#in any case i am EXTREMELY EXCITED

[angelfrombeneth]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT, RIGHT? - N . CHAVEZ

Mature Content Ahead

Nicholas Chavez x F!Actress Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Summary: You and Nicholas are costars in a new show - Grotesqueire. When it is time to film a sex scene, you aren't ready; awkward tension takes over, but you know what they say; Practice makes perfect.

Note: I just want to say thank you so much for 1k followers and I hope you enjoy this one - and if you are new here, check out my other works. I have new stuff coming, feel free to request in my inbox for a specific character.

If you are looking for a part 2, please read this post as it explains my reasonings behind not making a part 2.

The filming for Grotesqueire has been underway for a few weeks now, this is your first big role in any media which you are extremely excited for. The show has an extremely interesting script, which is one of the reasons you wanted to put your all into your audition - which got you here.

"Y/N, I need you on set B in 5 minutes" Someone shouted from outside the trailer.

You sat up, taking your glasses off as you put them aside as you grabbed your contact case, quickly putting your contacts. You grab your veil, before exiting your trailer and walking towards the set. Crew preparing sets around you as you pass through different hallways, so much going on in one place but somehow you still felt at home.

"I was wondering where you were" You heard Nicholas laugh behind you as you turned to face him.

You laughed, turning to him as you smiled. Nicholas was your co-star playing a weirdly odd but kinky priest - and well, he was definitely lovely to look at.

"Nicholas, what are you doing?" The costume leader came scrambling over. "That isn't your costume for this scene- come!" She grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the set.

You laughed at Nicholas getting dragged away before walking upon the director and listening to your scene directions.

You sat upon your position on the set, the hairstylist coming to fit the veil upon your head properly, fixing your hair under it as you noticed Nicholas enter the set from the side of your view. You turn to look at him, your eye quirking up at his costume- well lack of costume.

"Nicholas why are you wearing just a towel?" You laughed.

"I have no idea- This is what Marissa gave me-" He spoke but was quickly cut off by the director on the megaphone.

"Alright! So can we get Talia on set please!"

You watched a girl walk up to you and Nicholas, smiling as she held a clipboard. "Y/N! Nicholas! I am very grateful to meet you, I am Talia your intimacy coordinator"

You blinked. You read the script you knew it was coming but you didnt realise it would be so early on. Nicholas shared a similar face to you.

"Now, don't worry, we will go over the main aspects and go over any boundaries the pair of you have" She smiled.

The next twenty minutes were spent with you, Nicholas and the intimacy coordinator. You were still shocked. It wasn't that you couldn't do it - Nicholas was attractive, and all, and the attraction for the scene was definitely there; it was just the awkwardness of it.

After talking Talia deemed you guys to be okay to proceed, the horn sounded round the studio as the pair of you prepared for your scene.

The tension loomed in the air as you stared at Nicholas from the doorway, reciting your lines.

"Can you dry my back sister... please" He hummed, passing a folded white towel over to you. You took it, walking behind him as he kneeled infront of the bed. You took the towel, slowly sliding it over his back full of gashes, cleaning the blood from his back as your finger ran over the bumps. You let your hand reset to his shoulder, softly gripping it as he hummed, it was what was scripted but it felt.. awkward.

"CUT!-" Shot through the studio as alarms sounded once more. Talia and the director came over, looking at you and Nicholas.

"Maybe lets take a break, you two talk through the scene and try and coordinate something. It feels.." The direction tapped his chin as he spoke.

"Awkward. It was very tense and not good tense" Talia sighed.

The pair of you nodded, walking out of the studio and towards the trailer as you groaned, flinging open the door as you tore the veil off your head yet again.

Nicholas sat on the couch looking up at you snickering as you groaned, sitting beside him, tossing your legs over his as you leaned back on the couch.

"I had no clue we were filming.. that today. It's just.. awkward" You looked at him, watching his body face yours completely as he held your full attention. The way his eyes stared into yours as you spoke.

"I mean if it makes you feel any better, I was pretty nervous. I didnt really know what to do and its just unfamilar i guess, its not a regular sex scene its gotta be.. kinky" He chuckled.

He made you feel comfortable. No pressure at all, the awkwardness was lifting bit by bit, showing the light under the fog.

"I mean what if we just.. you know" You blurted.

"If we just what?" Nicholas looked at you confused. "Fucked?"

"I mean you said it not me.." You looked around the room, trying to break the obvious tension as he laughed at your reaction. "I mean, for the scene right?" You smirked.

"Yeah for the scene." You sat up and looked at him as he spoke, crawling towards him slightly. You paused just before him. One of your hands gripping his thigh as the other held his shoulder.

The pair of you looked at each other for a brief moment, the balance of friends and coworkers about to be broken. As much as you wanted to chant in your head, 'it's for work, for work,' it wasn't, was it.

Your lips softly connected with his, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you in, sitting upon his lap, your legs wrapping and encasing him between. His lips mimicked your movement, slowly moving against yours, matching your pace and rhythm.

You pulled away briefly for a moment, looking at him. "This is work right..?" You chuckled.

"Definitely work" He smirked, pushing himself up, sending you up as he pulled apart your dress, the top clasps undoing as you kissed him forcefully. Your arms flew around his neck as he tugged the dress down slightly.

Your lips interlocked as you kissed each other hungrily, your hands combing through his locks as he slid all over your torso, pinching and grabbing at the flesh.

You both wouldn't admit it, but this was a long time coming. With the subtle flirting on and off set, you both were excited for the sex scene to finally be able to 'get a taste' as Nicholas said - but you didn't expect this.

You pulled away, gripping the waist of the dress as you dragged it up your body, pulling it up over your head as you dropped it to the floor, allowing yourself to fall back against the couch, your arms around his neck as you guided him ontop of you.

"Fuck-" Nicholas groaned, towering above you as he stared down as you adored in your black lace set as you stared up at him. "Is lingere supposed to be apart of the costume.. I mean stockings? Really? The dress covers it" His hand slid down your thigh to your calf, feeling the silky sheer material covering your bare skin.

"Personal touch" You smirked at him, your hands holding his shoulders as he licked his lips.

Nicholas's head turned to the side, kissing the wrist of your hand as it held his shoulder, taking the hand as he kissed up your arm slowly, gaining closer and closer.

You pulled him down towards you, rubbing his neck softly as you pecked his lips softly. "Nick- This is mad" You laughed out.

A smile covered his lips as he kissed your cheek, to your jaw and slowly down your neck, nipping occasionally. "Its practice... for work of course"

"The for work excuse has been.. overused~" You melted into his touch, your hands resting softly upon his hips above the towel that fixed upon his body. You tugged his hips closer, noticing his lips depart from your collarbone as he peered up at you.

He licked his lips, sitting back upon his knees as he stared down at you, that cheeky grin on his face. "Now, got to act suprised in the scene, I'll give you a little preview" He snickered.

You reached forward for his towel, tugging it as it puddled at his knees. You gawked for a moment, you didnt expect him to actually be pare naked under the towel - acting and all, you'd think he'd have some sort of cover.

"The director thought it would be more authentic to be completely naked under the towel.... For gravity purposes" He winked, his hands sliding down your waist, hooking his fingers through the sides of your underwear, slowly pulling them down your body.

"That's a terrible excuse" You laughed as you lifted your feet out of your underwear as he dropped them on the floor. You sat up, pushing his chest as he sat back on the couch.

"Calm down, cowgirl", He snickered, leaning back as he stared at you; one of his heads reached to rest upon your hip, the other clasped around himself as he gradually began to pump.

You reached back, unclasping your bra and sliding it off slowly as you threw it at him, the pair of you laughing. The sight of him leant back against the couch, hot and bothered as he stared at you while touching himself was all too much, it was making you hot and bothered.

"Fuck me, you are so hot Nicholas" you brought your hands to your face, covering your eyes as you let out a loud drawn out sigh.

"Genes.. what can I tell you" He smiled, as you leaned forward pecking his lips softly a few times. His grin seeping into the kiss as you stared at him, your noses touching eachother slightly.

You leaned in, capturing him in a soft kiss, instantly reciprocated as both his hands gripped your waist. You sat in his lap, softly grinding down against him - humming softly within the kiss at the friction.

You noticed his eagerness as his hips would occasionally buckle up against yours, one of his heads to your neck, gripping it softly as he pulled you closer - the pair of you intensely making out.

Your hands raked through his hair, tugging and stroking it as his hand tested with pressure around your neck as you hummed softly, lightly moaning within the kiss.

You pulled away abruptly, looking down as you took him into your hand as you slowly guided him into you as you let out a light and soft moan, which was sounded out by his own moan.

"Fuckkkk-" His head fell backwards as his hands fell upon your waist, guiding you slowly.

You looked down at him, your hands holding his shoulders as you slowly rutted your hips against his, grinding down against him. Watching his face twitch in pleasure as his breathing stuttered at each movement.

"You are so vocal" You laughed, pecking his lips softly as you rested your forehead against his, continuing to grind down against him, watching his body for every single twitched movement.

"Cant help it- Does it bother y-you.." He stared up at you, slightly breathless as he grinned, his eyes half lidded.

"Absolutely not.. turns me on if anything" You chuckled, kissing his cheek softly as you leaned down to nibble on his ear lobe as you continued to ride him.

Nicholas continued to groan in your ear, making you smirk as you speed up your movements, dropping your body weight down against him harshly as you bucked your hips back and forth. Cusses spewed from his lips as you continued to do so. 'Fuck' 'Shit' 'Holy Fuuuck-', continued to fall from his lips as you hummed softly, soft moans leaving yours.

You watched him intently as his eyes rolled back, his eyes staying hooded as he tried to steady his breathing. Smirking as you noticed the effect you had over him, especially how cocky he is normally.

Your movements slowed down as you panted softly, leaning against him for balance and he noticed. Nicholas picked you up, causing you to yelp momentarily as you pushed you up against a desk.

"Getting tired?" He smirked, pressing his hands against the wall behind you, as he thrusted harshly forward - causing you to gulp back a moan. Your fists clenching as you stared up at him.

"I thought-" You groaned, at each thrust he made, pressing your hands against his chest as you steadied your breathing.

"Mhm.. You thought wrong; I was definitely enjoying before, though.." He pecked your lips softly, leaning to your ear. "My turn now" He whispered.

His hands hooked under your thighs, lifting your lower body up slightly as he continued to thrust into you. You yelped out, shutting your eyes as you tried to control yourself from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, trying hard to not let go so soon. His lips harshly locked against your neck, as he sucked and bit down against the flesh.

"Nicholas-" You gasped out, moaning softly as your fingernails clawed down his back harshly.

"Shhhh" He cooed, as he licked up your neck, his hips continuing to slam against yours as the desk rocked below the pair of you.

"So fucking good- holy-" You gasped, staring at him as you laughed out slightly, his lips curling up into a smile as he continued to thrust, his hands holding your hips up just above the desk as you locked your legs around his waist tightly.

He dropped you harshly against the wood, placing a hand on your neck, kissing you roughly as you raced to reciprocate. His tongue halfway down your throat as your hands slid down his chest, your fingers feeling between the crevises of his sculpted chest. His free hand, cupping your breast as he squeezed it occasionally.

You hummed needingly into the kiss as his thumb pressed pressure against the front of your throat, causing you to tighten - which he felt. You could feel the smirk on his face as he kissed you, his tongue exploring your mouth as you helplessly allowed it.

You felt his whole hand clamp down on your neck with pressure. Your breath hitched for a moment at the sheer shock as he pulled away, your foreheads resting against one another, beads of sweat falling and mixing within each other as you gasped, staring into his eyes as he thrust deeply, holding himself within you.

"...Nick.." you croaked out as he stared at you, his eyes blown out with lust as he leaned in, biting your lip between his teeth as he held his eye contact with you, his thumb still pressed hard against the front of your throat.

He took his free hand, sliding his middle finger and index finger past your lips and into your mouth as you stared at him. You gave him no indication against it which caused his dick to twitch. He began to thrust against yet this time harder but slower. Your body rebounded each time, pushing yourself into the wall that you could've meshed into it. You sucked on his fingers, tugging his hair as you run your hand down his face, caressing it as you let out a guttural moan as he trusted once more.

"Good girl.. cum for me" He whispered, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and removing his hand from your neck as his face flew to yours, your lips instantly crashing upon one another as he gripped your hips, pulling you forward and roughly thrusting into you.

You moaned into his mouth, panting heavily as you drew closer and closer to your high. Your leg twitching as you threw your head back as his lips sucked and nipped at your neck as you screamed out loudly. Your hands clawing down his back as you came undone.

You were too dazed in your high, groaning and panting as Nicholas pulled out, groaning as he pumped himself watching as your whole body twitched.

Your legs flung closed as you stared at him, exhausted as he whined before he came on your thigh, whimpering and panting as he did so, his arm leant against the wall behind you as it supported his weight - his face mere centermeters away.

"Holy fuck-" You chuckled, out of breath as you stared at him.

His chest rose and fell as he stared up at you with hooded eyes. His finger swiping his cum off your thigh as he held it up to you.

You smirked, leaning forward and sucking it off his finger as you looked at him. He smiled at you before pushing himself off the wall as he stumbled back to the couch, laying back on it as he sighed - catching his breath.

"That was more of a workout than my actual workout sessions.. jesus Christ", Nicholas groaned, his arm resting up above him.

You pulled yourself off the desk, your legs slightly wobbly as you slowly approached him. You sat beside his head, lifting it and resting it against your thigh as you sighed.

"I think we've got the sex scene down, don't you.." You laughed, running your fingers through his hair.

"Oh, definitely" He smirked up at you.

It was safe to say, when the pair of you finally caught your breath you showered and got rechanged into your costumes. You had to cover up all the marks on your neck but for Nicholas it was fine, he was already marked by makeup so hopefully no one could tell the difference.

When the pair of you got to set, you definitely delivered the sex scene, going beyond the script. Hair pulling, finger sucking, tit grabbing, ass grabbing - the lot. Safe to say everyone was impressed.

"CUT! That was exactly what we needed, guys!" The director clapped as you and Nicholas stared at each other, panting slightly. You smirked, looking down at the tent under the towel Nicholas was wearing.

"Please don't move- it'll be so fucking embarrassing", Nicholas begged. You chuckled, patting his chest.

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, JUNE xx | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[incognit0slut]

Lesson learned

PART 3 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Unit Chief!Spencer x BAU!Reader Your boss decides to teach you a lesson when you question the motivations behind a certain case.

Content: (18+) 6k, breath play, fingering, a little case description, BDSM discussion, softdom Spence but borderlines to dom because hello this is breath play and reader being judgy judgy but don’t worry he’s here to teach you a lesson or two a/n: The initial plan was to make him a hard dom but breathplay is already overwhelming so I decided to go the educational route. I am, by all means, not as smart as him, so there might be some inaccuracy

You would think that after joining the BAU for two years, you’d start to understand the twisted logic of a criminal’s mind. But you don’t. Not really. You’ve dissected motives, uncovered patterns, and profiled suspects more times than you can count, and yet this case makes no sense. 

Your eyes go over the photographs pinned to the board again. And again. And again. It’s become almost a ritual now, like maybe if you look at it just one more time, the pieces might finally fall into place. But all you find staring back at you are three victims with the same marks on their necks. There was clearly a sign of struggle, but not one of fear. Not one that fits any pattern you know.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “The profile suggests the victims knew their attacker, but this doesn’t look like anything close to rage. Or brutality.”

Spencer shifts beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he leans closer to the board. “It might not have been an act of violence,” he observes thoughtfully. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

You furrow your brow. “If it wasn’t violent, then what was it?”

“The bruising pattern is too symmetrical, and there’s no sign of panic or defensive wounds on their hands. I think there’s a chance the victims might have willingly participated.”

“Willingly?” Your eyes snap at him. “What do you mean, ‘willingly participated’? No one willingly gets strangled.”

He meets your eyes for a second before looking back at the board. “I know it sounds unlikely,” he admits, “but not impossible. See how the bruises are evenly spaced? They wrap around in perfect circles. The pressure is distributed just enough to leave a mark but not to crush the windpipe.“

“Spencer, that’s exactly what happened. The windpipe was crushed.”

“Yes, but not immediately. That’s the point.” He turns towards you again. “The intention wasn’t to kill them outright. The unsub wanted to bring them to the point of unconsciousness but not over it. At least, not at first. He was counting on their trust before pushing it too far.”

You let out a huff. “That’s insane.”

“It might seem that way to you, but it’s not unheard of. Sexual asphyxiation is a consensual act for some people. The lack of oxygen when someone’s airflow is restricted can trigger a euphoric sensation which intensifies pleasure."

You stare at him like he’s just spoken a different language. “So, you're saying they get off on... not breathing?”

“More like they find excitement in giving up that control."

You cross your arms and study him, tilting your head with a skeptical frown. “How do you even know this?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I read,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You have a book on sexual asphyxiation?”

“It’s more comprehensive than that. The book covers a wide range of kinks, fetishes, and other forms of sexual exploration which are considered extreme by societal standards.”

"You’re telling me you read up on BDSM practices in your spare time?”

"I think of it as research,” he replies. “It’s part of understanding human behavior. You can’t afford to be ignorant about the complexities of people's desires."

"Huh." Your eyes travel back to the images again. "You know, I still don't understand. I mean, willingly letting someone cut off your breath? That’s not just trust that’s… I don’t know, crazy?”

His eyes narrow towards you as if he's carefully considering how much to say.

“It's not crazy,” he insists carefully. “For people who engage in it, it’s not only about losing control. It’s about reaching a heightened state of awareness, finding excitement in walking that line.”

"But what if that line gets crossed? What then? How could anyone think that sounds… fun?”

“Well, have you ever tried it?”

“Of course not!” you reply quickly, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Why would I?”

“Then you wouldn’t know,” he counters, his tone calm but pointed, like he’s presenting a fact rather than an opinion. “You can’t really understand the mindset until you’ve experienced it. It’s not something you can fully grasp from the outside.”

"I don’t think I could ever trust someone enough to do that to me."

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person to trust.”

You scoff. “What? Are you offering?”

You laugh at your own joke, and you expected him to do the same. Or perhaps a quick “Of course not”, even some rambling about how he didn’t mean it that way. But when all you’re met with is silence, your laughter dies down, and your eyes dart back to him.

Spencer’s not looking at you, his eyes are fixed on the photographs pinned to the board. He’s studying the bruises, the faces, the details like he always does, but there’s a stillness in his expression, a tension in the set of his jaw that makes you think he’s considering something else entirely. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s really thinking about the victims or the case at all.

Maybe you shouldn’t joke about things like that. He is your boss, after all, and even though there isn’t exactly a strict superior-subordinate dynamic between the two of you—he’s always been more of a peer than an authority figure—you wonder if maybe this time you crossed a line.

Spencer’s eyes remain on the photos for a long, agonizing second, and you think maybe he’s not going to respond at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head and looks at you, and the room suddenly feels impossibly small.

“If I were to offer,” he says quietly, “Would you take it?”

His words knock the breath from your lungs, and all you can do is stare back at him. You don’t know what to make of the question. Was it a dare? A test? Or perhaps something more?

There’s a part of you that wants to laugh it off. The conversation was absurd to begin with, so brushing it away like it’s nothing would feel like the safest option. The easy way out. But there’s another part—one you don’t want to acknowledge—that can’t help but wonder what it would mean to say yes.

What if you did? you ponder.

What would it feel like to trust someone like that?

What would it feel like to trust him?

But before you can reply, the door to the meeting room creaks open, the noise echoing through the dimly lit space of the police precinct. A uniformed officer pokes his head inside.

“Dr. Reid, we found a new lead on the vehicle.”

Spencer’s eyes stay locked on yours for just a beat longer as your heart hammers in your chest. Then, without a word, he nods to the officer, and any trace of whatever passed between you dissolves like it never happened at all.

