#like my limbs r both too long and too short

[cherrysnax]

its weird these past few nights I’ve been feeling like. Weird pains and pressures everywhere and a weird lightness

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 23: Boothill x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4976

Warnings: Afab!reader, age difference, gunplay, a tiny bit of coercion on readers part, gun in mouth, dry humping

A/N: Okay, so I'm officially a day behind but! This one was a bit of a challenge for me, both because I've never really written any gunplay scenarios before but also because it was a bit of a brain twister trying to lock down his old west mannerisms with the silly potty word substitutes 🤭 Hopefully I didn't do too bad on either front!

⭐

The Galaxy Rangers were somewhat infamous for enjoying reckless games. The sort that more often than not ended in disastrous results, particularly when more than one of them had been taken out of commission by an unlucky Russian Roulette bullet. But like moths to the flame, those of you who lived by the creed of the Hunt were inexorably drawn to high adrenaline situations and the kind of fast paced excitement that made most others shy away for fear of life and limb. 

You were no different in this regard, and neither was Boothill. 

He’d mentored you for a very short while, back when you first took up Lan’s bow and set out into the vast cosmos to bring about some form of justice in a largely unjust universe. Treated you much like a daughter, in fact. 

And that just made the current situation of having his revolver shoved in your face all the more thrilling. 

“Fudging hell, girl! I almost blew your darned brains out! You can’t go around sneaking up on people like that. It’s not smart and it’s not safe!”

“Sorry.” You murmur, tipping your head just enough to peer around the barrel of his gun so you can pin him with a wholly innocent smile. “I just wanted to surprise you. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” 

“Well, ya’ certainly surprised me.” Sighing out a terse, mildly bothered huff, Boothill fluidly relaxes out of his practiced shooting stance and gives his pistol a quick twirl before holstering it at his hip. The nervous people standing around the two of you who had backed up into a loose circle at the first sight of his pistol visibly relax but still quickly go about their business to avoid getting caught up in whatever trouble was brewing here on this particular street of Penacony’s Golden Hour. 

He doesn’t even seem to notice though, perfectly calm and casual now as he looks you up and down with a considering glance. “Glad to see you’re still kicking, I suppose. You didn’t exactly fill me with an overwhelming sense of confidence when I first met ya’, you know?” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, eagerly rocking up on your toes to lessen the height difference by a small margin. “Is that why you took me under your wing? To improve my chances of survival.”

He scoffs at that, metal hand coming up to brace along his equally metal hip. “I ain’t that fudging kindhearted so don’t get it twisted now. I just happened to see a little cowgirl who couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag if it was soaked through, and I couldn’t abide by that. Didn’t want you to go giving the Galaxy Rangers a bad name or nothing.” 

A certain, naively hopeful part of you sinks at that. You knew how he’d treated you before, of course, but that was a few years in the past now … “Is that really all you see me as? A little girl?” 

“And what pray tell am I supposed to see you as if not that?” 

“I’m not a kid, for starters.” 

“Tch. I can see that. That cute lil’ dress you got on isn’t gonna’ make me forget about the first time I ran into ya’ though. You weren’t no better than a fool headed little brat trying to shoot yer daddy’s gun out in that field.” 

You warm slightly at that, completely ignoring everything else he’d said in favor of focusing on the important bit. “You really think my dress is cute?” 

“Bah! Enough of this. I ain’t got time for it.” 

Turning on his heel, Boothill decisively starts to make his way further down the road on a straight course for the looming facade of the hotel up ahead. And you just push into motion to trot right along after him, having to work your legs double time to keep pace with his long strides. 

It takes him a prolonged beat to realize you’re following him and when he does, he snaps his head in your direction with a low growl of warning. “What do you think you’re doing, girl? I said I ain’t got time for it!” 

“I just wanted to catch up, that’s all.”

“Catch up!” He echoes you loudly enough to make some of the passersby glance over with varying degrees of confused and indignant looks. “What is there even to catch up on, huh? I’ve just been putting bullet holes in bad guys for the last some odd years and I reckon you’ve been doing the same since you’re still standing here. Can’t you see I’m busy?” 

The two of you reach the sloping stairs at that point and start to make your way up together. It does not escape your notice that he seems to be far too focused on chiding you to give his purposeful strides any further thought and he was likely just retracing the same path he’d taken before. It was probably best to keep him talking then. 

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious about me? After all, you did take the time to teach me how to handle a gun. I’d think you’d be more interested to know how that’s panned out in the long run. I promise I’m a much better shot now.” 

Boothill lifts a dark brow at the playful lilt in your voice, allowing a sharp toothed grin to tug at his mouth now. “Is that so? You must think you’re something real slick if you’re trying to brag. Think you’re big enough to beat me in a quick draw, little missy?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking you on in this lifetime.” You murmur, smiling to yourself when he beats you to one of the front entrance doors by a single step so he can yank it open to grant you entry. Evidently his gruff manner of a chivalrous gunslinger was so deeply ingrained in his subconscious that he doesn’t even give it a second thought now and you certainly weren’t going to question it. 

Slipping into the hotel lobby, he comes in after you with a big, boisterous laugh, his boot spurs rattling with each step. “Well, at least you understand the pecking order. You’re still a few decades too early to go up against me and hope to win, but don’t let that discourage ya’. You must be good enough to have survived this long.” 

“It’s really only thanks to you, Mr. Boothill. I had no idea what I was doing until you came along!” 

“Aww, shucks. Stop it, darling. You’ll have this old dog blushing here in a minute if you keep that up.” 

You wonder if cyborgs that are more machine than man could actually blush as you totter along next to him. Through the lobby, up an elevator, into one of many hotel lounge bars and then up another set of stairs until you find yourself wandering down a long corridor together. He still hasn’t quite figured out your angle while you keep layering compliments and feeding just enough of a line to keep him talking about something or another to distract him. It clearly works too, and Boothill doesn’t even hesitate to unlock his room's door nor does he seem to stop long enough to realize you’re slipping inside with him, right on his heels and just as unobtrusive as any shadow. 

His gruff laughter dying off to a slow, drawling chuckle, the Galaxy Ranger turns towards the little coffee table just inside the spacious room and moves to unholster his pistol so he could set it down. But he freezes halfway through the motion as if suddenly realizing he hadn’t made the trip up here alone. For a harrowing stretch of moments he doesn’t move so much as a finger before all at once rounding on you with an aggressive bark

“You! What do you think you’re - -“

“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Boothill.” You tell him sweetly, batting your lashes for extra effect. “You let me in here, remember?” 

“Like hell I did! I never gave you an invitation to come sashaying in here, you little - -“

Quickly ducking under his reaching hand, you dance back to keep at least an arms length between you and him, giggling the whole time. “Hey, don’t be mean to me! I’m your precious junior, aren’t I?” 

“Muddle-fudger!” 

The next handful of seconds feel like they go by in a torturous, slow motion blur. 

You’d underestimated the full scope of his reach and now that he knows you’re playing games with him, he doesn’t hold back. 

His hand strikes out at you like a snapping serpent, full force and quicker than you can conceivably react. You were good, all things considered, but not quite as good as him. 

Your neck is suddenly caught between the cool, pinching metal of his bionic fingers, his palm slamming into your throat hard enough to make you gag. 

Winded and startled, Boothill drags you stumbling towards the table where he shoves you back against it, half picking you up by the neck to get you on top of the shuddering surface. 

Then he’s slamming you down to lay flat out, the force of the impact dislodging a disgruntled sound from your aching chest. 

And he finally leans over you, pinning you there with his hand locked against your throat so he can shove the barrel of his gun right in your face again. 

It’s over in the time it takes you to blink, leaving you dazed and panting as you stare up along the dark iron muzzle to look into his face. You’re not the least bit surprised to find he isn’t even breathing any harder after all of that and you let out a threadbare, groaning laugh, unable to help yourself even when you were staring death right in the eyes. 

“What is so funny, huh?” He dangerously snarls, nudging his pistol at you for emphasis. “Fork me, I don’t remember you being crazy but it looks like you knocked a few screws loose somewhere along the way. Are you looking for me to remedy that for you?” 

His thumb curls up at that to pointedly flick the safety off with a click that sounds deafening from this close up. 

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to stopper the moan that tries to rattle its way up your constricting throat, carefully shifting against him to feel the solid weight of his narrow hips between your legs. Although pissing him off hadn’t exactly been your goal when you’d first approached him, this was still very much turning out as you’d hoped it would. 

“I’m afraid it’s not my head that needs fixing, Mr. Boothill.” 

A genuinely perplexed look crosses his face at that. “Son of a nice — what the hell are you even saying, you little brat? You don’t make a lick of sense, you know that?” 

Drawing a slow breath to steady yourself, you cautiously bring your hand up to grasp at the metal wrist pinning your neck down. That he allows it instead of pumping you full of lead right then and there seems as good a sign as any to keep going, so you do. 

“Do you want the truth?” 

“If you value your life, you’d better start talking quick.” 

“It’s you, Mr. Boothill. You’re what’s wrong with me. And it’s not my head that’s the problem. It’s down here.” Stiffly, you roll your hips upward to deliberately grind your cunt against the front of him. It’s hard to say if he can feel anything at all with so much of his body being metal, but he sees the shuddering motion and trails his attention down to the spot where he’s standing between your legs. 

His mouth drops open to reveal that razor sharp row of teeth again, gun hand wavering slightly in your face. “Huh?” 

“Do you remember when you were teaching me how to track and take down bad guys? I thought you were so cool, Mr. Boothill … I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all this time either. I was hoping I’d run into you again someday even if the chances were slim to none, so when I saw you on the street it felt a little bit like fate.” 

“Wha — fate? Girl, have you lost your gosh darned mind? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in possession of a flesh and blood body. What the fudge do you expect me to do with you?” Irritably clicking tongue, he angles his pistol skyward in a smooth, well practiced motion and eases back just enough to pin you with a hard look. “Maybe if you’d caught me before I had to sell my soul to the reaper then we could have talked, but I’ve got too much to do to be messing around with you like that. I ain’t got nothing for you I’m afraid.” 

You see the grim resignation in his expression for what it is, understanding that he was going to pull away from you before he actually moves to do it. He only makes it so far as letting up on your neck though before you manage to rouse yourself enough to bring your legs up and wrap them around his deceptively dainty waist to lock him there. 

Stiffening slightly, Boothill glances down at the lurid spread of your thighs, soft and form fitted to the sharp contours of his hips. Your dress had ridden up in all the excitement and now seemed dangerously close to flashing your lacy underwear at him but not quite yet. All it would take is a simple nudge of your hand though, and you hold the breath in your lungs as you watch him mentally process through that fact. 

“You little hussy - -“ 

“Please, Mr. Boothill.” You beg, tightening your legs around him. “I know this probably isn't what you would have had in mind otherwise but … there is something you could give me. An extension of you that would make me just as happy as anything else would.” 

He seems to go still for the stretch of a single heartbeat, and then another when he slowly brings his shuttered gaze up to look you in the face again. You’re not entirely sure what’s going through his head in that moment, but he seems less angry with you now and a bit more interested in what you had to say. 

Finally, he almost thoughtfully tips his head to one side. “What do you mean?” 

You send the pistol in his hand a pointed glance, making him suck in a stilted breath. Evidently he’d never thought about it or truly considered this as an option before, or maybe he simply hadn’t thought anyone would ever be fool enough to want that. But for better or worse, as a Galaxy Range or perhaps as a follower of Lan’s hunt, you weren’t scared of a little risk to go with the pleasure. 

“You’re fudgin’ serious.” He murmurs, sounding equal parts impressed and appropriately cowed. 

A brief laugh huffs out of him as he shakes his head, and you slowly reach one of your hands down to just pinch at the front of your dress so you can tug it up. “I’ve been thinking about this since the day we parted ways, Mr. Boothill. I always knew your body wasn’t whole anymore so I guess I just kind of naturally started thinking about potential substitutes.” 

“And now here you are.” 

You smile at that. “Yes, here I am. Offering myself to you, if you’ll have me.” 

You feel the first cool waft of air against your silk and lace panties then, shuddering ever so softly as you inch the fabric higher still to give him a good look at you. Running into him like this had been the very definition of an unexpected encounter so you weren’t wearing anything overly sexy or revealing, but they were still cute. They also showed off the pudgy seam of your cunt where the material was lightly moulded to you, thanks to the damp slick starting to gather along the crease as much as from the nudge of his pelvis when he’d pinned you down. 

He just stares at you for an uncertain beat though, looking at your pussy with a clear note of wanting reflected in his one visible eye but quickly concealed with a quiet scoff. Turning his head to focus on something else, he raises his gun to thumb the safety back on before somewhat warily bringing it down to waist level where he hesitates. 

“I could really hurt you doing something like this, darling.” 

“You won’t. I trust you.”

Your breath is coming a little quicker now, sped up by the onset of anticipation and quick mounting excitement. He was tempted, that much was obvious. Either because the lack of a working, fleshy cock made encounters like this unnecessary and redundant for him, an exceedingly rare indulgence he didn’t often have a chance to participate in anymore, or perhaps it was simply because he was just as much of a thrill seeker as you were. Maybe even some deadly combination of the two. 

But you could tell in his confident, hot headed swagger as much as his face, the only part of his original body that was still left, that he was not actually the old dog he sometimes fashioned himself to be. He’d likely been approaching his mid twenties when he underwent the full transition to a bionic body and was in truth only a few years older than you. That he’d chosen this path over keeping his cock, something most men centered their whole identity around, spoke volumes of his true nature.

That is what had stuck with you all this time and what kept you awake on many a lonely night. There was something so uniquely charming about him in a rugged, old west kind of way that you couldn’t help but want him as you do. 

So you slowly inch your legs further apart, letting them settle into a wide spread that leaves your pantied cunt vulnerable and plainly offered up to him. Boothill’s gaze wanders down to regard you at the shift, his yearning for the warmth of your body settling across his face in a pained grimace. There was very likely some part of him that missed his old skin and you were all too happy to give him the chance to feel even a small fraction of what it was like to be human again. 

“Right here.” You prod, fingers slipping back down to just feel over the apex of your mound. 

Listlessly rousing himself, Boothill lifts his gun to nudge it into the space between your thighs where he lightly runs the cool metal barrel over your underwear. It’s a featherlight and fleeting sensation, but so monumentally heavy in its implication that your chest hitches with a little gasp. 

He seems to settle into the idea quickly enough at the threadbare whimper you let out and he presses the hard contour into you a bit more firmly to trace over the outline of your labia. You draw in a faintly shuddering breath in an attempt to steady yourself somewhat as your hips twitch up into the sensation, encouraging him on. 

“If I would have known this was the kind of hairbrained stunt you were going to pull later on,” He drawls in a gruff voice. “I never would have gone out of my way to help you out back then. You’re nothing but fudging trouble, girl.” 

“I only learned from the best.” 

That earns you a quiet, scoffing laugh, but Boothill keeps the motion of his gun steady and light even when you roll your cunt against it in search of more of that gratifying pressure. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling unbearably antsy like this when you've thought of and fantasized about this exact moment too many times to count, so you reach down a little further to catch the side of your panties with a finger. 

Slowly pulling it to the side for him, you carefully watch Boothill’s face to see the mild flash of surprise that crosses his expression. It’s gone in an instant though, replaced by a hungry, masculine edge as he peers down at the invitingly soft seam of your body, the vaguely damp curls that frame the tight, warm clutch where he would have happily buried himself in a past life. That’s not feasible now though, and he makes do with simply inching his pistol closer to just barely touch cold iron to your labia. 

Your reaction is physical as much as it is mental, sharply pulling in a breath at the firm nudge against the most tender part of you. His gun is hard and unrelenting, something that registers in your mind as innately dangerous despite the exceedingly gentle way he touches you with it. Caressing over creases and folds with a fleshy drag to part the lips and expose more of your cunt to his voracious sights. 

“Well I’ll be darned. You’re already getting wetter than a cucumber in a women’s prison, you little trollop.” 

A rattling sound of confusion slips out of you at that but you’re a little too focused on what he’s doing to you to focus on his strange turns of phrase right now. 

