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[eepwtf]

oh my GLOB i just saw this pic in my camera roll(don’t ask) and my brain immediately went to frat!kai parker

WARNINGS; explicit sexual content: contains detailed and graphic descriptions of sexual acts, including edging and overstimulation. jerking each other off(are you even frat bros if you don’t?) exhibitionism & voyeurism: includes references to the potential of being watched or caught during sexual acts. humiliation kink, kai being an asshole, slight power imbalance, ( im a sucker for asshole x dumb puppy dog duo ) accidental homoerotic frat energy: “it’s not gay, bro, it’s just mutual appreciation...of each other’s cocks.”

also, can i just say this started as an innocent brainstorming session about kai parker ! frat bro headcanons, but things got wildly out of hand, and now we’re here. sigh, my brain goes into a rabbit hole that i cannot escape when it comes to him.

wc; 5.5k

kai parker was the kind of guy who made you hate the sound of your own name. not because he said it wrong, no—that’d be too simple. he dragged it out, teased it, wrapped it in just enough contempt to make your chest tighten and your skin crawl. (the bastard knew exactly what he was doing, too, with that smug little smirk of his.) perched on the back of the delta psi beta couch—shoes still on, because of course he didn’t give a shit—he swirled the last inch of beer in his red Solo cup like it was top-shelf whiskey. he had that infuriating cocked-eyebrow thing going on, one leg stretched out like he owned the damn place. (technically, he kind of did—if being the unofficial asshole-in-residence counted for anything.)

the house reeked of stale beer, sweat, axe body spray, and regret. (it was a delta psi beta signature blend—eau de regret.) the floors were a graveyard of crushed cans and abandoned cups, the kind that leaked sticky trails when you tried to clean them up—assuming anyone ever did. over in the corner, some poor pledge was on his knees, scrubbing furiously at a blackish-green stain on the carpet. (it shimmered faintly in the light, like an oil slick, and everyone silently agreed that the less you knew, the better.)

and then there was you. (golden boy. president. the kind of guy who people just…liked.) you didn’t even have to try. your smile was easy, charming—sugar-sweet in a way that made kai’s teeth ache. you were sprawled next to kai, stupid grin plastered across that stupidly pretty face of yours, laughing at some dumb joke one of the other guys had made. your hair was a little messy (like it always was by the middle of a party), your cheeks pink from too many beers, and kai fucking hated it. not you, not really—he wasn’t sure he was even capable of hating you. (hating you would’ve been easier. cleaner.) but he didn’t exactly like you either, and that made him feel some kind of way.

maybe it was the way people clung to your every sugary, half-baked word. (kai talked, and people flinched. you talked, and they fucking laughed.) maybe it was how you could smile at someone and instantly get whatever you fucking wanted. (beer. a blowjob. a goddamn kidney, probably.) hated how your laugh was so genuine it made him feel like a fraud just sitting next to you. (fuck, he hated that he wasn’t immune to it. that sometimes he caught himself watching you and wondering.) or maybe it was the way you always squirmed when he turned his attention on you, when he got close enough to see that flicker of panic in your puppy-dog eyes.

“you good, president puppy?” he drawled, dragging his gaze over to you, slow enough to be a threat. (or a promise—same difference really.) his voice was low and syrupy, just the tiniest bit condescending, like he was addressing a particularly dumb pet. you blinked at him, smile wavering for half a second before you covered it up with a laugh.

“yeah, i’m good, parker,” you said, voice light and easy, even though kai could see the faint pink creeping up your neck. (you always got flustered when he paid attention to you. he loved that.)

kai tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to decide whether you were worth his time. (spoiler: you were. that was the problem.) he shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, his grin sharpening as he watched you try so hard not to squirm. “cool. just making sure, since you look a little…” he let the word hang, raising an eyebrow as his gaze flicked to your flushed face. “...overheated.”

you laughed again, this time nervously, running a hand through your hair. “it’s just hot in here, man.” (it wasn’t. not really. but if that’s the excuse you wanted to cling to, kai wasn’t going to stop you.)

“yeah?” he leaned in, close enough that you could smell the beer on his breath, the faint bite of mint underneath it. “if you pass out or something, i guess i can be the guy who saves your dumb ass. might even give you mouth-to-mouth.” his voice was teasing, but there was something dark and heavy under it, something that made your pulse stutter. (it was the way he said it, like he’d already imagined the scenario—and like it wouldn’t just stop at saving you.)

your laugh came out strangled this time, caught somewhere between discomfort and something else. something you didn’t want to think about. (but kai could see it. the way your pupils dilated, the way your pulse ticked in your throat, the way your eyes darted—just for a second—to his mouth.)

“careful, puppy,” kai murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement. his knee pressed harder against yours, and his grin sharpened, baring teeth. “you’re starting to look like you want me to put you out of your misery.”

it wasn’t hard to persuade you. not really. kai had always been good at that—finding the cracks, prying them open just wide enough to slip his fingers inside. (and you? you weren’t exactly built to resist. puppy-dog eyes, soft around the edges, desperate to please. fuck, you practically came pre-cracked.)

one minute, you were still in the delta psi beta living room, trying to laugh off the weight of kai’s knee pressed against yours, the heat of his breath brushing your ear. the next, you were stumbling down the hallways of your dorm, your head spinning with too many beers and too much him.

(you weren’t even sure how it had happened. you were saying, “nah, i’m good here, man,” in that too-light, too-nervous tone of yours, and, kai had tipped his head, given you that sharp-edged smirk, and said something like, “c’mon, puppy. let’s get out of this shithole.” and you—golden boy, poster child for frat excellence—had followed him like a lovesick idiot. like a dog. like his dog.)

by the time you reached your dorm, the hallway was dead silent. most of your neighbors were passed out cold, their doors closed, or too busy fucking to care about the pair of you fumbling with your keys. (not that kai would’ve cared if they had been watching. in fact, he probably would’ve loved it—eyes on him, knowing he was the one who’d gotten under your skin, the one dragging the president of delta psi around like some kind of trophy.)

“you’re a mess, president puppy,” kai drawled, his voice syrupy and slow, thick with condescension. his hand was on your wrist, his thumb brushing the inside of it, and it felt like he was taking your pulse—measuring every shaky beat. (too fast. too loud. too much.) he plucked the keys from your trembling fingers like you were too dumb to handle them yourself. (and maybe you were. at least, around him.)

“i’m fine,” you muttered, your voice wrecked and unconvincing. your cheeks were burning, your head buzzing, and your whole body felt like it was vibrating. (you weren’t fine. you didn’t even sound close to fine, and kai noticed. of course he noticed. he always noticed.)

the door swung open, and before you could step inside, kai was already crowding into your space. his hand slid from your wrist to your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make your breath catch. (he gripped you like you belonged to him, his to hold, to keep, to fuck with. it scared you how much you wanted it.)

“man, this is sad,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear again. (he wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore, and why would he? you weren’t exactly putting up a fight.) “big man on campus, and you can’t even get your own door open. what would your brothers think?”

“i said i’m fine,” you snapped, but your voice cracked halfway through, and kai laughed. (it wasn’t fair, the way his laugh hit you—sharp and mocking, but hot enough to make your stomach twist.)

“sure you are,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot. his eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate, like he was assessing you. picking you apart. you felt like you were being stripped bare, and he hadn’t even touched you—not really.

“god, you’re pathetic,” he said, almost to himself, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. (but there was something darker underneath it, something hungry. like he was debating what to do with you now that he had you alone. like he was wondering how far he could push you before you cracked completely.)

and then his gaze dipped. lower. lingering.

kai tilted his head, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. “you know,” he said, his voice a low purr, “i’ve heard a lot of rumors about you, puppy.”

you froze, blinking at him. “rumors?”

“mhm,” he said, circling you like a predator, his eyes dragging down your body. (you’d never felt so small before, which was ridiculous, considering you were taller than him. broader. bigger. but none of that mattered with kai. he had this way of making you feel exposed, raw, like a stupid kid being toyed with by someone much smarter.)

“wanna know the most interesting one?” he continued, and before you could respond, his hand was there now, palming you through your jeans, bold and unrelenting.

“people say you’re packing, president,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. (your breath hitched. your pulse was thundering now, hammering in your throat like it was trying to escape.) “biggest dick in the house, right? that’s what they say about you.”

his grin widened, and his hand squeezed—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your knees buckle. “but you know what i think?”

“kai,” you rasped, but it didn’t sound like a protest. not really.

“i think,” he said, leaning in close enough that his lips brushed your jaw, “it doesn’t matter how big it is if you don’t know how to use it.”

and then he was laughing again, sharp and mean, pulling back just enough to see the look on your face—flushed, panicked, and wrecked. (exactly how he liked you.)

kai’s thumb pressed harder, teasingly slow as he tilted his head, studying you with that infuriating smirk. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath, though it was loud enough for you to hear. his blue-grey gaze dragged lower, zeroing in on the bulge straining against the front of your khakis. (it was humiliating—how obvious it was, how needy you looked. and kai? he was eating it up, his smirk twisting wider as his fingers flexed against you.) “i mean, they weren’t kidding, were they?” his hand tightened, fingers curling around the outline of your cock, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. (the noise you made was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and the way kai’s eyes lit up said he fucking loved it.)

“that’s what you’ve been hiding under those stupid khakis all this time?” he said, his tone mocking but tinged with genuine curiosity. his thumb dragged slow and deliberate along the length of you, tracing the thick ridge of your shaft through the fabric. (you could feel the heat of his palm through the layers, the weight of it making your cock twitch helplessly under his hand.)

you swallowed hard, your throat dry, your hands gripping the edges of your desk like they were the only things keeping you upright. “kai,” you choked out, trying to sound firm, but it came out as a broken, desperate plea. (not that it mattered—kai wasn’t listening to the words. he was listening to the way you said them. the shaky breath. the crack in your voice. the way his name sounded like it had been ripped straight from your chest.)

“poor thing,” he said, shaking his head like he pitied you. (he didn’t, though. you could see it in the glint of his eyes—he was enjoying this, taking you apart piece by piece.) “all that equipment, and no one’s ever taught you what to do with it.” he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice dropped lower. “don’t worry, puppy.” he murmured, the nickname dripping with condescension. “i’ll take good care of you. teach you how to use it. maybe even test drive it myself.”

the words sent a shiver down your spine, your knees buckling slightly, and kai noticed. (of course he noticed. kai always noticed. he had a way of zeroing in on every crack in your armor, the way your chest heaved, the way your cock twitched under his hand, already leaking pre-cum and soaking through the fabric.) “you like that, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand still moving against you, slow and deliberate. (the pressure was maddening—just enough to make you ache, not enough to give you relief. he wanted you like this, trembling under his touch, desperate for more.) “bet you’ve been walking around campus thinking you’re hot shit, huh? thinking you’re god’s gift to women—” he paused, his smirk twisting crueler, “—or maybe men. which is it, puppy? you ever let any of those frat bros get on their knees for you?”

your face burned hot, the shame curling in your stomach like a knot. you tried to look away, but kai’s hand shot up, gripping your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. “didn’t think so,” he said, his grip tightening just enough to keep you still. (you couldn’t look away, even if you wanted to. and god, the way his thumb dragged over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly, made your chest tighten.)

“so fucking clueless,” he murmured, almost to himself. “but that’s okay. i like my toys a little clueless.” his thigh pressed between your legs then, pinning you against the desk, and you couldn’t help the way your hips twitched forward, seeking friction. (it was embarrassing—how little control you had, how easily he could reduce you to this. but kai didn’t look disgusted. no, he looked thrilled.)

“bet you’ve got all kinds of stupid fantasies, don’t you, prez?” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. (he didn’t kiss you, though. he could have, but he didn’t. he was holding it just out of reach, teasing you, making you want it.) he gave a sharp laugh when your hips bucked forward again, chasing the friction like a desperate idiot. “good boy,” he said, his voice rough and low, dripping with approval that made your chest tighten. (it shouldn’t have felt good—it shouldn’t have made your cock throb—but it did, and kai fucking knew it.)

“let’s see if you’re worth the hype, huh? let’s see if all that talk about delta psi’s golden boy is true.” his hand slipping down to hook into your waistband. (you held your breath, your pulse hammering in your throat as he dragged your pants down just enough to free your cock, hard and already leaking pathetically.)

kai sucked in a breath, his grin spreading wide as his fingers wrapped around you, stroking slow and deliberate. “well, shit,” he said, his tone sharp and taunting. “guess they weren’t lying after all.” his thumb swiped over the head of your cock, smearing the pre-cum dripping down your shaft, and your knees nearly gave out at the sensation. (you were already a fucking wreck—your skin burning, your breathing ragged, your hips jerking helplessly into his hand like you couldn’t help yourself.)

kai’s hand slid down the length of your cock, his grip tightening just enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips. (it was pathetic—how easily he had you trembling, how greedily your hips jerked forward, chasing the maddening friction. and kai? he fucking thrived on it. the glint in his blue-grey eyes sharpened, turning darker as he savored every choked whimper, every helpless twitch of your cock in his hand.)

"god, you really are dumb," he drawled, his smirk carving deeper into his face. his thumb swiped over the head of your cock, smearing the slick, sticky pre-cum pooling at the tip, making you jolt in his grip. the noise you made—a strangled mix of a gasp and a moan—shot straight to kai’s ego, his fingers tightening around you in response.) “you’re already dripping all over me, and I’ve barely done anything." (he wasn’t wrong—the wetness was obscene, slicking up his palm and leaving a glistening trail along the underside of your shaft as he stroked you slow and deliberate, every movement calculated to keep you teetering on the edge.)

your knees buckled again, your thighs trembling as you gripped the desk tighter, your head falling back with a broken whimper. "kai, please," you rasped, your voice cracking on the word. (it was humiliating—how wrecked you sounded, how easily he’d reduced you to this. but the worst part? he drank in your wrecked state like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen, a predator reveling in his prey’s helplessness.)

