#nasal cushions
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Also I have managed to sunburn one arm and both knees 👍🏻
#i hope they peel at least. it won’t be worth it if they don’t peel#i didn’t do this on purpose i just couldn’t find my sunscreen and thought ‘well i won’t be out there that long and how strong can the sun#really be at 4pm’ (<- idiot)#i’m fine. it doesn’t hurt. it’s just REALLY red and looks stupid#and THEN i found my sunscreen way in the back of the shower shelf fuck my life#need to put a kit together for tomorrow so that i don’t get burnt again and also don’t have to keep running in and out the house for shit#sunscreen; sunglasses; kindle; correct attire (i got changed THREE times because i was overheating in my leggings and then my dungarees kept#giving me wedgies); water bottle w/ ice cubes (i’m not using my insulating bottle because it has a straw and i don’t trust any of these bugs#not to kamikaze down it just to die in my drink); breadsticks bc they don’t melt; camping chair; cushions; step stool (i am not dragging#an ottoman out there)#oh and tissues and nasal spray because we already know my allergies are going to go absolutely ballistic#and my earbuds because at the first sign of a nice day my neighbours immediately start acting like it’s the last days of rome#i woke up the other day to an absolute cacophony. tell me why one of my neighbours pulled up to his house with a tractor and THREE terriers#i live in the suburbs mind you. these dogs weren’t even barking in sync. i was so disorientated#this is without mentioning the guy earlier who seemingly was strimming for THREE HOURS#i don’t know what type of weeds you have but it’s never that serious#thank you to whoever posted the library ambiance playlist on spotify because i don’t know how i would ever read words otherwise#at least those shitty kids seem to have gone#they never seemed to go to school or anything they were just in the back garden from 8am to 6pm daily making ambulance noises#maybe the landlord evicted them for this. god knows#anyway if you need me i’m going to try to fix my sleeping pattern#personal
0 notes
Text
On the subject of being your own zookeeper, I've been trying it out and it WORKS. One of the obvious ways is to ask 'Have I watered/fed/medicated the beast?' and take care of those needs, and it's great, but another thing I haven't seen mentioned is the Stressors.
So, being a bio grad student, means I also know actual zoologists and zookeepers. And talking with one blew my third eye open. One of the questions the zookeeper always, ALWAYS needs to keep an eye on is 'What is stressing the beast out, and how can I remove it?'
In human terms, it's basically 'This thing is causing me a minor amount of stress, but stress is cumulative, so how many small stressors can I remove so the Big Stress doesn't drain so much of my energy?'
Say you're stressing about an exam/interview/visitors. There's ways to prepare for that, but before you get to that point you also need to look out for small stressors that add to the overall feeling of stress, and the goal is to reduce them FIRST.
Example: You have a big test and it's the day you need to take it. You are already baseline anxious about taking it, and the goal here is to stress as little as possible on the way to school.
You can't eat breakfast because you're late/nauseous? Keep small energy bars in your purse, snack on the way. Gives you a bit of sugar for your brain, doesn't take up time and always on hand. Haven't had time for coffee? Caffeine pills/espresso chocolates. It's cold/raining? Ditch your sneakers and wear rain boots and a warm coat, worry about fashion later. I even carry around a foldable cushion so I can sit while I wait for the bus without freeting my butt off. Haven't had time to brush your teeth? Gum, mints, breath fresheners. Nervous? Fidget toys. Worried about losing an umbrella? Get one of those plastic sleeves so you can put it in your purse even if it's wet. Too damn hot? Mini fan, or even a folding paper fan. Noise level grating on your nerves? Silicone earplugs, or noise-cancelling earbuds/headphones. (I have a big purse I carry all this stuff in so I don't forget, a blessing with ADHD)
Things like that. Small things to mitigate the microstressors so you arrive to your destinations with as little misery as possible.
Apply that to the rest of your life. You have to eat vegetables for your health but you hate them so damn much? Find a way to prepare them in a way that doesn't make you gag. I just throw a bag of frozen pre-chopped veggies in the pan and then throw in spices I like. If I can taste the vegetables in my veggie stir-fry, I haven't seasoned them enough.