The next few days turn into a blur. The lead on the unsub’s vehicle takes you across town, a chase that ends with the suspect cornered in an abandoned old house. It’s almost anticlimactic how quickly it all happens—sirens blaring, doors kicked in, and in less than an hour, the unsub is in handcuffs. The case is finally closed, and it’s the kind of victory that usually brings a sigh of relief.

But today, you can’t find that peace.

Back at the precinct, the rest of the team has already moved on to debriefing. You’re left cleaning up the mess of photographs and notes scattered across the table. But your movements are slow, distracted, your fingers fumbling over the papers. There’s a prickling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you know exactly why.

It’s because Spencer is watching you. You don’t even need to look to feel the weight of his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes track your movements.

You pause, photos in hand, and finally address him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. He stops just short of arm’s length.

“Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”

You feel a rush of embarrassment, and the awkwardness of the moment makes you shift uncomfortably. Clearing your throat, you turn your attention back to the table, hastily grabbing a stack of photographs and shuffling them into a folder.

“We didn’t discuss anything,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “It was just a joke.”

“Was it? You don’t joke about things like that unless you’ve thought about them at least a little.”

You let out a dry laugh, keeping your eyes firmly on the table. “I wasn’t being serious. We were in the middle of a case, and we were all exhausted. I just said whatever came to mind.”

Spencer tilts his head, the way he does when he’s analyzing something, his eyes flickering over your face as though he’s cataloging every twitch of your expression.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and takes another step forward. “But the offer wasn’t a joke, and you didn’t say no.”

Your fingers freeze over the photographs, the papers crinkling under your touch.

“I didn’t say yes either.”

You mentally wince at how weak that sounds, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. You slowly look up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all you find are those intense brown eyes staring back at you.

It unnerves you how calm he is, how easily he’s holding this conversation when your mind is spinning in a million directions.

“You do realize what you’re offering?” you start to press, feeling the need to put it out in the open. “What this means?”

Spencer doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “I do.”

“Do you? Because it seems to me like you might be taking this too lightly."

“I’m not taking it lightly. I’m acknowledging that there’s more to it than what you’re seeing on the surface.”

“And what makes you think I want to see beyond the surface?”

He leans in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, but not enough to cross any boundaries. “I’m offering a perspective, not forcing you to accept it. Understanding doesn’t always come from reading about something. It comes from experience.”

You can’t quite decide if his words make sense or if they’re completely absurd. It’s like he’s challenging your logic, your assumptions, but at the same time, there’s a strange clarity to what he’s saying.

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

Because he’s your boss? Because someone in his position always tries to make sense of everything for everyone else?

“Because shaming people for their interests, for something they might find pleasure in… it isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”

Now that was something you didn’t expect him to say.

“I wasn’t shaming,” you protest quickly, the words coming out defensive even to your own ears. “I was just…”

“Curious,” he finishes for you. “And curiosity isn’t a flaw. Neither is wanting to understand, and if you’re willing to explore that curiosity, then I’d rather you experience it in a way that’s safe. That you know is controlled.”

“So what?” you snap back. “You want to prove me wrong? Show me I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not playful. It’s gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he’s carefully weighing each word. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t want to prove you wrong. I want to teach you.”

You blink at him. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, the words tangled somewhere between shock and disbelief. It takes a few seconds until you manage to find your voice.

“You… want to teach me?”

“A lesson, if you will,” he explains, and the way he says it—so calm, so certain—makes your heart stutter. “Not to prove you wrong, but to help you understand. You have your perceptions about… control and trust. I think the only way to really understand is to experience it yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, what to do, and all that comes out is a shaky, barely-there laugh.

“A lesson,” you repeat, trying to make sense of the concept.

He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice, just an offer. Simple and clear. “But only if it’s what you want.”

You aren’t sure what to feel, much less what to say, and the uncertainty must show on your face. Sensing your hesitation, Spencer takes a step back, giving you space.

“It’s a lot to consider, and I’m not expecting an answer now. But the offer still stands… whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he gives you one last smile and turns away, leaving you alone with your conflicted thoughts.

You’re pacing in your hotel room, your footsteps muffled by the worn carpet as you make the same path back and forth over and over again. Every time you try to sit down, your leg bounces with restless energy, so you’re back up again, moving without purpose but unable to stop.

You tell yourself it’s just stress. The case, the pressure, the weirdness of being in a small-town motel with creaky walls and awful lighting. But you know better. You know exactly what’s got your mind spinning and your stomach doing flips.

Spencer. And his damn offer.

You scoff to yourself, trying to laugh it off like you always do, but the joke doesn’t land when it’s just you, alone with your thoughts. And, really, what’s the harm in admitting the truth—to yourself, at least? That maybe the whole concept doesn’t seem as insane as it did a few days ago. That maybe you’ve found yourself wondering what it would feel like to trust someone that much.

You stop pacing, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. There it is, that nagging curiosity, that flicker of intrigue that Spencer saw before you even knew it was there. You let out a sigh, the weight of the realization hitting you.

God help you, but you’re actually curious.

And that might just be the scariest part of all.

You slip into your shoes and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. The motel’s quiet, most of the rooms dark as you walk past, and for a moment you hesitate, wondering if this is a mistake. The team’s staying one more night here, the last bit of downtime before flying back tomorrow. A chance to decompress, to shake off the adrenaline of the case. Yet here you are, anything but relaxed, heading out because you can’t stand one more second of pacing back and forth.

Your footsteps come to a stop outside Spencer’s room, and you stare at the numbers on the plaque for a moment. You could turn around right now. You could pretend you didn’t walk all the way down the corridor with his words echoing in your head. But as much as you try to convince yourself that walking away is the logical choice, your hand moves on its own, and you knock.

Spencer doesn’t look surprised when he opens the door. Without waiting for an invitation, you push past him, barging into the room before you change your mind.

“If we’re going to do this, I have some ground rules,” you blurt out, the words rushing out all at once. “I don’t know what you think this is going to be like, but I need control over some things. Non-negotiable.”

He closes the door with a soft click. “Of course,” he responds calmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“First,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m in control of when this starts and when it stops. If I say no, then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no convincing, none of that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Second, I need to know exactly what we’re doing. No surprises. You explain everything to me before we do anything.”

He quickly nods.

“And third… this doesn’t leave this room. We don’t talk about it to anyone else. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever.”

He takes a step forward towards you. “This stays between us.”

You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline settling into a nervous, thrumming pulse beneath your skin. “Okay,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, trying to process the reality of what you’ve just laid out. “Those are my rules.”

Spencer takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faintest trace of him. A mix of something clean and warm, like soap and worn cotton, an understated scent that’s distinctly him.

“Then those are the rules we follow,” he reassures you. “Your terms. Your pace.”

“Thank you.”

He nods his head again. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

There is, actually. There’s a question that’s been hovering in the back of your mind. It feels awkward to say out loud, but the uncertainty gnaws at you, and finally, you force the words out.

“Are we… are we going to have sex?”

He holds your gaze. “Do you want to have sex?”

You go quiet again, letting the silence settle around you as you think about what you want, what you came here for. You slowly shake your head. “No,” you reply. “No, I don’t.”

“Then we won’t. There’s more to explore in this than just sex.”

“Right, that’s—good.” You clear your throat. “I have… one more question.”

He gestures for you to continue.

“You’re not going to fire me for this, are you?”

His soft chuckle fills your ear, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile tonight. “No,” he confirms, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. Whatever happens between us won’t affect your work, I promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a little of the weight lift off your shoulders.

“Okay, so… now what?”

“Now,” he says gently, “We take it slow.“

He guides you toward the edge of the bed, and you find yourself moving automatically, sitting down on the mattress. The bed creaks slightly as he settles beside you.

“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, turning slightly to face you. “I want you to be comfortable. And that means talking. You can start by telling me what you’re thinking. ”

“That’s… it? We’re just going to talk?”

Spencer’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yes,” he confirms, “If that’s what you want. There’s no pressure to do anything else.”

The idea of just talking feels safe, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity that you can’t quite shake. You shift on the bed.

“What if I want to do something more?”

Spencer’s eyes search yours, and he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t do anything that could make the moment feel rushed. “If you want to, then we can. Something simple to start.”

Your fingers trace the fabric of the bedspread. “Like what?”

“Something small. It could be as simple as letting me guide your breathing. A way to practice trust without anything overwhelming.”

You swallow, the idea feeling both intimidating and oddly… reassuring. There’s comfort in the way he talks about it, the lack of pressure, and the way he makes it feel like there’s nothing to fear.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Let’s try that.”

He moves a little closer to you. “We’ll take it slow,” he promises. “Try to focus on your breathing and follow my lead.”

You close your eyes, feeling your breath shallow and quick, your heart racing as you try to find a steady rhythm.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs softly. You inhale deeply, feeling the air fill your lungs, and when you open your eyes for a moment, you find his face inches from yours.

“Good. Now let it out… slowly.”

You follow his lead, exhaling, and you can’t help but notice he’s mirroring your breathing—his chest rising and falling in time with yours. It’s oddly comforting, and a little unnerving, like he's syncing with the rhythm of your pulse.

“Again,” he guides. “Deep breath in… hold for a count of three… then let it go.”

You do as he says, feeling your nerves steady slightly with each breath. In, hold, out.

“You’re doing really well,” he murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath brushing your skin. “I’m going to ask you something, but I need you to know you can say no. At any point.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Can I touch you?” he asks gently, his words so soft they almost melt into the air around you. “Just on your shoulder, or your hand. I want to see how you feel about being touched while you focus on your breathing.”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, but you manage another nod. His hand moves carefully to rest on your shoulder, but even with the light pressure, you feel your body stiffen. Spencer notices immediately.

“You’re tense,” he observes, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder.

You let out a small laugh, one that comes out more like a nervous exhale than anything close to amusement. “It’s kind of hard not to be,” you admit. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s okay. It’s completely normal to feel nervous.” He pauses for a second before continuing, his tone thoughtful, like he’s considering what might actually help. "There are a few things that can help when you’re feeling this way. One of them is focusing on your breathing, which we’re already doing. But there’s also physical touch."

"Physical touch?”

"Kissing, for example," he explains, “can actually help regulate your nervous system. It releases oxytocin, lowers cortisol levels. Basically, it signals your body to relax."

Your eyes fall on his lips. "Really?"

A flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, but it’s only helpful if it’s something you feel comfortable with.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like to try?”

You meet his gaze again and, before you can overthink it, find yourself nodding, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Yeah… okay. We can try.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Spencer leans in, his lips brushing yours with the kind of gentleness that catches you off guard. It's soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, and you can feel the slight hesitation in his movements as if he’s making sure you’re comfortable. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, and for a second, you wonder if this is how he kisses—gentle, thoughtful, deliberate.

But as the kiss deepens, you feel the warmth of him pulling you in. Your heart’s doing this erratic thing where it skips every other beat, and your mind’s racing to catch up with what your body’s already starting to enjoy. And sure, maybe the science behind this kiss makes sense after all, because there’s a part of you that’s actually relaxing, even with the buzz of nerves still humming beneath the surface.

Then he pulls back, just enough for your lips to barely part, his breath warm against your skin. “How are you feeling?”

It takes three heartbeats to find your voice. “Uh... yeah, good,” you manage, a little breathless, a little more flustered than you’d like to admit.

“Do you want to keep going?”

You pause, thinking it over, and despite the swarm of nerves in your chest, curiosity wins out again. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. The moment you do, Spencer leans in again, and this time his kiss is deeper, more intent. The softness is still there, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand lightly cups the back of your neck.

Then his tongue brushes lightly against your lower lip, and a ripple of goosebumps spreads across your skin. You part your lips for him, and the sensation of his tongue slipping past m has you gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter.

Just when you think you’re getting used to it, his hand shifts, sliding up to wrap gently around the front of your neck. Not tight, not restricting—just enough to make you aware of it. The warmth of his palm against your throat sends a jolt of something sharp right through you. He seems to notice instantly, and without pulling his hand away, he breaks the kiss.

“Are you okay?” His thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. “I don’t want to push you, if it’s too much—”

But before he can finish, you shake your head quickly, surprising even yourself with how fast the words leave your mouth. “No, I… trust you.”

His eyes soften at your words, and his grip on your neck stays gentle, almost protective. “Would it be okay if I touched you more?”

Your pulse beats rapidly beneath his fingers, a rhythm you’re sure he can feel, as if your heart is answering for you. “…yes.”

“Do you want to lie down? Would that be more comfortable?”

You feel the heat travel along your veins. “I think… that would be good.”

Spencer nods as he helps you shift back onto the pillow. He stays close but doesn’t crowd you, his hand returning to rest lightly on your neck, that same soft pressure that keeps your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“Remember, focus on your breathing,” he reminds you. “The way your body responds is tied to how much you let yourself feel. Trust that.”

His other hand begins to move. His hand trails up toward your shoulder, then lightly brushes over your breast. It’s barely a touch at first, like he’s testing the boundaries, waiting for your body to tell him how far to go. Your breath catches for a second, but when you don’t tense up, he takes that as a sign to continue.

“Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, your voice a little breathless than you expected. And, God, you mean it. It’s more than okay—it’s… unexpectedly good in a way that feels almost too intimate to think about.

His hand moves lower now, tracing a path down your side, before sliding gently across your leg. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel his fingers brush against the inside of your thigh.

“How about this?”

You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.

Spencer’s lips curls into the faintest smile. His hand inches higher, moving up your thigh with excruciating slowness until his fingers finally reach the heat between your legs.

Oh. Oh.

Your hips instinctively tilt toward him, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The heat pooling low in your belly intensifies as his fingers press lightly against you.

“Still with me?”

You nod, but internally, your mind is spinning. He begins to move in slow, circular motions, his fingers dragging against the fabric in a way that makes you bite back a moan. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel your arousal sticking uncomfortably to your panties. It doesn’t shock you—you know understand how being touched like this will make you wet—but what surprises you is how much more intense it feels when his grip around your neck tightens.

Your breath hitches, and before you can stop yourself, a moan escapes your lips.

He pauses for a moment, his grip relaxing just enough for you to catch your breath. “I want you to feel the difference,” he explains. “The pressure changes everything. It makes you more aware of every sensation, more focused on how your body responds. But if it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

You nod, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “I’m good.”

His thumb traces the outline of your jaw. “Do you want me to continue?”

“…yeah.”

His hand travels towards your hips, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. “Should we get rid of these?”

You don’t have to think about it for long. The answer is already there.

“You can take them off.”

Spencer’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants before tugging it down. But as the fabric pools around your ankles, you hesitate for a second before your hand instinctively reaches for your shirt. You fumble with the hem, glancing at him as you pull it halfway up, your breath coming out in a small, awkward laugh.

“I mean, it’d feel weird to be naked from the waist down and still… you know, fully dressed on top.”

His eyes linger on you, and his reaction is subtly amusing. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Without thinking too much about it, you tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, quickly joined by your panties, and before you know it, you’re lying naked on your boss’s bed.

Or, technically, the bed he’s been sleeping on these past couple of days.

Spencer’s eyes move over you slowly, lingering on the curve of your perky breasts, your smooth skin, and the unmistakable wetness between your thighs. His gaze is careful, appreciative but never lingering too long in one place, like he’s taking you in while still giving you space to breathe.

“You’re so pretty.”

Pretty? The word feels almost quaint given the situation, but the way he says it makes it feel like it’s more than that. Like he’s seeing all of you, the parts you don’t often reveal, and he still thinks you’re beautiful.

And somehow, that simple compliment leaves you more exposed than the fact that you’re lying naked in front of him.

“I can’t believe we're doing this,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His hand brushes along your arm. “You don’t have to overthink it. You’re in control here. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I know.”

He tilts your head with his hand. “Is this okay so far?”

You offer him a smile. “It’s okay.”

His other hand lands on your knee. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

You feel the nerves buzzing beneath your skin, but there’s also a warmth, a curiosity, a pull toward him. You inhale deeply, letting the breath steady your nerves, and then, without letting your mind spiral any further, you slowly part your legs.

His palm glides along your inner thigh, and then he touches you again, only this time, there’s no barrier between you. You can feel the rough pad of his fingertips as they gently caress your folds that it pulls a sharp breath from your lips.

“Does this feel good?”

You nod. It’s more than just good—it’s everything. The way he’s paying attention to every inch of your body is overwhelming in the best way. His fingers trace a slow path along your skin, finally pausing as they brush against you between your folds. Without hesitation, Spencer slides a finger inside you. The sudden stretch pulls a gasp from your lips.

The slick wetness between your thighs coats his fingers almost instantly, and you feel yourself responding to him, opening up in ways you didn’t even know you could. He studies the way his finger moves in and out of your cunt, and the more he touches you, the more your hips begin to move on their own.

He takes your response as a sign to continue.

"I'm going to wrap my hand around your neck again," he tells you, without waiting for more than a slight nod of your head, his fingers curl around your throat.

"The pressure here," he begins, his thumb lightly pressing at the side of your neck. "Isn't just about cutting off your air, it also means restricting blood flow to your brain.”

He pushes another finger inside you, and the increased fullness draws a sharp intake of breath from you.

“By limiting the blood flow like this,” he continues, applying a bit more pressure around your throat. "It triggers your body to release adrenaline and dopamine. That rush you’re feeling? It’s your body chasing euphoria."

Euphoria. You never really thought about it like this before, how something so controlled could unlock a part of your body that felt so overwhelming. The feeling isn’t just pleasure, it’s a raw intensity that borders on something deeper as your cunt clenches around him. Your breath stutters, caught in a sharp contrast between the slow burn in your throat and the urgent heat flaring between your legs.

He’s unraveling you, pulling you apart thread by thread, yet leaving you desperate for the moment he puts you back together again.

You need more.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs soothingly. The words send a new wave of heat rushing through your body. Your hips move restlessly, and you can hear the soft whine escaping your throat, growing louder with each thrust.

Spencer notices immediately, his fingers slowing just for a moment. “Too much?”

You quickly shake your head, almost frantic, the last thing you want is for him to stop. The moment you do, his grip on your throat tightens slightly and your eyes flutter closed as a wave of euphoria washes over you. Head falling back against the pillows, your vision starts to blur. You feel the air restrict in your throat.

“I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes lightly against your neck. “The more you control your breathing, the better it’ll feel.”

That word alone almost undoes you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s meant to be soft and soothing, but instead, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. Your chest rises and falls as you do exactly what he says, because apparently, being called sweetheart with his fingers wrapped around your neck makes you want to obey him, more than you’d care to admit.

"That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing."

You force your eyes open, but everything feels hazy, unfocused. You’re not sure if it's from the lack of air or the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel yourself losing control. Your eyes flutter half-closed again, lips parting in a breathless moan, and before you realize it, your tongue slips out, barely grazing your lower lip.

Spencer knows you’re close. His thumb presses just a little harder against your throat, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough for your inner walls to grip his fingers tightly.

“I know, I know, I've got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just let go whenever you’re ready."

You can’t decide if the sound of his voice is making it easier or harder to hold on. There’s a brief moment where you think you might hold it together, but then your body betrays you. Your muscles tense, your breath catches in your throat, and all the control you had slips away in an instant. It’s as if your brain is giving in to exactly what he said it would—a surge of chemicals that makes your limbs feel heavy and light all at once.

Your orgasm slams right into you, the most intense thing you’ve ever felt. It floods your senses so completely that your lungs struggle to catch up. The tremors rack your body, and it’s only when your legs give a final, uncontrollable shake that he finally releases your neck, allowing the air to rush back into your lungs in a dizzying, breathless moment of relief.