"please?" he echoed, his smirk widening, the mockery in his tone cutting like a knife. "what are you begging for, puppy? huh? you want me to let you cum?" his hand slowed, his thumb pressing teasingly into the slit at the tip of your cock, dragging the slick wetness down over your shaft in slow, deliberate circles. “you want me to let you cum?” (the way he said it—mocking and filthy, like it was a joke—made your chest tighten, your cock twitching helplessly in his hand.)

"y-yeah," you stammered, barely able to get the words out between ragged breaths. "please, kai, i—"

"not happening, prez," he cut you off sharply, his fingers tightening around your cock until you gasped, hips jerking forward on instinct. (the pressure was just shy of painful, his grip like a vice that left your thighs shaking, your mind spinning as the line between pleasure and pain blurred into something overwhelming.) "you don’t get to cum until i say so. got it?"

you nodded frantically, your voice lost to the desperate sounds spilling from your throat as your hips bucked forward again, chasing the friction kai kept just out of reach. (it didn’t matter how desperate you were—kai was in control now, and he was taking his sweet fucking time with you.)

"good boy," he murmured, his voice low and rough, laced with approval that made your cock throb harder in his hand. (the praise shouldn’t have felt so good—shouldn’t have made heat pool in your stomach, shouldn’t have sent another pulse of pre-cum leaking from the tip—but it did, and kai fucking knew it.)

his hand started moving again, slow and deliberate, his thumb teasing the sensitive underside of your cock with every stroke. (the pace was maddening—just enough to keep the coil in your stomach tightening, your chest heaving as you clawed at the desk for something, anything to ground yourself.)

but just as you felt yourself start to tip over the edge, just as the tight knot of pressure in your gut began to snap, kai stopped. “ah, ah,” he scolded, his tone dripping with mockery as he pulled his hand away completely, leaving you throbbing and leaking in the open air. (the sudden loss of contact was agony, your cock twitching helplessly, desperate for the friction he’d stolen away. but kai just leaned back, his smirk twisting crueler as he watched you squirm, your wrecked little whines only fueling his amusement.)

"look at you," he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "so fucking desperate, so fucking needy. Is this how you are with everyone? or just me?" (his eyes dragged over you, taking in the way your cock throbbed, the way your chest heaved, the way your hips twitched forward uselessly, searching for relief.)

“kai,” you choked out, your voice wrecked and broken, your hands trembling as you reached for him. but he caught your wrist with a sharp laugh, shoving it back down onto the desk with enough force to make your breath hitch.

“uh-uh,” he said, his tone sharp as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “you don’t get to touch me. you don’t get to touch yourself. you’ll sit here and take what I give you. understand?” (the weight of his words settled over you like a command, your head nodding frantically even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the need burning in your gut almost too much to bear.)

“good boy,” kai murmured again, his voice low and dripping with condescension as his hand returned to your cock, his fingers wrapping around you in a firm, punishing grip. (the pressure sent a fresh wave of slick pre-cum spilling from the tip, your hips jerking forward involuntarily as his pace picked up, rougher this time, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge.)

kai’s grip on your cock tightened, his fingers pressing into the slick, throbbing flesh as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you know,” he drawled, his voice low and mocking, “i should make you beg louder. let everyone outside hear what a desperate little slut the president of the house really is.” (the words dripped from his mouth like poison, slow and deliberate, and the way his breath ghosted over your skin sent a violent shudder racing down your spine. your cock twitched in his hand, leaking shamelessly, and kai? he fucking noticed. of course.)

“god, just imagine it,” he continued, his smirk sharp enough to cut. “one of your precious brothers walking by, hearing those pathetic little noises you keep making.” he gave your cock a slow stroke, his thumb swiping over the head, spreading the slick pre-cum that was pooling there. “you think they’d recognize you? their golden boy prez, standing here with his cock out, dripping all over my hand?” his voice dropped lower, rougher, the words rumbling against your ear in a way that made your chest tighten, heat pooling low in your stomach.

(and he was right. god, he was right. the sharp edge in his voice, the shame curling hot and tight in your chest, the thought of someone walking in—it should have made you recoil, should have made you pull away. but it didn’t. it sent another pulse of heat rushing to your gut, your cock twitching shamelessly in his hand.)

“i—i don’t—” you started to protest, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as kai’s thumb pressed harder against the sensitive slit at the tip of your cock, smearing the slick pre-cum down the length of your shaft. (the sound of it—the wet, filthy noise of his strokes—filled the room, mingling with your shaky breaths and the soft creak of the desk under your trembling thighs. it was obscene, overwhelming, and it only made your knees buckle harder.)

“you’re such a fucking mess,” kai muttered, his grip tightening, his pace picking up just enough to keep you on edge. “standing here, dripping all over my hand like some needy little toy. what do you think your brothers would say if they saw you like this, huh?” his lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice dropping into a filthy, teasing whisper.

“kai, please,” you rasped, your voice trembling, breaking, as you tugged weakly at his grip on your jaw. “someone might—”

“walk in?” kai cut you off, his smirk twisting wider. “yeah, they might.” he slowed his strokes, his hand moving in slow, deliberate circles over your cock, dragging his thumb along the sensitive underside with every pass. (the panic in your chest warred with the heat pooling low in your stomach, the thought of being caught making your thighs tremble. but it wasn’t just panic, was it? the shame, the humiliation, the filthy thrill of it—it had your cock throbbing harder, leaking more, the slick wetness making his strokes even louder, even more obscene.)

“hell, maybe i’ll leave the door open wider,” he mused, tilting his head as if he were actually considering it. “let them get a real good look at their precious prez, all wrecked and dripping for me. you think they’d believe it? that their golden boy is just a dumb little slut when he’s with me?”

the thought made your chest tighten, your cock twitching in his hand despite yourself. (you couldn’t help it—the image of someone walking in, seeing you like this, flushed and trembling, your cock flushed dark and leaking all over kai’s hand—it sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, shame burning bright and hot in your gut.)

“kai, don’t,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper, but he just laughed—a low, cruel sound that made your stomach twist.

“oh, puppy,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as his fingers tightened around your shaft, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. “don’t act like you don’t want it. you’d love it if someone saw you like this. you’d fucking love it, wouldn’t you?”

(and the worst part? he wasn’t wrong. the humiliation, the thrill, the filthy heat of it—it was eating you alive, making your hips jerk forward, your cock throbbing against his palm as he teased you mercilessly.)

kai’s grin split wider as he watched you collapse against the desk, your body trembling and slack. you were so wrecked, so far gone, and yet somehow still holding onto whatever shred of dignity you had left—barely. your cock twitched helplessly in the open air, shiny with slick pre-cum that trailed obscenely down the length, pooling on the desk’s polished surface. “god, prez, look at you,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mockery as his gaze dragged over your wrecked body. “such a pretty mess.” his hand hovered near your face, fingers flexing like he was deciding whether or not to touch you again. (the anticipation made your stomach churn, heat pooling low in your gut as you fought the urge to beg for it.)

you whimpered, barely able to lift your head to meet his eyes, and his grin turned downright feral. “hmm? what’s the matter? cat got your tongue?” he teased, his voice low and mocking. then, slowly, he reached for his belt, his fingers brushing deliberately against the metal buckle before undoing it. the sharp, metallic clink sent a shiver racing down your spine. the sound was too loud in the quiet room, cutting through the heavy, oppressive air like a blade. it felt deliberate, like a show just for you, and your thighs clenched together, trying to hide the way your cock twitched at the thought of what was coming.

kai slid the belt free from the loops of his jeans in one smooth motion, the leather whispering against the fabric as he pulled it taut between his hands. “you think you deserve it?” he asked, his voice low and rough, every word dragging across your skin like sandpaper.

“i—” you swallowed hard, your voice breaking as you tried to speak. your throat was dry, your lips trembling as you forced yourself to look up at him. the weight of his gaze was suffocating. “i’ll do whatever you want, kai. just—please.” the words spilled out, raw and desperate, the humiliation sharp as you heard yourself begging. but you didn’t care. the ache was unbearable, your entire body trembling with the need for him to just touch you again.

“whatever i want?” he echoed, his voice dripping with condescension. he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down with an infuriating slowness. (the metallic rasp of the zipper sent another shiver through you, your breathing hitching as he shoved the fabric down his hips, revealing the outline of his cock straining against his boxer briefs.)

your gaze flicked downward, drawn to him like a magnet, and your breath caught in your throat. (the hard, thick length of him pressed against the fabric was impossible to ignore, the heat pooling in your gut turning molten as your thighs trembled.)

“like what you see?” he asked, his voice sharp with mockery, as if he could read every filthy thought running through your head. he steeped closer, his free hand reached out, fingers curling around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulled you forward. (the heat of his palm was dizzying, his skin rough against your own, and the closeness made it impossible to think—your cock throbbing painfully as you swallowed hard, your lips parting on instinct.)

you nodded frantically, your wide eyes flicking up to meet his, and kai’s laugh was sharp and cruel. “of course you do,” he muttered, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking easy.”

then he kissed you—hard, messy, claiming—his teeth scraped against your bottom lip, his tongue sliding into your mouth without hesitation. (the taste of him was overwhelming, bittersweet and electric, his mouth demanding and unrelenting, and the sharp sting of his teeth made a broken noise escape from your throat.) his fingers tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, and your hips bucked forward instinctively, your cock brushing against the hard length of his.

kai pulled back, your lips still parted and aching for his. strings of saliva clung between you, catching the dim light in obscene little trails as he licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with something dark and satisfied. “getting ahead of yourself, prez?” he teased, then, without waiting for a response, his free hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around both of your cocks in one firm, unforgiving grip.

the sudden pressure made your knees buckle, a wrecked moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it. kai didn’t let up, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had your thighs trembling. (the slick slide of your cock against his sent shockwaves of heat through your body, your breath hitching as you fought the urge to thrust into his hand like some desperate animal.)

“fuck,” kai muttered, his voice rough and low. his eyes were locked on the sight of your cocks sliding together, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace. “look at you. dripping all over me like the needy little slut you are.” the words were cruel, but the heat in his voice, the way his breath hitched as his cock throbbed against yours, sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you.

“kai,” you gasped, your hips jerking forward as your thighs trembled, but he didn’t let up. his strokes were relentless, his pace a steady rhythm that had your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

“bet you’ve never done this with your little frat bros, huh?” kai said, his smirk splitting wider. “jerking each other off after practice? getting off in the showers?” (the filthy imagery burned in your mind, and you couldn’t help the way your cock twitched in his hand, your chest heaving as heat flooded your face.)

“n-no,” you stammered, but the broken, wrecked tone of your voice only seemed to amuse him further.

“liar,” he hissed, his teeth catching the edge of your jaw as his strokes grew faster, rougher. “bet you fucking loved it. all those eyes on you. you’re such a goddamn exhibitionist, prez.”

your knees buckled, the tension in your body overwhelming as every nerve seemed to scream at once. your head dropped forward, your forehead nearly brushing his shoulder, and you gasped out a shaky breath, hips jerking forward in desperate, uncontrollable movements. the pressure in your gut was unbearable now, winding tighter with every stroke of his hand.

kai’s breath was hot against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it in a way that made you shudder. his grip on your cock tightened, his strokes quick and unrelenting, every pass of his hand sending sparks of heat racing through you. he was relentless, calculated, dragging you right to the edge and holding you there, and it felt like your body was on the verge of snapping in half.

“don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. it was close enough that you could feel the vibration of it against your skin. “cum for me, wanna feel it all over my hand.”

the words hit like a spark to dry kindling, and the knot in your stomach unraveled all at once. you came with a wrecked, desperate sound, your thighs shaking as sticky ropes of cum spilled over his hand, dripping down to pool on the floor between you. (the sight of it—messy and obscene—made your chest heave, shame and pleasure tangling together in a way that made your head swim.)

kai didn’t stop. his hand kept moving, relentless and precise, dragging you through the aftershocks with strokes that were both merciless and grounding. his own cock pulsed against yours, the sticky heat of his release smearing over your stomach and the softening length of your cock as he groaned low in your ear.

“fuck,” he hissed, his breath hot against your neck, his voice thick with satisfaction and something darker. his hand stayed wrapped around both of you, slick and filthy, dragging his release over your skin as he pressed his lips to the curve of your shoulder. “look at you,” he muttered, the words rough, almost reverent, as his teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder. the sharp sting sent a jolt through you, grounding you even as your mind swirled, overwhelmed and dazed.

for a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing, the wet, obscene slide of his hand slowing as he loosened his grip. his chest rose and fell against your back, warm and solid as he held you there, pressed close, his body a steadying anchor. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded and glinting with amusement and satisfaction as his lips curled into a lazy smirk.

“messy,” he drawled, his voice low and languid as his fingers swiped through the cum streaking your stomach, smearing it further over your skin in deliberate, slow motions. he lifted his hand, holding it up for both of you to see. the sticky fluid dripped between his fingers, glistening in the dim light as he turned his hand slightly, watching the way it clung to his skin.

his blue-grey eyes flicked back to yours, the amusement there sharpening into something more commanding. “open up, puppy,” he said softly, the edge of authority in his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

your chest heaved, the remnants of your release leaving you spent and pliant, too dazed to resist. slowly, your lips parted, your body obeying on instinct. kai’s fingers slipped into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, the taste of salt and musk filling your senses.