Make little medicine bag, the size of your palm. I carry nasal degongestant spray, ibuprofen, eye drops, mini bug spray, a pad and a tampon, a few alcohol wipes and hand cream. Those tiny tester tubes of hand cream? A godsend. Adjust to your needs.
I hate washing dishes. Back hurts and my skin literally peels off my hands from the dryness. Get a bar stool and sit, wear WELL FITTED dish gloves. I got those that go all the way up my elbows in S size and now my kitchen doesn't look like a disaster.
Vacuuming is a pain? Handheld vacuum cleaner you can push around for 15 minutes every day. Expensive? Get a broom and a good dustpan. I emphasize GOOD because it does make a difference. Back hurts if you bend over? Get the dustpan with a long handle.
It's amazing how much difference it makes. Neutralize Murphy's law. A bunch of small stuff going wrong will absolutely tank your energy you need for the big stuff.
TL;DR Identify the things that cause you daily stress, find easy ways to neutralize them. Save your energy for the big stuff. There is nothing noble in suffering. Take care of your zoo animal.
And if you need it, ask for help. Zookeepers often work in pairs.
502 notes
·
View notes
Text
feline delight (18+)
albert finds you on the streets. too cute to pass up, he takes you home against your will.
a/n; sorry this took so long! hope it was worth the wait :D
cw; half-alive dove maybe eat, cat hybrid!reader, afab!reader, owner!wesker, kidnapping, captivity, stockholm syndrome, drugging, dubcon/noncon, body betrayal, leashing + collaring, reader doesn't wear underwear, manhandling, breeding kink, wesker likes seeing you in pain sorry, no prep (please prep irl), unsafe sex (p in v, clitoral stimulation, creampie, implied multiple rounds)
tags; @4inchfae @thatgirlgames @whiskers-my-beloved @icecream596
albert never had a penchant for pets, let alone a hybrid like yourself. bringing you in may have been the best thing he'd done in years. you needed a home desperately, regardless of how much you scratched and clawed at him when he'd carried you off to his research facility without so much as an introduction. you hear him rustle around in his pockets with one hand and then, the uncapping of something. before you can look at what it is, a fine needle pierces right into the muscle of your neck. your vision fades within seconds, and you stop scratching.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
you didn't know what to expect, but waking up in a cage clean and clothed hadn't been on your list. you thought you'd surely be dead. but, there you were, with a black long sleeve shirt and skirt, thigh-highs adorning the better half of your legs, and a black leather collar around your neck. looking around, a small bell attached to your collar rings. not moments later, you hear footsteps. you look up at the man who has taken you in- tall, blonde, and very intimidating.
albert crouches before the kennel you're cowering in and looks you over as if he didn't get a good enough look when he bathed you. you hiss quietly and shrink into one of the corners furthest from him, cool metal digging into your back with each attempt to get further away.
behind his shades, his hazel eyes thoroughly examine you. the fear you give off is aromatic with a faintly sweet undertone of something more. gratefulness, perhaps. he did bathe you, clothe you, and put you in a very nice kennel of your own. your collar is a perfect fit, no less, and even though you didn't ask for any of this, it's more than you know what to do with. you've no bruises, no gashes, no injuries. how strange.
he's pondering what to say to get you to calm down. to trust him a little. maybe come out of the kennel, but that would be for later.
"hello." he places a gloved hand on the kennel's top rather carefully, so as not to startle you, and leans in just a bit. his voice is nicer than you would think. a bit nasally, sure, and the accent is cheesy, but he could read you the yellow pages and you wouldn't mind.
"…" your silence makes his jaw clench by a fraction. he'll have to fix that. for now, he'll ease you into things.
"what's your name, little one?"
"haven't got one." you rasp, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin atop them. ears flat against your head, your tail swishing- cautious and afraid, you are, and well within your rights to be.
he nods.
