his eyes narrowing curiously as they studied you. It didn't escape your notice how he was focused on your chest, clearly listening to your heartbeat and your body. Crossing your arms over yourself, you mentally prepared for the expected onslaught of questions as he made his way towards you. 

You expected him to probe further about the scent of your fresh tears in the apartment, or the skip in your heartbeat when you'd answered him. Maybe even the waver in your voice that you weren't convinced you'd successfully hidden this time. But what you hadn't expected was the way he'd stopped a foot away from you, his nose twitching as he visibly sniffed the air before pulling a face.

“Sweetheart,” he began slowly, his face twisted in distaste, “why do I smell…cabbage?”

It was impossible for you to control your reaction to his question. Your face immediately scrunched up, tears once more filling your eyes and spilling hot and warm down your cheeks. You felt a surge of sadness hit you hard as you abruptly crumpled in half, a sob flying out of you that you tried to muffle behind your hands.

Matt darted forward instinctively the moment you'd moved. His hands grasped tight onto your shoulders, keeping you upright as a look of concern drew itself across his face. His eyes were frantically scanning around you, darting over your face and then jumping down towards your body. 

“Hey, what's wrong? What's going on?” he asked. 

You could hear the strain in his tone as he clearly struggled to remain calm. Eyes snapping shut as the tears continued to race down your cheeks, you shook your head as Matt pulled you tight into his chest. Turning your face, you buried it against the strange material of his red suit, your arms wrapping back around yourself in a tight hug.

“It's me,” you croaked out. “I smell like cabbage.”

Matt's hands, which had soothingly been running up and down your back, briefly paused at what you'd said. You didn't dare move your face from where it was pressed against his chest, too embarrassed to see the expression on his face.

“I…don't understand,” he replied carefully.

Trying to fight back a sob, you answered him, your voice muffled by his suit. “I have some clogged ducts,” you began. “From the cluster feeding. Nothing is–is clearing them. Pretty sure there's an infection starting now.” You paused, exhaling a shaky breath. “I've tried everything. Everything recommended online except–except stuffing stupid cabbage in my bra.”

Your voice broke on the last few words, cracking as more tears spilled faster from your eyes. Unwrapping your arms from your chest, your hands clutched pathetically at Matt’s suit, your body aching from the flu-like symptoms you'd already begun experiencing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Matt murmured tenderly, his arms wrapping tighter around you. “No wonder it feels like your body is warmer tonight. You've got the beginning of a fever, don't you?”

You nodded wordlessly, your eyes still closed as you clung to him for comfort. Though even you could smell the scent of cabbage filling your nose as you did, the scent of it making you feel even more pathetic.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Matt asked gently “I could have stayed home. Tried to help you or even just watched the little nugget so you could take care of yourself.”

Face still hidden against Matt, you shrugged. “Because it's stupid in comparison to what you're dealing with,” you muttered. “And I thought I could handle it.”

“You have the beginning of an infection,” he countered softly, his hands still making soothing patterns on your back. “That's not stupid, sweetheart.”

“I feel awful,” you whispered into his chest. “Feels like I'm sick.”

Matt sighed, his arms still firmly holding you to himself. Lowering his head, you felt him press his nose into your hair before affectionately placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I can tell,” he told you. “Your body is definitely fighting off an infection. Why don't you get into bed and I'll find a way to help you once I get out of the suit?” 

Reluctantly releasing your arms from around Matt, you leaned back and examined the serious expression on his face. His arms were still loosely holding your waist, his eyes focused around your heart as he waited for an answer. 

“Are you sure you want me to get in the bed? I'll most likely make it smell like cabbage,” you pointed out, half-joking but half-serious. “Knowing you, you'd probably smell it for weeks.”

Matt chuckled before gesturing his head over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “Yes, go on, sweetheart, I'm sure. You could make the bed smell like rotten eggs for all I care if it would help you. Now go,” he pressed, lightly pushing you towards the bedroom. “Go get in bed and let me take care of you for once. And if our little nugget wakes up, I'll take care of him, too. You need some rest.”

A small smile slipped onto your face as you nodded. “Thanks, Matty,” you murmured. 

“Don't thank me, angel,” he replied. “We're in this together, right? You, me, and the little nugget you’ve got sleeping soundly in there.”

“Right,” you agreed softly.

Matt released his hold on you slowly before you began making your way around him and towards the bedroom. As you neared the door, you heard the familiar sounds of Matt beginning to slip out of his suit and you found yourself grateful that he'd come home when he had to help you. Even if you felt absolutely foolish with cabbage currently stuffed in your bra, because you had a feeling this would be a moment you both looked back on and laughed about in the future. 

[shy-town-art]

CALLING THE JAYVIK COMMUNITY!!

I have returned from the dead (again) in dire need of some long term literate jayvik rp partners! I'd also like to be friends outside of rp but if you are just here for the gay that's okay too!

• I am 21 so would only roleplay with those 19+

•I roleplay mostly on discord but can chill here too!

•I am NSFW friendly but I don't like when that is all a roleplay is about. I'm also hyper romantic so fluff is an absolute must :D

•I am a Viktor kinnie through and through so would preferably be looking for a Jayce! I can do other characters on the side too like Silco or Jinx though.

•I'm literally fiending for any rp, be it canon, canon alt, AU, etc etc. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to discuss in DMs

•As I said earlier i'm not looking for a one shot, this has to be a long term commitment. HOWEVER I am a university student and so completely understand if responses are patchy! The same goes for literacy, if for whatever reason your literacy had to take a dip for a few responses that is okay with me too!

•I have one trigger that is completely off limits. Any mention of a certain terminal illness that starts with c and rhymes with dancer will have you immediately blocked no questions asked. I don't expect the roleplay to evolve into that but just incase.

•I roleplay in third person and can easily write around 8 paragraphs if I'm heavily into a roleplay!

•I do not know any LoL lore but have searched things up/ am willing to search things up! My knowledge mostly comes from Arcane.

•HEADCANONS ARE EXTREMELY WELCOME I HAVE MANY MANY MANY TO SHARE!

Like, reblog, comment or message me if you'd like to be silly roleplay partners!