“good boy,” he murmured, his voice soft but cutting, the praise settling over you like a warm weight. his thumb dragged over your bottom lip, smearing a trace of cum there as he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth feeling empty, aching for more.

© 𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐖𝐓𝐅’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐘. 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋.

[theocddiaries]

[Sonic enters the house with Knuckles and Shadow. His eyes are bandaged, and he’s trying to guide himself with a cane. Knuckles helps him sit down] Knuckles: Blind. You know, after all you’ve been through, it’s me who blinds you while playing with streamers with Tails. If you think about it, it’s kind of funny. Sonic: Yeah, if you’d picked up a can of streamers like he did and not the oven cleaner, maybe I'd have been laughing all the way to the doctor… Knuckles: Don't worry, little bro, I’ll be here to make sure nothing else happens to you. Sonic: Knuckles, you blinded me, slammed my hand in the car door, and now you’re stepping on me. Knuckles: Oh, sorry. Sonic: Stop doing things. Besides, you heard the doctor: I just need rest, low light, and those eye drops. Shadow [reading the leaflet]: May cause vomiting, hives, facial paralysis, eyeball bleeding… Knuckles: And they call that medicine? When you’re cured, don’t throw it away; we can use it on the rats. Sonic: Guys, the doctor said I need to relax, and this isn’t helping, okay? I’m already stressed enough about telling Tails. I never even told him his hamster died, I just told him it went to a spa. Knuckles: Don’t worry, that’s what big brother Knuckles is here for. Tails [enters the room]: Sonic, what happened to you???? Knuckles: Well, Tails, remember when we had that streamer war? Tails: Yeah? Knuckles: Well, thanks to your idea, I blinded Sonic. Tails: What?? Knuckles: Oh, and if you’re gonna cry, cry about your hamster too. Because hamster spas aren’t a thing, that thing's dead and buried. [puts an arm around Tails and leads him to another room] Sonic: How could you say that?! Tails! [gets up from the couch and trips on the carpet. Shadow catches him before he falls]: Thanks. Knuckles! Is that how you talk to a kid?! Don’t you have--? He’s gone, isn’t he? Shadow: Yes. But don't mind them. [lets go of him]: Want to come to my place to rest? Rouge and Omega are on a mission, so no one will bother you while you recover. Sonic: I don’t know, I don’t want to be a bother. Besides, I’m fine at home-- [down the hall] Amy: Knuckles! Stop eating my creams! Knuckles: If you don’t want me to eat them, stop buying fruit-flavored ones! Fruit is for eating! Tails: No, don’t pull out the hammer! I’ve been working on this all night! [Sounds of thuds and Knuckles screaming] Sonic: …Yeah, okay. Let’s go.

[dhampling]

oh, mother fem!reader, 3.3k

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau. The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. - It's the mummy fic. cw: lactation, breeding mentions, age regression (?), smut, astarion as a content warning, humping, feeding, afab reader, MUMMY, dadstarion, cockwarming w/c: 3.3k

Astarion looks over his shoulder from the homespun carpet, book limp in hand. 

Like the written word could hold any comparable weight whilst you’re there decalescent and milk-swollen above him.

A whimper at your feet as you nurse. The way he ebbs at the corner of your maternal tableau.

The flit of an incalescent glaze before he nestles into your houseskirt as if a child caught mid-swindle seeking some kind of sanctuary. The way he strokes something so very gentle at your swollen shin, head stirring as he searches for purchase atop an aching thigh. 

Your eyes leisurely as they cut between the infant latched to your heavy breast and the restless chit by your legs on the ground.

“Hm?”

The youngling gurgles in sleepy succour.

Astarion rolls his head forward with a lazy smile, saccharine in holding his tongue between teeth.

“This. All of this. Dreamy, isn’t it?”

His voice is silken against the low crackle of the fire. The shallow suckling breaths at your chest. 

“Mhm.” 

Your fatigue is wholly joyous in its maudlin haze, your agreement a free and light hum. 

The man at your heel, the child he gave you; the wonder as he watches on - her little face scrunching as she swallows, the hint of a cough as you lightly adjust where she lies in the crook of your arm. A small coo.  

There’s a strange look in his eye. Not the reverent fatherly gaze you’d come to expect from your husband in the months since you’d become a mother. Instead he seems fallible. 

Round-eyed, gentle;- 

Lamblike. The restless sheepling. Marvelling and timid. 

“You’re a vision.” 

Your eyes meet and you dare him to hold the stare in his yielding state. 

You’ve become somewhat of a recluse in spending time with your daughter, and she certainly isn’t begrudging of the tangle of hair atop your head, nor the span of your torso kept so soft and warm on which for her to lie. The heavy swell of your breasts, the intermittent spotting where milk bleeds through your tailored house clothes. 

It’s not that you necessarily feel any certain way about your physical attributes at present but you’ve definitely felt cleaner. Been better presented.

Mother.

Astarion’s face is pure butter, muddled and waxen as his brows draw together. Quietly roused in a moment of recondite.

Whatever runs through his head is new.

Lashings of fresh rain hammer the windowpane. The claw of winter, dark streets; seeping stone. The umber flickers of the fire on the wall. Heat licks the side of your face closest.

Glowing.

She groans a gentle burble. Her lips smack together softly as she finishes and you lift her from your chest, tucking your breast back into your slip and bringing her into the crook of your arm. 

There’s a moment where his head tilts as if to speak.

“She’s tired.” You whisper whilst running a finger along her cheek. Small eyes of glimmering ruby, lids lulling open and closed. More quiet gurgling as she fidgets. 

“I’ll take her. Rest, love.’

Astarion stands from crossed legs, twirling around to lean over the little one; over you. Runs his wiggling fingers over her small frame in little taps. 

‘My darling girl! Princess of the Kingdom Sleep.’

Large hands lift her from your chest into his. A gentle rock as he does so. 

‘This simply won’t do, will it? Let’s take you upstairs.”

He taps her nose on ‘you’. She sneezes violently.

You watch them both from the lounger as he steps through the arch and round the corner, up the spiral staircase and padding softly to your shared chamber. Balmy quiet. More rain. 

Your first Lover’s Day as three feels poignant. 

Despite keeping from the sun - and therefore sleeping the actual day away - in the stormy night your home brims sweet with ardour. A bubble of somnolence; a barge at sea. 

A year of calm. Stillness. Establishing yourselves in your respective newfound freedoms and figuring out who you are; both alone and together. A conscious effort and one rewarded just months earlier with her.

“You’re so… soft with her.’

You don’t hear him reenter the room as he comes behind you and closes the door to the den with two chalices in hand, a bottle in the other. He doesn’t miss the brow quirk.

‘Dealcholised. Don’t worry’ 

The top uncorked.

‘I fail to see the fun in it myself, but ‘needs must’ and all that.”

A hint of the player’s tone. You laze back as he returns to his place at your heel, handing you a glass of honey mead. 

“I’m her mother. Of course I’m soft with her.” 

You take a large sip and recline. 

Astarion snakes an arm around your leg, leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to the flushed skin. 

“You. Her mother.’

He takes a large gulp and swills the sweet tincture around his teeth.

‘I still can’t quite believe it. The baby part, that is -’

A shake of his head. A brief grimace, puzzled yet pleased. Wholly adorative and you can see the retrospective of recent memories fly through his head.  

‘You as a mother on the other hand. As if it were meant -’

Kiss.

‘To’

Kiss.

‘Be.”

His lips close on your shin, habitual breath fanning cool over the hot flesh. 

“Mhm?” 

He looks up at you with those big round eyes once more, a reticent smile. Head tilting to you coyly.

“You. You’re a vision. An absolute vision.” 

“You like it?”

“It’s-’

He falters in that moment of recondite from before. Seeks avail. 

‘I watch you care for her and it makes me weak at the knees. Your little love.’ 

The last words whispered in fond awe. His hands wave around his face in a considered manner. 

‘You provide for her, hells. Nurture her. Hold her close to you in this beautiful,  unconditional love; no matter the hour.’  

Your love for him. He wonders if it will stretch to the words on the tip of his tongue, but he’d be a fool not to try.

‘And I-”

“You think you might want it too?” 

He sags. Still round-eyed, but the corners of his mouth noticeably dip.

“Yes. I- I suppose I do.”

You’re not surprised, though you’re impressed that he voices it so plainly. In your mind every instance he’s retreated into you plays in vivid colour. Each time he’s held you close, so innocently; as a child may a parent. Not often. Not boldly. But the want is there. 

Maybe it’s the taste of the mead, despite the lack of alcohol. Fizzy and heady.

But no. You want this. You want to show him you care in the most innate way you’re able; unearthed in the way you care for her. 

Your darling. The Rogue of the Gate. Brittle-boned and weak following years on years of isolation and hurt but here; eyes aflame, wide open at your heel and healing. 

He runs his hand absentmindedly up and down your leg as you ponder.

“What do you want, my love? Tell me.”

Your voice is pure honey as you keen into his touch a little further. Yielding. Relishing the pads of his cool fingers; a salve to your inflamed limbs. 

The whine from earlier. You remember it. The bridled snare of his tense coil, watching you mothering his child and aching for you to cosset him too. The soft mindless touches. The way you feed her from your breast as you do him from your neck. His knee-jerk rutting against your leg.

He sits in sullen silence for a moment.

Then, his eyes meet yours once more. A wary hand slips up to your thigh; deft fingers circling the doughy inner skin. You part your legs at his touch. 

“It’s okay, darling boy.’

You lean forward from your slouch and hold his head in your hands, legs open; back arched as your thighs remain open. Low and soft as you bring your mouth down.

‘It’s okay. What do you need?’

Astarion shivers. Guttural. Frozen in sheer terror. Lust as you cradle his head close to your aching breasts. Real, unfettered lust. Every sprawling emotion, each moment spent searching for someone to see him with comfort in their eyes in those early hours two hundred years ago. 

He sometimes forgets he’s allowed to feel anything remotely desirable when he’s like this. Forgets he’s with you. Forgets he can covet you and still keep you past dawn.

Old habits die hard. 

‘Come back to me now, sweetheart.’ You whisper, tongue ghosting over the outer contour of his ear as he continues his ministrations at the inner skin of your thigh. Tips flushed red.

‘Come to mummy.”

The groan spilling from his lips is inhuman. The hesitant hand diving between your legs turns to an iron grasp in record time.

Pliable. Ass pert on the sofa cushions. 

“Can I?” He whispers, clutching feverishly at the pillowy skin.

“Use your words, Astarion. Come on.” 

His ear is his soft spot. Tender, sensitive; flushed with blood from waking bites. 

“Can I?”

Your eyes are featherlight as they roll into your skull. Burning cheek, thighs strong.

“Please.’ 

His head lifts from the crease of your knee as he braces himself to stand - eyes meeting yours in a sheer devotion that wracks every inch of your scalding frame. 

‘Come to me.”

You shuffle so there’s room for him atop the cushions, and he crawls into the space between you legs as you hold his arms. Your angel. Forlorn with a lack of direction akin to that on his face when you first met. His eyes weary; heavy in their low-lidded gaze.

The parting of your legs once more. The way he inhales.

“Mother. Mother.”

“I’m here, love. My darling. I’m here.”

Astarion queries the break in your thighs once more with a desperate hand. Leans in closer with a small choked sob.

“What do you need, my love? What can I give you?”

Your ability to provide for him. Enough to make him hard each time - the fact you offer it freely in his home, atop his embroidered cushions; the primal need to comfort him with your body. He resonates with it. Yearns for it. Freely given and given free.

“Can I touch you, please?”

Thighs part as bullrushes in wading season. You think about his pale prick, standing alert in his trousers. 

“Come here.”

You expect his hand to resume the agonising crawl up your thigh, but instead it moves to palm at your wetness quicker than you think. His leaky bride. He searches for evidence of your desire and he finds it in abundance through the cloth of your undergarments, and instead of the typical smarmy response you’d come to anticipate-

He simply gasps. 

Mouth heavy with spit. Thick with joy, lust; ripe having seen the proof of your need for him. To take care of his ruined body and learning mind.

Your hands move to your chest as he looms over you, peeling the slip down from your breasts so you can relieve the ache that wracks them. Heavy. Painful in their retention, nipples distended as wholly engorged with milk.

“Fuck.”

“Swearing in front of mummy? Rather unbecoming, no?” 

His eyes roll back into his skull, this time from jovial relief. He’s still in there. No disassociation, no hurt as you sigh, as your hands move to relieve the ache from your teats; rolling your nipples in practised tandem and riding the air with the subsequent high.

He groans once more. Straddles your lap as his hips move to hump the air by your soft belly. Desperate thrusts. Wanting. Needing more and more of your validation.

It’s not until your aching nipples do something most unexpected that you moan alongside him. Longing. Your lover - his face now spattered with your drips. Forehead, cheekbones; the space between his nose and lips; all adrip with the sweetest fluid he’s ever been baptised with. Milk dribbles from each of your teats and flows into the one neat pearl hanging from each. 

Astarion’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment you feel it deep in your abdomen. 

“You want to taste?’

A meek nod. A solemn promise. Those lips of a charlatan. 

“Can I do something first? Please?”

You wonder how many silken lies have spilled from that tongue in some desperate sense of bravado over the years. How the performance has no audience here any longer.

“Tell me. What do you want?”

You struggle against the moan desperate to spill from your lips. You want nothing more than to become clay in his capable hands, and yet you know you must remain as you are. Stoic. Liberal with a chiding tongue should he need it.

“Will you warm me while I do?”

“Are you hard, my love?”

“Please, mother.’