"we'll have to fix that, won't we?" he forces a little smile on his lips when you nod. you're not sure why you do when, two seconds ago, you'd have run off if the kennel door was opened. he's smart, he's thought this through. you're not leaving the kennel until you trust him, unbeknownst to you. your tail is ramrod stiff on the cushioned floor of your captivity, and at least he was kind enough to furnish it for you.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
it's hard to trust him even though you know it would be smart to pretend.
he only lets you out to feed you, and from the start, he'd made it clear that if you tried to run, you'd be dead. at the same time, twice a day, he opens the cage for you to crawl out of. he extends his hand to you, looping his gloved fingers around your collar and guiding you to sit by his feet. he links a leather leash through the d-ring attached to your collar and walks you through his home, the environment sterile and hardly lived in.
it's when he puts you in his lap at the dining table and force feeds you that he fills the tense silence. the food itself is good, and you wonder if under different circumstances, you'd want him to be your owner. as you eat, he talks. you are, to some extent, grateful that he feeds you, even if he is only doing the bare minimum.
"have you been good, dear?" he asks, and you nod as per usual. it's rare that you decide to talk.
"good girl." he scratches the spot behind your ear, forcing you to lean into his hand and purr. he chuckles quietly. as he pets you, his stress melts away. you're so cute. a meek, naive little thing that he loves taking care of.
as dinner finishes, he picks you up and keeps you in his arms as he cleans up. you're silent, sedated by the drug he's put in your food, and you're bodering on falling asleep in his arms. a swell of pride of warms his chest as a little snore escapes you, followed by your tail wrapping around his arm.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
day by day, bit by bit, you miss him. he keeps you company when he's not at "work" or whatever that is, he talks to you, he pets you the way you like, and it's nice when you forget about how you got here. the only thing you've come to dislike is the lack of underwear. it's not that he can't afford some, it's that he enjoys your discomfort to a worrisome degree. he likes its easy access, even if he hasn't taken advantage of it (or you) yet.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
he comes around and you find yourself less defensive, thanks to your breeding cycle. you press your face against the bars of your enclosure.
"owner," you whine as he walks past, a spark igniting in your gut. his scent is stronger than it was this morning, and you're hyperaware of the growing warmth filling your body.
"yes, dear?" he stands at his closet, his back to you as he strips himself of his work clothes.
"can i come out?" you paw at the door of your cage, ignoring the rattling noise it causes.
he doesn't respond immediately, letting you stew in your silence for a moment as he finds something more casual to wear. you don't normally ask to come out- this is progress, proof of your trust.
"in a moment. let me get dressed, darling."
it's enough for you to stop whining. your tail swishes happily and your ears perk up when he approaches the cage in grey sweatpants and a black shirt and crouches down to undo the lock to the cage. you practically jump into his arms, purring loud when he wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest.
"thank you." you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. his smell, like poison, makes you dizzy with desire. the warmth is growing uncomfortable, your ears pinned flat against your head.
he hums in response as he strokes your hair, a purr emanating from the depths of your chest. the heat spreads the more he touches you, pooling between your thighs. he tries not to notice when you rub them together and mewl pathetically.
"is something wrong?" his voice is a match to the flame in your gut.
it's your turn to be silent, trying to even out your breathing despite the overwhelming urge to lean in and take a nice, long whiff of the pheromones he gives off.
"darling, answer me. you know better." he says in a more stern tone, looking down his nose at you.
"… i'm in heat." you state quietly, avoiding his gaze. if you could see his eyes, you're sure they'd be wide and a little bit dark.
"are you, now?" he hoists you up in his arms as he stands, his forearms just under your ass. you're bent slightly over his shoulder. "we'll need to remedy that, won't we, pet?" he chuckles. a chill runs down your spine. just what have you gotten yourself into?
he's not a mean lover, just a little rough. he sets you on his bed and pushes you down with a cold hand to your chest as he moves on top of you. anxiety cools your blood, makes it like ice pushing through your veins.
"wh-what are you…?" he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, and kisses your cheek.
"i've been waiting a long time for this, darling. it would be wise to avoid making me wait more." there's a threatening undertone to his voice, the burn of discomfort making itself known in your shoulders. he wedges his knee between yours, forcefully parting your thighs so he can trail his hand up them, pinching here and there just to see you flinch, and smooth two fingers along your weeping slit. a hint of a smile makes itself known as you shudder, thighs parting wider to accomodate his hand. his cold digits stop at the very top, feeling for your puffy clit, and rubs slow, tight circles around it.
you hate that it feels good, and you hate yourself for having a breeding cycle. a soft moan leaves you at his light touch, your eyes locked on the hand rubbing your clit. he presses down a little firmer, eliciting a whine from you.