Shuddering faintly, you push up on your elbow so you can glance down and get a better view of the tarnished gold barrel prodding at you. The simple visual alone is so much better than you could have envisioned it would be, especially when he was standing over you like this in reality and not in your dreams. A quiet, needy mewl slips out of you then as you redirect the fingers between your legs inward to pull your labia open for him. 

Boothill issues a low whistle into the static charged air, directing the pistol upward to tease over your clit which weakly clings to the iron muzzle. The resulting meaty jostle makes you seethe and eagerly jut your hips up in search of more, feeling very nearly delirious now with the potent rush of arousal. You already felt like you were going to cum but you didn’t want it to be over just yet. 

“Please.” You rattle, starting to fidget on top of the table. “I want you, Mr. Boothill.” 

“Well, you can want it all you want but that don’t mean I’m gonna’ give it to ya’.” 

He starts to pull back then, pistol sliding away from your cunt, and you noise a frantic sound of confusion at him. 

That’s about all you manage before he’s suddenly leaning over you with a decisive motion, his open hand bracing on the table next to you while his narrow waist slots into the squeeze of your inner thighs again. You full on tremble at the sudden proximity of him as much as the not so subtle push of his front against your pussy. He’s just as hard and unrelenting, and cool to the touch as his gun is, but that doesn’t deter you half as much as it excites you. 

You feel wild and frenzied now, half crazed with the fast pumping sear of adrenaline working through your system as you tip your head back to look up at him. There’s a grumpy frown tugging at his mouth, grudging acceptance written across his face, and you shudder fiercely when he brings the pistol up to draw it across your lips to let you taste yourself on the barrel. 

“Open up that pretty little mouth of yours, darling.”

Unhesitatingly, you do exactly that, tongue flicking out to trace a suggestive line over the muzzle. Your mouth is immediately overwhelmed with the taste of oil, bitter residue and such a blinding, overwhelming sense of danger that your eyes immediately start to roll back in your head. You felt like you were moments away from cumming completely untouched, so worked up and excited that your pussy involuntarily clenches tight around nothing. 

It makes your head spin alarmingly fast and you don’t even think to fight it when he angles the gun to slip it past your open lips and just wedge the end of the barrel between your teeth. Groaning a delirious sound around the intrusion, you flex your mouth to find a comfortable position but it’s no use. It’s too wide and sharply edged for your jaw, and copious sheets of drool quickly begin to pool in the back of your throat while you choke on the cold, bitter taste. 

Rumbling a low sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a pleasured groan, Boothill tentatively rolls his metal hips into you, grinding himself against your cunt to make you spasm on top of the table. With your mouth mercilessly wedged open like this all you can do is plaintively mewl and groan increasingly strained noises while he finds a rhythm to settle into. And it just makes your pussy impotently throb, the pressure of his bionic waist pushing against you so exquisite it just serves to wind you up even tighter until you’re all but vibrating underneath him. 

“Holy Wubbaboo.” He breathes out, awed and a little taken aback as he starts to work his hips faster. Harder. Driving the front of his body against you vigorously enough now that your tits begin to shift under your clothes. “Wasn’t thinking you’d actually like this so darned much. You really are out of your mind.” 

Even though he says that he doesn’t stop fucking into you much the way he would have with a cock, the almost hypnotic pace coupled with the constant application of pressure on your cunt quickly making you slip into a dreamy haze. You were soaked and only getting wetter, and likely leaving sticky slick all over the front of his skin tight pants. But that doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest, his breathy grunts of effort mingling with the tremor of your muffled groans. 

And as the seconds bleed into minutes, the powerful flex of his hips driving into you soon starts up a tiny, sticky wet click where your drooling cunt was clinging to him. It’s just as if he was really fucking you and sound makes you positively writhe in place, so turned on and desperate to be touched that you bring your hands up to blindly fumble with the top of your dress. Your tits spill out with a fleshy bounce and Boothill mutters a particularly colorful curse under his breath when you latch onto them, needily tugging at your own nipples. 

Your jaw hurts from having it wedged open for so long but you barely even notice it now, or the bubbling threads of spit that start to run down your cheeks as he shifts the gun to sedately nudge it towards the back of your throat. Even when you uncontrollably shake and judder there on the table, back bowing into a dramatic arch at the first, pulsing onset of your orgasm, he just follows you with his hand to keep your lips stretched uncomfortably wide around the barrel. 

That’s how you finally cum, wailing an incomprehensibly shrill sound that’s almost entirely smothered by the pistol, fingers frantically pulling at your teats. Your pussy almost hurts from all the hard, unrelenting pressure of his metal frame but release still registers as a great relief somewhere in the back of your cotton stuffed head which bonelessly lolls back in a stupor while you pitifully twitch through the spasms. 

It’s over much too fast, just as you’d known it would be when you realized how quickly you were climbing that peak, and a deeply frazzled sound slips out of you when he at last moves to ease the gun out of your mouth. Left raggedly panting and trying to swallow down the lingering bitter taste of iron, you simply lie there while he straightens up to stand over you. The fact he does not immediately move from his spot between your legs catches your attention only in so much as a dreamy, far away thought, but you don’t quite have the power to act on it or even speak about it. 

And then his hand comes up to unexpectedly slip under your chin, forcing your face back around to make you look at him. For a long moment the two of you just stare at one another, you trying to steady your breathing while he just seems to thoughtfully study you with a little wrinkle of deliberation forming between his knitted brows. 

Finally, Boothill clicks his tongue and readjusts his grip to hold along your jaw so he can keep you still when he leans down to hover just short of your nose. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself fudging killed yet if this is how you get your rocks off.” 

“Only when it comes to you.” You murmur back, smiling a pleased, self satisfied grin up at him. There was no denying you felt incredibly good on a physical level, yes, but even more than that … the fact he’d neither sent you away or shot you dead for the insult makes your chest feel helium light. Oh, but you could have stayed here with him for a lifetime just like this. 

“Well, darling. I’ll admit, you’ve managed to pique my interest. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to keep you alive, especially with the way you like to carry on, but it might still be fun for a while. Whaddya’ say? Want to tag along with me again for a while?” 

As if you had to even think about your answer.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[melissa-titanium]

i probably look fucking crazy but. "kicked out of the nowhere" ln au .

SERA IF YOU SEE THIS HI MY FRIEND THANKUOU FOR LISTENING TO MY RAMBLE <3

both of them are like. late teenage years in this one. dw im not being weird about it i hate when aus do this shit for the sole purpose of making it romantic/weird. id say 15-16

six ; i think bcos shes taller and shit she couldn't exactly. wear the raincoat anymore. so somewhere along the line she and mono picked it apart and turned it into something else on her outfit -- pants? shirt? i dont know, but that's why her shorts are yellow. she kept her hair short like it is in canon because growing it out is uncomfortable and way too warm for her comfort. also sensory shit from having hair against the back of her neck. after leaving the nowhere she wears a big ass hoodie. it's more efficient than a raincoat because raincoats are LOUD AS HELL.!!!!!!! but still has a similar feeling to her raincoat AND has pockets :) crocs are. well. crocs. if you know me you know. i actually dont think they would be all that efficient when it comes to walking around but . idk. i think she would just carry them around for the purpose of walking around more safely if the ground is hard or something she's just as quiet as she usually is. over the years of living in the nowhere i think six has actually gone on to be the more physically adept of the two. we obviously know she's way faster than him, but his time in canon implies he's got more physical strength in his arms than her. i think this changes over time -- the reason she's so sickly & weak at the start of the game (not even fast enough to catch up to mono really!) is bcos of her lack of confidence and how long she spent in the cabin. the longer she stays with mono honing her skills she goes back to kicking ass. after a while, she can lift hammers with much more ease than mono can and she probably pokes fun at him for it. HOWEVER, he eventually gets that growth spurt which allows him to run faster thsn her (long legs. holy shit hes gangly) and he pokes fun at her for being short.

mono ; longer hair. he's got No Nutrients so his hair grows real slow so hes basically never cut it. he likes it longer bcos . opposite of six! he is Always Cold. like naturally cold but its still uncomfortable. SERA I SAID THIS 2 U ALSO but i think he's a walking relic. his only exposure to people, real people, is people on tvs. considering the sounds and general theme of all the stuff in the pale city/ads and stuff, i think its safe to say he only has reference of the real world from like. western 60's-90's. both him and six i imagine have severely poor language comprehension and grammar but if he DOES talk he probably talks like a kid trying to imitate their businessman father from the 70's. and as such; he dresses like his wardrobe is a time capsule. his outfits r still dark and cover his limbs but he looks like a total dork. fucking overalls and shit LOL. i don't have any ideas for face coverings at the moment but maybe he wears sunglasses & a face mask if he sees it necessary? i very genuinely feel like he'd be fine without face coverings. most people would think he's a cosplayer, seeing as he's kind of sickly looking (basement dweller appearance) with like eye contacts or some shit. idk

also funny thing id like 2 mention. their genders are Strange. when you live in the nowhere, "society" isnt exactly "pushing gender norms" onto you. chat what the fuck is a he/him? i only know Running From Monsters . in my previous notes for what they'd be like in the real world (seen below) i think this would be a very funny thing 2 explore . someone refers to six as maam and she completely ignores them (doesnt know what that means. six internal monologue voice All i am is Six so freaking call me Six) ((they're still little kids at heart i dont think they'd like to swear))

more notes here

[heron-knight]

grafting parlor

a little biopunk short story I made as an example of what I want to see more of in the genre. feel free to use any element of it you want in your own writing.

I stared out the window of the train as it skittered along the track through town, its frantic pace for the sake of meeting the schedule making the seat a bit warmer than I would have liked as its countless legs accelerated to a blur. It always gets hard to focus when they run this fast, their heavy breaths reverberating through each segment. Outside, the dim streets glowed with the last lights of the night-taxis as they returned to their nests, the soft blue of their photophores contrasting with the piercing sunlight of dawn, their diurnal counterparts just starting to wake up and crawl tiredly from the garages. I yawned and carefully took a sip from my coffee, inevitably spilling some of it due to the train’s pace. “Why so fast?” I mumbled, running a hand along the chiton of the wall. The train did not respond. Maybe it couldn’t hear passengers, or maybe it was just one of the older generations that couldn’t understand anything but its own conductor’s neurosignals. The scenery of the city rushed by outside, streets and trees and buildings and combinations of the three melting together in the sunrise in that way that always makes you start to feel tired no matter how much caffeine you’re on. I mean-- it wasn’t like I had really gotten that much sleep the previous night, the anticipation of the day’s upcoming events having caused me to stay up so late that I’d only managed to fall asleep a few hours before my alarm had gone off-- but still, there’s something about a train’s undulating steps that makes it so you can’t help but doze off a bit. I must have, as I was jolted awake so heavily by the chirping of an incoming call that I fell suddenly from my seat onto the soft floor of the segment. My phone scampered from my shirt pocket as the train’s long, spindly arms descended from the ceiling and lifted me gently to my feet. “Who’s it now?” I asked as it climbed up my sleeve and perched on my shoulder, tugging at my ear until I picked it up. This was one of the newer breeds of phone, only having entered full production a couple months ago, though I’d had mine for quite a bit before that, from back when it was still in R&D. Swiping it from the lab may have set the Sciurus Corporation back a bit, but they could afford to deal with it. The prototype I had was always a bit too insistent that I answer calls as soon as they came in, a feature that I didn’t know whether or not was present in the final version. It squirmed slightly in my hand, all six limbs flailing as I held onto it with both my right thumbs, holding its head in place with my other hand, squinting in the sunlight as I looked at the screen set into its face. “Oh!” I exclaimed, loosening my grip. The phone proceeded to smooth out the fur that I had ruffled, staring at me intently as it continued to chirp. If a phone screen could look irritated, this one did. An impressive feat, considering the otherwise total lack of facial features-- not to mention that bio-transmitters hadn’t had subjectivity in years-- a mutual agreement by the Chordata Group had made it so. I pondered if I had time to answer and, deciding that I did, gave the phone a light tap in between the ears. “Sam!” I said, my voice half excitement and half tiredness, a theme that was quickly emerging for this part of the day. “How’re the legs?” my phone hopped back over to my shoulder, holding onto my ear securely before speaking into it.

“Sore.” they replied. “Can’t really walk, even. Should be at least a week before it’s done.” I leaned back in my seat and glanced out the window again. 

“Damn. How long since you started?”

“Eight months, if I’m keeping track right. Feet started changing about four days ago, and apparently they’ll grow wrong if I put any weight on them for too long. Not that I could if I wanted.”

“Can you bend them the other way yet?” There was a couple seconds of silence on Sam’s end, followed by some barely audible sounds of discomfort.

“Kind of.” Digitigrade legs were a highly recommended enhancement, but there was a reason why most people choose to have them grafted. Ambystomagen treatments were a lot of things. Well established, for one-- older than grafting by over a decade-- and with a nearly zero-percent rejection rate compared to grafting’s 8% for first-time recipients, but also weren’t known for being either quick or painless. Still, there’s something about feeling your own body change that meant I wouldn’t have disagreed with Sam’s decision in a million years-- and was in fact, the reason I’d recommended that they grow the legs themselves. It’s all about that moment-- that one morning when you wake up, see yourself in the mirror, and realize that it was the first time you’d truly done so. When I’d got my ears done, I’d had a hundred such moments, and each time I saw myself in the two years it had taken had been more euphoric than the last. My favorite part was that day I’d realized I had become able to angle them in the direction I’d wanted. Iris had needed to tranquilize my computer because I’d lose so much sleep otherwise staying up late watching videos on how to exercise the newly-grown muscles. “But….”

“Let me guess, ‘significant height gain?’” I sighed. 

“And I can just feel how much faster I’ll be able to run!” from the moment they’d had the effects of digitigradization explained to them, they’d been extremely excited about not being the shortest member of the team anymore. “Still hurts like hell though.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to head back to base once my appointment’s over? Help you take your mind off it for a bit?” Sam’s response was somewhat flustered.

“I… should be fine. Besides, Iris is still here.” I rolled my eyes. Don’t get me wrong, Iris is great to have around, but she’s not exactly someone I’d trust to take care of me while my new legs were growing in. 

“To do what, exactly? Their medical knowledge is limited to “here’s half a liter of knockout venom directly into one or more of your veins.” I could be back by lunch if you want.”

“An enticing offer…” Sam muttered, “but you’re getting a major graft today. No walking around until everything’s fused, and you know that you probably won’t be able to with what Doc’s going to have you on. Not to mention…” their voice dropped to a semi-conspiratorial sort of tone. “We all know you’d been waiting for a chance to spend the whole day in its office.” 

“I’m guessing that’s not why you called, though.” I glanced around the segment, making sure there was nobody else there before changing the subject. “You’ve got an update, don’t you.” 

“It’s on the move.” they said gravely. “Iris got a ping from one of their eyes a few minutes ago. Apparently, they’ve got the cargo loaded onto an Arktos-class freighter.” I snatched the phone from my ear so suddenly that it let out a pained squeak. Had I not finished my coffee, I would have spilled it for sure.

“Arktos?” I half-shouted into its ears. “Where the hell did they get one of those?”

“They’re a Chordata corporation.” the phone said, a bit of distortion present in the words as it caught its breath. “Tytonidae may not be the highest ranking, but they’ve got more net worth in one of their executives than we have in the whole city.” I took a deep breath, withdrawing a tin of mealworms from my pocket and handing one to the phone as an apology. 

“That still wouldn’t explain how they got a military grade chimera that, need I remind you, shouldn’t exist. This isn’t just a corporate agreement, this is World Pact level stuff. All the Arktoses got put down after the war, and every single fused pilot had to be severed. All of them, Sam. I once knew a former pilot who said they’d needed to cut both his legs off to meet the decommissioning schedule because they didn’t have time to remove him from it properly. The Pact Keepers do not take half measures. A surviving one would be worth billions.”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering about. Either they’ve had a huge leap in sales to be able to afford it from whatever the rich person equivalent of a back-alley flesh market is…”

“...or this cargo’s worth way more to not just them, but the whole group.” 

“Exactly.” The segment  was silent for a moment, the only sounds I could hear being the train’s footsteps. 