Before you can fully recover, his lips are on yours in an instant. He moves against your neck, kissing the very spot where his hand had held you. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

When you manage to catch your breath and blink through the lingering haze, he lies down on the bed and pulls you into his arms. It takes a whole minute before your breathing fully steadies, his hand stroking your hair the entire time.

“How are you feeling?”

You don’t know what to make of it all, so you laugh breathlessly instead, the only response you can muster.

“Like I’m about to pass out.”

“What?” He looks at you in alarm. “You are?”

You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… it was really intense.” But the worry doesn’t completely leave his face, so you try again, placing your hand on his chest. “Good intense. I’m okay, I promise.”

He lets out a slow breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I take it you liked it?”

A flush of embarrassment washes over you, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you nod. “Yeah… I did,” you admit, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “Go ahead, you can gloat. Tell me I was wrong.”

Instead of taking the bait, he gently traces his fingers along your neck. “It was never about proving you wrong. The judgment you made that day, about not getting why someone would like this… it’s hard to fully grasp until you feel it yourself.”

“I wasn’t judging,” you murmur, feeling a need to defend yourself.

“Maybe not intentionally,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to BDSM, there’s a lot of misunderstanding or assumptions people make from the outside, it’s really more than just control or pain. There’s trust, communication, boundaries. And I think, in a way, that’s what happened tonight. You trusted me enough to let go.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing what he’s saying. “Are you suggesting I could be into all of this?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies carefully. “But I think it’s possible that there’s more to it than you realize. You trusted me tonight, and that’s the most important part. That’s where it all starts.”

You chew on his words for a second. It’s not something you’d ever considered before, but now that he’s brought it up, you can’t deny that the thought has sparked something.

“So you think I might want to explore this further?”

His lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what you want. If you’re curious, then we can explore it together.” He leans in slightly. “Is that you want?”

The spark you felt moments ago? It flickers stronger now. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying, but with him, it feels… possible. Safe, even.

You feel a tightness in your chest.

“I think… maybe, yeah.”

His smile deepens just a fraction. “We’ll take our time,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing lightly over your throat. “We can talk about this when we get back. You need to rest for now.”

You shift closer to him, feeling the rustle of his clothes against your bare skin. “Can I stay here tonight?”

His chin lands on top of your head. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”

What a dangerous offer, you think as you sink further into his arms. But not as dangerous as the way your heart flutters at the thought.

[fiastomatocheek]

SNOOPY AND THE SUMMER GIRL

requested: yes | req: dad!luke request plsss. okay, so luke, reader and the other hughes brothers, taking their toddler onto the lake for the first time, and she gets scared when luke falls off while wakeboarding. and because she can't swim that well yet, everyone takes turns letting her sit on their shoulders. maybe also something cute with reader and luke while the boys take care of her??? love your work!!

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader

genre: fluff, family, slice of life, domestic.

warnings: none (unless extreme cuteness counts).

summary: every summer, the hughes family gathers at quinn’s lake house and this year is no different, except now lucy, your four-year-old daughter with luke, is old enough to make real memories. when luke falls off the wakeboard during a family day on the boat, luce panics, leading to a cascade moments with her uncles and a tender lakeside moment between you and luke.

fia’s note: okay, here’s another dad!luke hughes fic for you all! in this one, instead of calling jack ‘uncle jack,’ luce gives him the nickname ‘uncle rowdy’ because, of course, she thinks it’s the funniest way to tease him. even if she doesn’t always act super sweet around jack, she still loves her uncle a lot (just… maybe not as much as uncle quinny, sorry jack 🫣). i really hope you all enjoy this one! and if you ever want to yap about dad!luke or any of the players, my inbox is always open!. also to all of my mid/plus-size luke girlies out there, and for anyone who’s looking for more luke x mid/plus-size reader content, i actually opened a separate blog just for that! 🥹 i’ll be posting all my fics for that theme over at @voicemailfromluke-beep, so feel free to check it out.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | fic discussion | fia's nav.

“Daddy! Snoopy! Guess what!”

Lucy’s came running on socked feet, nearly slipping on the hardwood in Quinn’s lake house kitchen as she skidded to a stop in front of Luke. You were pouring juice into her pink thermos with a smiling Snoopy sticker on it, while Luke bent down, catching her mid-jump into his arms.

“What, baby?”

Luke asked, grinning as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I saw a fishy outside! It went like zoom!” She flung her arm out dramatically,

“And I think it was tryin’ to talk to me, Snoopy. Maybe it said hi.”

“Really? A talking fish? You’re special, Luce?” he replied, raising his eyebrows.

“I am very special,” she nodded, dead serious, poking his nose.

“And I need you to be very brave today, Daddy. ‘Cause I’m gonna watch you do the fly board thing.”

“Wakeboard,”

You corrected gently, laughing under your breath as you handed Lucy her thermos.

“Yeah! Wakeboard! But no fallin’, ‘kay? ’Cause I’m little and I don’t like when you fall.”

Her voice dropped, suddenly serious as her little brows furrowed.

Luke scooped her up, kissing her cheek.

“I promise I’ll be super careful for you, Luce.”

It was a tradition now, every summer at Quinn’s lake house.

The first time you came, you were newly married. The second, you were pregnant. The third, Lucy was just learning to walk. Now, four summers in, your daughter had her own bedroom in the house with hand-drawn ‘Peanuts’ characters on the walls (a surprise Quinn had organized with a local artist after Lucy’s first birthday.)

Quinn, Jack, Luke, and you had packed the boat that morning, snacks, sunscreen, floaties, towels, and of course, Lucy’s pink life jacket with sparkly hearts. It barely fit her anymore, but she refused to wear anything else.

You got her into her swimsuit early, layering a t-shirt over it just in case the wind picked up on the water. She was practically vibrating with excitement, hopping up and down on the deck while the boys prepped the wakeboard gear.

“Careful, Luce,” you warned playfully.

“You bounce any harder and you’ll launch off the dock.”

She stopped to point dramatically at her father, who was already climbing into the water.

“Look! Snoopy’s gonna do his slidey dance!”

Luke stood on the board, grinning back at her.

“Slidey dance, huh?”

Lucy nodded solemnly, arms crossed. “Just don’t fall, ‘kay? I don’t like when you fall.”

It was all going great… until, of course, Luke did fall.

You felt it instantly. The shift in your daughter’s joy. One second she was squealing with delight, sitting backwards on your lap with her arms wrapped around your neck, and the next the moment Luke hit the water with a splash, and she stiffened.

Her face turned into your shoulder, her little voice muffled.

“Snoopy fell. Mommy, he fell!”

“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed softly, rocking her.

“He always falls. That’s part of the fun.”

But she sniffled, and you heard it, very small, building cry of someone overwhelmed by love and fear.

“I don’t like it when Snoopy’s gone under. What if he doesn’t come up?”

“He’s already up,”

You murmured, turning her head gently toward the sound of Luke’s voice as he climbed back on the boat.

“Look, he’s waving.”

“Luce, I’m okay!” Luke called.

“Promise. Wanna come swim with me and uncles?”

She hesitated, eyes still glistening, until you crouched to zip up her life jacket.

“Daddy’s in the water now, and guess what? Uncle Jack and Uncle Quinn are going down there too. If you go in, you’ll have all your silly boys in one place.”

Lucy wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Can I go on Uncle Quinny’s shoulders?”

“Of course.”

You handed her down to Luke, who whispered something to her that made her giggle mid-sniffle, and then she was splashing around between all three Hughes boys, each taking turns letting her sit on their shoulders like royalty. Jack tried to do flips with her, but she screamed everytime and clung to Quinn like a koala.

Meanwhile, on the boat…

Luke flopped down beside you, shirtless, damp, exhausted, and grinning.

“I survived,” he said, leaning over to kiss your temple.

“Barely.”

“She was really scared,” you murmured.

“I know,” he replied.

“That’s why I let her be with them for a bit. Give her a chance to feel brave with her uncles.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“And you wanted an excuse to cuddle me.”

“Also true.”

Luke pulled out his phone, the two of you squishing your heads together for a salty, sunlit selfie.

“By the way,” he said casually.

“I was thinking… Paris. For your birthday.”

You blinked. “Paris-Paris?”

Luke’s smirk curled. “Actually, without Lucy.”

“Without?”

“I miss just us. Don’t get me wrong, I love our girl more than anything. You know we sneak away. Just you and me.”

“…A proper couple’s trip. I love her more than life, but I miss us. I want to drink wine with you on a balcony and maybe…”

His hand gently rubbed over your belly.

“Make Lucy a sibling.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to seduce me with the Eiffel Tower?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

“Gosh, Luke Hughes, you’re so funny.”

When the sun was down and the boat docked, Lucy was already snuggled in a towel in Quinn’s arms, licking a watermelon ice cream cone.

“Thank you, Uncle Quinny,” she said sweetly, then turned to Jack.

“You can’t have a lick. You made fun of my Snoopy.”

“Oh—I’m sorry,” Jack pouted.

“Nope,” she said with a shrug.

“You not sorry enough, Uncle Rowdy.”

Ellen and Jim met you at the dock, having just arrived. Lucy bolted into their arms the moment her feet hit land.

“Nana! Papa!” she squealed.

“My little Luce!” Ellen cried. “Did you have fun?”

Lucy nodded, launching into a chaotic, breathless retelling.

“Snoopy fell! It was scary! But Uncle Quinny gave me ice cream, and I didn’t cry a lot, just a little, and then I was brave and then I got on Uncle Rowdy head but I ‘accidentally’ pulled his hair, Nana, but he teased my Snoopy so it was fair.”

You, Luke, and the brothers stood nearby, watching her perform like a little storyteller on a stage, and Luke’s hand found yours.

“She’s turning into the best parts of both of us,” he murmured.

You smiled, threading your fingers with his.

“No,” you said.

“She’s turning into herself. We’re just the lucky ones who get to love her.”

[pangur-and-grim]

I know you're excited about the kitten grubs, but how is your ACTUAL grub doing?? You haven't been posting about the grub. I NEED grub content. PLEASE, GREER.

oh that's right, I haven't spoken much about my beetle larvae!

to give a refresher, in January I ordered a smooth stag beetle grub, spoon lowered it into its enclosure, and watched it tunnel under the dirt

and since then I've had a pet tub of dirt. completely unchanging.

however the store messed up, and accidentally shipped my order twice. so the next day, I got a second surprise beetle grub, and had to scramble to put together another enclosure for it!

this is when I made my first mistake: it was a large tub, but too shallow for the grub.

my second mistake was in how I moistened the soil. the online instructions I read said the soil should be kept "wet enough that it clumps in your hand". which, given the heating is going full blast in my house and drying the air out, meant I was spritzing the soil to moisten it every morning.

and then one day I found my beetle grub at the surface of the dirt, unmoving. extremely dead :(

I gave him a proper burial. but his death surprised me. I had to revaluate how I've been caring for them - it's possible that I misunderstood the soil instructions, and spritzed too often. AND in a shallow container, there's less room for the water to go, and more chance of the grub getting overly sodden.

so one grub is unfortunately deceased. what about the second one? I have corrected my mistake and am spraying less water, but was it too little too late? or is it still alive in there, undergoing metamorphosis?

in any case, I'm determined to keep this bucket of dirt for 8 months on the off chance a beetle crawls out of it, and will be tenderly caring for it until then.

[obedientboymeow]

Sleeping naked

18+!! Mdni

TLDR: Longer story but 1 interaction is 1 extra night sleeping naked 😭, have fun

At the bottom all my rules are listed😭

Daily updates under #meowsleepchallenge

Okay so😖 last night I slept naked for the first time. I was told to do this because I admitted to liking the feeling of humping naked and how the fabric felt touching all my sensitive spots. Ever since I’ve been addicted to humping naked cuz its soo sensitive and that’s what made me discover the idea of sleeping naked. So I did😭, it was supeeerrr sensitive .. I was sooo nervous and excited before. It was a bit cold but I could feel how warm my legs and belly were, I could feel my skin there too😭

I turn around in my sleep a lot, and this made me feel everything. I kept feeling my soft blankets gently touch my tip and it sent tingles through my whole body, I could also feel them touching my inner thighs and other areas and it made me extremely sensitive and needy😭😭

I was hard and leaking the whole night and any time I rolled on my stomach I could feel how my tip pressed against the mattress and how leaky I was😭😭

Im a bit shy about it all but I made this account for confessions like this🫠🫠

I just woke up from myself humping the mattress unconsciously, I couldn’t help it. The sensitive areas had a mind of their own😭😖

All this to say, do you guys think I should try it again?

😖😖😖I will sleep naked a whole night for each interaction this posts gets and I might keep a diary on my page for how it feels.

Feel free to give me other tasks as well😖 for example if u think I should play with my nipples before sleeping so its more sensitive, idk you name it😭

Challenge info

Started on the 3rd of July, currently will have to do this until mid September😭(75 interacts on July 4🫠)

Will post updates and anything related to this like asks and tasks/rules under #meowsleepchallenge.

Trying to post an update each night and day, fyi I have satin sheets and am super sensitive 😭😭😭😭.

Current rules:

- I have to sleep naked each night, no exceptions until I’ve met the last day.

- If I forget I start over :(

- I have to post updates at least every morning or night and possibly more

- if I cum from a dream without touching it makes me a good pup, -10 nights 😖(subject to change if people think its too much nights)

- (not related to this challenge but whimper audio at 90 followers)

-I have to reply to reblogs or comments thus they are +2 by default😖

Limits:

-if im not home or not feeling well, in any position where i dont feel comfortable, I pause the challenge and no reset occurs.

-no set end date but im thinking the end of September is nice, ill see. If I don’t like it anymore im stopping, its my page guys even tho im very obedient if its uncomfortable ill stop 🫠. Likely will finish but yk just in case.

-people who like/interact whose accounts are in violation with my rules or who I think are creepy will be blocked and I won’t count their interactions.

-might limit interactions per account to 5 or 10 to prevent spamming 🫠 just add rules if u wanna make it harder or if u like to extend it we can discuss it.

Interact to add rules or tasks, through dm or reblogs but I would love the most through an anon. If its a big rule I’ll set a like goal if not it will be added😖😖🫠😓 have fun turning me into a mindless sex toy 😭😭

Ideas for rules:

- no cumming before bed

- nipple play before bed (super sensitive for this😭, x amount of likes is y amount of minutes playing with my nipples)

- no cumming/touching after waking up, maybe have to hump to make it worse.

-have to roll around a lot😖

-have to post a pic each night of my clothes in a pile/maybe a pic of me through the sheets where u can see the outline 😭

-have to make an audio right when I wake up

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 15

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 7k words

Chapter Warnings: the usual angst, pregnancy feels, jealousy and talk (I absolutely made a couple of jokes about the grosser side of things), fluff, bit more of a case towards the end

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

His son. His boy. Dean had been right all along, and was now trying extremely hard not to rub it in your face. It was easier said than done when you needed some serious cheering up.

Not that you weren’t ecstatic, either. You very much were. You’d shed a tear. A happy one that he’d swiped up with his thumb before helping you get down from the examination table. You’d squeezed his fingers and swiped your own thumb over his when he had. Been extra affectionate. Stuck by his side, hand under his flannel, rubbing and smoothing his shirt over the muscles in his back.

But through all that, ever since the doc had mentioned risks, there was a strain in your face. A sourness to your sweet apple that had him more concerned than he’d already been. 

Were you scared? Because he still was. He couldn’t stop thinking about you being in pain, especially knowing the ride to the hospital would be more uncomfortable than he’d first realised. 

He didn’t want to imagine what a mango might feel like passing through any hole of his, let alone a watermelon, though he suspected that wasn’t quite your problem. Anyone excited to compare their offspring to a piece of fruit every other week couldn’t be that terrified of the size differences.

No. There was something else, and when he had you alone in Baby after you’d taken that long awaited leak. After being given the grand tour of the clinic’s birthing suites. After another milkshake at his ‘favourite’ diner, (and an extra trip to the bathroom for you), he’d made space for you under his wing. Held the steering wheel with his left, and gone in, guns a-carefully tucked away in their holsters. 

“So… What’re we thinking?” His gaze flicked to his phone in your hand as he settled Baby into the right turning lane, waiting for the light to go green. “Cookie Monster’s cousin, or the bigger one with the tassels?” 

You were flicking back and forth through the photos he’d taken of them the night before. It had to have been the thousandth time since leaving the clinic; surprising that your thumb wasn’t suffering an RSI injury. 

You lowered the screen and side-eyed him. A pout to your lips that was meant to be one of anger. Only Dean caught the twitch of your cheek. Course, it helped that your scent was calm and sweet again. 

He grinned, and it only grew when your elbow poked into his ribs. “You’re sleeping with the blue one tonight,” you said.

Really? “Are you gonna be there too, or am I downgraded?” And was he cruel enough to lose the thing accidentally at the hospital when the time came?

Of course he wasn’t. Maybe. 

“Depends on if you insult my cushion choices again.” Your head dropped back into your lap and the phone in it as Dean took the turn.

He held you tighter, patting with placating in mind once he was certain you’d all remained upright. “C’mon. You gotta admit it looks like someone hacked up a muppet.” All it needed was ping-pong balls and a felt-tip marker. He had plenty of knives to cut out a mouth with.

“I’d say it’s softer. Fluffier. And it has a nice smell.” 

“So what’s the point of me scenting it, then?” Surely he could sleep with a throw instead. 

“It’s nice because it’s neutral,” you said. “Still smells like the factory, so it’s perfect to pick up yours.”

So was the blanket you’d bought at Walmart if he remembered correctly. The one that was similar to what your mom had given you. 

“The fuzz holds the scents, huh?” he asked, and you nodded, hummed, oblivious to where his train of thought was going. 

“It’s polyester. If it was wool or cotton, it’d be better. But they treat it with something that balances out the other chemicals they use.”

Dean was following the motions, steering the car home like he was driving over the back of his hand. Sure, he was hearing words here and there. Your ramblings about fibres and the texture on your skin. How the zip, hidden on the muppet, would be more comfortable for your son. That he paid the most attention to, and his jaw loosened because of it. Legs fell further apart, bringing his knee to hang over yours at you, mentioning him as him. He had to adjust his boot on the pedal to maintain speed. 

Lucky there was no one behind him. 

The city was quiet for a Monday. People did, in fact, have jobs to go to. Either that or they were all congregated at the pup store again, shopping up storms. 

Nah. Couldn’t be.

The diner was dead. No older omegas judged him for a change. Even the hospital adjoining the clinic and the maternity ward had been scarce of people.

There were no moans or groans. No wailing from little lungs taking their first breaths even. Just you and Cameron, making plans with words that suited the likes of the Dothraki or some cute and cuddly Ewok. 

Epidurals meant less pain. Jaundice was the fancy-pants term for yellow skin caused by Billy Reuben. Braxton Hicks were the douchebags of the contracting world. Oh, and you might tear… He knew healing would take a while, but actual stitches not even the epidural could prevent? Yeah, he wasn’t prepared for that. Why hadn’t that come up in his research?

The kicker that had brought you on this tangent, thus evading your true crux, though? “The clinic allows for one large suitcase of nesting supplies,” the nurse had said. “As long as it fits into the dimensions, you can bring it.” And that he understood.

The place wanted to be a freaking airport. 

Blankets, pillows and floof checked-in. The bag with things for you and the pup, more like cabin baggage handled at security. The six times he’d flown had been enough to understand that experience. That was an ordeal. 

“Is it checked?” you’d asked, concerned about anyone and everyone getting their mitts on everything you’d carefully selected and scented.

“We won’t touch anything,” she assured you, but the ‘but’ was there and obvious. 

There’d be no passing go with any more than what their baggage allowance allowed, which, of course, was a rule for all patients. Dean could appreciate that. Unlike Nurse killjoy and the rest of the medical staff, however, they didn’t see the hours of preparation and stress you’d put into your birthing nest before the tour. And that was just what he’d seen in the last twenty-four.