"look, doesn't that feel much better?" he croons, his voice low with his lips so close to your ear. reluctantly, you nod, and that earns you the reward of his fingers rubbing you a little faster. you squirm a little, trying to get more than just surface-level pleasure.
"words."
"y-yes. that feels good, thank you." a hint of malice laces through your tone, but you're grateful for what he's giving you. your face is on fire as only the pathetic wet noises from your cunt fills the air, and you (try to) hide your face in your hands, only to be met with a sharp slap to your cunt. you flinch, the pain subsiding after he continues playing with your cunt. your hands come down from your face and instead grab the sheets.
your stomach tightens, twists into a coil that winds tighter with every pass over your hardened clit. but you can't cum like this, not when your breeding cycle is ongoing.
"owner- p-please, need more." you whine, and albert kisses your cheek as a response, denying you of what you need.
"such a needy thing. fine. you'll get what you want." he takes his hand from your pussy and to the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down rather impatiently, as well as his boxers. weeping, his cock is bright red at the tip from want (how long has he been hard for?) and large. you're worried.
he chuckles at your fear-stricken expression before grabbing your legs and pressing them against your chest.
"be a dear and hold these for me, hm?" he says, and you do as you're told. you hold your legs by the backs of your thighs, pressing them so your knees hit your chest. he strokes himself once, twice to the sight of you spread out for him, your cute cunt drooling. slick drips down your perineum, inviting him.
you watch him slot himself in place, the tip of his long cock dragging through your folds to bump your clit, making you gasp. your entrance clenches around nothing, a pitiful whine leaving you.
"greedy." he shakes his head softly as he lines himself up, and without warning, thrusts himself entirely inside you.
the stretch is worse than you imagined. you flinch away from him, but he grips your thighs and tugs you right back onto his cock. it hurts, and the burn is something you hadn't accounted for. tears prick at your lower lashline. he leans down, his frame practically engulfing yours, and kisses your cheeks.
"don't cry. struggling only makes it worse, you know." he coos, tapping your jaw. you nod softly and wrap your arms around his neck for support, sniffling as the tears trail down the sides of your face. to ease your discomfort, his hand works itself between the two of you again and thumbs at your clit, dulling some of the pain. another moment, and your tears have disappeared.
"y-you can move. m'okay." you mumble to albert's delight. he starts slow, mostly on your behalf, and hisses at just how tight you are around him as he thrusts shallowly into your aching cunt.
the moment you make a noise, he grips your thighs tighter and starts bullying his cock into you quite intensely. the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with every single harsh, downright mean, thrust. he's not doing this for you, and that becomes readily apparent. still, you can't deny that it feels good to be fucked.
albert's quiet, aside from small huffs and hisses of enjoyment. you're so wet, it's making a mess of his lower abdomen and thighs. the lewd slapping of skin on skin combined with your precious mewls and whimpers of pleasure spurr him on, his nails digging into your thighs. his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside you, making you cry out and arch your back off the bed.
"there- a-again, please!" you grab the hand not rubbing your clit and lace your fingers together as the pressure in the pit of your stomach builds and builds, leaving you dumb on your owner's cock. he complies with your request, if not to feel you cum then just to see your pretty face when you do.
he bullies that spot relentlessly, to the point where some of his hair falls in his face. gummy walls squeeze and suck him in more, a loud cry leaving you as you reach your peak. slick gushes from your already crying pussy, thoroughly coating the both of your lower halves. it's dripping from you as he continues pumping into your hole, the schlick noise amplified now.
"w-wait- wait-" you grab the hem of his shirt, but he ignores your protests.
"we're not finished until my precious girl has her cunt filled with cum." he moves your hand away, forcing yourself further into the mating press he's got you in. you can feel every single inch, and how the throb of his dick indicates his climax. a few more sloppy, mean thrusts and he's spilling his seed into you. decidedly, it's a good feeling, and you need much, much more. your heat ceases momentarily, however, as he keeps his cock inside to ensure that nothing leaks out. your tail wraps around his thigh, the end flicking happily.