“Sam…” I said, staring out the window and looking ahead in the direction of the Doctor’s parlor. The city at dawn was as beautiful as a coral reef, and certainly not without its sharks. “If they’ve really got an Arktos… then this is big. This isn’t just swiping canisters of Ambystomagen from a branch pharmacy, this is something so important that Chordata’s willing to risk being the target of the Pactkeepers just to make sure it gets where it needs to go. I… I think I’m going to need to cancel the appointment. Get back to base, make a plan. With you out of commission and Iris’s situation… We need to-”

“Why do we do this?” Sam asked. Their voice was firm and declaratory despite their obvious exhaustion and I suspected a bit of Iris’s venom-- not as strong as a grafter’s but still effective. I took a second to center myself, slowing my breathing to match the train’s.

“To become ourselves and live the lives we always should have had.” I’d said those words a thousand times in a thousand different contexts, and they had never lost any meaning whatsoever. I still remembered the first time they had been said to me-- the first memory I’d had that wasn’t melted into the fog of half-repressed events that my mind had been up until the moment I’d first felt the sensation of ambystomagen gel soaking into my skin.

“And not let anyone or anything stop us. Don’t forget that what you’re doing today is the reason we all started working together in the first place. The journey’s important, but don’t let it make you forget the destination.” there was another brief silence. “It’s fine. Trust me, Eva. Today, you don’t need to worry about this. Iris got a few bugs on board the Arktos before it submerged, and from the path it’s taking, it’ll be at least a week before it gets remotely close enough to be of any concern. Go become yourself, and don’t forget to enjoy it.”

“Thanks, Sam.” I sighed. The train was starting to slow down now, and the sunrise had begun to disappear behind the dense canopy that covered Nyx Town. “Looks like I’m almost there. I’ll call you back later if I can.”

“Iris will swing by around eight to pick you up. I’m guessing you’re going to be pretty high on… whatever it is that it uses, so…” they trailed off for a moment. “I’d better ask now instead of later if that offer of a distraction’s still going to be good then.” I rolled my eyes and leaned in to whisper into the phone’s ear. 

“If I’m still conscious by the time I leave its office, I’ll provide all the distraction you need.” The train hummed a short tune that reverberated through its carapace as it pulled into the station, flexing its seats to inform any passengers that hadn’t been listening that we had arrived. “But also, don’t be afraid to let Iris put you under for a few hours if your legs start hurting too bad.” The phone’s screen went dark and it climbed back into my pocket as I stepped off the train into the warmly-lit streets of Nyx Town. 

The sun never reached this part of the city, blocked almost entirely by the enormous trees that towered above even the highest buildings around. It was the kind of place that gives you a feeling like being safely hidden beneath fallen leaves from the moment you step off the train and watch the fireflies meander across the skyline like stars that had come down to earth for a night on the town. The streets were mostly empty at that time of morning, as most of Nyx Town’s residents formed a large chunk of the city’s nocturnal population, and had probably just returned from their various night shifts across the city and gone to bed just a few hours ago. A few windows were still lit, but the only real activity then was the fireflies and the occasional homunculus that would wander past every so often, a tray of fliers or a clipboard with a petition on it balanced on top of its head or held in its stubby hands. 

“♪♪” I heard, looking down to see a smaller homunculus holding out a stack of papers. I sighed, reaching down to take one as I knew that it would just follow me around until I looked at what it was selling. I read through the flier absentmindedly, making sure it could see that I was doing so, though the contents of it did intrigue me. “𝅘𝅥𝅰𝅗𝅥”

“20% off first visit? Really?”

“♪!” 

“I’ll be sure to check it out, then.” the homunculus turned and waddled away as I folded up the ad and slid it into my pocket. It was for the new place that had just opened a few blocks down from where I was, which Iris had been wanting to take me to since they had started setting up. I’d never been in a tentacle pod before, but every time I heard someone talk about them made me more excited. The ones that this place had were apparently big enough for two people at once, and according to the flier the homunculus had given me, they were working on installing one that was big enough for three. Really, I had no Idea why I hadn’t gone to one as soon as I’d learned about their existence. Anyone who’s met me could tell you that it perfectly matches my idea of a good time, and Iris said they were great for dealing with soreness-- in fact, they were originally invented for use in spas. Maybe we could go after my appointment. The day was already going to be amazing, and three hours high on whatever was in the pod’s fluid while thick, slippery tentacles massaged me inside and out would be the perfect way to round it out. 

The restaurant was busy with all sorts of activity as I stepped in from the street, many-armed waiters and homunculi hurrying between tables under the soft, pulsing orange glow of the Lux Beetles as they scurried though the colony-tubes which branched out across the ceiling. In the corner, a large homunculus hummed a slightly familiar tune, its eight-fingered hands dancing across the crescent keyboard that it sat in the middle of. Pandora’s Box was the kind of place you could only find in Nyx Town-- an atmosphere devoid of any concept of time, tinted windows blocking out what little sunlight managed to reach the street to the point that even the fireflies were barely visible unless one flew right next to the glass. It didn’t matter when it was, where you had come from, or where you were going after, the warm lights of Pandora’s Box would shine all the same. The symphony of sizzling oil always managed to cut through the most frantic cacophonies no matter how many people were talking, sending out smells that you could pick up from a block away of everything from dollar-fifty synthflesh to the most top shelf of products so fresh that the meal was cooked up and served before whatever unmodded farm-raised livestock it had come from could be pronounced dead. No matter what they were cooking here, no matter what the customer could afford to order, the smell alone was enough to make you believe in a benevolent universe. I sauntered over to the bar and slid into one of the seats, a small team of office ants carrying a menu over to me as I waited.

“What’ll you be havin’ today?” Damian asked in his signature, all-over-the-place accent, not yet having recognised me. He traced a hand along the shelf, looking through his not-insignificant collection of expensive looking beverages. I leaned in as far as I could, not that the words I spoke were particularly secret to any of the place’s regulars. 

“A tall glass of all that I am” he spun around, grinning as he set his hand on the table and allowed the ants to crawl up it and into his sleeves.

“How long’ll ya be staying?”

“Until I can live with myself.” He reached under the counter and withdrew a wooden box, like the ones in which food was served  there but a bit fancier. It contained nothing except a small piece of paper, three words printed just below a dotted line--

Who are you?

A few ants crawled from the messy curls of his hair and pulled the pencil from behind his ear, carrying it down his arm and placing it in my hand before returning to their home. Slowly and deliberately, I signed with a flourish. 

Evalin Veritas, nothing less. Damian closed the box and set it aside.

“Good seein’ ya, Eva.” he said, reaching behind him and grabbing a bottle without looking. How’s Sam? They started gettin’ results for that latest change a’ theirs?” 

“They’re in the middle of the worst part now.”

“Ankles snapped yet?”

“Not yet, but it’s close.” he poured the drink into the glass just as the ants carried it over, then slid it over to me.

“Gets better after that, trust me.” I couldn’t see below the counter, but I knew that he was hopping from foot to foot in that way he always did when he felt euphoric. I remembered how Sam had nearly died from mod envy the first time they’d seen him step out from behind the bar. “This one’s on th’ house for Doc’s favorite customer.”

“Thanks.” I said as I sipped it. It was one of my favorites, imported from Europe. The kind of drink that was right on the edge of what Worldpact considered legal, fitting nicely the tone of an establishment that was one live jazz band away from feeling like it would be right at home in the 1920s. The kind that made my ears twitch no matter how small a sip I took. I never did understand how he managed to always pick the right one without looking at it. “Really, I feel like the authentication wasn’t necessary. You know who I am.”

“Ya can never be too careful.” he twisted around and placed the bottle back on the shelf, a few ants falling from his vest as he did so. “Got a Monopoly Man ‘round here just a few days ago with Liam’s face-- high-dollar stitchwork too, and cloned so good I’d thought they’d cut it off the man ‘imself. Besides--”  he tapped the box under the counter. “--I know how much ya like t’ sign your name.” I laughed as I finished my drink. 

“And my mom said I was no good at signatures.”

“I bet that’s the least of what’d surprise ‘er if she could see ya now.”

“Eh, she still wouldn’t be impressed because she’d think I wasn’t signing with the right name.” I said. “Sometimes I wouldn’t mind putting her in the ground right next to the name she would want me to sign.”

“And give ‘er the satisfaction of knowin’ ya cared at all about what she thought?”

“Good point.” I sighed. “Well, I’d better head downstairs. Don’t want to keep Doc waiting.”

“Alright then. See ya after, and don’t forget t’ say hi t’ Sam for me.”

The lights downstairs were softer than the ones above, the glass-covered veins of algae along the walls dim enough that I nearly stumbled as I descended the stairs that led down from the kitchen. The waiting room was small, and the few couches and chairs had so many heavy blankets piled on top that I had to move a few out of the way before I sat down. Down there, below all the frantic activity of Pandora’s Box, a long staircase and a door hidden behind a spice rack between me and the rest of the world-- it just felt safe in a way that few other places really did for me. not through any danger present, but simply the lack of the warm, comfortable atmosphere of this hidden place beneath the city. With none of the bright lights, rapid activity, or constant schedules of the world outside, this place was where you went to forget whatever worried you, and just beyond the large doors opposite the staircase was where you went to become something that was able to handle it. I hadn’t really been to any other grafting parlor, but I assumed that I was incredibly lucky to have found this one. I might have fallen asleep for a second as I waited.

“Hello~” I heard from behind me as something heavy leaned onto the back of the couch. I looked up to see the Doctor, its face inches from mine as it stood over me. 

“Um… hi.” I stammered. I froze for a minute, unable to think of what to say. How’s it going? Been to the new tentacle pod place yet? What big teeth you have? Not to mention the fact that wherever it got its venom from, just breathing in the air that it exhaled was enough to make me lightheaded. It laughed in a sort of way that sounded as if it was laughing with several voices at once-- a sort of layered quality that, in the several years I had known the Doctor, I had not been able to figure out how exactly it had the effect that it did on me.

“That’s all it takes to freeze you?” it said playfully, a pair of right hands sliding out from under its coat to scratch under my chin. “The way it’s going so far, I might not even need to use venom to numb the site.” one of the hands traveled up my face slowly, stroking the top of my head in between my ears. “In my medical opinion… it seems like all I need to do is say hello and you just become completely helpless. Don’t worry though, you’ll still get plenty. I won’t hurt you.” I stood up and stretched, taking a second to center myself as the Doctor smiled warmly at me.

“You just surprised me is all.” I said, not exactly confrontationally and not exactly making any attempt to disprove its conclusions. It stood up to its full height, nearly nine feet tall. To anyone who didn’t know it, the Doctor might have seemed somewhat imposing-- towering over just about anyone else, who knows how many arms hidden beneath its coat-- the more you looked, the more you saw. That seamless transition from fur to feathers to scales on just about every patch of exposed skin, the way that no two of its limbs were quite the same despite the sheer number of them-- it really was on a different level. Chaotic, huge, and absolutely beautiful to anyone brave enough to let themselves see it that way. 

“Shall we get to the grafting? I bet you’re excited.” it gestured to the large door before heading through it, holding it open with one of its longer arms as I followed.

The office of the Doctor’s grafting parlor had much of the same atmosphere as the waiting room-- the same soft lighting, all the cushioning on the seat-- even the shelves of medical instruments were populated by just as many plushies as scalpels. The Doctor yawned, the whole lower two-thirds of its face splitting open, rows upon rows of teeth glinting in the algae-light as it stretched out each section and layer of its beautifully complex jaw and flexed its tongues, thick saliva starting to drip down its neck. I blushed slightly as I watched from the chair. “So how have you been, Eva?” it asked, the structure of its face all folding in on itself like a flower blooming in reverse until in under a second, it had all snapped back to its original position. 

“Not bad.” I replied. “We’ve got good intel on the next job, but there’s a bit of a complication involving… an Arktos.”

“Really?” it said, turning to face me as its tails organized the shelf behind it. What was the deal with the people here being able to do things without looking? Maybe its tails simply had their own subjectivity, or a portion of the Doctor’s had been assigned to them. “I got to take one of those for a spin a while back. They’ve got enough nerve feedback to scramble the sense right out of you unless you’ve been trained to take it… or you’re willing to surrender to it. But, that’s not what I meant. I was asking about your mods. Any trouble with them?” I thought for a second.

“No… not that I can think of.” the Doctor slid over to where I was.

 “Don’t worry about work, Eva. not here.” it said. “It’s been a bit since the last time you stopped by. Do we have time for a checkup before we start?” I nodded, and immediately I felt countless hands run across every part of my body, tracing around the seam of every graft and feeling the progress of each ambystomagen course. I laid back in the seat and let it do its work, trying and failing to keep my mind out of the gutter.

It’s strange, the way the Doctor examines someone-- a sort of exploratory embrace formed from hands alone, wrapping around you completely and taking in every bit of information all at once-- feeling how much softer your skin’s become, every tiny change to your shape, how well blood flows through a new artery. All you can really do is relax, and that’s really all you’d want to do. It always laughed softly whenever it felt me go limp like that. “Your ears have grown in nicely.” it said gripping one of them softly and moving it from side to side. “And they look great on you. So it’s that, the extra thumb, the estrogen, the larynx, and a few other assorted mods… am I forgetting anything.”

“And the lung.” 

“Oh right, the lung.” it said as it tilted my head up and ran a finger along the scar on my throat. It could have gotten rid of it easily long ago, but the voice change had been one of those mods where I’d decided to keep the marks of its installation. Simultaneously, it slid a pair of hands to each button on my shirt, ready to unbutton them all at once as soon as it had my permission. “Mind if I check the scars?”

“Sure.” I stammered. Of all the changes I’d had, the lung might have been my favorite so far to get installed. The Doctor never told me exactly how it’d managed to perfect its venom formula, but once all the capacity for pain is temporarily removed from your nervous system, feeling its many hands moving around inside your ribcage as it pulls out a failing organ before cracking open its own chest to withdraw the replacement it had been growing for you and sliding it into yours-- the sensation is really quite interesting. It always connected its own cardiovascular system to yours whenever it did major work like that, so as it worked it could feel exactly how much your heart was pounding. 

“It’s all feeling good? No pain?”

“A little bit if I run too fast, but it’s been getting better.”

“Voice is sounding good?”

“Yeah. Did it feel ok? It’s been a bit itchy.” It thought for a second.

“As… far as I can tell from just a quick examination. I’ll check a bit more thoroughly once you’re nice and relaxed.” I blushed slightly. Larynx and other throat mods were easier to examine internally than from the outside, and the most noticeable difference of the Doctor’s business model from other grafters is “who needs an endoscope when you’ve got several foot-long tongues?” 

“It looks like everything’s going well, then…” one of its eyes continued looking at your face as the other three slowly glanced down. “...and so’s the estrogen, I see. You just don’t get results like these unless you combine them with an ambystomagen course. Just the hormones and nothing else, and the results would be much less impressive.”

“My eyes are up here.” I said, a clear lack of any actual irritation present in my voice.

“Only for as long as you wish to limit yourself to two. Just say the words, and I could give you eyes everywhere." The office was silent for a minute, then we both laughed. 

“Thanks, but I’m good. Maybe a tail, though.”

“You would look great with a tail.” the Doctor leaned back, setting me down in the chair. “I’ve got a few options for you if you’d like to grow it yourself, or you could have one of mine. but now, let’s focus on your new arm.” I grinned as I remembered why I was there in the first place.

“Which one is it?” I looked at the many limbs I could see. All of them looked fantastic. It pulled back its coat and stretched out one arm, letting the others hang at its sides.

“I’ve been growing this one just for you.” it said as I reached out and touched it. The skin was soft and had a strange but pleasant smell to it. “Six fingers and double-shouldered, just what you asked for. I even took the liberty of putting a few helpful muscle memories in it.” I sat up and slid my hand along the length of it. “A high-quality limb like this, not to mention unchipped and unregistered… ordinarily, one of these would be worth its weight in gold. But…” it held my face in a few of its hands, smiling at me with a sort of warmth that you might not think was possible with all those teeth. “Just seeing how great you feel after a new graft-- that’s all I need. I just want to know that it’s helped, and that’s enough… That and the couple thousand dollars you paid upfront.” I chuckled slightly. “Hey, all the ambystomagen I need to grow these isn’t exactly free. Besides, I do need just a little bit of entertainment now and then, and with what it takes to hold my interest, I need a significant budget.” 

