#it matches the brain energy enough that i can get work done

[sapphoismymuse]

neurodivergent noises

What’s your 7th song on Spotify wrapped and what does it say about your future??

[thezombieprostitute]

What's Mine

Summary: Bucky pushes you too far and decides to explain how your situation works. Or doesn't.

Word Count: ~2.3 k

Warnings: Dark Fic, Implied dub/non con, Power imbalance. Please let me know if I missed any.

Previous Part; Next Part

It's been a few months since Bucky "claimed" you. He followed up on his promises of taking care of you. You frequently woke up to some surprise gift or another. One day it was a fully stocked kitchen. Another day it was the leak in the bathroom sink getting fixed. More than a few times it's been jewelry with his initials on it.

And all it cost was letting him use you. You swear a piece of your soul dies every time he makes you cum. Every time he coats you in his semen. Every time you match his fervor. It might not be so bad if he didn't gloat every time. That damn smirk haunted your dreams. Or was it nightmares? What was the difference anymore?

It had definitely affected your standing in the community. People were scared to interact with you. Fewer parents brought their kids to the library when you were there. Ruth and her friends had no problems calling you all sorts of degrading things under their breath. You definitely caught them giving you the evil eye more than a few times.

Part of you suspected that if you'd quit trying to fight him he'd lose interest. He liked when you were in a fiery mood. If you could just give in, give up, he'd likely stop using you. But you couldn't help yourself. You hated him. You hated yourself for enjoying the pleasure he gave. That hate needed an outlet.

You pull into your driveway, no longer surprised to see Bucky's bike there as well. You sigh, wondering if you can talk him into to leaving. You're exhausted. Walking into the house you don't even have a chance to take your jacket off before Bucky is on you.

"Bucky, please no. I'm just too tired."

He chuckles, "don't worry. I'm just really happy to see you. We're going out tonight."

You sigh, "I'd rather stay in."

"Then that means you have the energy for me all night."

"Ugh, fine. Where are we going?"

"I've got you an appointment at the tattoo parlor."

"WHAT?! I hate tattoos! I can't get any!"

He smiles as he growls at you, "you're going to get a tattoo just for me. No one else is going to be able to see it, but we'll know it's there."

"Isn't the jewelry enough of your 'ownership'? You even got me a brooch for my cardigans with your initials!"

Bucky licks his lips, "it was just the beginning, Doll. So far everything I've done to mark you are things that can wash away or heal up. This is the next step."

"I refuse," you declare, crossing your arms.

"Fuck, Doll, you're getting me riled up." He puts his arms on each side of your head, boxing you in against the wall. "And you're getting that damn tattoo. We can either go now, while you're still cleaned up, or after I've fucked your brains out and you're a cum covered mess."

"Fine," you drop your head. "Let's go to the tattoo parlor."

"Not yet." He grabs you chin and makes your look at him. "You need to thank me, first, Doll."

Bile rises at the back of your throat. "Thank you for letting me preserve my dignity."

He laughs. "Give me another," he taunts, using the same voice as when he's telling you to give him another orgasm. You hate yourself for the involuntarily clench your pussy does.

"Thank you, Bucky, for...for introducing me to Bunny. It is nice to have a friend." A friend who understands how fucked you both are, you think.

That gets a more sincere smile on his face. "It is important to me that you know my best friend and his girl. I'm glad you're good to them. Bunny is gonna need you when she's pregnant."

"What are friends for," you dryly reply.

"That's my good girl, Doll."

The tattoo is pretty much what you expected. His initials, right over your heart. If you wore anything low cut, it would be obvious. You were sure that was the point: can't even show a hint of skin without reminding everyone who it actually belongs to. At least it wouldn't be a problem at work, given you always dress conservatively.

By the time you're home Bucky is practically salivating at the memory of the tattoo on your chest. He might be eager to see this permanent mark of his claim on you but at least he's willing to follow instructions for proper care so it doesn't scar or make you sick. You made sure to thank him for that, knowing he likes to hear it, and he reiterates, "I take care of what's mine."

"Any chance I can just get some sleep tonight? I wasn't lying when I said I was tired."

"I'm all worked up, Doll."

"I thought you take care of what's yours," you snap back. "How is keeping me awake, not letting get good sleep, taking care of me?"

He grips your chin and gives you a thoughtful look. "I suppose you're right," he admits. "Even a vibrator's batteries gotta recharge every so often, right?" You roll your eyes and he grins. "But I'm going to hold you all night and when you wake up, it's on. I know you don't work tomorrow."

"Is that why you helped with my budget? So I'd have more free time to be your personal toy?" You can't fight the fire in your voice. You're tired, yes. Tired of being so angry all the time.

"Aww, you admit you're mine," he teases.

Unable to hold back any longer you smack his face. "I have never been so angry or tired as I have been since you showed up. You want to take care of me? You want me to be yours? Treat me like a fucking person!" Tears are pouring out of your eyes, the stress and frustration of the months finally finding a kind of release.

Bucky glowers at you and grabs your throat with his metal arm. "You shouldn't have done that, Doll."

"I don't care anymore," you croak.

That seems to catch him off guard as his hand loosens and his face softens.

"Oh, Doll," he shakes his head. "You really should've said something sooner." You squeeze your eyes shut as more tears start falling. He removes his hand from your throat and brings you in for a hug, causing you to cry even more. He pats your hair and coos, "there, there," until you can't cry any more.

"Let's get you to bed," he says quietly.

"I...I don't...I don't understand."

He gently lifts your chin, "you know, before Bunny ran, I tried to warn Steve he was being too controlling. That she was going to bolt. He didn't listen and, sure enough, she escaped. Wouldn't surprise me if she continued to try because he hasn't learned to loosen his grip. I don't plan on repeating his mistakes. Yes, you're mine and you'll never be rid of me. But that doesn't mean I can't be benevolent."

You sniffle as your brain tries to comprehend the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Now lets make sure that tattoo is properly cared for," he says with a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I...I hit you," you stammer.

"You're over-stressed and tired," he shrugs. "If I thought you were doing it just because you wanted to hurt me, yes, there would be repercussions. But I've apparently been overworking my poor Doll, so I'll forgive that one smack." His tone at that last part implies any more attempts to lash out at him will be punished.

"Thank you, Bucky," you murmur as you hang your head.

"Mmmm. That's more like it. Now let's get you to bed and tomorrow we'll work on your communication skills."

You wake up feeling like you're hungover without having had any alcohol. The delicious smells of breakfast lure you out of the bed, even though you dread meeting the cook.

Bucky's shirtless and smiling as he works. If you were in anything close to a healthy relationship you'd smile at how happy he is. Instead you keep your head down, trying not to think about that metal hand wrapped around your neck. About how those muscles feel pressed against your back, or on top of you.

He sees you and gestures for you to sit at the table. He brings you a plate of breakfast, a mug of coffee and kisses the top of your head before sitting across from you. You don't eat right away like he does, lost in your confusion about this change in behavior.

"Eat, Doll," he orders. "I didn't stock your kitchen and cook this up just for you to let it go cold."

"What is going on?" your voice is barely above a whisper.

"I'm taking care of my girl," he answers, nonchalantly. You look at him like you've never seen him before and he sighs. "Eat, or I will force it down your throat."

You grab a slice of the toast and start chewing. "Thank you, Bucky," you grumble and he nods in his approval.

"One of the differences between me and Cap is that I know I'm a monster," he tells you between bites. "He likes to think we've done all of this to keep his girl safe and give her the life she always wanted. I know better. But we've been best friends since we were kids. Ride or die, you know? So I'm always going to have his back. I've just made peace with the fact that it means ruining lives."

"You never tried to talk him out of it? Out of taking over an entire town?"

He shakes his head. "Steve's the kind of guy who can never be talked or distracted from his goal. One of the things I find endearing about him."

"So, he gets you all to take over everything here and you, what? Enjoy the spoils?" Feeling the bile rise at the back of your throat, you go for another slice of toast to try to settle your stomach while keeping Bucky happy.

"It's a balance," he grins. "We take over and just start doing whatever the hell we want, a lot of people are going to die trying to get rid of us. So we set up some rules for our men. People will remain upset, of course, but they're less likely to 'rise up' so long as we have a level of restraint. It's, honestly, the biggest part of my job as Cap's second."

You think on this for a minute, mindlessly eating. "I get why the town, but why me?"

He shrugs, "I needed the stress relief. It ain't easy keeping a crew in line and I was initially just hoping for a quiet spot to read to calm down. Then I started watching you. Saw you expertly handle all kinds of difficulties. When you snapped at me, I figured, like me, you could use some stress relief."

"Stress relief?!" He gives you a look that has you clamming up.

"And fuck you were so good," he muses. "That first photo is still the background on my phone." Heat rushes to your face. "I decided to go ahead and keep you as mine. You're not only a good fuck, but you were quick to befriend Bunny. Everyone else who sees her with Cap has decided to avoid her. Something I know you've been experiencing, even though you haven't told me." You look down, unable to say anything. "I honestly thought you liked the rough treatment and was happy to give it, but I'm guessing we hit a limit for you."

"You branded me," you snarl.

"No, I got you a tattoo. Branding is something else and would've hurt you a lot more." His tone is stern and you return your attention to your food. "You've played a critical role in helping me keep things under control. Plus, since you're my girl, you get some privileges and protections. You think Steve would've beaten up Walker for some random librarian? No. But for his best friend's girl? That's another story."

"So, you're just going to keep using me?"

"Yes," he nods. "And now that I know more about your limits, I'm less likely to get stabbed in my sleep."

You look at him, aghast, "that's why you never stayed the night before?"

Bucky chuckles, "so smart. I love it. And now that you have more information, hopefully you're smart enough to put the rest of the pieces together."

"If I hurt you, Steve drops everything to find and kill me. Probably painfully." He nods. "If I make you angry, you're likely to take it out on someone who doesn't deserve it or you lose control of your men for long enough that they hurt someone who doesn't deserve it." He nods again, smiling at you. "And if I stop playing along like everything is okay, it's another sign to the townsfolk that might set them over the edge and have them shooting, getting hurt, or worse."

Bucky finishes his breakfast, nodding at your conclusions. "God, I love that you're so smart. Makes a lot of this so much easier." You start sniffling and he reaches across the table to gently grip your chin. "I get that this is a lot to take in, Doll. But I know you'll make the right decision. If you really didn't care about this town, you'd have left when you only had a skeleton budget. You're willing to work yourself to the bone to take care of these people, you're willing to be mine to keep them safe."

"I can't say 'no'," you whimper.

"But it doesn't have to be all bad. Remember, I take care of what's mine."

Previous Part; Next Part

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[captainquake42]

> ♡ °. INKED UP

♡ part three

☆ kwon jae sung x fem!reader

> summary:

high on adrenaline kwon invites you to his room on accident.

OR kwon tries to teach you some korean.

> notes:

once again the korean is from google translate

find it on ao3

part one // part two // part four

> 2.1k written by:

S A R A H

By the time their team stepped off the mat for the fourth consecutive win, Kwon had to admit—watching film and researching their opponents had been the smartest thing they’d done all tournament. Hana, Yoon, Tory, and himself had yet to lose a match, and their earlier stumbles seemed like a distant memory. The strategy adjustments had worked, and their confidence had skyrocketed.

Well, most of their confidence. Kwon’s patience, however? That was wearing thin.

“ I told you so,” Yoon crowed on the sidelines as Tory got her hand raised in victory. His grin was wide enough to stretch from Seaford to Seoul. “ Four matches in a row, Captain. Feels pretty good, huh?”

Kwon exhaled sharply, trying to keep his cool. “ Yes, Yoon. You’ve mentioned it.” He raised his own hand for a high five from Tory as she got off the mat which she slapped with a grin.

“ Oh, have I?” Yoon’s smirk deepened with his own high five offer that Tory took. “ Because I feel like it’s worth mentioning again. You know, just in case you forgot how genius my idea was.”

“ Don’t push it, Yoon,” Tory chimed in, rolling her eyes as she tightened her back belt. “ You’re one ‘I told you so’ away from getting kicked in the shins.”

Kwon snorted, finally cracking a grin. “ Now that I’d pay to see.”

“ Oh, ha ha,” Yoon said, throwing a mock glare at Tory. “ You’re just mad because I was right.”

“ You’re unbearable,” Tory replied, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward in the hint of a smile.

“ Unbearably brilliant,” Yoon quipped, spinning on his heel with a swagger in his step following the rest of the team back to the locker room.

Kwon shook his head, trailing behind the others. He hated to admit it, but Yoon had earned the right to be insufferable. The team’s flawless run had revitalized their morale.

As they reached the locker room, Kwon stopped in the doorway, letting his team filter past him. They were battered and bruised, but their energy was palpable.

You walked past him laughing and his attention was instantly stolen. He saw that you won your own solo matches on the leaderboard. It seemed you and one of your other teammates were single handedly keeping your team in. The curly hairy haired boy that Yoon fought in the captain’s game.