He lifts your wrist from your chest to the apex of his thighs, manoeuvring your palm by the back of your hand so it presses deep on his aching cock. Hard. Pulsing. Searching for somewhere to bury deep inside and be warm in comfort.

‘Mummy. Please.”

His use of ‘mummy’ throws you a million miles off course on a wayward comet of pure desire, hurtling through a new sky in hearing it in his downy timbre. A mere whisper. You see for a brief moment the small elven boy he once was as he seeks comfort in you, ears out at a point, eyes folded something crestfallen.

Your tits ache as you reach down to free your cunt, rolling the linen down your legs in a sweat-laden stupor and throwing the piece aside as Astarion strokes his cock. 

“Fill me, sweet one. Let me look after you.”

Whatever remaining crumbs of resolve he has dissipate at the sound of your voice, rolling to pull you onto his lap and holding you in a hover above his fat head, slit leaking clear as it rests against his shirt.

There’s a moment where you look at him fondly, as an equal.

Then as you sink onto the pointedly hard length of his weeping cock you see the softening of his face and you want nothing more in all the realms than to baby him like he wants of you. To hold him close, soothe his aching need for your body; for your guidance and wit, for your humour and want. For the way you smell warm, like domestic heaven; so much like someone who cares for him as if he were born directly from you.

A part of him was. The part of him now alive and breathing, asleep upstairs in the cot beside your shared bed.

This part of him however now feels it close. Feels the way your spongy walls yield to him. The way you want to please him and be pleased.

You allow yourself one roll of your hips as you shift to accommodate his sharp length, holding a moan in the back of your throat and wriggling so you sit comfortably above him. This isn’t about the fervent dance to reach a peak. It’s for him.

Leaking teats now at eye level, large droplets of milk freed in your shifting. He pulses inside you as he asks with big round eyes. A taste - and who are you to deny your favourite boy?

With a nod from you, his lids flutter shut and his tongue brushes sharp fangs to lick softly at your nipple. The sweet cloud of nectar dissipates on the surface and his whimper rocks you straight to your core, the brief wince as you feel the kick of his cock inside you.

Hungry. The only way you can describe the sound biting at his throat. 

“So good! So good.”

He nods softly at your encouragement, looking to you once more; seeking permission to take a wholly distended nipple into his waiting mouth. 

You arch forward in response. A gentle ‘yes’.

The veiny flesh of your breast forms a lightning-visceral halo of blues and greens around his soft curls as you look down. Wet kitten licks, soft suckling; coaxing the warmth from within as you card a steady hand through his hair.

His hips begin to roll a little. Your other hand moves to anchor him. 

“Ah-ah. Rest now. My beautiful boy. You’re doing so well. You don’t need to move, do you?”

He shakes his head frantically around your nipple. A furious refute.

“Good. Good boy. Do this for you.”

There’s a moment where he loses himself fully in the taste of you. The sheer mass of your newly-fattened nipples, the way they feel as he pushes against; over them with his cool wet tongue. Soft yet aching. Rubbery. Abundant. Listens to the rain hammering the window.

Then a hand reaches out. Grabs at your clothed waist, palm basking in the body heat; lifting your skirt just a little further up your thighs to gain access to the bud of your swollen clit and smooth the hood up and over. Exposed. Curious as to how far he can go.

When he starts to circle the white-hot flesh you know you have to focus.

This isn’t about you. 

And yet he murmurs something under his breath. You aren’t sure if you’ve heard properly at first.

“Want to feel you cum around me.”

Astarion can’t meet your eyes as he says it. All sense of grandiloquence he’s ever shown anyone lost behind flush cheeks. Vulnerability. 

“Say it again.”

“I want to give to you.”

“You want to give to me, or you want me to give it to you?”

He stops. Looks at you with a bewildered furrow.

“I want you to stop touching me and focus on yourself. Use me, sweetheart. Take your pleasure.”

The furrow remains for a moment or two as he stews in blank thought.

“Talk to me. I can do it, I’m so close already.” He laughs shyly with an eager pulse of his cock.

“You want to spill in me again? Make mummy round once more, sweet one?’

A brisk nod. Desperation deep set as he looks you over.

“It’s okay! You’re allowed to want this, to take it.’ You lean in to his ear once more and bite calmly at the tip.

His eyes screw shut and his lips purse together.

‘I want you to do this.”

And he cums. Hard.

Tries to bounce you on his lap in order to gain some friction in the waves of brutal frustration biting at his core, grunting and wailing as he grabs at whatever of you he can. Hips, ass, thighs; terse and hot.

And you simply coo. 

Refusing to let him move you, nor take solace in the friction you so willingly often provide. His abdomen tenses something staccato as he takes what little purchase he can and tries to push into you further.

And then, he begins to weep. 

Your hand moves to his hair once more, bringing him in to your chest as he attempts to hump you through his climax.

“There now. Good boy.”

Tears as he finishes. Cold-heavy sobs. Mouth absentmindedly searching for the soft of your neck in the rolling haze and biting. Gnawing. Looking for the pulse point now permanently marked by two bloody spots. 

He feels the nod you so freely give and sinks his fangs deep past the skin. 

Ruts up with his now softened cock, suckles like a small lamb. The sluice of his spend pooling on his pelvis. 

“Good boy. Take what you need, always. I’ve got you.”

The haze passes with each sip from you, blood puddling under his tongue and down his perfect throat. The frustration melts into sheer joy as he hugs you close in small peals of laughter. 

“Gods. That was -’ 

He pauses for one last sip before tilting his head to look at yours.

‘That was phenomenal, love.’

You take a moment to look him over for any signs of discomfort, anything that might indicate he’s putting on a front for you; and there’s nothing. No veil. His eyes are empty in post-orgasmic bliss and he looks so incredibly beautiful in such joy.

‘I’m wholly spent. I really am.”

You laugh at his breathy shakes.

“Mummy is here whenever the urge should strike, darling. You know this.”

He rolls his eyes and grins. 

“Oh mother. How could I forget?”

[betweenblackberrybranches]

So i wrote a little thing for the RLGL au

Its a prologue of sorts, the first actual meeting between the guys and y/n at work before they become neighbours

Be warned though i am not a writer and typed this out quickly on my phone while i was supposed to work so it is probably not that good (i think i just randomly switch between present tense and past tense so it just be like that)

Warning for suggestive themes. But nothing explicit is mentioned

There you stood, one hand grabbing the handle of the sleek chrome and wooden door. This was not part of your job description. And this was really not something you wanted to do. You were a janotor. Fixing minor electrical things, looking after the plumming, washing all sheets that the cleaners brought into the washing room and fixing and cleaning up the rough stuff. Every day was busy and you had always kept to yourself and the many staff only hallways, away from the rich red and black velvet and the polished wooden floors, raw concret where the eyes of the customers wouldnt see.

You felt safe in your domain, the low humming of the heating filling the basement rooms like the breathing of a sleeping dragon. Or atleast that was what you liked to imagine it as. It made your work seem atleast a little more exciting and kept your mind of the various fluids you had to painstakingly rinse out of the white and burgundy sheets.

You straighten your sleeves, a black turtleneck black slacks and a black baseball cap with fazCOs logo, not really the usual uniform for the people interacting with customers, worlds away from the white button up and vest you should be wearing. But this was an emergency. Well as far as the rich bozo in this room was concearned atleast. So who knows on what level the "mess" was, this could be anything from some spilling to..... well no need to think about worst case szenarios.

Straightening your cap one last time you enter the dimmly lit room. You immidiatly regret every single choice that led you to this specific sight. The hairs on your arms rising in protest as you try to nonchalantly step further into the mess, the customer having left apparently, not even waiting for the emergency roomservice to arrive after calling for it. Red wine and some gunk that looked like it had been food once that had been chewed and spit out again smeared all over the couch and carpet. You call out to make sure the coast is clear, trying very hard to not gag.

As soon as you are sure there is no human in the room you rush to a lifeless form of satin metal and plastic on the ground, swallowing hard as salvia and gall rise up in your throat. You find the second one bundeled up on the bed, lanky arms and legs positioned in a way that sent a shiver down your spine, one of his arms was popped out of the shoulder, only hanging by the many thin cables running under the outer casing.

Shaking hands finding the small power button at the base of the blue ones head you wait, counting five and then ten seconds. This isnt something you should be doing. This is against company policies, and yet you cant just leave them like this for a technician to find after you cleaned up. The soft hum of the reboot sent your hand back as if burned and you kneel down to repeat the action on the yellow one. You knew they had names, pretty obvious ones at that.. sun and moon. You had only seen them from afar until now. Especally because you were not a waiter or maid, someone who would walk past them regularly in the flashy suits and club rooms, no you were someone working in the shadows. A shame that the one time you saw them this closely it felt like you should avert your gaze, because even under the questionable liquids and gunk they still looked stunning. The yellow one started humming under your touch and you hurridly got up, starting the cleaning process and ignoring the two stiring bodies like you were supposed to.

Moon sat up straight, unfurling from his nothing but explicit position, his left arm dragging on the bed. No mind was given to the worker bustleing around the furthest corner as moon leaped forwards and down to the ground, shaking arm immidiatly finding his bright counterpart who was in the process of opening his eyes. Sun looked up and welcomed the soft embrace of moon, foreheads pressed together best they could with their orbish heads, giving themselves just one moment of comfort before dealing with the situation at hand.

You had started to clean the bathroom first, wanting to give the two robots enough time to regain their baring and hide their bodies away if they so wished. A bitter taste on your lips you reenter the main suite with two steaming hot towels and a big box of wet wipes, wordlessly pressing them in the hands of the two, now sitting on the bed encased in a thin sheet. With any interaction between general staff and escorts being prohibited you were pretty much towing the line of doing something that could get you fired, but you felt like this needed to be done.

Moving on you cleaned the carpet, trying to ignore the two bots meticulously wiping down eachother. You sigh. This all felt so wrong. You grab the cleaning rag tight as you rub at the carpet and wish you could do more for the two than gracefully ignoring them and their disheviled apearances, assuming theyd even want any help from a random janitor.

They are still cleaning and fixing up eachother when you put away the last stained pillowcase and wipe down the low table one last time. You swallow dryly. All you can think of doing for them is grabing two small post it notes from your cart and make small origami flowers, one of like three things you know how to fold. Leaving them behind on the stack of clean clothing you plop down on one edge of the bed. It is hard not to sneak one last look at the two, hovering around eachother, deeply concentrated on reapplying eachothers makeup with gentle brushstrokes.

The most beautiful constelation. But you feel like this is not something you are supposed to whitness.

You leave the room, softly dragging the door shut behind you and the cleaning cart with a click, disappearing back into the concrete lined corridors of the staff only areas, back to whatever you were doing before, the two robots in their gentle embrace at the border of your mind.

Cream fingers close around the neon colored paper flowers, to be carefully deposited in an inner jacket pocket and transported home. To be kept safe in a small cardboard box under their bed. To be forgotten but never lost.

[atlasthegreatest]

Breaking the Ice / Dick Grayson x Sibling!Gender Neutral Reader

Which, Dick Grayson attempts to bond with his younger adopted sibling, Y/n.

Word count: 2135

Warnings: None.

A/n: This was requested by an anon. The gender wasn't specified, so, the gender is neutral. Hope you like it!

The Wayne Manor was unusually quiet for a Friday evening. The faint hum of Alfred’s vacuum cleaner reverberated faintly from the east wing, while the ticking of the grandfather clock in the study provided a steady rhythm. Dick Grayson sat cross-legged on the plush carpet in the living room, fiddling with the pieces of a half-completed puzzle. It was a rare night off for everyone. No patrols, no missions. Just family time—or whatever passed for family time in this house.

The door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor. Dick glanced up, offering a lopsided grin when he saw his younger adopted sibling, Y/n.

“Hey, Y/n,” Dick greeted warmly. “Wanna help me out? I’m starting to think this puzzle’s missing pieces.”

Y/n, with their ever-present hoodie, pulled low over their eyes, shrugged. “No thanks,” they muttered, their voice barely above a whisper. Without breaking stride, they made a beeline for the staircase.

Dick sighed, watching them retreat. It wasn’t the first time Y/n had brushed him off, and he doubted it would be the last. They weren’t close—not like siblings should be. And while Dick could accept that relationships took time, Y/n’s wall of indifference was as impenetrable as the Batcave’s security system.

Jason’s voice broke the silence, startling Dick. “You’re wasting your time, Boy Wonder.”

Dick turned to see his younger brother leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Y/n doesn’t exactly do the ‘bonding’ thing. You should know that by now.”

“I know,” Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But they’re family, Jay. I just… I want them to feel like they belong here.”

Jason snorted, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to the couch. “They belong just fine. They talk to me, don’t they? And Cass. That’s two people. More than some of us got when we first showed up.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but they don’t talk to me. Or Bruce. Or Damian. Heck, even Alfred barely gets more than a grunt out of them these days.”

Jason shrugged. “Maybe that’s just how they are. Not everyone’s a people person, Grayson.”

“Or maybe,” Dick countered, “they just don’t feel like they can trust us yet.”

Before Jason could respond, the soft pattern of footsteps drew their attention. Cassandra entered the room, her silent presence more comforting than any words could be. She walked over to Y/n, who had reappeared at the base of the stairs and gave them a small wave.

Y/n’s posture relaxed almost imperceptibly, and they managed a faint smile. “Hey, Cass.”

Dick watched the exchange with a pang of envy. Cassandra didn’t need words to connect with people; her understanding went deeper than that. She placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder and led them toward the couch, where Jason promptly scooted over to make room.

“Great,” Dick said with mock indignation. “Now everyone’s on the couch except me.”