“Shall we start?” I said, leaning back again and rolling slightly to one side to show the part of my back that I wanted the arm attached to. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

I had been to the Doctor’s grafting parlor many times before-- I had been expecting the sensation long before I heard its face split open again and felt its tongues against my skin-- but no matter how much I would prepare for it, I would always shudder at that first moment of contact. That tingling sensation wherever its saliva touches you, followed by a gradual numbness as it sinks in. it didn’t spread through your body like its venom did, but it still always left me a little tired. I’d never seen a modification like that advertised, let alone on anyone other than the Doctor. It’d said that it was a bacteria that it had worked almost five years to imbue with all sorts of useful functions-- antimicrobial, anesthetic, a little bit paralytic-- and also cherry-flavored, though I’d only learned that a few months ago with a bit of firsthand experience. It wasn’t entirely necessary-- every grafter had some variant of total anesthetic venom, the Doctor included-- but it was nice to know that it was willing to spend years of its life and who knows how much money spent on plasmids for the bacteria, just to make it not hurt when it sunk its fangs in. All it felt like was two gentle points of applied pressure, followed by that wave of calmness as almost 250 milliliters of venom wrapped around each nerve. I could feel my mind start to slow down almost immediately.

“Doing okay?” the Doctor asked. I couldn’t quite get myself to form the words, so I just nodded. “That’s good.” it said, lifting me up for a second to adjust my position. “Try to relax.” At the moment, relaxing was really all I could do. My vision was starting to blur to the point where I couldn’t answer when it asked me how many fingers it was holding up-- meaning the amount of venom had been sufficient. 

I barely felt it as the Doctor began to cut, peeling back layers of flesh and holding them in place with its hands alone-- a nearly imperceptible warmth as blood flowed from the incision, a numb pressure as it held it open, and a strange tingling as I felt air against my spine. It always worked quickly, dozens of limbs all moving independently, hands filled with scalpels and jars of stem cells-- sculpting the bone itself as its remaining hands ran through my hair, stroking my ears as it told me how good I was doing. 

It’s strange to think of your bones as having nerves. Soreness in them can be proof enough in their capacity to hurt, but you often might think of your skeleton as simply an inert frame-- no actual life in it to speak of. Still, that intense feeling as preexisting nerves connected to new ones was strong enough that I could feel it through the venom. It didn't really hurt-- that part of my brain had been sealed off completely-- and without it, all that was left was sensation. Like the feeling of a neutral texture against your skin, magnified by a factor of ten thousand until it was practically electrifying. Through the venom and the nerve signals, I could hear a sound from behind me-- a sort of suppressed whimper as the Doctor worked on getting the new arm ready to graft. More and more of the scalpel-holding arms left the graft site as it worked until finally only a few pairs of hands remained, holding the incision open until the new bones solidified. There’s a reason why major grafts are often so expensive-- not just to get them registered, not just all the ambystomagen needed to grow a new limb entirely from scratch-- but because giving an arm to someone else is much harder for the person that’s not allowed to use any sort of numbing agent. Laying back as a new appendage is sewn on is one thing. Cutting off one of your own limbs is another, even if you’ve got plenty to spare. 

I could barely move then-- it took all my energy to lift my arm, to reach up over my shoulder, and to hold it out. The Doctor accepted it, squeezing it with one hand, then another, then another. I struggled to form words, but I had to say it. 

“You’re… doing… great.”

It leaned over me for a second, the flesh around the arm sliced and pulled back until only a few fibers around the bone held it on. A few drops of blood dripped down onto my face as it smiled weakly. “Thanks.” it whispered, before it gripped the arm right next to the ragged edge of the cut and tore it suddenly from its socket. 

The graft went smoothly after it took a second to catch its breath-- bones were lined up, ambystomagen slathered on the cut ends of veins and nerves, and flesh stitched into place with the Doctor’s personal silk. It told me as it bandaged itself that it would take a bit for everything to merge together, but I was already half asleep. Getting a major graft done takes a lot out of you-- a good grafter can get you through it with only a little bit less blood then when you’d started, but getting new nerves connected is exhausting. I tried to stay awake-- even if the Doctor had been doing major grafts for years, some part of me couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Trying to stay conscious, however, was as futile as trying to move. The sheer amount of venom inside me made it completely impossible, and I passed out from the effort of trying to turn myself over. 

You always wake up slowly after one of the Doctor’s grafts-- an element of its business model that few other grafters share. Go to a corporate parlor and you’d be out the door just a few minutes after waking up, but it tended to value customer satisfaction over keeping a tight schedule-- besides, it didn’t have the option to clock out and bring in a new grafter following each major graft. As a result, you really get a good while to fade in and out of consciousness, your brain too exhausted even to think “I should really get up now.” not to mention how with just how safe you feel in that place, you wouldn’t be thinking that anyway.

The first thing I felt as I regained consciousness was the Doctor’s breath-- a slow, gentle pattern against my shoulder as I lay on my side, its arms draped over me, but its grip was weak enough that it was at first indistinguishable from the blankets I was wrapped in. my eyelids still felt too heavy to open and I still hadn’t fully regained sensation in the ends of my limbs, but I could tell immediately that it was asleep. Asleep, but still taking care not to damage the new graft as it held me, all its many arms surrounding me like a nest. I was vaguely aware of some sort of movie running in the background, the sound of it seeming muffled at first, but slowly becoming clearer as the venom began to wear off-- likely an attempt by the Doctor to find some way to stay awake. Leaving an unconscious patient unattended is generally something that grafters avoid doing, but this wouldn’t cut into my review of the place in a million years.  

I focused on the textures around me as I lay there-- the blankets, the arms, the fur that covered the Doctor’s chest, thinning the further down it got until it left that warm, soft patch of skin on its stomach, not unlike one that a bird would have to incubate eggs. I could feel its additional heartbeats through it-- the second and fourth hearts, I think. It might have gotten some new ones since last time, or moved them around a bit. Did it know that I liked to listen to them? Did it get them installed somewhere where the sound of them wouldn’t be muffled by layers of fur so that I could?  This was one of those moments where I felt allowed to not care about anything else-- the plans, the world outside that room, even the Arktos and however the corporations got their hands on one-- none of that mattered. What did matter was that the feeling as each nerve connected as ambystomagen fused new tissue with old was one of the best things I’d ever felt, even through the remaining venom. That moment, that place-- that euphoria that flooded my brain with each pulse of calcium ions through my nervous system-- that was what I had been looking for. That was why I-- no, why we did this. The knowledge, clearer with each time I flexed the muscles of the new arm, that I was more than I had been before.

(oh, and @estrogenandspite— your move.)

[a-s-levynn]

HAI!!! :3 I have some pals that are into Sleep Token 'n I am interested!! What songs do you suggest from them?/what are your fav Sleep Token songs?

I'm so sorry if you sent this some time ago, using tumblr on three devices eats my inbox notifications at times and i just found yours and an other ask i haven't seen since monday😫

Also sorry it got long but i'd figure it would be fun to explain why i'd go at it this way.

The short answer: basically anywhere but pay attention to the lyrics because that is what sucks you in even more.

But to properly answer your question.. every single person you'd ask would give you a slightly different list for sure based on various reasons. I'm gonna break down why i'd do it like this. Also what i'd suggest to start with and what are my faves vary a bit. And also what i'd recommend based on someone's taste in music can alter what i'd show first to them but.. in general i'd go something like this (true and tested method [lies only tried once but it worked surprisingly well]).

I'd definitely start with the easily digestable tracks soundwise. The more groovy and vibey stuff that can be enjoyable without paying too much attention to the lyrics. It adds to it of course but nit neccessary.

Aqua Regia, Alkaline, Granite, Rain, Hypnosis, The Apparition and The Offering

At the end of Hypnosis there are a bit of harsher vocals which is a nice teeny tiny introduction to that sides of theirs, but not too much. And The Offering is a great one to show off both the softer vocals but disgustingly catchy instrumentals, also that is probably one of their most iconic songs.

Most people are turned away because of the style of singing Vessel does most of the time, with all the bends and runs and high notes. Also the constrictions, bordering on whines sometimes and also heavily breathy vocals. Occasional crying. There is a lot of emotions on display, of which if you vibe with can hit pretty hard. It's neither genre typical nor used as a usually commercialized singing technique in general. I'm not saying it's oooh so unique, others do it as well, but it's definitely not the type you hear from every other song on the radio. The other part can be the unusual arrengments in songs and the collecting genres like pokemons. So these up here are more on the easier side with that.

I'd probably add in Euclid as well to these just to showcase the more pop influenced side but still having proper guitars in it and stuff. Also that track is great to show how dynamic their music can be without any screamy jumpscare.

Than i'd say look at the slower sad stuff because it's trademark for them, also still on the commonly enjoyable side in regards of sound. And this would be the point i'd say start to pay attention to the lyrics properly because that is half the appeal of Sleep Token.

Blood Sport (from the room below), Missing Limbs and Atlantic are great examples.

And after those i'd go with some of the heavy hitters (also the ones with a bit more harsh vocals) like The Summoning, Ascensionism, Take Me Back To Eden and Vore.

And then if you are still interested at this point i'd recommend just putting on the entire This Place Will Become Your Tomb album. There are basically next to none harsh vocal surprises but there are heavier instrumentals at certain points. And it is such a contained experience, regardless of it being a middle part of a trilogy.

If you get through the album and still feel like you want more, than it really is just up to you which tracks do you want to dip your toes in next, because you seen most of what they can offer but still going to ran into new and fresh stuff. Their discography is a bag of nicknacks and all of them are preciois for different resons. TMBTE (their last album) is a higher quality production and caters more to the general audiences soundwise, i think. Sundowning (first album) is more raw but no less enjoyable. Also the certified 'sexy song' (Sugar) is on that one. The EPs and covers, i'd recommend last probably, not because they are not good, on the contrary but they are a bit more niche, bit more restrained in soundscape and a bit more soulful but they are heavy hitters emotionally for sure.

One might argue i left out the singles and the first album but here is the thing. The production quality goues up significantly on each album. For a listener who doesn't come for the lyrics first but the sound, Dark signs and Jaws or Jerico may be less captivating than let's say Granite, for a first time listener. Of course it is highly dependent on the given person but i'm talking in general.

And to answer a 'what are my favourites' part of the question, my all time favourite track of theirs is Higher by all means. The rest is in an ebb and flow depending on my mood but The Offering, Descending, Like That and Gods are always up there for me.

Have a wonderful day every day!

🫶🏻

[rodr1cks]

Heather Hills | 2.5k

part two

neighbor trope where you’re in love with Rodrick but he can’t stop pining after Heather Hills, takes place during Dog Days

warnings: noncon touching (our ass gets grabbed), swearing, smut, heather is a huge bitch

Tonight was the night. You picked out a black silk dress that hugged your body perfectly. You looked... nice? Nicer than usual, at least.

Still, your mood was melancholy, you weren’t too excited to watch Rodrick drool over Heather all night. Despite this, you put on a smile and met Rodrick outside.

His band members, Rowley, and Greg were crowded together in the back. They always left the passenger seat to you, such gentlemen. As soon as you opened the door you were bombarded with wolf whistles and crude remarks from his cronies. “Rodrick if you don’t tap that I will!” The guitarist exclaimed while eyeing you up and down.

“Guys, guys stop, please,” Rodrick seemed a little unnerved by the banter. After that, the van was silent all the way to the party.

Upon arrival, you began to unpack the van, unloading equipment. “Hey, hey, hey, pretty girl like you doesn’t need to do the heavy lifting,” the guitarist said to you as he winked. He always went out of his way to make you uncomfortable. You laughed a bit to appease him, then walked away.

Gross.

The band was set up and Rodrick was clearly nervous.

“You don’t understand, y/n. This has to be perfect.”

You knew the importance of this going well but you couldn’t decide if you wanted it to. On one hand, he could get Heather Hills, the girl of his dreams. On the other hand, he’d be crushed. Poor Rodrick has already taken enough beatings from the girls at your school.

“I know, you’ll be great, though,” you were unsure of that statement.

“You always know what to say.”

He walked away, ready to start the set of a lifetime.

The guitarist approached you again. “Wish me luck sexy,” he whispered and smacked your ass playfully. You gasped, tears threatening to form in your eyes.

Just brush it off, you’re okay. You need to enjoy the show.

You tried not to think about his pathetic little mustache and the giant pimple that sat squarely between his eyebrows.

Why did Rodrick hang out with such scum?

The first notes of the song rang through the tent. Rodrick was… singing? Heather Hills did not look amused. Panicking, Rodrick signaled to Greg, “FULL DIAPER!”

Dear god.

Banners unfurled and cannons sounded. It was a complete disaster. Somehow the chocolate fountain went haywire and coated half the crowd with liquid chocolate, including Heather. Shit. Rodrick was done for.

Everybody pitched in with loading the van and you were out of there in no time. You feared Heather would’ve killed the lot of you if you lingered any longer. Greg and Rowley were the only passengers this time. You and Rodrick were in the front seat, not speaking.

“Rodrick, can I tell you something?”

You knew Greg and Rowley were caught up in their own conversation but you didn’t want to risk them overhearing, so you whispered. Rodrick nodded.

“Your guitarist, h-he uhm, he kind of touched me before your set.” Rodrick’s eyes widened. “Where?” he asked you sternly. “He kind of grabbed my ass.” You looked down, embarrassed. “Great, now Heather hates me and I’m short a guitarist.”

On the way back to Rodrick’s, you passed a gas station and you asked him to pull over.

“Rodrick let me out at this gas station, pretty please!”

He groaned and pulled into the lot. You ran in and made a beeline for the fridges in the back.

Where is it, where is it, ah!

Mint chip and cookie dough, both your favorites. You checked out and ran back to the van. Rodrick looked over, delighted when he saw your purchases. “He ruffled your hair and muttered a thank you. You smiled, “And that’s not all,” you pulled out two candy bars for the chocolate coated fugitives in the back.

Rodrick parked on the street in front of The Heffley household.

“Alright, everybody out!”

Greg and Rowley filed out as did you. Rodrick stayed put. “Aren’t you coming?” He nodded at you, “I have something to take care of first. Put the ice cream in the freezer and take a shower. Get that chocolate off of you.” He gestured at your hair and face which were coated in chocolate.

What could he need to do right now? Probably off to find Heather Hills and beg for her highness’ forgiveness.

You did as he said and borrowed his shower for a bit. You felt instant relief as the warm water trickled down your shoulders, chocolate melting away along with your stress. After your shower, you grabbed one of Rodrick’s t-shirts.

Lending you a shirt was the least he could do, considering the hell he’d put you through.

What a fucking night it’s been.

You sat around for a bit, awaiting Rodrick’s return. You heard the door swing open downstairs. He walked up the stairs to his room, ice cream pints in hand. You smiled at him before your gaze lingered down to his knuckles.

“Holy shit, Rodrick. What the fuck did you do?”

He looked down, “Well you told me what my guitarist did to you and I- I couldn’t help it. He needed to know what he did was out of line.”

Your jaw dropped, “So you what? Broke his nose?” He rolled his eyes at your theatrics, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Had Rodrick really beat somebody up for you?

“So are we gonna eat this ice cream or what?”

You both sat on Rodricks couch, limbs entangled, eating your ice cream. He looked over at you, “Switch?” You shrugged, passing him your mint chip and grabbing his cookie dough. For the next half hour, you both sat in silence, processing the night’s events.

“Hey, I’m sorry about Heather.”

“Y’know, y/n, I realized something while I was performing. Heather Hills wasn’t by the stage cheering me on, Heather Hills doesn’t go out of her way to be kind to my family, Heather Hills wouldn’t look that good that tiny black bikini of yours,” Rodrick smirked, “and most importantly, Heather Hills didn’t buy me my favorite ice cream to make me feel better. Heather Hills doesn’t care for me like you do.”

You weren’t really processing everything. Was he hitting on you? Or flirting or… He cut your thoughts short by grabbing your waist and pulling you on top of him. “Woah what are you-“ He shushed you and grabbed your ice cream from your hand, setting it on the table.