He knew you. Knew your history and what was going on in that brain of yours, even when you thought you were pulling the wool over his eyes. What made you tick, just as you knew what drove him. 

It was fucking scary.

You might’ve pretended you were okay. You both might’ve believed you were fine on the odd occasion. Like everyone else though, everything you did, from the moment you woke up in the morning to the second you closed your eyes to sleep at night, was littered with the remnants of your past, and his.

So while it wasn’t every minute, many of them in between those waking hours filled with fleeting thoughts of Hell, the influence Cain’s mark had on him. Purgatory. Dick. His mom, yours, and all the decisions you were making adjacent to them.

You brushed it off whenever he left enough of an opening to do so. Like everything else, he was guilty of letting you do it, but he tried his damn hardest to make up for it when he could. Small gestures, actions, prioritised words, and as much love as he could give.

He squeezed you with the arm hanging over your shoulder again. Took another turn. Massaged the edge of your boob, because he could, and pulled himself back into the conversation he’d started. 

The screen was about to go to sleep. The sun overhead just peaked out from under the Impala’s roof and into the windscreen, glossing over your eyes as you looked back to him, deadpanning.

“Dean?” you questioned.

“You buy whatever it is you want me to wear, and I’ll put it on,” he said, hoping against all hope, no frills were involved.

“I thought you weren’t listening.” 

“Course I was.” Enough to piece together a decent response, at least. 

He turned his head. Checked the path was clear in the side mirror before merging, realising after the fact that checking was pointless, aside from his family being there. He smirked at that. “But why am I only wearing the thing at night?” 

“Not at night,” you said. “Only in bed. No monster guts, remember?”

“But I can’t shower before putting it on?” The concept of sweat and his pheromones made plenty of sense. Not showering after a hunt, though? Yeah, there was bound to be blood. His or someone else’s.

“You sure you thought that through?” he asked.

And there was silence. Aside from Baby’s purr and the guitar riff filtering through the stereo, that tried to compete with her. 

“Guess not.” You sighed, becoming quiet again.

It didn’t help that your shoulders tensed under him. Your thigh, too. Both squeezed together, shifting your knees ever so slightly away from his. 

He opened his mouth to suggest a different piece of clothing. His boxers. His socks. They’d be equally sweaty. Just not the best to drape over his newborn pup. No kid wanted to hear the story of how they once wore something that’d touched their father’s sack. 

But the ping from a message interrupted him, and “Who’s that?” he asked, knowing it was his phone. 

“Sam,” you said. A sliver of snark present when you added, “He and Eileen want to cook dinner for us.” 

“That’s nice of them?” Least, he thought so. The way you’d read the message suggested otherwise, though, and he took a chance to look at your face.

“It is.” You nodded.

“But?” 

But this time you shook your head. and looked down at his phone, still in your hands. “What do you want me to send back?” you asked.

It was safe to say he regretted his answer. Letting you commandeer his message thread? You then telling him you needed to stop by the local grocery store on your way home? Yeah, bad move, Dean.

Tomatoes

Fresh basil 

Garlic

Those three items were only the beginning. Not even the tip of the iceberg lettuce, which was also on the list. The damn thing took up four lengths of his phone’s screen.

“Why’re we getting this stuff again? They’re the ones cooking,” he grumbled as he leant over the cart, pushing it forward to let an elderly beta past.

This position was becoming more and more frequent, and he’d become rather skilled at navigating the metal cages. Gold medal material with the way he turned the damn thing. Whether that was good was still up for debate.

“It’s the least we can do,” you said, examining the mound of onions, a piece of vegetable at a time. Turning them over. Inspecting the flaky skin and differences in the colour underneath it. Weighing each piece with your hands.

“No. The least we can do is eat what they cook. You should be taking a load off.” 

Your head flicked to him on that. A scowl, clear on your face.

Oops.

One thing he’d learnt as you grew bigger was to never question your current ability to do anything. His last rut had been a testament to that. So until it got to the point when the frustrated fire in your eyes could kill like Cyclops’ beam, it was best to assume you could do whatever it was he thought you couldn’t.

Here, you weren’t as tired as he thought, and he had to take a different approach. “You’re getting a decent meal that you don’t have to make yourself for a change.” 

“You cook for us all the time,” you said, and spun back around to continue choosing the perfect onion.

Crisis averted.

“Not with all this fresh stuff I don’t. This is better for you and the pup.” Actual minced beef. Tomatoes off the vine, not from a jar. You used these when you cooked, too. Mostly, though, you were working with tinned and other non-perishable goods because it was more practical when hunts went on for longer than expected. Less waste, you’d said. 

Eileen had also asked for the ingredients she needed to make the pasta herself, so you guys were in for a treat. You never made the…oh.

Having maintained a distance easy enough to grab your ass at all times, his step forward was a mere shuffle. His hand only had to move up for his fingers to gain access to the nape of your neck and the whispers of hair that breached over your natural hairline. 

Your purr was exactly what he was aiming for. While he still hadn’t had time for his thoughts to fester, he stopped pussy-footing around and went all in and straight up asked you. Not even he could keep this up.

“What’s going on, Omega?” he said. Besides your nest and the eleven ounce baby boy playing on your anxieties, now Eileen making pasta was setting you off? “Last night you were excited to meet her.” 

You huffed. The muscles in your back rippled down his arm.

Okay. Maybe not. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

“It’s stupid.” Stupid enough for a flare of anger to tinge your scent and a suspicious sniff to accompany it?

“What is?”

You raised him an onion. Not quite what he was expecting, but he took it and waited. He wasn’t budging until you gave him something besides produce.

“It’s… I wasn’t… I… Will you be going on the next hunt?” you rushed. Head fixed on the sea of brown before you. 

Yeah. That also wasn’t what he was expecting. What did that have to do with Eileen and her cooking dinner for you? 

He reached behind him and dumped the vegetable somewhere in the cart. Not phased by where it landed, only sure it had made its destination because the rolling and rustling of onion skin didn’t make it as far as the floor.

“Uh, yeah…probably,” he said, and your cheek sunk in. “Okay, you know what? Let’s just…” The hand on your neck dropped and soon both were twisting you towards him and raising your chin and gaze to meet his. 

Your eyes had glossed over again, and he swallowed. Hard. Tongue moistened his lips. Thumb swiped at the fresh tear forming in the corner of your eye. Anything to relieve the dry feeling that had overtaken him. 

“It’s my job, sweetheart.” Sure, it didn’t pay the bills, but it was a duty he’d always be obligated to. Who would do it if he and Sammy didn’t? He’d considered that many times before, and you knew that. Seen it, too. He’d made sure of it before you ever had. Still, he studied your expression, heart ticking away way too fast. What if it wasn’t so cut?

“And when my due date gets closer?” you asked.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” 

Earning your keep was a lonely business. He knew that. Being grounded in the bunker for weeks on end was…awful. The cabin fever was better when you had someone else to spend time with, but you…there by yourself…alone…even now wasn’t easy on either of you. 

But when that time came? Of course, he’d stick around. He wasn’t letting you do anything alone. “You won’t be able to get rid of me,” he said, and went to pull you in close, only to have you resist. 

Your palms pushed against his chest. “But when will you stop?” you asked. 

When indeed.

Dean telling you he was waiting for Doctor Cameron to tell him when the best time was to stick around wasn’t as reassuring as he thought it was. You knew he had to work. Of course you did. When he stayed home, yeah, his cabin fever and the almost constant hovering over you could sometimes drive you nuts. But it never stopped you from wanting him home.  

Like everything else, there was a balance. A fine line. And in your case? It came down to being supportive and your wants. 

Dean’s life was hunting. You couldn’t prevent him from doing it. He’d been at it for longer than you’d been on the scene. He didn’t need to hear how every single time he left, a huge chunk of fear weighed you down because you were terrified he’d get hurt or worse.

What if he died? Became a demon again? What if he went to hell, or purgatory, or somewhere far more sinister?

Still, “I promise I’ll be there,” he’d said, not knowing what the real issue was. Yet, he was clever enough to notice the underlying ones with your mom. 

Yeah. You put a stop to that.

Of course you did. 

You didn’t want to think about her. You’d been doing well, not thinking about her until the point when Doctor Cameron reminded you she wasn’t there. Asshole. He was a brilliant doctor, though, and knowing he would be there on call was reassuring. Dean would be there, too, you hoped. Assuming your little man didn’t decide to enter the world too quick. 

You think you came early? That’s what your mom had told you when you were younger, right? Or was that Ritchie and his mom? You’d had more to do with her in recent years, but it’s not like you could call either of them and confirm. Not like you wanted to, and that’s what you’d keep telling yourself.

Your hands moved to your bump as Dean clanked ahead of you down the spiral staircase and into the sweet chill of the war room’s air-conditioning that afternoon. He’d left Baby out front, and that just added another weight on top of everything else going on in your head. There wasn’t even a case yet, but it was inevitable, and her being parked there was just another reminder of everything going wrong in your life. 

Dramatic much?

You had a son on the way. A mate who loved you. Even if he’d never said it aloud, you knew it. 

You shared a home. Another Omega had been living in it for most of the day while you’d been gone, but it was your home. She was going to cook in your kitchen, and god, this is what you’d meant when you told Dean it was stupid. 

“Sammy!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he reached the bottom. 

Did he have to be so loud? How his timbre could still sound so deep at such a high projection was still baffling to you. 

He’d been carrying the groceries you’d picked up at the store on the way through. Eight bags juggled in his hands cut off the circulation, turning his fingertips white. His precious six pack, tucked under his arm. But he wouldn’t make a second trip or let you carry something.  

Nope. Always the hero.

So, when his boot thumped onto the polished floor instead of another clack against metal, he swept across it to dump his load on the table. Shaking the blood back into his fingers once he had.

“What?” he said when he turned to see you staring at him. 

“Was that necessary?”

“Just announcing our presence.” He grinned. 

He just wanted to gloat. 

“Yeah, well, everyone in town heard you.” And you wanted to slap him for it. But then his face turned like it tended to. No longer mischievous, the attentive side of him coming out as his eyes narrowed at yours. “You need to take another leak?” 

“Yeah.” Not really, but you’d use the reprieve he’d thrown at you. If you were smart, you could push it to ten, fifteen even. Let him believe the less glamorous side of pregnancy was getting to you. 

As long as he didn’t announce that to the room. Sam and his potential future mate did not need to know about your bowel movements over dinner and getting-to-know-you’s. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.” You patted his chest, receiving a tender kiss on your forehead in return.

“Just don’t get it on your hands this time.” He snickered, and you glared at him as he pulled away.

“You try peeing in a cup when you can’t see what you’re doing.” God. You would never live that down. More fool you for making your disgust obvious back at the clinic. 

You left him on that note, scurrying past the Arctic end of the large map. Up and over the wooden steps of the library. Through the door in the back as fast as your balance would allow.

Yes, it was longer. Thanks to Dean calling out his brother’s name, though, chances are the other, quicker path to the bathroom was a no go for now. Funnily enough, you did need to go. Now.

You were also relying on those ten to fifteen minutes to prepare yourself. 

She was probably lovely. Sam liked her. Dean spoke highly of her. And maybe that was the problem? You weren’t just territorial about your home and your nest, but both he and Sam? If he claimed her, she’d be moving in. She was a hunter, and she’d be going out with them on hunts while you stayed there. 

She’d be around your mate. In tight quarters. She’d get to leave the bunker. She knew their life. Their job. Had known them longer than you and...

She was standing right in front of you.

All you’d done was round a corner in one of the bunker’s many hallways. You hadn’t even made it to the bathroom yet, and… And... “Hi,” you said, hoping she didn’t catch the scowl that’d been on your face before you’d removed it. “You must be Eileen?…”

…

…

…

Alright. 

So she wasn’t all that bad. She was sweet, smart, funny, and you could see the connection between her and Sam. She may have used the wrong pot for boiling the pasta in - it was too small - but the meal she made was delicious, and her scent…well it wasn’t too bad.

Rich and tomatoey, the food, not Eileen. Fresh, with extra mushrooms and onions ground into the sauce so Dean didn’t notice. And even though you weren’t the one to cook, you didn’t have to clean up either. That made things all the better. Sam and Dean handled it while you and her sat across from each other at the kitchen table talking.

“And you can only take one suitcase?” she asked as she looked through the photos on Dean’s phone. “What if you packed some in your bag?”

“I knew I liked her,” Dean quipped from his position behind the sink, leaving you to repeat his words for Eileen’s sake.

It was a natural progression to talk about. Most of the evening had been pup talk or hunting. You’d heard stories of Eileen hunting Banshees and her latest escapade with Sam and how she’d saved his ass. There was an underlying question the more you spoke, but it wasn’t like you could outright ask her and Sam if they were planning to mate or not. That was none of your business.

“I guess I could,” you said. “But I shouldn’t need too much. The clinic provides extra blankets and pillows.” You were free to put them wherever you wanted. The bed, the floor, the tiny little closet in the corner of the room if it made you feel safer. The only drawback was that space was harder to get you out if you needed to be moved.

You wouldn’t dwell on that, lest your fears overtake you more. So it was helpful that Eileen had a point. 

“That aren’t yours.” 

That’s why you wanted Dean to wear the same shirt every night. His scent would soak into the fibres and in four months’ time, it’d be very comforting and stretchy enough to wear around your neck at the very least. Especially if he didn’t make it. 

And there it was again. The actual issue. Numero uno. Although, how you planned to get to the hospital if he wasn’t there hadn’t entered your rational mind until now, either. 

He had to be home waiting with you. He’d promised. 

That night, when Dean had you alone again, he found himself with the blue muppet cushion under his arm, and you above it. He preferred that, even if his hand and fingers had gone numb on account of the awkward angle his right elbow and shoulder were now stuck in.

His left arm, however, wrapped over your middle. Your fingers in his. The throw, once tied in a bow, draped over the bed’s blanket and sheet. The nest needed scents to be done in layers, according to you and Eileen. 

Yeah. He regretted getting involved in that conversation. 

He couldn’t say the same for how well you’d gotten along, though. Sammy just needed to seal the deal. Have a pup in camaraderie. Didn’t matter that it was for all the wrong reasons. 

You’d have another omega around to talk to about nests and sympathise about heats with. All the things that made pregnancy not so wonderful, bitching about him because that’s what all omegas did when you weren’t having slumber parties and pillow fights, obviously.

He smirked, and you squeezed his hand, hard. Nails dug into his skin, piercing, probably drawing blood with how sharp they were, and you weren’t even in labour. 

“What was that for?” he groaned, and you chuckled.

“That’s for whatever perverted thought you had going on in there.”

“I’m not allowed to fantasise about my mate?” he grumbled, knowing there was no point denying it. He squeezed your stomach in albeit gentle retribution. 

“You are. But I know you just did that smirk you get when it’s something gross.”

He begged to differ. Gross was mucus plugs and haemorrhoids. Both he’d had to hear all about at the clinic, and he hadn’t complained. It was great the doc was getting you prepared, he just preferred it when the focus was on the stuff movies and TV were okay with showing. 

Knowing your water breaking might be more of a trickle than a gush, useful. Hearing a phrase like the bloody show and learning what it meant? Slick was sexy, jelly-like, not so much. Even for an experienced hunter. 

Still, that smirk of his remained, and he leant in to kiss his claim as a peace offering. Peppering ‘round the sensitive scar. Savouring the delicate saltiness on your skin until you elicited a contented sigh that sent his heart racing further than it already was. 

It was the most relaxed you’d been all day. Even during moments spent just you and him.

The clinic. In Baby. The store. It was clear this room, and the bunker, brought the most comfort for you. He’d say for both of you, but for him, it was you being there that did it for him.

You’d turned his world upside down in such a short amount of time, and who would’ve thought it? He couldn’t imagine life without you now, and while that really was scary, it was nothing compared to what he was putting you through.

You wouldn’t be stressing over packing your nest up into a suitcase if he was normal. You’d have your mom with you. You’d be living in the suburbs, having the pup in your home where a doctor could be called out to you if needed. 

You and your son would be safe. No weapons. No devils traps or sigils. Salt would be solely for the kitchen. Burning would only be a word for cakes and, god forbid, steaks on a barbecue. And he’d never have to travel for work, unless he was actually in pest control.

But he’d tried it before and it hadn’t worked. He always got pulled back in, and this…turmoil he put himself through every time always resurfaced.

God. Some soulmate he was. He could knock you up, but he couldn’t give you what you deserved. 

He could never let you go, either, and he nuzzled his neck into yours. Mixed apple and butter. Leather with a touch of cinnamon. Felt your soft skin pass under his scruff. Got rewarded by a snicker and your shoulders shaking against his chest. 

“That tickles,” you said. 

“Does it?” His leg dropped over yours then. Calf and ankle, bringing you closer than you already were. His arm squeezed you tight again as he shuffled himself flush against your back. “How ‘bout now?”

“Nothing changed?”

“Ahhh. But my junk got warmer.” And that time, he was laughing with you. His heart, full to the brim. 

You just had to go and ruin it by asking, “What were you thinking about just now?” 

You had to have meant the part about being gross, right? It wasn’t like there’d been any awkward silences until now. You didn’t want him to mention your mom again, ‘cause that had gone down real well at the store. 

It wouldn’t help him if he went down the path of all his wrong doings, so, “You and Eileen,” he said. “Wrestling in a pool full of jello,” he added with another smirk. 

It was on the same tangent as a slumber party. Just a touch raunchier.

It sure seemed to work because you shuffled yourself then. Rolled over onto your back. He lost the warmth, but he had the perfect view of the girls. Fuller, rounder. Nipples pert, too. Just another perk to having a pregnant mate.

He used the opportunity to lift himself up onto his elbow, clenching his fist a few times to release the blood flow when you gave him his arm back. His free hand traveled lower to under your bump, and an unclothed thigh.  

He touched, he caressed, he kissed wherever he could, answering only with a hum when you called out his name. Too engrossed with what he was doing, until you said, “I was jealous of Eileen.” And it was like you’d forgotten he had a nose.

Still, admitting you had a problem was a big step, and the first for many.

Alcoholics. Drug addicts. Those who want to reclaim their virginity and take a purity pledge. Dean had done that, and look where it got him? Sex with a porn star, eventually mated. 

And now you were a teensy bit territorial over Eileen on top of worrying he wasn’t gonna be there with you when the time came…

Yeah, he was definitely screwed. Time would prove it.

The right side of Baby raised a fraction as Eileen and Sam climbed out of her, but Dean didn’t budge. 

“Dude. You coming?” Sam asked, leaning back in.

Dean gave him a lopsided grin.

“I’ll be there in a minute. Gotta update the Omega,” he said, and Sam nodded.

He patted the roof of the car and stood up straight. He was about to close the door behind him when Dean lowered his head to look him in the eyes.

“Hey, ah, can you order me a double bacon cheeseburger, extra onions? Oh, and extra fries, too.” With you back at the bunker, he could eat every morsel of greasy potato on his plate without the guilt or puppy dog eyes thrown his way. “You know what, make those extras a double, too.” After this conversation, he was gonna need the added carbs.

Sam scoffed. “Right,” he said, and this time shut the door.

The usual creak preceded his footsteps trailing away soon after, and Dean found himself with only the ambiance of the neon lettering from above and the drone of a jukebox cut on and off by all the drunks leaving the bar. 

The stale beer. Second hand smoke that clung to your clothes. A year ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated, having no omega waiting for him in the first place. Five years ago, he’d have already been flirting up a storm with a blonde or brunette. He had no preferences back then, though sipping purple nurples in range of an equally hot bartender was a must. 

Of course, he had you now. A son due in three months. Two things he once said he didn’t need or want, yet here he was, only stopping at this dive because Sam and Eileen had insisted. And he needed to eat. 