“ Hey, Captain,” Hana said, glancing back at him with a smirk. “ Dangsin-i ogo issseubnikka, animyeon uliui mupae haengjin-ui yeong-gwang-eul nulineula neomu bappeun geongayo? (You coming, or are you too busy basking in the glory of our undefeated streak?)”

Kwon watched you, barely registered her words. “ Jamsiman gidalyeojuseyo. (Be there in a sec.)” He said, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest.

You saw him and waved.

He grinned, raising a hand in return. “ Hey, so-yeon.” he called, his voice carrying just enough warmth to mask his nervous.

“ You still haven’t told me what that means.” You hummed.

He shrugged, “ so it seems.”

“ Why?”

“ Same as before. Not fun.”

“ Lame. I could google it.” You teased, crossing your arms as if issuing a challenge.

Kwon huffed, his lips twitching in amusement. “ Can you spell it?”

You jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “ No.”

His mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “ If you really want to know, you can find me in my room after the matches today.” As soon as the offer was out Kwon flushed, his face warming as his palms grew damp.

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, Kwon panicked. Stupid stupid stupid, he thought, what on earth made him say that? Had he been too forward? But then you laughed—a soft sound that made his pulse jump.

“ Well, well,” you said, leaning in just enough to make him sweat. “ Since I got an invitation.”

And just like that you were gone with a flip of your braid.

Tory poked her head out, looked at him and then you, back to him and raised her brows sarcastically. “ Nice job man.”

“ Shut up Tory.” He snapped.

You took your time taking your everything shower, shaved from your armpits down to your ankles, moisturized with a strawberry shortcake smelling body oil, put in a hair mask, the whole shebang.

You were dressed in a spider-man hoodie and shorts, twisting your hands anxiously as Sam re-braided your hair in two dutch braids. You were good at pretending to be nonchalant until it came within an hour of doing said thing when you'd freak out.

“ What are you freaking out for?” Sam said, tugging your head back. “ Maybe you should just come with us to the beach.”

“ No it's ok, I'm tired, I wanna stay here.” You lied, you were not going to stay here, you were going to Kwon's room not that you could tell her that. You secretly wished Devon made it instead of Sam, she wouldn't judge you.

“ Are you sure?” She asked, Sam had always been nice to you but sometimes she could be really judgmental and she would definitely not approve.

“ I'm sure. I- ouch.”

“ Sorry,” Sam murmured, detangling her fingers. “ My fingers got caught.”

“ It's fine, I've done the same to you.” You laughed, you've ripped out chunks of her hair a hundred times by accident, whether it was from your braiding or sparing.

“ You should come, you and Miguel have kept us in. “ Sam tried again, “ come celebrate with us.”

“ No offense Sam,” you started. “ But that's exactly why I'm tired.”

“ Ok,” She conceited. “ Done.”

You felt it, no bumps. “ Thanks Sam.”

“ No problem, I'll leave you to it then.”

“ Have fun.”

“ We will.” And with that, Sam left you alone.

You decided to do your nails while waiting thirty minutes before you left just in case Sam came back so she wouldn't find you gone.

You had face masks you brought to do with Sam but decided to grab them thinking Kwon would be a better victim. He'd probably do them with you, he had nice skin and with the amount of hair gel he uses to spike up his hair like that he definitely has a skin care routine.

But then you started to second-guessing yourself. Maybe this is too much. What if he thinks it’s weird? You picked up the packaging, reading the back like it held some kind of life-altering advice.

With a sigh, you set it down again, pacing back and forth in the small space. Your heart raced, and your hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting. What if he was joking? And not actually inviting you?

You took a breath in your nose, held it for 3 seconds, out through your mouth.

You sat down on your bed, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. You stood up again, walking to the mirror to check your hair for the fourth time, smoothing down any imaginary flyaways and pressing your palms against your flushed cheeks.

It's not that big of a deal you told yourself lifting your foot up on the dresser to put your sock on, he already went with you to get a tattoo last night which was first time the two of you spoke. Hanging out with him wasn't any different even if he was really cute and you wanted him to like you. You switched feet and put on your other sock.

Finally you straightened up and grabbed the face masks on the dresser, leaving without putting shoes on – cause who wears shoes just walking down the hall?

Walking through the quiet hotel hallway, you felt every beat of your heart like a drum in your chest. The fluorescent lights hummed softly above you, casting a white glow on the carpeting. You told yourself to relax, that it was just Kwon, and you were just hanging out. But your hands still squeezed the face masks tightly, and you almost turned back twice.

You reached his door, and paused. For a moment, the silence of the hallway pressed in around you. You debated knocking, hesitated, then debated again.

“ Come on,” you muttered to yourself. “ Stop being a pussy.”

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked.

The door swung open quicker than you expected, and there he was, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing a plain black t-shirt and sweats. He looked relaxed, but when he saw you, his face lit up in a way that made your nerves melt a little.

“ Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside to let you in.

“ Hi,” you replied, stepping past him into the room. It was a standard hotel setup: two beds, a small desk, and a TV. His stuff was neatly tucked into one corner, but his sparring gloves and water bottle sat on the desk, evidence of a long day.

“ I like your hoodie,” he said, motioning to your Spider-Man hoodie as he shut the door.

“ Thanks. Nice… uh… room.” You winced inwardly at yourself, but Kwon just chuckled.

“ You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the bed closest to the window.

“ Sure,” you said, plopping down and setting the face masks beside you. You glanced up at him, suddenly nervous again. “ So… what’s the meaning of ‘so-yeon’?”

Kwon raised a brow, amused. “ Still stuck on that, huh?”

“ I’m very determined.” You crossed your arms, leaning back a little.

He smirked, sitting down on the other bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “ Alright, fine. ‘So-yeon’ means ‘bright’, ‘graceful’, or ‘beautiful’ depending on context.”

Your cheeks flamed. “ Oh.”

“ Oh,” he repeated, clearly enjoying your reaction. “ Why? Not what you expected?”

“ I was pretty sure it was gonna mean bitch.” You answered smiling.

“ Promise it’s a compliment,” he said, his voice softening.

Your heart stuttered a little, but you played it off with a teasing grin. “ Well, in that case, thank you.”

He laughed at that, leaning back against the headboard. “ Now, what’s in the bag?”

“ Oh, these!” You grabbed the face masks, holding them up for him to see. “ I thought we could do them, if you’re up for it.”

Kwon’s brows shot up. “ Face masks?”

“ Don’t knock it till you try it,” you said, waving one in front of him. “ They’re good for your skin. And judging by how much hair gel you use, I’d say you’re not a stranger to a routine.”

He blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. “ Fair point, let’s.”

You spent the next few minutes peeling open the masks and carefully applying them, bursting into laughter when Kwon’s didn’t sit quite right on his face.

“ You look ridiculous,” you teased, holding up your phone to snap a picture. You had never been into taking pictures, just wasn’t something you thought about, but you were trying to make it a point to document the Sekai Taikai like you tried doing for all your big competitions.

“ Says the girl who’s about to join me,” he shot back, reaching over to adjust yours. “ There.”

“ Great,” you deadpanned, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Kwon leaned back against the headboard, his face still obscured by the slightly crooked mask. “ You know,” he said, voice casual, “ you’re asking me what something mean in Korean. Would you like to learn a few phrases?”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “ You’re not going to teach me anything embarrassing, are you?”

He smirked. “ I’ll save the swears for later.”

You laughed, adjusting the mask on your face as you sat cross-legged on the bed. “ Ok, hit me.”

“ First one: ‘Annyeonghaseyo.’ It’s how you say hello in a formal way.”

“Ann-yeong-ha-say-yo,” you repeated slowly, breaking the word into chunks.

Kwon nodded, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he tried not to laugh at your butchered pronunciation. “ Not bad. Now, informal is just ‘Annyeong.’”

“ Annyeong,” you echoed, this time with more confidence. “ I think I can remember that.”

“ Good. Next is ‘Kamsahamnida.’ It means thank you.”

“ Kamsa-hamni-da,” you said carefully, earning an approving nod from him.

“ You’re a natural,” he said with a grin like the liar he was. “ Alright, one more. ‘Saranghae.’ It means—”

“ Love?” you interrupted, smirking. “ I know that one. I’ve watched enough K-dramas.”

Kwon tilted his head, pretending to be impressed. “ Oh woah, a real, how you say? Genius.”

“ Totally,” you said, laughing. “ Anything else I should know?”

“ Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “ if you ever want to tell someone they’re doing well, you say ‘Jalhanda.’”

“ Jalhanda,” you repeated, enjoying the way the word rolled off your tongue.

“ It’s what you can say to me when we beat your team again.” He teased.

Your jaw dropped, “ ain’t no way!” you laughed. “ In your dreams maybe.”

“ Every night,” he smirked, taking the opportunity you gave him.

[eldritch-spouse]

i-is it possible to get the full, delicious sex scene of this? uwu 'cause the idea of kalymir taking y/n frantically due to her matching his angel-killing-and-woman-in-robes-dream is so fucking hawttt https://eldritch-spouse.tumblr.com/post/769523379185319936/pinnie-pinnie-pinnie-pie-i-thought-of

[Yahoo, pain time!]

TW: NONCON; Gore; blood loss; delusional states; panic attacks; unhygienic moments; Kalymir's caps lock.

You didn't really have time to prepare.

It makes you think about how wars start, at times. How, in some circumstances, people are just outside performing their daily routines, before being subjected to unimaginable horrors at the hands of a force they'd never guess would show up.

Humans and monsters alike have always been tempted, it's natural, it's what leads to deals being established with those who aren't native to the surface. There had been rumors your city was hardly any different, and you've always thought that one day there might be consequences for the figures in power who think they can flirt with the fires- Pull the wool over the eyes of creatures who were made to deceive. Stories of high-ranking beasts unleashing punishment on those who break contracts always terrified you as a child.

There was no way to force judgement on them, their laws are different than ours, you sign and receive your goods on their terms, so any violations of protocol are also dealt with on their terms.

For all that childish fear your parents worked so hard to eventually snap out of you, they must be tearing their hairs off by now.

Because the very city you live in has angered a being so foul and tremendous that you felt the ground heat and shake before they even emerged.

Your night terrors couldn't have made this justice.

As screams rang ever closer, drowned out by belted roars and the horrid sounds of flesh being zipped apart, time seemed to slow down to a wounded crawl. You had barely the energy to breathe, forcing your head up towards the epicenter of the ruckus.

One look at him was enough to clamp your windpipe shut with terror. A sensation of vulnerability and hopelessness so nauseating that, when it finished raking down your spine, your stomach tightened into a marble and you held back your dinner.

That's no high-ranker.

That is so much more.

One of them. The embodiments, the focus points of each Ring, the demons who syphon all the sin around them like endless black holes of power. To provoke one of these things is to cast despair upon everything and everyone you've ever known.

This city will be nothing more than a corpse pile when he's done with it.

His generals -if you can call them that- spread out in a circle of gleeful gore. Smashing into crowds, letting no one escape their savagery and going as far as to toss each other people, playing volleyball with the lives of those they shame as weaklings. They seem equally as uncoordinated as they do strategic, hysteric with the freedom to cause as much death as possible yet still sharp enough to let none weasel out.

You've never seen a street get painted in red so fast.

Whatever chants and howls they emit do nothing but cause a ringing to take over your ears, buzzing into your brain. You can't even feel the tears running down your face.

You're outside of yourself in that moment. No longer a bystander in the massacre unfolding, you exist in a separate layer, watching it from above, everything muted to a much more bearable level.

Only the persistent, foggy sensation of touch keeps breaking that barrier. You try to shake it off, to ignore it, but it succeeds.

With a blink, the stench of innards and blood fills your lungs. You've become wet with crimson, things are now on fire. The force at your left ankle tugs again, some kind of gargle following, making you instinctively kick hard at whatever's grabbing you.

It was a man.

It is a man, more dead than alive, his lower body hanging but by a thread to the rest of him, so disfigured that you're sure adrenaline is the only thing powering his leaking, crushed body. When the force of your outburst makes him roll back, he heaves wordlessly, what you can only describe as a massive clot of blood pops out of his dismantled jaw. He stops moving.

And you vomit.

The shriek you let out felt like daggers through your acid-burned throat.

Louder still manage to be the cackles of the demons around, stopping to stare and taunt as if you're no more than a silly clown.

This mess, unfortunately, raises the attention of the entity you least want to think about. A spiked head bolts towards the general direction of the commotion, gluing itself to the miserable sight of you immediately.

Both of you freeze in burning time.

Where are his eyes...? A gaze of scorching intensity fixes you in place, but for the love of you, there seem to be no eyes on his gnarled face, just streaks of marred skin descending from a depraved crown of horns, and exposed teeth.

Aside from his hulking height, you can only focus on the sharp protrusions coming from his chest, the ones torn off his back and regrowing steadily, stalagmites of what you might guess to be bone. You wonder, briefly, sickly, if some of the scars on his form are from tearing these growths off.