Y/n shot him a fleeting glance before turning back to Cassandra. “You didn’t have to make room for him,” they said dryly.

Jason chuckled. “Told you. They’ve got a sense of humor—just not for you.”

Dick sighed but couldn’t suppress a small grin. “Thanks, Jay. Really helpful.”

———————-

For a while, they sat in companionable silence. Cassandra pulled out a sketchbook and began doodling, while Jason and Y/n exchanged snarky commentary on a cheesy action movie playing on the TV.

Dick watched them from his spot on the floor, feeling like an outsider in his own family. But as the night wore on, he noticed small cracks in Y/n’s icy exterior. The way they leaned ever so slightly toward Cassandra. The way they let Jason tease them without snapping.

Maybe Jason was right. Maybe Y/n didn’t need to bond with everyone in the house to feel like they belonged. But Dick wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

The puzzle piece in his hand snapped into place, and a small sense of accomplishment warmed his chest. Maybe he’d never be the older brother Y/n wanted—but he could still try to be the older brother they needed.

“Hey, Y/n,” he said, holding up the puzzle box. “I bet Jason twenty bucks I could finish this before the movie ends. Wanna help me prove him wrong?”

Y/n hesitated, their eyes flickering to Cassandra for a moment before landing on the puzzle. “Fine,” they said, sliding off the couch and plopping onto the floor beside him. “But if you lose, I’m keeping the twenty.”

Dick laughed, handing them a piece. “Deal.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Y/n settled cross-legged on the floor next to Dick, their hoodie still shadowing their face. They didn’t look at him as they started sorting through the pile of puzzle pieces, but it didn’t matter. Dick knew better than to push too hard.

“Okay,” he said, shifting the puzzle box to face Y/n. “This is where we’re at. Edge pieces are mostly done. It’s this middle section that’s killing me.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, picking up a piece and studying it with laser focus. “You separated the pieces by color, right?”

“Uh…” Dick hesitated, scratching his head. “I was getting to that.”

Y/n huffed, a sound that could almost be mistaken for a laugh if Dick didn’t know better. “No wonder you’re stuck.” They pulled the box closer, dividing the pile into smaller groups with quick, practiced movements.

Jason, still lounging on the couch, smirked at the interaction. “Look at that. You’re actually getting them to help. Miracles do happen.”

Y/n didn’t look up. “You’re just scared we’ll finish before the movie ends, and you’ll have to cough up that twenty.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by the comeback. Then he let out a bark of laughter. “Alright, Y/n. If you win, I’ll throw in another ten just for the sass.”

Cassandra glanced up from her sketchbook, a small, approving smile curving her lips. She didn’t say anything—she rarely did—but her gaze lingered on Dick for a moment, as if to say, Keep going.

Dick took the cue. “Alright, team,” he said, tapping the puzzle. “Let’s do this.”

For a while, they worked in relative silence. Dick occasionally sneaked glances at Y/n, marveling at how quickly they picked out matching pieces. Their focus was intense, almost like watching Bruce when he was in detective mode.

“You’re really good at this,” Dick said casually, not wanting to break the rhythm.

Y/n shrugged. “Used to do puzzles with my mom. She loved this kind of stuff.”

The mention of Y/n’s mother hung in the air like a fragile thread. It wasn’t something they talked about much—or at all. Dick knew better than to pry, but he felt a pang of sadness for the life Y/n had lost before coming to the Manor.

“She must’ve been awesome,” Dick said gently.

Y/n didn’t respond right away, but their hands never stopped moving. “She was.”

The quiet acknowledgment was enough for Dick. He could feel the walls around Y/n shifting, even if only slightly.

By the time the movie credits started rolling, the puzzle was nearly complete. Jason groaned, tossing a pillow in Dick’s direction. “Fine. You win. But I’m blaming Y/n for this betrayal.”

Y/n smirked, holding up the final piece. “I think I’ll take that extra ten now.”

Jason rolled his eyes, digging into his pocket for cash. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t spend it all in one place, kid.”

Y/n pocketed the money with a small but genuine grin—one that caught Dick off guard. It wasn’t much, but it was a rare glimpse of the person behind the hoodie.

“Good teamwork,” Dick said, offering a fist bump.

Y/n hesitated, then bumped their fist against his. “You’re still not getting my twenty,” they said, but their tone was lighter, almost teasing.

Cassandra’s quiet laugh broke the moment, and even Jason cracked a smile.

Dick leaned back, feeling a sense of accomplishment that had nothing to do with finishing the puzzle. It wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t fix everything overnight, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like they were moving in the right direction.

As Y/n stood and started heading toward the stairs, Dick called after them. “Hey, Y/n?”

They paused, glancing back over their shoulder.

“You’re welcome to join us anytime. For puzzles, movies… whatever.”

Y/n didn’t respond, but there was a flicker of something in their eyes—something that looked a lot like hope.

As they disappeared upstairs, Jason flopped back onto the couch with a grin. “You’re like a puppy, you know that? Just wagging your tail until someone pets you.”

Dick chuckled. “Maybe. But you saw that smile, right? Totally worth it.”

Cassandra nodded, her expression soft. “They’ll come around,” she said quietly.

Dick smiled, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah,” he said. “They will.”

Bonus Chapter:

The Manor was steeped in darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the grand windows. The clock struck midnight, and the household was mostly quiet. Jason had already retreated to his room with a pile of books he swore he wasn’t reading, and Cassandra had disappeared somewhere in her usual silent way. Bruce and Damian were still out on patrol, leaving the Manor feeling both vast and strangely empty.

Dick was in the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry for a late-night snack, when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Y/n standing in the doorway, their hoodie pulled up as usual, though the drawstrings were loosened enough to reveal their face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dick asked, pulling out a box of cereal.

Y/n shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Something like that.”

“Join the club,” Dick said, pouring a bowl. “Want some?”

Y/n hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

Dick grabbed another bowl, sliding it across the counter toward them. Y/n moved to the fridge, retrieving the milk without a word. It was a simple routine, but in the quiet of the night, it felt oddly significant.

They sat at the counter in silence, the sound of spoons clinking against ceramic bowls filling the space. Dick stole a glance at Y/n, who seemed lost in thought, their eyes fixed on their cereal.

“You okay?” Dick asked gently.

Y/n shrugged again, a noncommittal gesture that Dick had come to recognize as their default. But then they surprised him. “I don’t… hate it here,” they said quietly, almost as if the words were being dragged out of them.

Dick blinked, caught off guard. “That’s… good to know,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.

Y/n poked at their cereal, avoiding his gaze. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. The family stuff. It’s weird.”

Dick set his spoon down, giving them his full attention. “It’s weird for all of us,” he admitted. “I mean, look at this place. We’re not exactly the Brady Bunch.”

Y/n snorted, a small, genuine sound that made Dick smile.

“But,” he continued, “you don’t have to figure it out all at once. And you don’t have to do it alone. We’re all here, whenever you’re ready.”

Y/n didn’t respond right away, but their posture seemed to relax a little. “Jason says you’re too nice for your own good,” they said after a moment.

Dick laughed. “That sounds about right. He’s probably told you all kinds of embarrassing stories about me, huh?”

“Some,” Y/n said, a faint smirk tugging at their lips.

“Well, remind me to return the favor,” Dick said with a grin. “I’ve got plenty of dirt on him too.”

Y/n’s smirk grew into something closer to a smile, and for the first time, Dick felt like he was seeing them—not the guarded, distant version they showed to everyone else, but the person underneath.

They finished their cereal in companionable silence, and as Y/n rinsed their bowl in the sink, they paused. “Thanks,” they said softly, their back still turned.

Dick tilted his head. “For what?”

Y/n shrugged, their voice barely above a whisper. “For trying.”

Dick’s chest tightened, warmth spreading through him. He wanted to say something profound, something to let them know how much that simple acknowledgment meant to him, but all he managed was a soft, “Anytime.”

As Y/n turned to leave, they hesitated in the doorway. “Goodnight, Dick.”

It was the first time they’d said his name, and it caught him so off guard that he almost didn’t respond. “Goodnight, Y/n,” he said, his voice full of quiet affection.

As the door swung shut behind them, Dick leaned back in his chair, a small, contented smile on his face. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic breakthrough, but in the quiet of the Manor’s kitchen, it felt like the start of something real.

[bcolfanfic]

꒰ 12 ꒱ “try and eat, if you can. it’ll make you feel better.”

꒰ J ꒱ fear

꒰ 𓃗 ꒱ a skeevy motel just off the highway

for wyatt maybe pls

this takes place in young vets side b where wyatt ends up (temporarily) getting into a not-so-great relationship with another boy after he comes back from being missing and things fall apart with micah.

new to young vets au ppl, my ex x helen and wyatt nash #s should be able to fill you in pretty well but the tldr is that wyatt is helen's son that she had with nash before he died/before she was with ev. long post about his whole Going Missing as a Young Adult story here.

---

Everett stood in the doorway of the motel room, the smell of stale carpet and industrial cleaner stinging the back of his throat. Swallowing he looked at Wyatt, who was turned away- standing by the radiator with his arms crossed.

“You can’t make me stay here.” He said, voice low. He kept his back to Everett as he talked, pressing his thumb into his forearm.

Everett took a breath and exhaled slowly. He couldn't wrap his mind around it- how Wyatt had gone from how upset he sounded on the phone asking to be picked up, to whatever this was now.

He couldn't wrap his mind around most of what had been going on with him lately.

“Your plan B here calling the piece of shit that dropped you on the side of the road to come get you?” He said, watching as Wyatt's hands flexed and unflexed.

He didn't turn around, but he didn't go for the door either.

Good enough for now.

“Tellin' your mom we’re both sleeping here,” Everett said as he sat down on the bed and pulled his phone out, thumb moving mechanically across the screen.

We’re at a motel. Tell the kids I’ll be home tomorrow. Wy needs some time.

Wyatt finally turned around then, huffing as he stalked in his direction.

"Don’t act like I made you do that."

Everett felt a pang at the harshness of his tone, but he didn’t flinch.

"I’m not mad," He said quietly, taking a small breath before he kept talking. “You should try to eat though.”

Everett nudged his head towards the untouched fast food bag Wyatt had brought in from the car, somewhat relieved when he didn't argue with that much.

He dropped into the small chair at the table with a resigned slump, his leg bouncing restlessly under him. Everett let him eat for a few minutes before he spoke up again.

“You talk to Micah at all lately?”

Wyatt stiffened. “Why would I do that?”

“Gale said Micah’s been worried about you- about not hearing from you.”

The mention of Gale was enough to make Wyatt pause, but he didn’t acknowledge it directly. He didn't even look up, tearing off another bite of his burger.

"We broke up, nothin' to talk about."

Studying Wyatt without meaning to, Everett felt his chest tighten. He could see the way he was trying to buy his own lie in the tightness in his shoulders and the way he blinked.

Not knowing how he was meant to fix this made his head hurt.

"Wy," He started and stopped, realizing too late that he didn't know where to go from there.

Before he could try again Wyatt pushed the paper bag away from himself and stood up from the table.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He mumbled as he budged his chair in, kicking his shoes off and grabbing his backpack from where he'd dropped it on the floor.

“Leave your bag out here,” Everett said, before he could cross the entire span of the room, voice firmer than he’d intended.

Wyatt froze mid-step, his back still to Everett.

“My clothes are in here," He said, skittish and adjusting the strap on his shoulder aimlessly.

Everett exhaled slowly, hoisting himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Take your clothes out, then. I’m not gonna go through it. Just needs to stay out here.”

When Wyatt turned around his face was twisted in frustration, eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, but his dad beat him to it.

"You think I don’t know what’s in there?”

Everett’s eyes held Wyatt’s for a long moment as his gaze hardened. For a second, it looked like he was considering launching the thing at him, fingers tightening so hard on the nylon that his knuckles paled.

But the aggression never came, and his grip loosened, the bag dropping to the floor with a thud. He brought his hand up to his face and rubbed it, frustration evident as a flush creeped up into his cheek. Embarrassment, Everett figured and felt guilty all of a sudden.

“Go shower, bud,” He said quietly, softening his tone. “I’m not touching your stuff.”

Without another word Wyatt ducked off into the bathroom and slammed the door behind himself, the sound bouncing off of every wall in the motel room.

Everett waited until he heard the water turn on to fish his phone out and call Helen- stopping short when he saw he'd missed a text.

Curt Biddick

Getting Wyatt go okay?

Blakely

At a motel. Think Hel's irked I'm not coming home for the night, but it is what it is. He'd bolt and sleep God knows where if I left.

[theriu]

What advice do you have for someone who wishes to (eventually, as soon as she has both the space and the money) have a cat, but who has never had a pet before?

Oh goodness, I don’t feel like an expert but I will do my best! Here’s a few tips I can think of from my own experiences:

1) Decide how okay you are with shedding. Of my two cats, the long-haired one obviously sheds a lot more noticeably, and it can be a bit aggravating to find clumps of fur all over the carpet. Hard floors can make this less of a nuisance since you can sweep it up easily, but if you have a lot of carpet, I’d suggest a short-hair cat unless you just SUPER LOVE long-hairs. Of course, my cats were both strays so those kinds of considerations didn’t really factor in. 😅

2. Determine if you want a cat that is indoor/outdoor or indoor only. Now, there is a lot of argument against letting cats run free outdoors, but I used to live out on a farm right next to a trailer park full of stray cats, so a few more (all fixed) weren’t going to make much difference to the local wildlife. Once I moved into town, though, I rehomed my one cat I knew would be miserable being indoor-only, and the other two have adapted pretty well to being indoor cats. (They do try and sneak out the door sometimes, though.) I did this mainly because risks like being hit by cars or being mistaken for a stray and adopted by some well-meaning person are much higher in town. They are still risks elsewhere, though, so keep a collar on your cat, and consider getting it microchipped. Also, know that you will probably need to get the cat some extra shots, for diseases they can only get outside. Also also, make sure you spay/neuter! (The kitten issue aside, female cats are so WEIRD when they are in heat!)