Oh, how the tables had turned. He would’ve preferred something quieter. A mom and pop diner. Hell, he’d risk Baby’s fresh paint and go through a drive-thru if the option was there, but it was too late and nothing else was open. His hunting companions were already inside, ordering for him, and he was sitting here, holding off on what he needed to do.

He didn’t want cold fries. He didn’t want to disappoint you, either. When you’d last spoken, he told you he was on his way back. Case closed, a busted trigger finger, sure, but all in one piece and a day’s drive out, give or take. But now? He had a sneaking suspicion you wouldn’t be ecstatic about the news.

Dean moistened his lips and sighed. He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, careful of the bruised muscle, and held the screen up to face him. At least staying in the car like this meant he could FaceTime you, though maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Not when you could read his face. Not when he could see those eyes of yours.

He hit the call button and checked his hair in the replay. Wiped the road off his brow. He was practicing his solemn face when you answered, but like the wind, it lit up at the sight of you.

“Hey sweetheart.” 

“Hey,” you said, from what appeared to be one of the plush armchairs in the library. Spoon in your free hand, dusty old books over your shoulders. “Where are you?” 

“Ah, stop over in Kentucky. Whatcha eating?” he asked, hoping to keep the peace a little while longer with whatever snack the pup had you indulging in.

It didn’t work.

He could see the cogs working behind your eyes. Almost hear them clicking over the rockabilly soundtrack, fading in and out as you considered his last position and where he now was. Heading south from Indiana wasn’t the most direct route to Lebanon. 

“You’re not coming home tomorrow,” you said, all too knowing, and the tone pulled the guilt right up and out of him.

He hissed through the tiny gaps in his front teeth. Ran his own free hand back through his hair. “We caught wind of another case,” he said, and your eyes sunk low. 

“There’s been four disappearances the past few weeks in Taylorsville,” he continued, figuring if he played at your heartstrings, it would soften the blow. “But, ah, a fifth person got away. They’re detained at the sheriff’s office, and—”

“You’re going to check it out.” Your head dropped. Your hand moved to your bump. Arm cradling it at the bottom of the screen.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were doing it on purpose. Highlighting what he was missing. Pulling at his heartstrings and returning the favour. Reminding him how much he wanted to hold you both and inhale your scents. 

He tilted the phone in his hand and brought his nose to the top of it. 

Like he could smell you. It was all gunpowder and dirt. Not citrus or apple. And he clenched his free fist and pulled the other one back to see you again. “Yeah,” he said. 

It was in their wheelhouse, and close by. A couple of hours’ drive off route. He couldn’t even say they’d hunted on less. All signs were pointing to the supernatural on account of the escapee and his account.

“Sammy thinks it’s a pair of Vetala’s, and with the three of us, it’ll be—”

“Okay,” you whispered, giving a slight nod. Nothing more, nothing less. 

There was no anger, no outburst, which, frankly, Dean would’ve preferred. Angry he could do. Yelling, screaming. Well, maybe not in your condition, but anything other than this quiet, continual disappointment now oozing down the line.

Though, maybe that’s what he deserved? Promising one minute, breaking it before the next was up.

“Okay?” he repeated, just as softly. “You’re not mad?” he asked. Eyes flicked down and up. Lip twitching as he focused on your face behind the glass, staring back at him 

“Do you want me to be?” 

“No. No, no, I just…” He sighed again. “I miss ya.” And he did. Truly.

Missed your scent. Your warm touch. Your belly, poking into his at night when you rolled into him while deep in sleep. Even stealing his fries. He’d let you have the entire basket if you were here. Not that he wanted you here, here.

“I miss you, too,” you said. And while your smile returned through the cheerful hum that came too, it left just as quick. Brows furrowing as your body shuffled to get comfortable in the seat. “But you already decided to go to…”

“Taylorsville.”

“Right.” 

Technically, he’d been coerced on that front too, but you hearing that would only make things worse. He was still a grown man. He hadn’t said no when Eileen found it. He could’ve put up more of a fight if he wished. Turned the car around even, but he hadn’t. So maybe, just maybe, he wanted to take on this case, and she and Sam were his scapegoats. 

“Well, there’s not much I can do or say from here in the bunker. I’ll call the pack planning clinic in the morning and reschedule.”

“But your next appointment’s not ‘til Tuesday?” 

Your brow quirked at him.

“Yeah, okay.” Point taken. Even milk runs took over two days. The last three were also on the dairy spectrum and each had taken at least three, not including the drive.

“It still might be nothing,” he offered, though he knew he shouldn’t have said it. It’d just rub salt on the wound when up ended up being something, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll, ah, call you after we speak to the sheriff?”

“Alright,” you said. Only this time, you weren’t even looking at him when you spoke. 

Yeah… you weren’t happy, but neither was Dean.

He, Sam, and Eileen had to deal with the lovely folks of Taylorsville the next morning, instead of heading home to you like he’d planned.

Well, Dean and Sam were. Eileen had the luxury of the motel room, researching the history of the area while they did the legwork. And yes, as bad as it sounded, he was jealous of her lack of hearing at that moment, because she didn’t have to deal with the local sheriff, and the funk of five other alphas on the force, running around the overly heated Sheriff’s Department.

“Alec had Janie and Louise’s blood on his shirt,” the sheriff said, averting his eyes back to his paperwork on the tall counter they all stood around. Him on one side, them, the other, and close to the door.

If only Dean could run out of it.

Much like him, the sheriff’s signature on the dotted line was a scrawl of someone who didn’t give a rat’s ass. He flopped the flimsy cream cover over, closing the file, only to look up, appearing shocked Sam and Dean still stood before him. “It’s a cut and dry case, fellas. Just a kid getting his jollies, turning on his friends. He blames it on vampires. We found a bag of weed on him.”

“What about the fourth guy?” Dean asked with a click of his fingers. “Gavin?” 

Some FBI work. A real agent wouldn’t forget the names of a victim. Of course, he always had, but a younger version of himself would’ve made his stone-cold approach less obvious. Not that he didn’t care, he just found it easier when he separated himself from the victims. He was less likely to take them home (and mate with them).

His smirk grew. Complimented the well-fitted suit you’d fixed for him, leaving the good sheriff staring, mouth agape and confounded, until Sam cleared his throat.

“What my partner means is you’ve still got another missing person out there.”

“Who takes off from time to time?” The sheriff’s hands came to his belt, looped his thumbs beneath it, pushing his pelvis forward. The added puff of his chest (and cheeks), all attempts to show authority to a couple of suits. 

There was a ‘this is my jurisdiction’ look in his eyes they were all too familiar with. But he soon realised they weren’t standing down, and he waved his hand in dismissal. “Look, if you agents wanna waste your time, be my guest. But Alec ain’t here.”

Dean pumped his fists tight on his side. If the kid wasn’t here, they could be on their merry way. Chalk the whole thing up to teens being teens. They’d grab Eileen, checkout, and be on the road again within the hour. 

Hell, the two lovebirds could stay here if they wanted. He’d drop them off wherever Alec was on the way home… Of course, things never worked out for him, especially with Sammy on the case, too. But it wasn’t Sam who ruined the excitement. 

He may have asked, “Well, where is he?” but just as Dean and the sheriff rolled their eyes in agreement, the front door burst open, and the draft that followed brought a familial whiff of popcorn, and an omega, distraught and on the verge of tears. 

“Daddy,” she said. “Something’s happened to Troy and Jonah.”

And dammit. Dean’s spidey senses tingled.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

My motivation has been lacking due to some personal things going on as well as working on other fics, so chapter 16 is not quite ready yet at 4k words. So I'm going to play it safe and skip next week, and plan to post it both here and on AO3 at the same time!

I’ve actually shared some tidbits of this next one before in a couple of WIP games, so I’m dropping something shorter today. It’s also still being edited.

Chapter 16: Impairment (working title) - 13/06

“C’mere,” he said, releasing his hand from your grasp and pulling you into him without a care that he’d pulled his bad side. The fact he had a bad side meant he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

His mouth made a move on yours as you came down. His arm slung his hand up and over to hold your neck in place, brushing through your hair, gripping where he could. Fingers on your cheek brushing away the tears.

“It’s okay,” he muttered against you and your muffled protest that it wasn’t. “I’m okay,” he said against his doubts. He’d never tell you otherwise.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading updates: april 2025

HI wow what a month! 2025 felt like it was going REAL FAST until about mid-March, and ever since then it's slowed to a sort of molasses. despite the seeming influx of extra time I read much less in April than I have in any of the previous months this year - this is the first month I haven't even cracked double digits! which is fine, of course, it's not a competition, but it is interesting to think about what slowed me down so drastically.

(just kidding, it's not a mystery. it's heaps and heaps of stress. oops!)

ANYWAY. fortunately April's book haul has largely been a case of quality of over quantity, introducing me to several books that I think are guaranteed to land on my year-end best-of list. without further ado:

what have I been reading?

Under the Skin: The Hidden Toll of Racism on American Lives and on the Health of Our Nation (Linda Villarosa, 2022) - I checked this book out last month alongside Dr. Uché Blackstock's memoir, Legacy: A Black Physician Reckons With Racism in Medicine, as kind of a mini-series on racial bias in the American medical system. while I feel like I broadly learned more overall from Villarosa, thanks to her taking a journalistic approach that allows for a broader scope than Blackstock can achieve by primarily focusing on her personal experiences, I found that the two books complemented each other extremely well and each served to bolster and deepen the other. one major advantage of Villarosa's work is the geographic variability and the ability to meet healthcare workers and patients from a much wider range of places than Blackstock's New York hospitals, with particular focus on poor communities in southern states. Villarosa's writing has a strong, compassionate, deeply curious voice that makes her subjects incredibly vivid, rendering them with dignity even as their medical nightmares are laid bare. it was an incredible read and one that had been languishing on my TBR for a while, and I'm very glad I finally made the time.

Earthlings (Sayaka Murata, 2018, trans. Ginny Tapley Takemori, 2020) - while I didn't love this novel quite as much as Murata's briefer wonder, Convenience Store Woman, it did cement Murata as an author whose work absolutely fascinates me. her grasp of trauma and alienation is incredible, and she has a way of depicting unconventional desire in a way that's unlike anything I've ever seen. I'm supremely excited to read more of her work.

The Love Hypothesis (Ali Hazelwood, 2021) - in case you haven't already heard the news: I read the alleged Reylo laboratory AU romance novel expecting to be a big hater and I ended up loving it. joke's on me! you win this round, Ali Hazelwood.

Crying in H Mart (Michelle Zauner, 2021) - listen: you never want to be the guy saying that a woman's memoir about losing her mother to a painful and sudden cancer isn't that sad. to be clear, it is an extremely sad book! Zauner does an incredible job rendering the all-consuming pain of nursing her mother through her final days, a pain devastatingly unique to everyone who experiences it. in this case, the biracial Zauner also has the daunting sense of losing not only her mother but also a core part of her identity, struggling to figure out how to be a Korean American woman without the connection her mother provided. it's a tragedy! it's several tragedies all in one place, make no mistake! but I also feel like I've spent YEARS hearing this book hyped up as The Saddest Book Ever, and perhaps I've just read too many sad memoirs but it was like. it was fine. it's just fine. solid B+, not mad I read it, but I have read sadder. probably I am going to hell for this.

Liquid: A Love Story (Mariam Rahmani, 2025) - I was super excited for Rahmani's debut novel, which has a compelling premise: stuck in a stagnating academic career and with her parents nagging her to wed, an unnamed queer Iranian-American woman decides to go on 100 dates across Los Angeles to find a likely candidate for a marriage that can bring her financial security. her plans inevitably go awry when a family tragedy requires her to travel to Iran, where her goals are brought more sharply into focus - and she ultimately resolves her romantic quandary. it's a stylish book, almost painfully so; I can't say I'd recommend this to anyone who dislikes literary fiction because GOD is this Literary Fiction, our protagonist deeply preoccupied with her own witty malaise and caustic observations. she's a little awful and I liked her a lot, but I also think that the resolution Rahmani brings her protagonist to was devastatingly expected - and unfortunately, no amount of self-aware lampshading actually makes it less predictable. I'm conflicted! it felt like a lot of building up to not a lot of payoff, but I'm compelled all the same and I'm hoping to see more of Rahmani in the future.

Before We Were Trans: A New History of Gender (Kit Heyam, 2022) - god, what a delight of a book. Heyam takes a gorgeously open approach to what constitutes "trans history", casting their net wide to recognize gender nonconformity far beyond contemporary understandings of what it means to be transgender. Heyam advocates for a wide recognition of experiences throughout history: people whose gender identities were shaped by non-Western religions and cultures, those whose identities blurred between same-gender attraction and a desire to be recognized as a different gender than the one expected of them, those whose transgressions of gendered boundaries can't be proven to be align strictly with 21st century ideas of transness. Heyam's approach is one of radical inclusiveness, seeking not to "prove" any particular understandings of transness in historical figures but simply to point at a long, global history of people living outside of a gender binary and weave all of these instances together in the understanding that all of these experiences support and bolster each other in affirming that across time, language, and culture, people bucking gender norms have always existed. reading this book felt like holding a mug of hot chocolate.

Afterparties (Anthony Veasna So, 2021) - genuinely impossible for me to talk about this short story collection without acknowledging that it was published posthumously by So's mother and partner after he died very young. I will freely admit that the first story did not grab me, and since I'm fussy about short stories I might well have set down the book after that if not for the strange sense that I was holding a small representation of a man's life in my hands. I guess that's always the case with a book, but somehow it felt extra sharp here. in any case, I'm glad I stuck it out; So's stories about Cambodian immigrant communities in California are messy and loving and sorrowful and silly, delving deep into the sadness that can cling to a family for generations. I'd be absolutely remiss not to pay particular attention to the final story, "Generational Differences," in which So writes from the point of view of his own mother, talking to his child self and recounting a tragedy. it's a brave and vulnerable approach that I've never encountered before, and it's really something special.

an obligatory update on my book bingo sheets: as usual, the sheet that I'm filling in opportunistically is thriving, with the addition of Liquid completing another bingo and getting me very close to two more

and the list of books that I specifically planned out is LANGUISHING

finger crossed for May, when I'm hoping to cross at least two more off the list...

[charliegyrth]

Fat for a Day - 1 of 3

An Instant Weight Gain Christmas Present

It was the day before Christmas, so of course Olly was watching The Santa Clause again. He freaking loved that movie. There was one scene where the main guy shows his doctor the big, furry belly that he’d magically grown overnight. Olly replayed that scene over and over again.

Yeah, Olly was really turned on by weight gain. Before me, all of his boyfriends had been fat. A few were full-on obese. I was the first normal guy he’d ever dated.

I knew he loved me, and he was obviously attracted to my slim, lightly muscled body, but I also knew that I didn’t have his ideal body type. He’d asked me a couple times if I ever thought about gaining. I always said no. That particular kink just didn’t do anything for me.

No judgment, though.

Last year, my big Christmas present to him was an expensive, extremely lifelike fat suit. He freaking loved it. I only wore it on special occasions, and never outside our apartment.

This year, I wanted to do something even better. It took me all year to find something, but I did. The absolute perfect present.

I wordlessly sat next to him, barely containing my excitement, and paused his movie. Then I handed him an envelope.

“You’re giving me my present already?” he asked. (Christmas wasn’t until tomorrow.)

“Just open it,” I said.

He bit his lip. Slowly, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the gift card. He read the name: “‘Temporary Body Expansions LLC’? What’s this?”

“It’s your present,” I said. “You know that warehouse a couple blocks away? The one they’ve been renovating? Well, it still doesn’t have any signage out front. And you know how curious I am. I walked inside and asked the receptionist what they did. And you won’t believe it!”

“Body expansions,” he mumbled to himself. Then he gulped. “Arthur! Is this another fat suit?”

“Even better,” I said. “It’s a lab that actually grows fat cells. They only last for 24 hours before dissolving, but they look and feel exactly like fat. It’s mainly for actors who need to change their bodies for roles, but the lady said they also get clients like us, people who are curious about gaining but don’t want to permanently change themselves.”

He stared at me for the longest time. I think his brain was still processing.

“You’re gonna get fat for me?” he mumbled.

“Yes I am! For one day, I’ll be the big, beautiful boyfriend that you’ve always wanted.”

He started crying. He wrapped me in the tightest hug. “Arthur.”

“Merry Christmas.”

He pulled away and wiped his eyes. “How fat, exactly?”

“Well, the lady suggested 30 pounds. That’s the standard order.”

“Oh,” he said, deeply disappointed. “Well, that’ll still be hot.”

“But,” I added, “I told her that wouldn’t be enough. I asked her the maximum amount they could do. She said that anything over 150 pounds would be unsafe, so I signed up for 149. She warned me about how hard it would be to move around, and how my body would have difficulty stretching that much. Then she made me sign a bunch of waivers and sent me on my way. Our appointment is for tomorrow morning at eight.”

Olly turned off the TV and led me to our bedroom. He wanted to thank me, and he did. Four times.

***

On Christmas morning, I woke up to the smell of pancakes.

I walked into the dining room, where Olly was laying out our breakfast. He must’ve been up for hours, and it was only six.

He kissed me good morning and led me to the table.

I laughed at the sheer amount of food in front of us. “You know I’m not actually gonna be fat, right?”

“I know.”

He watched me take my first bite. He looked so adorable with that big ol’ grin on his face.

The pancakes were amazing, too. Olly really knew how to cook.

With my mouth full, I said, “I bought some big clothes, by the way. Just in case you want to walk around and show me off.”

He was drinking coffee when I said that. He spat it out like a cartoon character.

“Sound fun?” I asked.

“Babe, you’re amazing.”

I ate four pancakes that morning. Well, three and a half. It was much more than I’d usually eat, but you know, special occasion.

While Olly cleaned up, I took a shower and put on my big clothes. The shirt hung off me like a blanket and the pants were so loose that they flared out like bell bottoms. (I had to wear a belt, of course.) I looked comical, but it felt kind of nice.

“Ready?” I asked Olly.

He laughed. “Cool outfit.”

We had ten minutes until our appointment, but it was close enough to walk. Because it was Christmas morning, we didn’t see anyone on the road. The weather was pretty warm (we live in Arizona) and I liked the feeling of my loose shirt billowing against me.

“This is it!” I exclaimed. The warehouse looked clean and modern. The company had spruced it up a lot. Still didn’t have any signage, though.

I stepped inside, but Olly paused at the entrance. He looked nervous, as if this whole thing was just too good to be true.

The smiling receptionist waved us over and Olly finally entered. It was the same lady I’d talked to earlier. Pretty and thin. Thick-framed glasses and a ponytail. Definite librarian vibes.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. “You have the gift card?”

Olly pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. It only took a second for her to type something into her computer and then lead us into a hallway. She opened the first door and turned to Olly. “This is the viewing room. You can wait here.”

“You mean I can’t be with him when he…?”

“You can see everything. The process only takes 30 minutes. Actually, because of your boyfriend’s requirements, it might be closer to 45.”

“And it’s painless, right?” Olly asked.

“Yes. The only sensation he’ll feel is a slow, steady stretching. I can show you a video if you…”

“No need,” I cut her off. I wanted to get started as soon as possible.

I could tell that Olly had more questions, but I already went over everything with the receptionist. I knew what I was getting into. I kissed him and said, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck!” He disappeared into the waiting room.

The receptionist led me through the next doorway. It was a large room with equipment along three of the walls. The fourth wall was made of glass, and I could see Olly watching us from the other side. Two men in lab coats (one thin, one very fat) guided me to the chair in the center of the room.

Outside of the strange equipment, this looked like a doctor’s office. Everything was colorless and sterile-looking.

The two men introduced themselves, though I don’t remember their names.