"i mean filled in every sense of the word, darling." he gathers some of your slick that's coating his lower abdomen on two fingers and pushes them in your mouth, watching with delight as you kitten-lick them clean. a dark grin forms on his pale lips, his length twitching at the sight. it's then that you really give in, that you decide it's better to be this way- fucked full of his cum and brainless. a familiar heat flares in your gut once more.
#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚#100 follower special#albert wesker#resident evil#albert wesker x reader#resident evil fanfiction#hybrid!reader#owner!albert wesker#hybrid au#albert wesker fanfic#albert wesker smut#tw dubcon#tw dubious consent#tw kidnapping#tw stockholm syndrome#tw drugging#dead dove do not eat#dead dove kind of#the dove is half alive maybe eat
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Pounding
Summary: Reader has a migraine, and Spencer wants to help.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Hurt/comfort
Content warnings: none
Word count: 1.2k
The transition of seasons is something that has to be endured. It’s the time when you wake up to frost on your windshield in the morning but must remove your coat by the time you leave work. It is a painful time of inconsistency, especially for your sinuses. Not only with the pollen in the air (as well as on your car at all times) but the dryness as well. It causes your headaches to go from sometimes once a month to now twice a week.
And the first one happens this week, today. The migraine descended on you like a storm, brewing from your nasal cavities, its relentless waves of pain crashing against the shores of your temples. With each throb, the world around you seemed to blur and spin.
You shut the door to your apartment and let your bag fall from your shoulder, with no care with where it lands. Light, food, the smell of home is all too much to bear. With a sigh, you shuffle to the sanctuary of your room and bask in the silence while you can still control it. You unleash yourself from your business casual attire and fall into bed, nestling yourself under the covers.
The darkness relieves pressure, only slightly. It will probably be hours before it has settled, so you think it is best to call it a night now at 5:56 in the evening. There was no point in doing anything else as streetlights alone from the windows have proven to be enough to make the back of your eyes ache. You remained still, motionless, unmoved. Minutes could stretch well into hours without your knowledge.
Until the sound of the front door opened, cutting through the quiet. Spencer was home, which means it’s 6:06 now. The creaking floors from his aged apartment tell you he goes to the kitchen first, the sink runs, then his steps only grow closer to you until you can feel his presence at your back. “Migraine?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
It drains all energy and motivation out of you, so you merely nod in response. He’s more than familiar with severe head pain; chronic migraines that were resolved with a vitamin regimen. Fortunately, he has yet to complain about them bothering you in the year you’ve been together. And he never leaves home without them.
Unfortunately, this makes him eager to figure out your head pains. Last spring, he left out an array of vitamins in a pill organizer. They didn’t. It wasn’t an issue at first. It was clear he was trying to help. The downside of your boyfriend being a child prodigy and objective genius is that he will never back down from a challenge, even when you have asked him to. He can’t do it. Later in the month, he came home one day with an array of tea brands, mostly ginger and peppermint. He’s bought humidifiers, massaged the cartilage of your nose, and even consulted Reddit. It’s certainly worn down your patience, especially when you require complete silence.
“I can get you some hot compresses from the pharmacy if you want.” He jumps in completely. The last three words are merely to cushion the obvious; reiterating the point rather than saying something like, “I’ve had headaches before. I know how awful they are, so you should let me help you.” Which he’s also said.
You continue the annoying pattern by shaking your head with an audible moan. Opening your eyes hurts.
“What about nasal spray or decongestant? I can get those at the pharmacy as well.”
“I don’t need anything from the pharmacy. I took ibuprofen. Just need to keep my eyes closed.”
“Well, that can only help so much today. Saline will help encourage drainage and expansion in the vessels. Ibuprofen solves the head pain, not the root problem.”
“Unless the BAU can order planting fruit trees, it’s the best we can do.”
“What I’m trying to say is—”
You groan louder. “This isn’t a time for solutions, Spencer.”
Another unfortunate aspect of your relationship is that you can feel the way Spencer’s face softens from your tone. He then mutters out an apology, a brief sorry, but he doesn’t leave. He touches your shoulder and keeps his hand there until you turn to face him. And because you love him very much, you strain to open your eyes. You can make out a blur of his silhouette in the growing darkness, but still see clearly his glossy eyes and the quirk of his lips. “Can you do something for me first, though? Real quick?”