For indoor cats, my house has stairs the cats can run up and down and they seem to stay in good shape, but just make sure they have some kind of ability to exercise if they can’t run much. Stimulating things like feeder dishes that make the cat work for its food can help mentally and with keeping them from overeating. (I got this neat feeding bowl that is actually a holder of five cups of varying sizes that get filled with food, and the cats have to paw it out of the cups. It’s really helped with how fast they were eating.)

3. Cats have very different personalities, so I think it’s good to try and figure out what a cat is like before adopting it. I kept all my cats because they were really friendly compared to other cats I had known. Of course, there is the issue where my two current cats don’t always get along, but they at least don’t get into full-on brawls. But if you don’t have any other pets when you get the cat, this should be easier - you only have to get it used to you! Cats don’t always show friendlieness by cuddling; a lot of times, they just want to be in the room with you. But if you’re looking for a cuddler, see if you can find one that isn’t too afraid of people and will come right up for petting. When introducing it to your home, give it plenty of space and time to get used to its new surroundings and roommate.

4. Remembering to feed and water and change the cat litter can be hard, especially if you have ADHD. >.> My solution on the water front has been to fill a large decorative bowl in the living room and the cats just drink off that. XD For the food, Stormy will always remind me when she thinks the food is low (this is generally a false alarm the first couple times, the drama queen). Make sure you clean the litter box frequently, or the cats may find other, less agreeable locations to go. 8/ (Such as, oh I don’t know, INSIDE THE DRYER ON MY CLEAN LAUNDRY) If your cat does pee somewhere, you want to get those pet cleaner sprays because they break down the stinky enzymes that make cat pee smell so bad for so LONG.

5. As mentioned, some cats are cuddlier than others, but here’s a few general tips on cat behavior: a slow blink is how they show they trust you. A cat rolling onto its back is also showing trust that you WON’T touch its vulnerable belly (but some cats do actually learn to love tummy rubs; you kinda have to figure that one out on a cat-by-cat basis). They often like being petted on the area over the hindquarters near the base of the tail, but they also have a lot of nerves there and can get overstimulated, so if a cat goes from letting you pet it to trying to bite your hand, it is probably telling you that petting needs to stop NOW because its nerves are going CRAZY. This can also involve some trial and error; my former cat Clyde still sometimes knee-jerk reacts to being petted, but my sister says he has never done it to her, so we think she just pets less firmly than I do. Meanwhile, Shuri has NEVER reacted poorly to petting, and in fact would love nothing more than for me to spend an hour petting her so hard that she squishes into the mattress.

6. Don’t waste money on fancy cat toys unless you have some indication your cat likes that kind of toy. (This may be different if you raise them with the fancy toys from kittenhood; mine were both strays and are Very Suspicous of anything fancy I get them.) Laser pointers are an INSTANT FAVORITE and only cost a few dollars! And a dangly thing on a string can usually get them excited. Cats will often prefer a plain cardboard box over a fancy catbed, but they like pillows and piles of clothes and chairs and couches and people beds. And sometimes the round puzzle you put together on top of your hope chest, because Borders Are Safe Zones.

7. GET SCRATCHING POSTS OR THEY WILL MAKE THEIR OWN. (They will probably make their own anyway; my couch is regretably covered in claw marks. But the scratching posts at least help slow the deterioration.) Fun Fact: Cats don’t use scratching posts to “sharpen” their claws, but rather to rub off the outer layers on their claws. If you trim your cat’s claws yourself, you may notice how the claws kind of flake off when clipped. Be very careful not to cut into the quick (the blood vessel) when trimming! If your cat strongly opposes this process, the vet can do it for you for a small fee, but I generally just wrap mine up in a towel and make them suffer the indignity. It’s cheaper for me and less stressful for them than a long car trip and a visit to the strange vet’s office would be. (And they always forgive me pretty immediately after I release them. I cannot speak for cats that may hold grudges.)

I’m sure I haven’t covered even a tenth of the useful info, but I hope these are helpful and that you find just the right cat buddy in the future! 😄

[kaccvcate]

Progress shots of our living room. I would call the old color "depression grey." If anyone cares to send $100 I could buy a pane of glass and fix our broken window... ;)

this is what happens when some idiot would rather destroy the wall than simply open the windows and sweat all summer. Unfortunately to fix this I'll need at least an electric drill and a tire iron, maybe a saw if the gentlemen at lowes won't cut the new drywall for me. And a new ac unit obviously, although that can wait, since it's January and pretty cold. All in all this is like $400 in repairs. I have to fix it before I can finish painting the room, but I couldnt stand the horrifying color anymore

what the rest of the kitchen and hall look like. nightmare nightmare nightmare. I didn't take a picture of the trash mound outside but it is quite large again, since some hoarder roommates moved out and left quite a few things. I also tore the carpet from one bedroom, the cleaner that was used on them has been sending my new roommate into anaphylaxis. Luckily there was tile underneath (who the FUCK puts carpet over tile...sick fucking bastards.)

After that, to finish painting this room and patch the holes, it would probably be another $300. And then we'll need new couches because these are unbelievably fucking foul. I'm not gonna name names but once I saw a gentleman in this room spill a whole cup of juice on a cushion, and then instead of trying to clean it, he just flipped it over...insane. You may also notice every light fixture is busted, I expect to spend $60 apiece replacing them, and we need six (hail satan.)

The back tank of the toilet has a crack as well, it's gonna be $280 to get a new toilet and install it (I don't feel qualified to do it myself, given the state of the plumbing in this house. most of the valves are nonfunctional, purely aesthetic pieces, and the dangers of failure are horrifying to me.) A new extractor fan would also be swell, and the faucet is broken, etc etc etc. Any donations are very helpful as always, and thanks for reading

[halothenthehorns]

Chapter 6: Jackson Way Station Departure at 6:15 PM

Will wasn’t surprised at the lack of green hills or pine trees in the distance when the city’s collage of buildings came into sharp stability around them. Their rides clearly knew where to go as they circled low and beat their wings as steady as they could while they all dismounted onto a fire escape, the stairs did feel sort of out of the question at this rate. Annabeth and Percy kept Jason between them while Will balanced Nico on his shoulder and swung himself down with almost the same amount of success. They helped ease him in too without smacking anything too important on the window sill, and no sooner than they were all in Percy’s room that said son of Poseidon collapsed onto his soft carpeted ground and was snoring with a poof of dust in the air.

Jason had already been put half haphazardly on the bed, they’d apologize and figure out how to clean Percy’s bedding later for the mess. Annabeth helped him ease Nico into the chair at the desk, a nice squishy one with a foot pedal meant to help Percy relax doing his homework. At least nobody could say Percy wasn’t a good house guest as Annabth got blankets out of Percy’s closet and tucked one under his head and threw the other on him where he lay. “There’s more in the hall closet,” she promised as she eased the door open, took a weary breath, and called, “Sally?” 

No answer. They weren’t surprised. It was late afternoon at best with the sun beginning to sink towards the skyline once more. Despite their best efforts, they knew she would have heard them coming in the window.

“She might have a class, or could be at the store, or-” she stopped with a jaw wrenching yawn, “or have a meeting with, with her editor…my- my phone’s at Camp-” she kept trying, her eyes shifting around for something as she kept trying to talk through another yawn.

“Get some sleep,” Will encouraged, easily spotting the closet and pulling down more blankets. He pressed the first into her hands and guided her to the couch. She didn’t resist. “I’ll stay awake and explain when she gets home.”

“Nobody’s going to sleep through that,” Annabeth said with a weary, but pleased smile as she sunk down into the soft blue cushions of her home away from home and was asleep the same second.

...

Percy just had time to think that he should clean out under his bed more or Grover would never forgive him for all those plastic bottles when the door opened. The voice, the feeling that had woken him had him sitting up, and spotting his mom before she saw him. Her eyes had landed on the bed, confusion and worry warring together as she saw the stranger startling awake, but Percy was already on his feet, throwing his arms around her in relief before either of them could turn their head and ruining her favorite blue sweater from his sweaty, bloody, muddy hug. Thankfully they had a good dry cleaner who didn’t ask any questions about where the ichor came from.

She held him close and tight. She couldn’t even plead with him to never vanish like that again, but he knew that’s what every part of her wanted to do as she held him tighter and closer.

He only let go when she finally did, brushing absently at her eyes and greeting Nico happily and kindly asking who Jason was while Percy stood without shame smiling at the pair and mouthing promises of food as he slipped off.

Will and Annabeth were already at it, a cartoon of broken eggs in the doorway and the rest being put in cupboards or the fridge at Annabeth’s easy instructions.

Percy made a few halfhearted remarks at the pair leaving the hard stuff for him as he began to clean up the yolk.

“Where’s Paul?” Percy asked hopefully as his mom came in, still halfheartedly fussing at Nico’s jacket and trying to tuck in the frays of strings all over it.

“He’s staying overnight helping with last minute details for that charity drive Goode was hosting,” she reminded.

“Oh crap, I promised I’d help with that,” Percy sighed.

“He knows you wouldn’t have missed it if you had a choice,” she promised, brushing his cheek lovingly one more time before shooing Annabeth and Will to the table with the rest of them. They each had a warm cup of tea, coffee, or coco and a stack of sugar cookies demolished as they sat around and explained as much of this as they could. Percy managed most of the talking and most of the cookies at any rate while the others sat in humbled silence of the great Mrs. Jackson.

“I can’t believe your father would do that to you without good reason,” Sally said at once when he was done. “Whatever's going on, at least you have a chance to prepare yourselves this time,” she concluded, staring curiously at the sack of books next to the recliner.

Percy wasn’t sure what he’d do if his mom asked to see them, he’d always tried to keep the worst of his adventures away from her. She had enough nightmares without his help.

Thankfully, she didn’t ask, but instead passed him another cookie and turned back to the others. Annabeth was on her right, and she kept offering her a refill every sip, love in her eyes watching Annabeth’s hands still tremble. Explaining about Magnus and Alex had been the hardest thing he’d done since waking up.

As the evening dragged farther on, he forced himself to say what he knew nobody wanted to hear, even himself. “We can’t stay mom.” She didn’t look surprised, and he hated that most of all. “It’s too dangerous, all of us staying here too long. We need to get to Camp.” When Thalia turned up there and didn’t find Jason, he’d reap all of those consequences most likely. At least he knew where she’d start looking first, so it wasn’t the greatest reason to leave.

“You’ll come back Christmas Day,” it wasn’t a request as she touched the back of his hand. “I’ve never known you to take your studies so serious you can’t come see me for my honey-ham.”

“Promise,” he grinned, a smile that only looked like home when he was here.

…

She packed them all lunches despite Percy’s protest that it was only a quick flight up to camp with Blackjack still in the area, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Percy finally groaned in embarrassment when he found out she’d kept all of his old lunchboxes and handed them out.

It was hard to walk out that door. Much, much harder than anything else he’d done that week. His mom kept promising she’d tell Paul he said hi and he kept promising he’d see her in just a few days, over and over the two went, neither breaking their silly pattern. Annabeth finally reminded them both she’d risked calling Chiron and promising him they were coming so they couldn’t linger, and with one final hug, the deed was done. Percy walked backwards to the stairs, and his mom didn’t close the door until he was out of sight.

“Let’s finish this,” he said, clutching the bag of books on one shoulder and his blue, seashell patterned lunch box in the other hand with steely resolve. He led the way, taking the stairs as if his mortal enemy and ready to call the pegasi down the moment they got back outside.

“I’ll meet you guys at Camp,” Nico stopped him again, distracted. He was toying with the clasp of his Power Rangers lunchbox and not looking at any of them. “I, want to run a quick errand. I’ll be back.”

Will pulled him aside, to nobody's surprise, not even Nico’s as he smiled at the others retreating while Will opened his mouth.

“I’m not going to Tartarus,” Nico promised at once.

Will sighed in relief, but kept watching him with those now familiar worried blue eyes. Nico didn’t really want to admit what he was doing, just in case it didn’t work out. “Just making a pit stop to the Underworld, it’ll be really boring.”

“I’m very patient,” Will promised. “Really boring is fine with me.” He crossed his arms, jostling the blue-toned, candy littered extravagance of stickers of a lunchbox into his elbow without care. Nico hadn’t told him not to come yet, and he was ready to argue if he did.

“Suit yourself,” Nico smiled, and Will grinned right back.

“You good?” Jason asked in concern when they came back over.

“All good,” Nico lied, nobody but Will could tell. That faint purple light was spluttering in his eyes. “We’ll meet you back at Camp in a few days tops, promise. You can even start without us.” 

He braced himself, clearly half expecting Will to back out and go with them, but Will just slipped his hand back into Nico’s without protesting a word.

“Be careful,” Annabeth whispered, but there was a feverish look in her eyes as she stared at them before turning away to Blackjack. She clearly half expected never to see them again too.

Jason wanted to go, wanted a lot of things, but Nico gave him the kind of promising smile that meant he’d still be there to fulfill his end of the bargain when Jason wanted to go home, so he nodded and wished them good luck.

Percy watched them round the corner, having a pretty good idea what was going on and hoping it worked out as Nico asked Will how his singing was.

“And then there were three,” Jason muttered as he went back up on Guido.