The fat one read through my chart. “So you’re the 149-pounder. You understand what’s going to happen, right? And all the stretching involved.”

“It’s painless, right?”

“Completely,” the thin one said.

“Yup. Understand everything. Ready to go.”

The thin doctor smiled, but the fat one seemed a little grave. As someone who lived everyday covered in fat, he must’ve thought that I wasn’t taking this seriously enough.

But it was just for a day. Even if I was miserable, even if I could barely move, I’d go back to normal in the morning.

I got comfortable in the chair. It was like the chairs you’d see at a dentist’s office, except much wider. One doctor positioned my arms on the armrests while the other removed my belt. They each picked up a different needle.

“We’re going to inject you now. Just lie back and allow yourself to grow.”

They each numbed up the crooks of my arms and jabbed me at the exact same time. I didn’t feel anything as they injected me with a clear liquid. Then they put Band-Aids over my injection sites and stepped back.

I glanced over at Olly. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or excited. Probably both.

Nothing happened for a few minutes. I felt like an idiot, just lying there. But then I noticed Olly’s eyes widening.

Something was happening to my body. I just couldn’t feel it.

I looked down at my stomach. It was rounder. My pecs were, too. The changes were too slow for me to see, but they were definitely there. I’d seen some of the weight gain cartoons that Olly watched on YouTube (again, not really my thing) where some muscly, computer-animated guy watches in horror as his body gets fat. This wasn’t like that. My body was expanding in front of my eyes, but the growth was too slow for me to see.

So I closed my eyes and just let it happen.

After a few minutes, I looked down again. My stomach and chest were wider. I raised one arm and saw that it had thickened, too. My bicep was smoothed over and buried.

I looked over at Olly. His mouth was hanging open. His hands pressed against the glass.

“Excuse me?” I called to one of the doctors. “I can move, right? I kinda want to…”

“Feel your belly?” the thin doctor answered. “Go for it.”

I raised my arm (definitely felt heavier) and pressed down on my gut.

Pure softness. I squeezed the area under my belly button, kneading my flesh for the first time. It felt so strange, but I really liked it. It was like my fingers were squeezing a pillow, except I was the pillow.

Using both hands now, I felt the new love hands on my sides. I shivered a little, surprised by how sensitive they were.

From this angle, I couldn’t see how much I’d changed, but it was probably around 50 pounds. I still had a long way to go.

As I kept growing at an imperceptibly slow rate, my hands couldn’t stop feeling all my changes. With my eyes closed, I slid my fingertips through new creases on my sides. I jiggled and squeezed my moobs. I fingered my belly button to gauge its depth. And the whole time, my arms got heavier and weaker.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” the thin doctor asked.

I was. I didn’t expect to like how this felt, but I did.

I opened my eyes. The doctor was standing by a screen that was displaying my progress. A number in the corner said 250, then 251, then 252. That must’ve been my weight. A little over halfway.

When I turned my head to look at Olly (who seemed close to hyperventilating with excitement), I felt the pressure and warmth of my roll of neck fat. Another new sensation to add to the list.

My whole body felt warmer now, as if I was snuggled up in bed. My stomach had risen a lot, but it had mostly spread to the sides, filling up more of the wide chair.

The machine read 257. I’d gained 87 pounds. Still had 62 more to go.

It was a bit harder to breathe with the added pressure on my lungs. My arms fell back to my sides and, surprisingly, I drifted to sleep.

I woke up to a hand wobbling my stomach. “Arthur?”

I opened my eyes. Olly was standing next to me, his eyes red with tears.

“You’re crying,” I mumbled.

“Just so happy,” he said.

The doctors were standing behind him. The fat one still looked pretty blank-faced but the thin one was beaming.

“It’s time to get up,” Olly said. “We have a wheelchair just in case.”

I felt the back of the chair rise up, pushing me into an upright position. My massive belly filled my lap. It didn’t feel like a part of me, but in a way, it did. This was my stomach and it more than filled out my impossibly large shirt.

I shifted my feet to the side of the chair, ready to lower myself back onto the ground. I couldn’t go too fast, both because I didn’t want to fall and because I literally couldn’t. Every movement I made was incredibly difficult.

“It’s probably best if we lower you straight into your wheelchair,” the fat doctor said.

“I want to stand,” I told him.

Olly stepped back and let the doctors position themselves onto each side. They grabbed me under the armpits, both groaning as they helped me slide onto my feet.

This was it. For the next 24 hours, I was going to live the fat life.

Read Part 2 here. Or you can check out the full ebook!

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Danger Zone (Part 17) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Fem!Bradshaw!Reader | OC

Word Count: 5.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ ONLY.

Warnings: Unplanned Pregnancy; Military Inaccuracies; Medical Inaccuracies; Crying; Fluff; Talk of Marriage; Angst; Use of "You," No Use of Y/N, No Set Physical Description

Summary: Jake gets his orders.

Series Master List

Master List

It was deathly quiet in Cyclone’s office and the only sound that Jake registered was his heart beating out of his chest. Slowly closing the folder, Jake turned back to Cyclone, who remained sitting with an impassive expression behind his desk. 

“I’m sorry, Hangman,” Cyclone replied quietly, his tone genuine. “There was nothing that I could do.”

Cyclone had been in Hangman’s position before. Twice, actually. And he didn’t relish in handing any man or woman orders that would take them away from their family. Especially during such an important time. But that came with the industry that they signed up for.

“I was expecting it, sir.”

And that roughly translated to: of course, they wouldn’t let me finally be happy

“Still, I am sorry. I’ve been in your position before and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.”

“Do you know how long I’ll be away?” Jake asked quietly, holding onto a tiny thread of hope. 

“Anywhere from two to eight months. Most likely, somewhere in the middle.” 

You were about six and a half months pregnant now. If he made it back in two months, he could be there for the birth of your child. But Jake knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t be home by then. And what if the baby came early? He’d be cutting it extremely close if he was lucky. 

Worst-case scenario, he would return home to you when the baby was almost six months old. Six months. He would miss your baby growing and learning all about the world around them. He’d come home and the baby would already almost be halfway to a full year old. He’d miss so many milestones, so many little triumphs. 

“Am I excused, sir?”

“Yes, of course. Take the days before you deploy and spend them with your family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Slowly walking out to his truck with the most defeated feeling of his life, Jake slipped into the driver’s seat of his truck. He just sat there for a minute, processing the news, and trying to get his emotions under control. 

But once the tears started falling, there was nothing that he could do to stop them. 

Resting his head on his fist, Hangman let a batch of tears of complete and utter frustration slip down his cheeks. He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel of his truck before the fight left his body and he slumped against the steering wheel, letting more tears slip down his cheeks. 

How the hell was he going to break the news to you?

~~~~~

The lights were on in your apartment when Jake pulled into the parking lot. He took the key out of the ignition and slowly slid out of his truck. Staring up at the window that showed into your living room, he took a moment to gather himself before heading inside. 

From the outside, you could be seen smiling to yourself, making dinner for the two of you. Your growing and prominent bump was covered by one of Jake’s tee shirts and you wore his ring on your finger proudly. The joy on your features only multiplied when you heard the door unlock and Jake step inside. 

As you hurried to wipe your hands on a towel, Jake set his bag down, and tried to push his emotions aside when he heard your footsteps. And when you came hurrying around the corner, his smile was pained as you ran up to him.

“We got the house!” you yelled, causing Jake’s mind to shift for a moment. “They took our second offer!”

“Really?” Jake breathed out as you nodded, practically bursting with excitement. 

“We bought a house!”

Jake held out his arms and quickly pulled you close to his chest, his mind still on the news that he had to break to you.

The kiss that you initiated was light-hearted and celebratory, full of playful little pecks. But the kiss that Jake returned was one of deep-seated emotion, like he was afraid that you were going to disappear right in front of him. He held you firmly, his arms enveloping your figure and cradling your bump with every touch of protective energy that he possessed in his body. 

You pulled back, your brows furrowed, as you cupped his cheeks with your hands. Staring into his eyes, you rubbed your thumbs along his cheeks. 

“Jake, what’s wrong?”

From the outside, Jake could be seen leading you over to the couch and sitting you down. He forced himself to gather his courage as you looked at him with concern. Letting out a breath, he turned back to you and finally broke the news. 

As he slowly explained the situation, your expression started to change. There was a flash of fear that built and built until a defeated, frustrated look drew your gaze down to your lap. Jake leaned over, whispering soft words until you picked your head up. Forcing a smile to assure Jake that you were alright, you couldn’t help the tears that started slipping down your cheeks. 

Jake wiped them away with his thumb, starting to cry again himself. The two of you shared another kiss before Jake pulled you into his lap. Curling against his chest, you dug your fingers into his shirt, trying to hold in the sobs that were crawling out of your throat. Jake rested his head on top of your own, whispering all kinds of words of reassurance that neither of you truly believed in. 

He had been in this industry since he was eighteen. You grew up around the Navy. 

And you knew what this would mean for your family. 

The two of you sat there, locking in embrace, as the sun started to slip below the horizon. Jake rested his arm around your bump, hoping that your baby would still be there when he returned. He’d never forgive himself if he missed the birth of your child. Especially if anything went wrong. 

He would never forgive himself. 

The sun had completely set when you finally uncurled yourself from Jake’s chest. Sitting up, you brushed your hand through his hair a few times, causing him to close his eyes for a moment. Jake slowly opened his green eyes, the eyes that you quite honestly pictured your baby inheriting, when you removed your hand from his head.

“We have a few days,” you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion as you tried to find the good in the situation. There wasn’t much to be found, and you were really trying your best to not start crying all over again. “What did you want to do with them?” 

“Spend every minute with the two of you.”

“Anything more specific?” you teased him, trying to smile though Jake couldn’t seem to return it. “You want to take a trip or go shopping for some more baby stuff or . . .?”

You trailed off, trying to think of something else when Jake gently grabbed your hand. You looked down as he slowly turned your wrist over and ran his thumb over your engagement ring. Sharing a look with Jake, you felt another batch of tears start to form. 

“I know you mentioned wanting to wait until after the baby was born because it would just be too chaotic to think about now . . . but—”

“—Yes,” you agreed quickly. “I’ll marry you, Jake.” 

He offered you a genuinely touched smile, a different batch of tears coming to his eyes. You wiped them away while you shed some of your own before pulling him in for a soft, loving kiss. And Jake could only pull you closer, savoring one of his last opportunities to do so. Breaking away a few moments later, you flashed him a painful smile.

“I guess I should find a dress.” 

~~~~~

Sitting with your head in your hands at Bradley and Emma’s kitchen table, you tried to not let your stress show. Everyone was giving you looks like they were waiting for you to finally break and you just frankly did not have the time. 

You were marrying Jake that afternoon and you didn’t have a wedding dress to get married in. 

The day before the two of you had run around like crazy people, making sure that all of the necessary documents were being prepared for the closing of your house. Then you spent time at his lawyer’s office, signing off on wills and other documents to protect yourselves and the baby while Jake was away. And you did a fair amount of crying along the way and so here you were, still without a dress. 

“I just don’t know where I’m going to find a white dress that fits me in time,” you told Penny, picking your head up from your hands. 

“We’ll figure something out,” she assured you, squeezing your shoulder. “Maybe we can find a dress down at one of the department stores in town.” 

“And what if we don’t find something?”

“We’ll find something,” Emma said from your other side. “You’ll have a white dress for this wedding.”

“What about this one?” Bradley called, causing the three of you to turn to him. 

Your brother held up the vacuum sealed bag that contained your mother’s wedding dress from her own wedding in 1983. It used to sit in your apartment closet, up until you moved in with Jake and were pretty much forced to hand it over to Bradley since you didn’t have any space in the apartment. 

After your mom’s death, you knew that you would incorporate her dress into your own in some way. Perhaps with a bit of fabric. Or you would borrow the veil. Something small that would have her with you on your special day, but also not holding you back with eighties fashion. 

You never really pictured actually getting married in your mom’s wedding dress.

For one thing, there was the little detail that your mom was over five months pregnant when she married your dad. 

Apparently, shotgun weddings and unplanned pregnancies ran in the family. 

Walking over to your brother, you inspected your mother’s wedding dress a little closer. It was fitted at the bust, but even with the slight cinch at the hips, the fabric was loose. It had to be. Bradley’s fat ass had to be accommodated. The skirt was a bit full, but nothing crazy. The bodice was covered in delicate lace and it had the distinct puffy sleeves from the eighties. 

“Mom’s dress,” you said quietly, turning to your brother. “You think I should wear Mom’s dress?” 

“It’s the only suggestion I have,” Bradley replied softly. And when he saw a flash of doubt in your eyes, he asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“I just don’t want to ruin it,” you replied, running your fingers along it. 

“You’re not going to ruin it,” Bradley assured you, causing you to turn back to him. “She always said that she would have married Dad in a potato sack. She didn’t care about the dress. She just wanted to get married, that was all.” 

“She never cared about any of that,” you agreed, sniffling a bit. Wiping your tears away, you croaked out, “I just wish she was here.” 

Bradley pulled you in for a tight brotherly hug that you quickly returned. Emma carefully took the dress from Bradley’s hand, letting him properly hug you. You held onto your brother and sobbed, your promise to yourself about not breaking down falling to little pieces at your feet. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how Jake got called up for deployment when you were nearing your third trimester. It wasn’t fair how the two of you had to cobble together some random ceremony at the last minute. It wasn’t fair how you couldn’t have your parents at your wedding. It wasn’t fair how you could have your baby without Jake by your side for months.

And it all just came rushing out as your big brother protectively hugged you in the middle of his kitchen. 

“It’s going to be alright,” he told you, sharing a worried look with Emma. “You’ll see.” 

“I’ve lost enough. I just wanted to win this one time, Brad,” you sobbed, causing your brother to start to tear up too. “I just wanted him here for a few more months. That’s all I needed.” 

“I know, I know,” he told you, rubbing your back. “It’s going to be alright.” 

The two of you stood there for a few moments, maybe even minutes as you cried and Bradley tried his best to comfort you.

“And Mom and Dad aren’t here to walk me down the aisle,” you continued on, sniffling repeatedly. 

“I cried about that too, on my wedding day,” Bradley told you quietly, voice thick with emotion. “But they’re both here. And they both wouldn’t want you to cry like this on your wedding day.”

“I know,” you whispered, wiping your tears away. 

Giving your brother another hug, you stepped back and turned to see Penny, Emma, and Sarah, who had come in while you were crying to Bradley, standing there, waiting for you. 

“So, do you want to wear your mom’s dress?” Emma asked softly, holding it up for you. 

“Yeah,” you agreed with a small smile, wiping some more tears away. “I’ll wear my mom’s wedding dress.”

Penny walked over and gave you a tight hug before leading you over to the guest bedroom with Sarah and Emma trailing after the two of you. 

“We’ll get you fitted into the dress and while Sarah’s sewing it up, you hop in the shower and get all of the tears and snot off of your face and then we’ll really start getting you ready, alright?”

~~~~~

“. . . and that was how I met your mom,” Jake recorded his own voice, sitting in your shared apartment. 

With you at Bradley and Emma’s house to get ready, Jake was taking the opportunity to put together a little gift for you. He ordered a set of headphones for your bump and now he was recording little messages to your baby. 

Saving that message, Jake was about to start another one when there was a knock on the door. He got up from his seat and walked over, letting Javy in. Just like him, Javy was dressed in his dress whites and he offered Jake a smile of condolence as he walked into the apartment. 

“How’re you doing?”

“I’ve been recording messages. For the baby,” Jake replied softly, shutting the door. “For her to play when I’m deployed.” 

“How many do you have now?” 

“Six,” Jake stated, showing Javy his phone. “I’m hoping to record a few more before I leave.” 

“I’m sorry, Jake,” Javy stated quietly, trying to not let defeat enter his tone. Jake’s expression already had too much of it for Javy’s taste. “You should get to be there. And there’s still a chance, but this isn’t fair and you have the right to be pissed about it.” 

“I’m not even angry anymore. I’m just . . . depressed,” Jake returned quietly. “And I’m worried about her. I’m terrified that this is going to push her into early labor or hurt the baby or something like that.” 

“We’ve already passed around a sign up sheet,” Javy told Jake, who looked at his best friend with a measure of confusion. “Every day, at least one of us is going to stop by and spend time with her. Check on her. Help her with anything that she needs help with. Make sure that she and the baby are alright. She’s not going to be left here alone.” 

Jake nodded slowly, tears threatening to fall. He bit his lip, trying to hold it in, but when Javy pulled him into a tight hug, Jake let a few fall. 

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” Javy repeated sorrowfully. 

Straightening up after a few solemn moments, the two aviators collected themselves before Javy put on a brave face for his best friend. Looking around the apartment, Javy turned back to Jake. 

“So, you got the rings?”

“Yeah, we bought them yesterday,” Jake replied, walking over to your bedroom. 

He pulled out a fabric bag and handed it over to Javy, who opened it and dropped the rings into his hand. To match your engagement ring, the two of you bought silver wedding bands. They were simple, traditional wedding bands, but when Jake got back, the two of you were already discussing getting something engraved on the inside of them. 

But right now, the most important fact was that the two of you got married today. All the other details could come later. 

“Anything else that you’re supposed to bring?” Javy asked, handing the bag back to Jake. “You got all of the paperwork?” 

“Right here,” Jake replied, picking up a folder from the kitchen counter. “I’m just waiting for the text to start heading down there.” 

“Go record your messages to your kid then. I’m going to call Nat,” Javy told Jake before heading out of the apartment. 

Pulling out his phone, Javy pressed Phoenix’s contact and held the phone to his ear as he walked over to the stairwell. After a few rings, Phoenix picked up the call. 

“Hey, you at Jake’s?” she answered quietly. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

“How is he?” 

“He’s fucking broken, Nat,” Javy sighed, rubbing his face. “I’ve never seen him look this defeated before.” After a pause, Javy asked, “How’s she doing? Did you make it to Rooster and Emma’s place?”

“They’re doing some quick alterations to her dress. And Emma is doing her hair and makeup right now. So, we’ll probably be heading out within an hour.” Phoenix took a moment before adding, “She’s trying to pretend like she’s okay but Rooster said that she had a bit of a breakdown earlier.” 

“But she’s okay now?”

“Physically, yeah, she’s fine. Emotionally, I’m worried. But Penny’s keeping a close eye on her.” 

“I just feel so bad for them.” 

“I know, me too,” Phoenix replied softly. “Where’s Jake now?” 

“Don’t tell her because I’m pretty sure that he wants to make it a surprise, but he’s recording messages to their baby for her to play while he’s gone.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Phoenix sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that he has to leave tomorrow. They can’t even fully enjoy their wedding night.” 

“I know,” Javy sighed, glancing down the hall at your and Jake’s apartment. “I’m going to go check on him again. Text me when you guys are heading down to Town Hall.” 

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

~~~~~

You sat in Emma and Bradley’s bathroom as Emma applied some eyeshadow to your eyelids. She had already braided your hair into a simple updo with some help from Phoenix before working on your makeup.

“Alright, no more crying, okay?” Emma stated as she pulled out your eyeliner and mascara. “Once this is on your face, no more tears.” 

“I’ll try my best,” you returned quietly. 

Closing your eyes as Emma applied your eyeliner, you could hear the sound of footsteps down the hall. When Emma told you that you could open your eyes, you turned your head to see Maverick standing at the entrance to the bathroom. He was already in his dress whites and offered you a supportive smile.

“Hey, Mav,” you called to him before Emma turned your head to apply your mascara. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Like I’m tired of everyone asking me that question,” you replied, causing a small smile to crack at Maverick’s lips. 

“Did you find something to wear?” 

“I’m wearing Mom’s dress,” you replied, turning back to him after Emma removed the mascara brush. “Sarah and Penny are fixing it up quickly right now in the guest room.” 