Before you answer, his hand slides toward your upper back, meaning you have to sit up for this. You were ready to say something along the line that he’s lucky you love him right now and leave it at that because thinking further made the pressure in your temples increase.
You didn’t have to speak at all, though. Because Spencer is also holding a glass of water in front of you. You look up at Spencer’s puppy-eyed silhouette. “Not a solution,” he says softly. “It’s something you always need.”
Well, if that didn’t make you feel like an asshole. You accepted the glass without a word, feeling the coolness against your palm as you brought it to your lips. Each sip, at the very least, a distraction from the throbbing. Spencer watches you closely. You had no choice but to finish the whole glass. And you did, leaving Spencer satisfied enough as he took the glass and walked out.
You didn’t say a word. The sink ran again, and Spencer returned with another full glass. He doesn’t hand it to you, instead puts it on the nightstand before turning precariously on his heels. It takes you a second through half-closed eyes to realize he’s walking back out. You’re afraid to ask, wondering if you’ve made him too upset to talk. You push yourself and do so anyway, keeping your tone in mind. “Where are you going?”
Spencer turns on his heels once more, looking around momentarily like there were others in the room. He then looks at you. “I figured you wanted to be alone.”
You reach out, moving through the pain quite literally, and you catch the polyester of his cardigan just between your fingers and pull him closer until you can wrap your arms around him. You hold your breath, knowing the intense smell of his laundry detergent would be enough to collapse down to your pillow in further pain. His cardigan is soft against your face. “Do you have other stuff to do?”
He chuckles, his abdomen bounces. So, he’s not too mad. “I do not.”
Encouraged by his response, you tug him gently (and not so gracefully) into bed. He’s delightfully warm. Spencer kicks off his shoes in response before pulling you close. Then you bury your face into his chest, hesitant to breathe in the scent of cedar that clings to the cardigan. You try best to ignore it as you cocoon yourselves beneath the blankets, finding refuge in each other’s company amidst the inner turmoil that comes with spring. You listen to the steady rhythm of Spencer’s heartbeat, and find a fleeting sense of peace in the storm.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid x you#spencer reid/you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid/reader#spencer reid self insert#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fandom#spencer reid blurb#criminalminds#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction
458 notes
·
View notes
Text
✱ AFTER DAWN CARESSES ? eagle master noa.
fluff ⌇ cute time with a partner undertone ⸻ ﹙ 𝒜lt ﹒ universe ﹚ established relationships. 𝒻.ᐟreader
LATE AT MIDNIGHT ◞ 09 : 27 o ' clock. ⸻ between entwined legs and arms.
underneath the canopy of bleak branches , the bubbling murkiness of the gelid grime ringlet your perspiring brow. you steep your corporeal weight on your hip—joint , stirring in the fathomless concave of the nest made of caramel—deerskin , shrubbery and withered leaf stalks. noa , master of birds , paladin of the eagle's clan , skates his elephantine thumb across the sun—peel of your cheek. the womb of his gloved palm in carved leather kneads the peach flesh , like seared bread. he whir's , gurgling beneath the thwack of accumulated drool under your tongue, the shore of your eye elongates and squash bellow the pumpkin—cushion of his fingers. you gulp the swell of saliva, cooling the structure of your larynx.
you rasp. " your hand is the same size as my cranium . " the ape crane his mandible , abstracted. his digits clatter on the beak of your head.
" cra—nee—um , hmm. " he scratches his throat, ambivalent.
you nod once , your fingernail galloping along the meadow of ochre fur that drenched the perimeter of his denuded , salmon—skinned ear. " cranium , yes. " you extol the arid tumult at the bottom of your dehydrated mouth. " you could crush it if you wanted to. " you babble in the cadence of a lonely nightingale.
the chimpanzee denies twice , muddling his snout , barbed of your human—kind ideality. he spits a smack of lips in the opposite route , undulating a drapery of your ravelled hair.