When the rest of his body turns, when one heavy clawed foot steps forth, towards you, it must be towards you- It takes too long for you to react.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

Something like incredulity in the way he moves, but not quite hesitation.

Then sprinting.

Even if the whole city were between you, it wouldn't feel like enough distance was established.

Your heart begins thunderously pumping blood everywhere, limbs throbbing with the energy of a lone rabbit in a wolf's den before blind instinct takes a hold of you.

You run faster than you ever have your entire life. Faster than you ever thought you'd be able to.

Frantic legs carry you through sharp debris that stab through your shoes, tripping past corpses and obstacles without landing on your face, dashing and batting everything away with no clear goal. You dare not scream, saving every bit of air for the blood cells racing in your organism.

Large wrathful demons mockingly stand aside, going as far as to cheer -Not that you can hear much with the ringing of your panicked ears- You don't need sound to feel the thump of gargantuan footsteps behind you.

Your chest tightens, physical effort making you spit like an animal when gasps become desperate inhales.

He's too fast, too large, too much- You're going to die.

A swipe of claws across your back disorients you, ripping through your shirt and leaving bleeding welts in its wake. Like a whipped horse, you can only try to run faster.

Not fast enough, however.

Maybe it's because you're in debilitating panic, maybe just because you could never physically compete with such a creature, but everything starts hurting, the muscles in your legs almost pulling wrong, slowing you down, the pain in your chest now a raging headache.

You could have never escaped the shove that throws you to the ground.

Didn't even have the energy to shield yourself.

A wave of agony spreads through your whole face when you make contact with concrete, you fear you might have broken something when blood bubbles from your nose.

" FINALLY. "

His voice barrels through your entire body. He doesn't sound one bit exhausted, not even strained, just mortifyingly excited.

The demonlord rolls you over without a crumb of resistance, your open-mouthed, panting visage weakly staring upwards.

Towering over you is death himself, you don't waste time thinking about how he'll torture you for his own amusement. You don't think at all, waiting for the first blow. Will he kick your ribs in? While he crush your face with a foot? Will he pick you up and twist you in two?

Instead, the massive monster tries to pull you up by the already torn collar of your shirt, growling when that doesn't work. He tears it off brutally, knocking out the air you'd been trying to catch. You're yanked up by the arms instead, likely because if he did that to your neck, your head would have popped clean off.

" WHY AREN'T YOU WEARING YOUR ROBES?! "

...

Robes?

A terrified mind races to understand.

You've never once come in contact with him, he's mistaking you for someone else.

The pain coursing through your arms and shoulders only allows you to grunt, not that he seems very intent in getting an actual response from you.

The Icon of Wrath looks around, easily throwing you onto something hard and vaguely chipped. You realize it must be hood of a car, perhaps a truck, from the way it squeaked upon impact.

No time is wasted as he traps you there, studying you for a pause. There's the sound of something slapping onto the ground, though you can't possibly see it from this angle. In fact, all you can see is his intimidating physique casting darkness upon you.

" THE FOOL I WAS. TO THINK YOU'D COME TO ME IN THE PERFECT CONDITIONS... "

You shiver, though it has nothing to do with temperature.

Something about the way you're being regarded screams trouble is coming. A whole new type of fear encompasses you.

" WHY HERE, OF ALL PLACES?! " A balled up fist slams so hard against the car hood that you're jostled up for a moment. " YOUR HOME IS NOT WITH THESE MAGGOTS! YOU BELONG IN WRATH, MADE AS MY TROPHY FOR THE AGE OF BLOOD I'LL BRING FORTH. "

What can your shaking mind even respond with?

" ... W... What? "

He doesn't deign your squeak of a noise worthy of attention, this rumbling sound emitting from his chest, loud and low, the rattle of a satisfied predator. All at once, he uses both hands to grab the hem of your pants, lifting your lower body when he tugs up and rends the fabric apart, easily peeling it out from under you.

Animal instinct kicks in before you even confirm the gravity of the situation, flailing and kicking with sore muscles.

The beast laughs, this racuous sound devoid of any care, amused, easily holding you down by the midsection while his dominant hand comes to rip senselessly at your shoes, your underwear, your bra. All of it goes flying back. You don't even notice the shards of glass that have stabbed into the soles of your foot.

" Stop! Stop! " The scream rips out your throat, a pathetic sob.

" YES... " He nods, confirming something to himself at the sight of your now bare body. You realize idly that he's allowing you to scratch and hit however you please, entirely unfazed.

Incredulously, disgustingly, he strokes a hand upon his dark, blood-soaked skin, then slaps a warm wet paw over your body. You don't understand what's happening until both meaty hands are caking you in blood.

There's a different quality to his breathing as he paints you in red, it becomes harsher, his chest heaves like a bull about to charge. The knowing revulsion within you causes you to jerk and attempt to weasel away, but every time you get on his nerves too much, he lifts and slams you against the car.

The third time he does that, a sting spreads across your spine, vision swimming. You decide it might not be a good idea to encourage this. It's all you can do not to shake too much while warm and sticky crimson is spread all over your form. He seems to be thinking as he does this, trying to imitate some kind of pattern, deciding the zones where you should be most covered in the gross, foul-smelling results of his slaughter.

Whose blood is this? Your neighbors'? Your friends'?

A bit of it wedges past your lips, you're glad your stomach has already flipped everything it had.

When he passes by your tits, both hands squeeze and roll too hard, catching your nipples in a sharp pinch that zings through your whole figure. Desperation has you opening your mouth to say something pointless, to plea, to cry, but all it does is whimper when you take note of the growth bulging his unique loincloth.

With neither shame nor hesitation, as soon as he notices where your gaze has fallen, the massive monster uses one hand to untie the cloth, toss it aside, revealing a length that nearly makes you feel lightheaded.

It's not just the comparative size, something he seems very eager to display, it's the barbs flaring underneath, no doubt meant to tear into any hole he claims and anchor his cock as deep as possible. The mental image of your body stretching disgustingly to accommodate it is sickening. He looks incredibly hard, you're sure that there's no give to his shaft, that it's heavy and unmanageable for most partners he attains.

Partners... As if this beast doesn't just grab people randomly like he's doing to you.

There's a snort, you realize he's studying the newfound horror on your face.

" YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME. " It's not a question. " I'LL JOG YOUR MEMORY, WHEN I RATTLE THAT FUCKING BRAIN OF YOURS- "

" H- Hu-?! "

In a blink, the Icon is blanketing you in a suffocating closeness, panting against your face as the hand that isn't pinning you by the ribcage darts to his cock and pumps aggressively. While the lurid sound haunts your ears, all you can focus on are his misaligned blade-like teeth. The bits of flesh caught between them when he no doubt bit sections out of people. A dark tongue hovers behind them, wet with drool and shimmering in excitement. His breath is far from pleasant, though there's hardly a way to escape it.

When your head turns in an attempt to abstract from the situation, he forces it back in place and hunches further to lick the mess on your ruined face. A scratchy, far too hot sensation that claims the red he previously caked you in, then bridges over your nose to collect the river that flowed from it when you fell.

The god-awful agony of that location being nudged has a scream belt out of you. Flailing legs thump uselessly against his thighs, your foot nudging his dick at some point. Fuck if he cares. All force you have goes into slapping and scratching at his head, another fruitless effort seeing as he doesn't even flinch. It gets him to stop assaulting your face, to bite your right hand instead.

It wasn't too hard. You know he has the force to tear it right off, to sever all those ligaments and tissue. All he does is give you a taste, aggravate your suffering, cackling at your shriek.

It feels like your extremity's been crushed, fingers struggling to move when a frightening numbness sets in.

Your intact hand has no direction and no goal, furiously swiping at his neck in hopes that it would get him to back away. You mostly succeed in chipping nails.

The demon groans however, apparently incensed by the effort.

" FIESTY LITTLE FUCKTOY CAN'T WAIT FOR MY COCK, CAN YOU? "

...

He's interpreting your fight in the worst way possible.

" I'LL MAKE SURE IT'S ALL YOU GET WHEN WE'RE HOME. "

Home? Home?!

As soon as your bitten hand regains some feeling, the avalanche of trepidation within you just at the implication of being taken to Hell -to this beast's dwelling- makes you swing as swiftly as you can towards his jaw. A punch that pops the fluid between your aching joints yet hardly molds his rictus.

You try everything. Bruising your arms, letting the pain flare through them. There's little hope in your motions by the time you curl both fists around the horns sticking out his head, yanking aimlessly.

" TEAR THEM OFF! " He demands, the want in his insufferable voice utterly transparent.

You can't.

You pull and twist and try to snap them off his skull, but the protrusions stay lodged there as a crown of morbid victory.

" BAH- THE SURFACE HAS MADE YOU WEAK. ANOTHER THING I'LL HAVE TO FIX. "

The demonlord's disappointment is palpable, though enthusiasm quickly replaces it, you can't disappoint him enough to avoid being assaulted, it seems.

His focus shifts to your nethers. You're anything but wet, though he pays no mind to it, suddenly pushing your hips apart so he can frame your pussy.

" TINY FUCKING THING. " He chuckles, observing your fear-clenched hole.

Clawed thumbs trace the rift of your entrance casually, on occasion nudging the bud above in lazy rolls. It's not as if you wish to get aroused, the amount of pressure he uses behind every motion is just inescapably stimulating. The first jolt of your hips, entirely reflexive, is rewarded with a wanton hum.

He slips a thumb inside with some resistance, then the other. You can only wince at the stretch, alarmingly aware of how those claws might slice through your vaginal walls if you shake too much. The fear causes you to tighten further, a painful feedback of sensation that appears to excite him.

A visceral hiss escapes through the gaps between your teeth when he pulls, spreading you out forcibly and mercilessly.

With no inch of lubrication to be found, a burning Hell settles and you start crying quietly again.

" I NEVER GOT A GOOD LOOK AT YOUR CUNT BEFORE... WONDER IF IT'LL FEEL BETTER! "

And that's all you get.

Hot-flashes have you sweating when his thumbs finally leave you alone. A thick tongue swings around, preparing a ball of spit that unceremoniously lashes against your genitals. You realize then that his spit is the only semblance of help you'll have to handle that torture device of a cock.

He slaps it on top of your mound, and you don't look down.

You don't want to see how much he'll hollow you out, don't want to see where it reaches, don't want to think about the weight and heat of it on top of your skin.

Your body... Your poor body. What evil did you commit to warrant this?

" I WANT YOU TO SCREECH MY NAME, THE SAME WAY YOU DID IN MY VISIONS. " He giddily reveals, dragging himself lower to line up properly. A foul maw leans to snarl in your ear. " KALYMIR. "

The sound echoes in your mind, adding to the stab of terror when the tip of his much-too-large dick prods at your entrance. You can't breathe, for a second, wondering how he thinks this is actually going to work, morbidly questioning if this is really how you'll die.

As soon as trepidation releases your lungs and the first crack of pain from his pushing arises, you babble hysterically.

" Stop! Oh God stop- I'm gonna die! "

Kalymir does pause, likely because the sound of fear must be arousing to him in some way. He's already smirking before you even say another word.

" Listen- I'll do anything, please I'll do anything, anything you want- "

" HAH. " Bold teeth get a coating of saliva, one brutish hand holding onto your neck just hard enough to silence the rest of your whining. " I WANT YOUR HOLES AROUND ME. "

Perhaps it was a small mercy that he rammed into you.

Maybe, if he was less excited, he'd have taken his sweet time pushing inside, dragging out the pain until your throat is hoarse from screaming.

All you feel is a flash of indescribable agony, vision going black and body tensing like a coil about to break. There's no direction to go and nothing comforting to hold onto as Kalymir's member carves its place within you.

This must be how vivisected bugs feel.

Writhing is all you're allowed.

Distantly, you realize you're bleeding. You can sense the way your torn body tries to lessen the pain, tries to lubricate itself, tries to contract in pulses meant to shove him out, yet only cause him to groan happily.

Every single time Kalymir throbs inside you, he presses into everything and offers a contradicting mix of feedback. There's the scorching of your poor insides begging you to remove the unwanted intrusion, and the creeping pleasure of sensitive spots being crushed into submission.

The monster himself looks vaguely out of breath, drooling openly onto your stomach while he recovers from the suffocating hold your body has around him. Kalymir cants his hips to somehow slide more of himself inside you, but there's no space left, he merely ends up sliding you back.

" LOOSEN UP ALREADY- " The Icon huffs, a note of incredible cruelty following. " OR WILL I HAVE TO FUCK YOU OPEN? "

You know those barbs aren't in use when he pulls back, and thankfully, your insides don't shred into ribbons.

There's no describing the vacant sensation of his retraction. The split second where air chills your abused hole as it tries to pitifully shrink anew, only to be rammed wide again in yet another nauseating piston.