“You’re wearing your mom’s dress?” 

“With a few alterations. I had the sleeves cut off,” you explained, causing Maverick to nod slowly. “But it actually fits pretty well. Turns out that my baby at almost seven months is about the same size as Bradley when he was five months.”  

“He was a big baby,” Maverick replied, missing Emma’s wince. 

“You think that she ever pictured me walking down the aisle in it?” you asked Maverick as Emma finished up with your eye makeup. 

“She was probably hoping that you’d get married first and pregnant second.” 

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” you returned with a shrug of your shoulders, causing you and Maverick to share a quiet laugh. 

“Well, Phoenix bought you a bouquet. And are you wearing a veil?”

“No, it was just another thing to worry about.” 

“Then that should be everything. Do you need anything else before I start rounding everyone up?” Maverick inquired, straightening up. 

“Yeah, actually.” 

“What is it?” 

“Can you help walk me down the aisle?” you asked him, causing Maverick to freeze. 

“Of course, I will,” Maverick promised you.

Emma stepped aside and you slowly stood up to accept Maverick’s tight hug. You returned it, trying not to cry, but Maverick let a few tears slip from his eyes for the both of you. He slowly pulled away, holding you at arm’s length. 

It was hard to believe that the little girl who he remembered learning how to walk, who asked him to help put her tiara on properly, was now pregnant and getting married. Goose’s little girl was all grown up. Carole’s little girl was all grown up. 

And Maverick knew that he was going to cry about it. 

“You’re going to make such a beautiful bride.” 

“Thanks, Mav,” you returned, pulling him in for another tight hug. 

“Alright,” Maverick sniffled, slowly releasing you. He quickly dried some tears before stepping out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go and make sure that everyone’s where they’re supposed to be and leave you to finish getting ready.” 

“Bye, Mav.” 

You waited for him to go before turning back to Emma, who put the final touches on your makeup. Dabbing your lip color a bit more, she smiled and stepped back. 

“There, you’re all set. Let’s get you dressed.” 

~~~~~

Bradley drove you down to Town Hall in the Bronco because it just felt like the proper send off. Accepting his hand, the two of you started walking up to the building. Turning to your brother with a nervous smile as you linked your arms together, you poked him in the side. 

“Can I ask you something, Brad?” 

“Of course, I’ll act as your getaway driver,” he joked, helping you up the stairs. 

“Actually, will you help walk me down the aisle?” you asked him, causing him to pause for a moment. “I asked Maverick to walk me too, but I have two arms.” 

“You’re sure that you want me to walk you down?” Bradley questioned, turning back to the stairs. “I mean, I know I wasn’t the most supportive of you and Jake in the past. And I just offered to be your getaway driver.” 

“I know, but I want you to walk me down. You’re my big brother, Brad.” 

“Are you trying to get me to cry?” Rooster jokingly asked, refusing to look over at you, because he knew that he would actually start crying if he did. “But, of course, I’ll help walk you down the aisle. I promised you when we were kids, didn’t I?” 

“You did.” 

Maverick met the two of you up at the top of the stairs. You looped your other arm through his own and shared smiles with your family before the three of you walked inside Town Hall. They led you through the building and to the ceremony room. Standing in front of the big doors, you took a moment to gather yourself.

“You ready?” Maverick asked you softly, causing you to smile and nod.

“I’m ready.” 

The doors opened and you turned forward to see Jake waiting there for you, dressed in his immaculate dress whites, looking like a dream. There was a small crowd of friends and family, but the two of you were only focused on each other. 

You offered Jake a small smile, letting a few tears drip down that you’d held in for the sake of your makeup. Jake rubbed his chin, trying desperately not to cry himself, but there you were, dressed in a white dress, looking like a goddess with your prominent baby bump where your shared child was growing. 

And he started silently sobbing himself. 

Reaching the end of the aisle, you accepted kisses on your cheeks from both Bradley and Mav before Jake gently took your hand into his own. The two of you stepped up onto the very small stage and faced each other as the officiant began the short service.

You reached up and wiped Jake’s tears away with your hands and as you tried not to cry too many of your own. The two of you repeated your vows clearly and without hesitation as you slipped your wedding bands onto each other’s fingers. Holding hands in front of your closest friends and family, you smiled widely as the officiant got to the end. 

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may—”

Jake’s lips pressed against your own before the officiant even finished his sentence. You smiled into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his shoulders as your friends and family cheered for the two of you. 

“I love you,” you told Jake as he broke away and rested his forehead against your own. 

“I love you too,” he returned softly, stealing another kiss. “My wife.”

~~~~~

“I have a wedding present for you,” you told Jake that night as the two of you laid in bed. 

You rolled to the end of your bed and slowly got up, walking over to your dresser. Jake sat up from his own spot, watching you curiously. 

“You had time to get me something?”

“I picked it up yesterday.” 

Pulling out a simple plain white envelope, you walked over to Jake’s side and sat down beside him. Jake took the envelope from your hand and paused when he saw the logo from your obstetrician’s office. 

“What is this?” he asked you quietly, an edge of concern in his voice. 

“I wanted to wait to find out the baby’s gender until they were born,” you started off with, causing Jake to nod slowly. “But I also want us to be the first two people to find out. And just in case—” 

Your voice broke and you cut yourself off as emotion clogged your throat. Jake quickly swooped in and pulled you in for a hug and a soft kiss. You rested your head against his shoulder, staring down at the envelope as you gathered yourself. 

“It’s your choice, Jake. We can find out now or we can find out when the baby’s born.”

Jake looked down at the simple little white envelope in his hands. You didn’t move to rush him, but you sat up more when Jake pulled the paper out of the envelope. Turning to you, he held out the piece of paper and motioned for you to take the other side. 

“On three,” he stated, causing you to nod. 

The two of you counted down together before you opened it together. Staring at the simple message written there, you let out an incredulous laugh and Jake pressed a series of kisses to your cheek and neck as he pulled you into his lap.

“I knew it,” he breathed out, resting his hand on top of your bump.  

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you asked him, causing him to shake his head. You let out a bright laugh, some joy returning to you. “We’re having a girl, Jake.” 

“I’ve been telling you,” he insisted, causing you to jokingly nudge him. The two of you shared a soft series of kisses before Jake pulled back. “We’re having a little girl.” 

“She’s going to be a handful.” 

“That was going to be true regardless,” Jake reminded you, causing you to laugh again and sink into his arms once more. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

“And I love our daughter so much.” 