" i won't . " his shale timber of voice excavates into a nasal splutter.
you coil your head , distinguishing the crackle of the nest's teeny twigs. " but you could. "
" i won't . "
you broom the juncture of his scruff , blanding the pulsating pitter—patter of the crown of your skull as you perceive a scintilla of his viridian—green orbs , of wheat fields and groves , sumptuous. " i believe you . "
he sprain his upper—spine , the peak of his paw toes stroking the crook contour of his left kneecap . he panted a grunt , an abysmal clamor that hike's aerially , exultant .
" you have long nails . . . you could take my eyes out , " he glabber's with a sequence of drooped blinks. " if echo wanted to. "
you negate three times , slouching your forehead on his leafy , pompous bosom. " i won't. "
his herculean arm cascade parallel to an iron belt through the shoal arch of your waist , impelling you against his thorax.
" i believe you. "
SEXY JUTSU LIKE NARUTO ©JUNKIENET ╱ 2024.
#﹙ ⭑. ﹚ ⸻ 𝓒haos .ᐟ#planet of the apes#kingdom of the planet of the apes#kotpota#planet of the apes x reader#noa planet of the apes#noa pota#pota noa#noa x reader#noa x human reader
182 notes
·
View notes
Text
call me
idea came to me in a dream. enjoy also! i made a notifs blog! taglist life is NOT for me, babies. feel free to head on over, follow and turn notifs on to be updated anytime i post! 👉 @macfroglets 👈 you’re gonna wanna do it before this sunday…😉🤠
inspired by @bageldaddy who is the author of the dreamiest series on this site, my biggest crush, and also told me not to tag her but i respect my elders so.
pairing: joel miller x call girl!reader
summary: you moonlight as a call girl, receiving mediocre call after mediocre call. one night, one joel miller dials in, and grants you the most exciting ten minutes of your career
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) this fic is pro-sex work. reader is a phone sex operator, mentions of anal and oral, dirty talk, couple mentions of daddy, praise kink, mutual masturbation, alcohol consumption, cursing
word count: 3k
main masterlist
“What now, baby?” you whisper, laughing to yourself. You’re palming at your breast, your fingers pulling in around your nipple. Your core begins to throb. “You’re gonna touch yourself.” “That what you want?” “’s what I want, angel. Do it for me.”
It started out as a joke, if you’re being honest.
A wine-drunk night with Liv, sat at opposite ends of the couch, legs intertwined somewhere in the middle of the cushions. Her blouse was stained pink – your fault, apparently, for making her laugh too hard. Her glass tilted a fraction too far and before you knew it, you owed her a new shirt.
“Say it again, say it how he said it,” she snorted, patting her chest down with the damp towel you’d handed her.
“…quite frankly, disappointed with your performance,” your head tilted back and forth, mocking the nasally voice of your fifty-one-year-old, receding-hairline-equipped boss. Ex-boss. Asshole.
“Oh, fuck,” she heaved, still catching her breath. “That’s so fucking funny.”
You sighed in agreement.
“So…what are you actually gonna do now?”
You shrugged. “Sell my body.”
“Dare you.”
“I would.”
“I know you would. And you’d be good at it, too. ‘s why I’m telling you to do it.”
You kicked her ankle. “I got bills to pay, dude.”
“What about one of those call girls?”
And, well. That was that.
You’d googled it after seeing her off to her own apartment, watching her wobbly form stagger across the hall and stab her key a few times into the wood before it landed in the lock. The door closed with an accidental slam which echoed up the stone stairwell, and you crept back to your own place.
Palms either side of your laptop on the counter, face lit in a blue glow, dripdripdrip of your busted tap echoing around your dark kitchen. They asked for an email address – you used the one you’d made up before you realized email addresses were permanent – and a phone number. Said someone would call you to discuss it. You shrugged, hit Sign up and went to bed.
Within hours, you’d spoken to some sharp-accented woman who asked quick, snappy questions and uhuhed her way through your answers. Her name was Erica. She told you she’d look after you, told you to call her with any questions or concerns you had.
All she wanted from you were the basics: you liked sex, you masturbated, you knew how to dirty talk. You sorta knew your way around things like anal, and could manage a convincing pitch for things of a more…exploratory nature.
And then she asked when you wanted to start. You told her that night.