He's too hot to handle, too rough, the mere contact of his war-hardened hide against your skin causes scratches and rashes from unrequited friction.

You wish you were wet. Maybe you are, but it's hardly enough. Only blood can periodically ease the torment of his jarring, mercilessly mechanic thursting. The truck hood bounces while he damn near crushes you to the vehicle, frantic claws finding purchase on squealing metal, perhaps mocking your own cries of pain.

The stimulus becomes too much.

No matter how hard you might want to alienate your mind from the situation, he won't let you. Kalymir's barking comments, the way he'll clumsily paw and grip at your softer sections, the press of teeth around a bare neck- It all stabs alertness into you, forces a figh or flight heave of primal panic whenever you so much as manage to vaguely dissociate.

Perhaps you instinctively can't abstract from this torment at all.

Kalymir yanks at your soul, chewing and tearing into it, all-demanding and all-consuming.

There's no escape from what's being done to you.

A confused body, unable to escape, fights for a different kind of preservation by drowning you in waves of arousal. It's unavoidable, you think through the slightly muted burning, it's predictable. You don't care to stifle the way your cries have shifted, don't try to mask twitching legs and curling toes.

You don't want this, you never wanted this, whatever is forced upon you isn't evidence that your mind has changed.

You just want it to end, really.

Ignoring your own creeping orgasm is impossible, though you try to focus on breathing evenly, shoving away his snarls of pleasure by listening to the squeak of the vehicle beneath you.

You're not too sure what you screamed when he hilted inside you in a telltale erratic grind, when you were claimed in a way so vile it chilled your bones. When it seeped out of your ruined orifice, onto the car, a pinkish hue that reminds you of sickly discharge.

The rest of it coated you, the monster grinning and huffing with pride at his work.

At this point, most of the pain you feel has become unreachable, replaced by an ambiguous throb of physical exhaustion and trauma. You cannot move, as if your limbs were made of cement and your back had rooted itself to the metal contraption beneath.

Yet your eyes still find Kalymir's face.

Inside them, burns an animal rage that creases your complexion into something borderline inhuman.

This demon will die by your hands.

Kalymir must have felt the silent, sweltering fury showering you from head to toe, releasing a delighted swoon as he picks you up like a soaked rag.

You wonder what Hell is like.

[myseriesthings]

Underneath.

A post season 2 episode 16 "Under The Radar" fix-it fic by @mel-mcz.

Season two's end left me fuming, so here's a fix-it fic with a bit of whump and hurt/comfort. Posting here first, but soon I'll upload it to Ao3 with the subsequent chapters following up from here, including Peter's side of the events and how he found Neal, and a lot of comfort as he recovers with the Burkes' help.

English is not even my second language, so forgive me for any mistakes, I did try to proofread it, but there's only so much I can do by myself.

Hope you enjoy this thing I wrote in a couple of hours!

After practically spitting at Peter's face to prove that he'd taken the treasure, Neal only had enough anger to fuel his energy reserves to get him around the next warehouse before he had nothing left.

His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. Chest heaving, lungs burning with the exertion, ribs aching with every breath that didn't seem to fill his lungs, Neal tried to calm himself.

With his eyes stinging, throat burning with ashes, nostrils filled with the smell of smoke, ears ringing from the deafening sound of the explosion, he curled on himself, bracing his chest to try to avoid the pain that seemed ready to burst through his heart.

It hurt. Everything hurt so much and yet the worst pain was in his mind, seared in his memory.

"You took it!"

Peter's accusation seemed like shards of glass piercing through his mind, slicing, scratching deeper, embedding itself in his brain forever.

Despair mixed with the sting of Peter's distrust and his mind was stuck in a loop of hurt and fear. Images kept jumping to the forefront of his mind's eye.

The barrell of a gun.

Flames and the heat of an explosion...

Peter's face, filled with so much rage.

He didn't- he couldn't make himself do anything. He felt trapped in his own mind.

The deafening sound of the explosion, the hot feeling of flames on his back, the sensation of the concrete underneath him as the shockwave knocked him down.

Adler's face when he told Neal was the closest thing to a son he ever had, moments before the gunshot rang through the place.

Peter's eyes... his eyes when he grabbed Neal and spat out that he was certain Neal had done it.

It hurt deeper than he thought anything ever would. Neal hadn't realised, or rather had chosen not to acknowledge, that Peter had begun to mean so much more to him than simply a friend. Ever since Kate's death, or even years before while he was still in prison, Peter was there for him, offering words of advice, of comfort, promises that were actually fulfilled... He was there when no one else was, filling that space in Neal's heart that once had been occupied by the man who was now a cooling corpse on the ground.

Neal didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to do. Now that everything he'd been working so hard to make, the trust he'd been trying to build between Peter and him, the new man, not con, that he'd been trying to create, had blown up into nothing.

As his mind spiraled into an ever growing abyss of despair, he felt himself disconnecting from reality. He stared at his shaking hands and in his mind he thought that those couldn't possibly be his, he was a con man, he was sly and precise with his every movement. This wasn't him.

The pain that seemed all encompassing before, was now dulled by something awfully cold. His breaths were ragged and his heart was still beating wildly, but, as he blinked and raised his eyes beyond the fixed stare on his hands, laying still over his lap, he imagined that maybe this was all a dream.

The numbness that was creeping over his limbs, spilling from the emptiness that hurt his chest, was beginning to terrify him. While he felt freezing up, tension wanting to make his muscles lock and his breaths speed up to match the adrenaline flood, instead he felt his body swaying. His legs had gone numb a long time ago, but he couldn't attempt to stand even if he wanted to. He was tilting backwards, ever so slowly, untill he reached a position where he couldn't sustain himself anymore and he ended up colliding with the hard ground with enough force to knock out all breath left in his lungs.

Neal laid there, feeling the numbness reaching every last limb of his body, covering him with a blanket of cold. He stared up at the dark sky, absently noticing that it was almost fully night.

Neal watched the dark and polluted sky of New York City and wondered if he closed his eyes, he'd disappear in the fog too, just like the stars...

Neal came to his senses feeling warmth all around his limbs. It was so strange to his foggy brain, that it took him a long moment to identify that he was laying in a bed.

Not his bed, though. The mattress underneath felt a bit too hard on his back and the sheets over him were scratchy and too light to be comfortable.

But he was warm again and it felt wonderful for a whole minute, untill his mind began to catch up with him and memory after memory began to invade the peaceful state of mind he had hid himself in.

The kidnapping, the drugs.

The U-boat. The dynamite.

The treasure.

The explosion.

Adler.

Peter.

Involuntarily, Neal sucked in a breath at the memory, and then harshly started coughing. His throat felt painfully dry but each cough made him spasm and brought a wave of pain to his chest. He curled up on the side that hurt less, holding his breath in an attempt to stop the pain, even when his lungs protested the lack of oxygen.

The shift in position didn't help with the pain, instead, it made everything that wasn't hurting yet begin to ache.

He couldn't hold his breath forever, so he gasped when he couldn't hold it any longer, and the searing pain it sent through his ribs made him bite down his lip hard to stop a whimper from escaping.

Neal thought this torture would never end, every breath hurt and every cough that escaped from his throat felt like a stabbing straight into his chest.

Then, just as he thought he might lose the will to keep his pain to himself and cry out for help, the sharp edge of it began to dull. The ache in his ribs started to lessen to a manageable level and the stabbing when he took in a breath nearly disappeared.

That's when he noticed that he wasn't alone, wherever he was.

Someone's hand was travelling up and down his spine, the touch light, mindful of where it was hurting more. They were speaking, talking to him, but the words weren't making sense in Neal's brain. Something touched the tip of his lips, pressuring slightly, encouraging him to open up, and Neal had enough mindfulness to seal them in a thin line.

He wasn't going to take anything from whoever that was!

Even though he knew it hurt, he turned his body so he was laying on his back again, successfully dislodging the hand on his back and the paper straw that was being pressed on his lips.

He had to get a grip on himself. 'Cowboy up' as Peter so often said to him, but it was just so hard. His whole body was hurting, he felt weak and disoriented and his head was spinning even though he had yet to open his eyes.

Neal knew it wasn't an option. Knew that it was wishful thinking, just like he knew it was back when he was sick as a child and wished for a father that was dead, but he wanted Peter. He wanted Peter to tell him it was going to be alright, that he was safe, that he would protect him like he did after Kate's plane exploded and Neal was in the hospital.

He wanted Peter, but Peter didn't want him anymore. Peter didn't trust him. Didn't believe him.

All this brought fresh tears to his eyes and he found he had no strength to fight them. His chest was already heaving, as panic clawed at him from the fear of having been taken by Adler's men, and then the first sob erupted from his throat, shaking his whole body.

Hands were touching him again, one caressing his hair and the other cupping his cheek. They were speaking again, voice soothing and gentle, asking him to calm down, to take a breath and hold it for a few seconds.

For a moment Neal thought the voice was Peter.

The touch on his head felt familiar and the hand gently wiping his tears was rough and gentle at the same time, the way he would recognise anywhere.

Without meaning to, Peter's name escaped his lips. He knew it was wishful thinking, but he'd live in the illusion for as long as it lasted.

But the voice answered to it with eagerness, praising him for something he wasn't aware he was doing and encouraging him to continue taking longer breaths.

Neal frowned, for the first time feeling like he was missing something. He did what the voice – Peter's voice? – was saying, calming down enough to not feel like he might lose himself in his mind again.

And then he opened his eyes.

Fluorescent lights assaulted his pupils and he closed his eyes tightly, controlling his breathing to lessen the headache pulsing behind his eyelids. He sensed the light of the room dimming and risked reopening them a slit. Everything seemed foggy in the near darkness so he blinked a few times to clean his sight.

Neal immediately noticed that he was in a hospital. Nowhere else was as barren, sterile and white as hospital rooms were.

The second thing he noticed was the hand still on his face, cradling him like he was the finest artifact ever found. Following the arm of the person to the chest and to their face, against his better judgement, Neal sucked in a sharp breath again.

"Peter!" he managed to say, before the words scratched his throat and he fell into another coughing fit.

This time when Peter pressed the straw to his lips he opened them without a second thought. He drank the cool water as if he hadn't had it in days, which maybe was exactly what had happened, only slowing down when Peter asked him to take it easy. Half the glass was gone by the time Peter pulled it away, promising more in just a minute.

"Hey." Peter's voice sounded hoarse so he cleared his throat before continuing "How are you feeling, bud?"

Neal found he couldn't do anything but stare. He was so certain that Peter would never be there for him again, so certain that whatever had made him accuse Neal of stealing the art had created a rift between them that would never be mended...

"Neal?" Peter called, a worried frown replacing the relief in his expression "Are you okay? Are you still in pain?"

Neal numbly shook his head, feeling at a loss of words. His answer, though, brought back the relief to Peter's face. His eyes softened and a small smile appeared on his lips.

"Good, that's good." he said, still staring at Neal like he was important "You've got me really scared for a moment. I thought you couldn't breathe."

Neal just blinked in response, feeling his drug-induced sluggish brain two steps behind the current conversation. He knew his lack of responsiveness was making Peter begin to worry again, but he just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he was actually there, that he really cared. That he cared enough to stay with him.

Peter still cared.

The realisation hit Neal like a freight train and he felt his vision grow blurry with tears. He let them fall, not minding that Peter was seeing him crying (again).

The worried frown was back full force. Then Peter was saying something about calling the nurse back, beginning to move away and removing his hands, and Neal couldn't bear to be left at that moment, so he snatched his own hand up, faster than he registered it and thought he could move, and held Peter's hand, guiding it back to his cheek. The movement hurt his bandaged wrist, but everything still felt distant enough that he didn't care.

Peter had gone silent after his sudden action and focused on him, waiting for something to tell him what to do next. To help was Peter's most predominant trait, and Neal could say he had seized the opportunity to use it plenty of times before.

But never like this.

"You're here." was the only thing he said, voice scratchy and thin from disuse.

Neal opened a smile, letting his hand slide down to his bandaged chest, and feeling all leftover despair leaving him with every calming breath he took.

Peter still seemed worried, but was trying to hide it for Neal's sake, so he opened a smile that looked like a strange mix of amusement and sadness.

"Of course I am. I'm not leaving your side." he said, sounding so honest, face open in a manger that Neal had only witnessed whenever Peter looked at his wife and rarely saw directed towards himself.

"Thought you were mad at me." finding the proper words to string a coherent sentence was a task, and to speak was hard, but he'd push himself regardless, because he needed to know.

Neal felt his heart accelerating, despite the calming breaths he was still taking, because Pete's answer could shatter the moment or change their lives for good. His fate rested in Peter's hands and now more than ever Neal understood that it didn't mean only prison and freedom.

"I was." Peter fought to find the right words for a moment and Neal thought that he was done, that their partnership was over and their relationship would never be the same again "I was. I'm not anymore."