“She knows that, Jake,” you replied softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “She knows.” 

~~~~~

Jake barely slept that night. 

The two of you discussed it the night before and agreed that it would be less stressful on you and the baby for him to leave on his own in the early morning. You said your goodbyes the night before and Jake managed to coax you to sleep after another round of tears and kisses.

Getting up before his alarm, Jake took a quick shower and got dressed in his uniform. His bag was already packed and all he had to do was say goodbye to you and your daughter. 

But that was going to be a difficult process. 

Kneeling on the floor in front of you, Jake rested his hand on your bump and pressed a kiss to your skin before moving his hand around some more. He let a few tears drop as he tried to feel your daughter moving around to no avail. 

“I’ll be back, Baby Girl, alright? I just have to go take care of some things, that’s all.” Jake took a moment and a deep breath before adding, “You’re going to be a good girl for your mom, right? Let her sleep at night and don’t dance on her bladder, okay?” 

Removing his hands from your bump and moving to stand, Jake looked up at your peaceful expression one last time before turning back to your bump. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart. And I’ll be back. Don’t you ever think that I’m abandoning you, okay? I’ll be back.” 

Jake stood up and leaned over to press a soft kiss to your face. Not wanting to risk waking you up, he withdrew and let out a quiet sigh.

“I love you, Honey. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

A few moments after Jake reluctantly left for base, you snuggled into your pillow, still deeply asleep. As you continued to snooze, there was a small press on your skin, like a little fist was waving goodbye, before it slowly sank back down. 

Tags (PRETTY PLEASE have your AGE on your blog or message me about it to be tagged--thank you!):

[If I missed you, don’t feel bad about asking to be tagged again! But please make sure that your age is in your bio/comment/etc. If you see your tag spelled correctly but did not receive a notification, please double check your privacy settings! Thanks!]

@mrsjobarnes @wishiwasacasualfan @bethabear12 @everythingmarveltopgun @hardballoonlove @mavrellover91 @senjoritanana @sophiaslastbraincell @xoxabs88xox @emma8895eb @dempy @harperdoodle @itsmytimetoodream @sarahjoestewy-blog @the-annoying-fan @athenabarnes @midnightmagpiemama @praline357 @sucker4seresin @sunsetsimpsblog @sgt-barnesveins @abaker74 @shanimallina87 @kellyls04 @trickphotography2 @kmc1989 @boiolay @offical-potato @topgun-imagines @caitsymichelle13 @daddymack01 @hangmandruigandmav @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @lilylilyyyyyy @lillunna @bcon24 @ashcosmo @blackwidownat2814 @specialagentjackbauer @imareallygoodlawyersbrick @percysaidnever @silenthappyplace @buckysteveloki-me @havlindzk @hookslove1592 @mamachasesmayhem @aviatorobsessed @marvelogic @ems-alexandra @harrysgothicbitch @shawnsblue @shiara04 @delguersojoy-blog @erindiggory @eloquentdreamer @tomanyfandomstrash

[rainbowsky]

Hello, I hope you're doing well!

I was watching a video from a Chinese Turtle (who was originally a Wyb solo) and she said something about how after the "scandal" in 2020, Wyb helped Xz get endorsement, and that when they bought products that they thought Wyb endorsed they'd receive some Xz merch with it as well

This is my first time hearing about it and was wondering if you had any information about that?

Hi meyjustscrolling,

I am doing well, thanks! Hope you are well too. 😊

These sorts of rumors were swirling around a lot around the time of 2/27, and they were very controversial and caused a lot of fan wars. I personally don't think it's something we should be treating as candy at all.

The idea that GG would need DD to save his career understandably pissed off GG's fans. It's an insult to GG, and it only added salt to the wounds for GG's fans, and massively stoked their anger and criticism of DD for 'not speaking up' in support of GG at that time* - which in turn led to cyberbullying attacks on DD, and likely is the root source of a lot of the virulent hatred between their two fandoms to this day.

*I have a whole post about that here.

Some of the similar rumors that were circulating among turtles were that DD was supporting GG financially during that time, that he set GG up with opportunities and allies, and various other (in my view, pretty self-serving, poorly thought out and often extremely toxic) CPN. (There were some more believable and sweet fake rumors at the time, too - it wasn't all bad).

Let me be clear on where I stand with all of these sorts of rumors: I don't think there's any value in them, I think they're harmful and in most cases totally false, and I think that this sort of thing doesn't warrant any speculation at all.

2/27 was a tough time, but GG did have allies of his own, he had a huge fanbase that is still with him, he had the sympathy of a large portion of the bystanders and passersby who heard of the situation, he has a very sharp head for business, and he clearly pulled through it stronger than ever. All of that work and effort would have been his own, and speaking about things the way some turtles do only undermines GG's resourcefulness, resilience, patience and hard work.

I think it's likely that DD was a big source of love, support and encouragement, and it's possible that he was able to help GG in more tangible ways, but all of that is completely unknowable and the whole "DD saves the day!" narrative reeks of fan fiction fantasies.

I also think it's unlikely that DD's brands would have touched any of this with a 10-foot pole, nor would his backers and management. His fans wouldn't have tolerated it, and GG would definitely not have allowed it.

Companies and brands are extremely risk averse, and DD's team and endorsement brands would have been working overtime to try to keep his name from being dragged into things. It's extremely unrealistic for people to think his brands would have done any sort of joint promotion to support GG.

More about that in this post.

It's possible that some fans sent merch to people who bought GGDD's endorsement products, but I don't see any planet where a brand would invite scandal onto their own heads by running a promotion like this. It's not how brands operate.

In my view it's massively disrespectful to GG for turtles to treat him like DD's 'kept man' who couldn't get by on his own.

It's not romantic on any level. The people who get excited about takes like this tend to buy heavily into heterosexist and heteronormative ideas about relationships, and try to project toxic het gender role norms onto GG and DD.

GG and DD are two men. Two strong, independent, talented men who have endless capabilities of their own. GG was a professional and an entrepreneur before he entered the entertainment industry. He's more than capable of handling his own career.

We can CPN that they handled some of this together as a couple, but I don't like any implication that DD carried GG through the ordeal.

Of course, it's all unknowable and people are free to come up with their own theories and believe whatever they want, but you asked me and that's my answer.

Related posts:

Why didn’t DD make a public statement about 2/27?

Which of them is more sensitive? - (I talk about fan perceptions about them in this post)

Feminization of GG in the Fandom

Feminization of GG in Fan Fiction

DD being into skateboarding and motorcycles must mean he’s straight, right?

Endorsement brands dropping candy

[angelfleurry]

Tysm for writing my requests, you're a lovely person! <3

I only have two more in mind, but of course I don't want to bombard you, so obviously you don't have to write them right away. This is only so I don't forget them ☺️

• Romantic or platonic headcanons of Toko with a fem!reader who's a HSP (highly sensitive person)

• Romantic headcanons of Nagito with a gn!reader during the killing game (if you don't mind writing the killing game) that's very affectionate with him and likes to protect, praise & baby him

Nagito Komaeda X Affectionate! Doting! GN! Reader during the Killing Game

You’re so sweet omg. I absolutely ADORE writing for you, so anytime you want to request something and my askbox is open please come! I’’ll post the Nagito one first, and then I’ll do the Toko one soon after!

I feel like this one’s super all over the place, so I am sorry.

ALSO ALSO to anyone who has not yet played the game, be warned of SPOILERS ahead!!

~~

♡ It’s difficult to say when exactly your attachment to Nagito started, or what exactly it was that prompted you to feel so strongly, but it was practically there from the get go.

♡ Perhaps it was his demeanour, calm amongst the confusion, that drew you in? So peaceful, so comforting.

♡ But, surely that wasn’t it, because once his true colours were revealed, you were still fond of him.

♡ Maybe it was just one of those object-style attachments. Like, say, a favourite flower. There’s usually not a major reason as to why that flower ends up being your favourite, it just appeals to you the most and that’s that.

♡ Maybe, just maybe, that was the case for Nagito.

♡ Pitiful, deranged, unpredictable Nagito. That same Nagito who could be so truly peaceful at random moments, then deluded the next.

♡ Perhaps it was the thrill of it all that continued to make you fond of him?

♡ Either way, you seemed to be one of the few people who showed sympathy and patience towards him.

♡ During his revelation at the class trial, you were initially just as alarmed as your peers.

♡ It was an extreme change, and the idea you’d already began painting of Nagito quickly crumbled.

♡ How was that pleasant man on the beach the same being as the shameless maniac that stood before you?

♡ Yet, you couldn’t help but stay silent, simply listening.

♡ This entire change had completely captured your curiosity, uncertainty visible as you fixed your gaze upon the blabbering man.

♡ With a disturbing realisation now upon you, you had discovered you were only deeper fascinated.

♡ The whole thing…excited you in a way? It didn’t feel real, someone so disturbed, and yet there it all was.

♡ You wondered what had occurred in his life to create such a thought process, such a personality.

♡ Subconsciously, in that trial room, it had been decided.

♡ You wanted to understand this man.

♡ So, subtly, you began offering your time to him.

♡ It started as sympathy, but it then sprouted into priority.

♡ In the day that followed, you’d learnt that Nagito had been bound up for your peers’ protection, and that everyone was meant to be taking turns in caring for him- feeding him and such.

♡ First it was Mahiru, sweet enough to attempt, but then she left it unto Hajime.

♡ However, with news of the mysterious “Twilight Syndrome Murder Case”, Nagito had been visited, yet not fed.

♡ You didn’t mean to find out, but you’d innocently asked Hajime how it went, and that’s when you discovered he forgot to feed him.

♡ “I…I left his food there!”

♡ “He’s BOUND, Hinata. He can’t possibly feed himself!”

♡ And, so, there you ended up.

♡ Any disturbance you’d once felt had seemed to immediately lift once seeing him in such a helpless state.

♡ He wasn’t even distressed, which just seemed to add to it as you waved a hand to greet him.

♡ “Oh,” you recalled him saying, voice ragged, weak from his postponed routine, “Did they send you to come…to come feed trash like me?”

♡ You shook your head.

♡ “No, I came here of my own free will.”

♡ He blinked up at you, processing.

♡ “Ah, I see,” he answered, rasping, “How gracious of you…but if you want to leave me as well, to starve, if that is what you must do, then I wouldn't…”

♡ “Stop that,” you cut him off quickly, kneeling down to sit at a more comfortable level. Your legs crossed together to one side as you made yourself comfy.

♡ He shuts up at that, head cocking at an odd angle as he lay against the floor. He stares at you, curious.

♡ But, not for long, because he has the urge, and he can’t shut up forever.

♡ “Ah, my apologies,” he begins, “How…How could I have put that on you? It’s not up to someone as wonderful as you to worry about someone so lowly as myself…especially for the circumstances I’m in.”

♡ “Komaeda, you’ll find I’m going to worry regardless,” you answer, not up to dealing with his antics, “Doesn’t my company show that…?”

♡ He pauses, dumbfounded, “I suppose. But, still…”

♡ “Please,” you plead with him, voice exhausted, “Just let me help you?”

♡ He can’t quite argue with that.

♡ “I…I suppose I could do with some breakfast.” he responds, voice slow, “Not that I deserve it, but…”

♡ “You deserve to eat, Komaeda, don’t be silly,” you begin, gently offering your hands, “Now, can I lift you up? You can’t eat whilst you’re laying like that.”

♡ He lets you.

♡ He’s surprised with how gentle you’re feeding him. If Nagito was to be honest, he would have expected hesitation, possibly aggression, after all…you should hate him.

♡ Everyone should hate him.

♡ And yet, there you were, gentle as ever, waiting until he’d properly swallowed his food before offering another piece.

♡ “I’ll make sure it’s toast next time,” you told him, offering him the next bite of rice, “I heard that’s what you’d prefer…?”

♡ “Ah, you remembered such demanding information? I don’t think I should be one to make such a fuss, I’m not at all important enough…but, I do have a preference, yes.”

♡ “If you’ve been tied up, you at least deserve the food you actually like.”

♡ You didn’t leave him after he’d finished his food, either. No, you sat there with him, talking.

♡ Or, at least trying to, what with the way he goes on.

♡ It did not go unnoticed though, nor did the way that experience seem to make you more fond of him.

♡ Slowly, but surely, you began dedicating most of your free time to him.

♡ If anyone needed to find you, they just had to scout out where Nagito was.

♡ Did that make your peers question your morals, safety and sanity? Absolutely.

♡ Did you care? No, not really.

♡ Everyone else had their own person(s), after all.

♡ Hajime had Chiaki and Kazuichi, Fuyuhiko had Peko, Mahiru had Hiyoko - so on so forth.

♡ It just so happened to be that Nagito was your person; what was so wrong with that?

♡ Whenever he’d get an idea, whenever he’d want to state an opinion, if he just wanted to talk, you encouraged it.

♡ You listened to him with keen intent, even when he began spiralling into his rants centred around the concept of hope and his position in the grand scheme of things.

♡ You thought his view was interesting, getting to the point where everyone began to clock the fact that you were genuinely paying attention - much to their concern.

♡ Nagito himself even caught on. He had initially thought you were only tolerating him, being so kind enough as to do that, but then it became apparent you were, once again, completely genuine.

♡ You would even prompt him when he hadn’t even spoken about it.

♡ “So, tell me,” he remembered you saying one time, not at all surprised to see you practically sliding towards him, “Tell me more about it all, won’t you? I’m so curious.”

♡ “I want to know how you see the situation.”

♡ That solidified his fascination for you.

♡ Eventually, it became apparent that there was indeed more than friendship between the two of you.

♡ Despite never officially confirming it, it was very much established that you were both together.

♡ You and Nagito had never fully established it amongst yourselves, either. He would never come forward with that, not unless he was desperate enough to, and even then he felt it wasn’t right.

♡ And, yet, you both felt it.

♡ It was very obvious in the way you treated him, and the way he spoke so highly of you; almost as if you weren’t real.

♡ Nagito had become very accustomed to having you hold his hand, whether it be to pull him along or just because you wanted to.

♡ You’d both arrive to meetings, investigations, and trials hand in hand, sometimes you being in front and other times in sync.

♡ When it would be time to leave, you’d instantly go to him, sometimes needing comfort and sometimes feeling you should provide the comfort.

♡ And, he’d tell you it was all part of the plan, that it would all work out - all for a cause.

♡ You knew that’s just how his thoughts functioned, but it was pretty insensitive let’s be honest.

♡ Either way, once your peers started getting upset and questioning what you saw in his antics, that’s when you had to kind of drag him away.

♡ “They don’t understand…” he’d begin to mumble, a rambling tangent about to occur once more, “They don’t get it, Y/N…”

♡ “Why would they?” you’d asked him, half in reluctant understanding for your peers and half in sympathy for Nagito, “Let’s go, baby.”

♡ And then you’d take his hand and leave.

♡ That was another thing - “Baby”.

♡ You had subconsciously began giving him petnames, cutesy ones at that.

♡ Angel, love, baby, puppy, that sort of stuff.

♡ It’s almost as if you had accepted the more dominant mindset you seemed to have formed within the relationship, taking the lead and letting him follow you.

♡ Oh how you bewildered the lad.

♡ You know that audio where it’s like “She’s innocent, she does no wrong, and yet there are still people out there who don’t like Nicki Minaj”?

♡ Yeah, that’s basically you just talking about Nagito.

♡ You’re aware of the antics he partakes in, the disturbing mindset he holds, but it doesn’t seem to frighten you like it does the others.

♡ You just can’t see the issue as much at this point LMAO.

♡ Nagito may be used to the way you treat him, but it doesn’t mean he understands it.

♡ Nor does it mean he knows how to respond, or even just take it.

♡ The constant pet names, the initiated contact, the effort you put into making sure he’s heard and happy, the fussing - it surprises him.

♡ But, he doesn’t just let you do all the doting.

♡ No, no, he’s actually very protective of you, just as you are for him.

♡ You both stand up for one another, no matter what.

♡ The two of you have very different reactions to the Killing Game.

♡ You’re somewhat more sympathetic, potentially empathetic, in comparison to Nagito, and this tends to take a toll on you sometimes.

♡ His mindset protects him, but he knows that won’t extend to you.

♡ So, he tries to comfort you best he can.

♡ He’ll reassure you, in his own detached ways, pulling you close.

♡ He views you on a significantly higher pedestal than he does the others, and he’s almost afraid of just how much he truly values you.

♡ You could make the man melt within seconds.

♡ All you had to do was smile at him, or pay him any form of attention, and he’d be at your disposal.

♡ He would die for you, Y/N.

♡ Make no mistake of that.

[g1rlinheadlights]

Introduction to my

My Hero Academia DR

First off with some basic information, I am a class 1-a hero course student at UA in this reality. I am the first and only daughter of No. 5 pro hero Mirko—though I inherited my quirk from my late father.

⟡ ݁₊ . General Info ˎˊ˗

15 y/o & 5”0’

Yes, I changed Mirko’s last name to Nakamura

My name is Evangeline Nakamura, often I am referred to as my nickname Naki by close friends & family.

I was born November 11th — at 11:11 pm. ( I love angel numbers, especially 11:11, don’t judge me (╥﹏╥) )

:3

I grew up generally wealthy, as my Mother is a high-ranking pro hero. After my father’s passing, my Mom became even more eager to become a hero.

Through fashion design, my Mother met Mitsuki Bakugo—a fashion designer for heroes. Soon, they became close friends, and with this came my friendship with Katsuki (and, not long after, Izuku.)

:3

Unlike my mom, in middle school I was exceptionally studious yet timid. I never lacked friends or suffered from bullying, in fact many people tried to befriend me, but usually I did spend copious amounts of time on my own.

I’ve always been intelligent beyond bounds. ( ik this sounds very y/n-esk, let me have this guys.. (๑-﹏-๑) )

⟡ ݁₊ . Quirk Info ˎˊ˗

Meteorology

Hero Name? Nocturne — Why? Idfk (╥ᆺ╥；)

Okay, first off, I do have to admit I gained some of the idea for my quirk off of tiktok — but, my quirk has always been elemental-based, still the name was a direct result of me seeing it on a tiktok of a girl with a similar quirk to mine.. T_T

:3

Also known as "atmokinesis" or weather manipulation, my quirk is the ability to control the weather in all its forms. I can manipulate various aspects of weather using water, fire, earth, air, and lightning/electricity.

I possess atmokinetic desensitivity to all weather-based abilities and effects. Extreme cold, heat, or any intense atmosphere affects my body less than the average person.

My quirk is emotion-based, which means it becomes unstable when I'm unable to control my emotions, so I must be calm/in control of my emotions. Another requirement for my quirk to work to its full extent is an atmosphere, and my own electricity can cause scarring that takes a week or two to fade.

For example, if I'm upset, clouds form in my proximity or it may even start raining, depending on the intensity of my emotion. When I'm angry, wind picks up around me; in extreme cases, it can lead to thunder and lightning.

⟡ ݁₊ . Relations ˎˊ˗

Friends & S/O

Friends /ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ

My main group of friends would have to be bakugo’s group, since when we first start school at UA he’s one of the only people I knew & my only close friend. Plus, I’ve scripted Mina and I hit it off pretty quickly.

Once Izuku and I reconcile, I will become apart of his friendgroup in a way. I’ll hang out with them & speak with them a lot, as well as just being close friends with each individual in the ‘dekusquad’ as it’s been called.

:3

Ochaco, Mina, & I are going to be a trio I already know it!! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) I already have it scripted that we’ll all become close, so I’m very excited for that.

I’ve also scripted once Katsuki and Izuku make up, and the war ends, we all reinstate our once extremely close bond from when we were kids. I’m VERY excited for that, I love them so muchh ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

S/O /ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ

My s/o is Katsuki (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) I know this might be an unpopular s/o to have due to his personality, but I find him to be endearing & psychologically relatable. He means a lot to me on many levels, so even though he can be quite rude at times I’ll always love him. ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

idk if anyone will actually care for this, but it was soo fun to make & I love talking about this freaking reality so much!!! (˶˃ᆺ˂˶) if anyone wants to ask questions I’d luv to answer, I’m open to any kinds of questions except for obviously weird ones ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊˚

[torusonicpilled]

Hi! I love the concept of your AU, and the comic is great. I was really looking forward to seeing Tails! Sonic got the surprise of his life when he saw him again.

I have some questions. If you could answer these 5 questions, that would be great!

1) Sonic mentions that he died in his arms. I thought maybe he died young during their adventures, but it was already mentioned that he had a long life. Does that mean he died of old age in Sonic's arms? (Did he get married or stay single?)

2) I don't know if it's already been mentioned, but what happens when he reaches his ninth life? Will it be his last, or will he have immortality similar to Sonic and Shadow's?

3) Now, little by little, they will discover Tails' true nature. I imagine Sonic being excited to see him again, eagerly awaiting his next reincarnation. (For some reason, I'm picturing Sonic meeting Tails's fourth incarnation as a child, just to have his adorable little brother.)

4) Can you tell us what Tails' personal life is like in this third life? Is he still called Miles Prower (or is he called something else)? Was he bullied for his extra tails, etc.? I don't know why, but he strikes me as a bit of a loner, or am I just imagining it?

5) And the last and most important question: Can Tails still fly? Does the third tail affect anything, or does he even know he can fly? What will happen when he has nine tails?

I'm really looking forward to reading more of your comic, especially the Tails sequel. I want to see what happens! I can't imagine the amount of emotions Tails and Sonic (who is still in shock) must be feeling.

See you later! And excuse my English, I'm using a translator.

No problem! I'm so glad your enjoying reading it. Lots of people seem interested in the Tails aspect so I'm more than happy to answer. (click keep reading because this about to be long.)

Tails died of old age, so it was a peaceful died in a bed with Sonic next to him. That's why Sonic mentioned it, as he died as Sonic held his hand.

Tails 9th life will be his last life, however that would be 1000 years at that point, and Sonic and Shadow would most likely be dead for real by then.

Sonic and Tails make an agreement to meet the next lives when Tails turns 20, as Tails want give himself the change to grow up normally. However Sonic will check up on him every year before that in case he's in trouble.

Tails third life is extremely normal, he grew up without any bullying, and had normal parents. This made him focus solely on his tech studies, which leads him to work under a company rather than make tech solely for himself.

Tails can still fly, as you can add more blades to fans it will still propel, the same being with his Tails. However due to having no need to ever defend himself, he only discovers this after reuniting with Sonic and getting his memories back.

[obvious-captain-rogers]

WIP Wednesday

I've been working on a bit of my rabbot boydad au that's set a little further into the future and I don't know when I'll get to this bit (I previewed part of it in an ask) but I'm excited to show it off

“Dr. Robby,” Lupe said urgently and Robby’s head snapped over on instinct. “We got a very distressed young lady out in chairs with her baby. I put her into the viewing room, I was wondering if you could talk to her for me?” Robby's brows furrowed a little. Yes, he was the senior attending, but this sounded almost like an issue for Kiara. But Lupe was giving him an imploring look so he just nodded, holding onto either end of his stethoscope to keep his hands occupied.

“Yeah, sure.” Lupe’s shoulders relaxed and Robby followed dutifully after her after making significant eye contact with Dana so she would know where he was going. She shot him a distracted thumbs up just as he rounded the corner. “You got anything else for me to go on?” Robby asked.

“Think it might be a safe haven surrender,” Lupe said grimly.

“Shit,” Robby said as he felt a pang of sympathy in his chest. Cases like these were always hard because they were almost never unwanted babies being surrendered. Just ones that couldn’t be cared for properly.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Lupe said and put a hand on Robby’s back for a moment before she went back to the intake desk. 

Robby took a deep breath before he knocked on the door and then slipped inside. “Hello,” he said quietly, keeping his voice as low and calm as possible. “I’m Dr. Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Dr. Robby.” He smiled at the young woman- she couldn’t have been older than 21- as she held onto a bundles of blankets with a pink hat poking out of the top. “How can I help?”

“I- uh- I came to surrender my baby,” the woman’s voice wavered shakily. “I just- I can’t take care of her and I- I heard that hospitals will take them.”

“We can absolutely do that,” Robby said making sure to exude calm confidence. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions first?”

“Um…” she bit her lip uncertainly before she nodded, sharp and uncomfortable. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you want to tell me your name?” Robby asked gently, knowing that the answer would probably be no.

“No,” she said firmly and shook her head, looking terrified.

“That’s okay,” Robby said gently before moving on quickly “Do you need medical assistance?” Robby asked, eyes already flicking over her assessingly for any sort of outward symptom or injury. She didn’t look like she had delivered all that long ago.

“No, I’m fine.” Robby couldn’t imagine that she was, not mentally or emotionally at least, but he had to focus on what he could do at the moment.

“Okay, good,” Robby said and gave her a small smile. “Do you mind if I take a look at your baby?” He didn't make any moves to get closer or to take the bundle from her. This was going to be hard enough without her feeling like he was taking the baby from her.

She bit her lip and then slowly bridged the gap between them so she could pass the baby to Robby. The baby fussed as she was transferred but he just shushed her gently as he moved to get his stethoscope one-handed. He did quick checks on the lungs and heart, unswaddled the baby to run his hands over her head and extremities, and then examined her abdomen. "Well, everything seems okay to me." Robby gave the woman an encouraging smile. "How long since your baby was delivered?"

"About a week ago," she said, breathing getting shaky as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Am I-?" Her breathing hitched a little and she swiped a hand beneath both her eyes. "Am I going to be in trouble?"

"Absolutely not," Robby reassured her and adjusted his hold on the baby so that they were nestled comfortably against his chest. He remembered that it was JJ's favorite way to be held when he was that age. Something about that sent another pang through his chest. "I'll need to have you fill out some health forms on the little one so that we know the whole history so far, but then you are free to leave. The baby will be taken into our care until the Office of Children, Youth, and Family Services comes to take custody."

"Okay," her voice was small but she didn't sound as petrified as she had a few moments ago. "I'm not- I'm not a bad person. I'm just not ready to be a mom yet."

"I don't think you're a bad person," Robby said earnestly. Because he didn't. If she had been a bad person, she could have left her baby in a dumpster somewhere. It wouldn't have been the first and it probably wouldn't be the last. "I think you're a person that had to make a really hard choice."

"What if I didn't make the right one?" She chewed her lip, eyes locked on the baby in Robby's arms.

"Then you can reach out to OCYF and talk about reunification steps," Robby said and gave her as reassuring a smile as he could muster. "Our hospital has a social worker that would be more than happy to come and talk to you about whatever questions you had. Or even just to be a friendly ear."

"Would I have to tell her my name?"

"Not unless you wanted to," Robby said casually, leaving the choice entirely up to her.

"Um, maybe. Yeah." She seemed to have relaxed a bit, her posture not as stiff and her eyes no longer darting around the room. "I think- I think I'd like that."

"Okay," Robby said and felt something in his chest ease. If nothing else, it might make this whole thing easier if she had someone to talk to. "Does your baby have a name?"

"I've- uh- been calling her Maisie, but..." She shook her head. "Whoever adopts her will probably just name her whatever they want, right?"

"Not always," Robby said. "I'll have it noted down if you like." She hesitated for a second before she nodded. "I can give you two a minute alone if you'd like while I grab Kiara or I can take Miss Maisie here with me. Whatever you'd like," Robby said, careful to keep his voice neutral.

Her eyes welled up a little and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly before shaking her head. "No," she whispered, voice cracking around the single syllable. "I think you should take her."

[fetidbog]

I am forever interested in how George writes about moon tea, because I used to work in an abortion clinic (and will again, god willing). I think readers want moon tea to map neatly onto the abortion pill -- which it absolutely does not. Mifepristone (the key part of a medication abortion) wasn't developed till the 1980s and didn't get FDA approval in the U.S. until 2000, so the first three books were written before it was even accessible in the U.S!

(Sorry, the former clinic worker in me is requiring me to do a quick aside to note that mifepristone is the most studied drug in the world, and is safer than Tylenol. And you can learn more about abortion pills and how to use them at plancpills.org).

Medication abortion has only really become widespread recently. It took till 2020 for medication abortions to represent ~50% of all abortions (the other type is surgical abortions, which people are generally more familiar with).

George has said that he was inspired by real-life historical herbal abortion methods:

No, [moon tea]'s real enough. Tansy and pennyroyal are two powerful (and DANGEROUS) natural abortifactants. Carelessly used, however, they can kill, so I was purposely vague and added a few fantasy touches to "moon tea." I did not want anyone trying them in real life. A web search will turn you plenty of both of them.

But I've always felt that better comparison might be Silphium, a "lost" ancient herb, with a variety of medicinal uses (including effective birth control and abortion!). Outside of Lysa, who we will get to shortly, no one suffers any side effects or issues from taking moon tea. And it sounds like people are drinking moon tea for contraceptive purposes as well. Silphium aligns better with that since tansy and pennyroyal would be too intense/dangerous for reoccurring, regular use.

Although, rather than contraceptive use, it's actually more accurate to say it sounds like people are taking it once a month in case they are pregnant to end the pregnancy/regulate their period. It's almost like a fantasy Plan B.

In fact, something similar (a little more involved than just drinking tea, though!) did occur in the 70s and 80s in the United States, created out of the Women's Health Movement:

Menstrual Extraction, or ME, was never envisioned as a service that lay women practitioners would provide to other women who needed an abortion. Rather, the early self helpers advocated that women join self help groups and practice extracting each other's menses around the time of their expected periods. If a pregnancy happened to be present, it would be extracted along with the contents of the uterus.

(Menstrual Extraction is extremely safe and effective, and is responsible for helping an untold number of people avoid pregnancy! The history of this is really interesting, and I recommend reading further if you are interested.)

There's also been a movement to get abortion pills approved as contraceptives which follows the similar idea of breaking down the divide between abortion & contraceptives, and focusing on menstrual regulation. It's pretty exciting!

Anyway, the last thing I wanted to touch on was Lysa's (forced) use of moon tea, and how it may or may not have impacted her fertility.

First of all, in the real world, abortion does not impact future fertility -- this is a myth spread by the anti-abortion movement.

Now, in the world of the books, moon tea is made from intense, potentially dangerous herbs. However, it's extremely widespread and we never hear about any negative side effects outside of Lysa's experience. And, given that the world of the books does include religious beliefs that moon tea is murder based on what the High Septon says about Margaery in AFFC, I feel like if there were to be widespread fertility impacts based on consumption of moon tea, we'd be hearing about it!

Holy septas have examined her, and testify that her maidenhead is broken. She has drunk of moon tea, to murder the fruit of her fornications in her womb.

So I don't think it's fair to attribute Lysa's miscarriages & stillbirths to moon tea.

I believe (based on some googling) that when Lysa was forced by Hoster to drink moon tea -- an act of blatant reproductive coercion -- she had a near death experience (this is all apparently in the World of Ice and Fire app which I don't have so please feel free to correct me).

There's a couple of factors here that might have caused lasting impacts -- Hoster might have given her a very large dose, Lysa was quite young at the time, these are pretty intense herbs (although, again, in the books, no one else ever has side effects that are mentioned), or Lysa's advanced gestational age at the time might have made it more dangerous.

I can't speak to how use of herbal methods is impacted by gestational age, but in real life, medication abortion is only approved up to a certain point during pregnancy; however, this is more a result of political opposition to abortion and not based in medical fact. In fact, the further along someone is in their pregnancy, the lower the dose of abortion pills required to have an abortion (in fact, a very small dose of misoprostol -- the other pill in a medication abortion -- is used to induce labor!).

So I guess I could see a world where Lysa was pretty far along, and Hoster gave her a really large dose of moon tea or dosed her multiple times (thinking she needed more because she was very pregnant and/or he had difficulties with getting her to drink the dose resulting in multiple partial attempts) which was harmful since the herbs are dangerous at higher concentrations.

Based on some very limited googling, however, I don't think tansy or pennyroyal would impact long-term fertility. Generally, herbal abortion methods risk liver damage and/or death, not loss of fertility. A lot of the scaremongering about how abortion impacts fertility is based on fears about how surgical abortions, not medical abortions, could "damage the uterus" from potential surgical scars -- which can also happen from c-sections and other procedures, and is rare enough to be labeled statistically insignificant. Obviously, moon tea is not a surgical method, and is more analogous to medication abortion. The side effects of medication abortions (which causes cramping to empty the uterus) are fever, abdominal pain (from the cramping), nausea (from the misoprostol), and, in very rare cases, hemorrhage -- not long-term fertility impacts.

But I think an important part of this conversation is that Jon Arryn canonically has fertility issues -- his first wife died during childbirth with a stillborn child, and his second wife died childless. I think it's much more likely that Lysa's struggles to carry a pregnancy to term come from Jon Arryn and not moon tea! There's been a recent amount of historical speculation that Henry VIII had a blood group incompatibility with his wives or some other medical issue which led to issues getting pregnant and carrying pregnancies to term. I've always wondered if that's a partial inspiration for Jon Arryn.

(Anyway this post was inspired by @m00na333's excellent post on fertility in ASOIAF which made me want to dive into the mechanics of moon tea deeper!)