“Careful Jace, or I’ll tattoo that into your forehead,” Percy said, but his laugh was flimsy until he wrapped his arms around Annabeth again.

[cruyffista]

pep/mikel. set in 2018 when mikel was pep's assistant. was kind of inspired to write something after the events of the previous week so asdfghlkj hope this isn't too bad.

It started off as a joke, really.

The party had begun nearing its end; inebriated players and staff members had started saying their goodbyes, taxis were being called and phone calls with congratulatory family members had been taken. Mikel had been getting half-ready to do the same, until a friendly smile from Pep and a warm hand on his shoulder had told stopped him in his tracks. A private conversation, away from the rest of the meandering group was what he wanted.

Down the narrow, twisting corridor they had walked, so close that Pep could brush Mikel's hip with the back of his hand every couple of strides. As usual, Pep was deep into one of his normally all-over-the-place conversations, which had turned into a monologue about halfway through. Mikel didn't mind; he loved hearing Pep talk, his words bouncing from one topic to the other with such speed and grace that Mikel couldn't help but admire.

Sometimes it surprised him how much he still resembled that same fifteen year old boy that had once papered his walls with magazine cut-outs, posters and various ephemera of Pep.

In Pep's office, Pep poured them both two glasses of deep mauve wine, which seemed to sparkle in the low-light of the room. The conversation had gradually circled back to Mikel. His wife, his kids, how they were doing. What he was planning to do after being an assistant coach. Such level of earnest concern paid towards Mikel from a man he admired made him feel decidedly delighted, warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his body.

He was in the middle of reaching for Pep's arm in a gesture of aborted thanks when he dropped his glass of wine on the floor. The crystal wine glass, thankfully, had survived the fall but the red wine it had housed spilled out, soaking the navy-blue carpet with red and splashing on Pep's leather shoes.

"Wow Mikel, you must be even drunker than I thought," laughed Pep. It was rare to see Mikel, normally so straight-laced and in control, so uncoordinated and ungraceful.

Mikel murmured a noise of apology before grabbing wads of tissues from the office desk, trying to clean up as much as he could. The thought of leaving the cleaners to fix up his own mess made him feel embarrassed, never mind that this was Pep's own office that he had thoughtlessly dirtied.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Pep stepped forward, extending his shoes towards Mikel, gesturing towards the fat droplets of wine still remaining on the dark brown leather. His voice was laced with something like mirth, but Mikel took him seriously anyway.

His tissues were soaked with wine, sticky and damp. What followed was a split-second decision, one that Mikel wouldn't have even dreamt of doing if he wasn't currently drunk out of his mind, alcohol thrumming through his veins and sweat pricking at the back of his neck.

He clumsily crawled towards where Pep was standing, on all fours, before bowing his head and sticking out a pink tongue to swipe at one of the beads of wine. It didn't taste that bad—the rich flavour of the red wine drowned out the unpleasant leather texture and powdery taste of dirt and grass that had embedded itself into the shoe over the years.

It should have felt humiliating, but instead Mikel felt oddly pleased with himself, like he was finally expressing something that he had failed to articulate into words with his actions. With how much Pep had done for him over the last years, no—decades, this felt right in a way few things seemed to feel right. Natural.

When Mikel finally got the courage to look up again, Pep's pupils were blown, nearly obliterating his brown irises. At Mikel's questioning gaze, he gave a little nod. Nobody said another word. Experimentally, Mikel licked another stripe, this time on the side of shoe. His fingers came up to cradle at Pep's ankle while his tongue traced over the ridges of the elegant stitching and lapped around the metal eyelets that adorned the shoelaces.

Before he could begin on the other shoe, Pep gripped Mikel's chin and tilted his face upwards so that he could meet his sharp gaze. Mikel's hair was matted with sweat, and his face was flushed a deep red, almost as deep as the wine he had spilled just minutes earlier. His lips were shiny with spit.

Grinning, Pep's other hand went straight to his zipper, while he pushed Mikel's face towards his trousers. The light switch flickered off. It was going to be a long night.

[korpuskat]

hello! ^^

I recently finished your rftw series with michael! the story is so good (/gen) and I’m so excited to see what the last part of cadence has in store! if you don’t mind me asking, are there any hope for it to be released? @-@

Cadence has been a thorn in my side ever since I started writing it. It's painfully close to being done, but I can never coax it into wrapping up. On the chance I never do finish it, here's my WIP (remember this is in context of Cadence's 15K part 1 before anyone comes at me for characterizaton lol):

(NSFW, vaginal sex, somnophilia, choking)

Cold. That’s the first thing you notice. Cold- and droning like white noise. Warmth still clings to your chest, but a chill creeps over-- Your eyes snap open, arms shooting out, searching the dark because <i>fingers</i> touched your side. What you find, of course, is broad shoulders and wobbly latex. Michael. But what you find is also <i>wet.</i>

You recoil first- hands disengaging as he continues what he’s doing: flipping the blankets over, which you must’ve crawled under in your sleep, and pulling harshly at your pants. A seam pops- and you mumble in frustration, undoing the buttons with half-asleep hands. As soon as it’s open, he rips them down your legs. You hiss, the fabric stinging like carpet burn down your thighs. He’s keyed up, too excited from a fresh kill to even care- your underwear is shredded before you can even lift your hips to pull it off. 

Fuck, it’s going to be one of those nights. 

One massive hand keeps you still, holds you hips in place while the other unzips his coveralls with a <i>zzzzt</i>. Electricity sparks in your belly; he’s going to fuck you. The thought of his cock alone makes your thighs press together, the sweet promise of release so tempting after the last two days. His knees press into the mattress, your whole body shifting as it dips under his weight- and he doesn’t even wait for you to get resettled. The hot head of his cock rubs blindly between your legs; you don’t bother concealing your gasp as he brushes your clit. 

In the darkness, it’s only you and him. Time and space fall away, nothing left in existence but his body moving against yours, the raw physical sensation of heat and pressure and each of his exhales echoing in the mask. Your fingers grab at his shoulders, just for an anchor, twist into the coveralls- and it’s wet. You shudder, imagine how he must look, coated head to toe in viscera, tracked blood straight to your suite and- 

You don’t smell iron. 

His clothes are wet, but they are also <i>cold</i>. The mask is just visible with the low moonlight that sneaks in through the curtains- and it’s clean. Cleaner than you remember ever seeing it, almost starkly white. One flop of synthetic hair hangs darkly, solidly, over his latex forehead. You trace your fingers up over the slightly melted edge, over rubbery ears. 

Michael forces himself inside you with one stroke; your cunt <i>burns</i> with the stretch, all limbs closing around him in desperation to keep him still. Tears spring to your eyes once more, teeth scraping open your bitten lip- and all you can do is tell yourself to breathe, to focus on the coming pleasure, because it will, it always does, no matter how cruel Michael chooses to be. 

So your snap your thighs closed around his waist, locking him deep inside while you clench and shiver in pain and shock and the first trembling whispers of <i>good</i> because <i>fuck</i>, he’s so <i>big.</i> Your walls flutter around him, body struggling to stretch to accommodate him. Warmth replaces the cool, radiates out from between your legs and- and something isn’t right. 

Michael should be drawing back, forcing your legs apart and pounding away until the fuel of his bloodlust has burned off, more animal than man- but he’s not. Rain water drips onto your chest, runs off the shape of his false face, the heavy noise of his breathing masked by the soft rumble of rain and thunder. Bent over you, he’s not quite <i>on</i> you like he normally is- no, he’s leaned away, enough for you to stare into the pitch black holes where his eyes should be. There’s no light to see the gray or white beneath, but they must be fixated on you. 

“Michael?” You murmur, too sleepy to mask the concern there. He doesn’t even tip his head. It’s not panic, not yet- if he thought he was in danger he wouldn’t be still like this, if it was some new type of sadism, there’d still be an air of it on him. This is… something new, something you haven’t yet been able to pick up the little signs of. 

Your hands unwind from his soaked coveralls, the joints creaking from the effort. The fabric is rough and even more abrasive still soaked with water, but you stroke his arms as best you can and seek out his face in the darkness. Without any reaction you skate higher, one hand dancing up his chest, just past the drooping collar, to the thin strip of skin visible between the rough cotton and smooth latex. 

“Michael…?” His name hangs on your lips- and he answers with his hips. 

The animal drive has disappeared entirely. It’s a smooth roll, shallow- cautious. Where you had expected force and pain is softness; you gasp, part shock and part pleasure- and Michael must take it as a good sign. He keeps this strange pace and you dig your fingers into the shoulders of his suit, squeezing more rainwater out with each thrust. Your body isn’t sure what to do- so used to producing quick, efficient lubrication, you’re nearly gushing for him now. This sort of kindness from Michael is foreign, saved for when he’s injured or sick or- or particularly cruel. But this <i>isn’t</i> that- it’s new. 

You can’t even begin to understand his motives- why he needs <i>this</i>- but you can still give it to him. When you wrap your arms behind his neck and pull him closer, he only resists for a moment. Closer- closer until you can hear his soft pants from behind the mask, feel the heat of his breath with each puff through the nose holes. 

When he shifts his weight, he slides deeper- stroking so gently along places that have only known his brutal paces. You gasp, pull his hips closer with your legs- and the tilt of his head towards your mouth is not at all lost on you. Without prompting, he expands upon the motion: sliding nearly all the way back out until you’re whimpering, aching for his return- and pushing in so slow, finding his way so deep within you until tears gather at your eyes. 

<i>”Michael,”</i> It’s a prayer, an acknowledgement, a <i>thank you</i>- 

His breath catches; if your hands were not on him you wouldn’t have even felt it. He keeps pace, betrays no other hints of his reaction- fucks you deep and slow, rolls his hips with each thrust, grinds against your clit so sweetly- but you felt it, that sharp little inhale. 

With his head tipped towards you, it’s hardly a stretch to reach the latex. Cool and as clean as you’ve ever known- you kiss blindly in the dark. It’s too smooth to be the lips, slightly puckered with melting- must be his cheek. It isn’t for long, because Michael turns, meets you halfway. The rubber lips taste like rain water, not at all like the cruel mouth that lies just beyond- the taste of blood on his tongue as sweet as vanilla frosting. You kiss him and all the while tension settles between his shoulders, radiates down his arms.

<i>”Michael,”</i> You repeat, this time with <i>purpose,</i> you scrape your nails against the harsh cotton of his coveralls to emphasize it. This time, it’s his hips- a thrust just too harsh to be completely controlled. It’s a spark to kindling; the kind of treatment your body’s been waiting for- and the “Yes!” that follows is not intentional at all. 

And still- in the darkness you <i>feel</i> his resolve, the decision he’s made- whatever game he’s playing. He doesn’t give in, as much as his fingers are threatening to tear the sheets, he slows- keeps his pace even. 

There is one thing, however, you’re sure he can’t resist. Delicately- as much as you can be while being fucked- you wrap one hand around his left wrist. He doesn’t react at all, hardly seems to notice- except with you tug at it, urge it away from its death grip on the sheets. This he tips his head at. “Michael,” You whine, tug again for emphasis. The mask tips the other way, his pace slowing with curiosity. He gives in, shifts his weight to his other arm, lets you move his hand- 

The seams <i>pop</i> to the left of your head, his grasp shearing through them as you guide his three-fingered hand to your throat. The weight of it alone has your pussy tingling, every nerve woken, waiting for him to deliver. You think, perhaps, you might be crazy to taunt him like this, to get this wet at the thought of him choking you. 

It’s not a thought for long.

The muscles in his palm twitch once before he adjusts the grip. His hand rises up, forces you head backwards and <i>squeezes</i>. Not a single moan escapes his grasp, but he must know- because the mask tips again, the empty back eyeholes boring straight into you, watching every reaction. And like that, his interest in being soft has evaporated. 

He fucks you- the same fervor you’d expected after a hunt finally manifesting with each thrust, his cock ricocheting inside you, gives no room for hesitation. It doesn’t matter- darkness is buzzing at the corners of your vision, eyes growing heavy and tired, barely able to keep awake if it weren’t for the force of Michael’s hips. You’re fading, head lolling with each impact- 

Michael’s grip loosens. Air floods your burning lungs- and you’d been so oxygen deprived you didn’t know how close you were. He doesn’t even let you moan; his hand closes around you again before any noise slips out. Your throat vibrates under his palm and you wonder if he knows you’re screaming his name as you tip over. With no air every feeling is amplified, your adrenaline-fried brain bringing every stimulus up and up until it’s unbearable. 

Clamping down on him as hard as you can doesn’t deter him at all; he fucks you without pause even as your mind frays. Heat pulses out from your pussy, radiates down your legs, up into your chest- and you arch your back up, press more of your skin to the cold cloth of his suit. Your nails rip at the sheets, at his back, at anything you can reach- you don’t even realize you’d been digging your knees into his sides until he grabs one and <i>forces</i> your legs apart, all his weight held on your femur. 

[azalea-romanoff]

HAPPY AUTISM AWARENESS DAY!

First: happy autism awareness day to all my mun/mods with autism or who have characters with autism. (in my case, it's both!)

So in honour of Autism Awareness Day and month, I'd like to tell you all about my levels of autism <3

Tics and Fidgets: I'm on the spectrum such that I have a lot of tics and fidgets. Usually it's the repititions which feel nice, and it can often annoy others. I have a tendency to: click my tongue, snap my fingers, flap my hands, rock back and forth, and i make popping sounds. the more subtle tics are pulling my hair, picking my fingernails.

Poor Eye contact: Poor eye contact with me is only with people i don't know or during stressful situations. like if i'm in a meeting with Nick Fury, i'll be fine. but if i'm greeting new agents? hell no. (//ooc: i can talk to my class teacher just fine, but with maybe the delivery man, a cashier, i can't look them in the eyes.).