Neal sighed in relief, feeling a weight being lifted from his chest, making breathing a little easier despite his injuries. He opened a wider smile, not filtering the joy it brought him.

Peter stared at him for a long moment, smiling too, but his looked a bit sadder.

"I'm sorry for what I said." he started, becoming serious again "I should've believed in you. I was harsh and stupid and I am truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

Neal was frowning again. He wasn't expecting such a heartfelt apology for a discussion that, at least on Peter's side, wasn't so heartbreaking.

"I... Okay." Neal simply answered, too bewildered to say anything else.

Peter shook his head, not seeming to accept his words, but thankfully he didn't push.

"We'll talk about this again later." and his smile was back "How are you feeling? And don't even think about lying." he said, pointing a warning finger to him before Neal could open his mouth.

"Honestly? I feel like I've been hit by a truck." he said, laughing a bit at his joke but stopping short when it pulled at his ribs.

"Yeah, that's a fair equivalent to the pressure release of God knows how many TNTs exploding inside a submarine." he smiled, but his eyes were pained again "You could've died. You could've died so many times that day and still I-"

Peter cut himself with a deep breath, calming down for Neal's sake. He resumed scratching at the back of Neal's head with one hand, to have something concrete to focus on instead of what ifs. Elizabeth only knew how many nightmares he had woken up from, with the horrible images his mind had conjured when he-

"Hey, I'm okay now." Neal said, noticing the distress growing in Peter's eyes.

Peter chuckled, smiling at him "How come you're in the hospital bed and still you're the one comforting me?"

Neal matched Peter's smile with the brightest he could muster in his state.

"That's just how good I am." he said, knowing that Peter would scoff and remind him for the nth time who was wearing a tracking anklet.

But he didn't. Peter's smile disappeared and Neal saw pure honesty in his eyes as he stared at Neal's with unwavering intensity. Neal swallowed dry, suddenly very nervous with Peter's mood change.

"You are." Peter said, voice low and heavy with emotions he was trying hard to keep to himself.

To Neal's slightly confused face, he continued.

"You are a good man and I couldn't have asked for a better partner and friend than you."

For the second – or third? – time that day Neal felt his eyes watering. He didn't know how to answer to that declaration. He was sure that if he opened his mouth right then he'd embarrass himself by confessing a four letter word that started with an 'L' to Peter, so he shut his mouth and opened a smile, hoping, no, knowing that Peter would understand it.

Neal still didn't know what had happened to him after he marched away from Peter's accusation, he didn't know what had caused that in the first place, or what had made him change his mind, but he was grateful for the moment of peace they were sharing.

It would end, Neal knew. Eventually he'd have to face whatever had happened, but for now everything was just right.

As Peter's hand was still running through his hair, his eyes kind and soft, Neal let himself drift off. The safety Peter's presence brought him every time was enough to send him back to sleep without a worry in his mind.

[hismercytomyjustice]

Other fics will absolutely still be completed, but I have shocking news…

I’m planning to do RadioApple AU Goggles week in May…

Day 4 is “Favorite Movie.”

I almost went with trying to emulate my KSci boys, but Lucifer and Alastor have such pilot energy.

However, I’m still trying to bring this energy to the function (apologies for the quality, couldn’t find a better version with the very important subtitles):

📻🍎🤖🦖 📻🍎🤖🦖 📻🍎🤖🦖

“Is that Crimson Shadow?” the stranger prompted, close enough he didn’t have to raise his voice much to be heard.

Alastor couldn’t help but grin with pride. “Yes, she is! The finest Mach-1 to ever grace the program!”

“Is that why the pilots have you wasting time prettying her up? Kind of like putting lipstick on a pig, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s eye twitched. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t understand why they put so much time and energy into maintaining such an ancient model. Have you seen the newest Mach-5s? It’s like looking at a prop plane next to a military jet!”

“Bells and whistles aren’t everything,” Alastor answered, eyes narrowing. “And I’d argue the newer models have more than they know what to do with, not because they actually need it, but because these newer pilots need all the help they can get.”

Like Adam, the dictionary definition of sloppy. The man lacked both discipline and control, and Alastor was genuinely shocked he managed to tie his own shoes, let alone pilot a jaeger. He certainly wouldn’t be able to without the latest technology doing the bulk of the work for him, along with his sycophantic copilot, Lute.

Alastor was convinced she was the only one capable of not losing a fatal number of brain cells from drifting with that moron.

“Or maybe her pilots need to get with the times,” the man retorted, wandering closer. “And now with one of them out of commission, the PPDC is gonna be pressed to find someone else willing to work with a dinosaur like that.”

Alastor got the distinct impression he was referring to both Crimson Shadow and him.

Well, if he was a pilot, at least he’d already done Alastor the favor of removing himself from his list of potential candidates.

“I take it you only have experience with the newer models?” he prompted.

“Yeah! Fallen Angel! Ever seen her?”

Ah. He must be Lucifer Morningstar then. The nepo baby who’d undoubtedly used his father’s clout and money to get himself into the program.

Of course he piloted that monstrosity. Perhaps that was why he gravitated to his outfit, wanting to match his garish mech. The damned thing had a small set of decorative wings of all things. True, they housed missiles within their feathers, but wings? Really?

That was exactly the kind of thing that happened when people became too focused on form rather than function.

Crimson Shadow, however, had both in spades.

“Isn’t she currently being turned into scrap?” Alastor drawled in answer.

Lucifer actually stomped his tiny foot, his boot ringing against the metal of the catwalk. “No! She’s just undergoing repairs!”

“Caused by a Category Three kaiju. How embarrassing. She has…what, three kills?”

“Four!” he snapped back at him. “And it was the biggest Category Three that’s ever come through the breach!”

“A Mark-4, too… Why, Crimson Shadow is sitting here just fine after her latest battle against a Category Four!”

He smirked when Lucifer’s face turned as red as his ridiculous jacket. “Big talk coming from someone like you!”

Like him?

He glanced down. Upon recalling he was in his bland gray maintenance uniform, he laughed outright.

“Oh, I’d rather spend my days touching up the paint on a legend like Crimson Shadow than waste even a second in Fallen Angel!”

“I bet you would!” Lucifer seethed in answer. “Unlike you, I have somewhere important to be right now!”

He stormed off, Alastor’s laughter following at his heels.

[cal-writes]

Thank you for drawing and making a visual aid for my ask! It helped a ton 🫶

If I could trouble you, does the whole immortality thing change Zoro? I'm just so HOOKED onto this au you have made and it's taking over my brain (in a good way)

Excluding personality changes, I'm thinking, what replaces his bones? His blood? Matter? Or does it just appear out of nowhere?

Immortality has always been a puzzle to me. Cuz I'm wondering how blood, bone, tissue, organs, etc. appear out of nowhere and it fits EXACTLY for the person that is immortal.

My point is, does Zoro change physically because of the whole immortality thing?Or is Zoro the same as he always is because immortality locked his body in that state?

I'll be happy with any answer! Thank you again for answering my ask 🫂

ahh im so happy people enjoy the au so much!!! its very gratifying <3

immortality is a fascinating concept and there are a lot of ways to go about it - funnily enough i do actually get a little bit into it in chapter 3 of the current part so have a little teaser

"Why not shave your head or something?" Law murmurs, holding the gauze against Zoro's head. "To make yourself look different." He bites himself off as he becomes aware of his coffee breath. "It grows back in a few hours." Zoro replies, matching his volume. Law frowns. "And the scar will still look the same. So, not really going to help with that." Law huffs, fighting with the sticky tape. "Beginning to sound less like you're immortal and more like you're stuck in the state you were in when this happened." He says, turning his head away when he speaks this time. It takes Zoro's sharp breath to realize what he said. "Don't think the distinction matters much." Zoro replies neutrally. "Are you done?"

it doesnt help that the ope ope no mi is so... vague? in its skillset like. it can technically change the rules of the universe within a certain area. like law can switch up people and objects, change air pressue to stop sound etc its so weird and quirky and then we just have randomly "oh you can make people immortal i guess??"

i thought a lot about how that works exactly and how it manifests so in general i think that the "surgery" changed the laws of nature around zoros body.

basically first getting him into a "fixed" state aka healthy and uninjured and then keeping him there. the power to do that came from laws own life energy and the ope ope no mi - which is why it never resurfaced after laws death. but that energy is finite and zoro wasnt exactly careful so the more injured he gets the more energy is spend on keeping him in that state.

im still undecided if i want to go that route or if i will even get into it much but i was thinking that this could be why the other devil fruits started disappearing. basically the ope ope no mi siphoning the other fruits energy to fuel itself. if zoro eats or like rests - replenishing his own energy sources - that would probably be enough to keep it going but esp in the time after the morning battle and during the nika wars he wasnt exactly doing that (and also the revolutionary army was happy to take advantage of an immortal soldier who wanted to die and as such could get send on all kinds of suicide missions)

nowadays in the modern day zoros life is a lot more mundane and hes given up on trying to end his own life so the amount of energy required to keep him in his state is dramatically less

(devil fruits might start appearing once hes mortal again now that'd be a chaos on the world lol)

zoros biology would be fascinating to examine probably. like down to cell devision - it just wouldnt be happening. i dont know enough about medicine to say what other consequences that might bring but i have thought a lot about how turning mortal again will affect zoro

i think about @zombolouge's text for that a lot

okay wow that was a long ask but yeah! those are my thoughts

[courtingchaos]

Violence Ad Nauseam

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Series Master List

A/N: Would you all like some actual story to go along with the smut chapters? Finally getting into the meat of this after months of being stuck on it. This is going to feel a little out of order with the next two chapters, mainly because those were written first but this bridged a gap I had in my conflict so have at it. This is the tinder to start the bonfire (and also to show off Roy, the world’s biggest bastard). Hope you enjoy, PLEASE read the warnings everyone!

Warnings: Violence, assault (Roy hits reader), depictions of injury, descriptions of injury, talk of violence.

18+ NSFW No Minors

A quiet afternoon on account of the brothers going off for lunch leaving just you in your corner and your father in the house. You saw him through the kitchen window when you stepped out to ask Ty something. He hovers just around the sink so you know he’s cooking, rinsing off the cranberries or breaking down some bird. Wednesday nights mean Family Meetings and when you’re done out here in the garage with this new dash wiring you’ll go in and quietly help him make your mother’s linzer tart.

Between the solder you pinch to the newly stripped wires and the radio droning at the side of your head, it takes you longer than it should to realize the rest of the noise has quieted. Suddenly it isn’t just four brothers gone but the whole homestead seems to have taken off, or at least run away from the heavy footfalls that almost echo in your workspace.

“What are you working on?” Roy’s deep voice is clear without the ring of metal work in the background.

You don’t look up from your work, especially not for him. “Custom dash.”

“Is that for you?”

“You know it isn’t.”

His laugh is anything but jovial, a thin ice pick that hits your spine wrong. You finish with your wires, tucking them back into their casing, before you turn to look at him smiling at you. It’s flat and doesn’t reach his eyes, a startling match to someone else you know. “What do you need?”

“Just came to talk.”

“Father’s in the house. You can talk to him.”

“I already did.” His footsteps seem measured in the last few feet he closes between you two. Those green eyes seem to darken the longer they look down at you, his distaste for you never more apparent. You hazard a look past him towards the open, empty bays and confirm you’ve been left for the wolves.

“There’s not much I can help you with.”

“Oh I beg to differ.” Suddenly he’s reaching for a folding chair leaned up against the wall. Opening it and motioning for you to sit with a wide open palm. “Have a seat sweetheart.”

Your heart pounds in your chest hard enough to crack ribs. “I’d rather stand.”

“I’d rather you sit.” Those eyes turn hard with a glint in the florescent work lights above. “Please.” Again he gestures at the open seat and you stall just a little too long. He grabs your bicep and yanks you forward to stand in front of the chair. “Sit. Down.”

There’s no one out here now. Your phone sits on your workbench, plugged in and on silent. The radio still sings out low and the garage remains quiet like it was the dead of night. So you sit and you swallow the vitriol that rises in your throat because you know when you’re outnumbered.

Roy nods his head when you do as asked and leans back onto the thick wooden worktop, arms crossed too casually across his chest. “You’ve been doing a little research I hear.”

“I do a lot of research, you’ll have to be specific.” You stare up at him with your best poker face, trying hard to leave the disgust out of your features.

“Don’t play fucking stupid.”

“I’m not.” You blink too much as your nerves start to flood in with his sharp tone. “I’m the brains around here, remember?” Licked lips end up bitten lips and you can see him watching all of your nervous energy bleed out into the open. “If Father didn’t know then-“

“I found that P.I. you hired. The one out of Biloxi.” He watches you still suddenly. “Hm. Clearer picture now?”

You nod because you don’t trust your voice to not betray you. Roy is a pain in your ass but he’s a dangerous one, something better left alone until it decides to leave you be. You’ve poked him before with your words and your blatant disregard for his need of Gator but now he has you cornered in silence.