Rodrick grabbed your hands, halting your mindless fiddling. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how good you are to me earlier, y/n. I know that probably made you feel like dog shit.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, it did. But, you know now?” He placed one of his large hands on your cheek, using his thumb to stroke your face gently, “Yeah, pretty girl, I do.”

Pretty girl. Your stomach churned and your face turned bright red. Rodrick leaned in slowly and gently kissed you. His lips felt heavenly, they were soft and warm and better than you could’ve imagined. “God I’ve wanted to sink my teeth into you ever since I saw you in that little bathing suit.”

His voice was low and guttural, nothing like you’d heard before. This was a new Rodrick and you had no idea how to react, all you could do was sit there and stutter helplessly.

You could melt. Was this really happening? You had to check.

“Is this really happening?”

You felt him smile. He licked a stripe from your collarbone to your jaw, “You tell me.” You moaned quietly as his grasp on your waist tightened.

“How long have you wanted this, y/n? Wanted me?”

Your stomach clenched at his words, might as well tell the truth. “Since sophomore year. I-I went to one of your gigs and you didn’t see me” His hand moved to your breast and you sucked in a breath. “You looked so good on stage, I knew I wanted your hands all over me,” you managed to gasp out.

“I knew you were there,” he said matter-of-factly. You froze. “I told my mom, part of why she likes you so much, thinks you’re supportive of me or something.”

Is he serious, this is humiliating.

“I remember what you were wearing, too. A little red dress, you stood out. Never knew the neighbor girl cleaned up so nice until that night.”

He must’ve sensed your embarrassment, “Hey, it’s okay, no need to be shy.” You eased up a little bit, your hands finding his hair and gently pulling. “Atta girl.”

As things got more heated, he got more eager. At one point he looked up at you, silently asking for permission to remove your shirt. You nodded, laughing at him, “A gentleman, I see.” He made stern eye contact with you,

“I don’t have to be.”

He tore your (his) shirt over your head and stopped when he found you were wearing nothing underneath.

“Naughty, naughty girl.”

You wanted his shirt off too, along with everything else. You wanted to see him, feel him. You made quick work of removing his t-shirt and discarding it on the floor behind you.

You could feel his hard on through your panties and it was driving you insane. “Rodrick,” you panted, “I need you, please.”

The hand he was using to roll your nipple between his fingers moved to your clit and rubbed gentle circles over it. “Since you asked so nicely,” he grinned.

Your hand flew on top of his and he winced. “Oh shit, right, your hand! I’m so so-,” he flipped you onto your back and stood up from the couch. Your stomach dropped before you understood what he was doing. He fought with his belt for a moment before pulling it off and sliding his jeans and boxers off.

Christ he’s big.

He resumed his position on the couch and began stroking his cock while hovering above you. He leaned down to kiss your collar bone sweetly.

You muttered one last plea before he positioned himself in front of you.

“Are you ready for me, pretty girl?”

God there he goes again.

You arched your back up in response, letting out a small sigh of desperation. This was all so new, you had no idea Rodrick could be so… well spoken?

Rodrick took a deep breath as he bottomed out. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Fucking Christ. He split you in half with ease, groaning as he rolled his hips against you.

“R-Rodrick?” He muttered something indistinct in response. “Is this your first time?” He looked kind of embarrassed. “Yeah, uh, it is, yes.” Part of you was happy it was his first time. The other part of you felt bad for him. You knew that if girls would’ve just given him a chance, they’d see how incredible he was-

You were torn from your thoughts by Rodrick pulling out and slamming back into your willing body. You nearly screamed. He continued at an absolutely brutal pace.

“Jesus christ, Rodrick, never knew you could do this,” you gasped out, eyes rolling back.

He smirked down at you before pulling out, grabbing your hips, and flipping you over onto your hands and knees. Your head was pressed sideways against the arm of the couch but you didn’t care. Rodrick quickly got back to work, fucking you to the beginnings of your orgasm.

“Rodrick, I’m gonna-“ He grabbed your hair and yanked hard so your back was against his chest,

“Cum on my cock.”

That was all it took, you were gone, shaking and pulsing around him.

After a few more strokes, Rodrick was gone, too. He was grabbing your ass and grinding his hips against you as he finished.

Gently, he pulled out. He rubbed a hand over your ass and admired your raw, red skin.

You rolled back over, panting. “My god, y/n, how did I live without this for so long?” You smiled lazily at the ceiling. He kissed you, clearly spent. You both sat on his couch, heavy panting filling the room.

Rodrick looked over at you, “Ice cream?” He stuck the cup filled with melted sludge in your direction. You put your hand up in protest, “No thank you.” He shrugged, “More for me.” Roderick slurped the melted treat from his spoon. You couldn’t help but laugh at him.

God, Heather would despise this man.

“You know Heather slapped Rowley, right?”

“What? no way?” Rodrick laughed.

“She sure did. Don’t worry though, Rowley got to eat chocolate off of Madison.”

You both spent a moment laughing to yourselves.

You were absolutely satisfied, you could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, on Rodrick’s ratty couch.

“Let’s get you to bed y/n.”

“But I don’t wanna go home, Rodrick!” You whined.

“Who said anything about you going home?”

“Y/n, Mom’s at a writing seminar with Manny and Dad’s at some civil war retreat thing.”

Was he inviting you to stay the night? “Call your mom, tell her you’re with your friend… uh… Heather.”

Giggling, you did just that. “Wait a minute, your parents left you alone with Greg?” He swatted at you playfully, giving you a goofy glare.

Rodrick stood up and offered out his hand. You decided to be cocky and deny his help. In your attempt to stand up, you stumbled, nearly eating shit.

“Woah, woah, easy there tiger,” Rodrick said snarkily, grabbing your waist before you hit the ground. You hadn’t expected to be so unstable.

“Alright, do you want my shirt back, gorgeous?” You nodded sleepily.

He grabbed the previously discarded shirt from the ground and slipped it over your head. He then pushed your hair out of your face and placed a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

Rodrick led you over to his bed. It was a twin but you guys would make it work.

He disappeared for a moment and came back with a rag. “C’mere sweetheart. You turned to face him slowly as he sat down on the bed. He began tenderly wiping between your thighs.

“Look at you, so beautiful,” he mused. Out of instinct, you looked away from him. “I mean it, y/n.”

He climbed into bed with you, his lanky limbs making comfort difficult.

“There we go,” he sighed after you both finally found a comfortable position. You closed your eyes and Rodrick began tracing lines over your lightly clothed back. You could hear the summer rain pattering against his window and you sighed out, completely satisfied.

Nearly asleep, you noticed something in the corner of Rodrick’s room. His black and white one star’s with tire marks plastered over them. You rolled your eyes and laughed to yourself.

Heather fucking Hills.

+ literally don’t even speak to me about the grammar or the poorly written smut. act like you do not see it ty. and please send me rq’s!!

[bratkook]

choke me. (m) jjk

pairing. jungkook x reader genre. smut, absolutely no plot word count. 2.9k warnings. short but sweet filthy, unprotected sex, messy sex, choking (jungkook begs her to choke him), dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), face riding, jungkook swears he sees jesus, his not so secret love for gossiping returns summary. now that the line between peeping tom and teasing neighbor had been crossed, entering into mutually beneficial territory, jungkook feels less wary about asking you to wrap your pretty hands around his throat note. peeping tom!jungkook is back for more, technically this is a second installment to come over but can def be read as a stand alone drabble! he lives in my mind rent free so i hope you all enjoy his brief return 🖤(i also wrote this in an hour so theres that) honorable mentions to @suqakoo​ who i promised id tag if i ever continued this story 🤧 @taestybae​ who is essentially the reason why i wrote the first part ily bae & @pars-ley​ i hope long hair jk ruins you once more

Jungkook absolutely can’t think of any other place he’d rather be than right here, right now. He’s honestly contemplating sending his realtor a bouquet of roses, hell maybe one of those edible arrangements with the melon shaped like petals, anything to show his immense gratitude for helping him buy this house. 

Really, who would have ever thought the chain of events would lead to this very moment, sprawled out on his bed, large palms digging into your hips as you bounced on top of him, the slick sounds of your pussy soaking his cock filling up the room in a filthy manner. He is once again thankful for the narrow distance between your buildings that brought this moment to fruition. 

“Shit,” you gasp, palms resting on his hard chest for leverage as you lift yourself up and drop back with a wet thump, “god, you feel so good.”

Your words are thick and slurred, drunk off the feeling of his cock filling you up deliciously, the subtle ruts of his hips working in tandem with yours making sparks of pleasure shoot throughout your body. Jungkook can only smirk at the way you’re lost in the feeling of it, the arousal dripping down your thighs, pooling around the base of his cock in a sticky mess that he had grown to love. 

“Yeah?” he breathes out, bottom lip victim to his teeth as he bites down. The usual doe eyed look he had was missing now, swapped for a half lidded stare that made your stomach flip when you lock eyes.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he hisses, fingers pressing further into your skin when you tighten around him, not once slowing your movements, the perfect rhythym of your hips making a steady incline of lust course up his spine. “Making such a mess on my cock. You love it don’t you?”

A desperate whine spills out of you, fingernails pressing into the muscles on his chest, leaving half moons in their wake but he enjoys the sting too much to complain. “I just–feel so full, fuck Jungkook.”

He smiles at the way you trail off, your mouth dropped open with pouty lips wet with saliva. His palms can feel the way your body trembles with each thrust, warmth brewing inside of you and threatening to spill over every time he meets your hips with those dangerous eyes locked on you. Slowly, he raises his hand higher, following the soft skin of your sides, tracing every slope and curve of your body until he’s grabbing a handful of your tits, squeezing just enough to make you mewl in desire. 

Jungkook groans out when you speed up your hips, the warmth of your walls wrapping around him tighter than before as he pinches your nipples between his fingers, the new found sensitivity only making you lose yourself further. 

He can feel the cool sweat dampening his body, making his skin stick to the sheets beneath him, could see it slowly coating your neck as you throw your head back, revealing your throat to him and that makes the flash of an idea come back to mind. 

“Fuck, fuck wait–“ he gasps out, heels digging into his mattress as his mind begins to spin at the premise of it all. A curious look sent his way as you slow your hips, a torturous glide being swapped in favor of stopping altogether but it’s enough for him to gather his thoughts properly. “Choke me.”

“R-really?” You stutter out, chest panting from a mix of exertion and excitement, the mental image of your hands wrapped around his thick neck stirring something inside of you. Something about a man like Jungkook, all muscles and strength that couldn’t be matched, asking you to choke him felt so wrong it was almost right. 

“Please,” he’s begging now, skin on fire at even asking and potentially being turned down, but he can see the flash in your eyes, the way it turns you on, and if that didn’t settle him then the way you frantically nod in agreement does. 

“Yeah, yeah i’ll choke you,” your right palm glides up his chest now, feeling the slight trembles that course through him from the steady rocking of your hips, his ragged breaths hitting the air as you gingerly touch his neck. ��You gotta show me how though.”

You were very familiar with choking, being on the receiving end of it plenty of times, but you had never been the one in control and the last thing you wanted was to do this wrong. He smiles in appreciation though, a small chuckle leaving him as he places his palm over yours, delicately guiding it to the right spot over his throat. 

Jungkook can already feel his cock stirring inside of you as he moves your fingers correctly, a low groan rumbling in his throat that is felt against your palm when you press down. Your eyes are wide with excitement, seeing how something so simple is affecting him before you have even started. The blood pumping in his veins pulses against your fingers, squeezing down further when he urges you to do so with his palm, a satisfied smile curling his lips up as he sighs. 

“Fuck, just like that.” He rasps out, dropping his hand to allow you full control, choosing to grip onto the sheets as you slowly resume your pace once more. 

Jungkook knew sending you a text reminiscent to the one you sent him before would lead to this, in one form or another, but having you riding him with your fingers pressed into his neck had just become his new favorite fantasy. 

A small moan leaves you as you look down at him, his long sweaty hair raked off his face, allowing you to see the way his brows furrowed together as the sensations flooded his mind. He looked like your favorite wet dream, eyes staring up at you in that dazed way that showed he was lost in the pleasure, tongue swiping at his lower lip as he moaned out your name, tugging at the sheets and rutting up into you with more urgency each time. 

“Fuck, and you called me dirty,” you laugh out, leaning forward to inch closer to his face, pressing a teasing kiss to his lips and giggling when he tries to chase them for more, tightening your hold on his throat until his eyes are fluttering shut. 

Jungkook feels like he’s floating, the low thrumming in his ears getting louder as the seconds tick by, the wet squelch of your pussy creaming his cock mixing in with your soft laughs and its filthy. “Tighter,” he rasps out, blinking his eyes open to see you once more, nodding in reassurance when you look unsure. “Please.”

When you do as he asks he swears he’ll cum instantly, his stomach caving in as the coil tightens inside of him, the heady feeling clouding his thoughts, leaving the edges of his sight speckled and faded, the image of you above him still crystal clear. There's so much want in your eyes, your own orgasm slowly creeping up on you at just seeing how affected he is by you doing this. His free hand drops back down to your hips, urging you to speed up your movements, each glide of your drenched walls feeling like heaven, draping over him in this soft warmth that leaves him gasping lewdly. 

Maybe Jungkook should go to church.

A small shiver racks your body, pushing aside your own pleasure when you start to spot the floaty appearance on his features, the breathy whines that escape him, eyes spaced out, only focusing on the growing euphoric feeling coming from where you two connect, spreading to his every limb until he’s tensing up. “Wanna feel you cum Jungkook, c’mon, make me messy again.”

Jungkook nods at your words, speech wiped from his mind, blanking as you squeeze him further, the hand gripping the sheets shooting up to wrap around your wrist as a desperate moan leaves his swollen lips when his orgasm crashes over him in surprise, a flash of white spread across his vision. His eyes roll back in pleasure, hips rutting up into yours so forcefully you’re nearly falling over him, releasing his throat and allowing him to gasp in a breath, his warm cum spilling into you in spurts that you welcome.

“Fuck, oh fuck.” He chants, eyes squeezed shut as he fills you up like you asked him to, the buzz of pleasure soaking into his bones and leaving him satisfied, limbs limp as you milk his orgasm out of him fully. Jungkook weakly mumbles out your name as you continue grinding on him, the friction against your clit making you moan in response, leaning forward to cup his cheeks as you kiss him gently as he comes down. “Come up here.”

It takes you a moment to know what he means, spoken so slurred together in his post orgasm bliss you think he might just be mumbling nonsense, but as he grabs your hips with both hands and slides you off his softening cock you know exactly what he wants you to do. With shaky knees you crawl over him, sodden folds sliding against his torso and leaving a mess as you make your way to the head of the bed. 

“Fuck, look at you.” He mumbles, arms hooking under your thighs to urge you up until your core hovered directly above him, knees digging into the sheets beside his head with your hand grabbing onto the headboard for support. Jungkook eyes your swollen lips, coated in your arousal and a mixture of his cum still dripping out of you, it’s not like he minds though, determined to have you falling apart because of him. 

“Made me cum so hard I swear I saw Jesus,” he jokes, soft huffs of laughter hitting your inner thighs as he sloppily kisses them, tongue licking up drops of your arousal as he makes his way up. “Wanna return the favor.”

A whimper leaves your mouth as he teasingly licks along your slit, tip of his tongue flicking against your aching clit as he does so, humming in content when you tangle your hands in his hair. With soft, tickling touches of his fingers against the backs of your thighs you lower onto him, only the tops of his eyes visible as he pulls you further onto him, a cheeky wink sent your way before he goes in for the kill.

Jungkook digs his fingers into your skin to keep you in place as he licks a broad stripe up your folds, shamelessly moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, smiling against you when you shudder at the sensation. “Fuck, Jungkook.” You can barely whisper out, hips dropping lower in search for more and he groans, not opposed to the way your thighs cage him in, surrounded by you entirely.

A small shriek fills the air as his lips wrap around you clit, sucking on the swollen nub with intent to make you crumble, moaning against you as you tug at his strands with force, the yank at his scalp only making him keep at it. Stars flash behind your closed lids as you give an experimental grind of your hips, rutting against his tongue until you’re gasping, Jungkook’s fingers loosening their hold to allow you to seek your own pleasure, using his tongue to get yourself off on top of him.