Abnormal Posture: ...as an agent, this is a huge no-no. the only reason i got the job is because my abnormal posture is literally me just keeping my fists clenched at all times, and keeping my left foot a bit more in front of the other. a tense fighting stance if you will. Convenient!

Anxiety: Shockingly, it's low! I only get anxious in places which are too loud or too far from home. loud places make me really anxious because it means i have too many thoughts in my head and too many things to process at a time. and being deaf, too, with hearing aids, it makes it 100x tougher. Sorry, but Azalea Romanoff-Maximoff isn't the girl you take to a party or a club.

Social Difficulty: I have moderately high social difficulty. as in, i have trouble communicating my thoughts when in big groups, and making friends is a bit...daunting as a task. And sometimes i miss on non-verbal cues like sarcasm, subtle joking, even a few metaphors here and there. So iF YOU NEED A SPECIFIC BIRTHDAY GIFT, TELL ME TO MY FACE. DON'T HINT IT-? I WILL LITERALLY NOT GET YOUR POINT.

Noise Sensitivity: ...have you met me? i am VERY sensitive to noise. Vacuum cleaners, power drills, gunshot sounds (//ooc: movies, especially), someone typing loudly on their laptop, so many of these day-to-day sounds drive me to a meltdown sometimes because it's just so annoying.

Abnormal/Flat Speech: Nope. Most people can tell how i'm feeling by my voice, except in situations where i'm confused on how to react. like if someone says they're pregnant, i'll just say 'oh, nice.' like, are you happy or sad or like-? eH???

Fixations: I have plenty. But my biggest ones? Top Three: Animals, History, Space. iF i get bored, i will literally talk about this for hours, and dare you show even an iota of interest in the same, my friend you're gonna be there a WHILE.

Depression: only on sensory overload days, or on days where i randomly get sad. a result of the anxiety, honestly. i think wayyyyy too many 'what if' scenarios.

Aggression: And finally, I'm not a very aggressive person. Only if i'm very overstimulated, if i'm not being heard, or if i'm just having a bad day in general, i might break a pencil or two. maybe throw a few books down a shelf.

BONUS: soooo i hate the colour yellow or anything that is yellow. like, i haven't ever touched a banana. my favourite colour is red, and my favourite animal is the panda. i hate the feeling of shag carpets and i don't like the feeling of nylon on skin. i don't like the scratchiness of yarn and i don't like the sound of chalk on a chalkboard. i do like the hum of an air conditioner though, and looking outside a window helps calm me down.

SO that's all about my autism! I hope i made you all aware! Reach out to any fellow autistic people you may know, and do find out about their fixations, if they're non-verbal or verbal. accept them for who they are, don't try and fix them.

autism isn't a disease. our minds are just wired differently. if you can figure out how a complex video game works within 24 hours, how hard can a person be?

🤟 love you all!

bellow is my autism spectrum evaluation results (mod's) for people who are close to me, like @moongirlwidow @wandabug @supermilkshakebanana @nevaeh-daughterofvalcarol @capt-carter-mostly-official @esmerxyaugusta and @pietro-maximoff-official <3

[aliwritesfic]

The Wedding Date (Frankie Morales x F!Reader) (part 12)

*taps mic* is this thing on? um, i have literally no excuses. if you're still here, i love you, i cherish you, i dont deserve you. im sorry for the literal year long hiatus.

Previous Next The Beginning

“So this is it,” Frankie grinned shyly at you as he unlocked the door to his house.

“Your humble abode?” You stepped past him into an airy living room. Two dark couches were pushed against the wall, facing a large TV mounted opposite. 

“That’s definitely a word for it,” Frankie closed the door behind you. “Here, gimme your bag.” You had come here straight from the airport, the both of you deciding on the flight back that you didn’t want the weekend to end yet. 

“Sorry it’s a mess,” he said. “I wasn’t really expecting . . .” He burned red, avoiding your gaze. You reassured him you didn’t really give a fuck about the mess; what he considered a mess was cleaner than any other guy’s place you had ever been to. You wondered if that said more about your previous taste in men or men in general. You decided pretty quickly that it wasn’t a you thing.

Frankie gave you a quick tour, the kitchen and the bathroom and his daughter’s room, decorated to the nines in pink and purple, toys strewn across the ground. You took in the photos hung up on the wall in the hallway, recogising the boys in some of them. Others were of a little girl who could only be Laila.

Finally, came his bedroom.

“Is this where the magic happens?” You peered over Frankie’s broad shoulder and into his bedroom as he set your bag down on the carpeted floor.

“Slight of hand, mostly,” he said, “a couple of card tricks.”

You snorted, beelining for his bed. You were exhausted from the trip, and it just looked so damn inviting. You rolled onto your side, tucking your arm under a pillow. “I think you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Hmm? How so?” The bed shifted with Frankie’s weight as he got in beside you. You scooted closer so you were touching.

“I’m in love with this mattress. Like, it’s stupid comfy.” You toyed with the buttons on his shirt as he spoke. “So, unfortunately for you, it’s going to take a lot to get me away from it.”

“You know what?” His lips brushed your collarbone. “I think I’m okay with that.”

You pulled him closer, hooking a leg around his waist. All words were lost as his lips met yours, devouring you with his kiss. 

He groaned into your mouth as he pinned you beneath him, hardness pressing against your abdomen. His callouses scraped down your bare skin as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your pants, slipping down further until he was slick with you.

“Fuck,” you moaned. His lips left yours, trailing kisses down your stomach. 

“Relax, baby,” he murmured. Somehow your pants were off and he was between your legs. 

His tongue, god his fucking tongue. It teased your clit, his fingers curling inside you. Only the top of his curly hair was visible as your thighs squeezed around his head, back arching and hips bucking.

“Not yet,” he pulled away, unbuckling his belt, erection springing free. 

“Fuck me, Frankie,” you pulled him back down against you, skin against skin.

“Say please,” his voice was low in your ear, cock pressing against your entrance. 

“Please, please,” you moved your hips closer to his, desperate in your need for him.

“Good girl.”

Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered. Nothing beyond you and him. 

~

You could barely concentrate on your data. You had been home for only a couple of days, and back at work for only a few hours, and you couldn’t focus. You were like a teenager all over again, with butterflies and blushing whenever you thought about Frankie, giggles bubbling up at random moments. You decided to take an early lunch, heading out to the shark tunnels. 

The aquarium was quiet today - Tuesdays usually were. A nurse shark swam by, lazy in its course along the bottom of the tank.

You hadn’t told anyone yet about how your weekend away had went, dodging the question when Olivia had brought it up over FaceTime the day after you had gotten home (you had ignored her first call the night before, finding yourself preoccupied in a bed that wasn’t yours). You knew she suspected but was either too tactful or too proud to say anything. For now you decided to let her stew, enjoying the small bubble you and Frankie had created for yourselves. Of course, you knew that bubble couldn’t last forever - life always got in the way. But goddamn if you weren’t going to enjoy it while you could.

You opened your phone and took a quick selfie, being sure to capture the apex predators behind you. I’ve had better dates, you captioned it as you sent it to Frankie. You didn’t expect him to respond - his daughter was back and he was preparing to have her stay for a week. 

He had told you a lot about Laila - his face positively lighting up when he described how she had chosen him for her latest art project about their personal heroes. You had seen more photos than you could count, able to pick out pieces of Frankie in her face, even the way she carried herself in some of them.

He had told you less about his ex, Ariel, simply stating that it had been a very messy break-up and left him feeling like he had made too many mistakes ever to be able to redeem himself. They had broken up not long after he had returned from Colombia, when Laila was still an infant. You remembered the conversation, how his voice had been thick with guilt.

“I went to therapy for a while,” Frankie admitted on your last night with him, drawing random shapes on your bare back with his finger. “It helped. I think I’m a better man than I was. I still have a lot to make up for, things I can’t make up for.”

“Why can’t you?” you turned your head to look at him through sleepy eyes. He was silhouetted by the silvery moonlight coming through his open window. Jeff Buckley played from your phone, Frankie’s choice for the album of the night. 

It’s never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder. 

You had immediately added the song to your playlist when you got home.

“Some things can’t be forgiven,” he said. 

You wondered idly what he had meant by that as you wandered slowly back to the labs, detouring past the octopus tanks. You decided you wouldn’t press him about it, knowing that some things had to come out with time alone. If he trusted you, and you hoped he did, he would tell you what he thought you needed to know. Until then, you would have to make do.

The rest of the day passed by slowly; data from the tags you were tracking gave you nothing new, your phone was on silent and at the bottom of your bag, and anyone who you liked to chat with was out in the field that day. 

“Tell me you also had a slow day,” you said, FaceTiming Olivia as soon as you got home. 

“Fuck no,” Olivia said, “my day was fantastic.” You set your phone up so you could see her as you chopped Mr. Baldwin’s dinner. The tortoise in question was dressed in his shark fin, exploring the area around your feet

“Distract me,” you begged. “Oh, is someone a little lovesick?” Olivia teased. You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer - you weren’t one to lie outright to your best friend.

“Just do it.”

You listened as Olivia launched into a lengthy recap of her day, starting from breakfast (a really good acai bowl) to a significant breakthrough at work (something on a level your brain couldn’t understand). “Oh, and the best part?”

“If something can top molecular biology, I must hear it.”

“I’m not pregnant!”

“I didn’t realise that was something we were worrying about!” You cheered along with her. 

She nodded, turning to pure pixels for a moment. “I was a week late, and you know me I’m like a fucking clock. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, relieved mostly.” Olivia sighed, and you dropped a piece of carrot down to Mr. Baldwin. “It just reaffirmed what I already know.”

“No kids?”

“No kids,” she repeated firmly. “But also . . . I have to have a talk with Jeremy.” You bent and picked up the tortoise, carrying him, his bowl of food, and your phone outside to your backyard. “The relationship talk. I wanna be with him, but we need to know if we’re on the same page with everything.”

You nodded, half listening as your thoughts drifted to Frankie. You wanted it with him, everything you could have you wanted it. You weren’t afraid with him, weren’t worried that it was only going to be a matter of time before shit went south and you were left with a broken heart and an STD. From the moment you had met him, even though you had been too fucking blind to see it, he had been the one for you.

You would tell him that, you decided, when you saw him again. It wouldn’t be for another week, but you were feeling brave and reckless and you knew it could be a huge mistake and that maybe he didn’t feel the same. But. But.

But he might feel the same. You were almost entirely certain he did, and that it would be less like taking a chance and more like speeding up the inevitable. 

“Are you listening to me?” Olivia’s voice cut your thoughts.

“No,” you said. “Sorry, were you saying anything important?”

“Not really,” she said, “I was just thinking we should get hammered this weekend. Maybe down at the Ivy?”

“The Ivy is for annoying twenty-one year olds now, how about you just come over and we drink til our faces are numb?” 

“So long as we watch X Factor auditions and Come Dine With Me.”

“I think you’re my soul mate, Liv.”

She laughed. “I know you’re mine.”

~

You only heard from Frankie once that week, a simple message that made your heart flutter. 

I miss you more every day.

You kept yourself busy, applying for a Winghead expedition in Northern Australia next year. Hammerheads and their subspecies were among some of your favourites, and the expedition had been one you applied to every single year without fail. You hadn’t gotten it yet, but you were feeling lucky.

That was until Friday.

Your phone pinged with a message as you lazed on your couch, your heart sinking as you read it.

I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think this is right. Please don’t contact me, I’m trying to make it work with Ariel.

“Oh.” You set your phone down on your coffee table, holding back the bile that had risen. Of course, of course this would happen. You should have expected it - at some point you had been stupid and stopped expecting it. 

You read the message once, twice, three times over. 

You decided to go to bed, to sleep and wake up and hopefully find that the message was gone, that you were still hopeful and stupid and lucky.

@laichka @paintlavillered @idreamofboobear @pjkimrn @gracie7209 @sunnshineeexoxo @lorosette @fangirl-316 @dihra-vesa @astoryisaloveaffair @theanothersherlockian @pedritobalmando @blub-senpai @maievdenoir @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bobbydearest @icanbeyourjedi @goldielocks2004 @1800-fight-me @littledragonlady @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @ficsbynight @hotchlover @dobbyjen @athalien @vanered15

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

💚anon

[Dietary Overhaul] Book 5 Chapter 22

[Ramshackle Dorm, Foyer]

Yuusei: Welcome to our humble abode...I'm very sorry about– *Insert Hooty noise* –him.

Vil: My. It's certainly cleaner than I was expecting.

Onyx, passing by: Rayn and Naomi-sensei forced us to clean— *gets bonked on the head by Rayn*

Epel: ...Hello..

Kalim: Wow, the ceilings are so low in here. I'd hit my head if I tried to ride my magic carpet around.

Jamil and Reyna, both sigh: Maybe don't fly indoors at all/You're not supposed to be flying the carpet indoors at all.

Jamil: Yuu, would you mind letting me share Kalim's room or take a room adjacent to his? This dorm is less secure than Scarabia, since you don't have to pass through a mirror to get here.

Kalim: You're so paranoid, Jamil. We haven't had a single assassination attempt on campus since I enrolled here.

Jamil: It's not you I'm worried about; it's me and Reyna, if anything happens to you.

*Braincell duo walk in*

Ace: Hey guys!

Deuce: Thanks for having us, Yuu. Here, these are from Trey.

Ace: It's a homemade chocolate cake and some apple pie, courtesy of Trey.

Rayn: ...Ah...I'll have to thank him.

Vil, looks at the treats: And those shall be confiscated.