“He sang quite the tune when it came down to brass tacks. Showed me the file on Gator first and then little ol’ me.” He clears his throat. “What are you looking for, bookworm?”

You open your mouth but he railroads you, talks right over your explanation because he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to know about you looking into Gator and finding the hidden rot, the long trail of familial deceit that spanned from the gulf to the frozen plains Roy inhabited.

“You think you know it all don’t you? Think you can just do what you want because you think you’re smarter than everyone around you?” He stands to his full height, hands dropping to hang at his sides. “You’re sticking your nose in the wrong business.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Deserves to know what? That his father is running the same game down at home?” He scoffs at you. “You think he doesn’t know what kind of family he comes from?”

“He doesn’t know about you.”

“And what about me?”

You let your schooled features fall when you realize Roy thinks this is all about his money. “Does your brother know?” You feel bold when you lean into your question. “You two seem awfully close. Is that what you’re afraid of? Him finding out or you loosing money?”

There’s a dawning look on his face when he finally gets it.

“Does your brother know he raised your son or are you only keeping that secret from Gator?”

The air is heavy with every deep breath you and Roy take. He stares down at you staring defiantly up at him and the hollow chuckle from deep in his throat makes your skin crawl.

“You think he’s gonna believe you?” Roy leans down slow to get level with you, crouches in front of you with a creaking knee and violent look in his eye. Only a foot away and you hate how much you can see of Gator here; in the anger and the slope of his nose.

“I don’t lie to him.”

One thing about Roy is that he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. It’s a common misconception because he has a posse behind him willing to do his bidding but in the right circumstances, ones like these with no prying eyes or ears, he sticks his hands right into the muck.

He moves faster than you think someone of his age should, especially with that loud knee, but knuckles wrap into the front of your jacket before you know what’s happening. He’s stronger and taller than you and he hauls you up fast, the chair collateral that gets kicked to the wayside by his boot. Your heels drag for just a moment before your back hits the side of the car you’ve been working on hard, wind knocked out of you while Roy gets in your face.

“I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve been pullin’ with him but I don’t play fucking games.” He shifts you up the door so you’re on tiptoes and supported by just his massive fists. “You’re fucking with things you have no idea about.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” It’s strained out of you with your collar twisted up. Even pinned up against a car you still feel the need to goad him, especially when he’s this worked up. “Is it just about money with you or are you afraid of being responsible for him too?”

Roy pulls away for a moment, faltering enough to let you slip down almost onto flat soles. Your laugh is shallow too when you watch Roy’s face contort into a scowl.

“I’m warning you.” His voice doesn’t waver in anger. It’s flat like the look in his eyes.

“And I’m telling you-“

You hear the crack before you fully register what’s happened. The clap of an open palm that sets your face on fire and snaps your head sideways, brain rattling around in your skull. It takes a moment before you feel the sharp pain in your jaw and realize you can’t clench your teeth. It hangs unnaturally while you slide to the floor heavily, legs tangled under you while you try to make sense of what’s happened.

“You ain’t telling me shit.” He spits down at you, confused on the floor. “Look at me.” He demands but your vision swims and the pain surges into nausea. You couldn’t turn your head even if you wanted to but all your whimpering sends Roy into a further rage. He bends down and grabs your jaw roughly, twisting you sideways to look at him all while you scream in the back of your throat. His fingers dig into the hinge of your jaw and you howl louder with the pain he inflicts.

“I have no reservations with you.” He holds your face tighter and you cry, hot tears that spill over and down your flaming cheek. “I don’t care about whatever pedestal that boy puts you on, you start nosing around in my business?” He shakes your head and the edges of your vision darken momentarily. “I’m gonna put a fucking end to it.” He drops you suddenly and you barely catch yourself from hitting cement. His legs are all you can make out of him while you try to cradle your jaw and you watch him move away from you to your bench. “You’re gonna do whatever you want because you’re too smart for your own good, right?” He shifts things around that you can’t see, sends them clattering before you notice his boots in your peripheral again. “Right?!” He yells down at you and makes you jump before you try to shake your head no. “Well don’t lie to me, darlin’.”

“I’m not.” Only it comes out slurred and half formed from your numb lips. Roy clicks his tongue at you before he crouches next to you again only this time you flinch and that makes him smile.

“Look,” he squints at you holding your face together and trying to look him in the eye with all the disgust you can muster, “go ahead and call one of your brothers.” He tosses your phone on your lap. “Tell them what happened.”

You shake your head again.

“No?” It could almost be concern that he flashes you but you know better. “Gonna keep this to yourself?”

You nod almost against your own will.

“Like your little findings too?” His voice is soft like he’s trying to calm one of his horses. It has the opposite effect on you though, that roiling nausea replaced by rage in your gut. You nod again though, tears still falling freely down your face.

“Good girl.”

If you could spit at him you would. He stands gingerly to avoid his knee popping and you watch him walk away a few feet before he turns back to you. “Now I’m gonna head back up to the house, let your father know I’m done out here.” He checks his phone before giving you one last look, gesturing at his own jaw. “Should get that checked out.”

[maochira]

idk if you’ve done this already but bllk dads staying up with their kid because reader has insomnia :)

Writing this rn because I know I’m gonna pull an all-nighter tonight 🏃‍♀️ (going on an 8 hour car ride to Italy at 3am(around the time when this posts))

Characters: Ego, Noa, Lavinho

Requests open! - masterlist

Tags: gn!reader, reader is a teenager, reader has insomnia

Ego

-does this guy ever sleep in the first place? No (I know he does. He has the type of sleep schedule where he sleeps for 4 hours, gets up, sleeps for 2 hours again, gets up again and sleeps for 2 hours another time

-but anyways the point is, even without your insomnia he’d be awake most of the night

-Ego lets you stay in his office and rewatches recordings of Blue Lock matches with you. They’re either exciting and entertain you when you can’t fall asleep, or they’re so boring you fall asleep in your chair after one or two hours. No in-between

-surprisingly, your father has enough strength in his body to carry you to your room so you can safely sleep in your bed instead of on the uncomfortable desk chair

-if you still can’t fall asleep, you and Ego also spend a lot of time talking about anything that’s on your mind. Sometimes it’s thousands of thoughts running through your head that won’t let you fall asleep, so Ego let’s you talk about what’s on your mind

-it’s also very good bonding time for the both of you. It may not be under the most optimal circumstances but hey, at least you get to spend time with your father

Noa

-he may be tired and just wants to get to bed on most nights, but he always stays awake as long as he can with you. He knows you feel lonely late at night and that can cause bad thoughts to come up in your head when you can’t fall asleep. And to prevent that, your father stays awake with you

-most nights like this are spent sitting in the living room with a random movie on the TV while you and Noa just talk and talk until you get tired

-he always makes your favourite tea, hot choccy, warm milk, or whatever other (non-caffeinated) warm beverage you’re craving

-occasionally, Noa falls asleep on the couch and you always wonder if you should wake him up or let him continue sleeping. Usually you don’t wake him up because you know how tired your father is most of the time

-but sometimes, he wakes up by himself after like 10 minutes and he keeps apologizing. He feels guilty because he doesn’t like leaving you alone when he knows negative thoughts could flood your brain at any moment

-that’s why he also made you promise to immediately wake him up whenever that happens

Lavinho

-he doesn’t mind staying up longer at all. This guy could get 5 minutes of sleep and would be as energized as he always is

-when you can’t sleep, you and your dad play video games together!! Usually competitive ones like Mario Kart but sometimes ones for which you have work together like Stardew Valley

-it’s also the perfect chance to catch up and talk about stuff when you have busy weeks during which you barely see each other during daytime

-but because of your insomnia Lavinho does forbid you to drink anything that has caffeine in it. Cola, energy drinks and coffee are completely banned from the house. Yes, he doesn’t drink it anymore either because if you can’t, he won’t either

Taglist (sign-up link): @kaineedstherapy12 @luvcalico @truegoist @st4rcheese @acacIa @kermitslefteyeball11 @futuristicxie @bluelock4life @blueberrryui @https-archangel @userwithlotsoftime @chaosinanutshell @mang05 @arxliana @zyuuuu @vanitasbrainrot @toruden @mafuyudonutt @weichspuelertrinker @depressed-bitchy-demon @kaiserkisser @yellowelectroslime @0rah-s @yerinsshi @slowlyholypeanut @isagikisser

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @morningberriesao3! morningberries has 15 works in the Stranger Things fandom on AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

@steddieas-shegoes recommends the following works by @morningberriesao3:

Sweet Surrender

Sneaky Link

How I’d Kill (to See You Again)

"If I could write a sonnet, it would be about berries. She specializes in that very specific angst with a happy ending that grips you by the jaw and spits in your mouth and then you say thank you because it tastes so good. So anyway love her, love her work, love everything about what she writes and does. 10000/10" -- @steddieas-shegoes

Below the cut, @morningberriesao3 answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Funnily enough, it all started when I exclusively read Eddie x reader on tumblr. I didn't have an account yet, so I made a quick burner and would gobble up anything under the tag. I always saw people on the internet "shipping" characters but never really understood it, until I came across one particular fic called Wild Parts, where the pairing was reader x Steddie. I remember being more excited for Steve and Eddie to fall in love than I was with the reader aspect. It all went downhill from there when I discovered there was a whole community that loves Steddie. I decided one day, yeah, I want to make them fall in love, too!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Honestly, the first thing that comes to mind is the classic friends-to-lovers where Steve has a sexuality crisis because he's falling for Eddie. I could read it over and over and never get sick of it.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I feel like angst with a happy ending is common ground for, like, 90% of my fics. I also find myself constantly writing miscommunication, and giggling at all the comments that say, "IF THEY JUST TALK TO EACH OTHER!" Yeah. That's a point to be made.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

It's quite literally impossible to choose just one when there are so many talented Steddie writers creating new works everyday. I'll rapid fire a few that pop to mind first (all on AO3): Sea Legs by Midnightdrive. Drought by a_star_danced. Wanna Hurt You Just to Hear You Screaming My Name by DotyTakeThisDown. I've Been Having a Horrible Time Pulling Myself Together by Deadrats. Stupid Cupid by DirtyValentine. Money, Power, Glory by StrangerThings1975.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Definitely! I want to write ALL the tropes! I think the reason writing Steddie hasn't become redundant for me is because each time I write a fic, I want it to be different from the last. I rack my brain like, "Okay, I've already done Kas Eddie, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, No Upside Down, Modern Setting, Rock Star Eddie... What's next?!" 

What is your writing process like?

It's a very linear process for me. I'm somewhat of a daydreamer; I see the things I write in my head almost like a movie. And then I just type it out as it plays in my brain. I rarely outline anything, but I'll have random gibberish in my notes app to remind me of ideas or big plot points I need to wrap up. I'm honestly surprised anything I write makes sense when I'm through with it. I'm waiting for the chaos of it all to bite me in the ass one day.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I don't know if it's a quirk so much as a fault, but I do this thing where I let my comments pile up and pile up. I won't let myself answer one until I can answer them ALL, because I don't want anyone to think I'm ignoring their comment specifically. I also have to match the energy of the comment, so when it's super long I HAVE to write something back that's super long. This makes it an hours-long task when I let them go for as long as I do unanswered. If anyone hasn't gotten a reply back yet, I PROMISE I WILL!!! 

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

In a perfect world, I'd only start posting a project when it's completed so I could keep up with a posting schedule. Reality is: having 20 WIPs saved to my laptop in which I'll post the first couple chapters as motivation for me to finish it. It's a flawed system, but it works out most of the time!

Which fic are you most proud of?

I think it'll always be Sweet Surrender. It was my first fic and the first time I had ever completed something similar to a novel after it was wrapped up at 150K. When I look back, I see some flaws, but I'd never want to change them. If we're talking about which fic I think I wrote the best, I'd say How I'd Kill. The fantasy universe allowed me to get creative with the plot and scenery, and I think my excitement for that is reflected in my quality of writing.

How did you get the idea for Sweet Surrender?

Sweet Surrender is an amalgamation of every fic I read and loved when I first was introduced to the fandom. I basically owe it to all the favourite fics I mentioned earlier. Without their inspiration, I never would have started writing fic in the first place. 

When writing Sweet Surrender, what was something you didn’t expect?

The response. I cannot capture in words how GOOD it felt when people started reading, commenting on, and loving something that I created. You see it mentioned all the time, but it really is true when they say that a comment goes a long way. I was absolutely gobsmacked to see people following along from the beginning. It was such a motivator, and truly a feeling that nothing else could give me.

What inspired Sneaky Link?

I read Must Be a Devil Between Us, Or Whores In My Head by whateverokayFINE (a modern, OnlyFans AU that Sneaky Link could never touch)—loved it SO much that those daydreams I mentioned took off. It stayed as an unposted WIP for a long time because I told myself that I couldn't write a convincing modern AU. I'm so glad I did though, because I've never had a response to a fic like I've had with Sneaky Link.