He can feel his cock stirring back to life at you using him like this, fingers pushing his face further up, his tongue flicking against you, lips sucking enough to get you to tremble. “Shit, Jungkook, ah— c-close.”

The slow, deliberate roll of your hips increases as the familiar high approaches you, Jungkook’s hands grabbing onto your ass to urge you, guide you against him with more force. The wetness pools down your thighs, coats his mouth and chin but he swears he could drown here and die happy, fully content to know the last sounds he hears is you chanting his name out like a mantra.

“Shit, I’m cumming.” The heat curls in your stomach, flames licking at your insides as your hips grow sloppy and desperate, fingers clutching onto his hair like a lifeline as you can just barely taste your high. It’s not until Jungkook presses his tongue harder against you, providing you with that last bit of friction you need, that you cum with a shout of his name. His fingers rubbing soft circles onto your skin as he continues to suck on your clit, enjoying the aftershocks that course through you, the small whines and whimpers of overstimulation as he licks you clean. 

“Ah, too much.” you plea, lifting yourself up from his mouth as the pleasure turns painful. He looks absolutely satisfied with himself, a charming smile on his messy lips as he stares up at you with glimmering eyes. 

“That was amazing.” A snort leaves you as you carefully slide off of him, settling beside him with a content sigh, thighs still trembling from it all, something he takes note of as he runs his fingers against them. 

“Who knew you loved getting choked,” you giggle, inching away from him when he attempts to grab you, “my hands weren’t enough for you, just had to go and let my thighs finish you off huh?”

“Shut up,” he whines, fingers wrapping around your ankle and yanking you back to him with more ease than you expected, not content until you were pressed against him once more. The heat of your bodies isn’t uncomfortable as he holds you close, maneuvering himself until you were flat on your back with his body slot between your thighs, arms wrapped underneath you with his cheek against your tummy. “You were totally into it too.”

“Hm, I was.” You can’t even deny it, seeing Jungkook looking so submissive at your hands made a small rush flow through you, the same rush you felt whenever he was rough with you. This was something the two of you could definitely play around with.

Jungkook looks beyond comfortable in his position, nuzzling against you happily, not caring about the way your skin sticks together but just as you’re about to shut your eyes he speaks. “Oh my god,” his cheek lifts from your skin to look up at you with a smile when you raise your brow in curiosity, “did you hear about the drama going on down the street?”

“What drama?”

“You know the preschool teacher that lives in that blue house?” Your hands run through his damp hair as you try to remember, finally putting a face to the person and nodding in confirmation, “Okay well she got that soccer mom’s car towed this morning.”

“Jungkook, how do you know this?” You laugh out, draping your arm across your face to hide the way you found it all amusing, his gossiping tendencies coming out full force.

“Well ever since somebody—” his fingers dig into your skin playfully, laughing as you squirm around, “lied to me about the group chat I got nosey, found this app called Next Door and the drama is top notch.” It was really a gold mine of petty neighborhood tea, keeping him entertained like the morning newspaper, knowing the ins and outs of who was the neighborhood Karen and who you could trust to call the cops if anyone attempted to break into your house.

“You know Jungkook, I never pegged you as the kind to love gossip.”

He rests his chin on your sternum now, eyebrows wiggling mischievously as the words leave your mouth. “Did you say peg?”

“Oh my god, get out of here!” He cackles instantly, allowing you to push his face away from you while you attempt to get up, his hands loosening their hold on you only to allow himself to crawl up your body once more. Your laughs continue to fill the air as he kisses your cheek sloppily, “Get your head out of the gutter.”

“I was joking,” he chuckles, leaning back with a smile, “unless you’re into that.” He tacks on the same ending as last time, winking when you scrunch your face up in embarrassment.

“Go, don’t you have work to do.” Desperately needing him to get away from you before your mind spun up another filthy fantasy at his expense.

“Need I remind you, you’re in my bed.” 

“Yeah well, your bed is lined in egyptian cotton and smells like fresh laundry so don’t mind me, I’ll be here.” He had no qualms about that, giving you a final kiss to your lips before deciding you were right, he had been distracted enough by sending you that text to come over, needing to finish up the work he had to turn in by tonight.

As he walks around his room and gets himself looking decent enough to sit at his desk you flop over with a sigh, burying your face into his pillow and smiling when the familiar scent of him fills your nose. Looking out of his bedroom window and seeing your own bedroom a few feet away makes your stomach flutter with the same excitement as before, his teasing words replaying in your mind now.

Unless you’re into that. 

How many more ways could he use that phrase for trouble?

[delimeful]

failed bounties and fresh bonds

commission for @the-panmixxia! thank you so much for your support! :)

warnings: fear/panic, unintentional child endangerment, pretty bad injury, hypothetical gore/death mentions, remus being remus

-

Virgil pressed his palm over his mouth, struggling not to make any noise even as his lungs strained for air. There was someone in his forest, and he was sure they were here to kill him or worse.

He should have left before tonight, gotten as far away as possible, but... He’d lived here for longer than any of the other temporary homes he’d found. It was the safest place he’d found.

The trees in the forest were old and huge, enough that they sheltered him from view. The mountain was even more so, with old dragon caves that he could spend hours exploring. There was a little town to the south, but the forest was big enough that no travelers stumbled across the part where he lived.

He’d only snuck down to the town because he’d wanted to see the lights that had been strung up in the streets. He wasn’t sure what they were for, but they were bright and beautiful.

He hadn’t meant to get so close. He hadn’t meant to be caught.

But between one moment and the next, there had been a tiny gasp, and he’d turned his head to see one of the townsfolk, a young woman, staring up at him in frozen terror. The sight of the human had terrified him just as much, and he’d tipped back onto his butt, his hand knocking into a market stall with a crash of splintering wood.

The spell of silence broken, the woman screamed, the alarm spreading as windows began to light all down the street. Virgil had scrambled back like a crab, before turning and fleeing into the woods, leaving behind the distant noise of opening doors and raised voices.

It had all led to this. He’d been seen, and they’d set a bounty on his head, and now there was a strange human in his forest.

Virgil could hear the stranger humming, his tone nasal and low, occasionally straying painfully off key. He’d been using the sound as a guide, creeping away as quietly as he could whenever it came into range, but no matter how hard he tried to put distance between them, the wind would carry that hum back to him the moment he settled down to hide.

The stranger was a skilled tracker, maybe, or had extraordinarily good luck, or actually had seen Virgil that first time and had been following him from a distance ever since, tiring him out like a wolf stalking a deer. He didn’t sound like a knight, didn’t move with the crash of steel or ride a horse. Virgil hoped he wasn’t a knight, almost more than he wished he’d never gone down to that village at all.

He let himself breathe in, quiet and shaky, and then pushed away from the wall of his cave, listening for the stranger so he could try and sneak away once more.

Between the distant trees and night sky, there was silence.

Virgil leaned towards the cave’s opening, scanning the sharp silhouettes and straining for even the most muffled sound of twigs underfoot.

At the lip of the cave, a human-sized figure swung into view upside down, baring bone-white teeth in an unhinged grin. “Boo!”

Virgil couldn’t help the small scream that tore from him, the noise echoing against the cavern’s walls. His heart racing, he bolted back down those familiar tunnels without another thought, fleeing even as the human’s cackling cut off sharply.

“—Hey, wait, get back here! I didn’t spend all night wandering in the cold-ass woods just to have a monster blueball me out of a fight again!”

Shouted into a deep cave, the stranger’s words bounced and overlapped until they were just meaningless noise around Virgil, only propelling him forward faster. He took the corners sharply, scrambling up near sheer cliffs, barely noticing the way sharp protruding rocks scraped against his shoulders or pierced the soft bits of his feet.

He didn’t realize he was cornering himself until he turned into a dead end, the paths somehow warped and unfamiliar under the force of his panic. Quick, skipping steps were pursuing him in the distance, which meant that the human could still hear his footsteps, and so he shuffled into the furthest corner of the cavern and focused on making himself still and quiet, no matter how hard his body wanted to tremble and shake and sob.

There was no doubt about it; the stranger was a bounty hunter, and Virgil was the bounty.

That nasally voice continued to echo down to Virgil as he rambled on, complaining or singing or making jokes Virgil didn’t get, all while steadily pursuing his quarry.

Bit by bit, the noise drew closer and closer, accompanied by the crackle of a merrily burning torch. He seemed to be utterly undeterred by the twisting, unsettling nature of the mountain, and what little hope Virgil had began to fade. There was no way that the stranger would just happen to pass him by.

It would take a miracle to save him now.

A cavern away, a chunk of old stone gave way under an overconfident foot.

—-

“Oh, fuck—,” Remus shouted, his brain nearly shorting out as he tripped directly into freefall.

His divination provided him with a slurry of unhelpful images, each one matching a tiny movement he made while falling: him landing on his legs and shattering both of them so hard he blacks out, him landing on his head and doing a lot worse than blacking out, ragdolling all the way down the crevice below, twisting so that his foot catches on a crack in the wall and wrenches his ankle— That one!

He howled as his foot caught, and then the bitch that was gravity caught up with him and his back and skull slammed against the wall, knocking the air out of him and causing little white flashes to appear in his vision.

It took a long moment to come back to himself through the pain, but when he did, he found himself still dangling in place by a single ankle. He’d lost his torch somewhere in the process.

He glanced down, and knew immediately that the shadowy drop below was fatal, the cracks of potential future bone breaking settling into his brain.

Glancing up, he knew immediately that his ankle was boned, going by the interesting angle it was making with the rest of his leg.

He contemplated reaching up with his other foot and trying to wedge it in another crack. His brain offered him visions of the whole bit of cliff face snapping into brittle pieces, and then more falling to his death.

He crossed his arms, letting all the blood rush to his head in hopes of that generating a better idea. Instead, he got a headache.

“Well, shit,” he said, succinctly.

Something big shifted, just barely in earshot. Remus didn’t bother looking ahead; it was obvious that the giant he’d been hunting had just figured out how thoroughly the roles had been reversed.

Sure enough, the movements shuffled closer, surprisingly hesitant, and then two huge, glowing eyes peered down at him.

“Come to grind my bones into paste?” Remus asked, genuinely curious. “Or squish all my organs out through my ears?”

Those eyes scrunched up a bit in revulsion, which was hilarious coming from a monster about to kill him. He wiggled his limbs around a bit, ignoring the resulting pain and cracking of brittle rock in favor of hopefully enticing the creature to grab him already. Just hanging around was getting boring.

The breathing above him quickened a bit, and then there was a curved, warm surface under him, lifting slowly until his ankle was no longer carrying all of his weight. Remus considered yanking the injured foot free before the monster could do it for him, but before he could follow through, there was the silhouette of large fingers poking and prying at the rock until it really did crumble away.

The cupped thing he was splayed across had to be a hand too, he realized as he breathed through the sharp jabs of pain from his ankle being released. From the way the townspeople described it, he’d expected something less… human-shaped.

Between his ankle and his head rush, it was no surprise that he blacked out a little.

When he managed to wake back up, they’d returned to a tunnel that led outside, going by the fresh air he could feel against his face. It must have taken the creature a lot more time to make the trip while carrying him.

Whatever it wanted him for, he wasn’t sticking around to find out. He cast around for potential futures-- he rolls out of the grip and smacks his head on stone, he lands on his bad ankle and instantly blacks out again, he waits a little longer and is set on the ground outside by--

“You’re a kid?” he blurted, his vision of a distinctly human, distinctly child-shaped face fading away. The hand under him jolted, and the kid made a startled sniffle.

“You’re alive?” he asked in return, his voice deep and big but also rough with… tears? Jeez, had the kid really been that upset about some asshole bounty hunter biting the dust?

The hand curled in a little tighter around him, one fingertip coming to settle on his chest as though to check that he really was breathing. The motion was gentler than he thought possible for a giant, and he realized fairly abruptly that the ‘terrorized’ people in the town below were full of shit.

He’d hunted this kid for a whole night, and all he’d done in return was avoid him and then save his life. Some ‘monster’.

The kid seemed to remember himself, and flattened his hand back out before shuffling forwards more. There was a subtle shaking running through him, and Remus had the feeling that the kid was going to bolt the minute he set him down.

“Anyone else live up here with you?” he asked, flopping back onto the hand casually. He felt that giant gaze drop onto him and continued casually. “I came up here for a bounty but it turned out the townsfolk are dirty liars. I haven’t seen a single monster.”

There was a little surprised inhale from above him.

“In fact, this place is so nice I might camp here for a while,” he added, waving a hand at the forest ahead lazily. “Make sure to send off any other bounty hunters so they don’t waste their time up here.”

“R-Really?” the kid asked, his tone full of doubt and suspicion.

“Yup! I’ve been told I’m an absolutely detestable neighbor, disturber of the peace, totally unrecommended, zero out of ten,” Remus paused. “But I’m great at getting rid of uninvited guests!”

The kid took that last step out of the tunnel, the early light of dawn spilling over both of them. Remus sat up, waving his fingers in greeting as they both took each other in as more than silhouettes.

Apart from the fact that he was giant, the kid looked like... a kid. An long-limbed, underfed, lonely kid. One with distinct cuff-shaped scars around his wrists and ankles.

Remus shoved down his anger, tore his gaze away from the old wounds, and offered the kid a sharp-toothed grin. The kid tilted his head, wary. That was okay. Remus could handle wary.

“So, what do you say?”

“... Neighbors,” he replied, hesitant and hopeful. Remus cheered obnoxiously.

He was going to have fun making those people regret ever putting a bounty on this kid.

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

Short Prompt #52

Warning: descriptions of confined/claustrophobic spaces, near-death experience.

The villain's chest rumbled with a groan as he slowly came to, awaking. Tiredly, he brought his hand up to his throbbing head but stopped midway as his arm banged against something hard above him. He opened his eyes, blinking, trying to adjust his vision as he felt around his surroundings.

...

Why could he not see anything?

...

And why... Why were there walls all around him?

...

Where was he? There was so little space. It was so tight he could barely move around, and-

...

...

...

He was in a coffin.

He was buried alive.

But- But who-

Villain inhaled sharply. Other Supervillain... His boss...

He remembered now. The other supervillain had called him in for a meeting. They were talking for a while, and- and everything was normal until- until...

...

...

'You played your part well Villain, but that's the thing... You did your part.'

...

'I don't need you anymore.'

...

...

The villain banged on the coffin door, punching, kicking with all his strength. He wasn't thinking straight, panic taking over his mind as his breathing turned chaotic. His limbs started to hurt, his body protesting for him to stop, but he refused to. As more and more of his energy became wasted, he clawed at the wood, desperate to get through, and hissed as something cut his hand.

Shaking and pausing his thrashing for a moment, he carefully felt around and found something sharp sticking out from the top of the coffin. It was long and slim in shape, as well as cold and metallic to the touch.

...

A nail.

The coffin had been nailed shut.

...

Villain screamed, adrenaline fueling him as he yelled, begging for help. He called out futilely, pleading, apologizing, making promises, claiming that he would do better, that he would be better. His throat began growing hoarse as he screamed out the names of the few allies he had...

But nobody answered.

Nobody came to save him.

...

...

It was so hot. The air had turned stuffy with the villain's frantic shrieks and struggles, but the tears that streamed from his eyes were worse, making his skin tingle as if it was on fire.

He pawed at the door, fingernails pathetically scraping against the wood as he became too tired to continue his attempts at breaking out. Despair filling his thoughts, soft whimpers and cries gradually slipped past his lips, bouncing off the coffin walls and echoing loudly inside his head.

...

...

...

SHH-HLINK

...

...

...

What... what was that just now? Did- Did he imagine it, or... or was that-

SHH-HLINK

...

SHH-HLINK

...

SHH-HLINK

...

Someone was above him, digging.

...

Villain screamed for help again, ignoring the pain that rose inside his throat. He hit the coffin walls once more, moving like a rabid animal, a shred of leftover adrenaline making him forget his exhaustion. The sound above him seemed to speed up in response, and his breath hitched as hope twinkled in his hectically beating heart.