What was your favorite part to write from Sneaky Link?

There were so many fun side plots to Sneaky Link—the whole thing was a blast to write. One of my favourites was the main conclusion, when Chrissy got to be the hero. Glitter and Chanel No. 5 really saved the day. Of course the first few chapters were hilarious, too. Dumbass, clueless Eddie will never fail to make me giggle, and his obliviousness to Steve's hidden identity really drove everyone up the wall.

How do/did you feel writing How I’d Kill (to See You Again)?

This story really had its CLAWS in me. I wrote the chapters so fast that I think I put out almost 50K words in a matter of four weeks; I've really never written that quickly before or since. The last few chapters were a little slower going, though. I think I was nervous as the plot got a little heavier how people would react, so there were definitely some mixed emotions.

What was the most difficult part of writing How I’d Kill (to See You Again)?

When I wrote Eddie betraying such a soft, loving, trusting Steve. When he pinned that part of his personality against him. I love writing angst, but I had never delved quite this deep into the trope. I definitely teared up a couple times making Steve go through it like that.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Without spoiling much, I think the end scene of chapter 7 of How I'd Kill (The Judas Kiss) was absolutely thrilling to write, and of course the following chapters as well. This whole idea of "morally gray" Eddie Munson was the reason I started writing the fic in the first place. But when I got to the bit where he had to be morally gray and posted the chapter, I immediately had this fear; I didn't know how the readers were going to react, or if I, as the writer, would be able to properly explain Eddie's motivation or make him forgivable for what he did. It was an "oh shit" moment for sure, but I think I ended up doing an alright job pulling it off.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I'm currently writing a piece for the 2024 Steddie Big Bang called "A Thousand Flowers Could Bloom". It's in collaboration with Inflomora-art, so I'm completely thrilled that I'll have gorgeous artwork to go with this fic. I'm sure by the time this is posted, it'll already be live! I'm so proud of this story—it might be the best I've written yet. So yeah, if you're reading this, please check it out!!! 

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I don’t think so, but thank you so much for this! It was really fun to answer all these questions <3

Thank you to our author, @morningberriesao3, and our nominator, @steddieas-shegoes! See more of morningberries' works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[pixie-felix]

Saw pegging bratty Hyunjin and foot fetish Hyunjin and I've been summoned back🤣

The size of our heels matching the size of our straps. Now, I stand at 5'1 😭 6 inches isn't enough. I'd still be at least 4 inches shorter than that man. I look sweet and innocent enough that if he's bratting in public and making me jealous, the duality of it all probably turns him on a bit.

HOWEVER‼️‼️ if he's going to put all that energy into flirting and grabbing other people's attention then he can work for the strap too. I'll get my frustrations out with him on his knees, but bratty pillow princess Jinnie be damned, he's gotta fuck himself on my strap. "Hmm, where'd all that fire you had before go?" "You wanted me to get jealous. You wanted my attention. Now you have it." "Oh, no sweetheart. If you want to cum you've gotta work for it. No touching that pretty cock." Teasing him with my words and slight thrusts on occasion but also telling him how pretty he is. If only they could see him. Whiny, pouty, working himself over. WHEN he does well enough I'll take over, claiming him like he NEEDSWANTSDESIRES. And oh how much more rewarding it is after watching him try his best to ride it. Sweet words whispered and soft caresses to make it better as his mind fogs over. Later, the most caring and gentle aftercare filled with affirmations, loving kisses, and body worship.

NOW foot fetish Hyunjinnie​? Underrated. We need to talk about it more. I feel he's into body worship both giving and receiving. But I think he also just adores your feet in general too. They always look so cute. Especially done up. When he found out your schedule for pedicures he starts suggesting colors casually. Maybe he even learns how to give pedicures via YouTube and buys a kit. Practices on himself before offering to give you one in your next day in together because he wants to pamper you. Maybe it's been a hard week at work and wants to shower you with extra care.

I could be completely wrong LMAO but I think he likes white, French tips, and red for color and design. Maybe he experiments and practices doing the little flower or a heart on your big toe so he can do them in a pink or yellow or other colors he may like as an accent. At home pedicures might become another form of bonding/quality time.

--🍭

The moment I read the first sentence of this ask I knew it was going to be a good one.

I think the line I wrote about matching the height of our heels to the length of our straps is one of my favourite lines to come out of my brain thus far. But I too have the same conundrum: I’m only 5’2. And while Hyunjin is definitely the ambitious, “tell me I can’t do something and watch what happens next” type, 10+ inches of strap is… a lot of responsibility? You don’t want to paralyse the guy, no matter how much of a brat he’s been.

Oh. My. Gawd. (<- cunty Hyunjin voice) Pillow princess Jinnie having to work for it?! Are you mad? Because Hyunjin is, He’d throw such a bitchfit, getting all stroppy and pouty with it. Until you break him of course. Or, maybe he’s been acting out all day because he’s desperate for you to put him in his place, and once you get home he’s on his knees begging for forgiveness?

Mmm, no, that feels like a different member of skz, though I can’t think who? And I definitely prefer bratty Jinnie. Maybe you could take advantage of his foot kink to get him to submit. Oooh, a thought is occurs. That line about heels and straps: maybe you have a special pair of heels that you wear when the strap comes out. And as soon as Hyunjin sees them, he just m e l t s. (Or cums his pants. Whatever works for you.)

Sidenote: Jinnie definitely has the prettiest cock. (Does that need to be a poll? 🤔 That might need to be a poll. For science.)

 Switching to the more wholesome side of foot fetishes:

Mani-pedi nights with Hyunjin, with face masks and chick flicks? Yes. We stan. I know I’ve seen him in an interview somewhere talking about how he likes doing his nails, so imagine how much he’d love doing yours 💗 

Can’t you just imagine Hyunjin studying pedicure videos and nail art tutorials on youtube, bribing the other guys into letting him use them as models while he figures it out. He’s not going to try and do your nails until he’s got it absolutely perfect. (It takes him a couple of days, if that.)

You don’t find out that he was practicing on the other guys (*cough* WAXINGRACHA *cough*) until you all go to the beach or something, and you see that Felix and Han have all these pretty love hearts and flowers on their toes. (Binnie has butterflies, because he’s Binnie)

Colourwise, itt seems that the general consensus is that he likes white/other “pure” colours, not because of any toxic masculinity bullshit (we all know Hyunjin is a man written by a woman), but because 1. a pale background makes the little details he draws on stand out better and 2. those heels I mentioned earlier? The pegging ones? Yeah, they’re open toed. Seeing his pretty designs in sweet, innocent colours while you’re tightening the harness does things to him.

Oh look, we came full circle again. Good job us. 🫶

[thezombieprostitute]

Hi, Zombie! I’ve heard those who work in pediatrics have such busy schedules that they hardly get time for themselves until they’re home! Do you think this video matches up to Jake’s single life? Or even sometimes to now that he’s married?

Eating Habits

Note: This takes place soon after you and Jake first meet. Well before the events of the previous chapter.

Warnings: Hospital setting, Talk of food and eating habits. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

You were two weeks into your pediatrics rotation and you were certain this wasn't the field for you. You'd already suspected, but these past couple of weeks really cemented it. You get why these rotations are important but really the only thing you look forward to every day is time with Jake.

Jake is one of the few male nurses in pediatrics and it really is a good fit for his personality. The kids all love him and he's so good at remembering their favorite games and cartoons. He was also strong enough to carry the kids around as needed. He was on the leaner side but it was definitely muscle. You'll never forget how he looked when he had to change scrubs. His arms had definitely made an appearance in your dreams.

If you had time you'd probably let your brain come up with a more elaborate fantasy but it was too busy with coursework and trying to internalize all the medical terminology and procedures. You knew med school was going to be tough but that still wasn't enough to prepare you for the reality of it.

One of your brief respites in the break room you saw Jake downing a few things of saltines and a small can of soda. Unable to contain your curiosity you finally broach the subject of food.

"Do you eat anything other than soda and soda crackers?"

"Of course!" he replies with a smile and mouth full of crumbs. His chugs the soda before continuing. "This stuff just gets me through the day until I can get home and calorie bomb."

"Calorie bomb?"

"Yeah. The human body needs, what? 2200 calories? Especially if you're active like I am? I have a decent sized breakfast of overnight oats and a ton of coffee, I eat saltines and soda to keep my blood sugar up, and then I get home and chug a protein shake with a couple thousand calories."

"Jake, I know I'm not a nutritionist but that doesn't sound healthy."

"It probably isn't," he concedes. "But I don't have the time for eating otherwise."

"How are you still alive?" you shake your head, aghast.

"How are you?" he counters. "Don't think I haven't noticed you drink more coffee than water and seem to survive on nothing more than the occasional granola bar."

"At least the granola bars have nutritional value!"

"As do the overnight oats!" he argues. "Let's face it, hospital life doesn't promote healthy eating habits."

You sigh, nodding in defeat at his words. He sits next to you and you have to fight the urge to lean into him. You want to be snuggled in his arms so badly but you barely know each other.

Then you get an idea.

"What if we make it a competition?" He raises an eyebrow at you. "For the rest of my rotation, we track calories and nutrition. Whoever meats their daily goals more often, wins."

"Hmmmmm. I do love a competition. What's the prize?"

"Loser has to cook for the winner?"

Jake's eyes widen at that and he sticks out his hand towards you. "Deal!"

When the last two weeks of your rotation are done you almost don't want it to be over. Pediatrics is definitely not your field, but the competition has really given you more talking time with Jake. Showing off foods to each other, making jokes about cooking and recipes.

Really, the competition wasn't just good for your physical health. Sure actually getting the food and water you needed had helped your energy levels which helped your studying and overall performance. But joking with Jake, getting a few minutes here and there to just relax, had helped your nerves, too. There were fewer headaches, your instructor even commented that you were showing more patience with the patients!

Part of you was genuinely scared that, in your next rotation, you'd end up reverting back to your bad habits. You didn't want to, but you couldn't exactly drag Jake with you to every department. And then there was your post-med school career. What if you didn't get an internship or residency at this hospital like you wanted to? Maybe Jake would be up for exchanging numbers? Emails? Something to keep helping each other?

You sit next to Jake in the break room and he gives you a half smile. "So, today's your last day here, right?" he mumbles.

"That's right. Which means it's time to look at our numbers."

"Um, right, about that..."

"Are you okay, Jake?"

"Look, um...my numbers...I just...How do I say this?"

"Did you sabotage yourself?"

"No! No, I promise. I took the competition seriously! I just...I don't want the competition to be over."

Your jaw drops at his confession. "Can...can I ask why?"

Jake's face turns a deep pink as he replies. "I've really...I mean, the food has definitely helped me out. I've got more energy for the kids, my insides are a lot more...regular, and my gaming scores are higher! And..."

"And?"

"And I like spending time with you," he mumbles so quietly you almost miss it.

Smiling you tell him, "I was hoping we could keep the competition going." His head shoots up, a look of confusion with hints of relief, on face. "This has been really good for me, too. So, regardless of who wins, who loses, maybe we can still...chat? Still compete? Still cook for each other depending on who wins or loses?"

He gifts you with the biggest smile you've ever seen from him as his shoulders relax and he shows more of his usual energy. "Thank you, so much! I was really worried you wouldn't...I mean, I know I'm a complete dork, so I wouldn't blame you if you regretted this whole thing and just wanted to be done with me."

"Jake, I honestly don't think I'll ever get tired of you."

"Can I hug you?"

"Yes, please! Then we'll check the numbers."

Jake wraps you up in a big, warm, tight embrace and, rather than feeling awkward about the touch, your body seemed to lean into it. You don't usually have the brain capacity for thinking beyond the next academic year, but a part of you thinks you'd enjoy this forever.

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

because i needed the reminder today:

it is okay to adapt & improvise “normal” tasks to work for you. it is okay to break them into smaller steps. it is okay to take breaks. it is okay to approach in a “nonsensical” way.

if it works for you, and it isn’t hurting someone, breaking a law (caveat in tags), or going to lose you a job/get you kicked out of a school that you need (bend rules as far as they’ll bend, but don’t hurt yourself/your future in the process if you can avoid it), do that.

do what works for you.

yeah, do this for more complex tasks.

do your homework one question at a time if you can. use a premade sauce to make your favourite food if you don’t have the spoons to make it the “normal” way.

make the steps smaller and do them more frequently. take longer breaks in-between.

but i’m talking ‘simple’ tasks too.

wash every outfit the day you use it, as soon as you change. ¿is it more water? maybe. but you deserve clean clothes. if it’s difficult to remember or rely on your spoons/energy/physical limits to be able to wash things once a week or once a month, then adapt. find a way that works for you.

also, if you’re also recently discovered autistic &/or ADHD, or you’re newly physically/mentally disabled (or recent ish & still coming to terms with it), I see you.

it’s frustrating to simplify or give up on things you could’ve done before. it’s exhausting to find all the things you can’t do that you always could, especially if you never thought you would see a day you can’t do it.

you are still worthy of love and care. yes, even now. especially now.