A THUD sounded right on top of the door, shaking it under the villain's trembling fingers. The shovel scratched at the wood, getting rid of the last bits of dirt, and Villain followed it with his hands, helplessly feeling the small vibrations. He cried relieved tears as the wood creaked loudly, his savior peeling the coffin open. With a snap, moonlight suddenly assaulted his eyes, and he had to squint and blink rapidly to keep them open.

Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him up, and Villain grabbed on with a bruising grip as the stranger got him out of the hole they had dug up to free him. He buried his face in the other's chest, shivering and frantically mumbling, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," over and over again.

"Shh, it's alright, sweetness." - a smooth, male voice comforted, holding him tightly. It sounded so pleasant to the villain's ears. It made him want to just... go limp in the other's hold... and... let him take him away... into the night...

...

He tensed up. Who... Who had saved him?

Slowly, he lifted his head, and as his gaze met with that of his savior, his blood ran cold.

Bright crimson eyes stared back at him, amused by his sudden terror. A small smirk adorned the other's pale lips, showing off one of his fangs.

A vampire.

And not just any vampire either. This... This was...

"Supervillain...?" - Villain's voice was so meek, he barely heard himself speak. His grip tightened in his fright.

A dark chuckle left the master criminal as the villain's heart began to race once more with newfound fear. Without warning, he rose to his feet, taking Villain with him.

Yelping in surprise, the smaller criminal wrapped his arms around the vampire's neck as he was lifted into the air. "W-Wait! What- What a-are you-"

"Relax, sweet thing. I didn't come all the way out here just to kill you." - the supervillain reassured, his features turning softer than the villain had expected.

The smaller criminal whimpered, untrusting. "T-Then why?"

"Other Supervillain betrayed you."

...

Villain averted his gaze, going silent. It wasn't a question or even a suspicion. It was a fact, plain and simple.

...

"I can help you get revenge on him, sweetness~." - Supervillain enticed in a gentle sing-song voice.

...

"W-What do you want in r-return?" - the villain asked quietly, side-eyeing the other nervously.

The vampire smiled. "Join me, and help me with my plans."

Villain tensed up, a shiver crawling down his spine. "Y-You- You don't have any h-humans working for you. Y-You always t-turn them..."

The supervillain's grin widened as he tilted his head playfully. "And~?"

"I- I-" - the smaller criminal stuttered, shaking fearfully in the other's hold. He- He just barely escaped a slow, painful death. He- He didn't want to-

"Aww, don't worry." - Supervillain cooed, furrowing his brows in pretend concern as he held the villain closely, leaning his face towards his. His voice turned low and gravelly, sending a different kind of shudder through the human in his arms. "I'll be sure to make it feel good, my sweet little Villain~."

Villain gulped, his face burning at the other's implication. His gaze jumped from one spot to the next, unsure of how to reply. Eventually, he closed his eyes, and taking an uneven breath, he buried his face in the master criminal's shoulder, silently choosing to agree. He knew struggling would be futile as the supervillain was much stronger than him and would turn him no matter what he said, so he might as well cooperate and make it, at least, somewhat pleasant for himself.

And besides, the vampire did save him from certain death... he owed him now, didn't he?

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of the villain's head and lightly chuckling when he cringed, Supervillain turned on his heel and began to walk off into the shadows.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Villain let the bigger criminal's powers wash over him, lulling him to a calm dreamless sleep.

[proserpina-magnus]

hi! could u write an remus imagine, where y/n and remus have feelings for each other but didn’t confess anything yet but everyone knows it. And like in the story remus sees y/n in the libary struggling getting a book from a higher shelf and yk this kinda stuff:))) i love your works!!

Hi!! this is sorta like a short blurb rather then an imagine, but oh well. I hope you like it though! xoxo

Exchange’s [ R.L ]

[ Warning: female reader/terms, suggestive wording towards sex, first kisses, background Jily ]

Word count: 0.7k

Sirius teased the tall brunette, James and Peter cackling alongside him. Remus had a scarlet flush on his cheeks, embarrassed by their words.

"You're totally smitten over the chick! You're even worse than James!" Sirius called, his laugh never dying as James punched the young man to the shoulder. "Hey! My love for lily is like Romeo to Juliet!" James muttered proudly.

"Didn't they both die?" Peter asked, a confused expression on his face, Sirius couldn't have laughed harder. James went brighter than Remus, his smile fading. "I didn't read the book alright! Bloody hell, I didn't know I was gonna be quizzed,"

Remus chuckled along with his friends, checking his watch. He knew you have just arrived in the library, you always had during this time.

"Alright lads, I must get away from you lot before I get more brain damage," Remus lied, a smirk on his lips as Sirius fumed by the insult.

"Oh, whatever moony! You're going to go see that chick, what does she have that we don't?" Sirius whined, throwing a snitch towards James who caught it between his fingers.

"Uh I don't know, maybe...let's see... she has common sense, that's kind of attractive," Remus teased further, the rest of the boys yelled at him while he made it out into the hall.

Getting to the stairs, Remus could hear Sirius shout a "wanker 'ya 'r! Complete nonsense, haven't even seen the girl naked yet and you're already in love with 'er!"

Remus rolled his eyes at Sirius's comment. He took long strides down the stairs and out the portrait hole, making his way to the library.

It didn't take him long until he was walking inside the silent room, everything louder than it should be in the quiet space. He couldn't see your smaller frame, usually, it wasn't too hard for him to find you considering his taller height.

At last, he heard a faint "fuck you," whispered from your perfect voice, Remus heartbeat quickened in the thought of you being in danger.

He turned the corner behind loads of piled books, some books were high enough they touched the ceiling. There you stood, balancing on your toes as you tried your hardest to reach for a thick red book. Your fingertips brushed the spine, but it wasn't enough to grasp and tug it down.

With a huff escaping your lips, Remus slid behind you. He heard you give a delicate squeak, your head twisting to see who was so close to you.

"Oh, it's just you. I was scared for a second," you breathed out with a glow on your cheeks, to distract yourself you turned back and tapped the big book. "Can you grab this for me?"

"My pleasure," Remus responded, his own face heating as he reached his hand up and grasped the book between his fingers. You sighed happily, turning back around so you can create distance.

"Thank you-" you said while reaching for the book. Remus pulled it back, a smirk on his face. You huffed again, a pout on your lips as you looked up towards him. "Remmy, give it back,"

"I think I deserve a reward," he quipped, rising the book up higher as you tried to jump and get it. You frowned, your arms pressed together over your chest.

"A reward? Like what," you asked puzzled, tapping your foot as you watched the brunette. Remus thought for a moment for dramatic effect, but he had already known what he wanted.

"A kiss will suffice," Remus nodded, watching with a smile as you began to get flustered at his request. He was about to say he was joking, but he stopped short when you grabbed his jacket and pulled him down into a long kiss.

Remus was left shocked, your nimble fingers coming to grab the book as you pulled away from the delicious kiss. "Was that a good reward?" You asked, fluttering your lashes up at him.

Remus felt his heart drum against his body, gulping slightly with sweaty hands. He could only mumble out a crooked "ye-yeah,"

"Good, I'll see you at dinner," you smiled, closing your eyes once again before leaning up and planting a short kiss against his warm lips.

Remus watched as you walked away, his limbs numb as he sees Sirius and James walk through the doors.

"Moony, let's go break into Filch’s office again!" James whispered loudly, motioning for Remus to follow them out the door. Remus followed them out, looking back to see you hunched over the book. He licked his lips, tasting your chapstick. Remus couldn't help but smile.

[mviswidow]

i'm glad you texted me; part two

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Prompt: Hii! Im not sure if you are taking requests but could you write a sequel to Im glad you texted me maybe where R realizes that she has feelings for Wanda and it makes Wanda all happy and giddy 🥺🥺.

part one

You woke up confused after a dream about making out with Wanda that made your head want to explode. You became alarmed when you realized the arm around you was hers, the hand you were holding: also hers, and the leg in between yours also belonged to her.

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, smoothing your hair back, before you did your best to untangle your limbs without waking her up.

Carefully, you made your way to the bathroom and closed the door behind you before sighing, washing your face, and looking at yourself in the mirror. Did you like her? Since when is this a thing? Is this why Nat always teases you about - oh my god, you totally like her. You groaned quietly, putting your head in your hands, your thoughts overwhelming you. All you could do was pray that Wanda wasn’t awake because you were sure as hell that if she was, she’d be able to hear what you were thinking.

You went through your top drawer to find your hairbrush and brush through your hair before brushing your teeth. You put your things away and your eyes flicked over to the other side of the bathroom counter, where she kept her toothbrush. The one she used when she slept over in your room.

Did she like you back? Your heart raced at the idea and you couldn’t believe that you thought thinking about whether or not her lips were soft could be ‘casual’. Wanda was beautiful, like- absolutely, incredibly stunning. There was no doubt about it. You loved everything about her, you just hoped she was feeling the same way you did.

Something about the disappointed look on her face before she noticed you’d opened the door and come back in told you that maybe she did.

Her eyes lit up when she saw you and she smiled without hesitation, holding her hands out for a hug.

You giggled and complied, although your pulse was pounding in your ears. Her chest pressed against yours as you sat in her lap felt different now and you felt a little guilty for thinking about her this way when you hadn’t had a conversation about how you felt about each other.

“I thought you left,” she admitted, fingers twirling the ends of your hair mindlessly.

You shook your head, “How could I do that when we’re supposed to spend the day together?”

She smiled brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little, and ducked her head, “You’re right, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Wands,” you eased yourself off of her and stretched your arms up for a moment. “Go get ready, alright? I’ll make us breakfast after I change. Maybe if you don’t take forever to get ready it won't be cold this time,” you teased.

Wanda snickered while rolling her eyes and walking past you, “Okay, Ms Y/L/N. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You waited until she closed the door on her way out to release a breath you’d been holding and you tugged a change of clothes on, settling on something casual, a simple long sleeved shirt and nice jeans.

You looked around your room and grabbed your phone, shoving it in your back pocket, and looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment before leaving your room and racing down the corridor to Natasha’s room as quietly as you could.

You knocked insistently until she opened the door with a glare, but her lips turned up in a smirk when she saw your flustered expression, and you had a feeling she knew what this was about.

She let you in, closed the door, and made the way to her bed with crossed arms and a raised brow, “Are you here to admit something?”

You groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, “I like Wanda.”

A smile spread on her face and you avoided her gaze, letting your eyes drop to the floor as you leaned against the wall, “Finally. I thought she was going to figure out you liked her before you did.”

Whining dramatically, you said, “God, is it really that obvious?”

Nat scoffed, smile still intact, “Oh, definitely. Everyone on the team knows. You guys stare at each other all day. And during missions you’re all like, ‘I thought you might die! I’m so glad you’re okay, please marry-’”

“Okay, I get it,” you grumbled, sinking down to the floor and hugging your knees.

“Listen, just ask her out,” she sighed, expression softening as she got off the bed to sit across from you. She took your hand in hers and rubbed your knuckles, “You make her really happy, Y/n/n. And I know you love her a lot. You both deserve this. Wanda’s been through a lot and I think she’s too afraid to tell you how she feels. I mean, I know even if you didn’t like her back you wouldn’t push her away, but she’s lost a lot of people. I don’t know how she’d react if she lost you, too.”

You chewed the inside of your bottom lip and nodded, “You’re right. Thank you, Tasha.”

Natasha smiled again before standing, tugging your arm to get you standing, and pulling you into a quick hug, “Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll see you later,” you waved as you opened the door and made your way to the kitchen.

You’d finished making breakfast in a short 10 minutes and set Wanda’s plate of blueberry pancakes in front of her usual seat as you took a bite of what you’d cooked for yourself.

Surprisingly, Wanda finished getting ready quickly and made it into the kitchen shortly after you put water bottles in front of her seat and in front of you.

You smiled, seeing her tuck her hair behind her ears as she walked in wearing a dark blue dress and her usual combat boots, “You look nice.”

You enjoyed observing the way she blushed while she sat down and hummed once she was able to smell the pancakes, “Thank you. You look really good- I mean, you look nice. Also.”

You raised an eyebrow and she cleared her throat, starting to stuff her mouth with the pancake so she didn’t have to talk to you.

“Do you feel any better?” you asked, watching her play with her rings nervously.

Wanda nodded, giving you a grateful smile. “I feel a lot better, my stomach ache is all gone.”

You stayed silent for a few moments, trying to psych yourself up enough to ask her, but she noticed your furrowed brow and pursed lips, “You okay?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Um, okay. Better to just get it all out at once, then?

Wanda dropped her fork as her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened. You watched her mouth open before a hopeful smile broke out on her face, “Are you really?”

“I’m pretty sure, yeah,” you nodded, a nervous chuckle coming out.

“I’m definitely in love with you. Like, I have been for a long time,” she said, looking way less tense and nervous.

“I only just figured it out, but I know that you’re the most important person to me and I don’t think I’ve been caring about you in the normal friend way,” you bit your lip.

Wanda stood up and walked around the counter, pausing when she was a few feet away from you, “Can I kiss you?”

[rawringryu-arts]

I redesigned Stephen's outfit for the Strange(r) Ensembles Art Challenge, mine is eldritch horror inspired! I also wrote a drabble to accompany it, which you can find under the cut. Many thanks to @doitwritenow for her help with my first time writing!

Dormammu was the beginning of the end.

In a dimension beyond comprehension, unbound by human concepts of mortality, Stephen Strange began to shed their skin.

In the moments between their demise and time respooling, they felt an acute jolt of pain that shot through their entire being from the left hand. It began with a grotesque crack of the skin as flesh parted itself, their bones slithering like snakes under their skin as talons began to elongate.

The agony was unbearable, but they did not have time to contemplate the viscous black blood that seeped out from the crevices of the cracks before the words slipped out of their mouth, an almost mantra that kept them company throughout the decades that they’ve endured in this self-made prison of time.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to barg—”

A different kind of agony lit up their entire being as iridescent beams of light eviscerated their body. Time began anew.

It is yet again in the stolen moments in between their torment that they notice their mangled left hand burning with a sweltering heat that rivaled the intensity of the sun. Their talons took on a shade akin to the vast void that surrounded them in the Dark Dimension. The heat spread throughout their arm and with it the darkness that tainted their talons. The words force themselves out of their mouth.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.”

The entity lets them finish the sentence this time before tearing them in two. Time began anew.

Rinse and repeat. The changes to their body develop further in the gaps of time in between, giving them very little opportunity to contemplate it. Neon tentacle imprints appearing upon their skin, always slinking about in a haphazard manner. The Cloak of Levitation’s form warped as well, it shuddered when feathers sprouted between its folds, eventually engulfing it entirely in a burst of flames. A phoenix reborn.

Deep down Stephen knew that they were the reason for the Cloak’s affliction. It was their mystical proximity, the intimate bond between a sorcerer and relic that soared and perished together endlessly. Stephen wept for it in sorrow, they felt the Cloak’s consciousness brush against their mind, a silent comfort and unconditional forgiveness swept through them.

Eventually, the Eye of Agamotto also began to distort. A century or so had passed by then, Dormammu still livid about being entrapped by time, still taking out their anger on Stephen, but their patience was wearing thin and Stephen knew that the end was in sight. Dormammu would soon be amenable to listening to their requests. But for now, they must persevere.

The squirming power from beyond, leaking through the cracks in so many respooled deaths, reached out to the Eye of Agamotto. A different kind of bond had formed between Stephen and this relic— one of spellwork and barter. The Eye cracked. When it shattered, the sensation was more than physical. Shards of bronze and links of shattered chain burned beneath Dormammu's assault, but Stephen felt the immaterial splinters lodge in their sternum. It burned. Stephen ducked their head, eyes squeezing shut. Light still burned in the corner of their eyes. When they respooled again, their skin was washed by green— the light of dozens of Eyes, too other to focus on, forming a circle around their head.

Despite the halo’s position, Stephen could still feel the phantom weight of the Eye in their chest, as if it had burrowed itself into it and nestled in the deepest crevices of their soul. They felt a gentle hum that permeated through their entire being, something as old as time had found a home inside of them.

It took exactly twenty-two more time loops for Dormammu to concede, a coincidental amount that aligned with the number of Eyes that framed their face. Stephen tried not to dwell about it as they uttered the familiar words.

“I’ve come to bargain.”

“What do you want?”

Their demands were swiftly met, and for the first time in centuries, the neon green circlet around their wrist broke apart as time ceased to respool. Everything else that followed was a blur, the cloak levitated their body through the portal and back to earth. Words came out of their mouth as they confronted a surprised Kaecilius, but Stephen could not find it in themself to focus on the situation at hand. They felt unmoored.

The appearance of their otherworldly transformation had left their companions in a momentary daze, it saddened Stephen that their fear was so palpable. Despite the disconcerting feeling of finally being set free of the loop, there was no sense of dysphoria about the transformation they had undergone. However, the solace that they found in this form was clearly not shared with their companions.

Mordo left with a warning and a look of disgust.

------

Time passed on earth without beginning anew. Weeks had gone by, memories of Dormammu and the world beyond death suppressed deep inside of Stephen; nevertheless, the changes to their body and soul remained.

What frightened them the most was how right the metamorphosis had begun to feel. Stephen never found the need to be bound by binaries, but the sheer comfortableness of just existing in this transformed body was an altogether new experience.

It became natural, as if their ink dipped limb had always been that way. The bright coloured tentacles that wrapped around their arm were playful and temperamental; they shifted about and pushed at the boundaries of Stephen’s limb, as if they were trying to escape and explore the rest of Stephen’s body. The Cloak of Levitation seemed to enjoy its new form as well, flapping its wings as it zoomed around the sanctum with an added flair of dramatics.

The halo of Eyes had retreated deep inside of them, yet thoughts of the time loop never failed to manifest the Eyes, the green wash of light provided a sense of comfort as the relic’s consciousness brushed against theirs.

Nevertheless, Stephen’s thirst for knowledge and knowing was a fundamental part of them. Despite being at ease with their metamorphosis and in no hurry for a cure, they needed answers. Thus, Stephen began pouring through the ancient tombs in Kamar-Taj’s library, longing for some sort of explanation.

Their research proved futile as there seemed to be no records of similar occurrences. The fruitless endeavour fed into Stephen’s frustrations and anxieties, almost tangible in the air. Their trusty Cloak wrapped around them in an attempt to console. It was in one such instance that the halo of Eyes made an appearance without prompt, Stephen’s eyes glazed over as a vision overtook them.

They gazed down and saw a tangle of limbs and fluorescent tentacles protruding from the shadow of the Cloak. They could barely comprehend the shape of their body, the blackness that plagued their left arm had spread all over, blending into the darkness of the surrounding. Yet, when they shifted one of their many limbs, the air seemed to shudder in protest. Stephen blinked, they felt more than a dozen eyes flutter, a gasp of shock escaped their lips. However the vision was cut short before they could explore further.

Stephen was brought back to reality, the halo of Eyes dispersed. They stared at their hands, one void-like in colour while the other still a human tone, both still heavily scarred from their past hubris. Stephen’s mind raced, their mentor had once used the Eye of Agamotto to peer through time, it only made sense that the vision was a glimpse into the future, one of many. But that would mean—

Oh.

Oh Stephen, what are you?

[jaeminlore]

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

-

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

-

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

-

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

-

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

-

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

-

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

-

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

-

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

-

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

-

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

-

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

[mosshead-lover]

A to Z with Capt’n Levi

Levi Headcanons

A/n: I was suddenly short of words when I was writing this. Lol. I managed to finish. Lemme know how you like it, okay? * Baby bear face*

A: Attention - Loves getting attention from you, especially when swarmed with work, when you offer to make tea or a back massage, or even take care of his hardness. He loves them all equally.

B: Books - One of the traits Levi admires in you is that you read. He often offers to read to you and asks you to correct him if he mispronounces something. Since he grew up underground and never had access to proper education, he is kind of conscious of his spellings. The grave expression he makes as he starts reading makes him look like an innocent kid that thinks he is on the most critical mission of his lifetime.

C: Chivalry - The Captain is chivalrous, indeed. He often brings you flowers. All white, however. He believes in the purity of love and which other colors can signify it better. Moreover, it's his favorite.

D: Dirty Talk - Levi sucks at it, okay? His blunt honesty doesn’t aid the fact.

You: So, you have been accused of damaging someone’s private property, causing flood after flood. I must take you into custody(eying at the bed).

Him: Oh.

You: (trying to keep up) Will you take a look at the damage you’ve caused?

Him: Sure.

E: Enthuse(what excites him?) - It may sound cliche but, You calling him *Captain* when alone is the biggest turn on for him.

F: Foreplay - Levi likes feeling every inch of your body before he gets on with the actual business. He nibbles and kisses the most random places, making your body ask for more, slowly making his way to the sensitive parts. So, You tell me, who’s the king of foreplay?

G: Gifts- Levi doesn't wait for an occasion to get you something, nor do you. If you come across a vintage teapot or a new cleaning tool, you pick it up immediately. Likewise, if he finds something that you’d use or look good on you, he is bringing it home.

H: Hugs- Levi isn't much of a hugger but offers to when you are super low and need comfort. Levi always rests his chin on your shoulder when he hugs you. Back hugs, on the other hand, are very common to him. Especially after a long day, he wants to come home to your warmth and nothing else.

I: Ideal Date- Levi has enough adventures at work already so, Home dates are a luxury for him and you. You begin with morning tea and a little chat. You cook breakfast together and clean too before hitting the bedroom. Aftercare includes a shower, hair drying, and a little snack followed by his wholesome tea. You might go on a small horse ride or a walk in the evening.

J: Jealousy - Levi doesn’t show envy. If something is bothering him, he will be honest with you about it. But, he is sure to lose it if someone stares at you or makes you feel uncomfortable.

K: Kill - Would he kill for you? Ack. You know it already!

L: Liquor (Do you get drunk together?)-

Occasionally you do. Levi seems to hold his booze quite well. Levi does enjoy watching you get drunk and go berserk. Of course, he is there if things go out of hand. That's why you drink crazy in the first place.

M: Massages - He is on the receiving end, mostly. Since he stays awake late at night working, you often offer him shoulder massages.

N: Nos(Turnoffs) - Not addressing the elephant in the room, untidiness, and cold tea.

O: Ogle - Was he ogling you before you got together? Yes. Does he still do? YES! and you love it when those bluish-grey deep set of eyes check you out like it's the first time. The captain’s eyes speak louder than his mouth, and you're more than okay with it.

P: PDA-Levi isn’t a fan tbh. The most you do is hold hands in public except on the last Valentine's day when you were crossing the bridge. The atmosphere was so irresistible that you had to kiss him.

Q: Quarrel- Like any other couple, you have your differences too. Friction between you two is mostly because of Levi’s poor work-life balance and his OCD. Nothing that can't be taken care of before the day ends.

R: Roleplaying- Housekeeper and the owner any day. Oh, and you switch the roles too. Guess who looks darn cute wearing that white lacy headpiece?

S: Snuggles- Does he get Cozy with you often? Not really. Not that he doesn’t like it, it’s just that he can’t initiate. He never discourages you from snuggling up to him. You spoon most of the winter nights.

T: Tickle - Is he Ticklish? Surprisingly Yes. Humanity’s strongest soldier is also one big ass sensitive baby. A Tickle battle is one of those rare things that gets a peal of laughter out of him.

U: Underrated part- His butt! His sinfully sexy butt. You often kindle him by whacking that piece of art. His reaction is worth a million dollars.

V: Variety - Who brings in variety in the relationship? You, Definitely. You are always trying out new stuff. Thanks to his honest feedback, it’s easier to find something you both like, sooner.

W: Walks- When Levi doesn’t have to jump right back to work after dinner, he asks you to go on walks. They are the best. You get to catch up with each other’s day, and Levi is usually in a good mood post walks.

X: X-mas - Well, Christmas is just a decoy. What is more important is his birthday, which falls on the same day. He doesn't like celebrating or even remembering it. The last time you baked a cake and wished him, he said.

”I see. You're eager to celebrate me getting another year closer to death,”

You stopped bothering him since then. You still decorate the house, bake his favorite cookies, and dress up. His birthday coinciding with Christmas is a blessing in disguise, after all.

Y: Yes - Stuff that might seem annoying but, Levi doesn’t mind- A little goofy-ness, snapping at him, messing up his hair, and mimicking him.

Z: Zzzzz/Sleep - What type of a sleeper is he? Levi doesn't snore but moves a lot in his sleep! Often he wakes up in the middle of the night, settles on a chair for the rest of the night. Despite you assuring that throwing his limbs around in sleep does not bother you.

———————————————————————

Check out my New Year’s Levi list:

Eleven Minutes in Levi Heaven

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Click the bear to checkout my other work:

　　　　ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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[lonleywriters-blog]

uhhh hi, if you really don’t mind- could u do a Gotham matchup for me. (I don’t wanna pressure u if you don’t.)

NAME: Fitz/Enigma

GENDER/SEXUALITY: Genderfluid and Demi-polysexual (he/they/it) but I’m AFAB.

APPERANCE: I’m Native American. On the tanner side. I’m masculine, with short almost k-pop looking hair and it looks like I have a mullet. I’m 5,6, with semi-skinny limbs, and very small wrists. I have prominent scars on my arms and thighs. People say I sorta have a babyface, for sum reason my lips r downward, no piercings, and a bit of acne, and eye bags. 

STYLE: Uh very grunge/military-esce. Always in baggy clothes, and trying to dress aesthetically. Baggy clothes, long studded belts, combat boots, grunge chain necklaces, bomber jackets, occasional fingerless gloves, cargo pants, ripped jeans.

PERSONALITY: I’m an INFP-T, and technically a Libra. Im lawfully evil. I’m very quiet unless it comes to something I really believe in, or when I’m with friends. I have BPD so that messes with my emotions, and I’m very short patience’s/tempered. I prefer to work/get revenge quietly, but some things lead to a loud fight. I’m very awkward and uncomfortable when I have to start interactions, always making my friends do my jobs if I freeze up (order food, ask for help) I have a REALLY BAD resting-bitch-face, and accident creep out a ton of people. I’m too empathetic, and can never let anyone else take the blame, constant NEED of approval. Lots of toxic friendships/relationships because I can’t blame people. Slightly obsessive and possessive (BPD THINGS), easily jealous and take anger out on myself/others. I hate not achieving my impossible expectations. Im VERY sarcastic. Im an adrenaline junkie. Fall in love FAST, and I always attract toxic people. I’m desperate to please people, and overanalyze so I can be accepted. 

LIKES: Writing, reading, drawing, editing, listening to music, humming, dancing, fidgeting, watching YouTube, daydreaming, my friends, MCYTs, Marvel, Riddler/Penguin (hyperfixtations), FNAF, South Park, Pinterest, knives, designing stuff, astrology, criminology, Greek mythology.

DISLIKES: my bullies, society, the government, school, rules, police, hospitals, my impulses, abandonment, crying infront of people, showing weakness, rejection, my extreme jealousy, overall loudness, yelling, confrontation, repetition, showing off my body, people obviously using me, taunting, failing. 

(ANYWAYS, big thanks 🙏 if you do decide to do this <33)

I knew who you fit with so fast

He is also gender fluid and respects your pronouns. He does not mind your scars he finds them unique. Both of your aesthetics fit well. He gets being short tempered and he is also very impatient and is up to your speed. He is understanding and will gladly order for you in public and speak for you if you want. He will constantly give you approval and praise. He loves when you get jealous and he will assure you that you are all he wants. He loves your sarcasm and will laugh at times. He loves dancing with you by the fire. Buys you knifes all the time. You have a collection. He will buy you cds of your favorite artist.

[henqtic]

𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴

paring: draco malfoy x black!fem!reader

word count: 1.0k

summary: neck kisses, he loved them because you did.

masterlist. // taglist form. // request works. // picture creds.

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draco malfoy loved neck kisses ever since he learned how much y/n l/n did, both of you running through the halls, pulling at the others arm if they weren’t catching up— or at least he was, you nearly getting whiplash from it and your bonnet being mere seconds away from falling off of your head before he could pull you into the designated storage closet, lips eagerly connecting to your plump ones.

you smiled into it, hands running through his already tasseled hair illuminated by the bits of moonlight pouring into the short spaced room by the vents.

your head turned at the sound of someone’s footsteps, scared that you’d get caught out of bed with him for the fourth time this week. it didn’t matter much though, each time being by snape and each time draco using his prefect powers to get you both out of it, a harsh look of judgement being ensured. draco wrote it off as jealousy, that snape probably hadn’t been kissed by a girl in the fifty years he was alive— you weren’t even sure if he was that old.

that being said, your shift of attention didn’t stop him, head simply dipping down to search for your sweet spot.

“don’t you think we should stop soon? you know, i can never find the right shade of concealer at the stores and i’d rather not go out looking like something decided to attack me,” you said through shaky breaths, no longer worried about the sounds you heard minutes ago but about how you were going to cover up the marks that you knew were on you.

he quickly drew back, taking a moment to admire the slightly darker spots littered across your neck, his thumb running over them and the fact that he was the one to made them sinking in.

“i could buy you all the makeup in the world,” he smirked, statement not being far from the truth and eyes trailed down to see yours doing the same, rolling and letting out an all too dramatic sigh before responding—

“if you insist draco.”

“i do.”

he loved them even more when he learned how much you loved to be woken up to them. when everything else was quiet in the manor, house elves freed because you argued that cleaning and doing things around your own home couldn’t be as difficult as he made it out to be— even though it was massive.

and although the winter mornings would be so chilling, there was something else you sought after more than warmth and that was the way his lips would instinctively find their way to your neck like a personal alarm clock. whether it be out of tiredness as he drifted back into sleep almost ten seconds after or when he thought it was time for you to finally wake up after admiring your sleeping form for a few minutes, you loved it.

his arms would be wrapped around you from the back, legs intertwined with each other like they had been every night before you went to sleep and his head would be snuggled into your neck, breathing the familiar scent of shea butter that never seemed to fade away.

“well that’s one way to wake someone up,” you joked in an airy tone, enjoying the little nips of affection as you turned your head slightly to find him in a new position, one arm being folded, offering him support to look down at you.

“it’s a way to wake up my wife,” he corrected, both of you bursting into fits of giggles at the new title.

“can you believe it? we’re actually married. y/n malfoy, has a bit of a ring to it doesn’t it?”

he hummed in agreement, reaching down to grab your left hand, diamond ring being in it’s respected place as his pale hands nearly swallowed yours before pinning it above your head, leaning down to kiss your lips once more, just as he had been for hours before, no complaint coming from you.  

draco found that the neck kisses he’d give you was his favorite thing to do when he realized how much happiness the little gesture brought to you through the years. while he was upstairs in bed, you were watching the two five year olds running across the kitchen, hallways, living room before the cycle would repeat. it was no surprise they were chasing each other, they could never get along ever since they were small babies barely being the size of their fathers forearm.

they were a perfect mixture of you two, both having skin tones mere tones lighter than their mother while still somehow donning the curly tufts of bright blond hair that the malfoys were known for. you’d actually bet on it— that there was no way your kids would ever be born with such a light hair color while he argued that his genes were too strong. and you laughed it off, blaming it on his inflated ego but when you lost with the first, you lost with the second, your twins being the best things that had happened to your life.

“hey don’t hit your brother with that!”

“but mum—”

“don’t but mum be cass, now put the play broom away,” you scolded, the little girl letting out a dramatic groan before throwing the kid quidditch broom she had got for her birthday on the couch and starting her chase again.  

you suddenly felt two limbs wrap around your torso, relaxing into his touch as he gently swayed both of you side to side, his head on your shoulder for support. he’d slept in, wanting to spend his day off with his family but you allowed him an extra two hours while you got the kids ready.

“you could’ve woken me up love,” he mumbled, finding his way to your neck once again.

“i don’t think you could go without a good night’s rest for much longer— you actually got nine hours this time without getting up in the middle of the night.”

“you watch me while i sleep?” he asked, turning your body around to face him, his face slightly scrunched into a disgusted look.

“is there any better sight?”

“mmm, no i don’t think so,” he joked, leaning down to pull you into a long kiss.

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