(more personal examples & also direct comfort/reassurance below the cut)

i can’t do long staircases anymore. i used to love running up them, running or hopping down the steps. now I shakily take one step at a time, leaning heavily on a cane, and my ankles/knees still tremble and hurt. (i’m hypermobile & some of my connective tissue is deteriorating.)

i can’t read academic texts by myself anymore. there’s so many feelings about that, and it’s the most recent curve of acceptance.

i realized 3 or 4 days ago that the reason i’m falling behind on the readings for astronomy & human development (which I find fascinating) is because of the length of the readings. i keep up in sociology, but it’s smaller chapters & less reading, & I can usually skim for terms & catch enough info to participate in class. but in order to pass my classes, in order to succeed, that requires me to use a text-to-speech website or app, or to have a friend read for me.

for those who don’t know, i’m a creative writer. i write fiction and poems like it’s nothing. i also love the feel of a physical book. i’ve stayed in denial, thinking that i just need to break it into small chunks.

but i got a traumatic brain injury in November of 2019, that most affected my prefrontal cortex. i need that to focus, to self-regulate. i need it to read effectively, let alone long amounts of text.

i’ve stayed in denial about how bad that injury was, because i had enough to deal with due to everything else that nasty concussion did (shaking trauma memories loose, breaking masks & layers of amnesia within trauma disorders, breaking autism mask, severe emotional dysregulation i’m still recovering from).

but i can’t keep up with university classes if i keep trying to force myself to read the same way i did before. i need to use screen readers or text-to-speech, i need to rely on friends or family. i need to accept help.

and it sucks. it’s a terrifying loss of independence. it’s frustrating. there’s a lot of grief.

but this is my life now. i have to adapt.

all this to say, be gentle and kind with yourself. treat yourself the way you want to be treated. learn to tolerate yourself. (i would say ‘accept & love yourself’ but that’s its own learning curve.) adapt your space & your actions to match your current capabilities. prioritize completing self-care tasks, even if you don’t/can’t do it perfectly.

you deserve to, and can, accommodate yourself. the world around you may not be accessible, but as much as you’re able (to your degree of independence & financial limits/budgets), find ways to accommodate yourself.

and treat yourself once in a while. it doesn’t have to be expensive or difficult. sitting in your car (if you have one) in the lot of a nature park is better than never seeing trees. a poor-quality drawing is better than never drawing again. a cheap thrifted or dollar store plushy is better than no plushy. whatever it is you want to do or have, within your limits, do it your way. treat yourself to your favourite things if you can.

we weren’t put into this world to suffer. we weren’t put in this world to lose all our dreams.

we arrived to live. we arrived to have fun. we arrived to create. we arrived to play. we arrived to love (platonic, romantic, etc.). we arrived to dance and sing (even “badly”).

and maybe your disabilities steal some of these from you. but if you can find even one thing that makes it worth it, if you can make one thing accessible again....do it. make it happen. you deserve happiness and relief and love, especially now.

and if you don’t believe it right now, that’s okay. i’ll hold hope for you until you can. 💜

~Nico

[minheelovelee]

i’m having fuma brain rot and i’m going crazy for this man rn so do you think you could do a nsfw a-z if you haven’t already? I love your work btw <3

fuma nsfw a-z

thanks for requesting anon!! im glad you like my writing :))) this took a long time hehehe

warnings: nsfw.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

oh he is the sweetest. cleaning you up with a baby wipe and making sure you're clean before you drift off to sleep in his arms. he'll take a bath with you if you have the energy. and he always makes sure to give so so much praise and so so much love. if u have tears or feel sad, don't worry! superhero fuma is here!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

bro likes thighs. a lot. he's so sweet buying cute shorts and thigh highs for your growing collections! if you could be a doll and squeeze your thighs together just a little tighter, he would love that :)

he's worked hard to earn his dream body. he doesn't necessarily have a favorite part of himself. but when he has the strength to fuck you while standing, he can't help but give himself a pat on the back.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

on your back after backshots. he's got a polaroid of that scene in his wallet. he also likes cumming inside. he hates laundry. you're a lot easier to clean than the bedsheets.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he's really come around to the idea of touching you while you're asleep. there's something so enticing about his little girl being so full of peace while he does dirty things with your bodies.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he fucks. no reason to beat around the bush. he has experience, and if he didn't i would be so surprised. he seems to be wise beyond his years, so i don't think this is his first time around the block.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

anything from the back is a strong contender. he loves hitting it from behind. he's a bit mischievous, so he likes when you face away from him. you can never guess what he'll do next.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he fills any role gracefully. he can be silly and lax if that's what supports his partner the most. he can also be the opposite.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he doesn't care to shave. things are pretty natural down there. he knows what an everything shower is and he HATES them.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he's actually very romantic and can show a lot of love during sex with his partner. but, he can pull back and be okay with a "no strings attached" relationship. he's in tune with his emotions and understands his partners well.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesn't jack off that often. he has horrible post nut clarity. he would take a cold shower before he decided to get off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

his strength kink goes crazy. he's worked hard for his muscular build and loves to show it off. sex against the wall is his favorite thing. he also loves when he uses his arms to make his partner ride his cock. :)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bedroom or bathroom. specifically the shower. he likes shower/bath sex for the intimacy aspect of it. otherwise he will keep things in the bedroom.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

short clothes.

begging

lingerie

offering blowjobs :)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

won't push his partner's limits. he has rules for you to follow in and out of the bedroom. he can read his partner like a book, so he knows when things have gone too far.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he love love loves sloppy head. if you're not crying by the time your done, you didn't try hard enough. he leans more on the receiving side.

but hes really good at giving head, too. he's very attentive to his partner. 69 while STANDING. woah. i just got dizzy.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he's rougher than most. he likes to take things slowly when there's time. slow, deep, rough. all the buzz words.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he's not crazy about them. he would rather leave you hanging until he has time to devour you. :) he likes to take his time. he also has performance anxiety when he is on a time constraint :P

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think he's willing to experiment. that's how he found out about his strength kink and love for manhandling. he always wants to try something new, and makes sure you're comfortable before moving on.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can have too much stamina at times. sometimes he just has so much pent up energy, he'll go for hours. but he knows when to stop. he keeps the multi-hour sessions to a minimum.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he owns a fleshlight. i don't think it sees the light of day often. he owns a couple vibrators that he lovesss to use on you. watching you squirm and beg is one of his favorite things.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he can be a bit of a tease. he loves watching his partner enjoy themselves. but he also loves seeing their expression when he says something naughty in their ear. he's the type to get you riled up with his hands and words, leaving you needy all day.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's pretty quiet in bed. he moans when he finishes and when you deepthroat him. otherwise he sticks to small grunts and dirty talking quietly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he's a head pusher. a nice head pusher! he's also a throat fucker. he's become obsessed with laying you on your back and fucking your mouth so he can see the bulge in your throat. :)

"atta girl. taking my cock in your mouth so well. there's a little more for you, love. can you open up wide for me?" head pusher...

"breathe through your nose. good girl. look at you working so hard to make daddy feel good. keep going, sweet girl."

"fuck, you are perfect. i bet you're soaked right now, sweetheart. come sit on daddy's face so i can see."

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

his body is tea. he works so so hard and has the craziest pecs.

his dick is average length. but he's quite thick. you'll feel a stretch every time.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

his sex drive isn't as high as you might think. he's more laid back. he can make out with his partner and have it not lead to sex. he's a strong soldier.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he's awake for a while after sex. he's gotta look out for you and make sure he didn't fuck you up too badly. if you struggle to walk afterward, he'll carry you. even if he's a little tired. :) he waits for you to sleep before he shuts his eyes.

[onmyyan]

NEW PATIENT with Delmont brother brain rot! It’s an infectious disease as this point doc! Gotta share some stuff in my head that I’d love to do to them! ⁄(⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄)⁄

Cas: We on a cute date and are in a private isolated area in a park/hiking trail/forested area. We brought a cooler of ice cream and other goods. I am deadlocking eyeing this man as I’m licking this long and thick white ice cream pop. Cas’s is beginning to melt on his fingers and he doesn’t notice it cuz he too busy looking at me his baby. I lick his fingers clean from the ice cream and make sure to get his fingers nice and wet in my mouth and eat his ice cream too while I’m at it. I want his own cream seeping from him as well

Gabe: He playing video games and is with his friends doing a team game or something. It late at night and I want him in bed with me. I look at him and bring a finger to my lips to signal to him shush and continue talking to his friends as normal. I crawl up to him and pull down his pants and part his legs. I give him that mad head and make sure to give ‘em balls plenty of love and attention too. I want this man fighting for his life over the mic head set tryin to act like nothin going on while still gaming and supportin his team

Ricky: I’m just feeling really sadistic today and put him in a cock cage the entire day. I’ll tease him over the phone too the entire day and won’t give him any peace while he’s at work, on lunch break, etc. When he comin home I’m tying him to the bed, and even though he’s begging for sweet release of his friend to pound me, I ain’t having it today. No. I’m riding his face, teasing his balls, and makin it so that he’s perpetually edged the entire night. It’s all about my pleasure only tonight, and when dawn comes and he gotta go to work. I still ain’t taking the cage off despite the overstimulated mess he is. He go to work, no sleep, no sweet release, and what he find that I sent him in his lunch? The key to the cage, with a cute little note that says, “Round 2 tonight?”

Marcos: I’m gonna force this motherfucker to buy me a custom made gold ring with my initials on it so he can wear it cause he’s mine, ya know? Then I’m gonna drip lots of burning hot wax on him and press the ring into the wax on his skin to see if it’ll leave a cute mark or two with my initials indented into his skin. After that I’ll allow him to breed me. Oh and this’ll be filmed secretly, and I’ll only let him watch it if I think he performed well enough for me

Manny: Vibrator dildo up his ass, as his hands and neck is harshly pulled and tied to the bedpost. I learned fancy knife play with butterfly knives just for him, and I’m gonna carve my name onto his skin over his little heart where his tattoo is. And you bet I’m gonna make it pretty as I can. I’m taking my time, calling him pretty things, being his lil cheerleader and everything. When I’m done and satisfied with my art, then it’s his turn to pleasure me, but no knife or blood on me

Sorry it got more demented as it went on. I guess I just naturally matched each brothers energy. Whatchu think?

Love 🗡️Psycho🗡️ Anon

👀👄👀 I adore you for this omfg thank you for sending it in I love everything about this

[artemisandhersilverbow]

Ok, if you don't want to engage in some (queer) tin foiling... scroll away.

So first off, I think this song rules. It was one of the few that I let just vibe instead of doing what my brain usually does, which is scrutinize lyrics/marvel over the layers of meaning. It feels like it has Kill Bill energy and that was good enough for me.

My Albatross variation of the TTPD vinyl showed up yesterday — TTPD is perhaps the best her team has done btw — and was pouring over the lyrics last night and paused on I Can Fix Him (No, Really I Can) in particular.

The last line has been one that most people have chuckled at. Like she spent a whole song building up this menacing conceit: "this boy is bad news, but he can't hold a candle to me — I'll handle him." Only to be like, lol jk at the end.

But seeing that last line written out this way scratched at my brain... she really doesn't scream that line at all. Why is it in all caps? And while we're at it... I mean it's an accepted spelling, but technically the incorrect spelling of 'whoa.' It kind of felt, by putting it in caps, like she was calling attention to it. Was it an acronym? Not that I could tell.

But... just to double check... how had she spelled woah/whoa prior? The only song I could think of off the top of my head to check was Better Than Revenge. When reading her lyrics you really wont find 99% of the "whoas" in her discography written because they're more like instrumentals.

And that right there is a "whoa." Of course my eyes twitched at the matching colors of the two vids, but I'll get to that. And then I was only able to find one more written "whoa."

Ok, cool.

But back to Better Than Revenge... It struck me that something had been "fixed" about the song. The famous "she's better known for things that she's done on the mattress" line had been swapped out in the rerecording for "he was a moth to the flame she was holding the matches."

So I looked back at I Can Fix Him... could this be a joke/hint about "fixing" him. Like fixing the pronouns? "WOAH" is an intentional misspelling just by comparing it to her own body of work. But it would be rather clever if the "he" she's referring to (at least on this one layer of the song) was her use of that pronoun in her work. It would make the lines "I can fix him / No, really, I can / And only I can" make even more sense, imo. She's the author of this music and she's rerecording it/making it.

What's more is that the collaged flower in the lyric booklet and the aesthetic of the lyric video are giving me um... big Reputation vibes?

Hey kids, spelling is FUN! Am I absolutely living in delulu thinking that Reputation could also be "fixed" re: pronouns? Oh, I don't doubt it. But I needed to get this out of my brain, out into the world, and let the chips fall as they may and always do.

And at least Taylor Nation is also in on the joke...