Your first caller – like, ever – was some guy with a midwestern accent who asked you to narrate fucking him. Like, spanking him with a paddle, calling him a bad, bad boy. You threw your nerves to the wind and went along with it, and honestly, had a pretty rad time. He was cool.
But one was enough for your first night. You logged out and went to bed. You told Liv the next morning, and she punched your arm a little too hard and yelled, That’s my fuckin’ girl! Was it hot? Did you…y’know?
No. You never get that lucky. Some calls you can lie idly on your couch and let your limp hand surf beneath the hem of your underwear, push lazy circles against your clit as the dude moans in your ear or gasps when you whine.
Sometimes their mics can pick up the faint sound of them jacking off, and your brain slips you an image that makes your stomach flutter. Sometimes you’ll hang up and take yourself the whole nine yards with your laptop sitting on your mattress, porn on the screen, and your vibrator between your open legs.
It’s pretty intense work. Sometimes.
But all in all: no. You never…y’know.
One week in, you were cooking dinner whilst telling Trevor – thirty-nine, Buffalo, New York – how you’d take his huge, throbbing dick in your throat and let him fuck it. He asked to hear how turned on you were, just talking about it. You lowered your phone down to the pot of macaroni and gave it a stir.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned down the line, “you’re so fuckin’ wet right now, huh?”
Huh.
Tonight, you had pizza rolls. Less sexy.
You just got off another call. Thirty minutes of describing how good you’d take him up your ass. You’re bored, turned off by this point, and tired. It’s almost 3AM.
You pace around your apartment, flicking switches off and tossing cushions back into place. Spilling small sips of wine from your glass onto your tongue as you’re plunged into darkness, one click at a time.
You don’t get much while the sun’s up. Most days, nothing at all. That works for you, though. You can run errands, grab groceries, do sweet-fucking-nothing whilst waiting for the influx of calls that will inevitably come your way by nightfall. When the streetlights come on, the rush hour traffic dies out front, the shuffling of tired feet up the concrete staircase outside your front door slows down – you just log in, and your cell will eventually start to ring.
Your cell, which now lies wedged between the couch cushions. You notice the sound of it vibrating as you’re pulling your curtains closed. Half-way shut, you desert them and wander over. Intrigued.
No Caller ID. The usual. You swipe right. The robotic voice tells you there’s a request on your account for a ten-minute call. Tells you to dial 1 to accept, or hang up.
Ten minutes? At three in the morning?
Usually, at this time of night, they’re longer. They’re drunk, or their partner finally fell asleep, or they just want your attention for a bit. See them through the uncomfortably quiet night.
But ten fucking minutes?
Ten minutes would make you somewhere around thirty-five dollars. They had the option as the timer ran out to extend the call, if they wanted. Most of them did. And that worked fine for you.
You’re unemployed. Who knows what money you’ll have in a week’s time? An extra thirty bucks – probably more – right before bed? A little nightcap?
You dial in and answer the call.
He doesn’t say anything when it connects. You hear the ruffling of clothes.
Your voice naturally dips a couple octaves, coats in something smooth and husky. Glistening, gleaming, sex-driven. “Hello?”
He clears his throat. His voice is deep, rich. More vibration than speech. He speaks with a Southern drawl, like bare skin running over silken sheets. It’s smooth, and sensual, and sexy. “Evenin’.”
You knock the last light switch off with your hip and doddle through to your bedroom. Mornin’, actually. “Hi. What’re you after, baby?”
He takes a beat to reply. More ruffling. He chuckles a little before he says it. “Baby? That what you wanna call me?”
Your glass scrapes softly across your nightstand. You bounce down on your mattress, springs moaning as you roll onto your stomach. Knees bent, your ankles link in the air. “What do you want me to call you?”
“Guess we can figure that one out together.”
“Alright. I like a challenge. You wanna start with your name?”
Another pause. He sucks in a deep breath. “Joel.”
“Joel,” you repeat, thumb picking at your nailbeds. “That’s a sexy name.”
He doesn’t respond. Just gives a non-committal grunt, and a smile pulls across your lips.
“What are you into, Joel?”
He sniffs. “Thought we could figure that out, too.”
Something in the way he says it, the curve in the words, maybe, tells you he knows damn well what he’s into. What he means is: you can figure that out by yourself.
Like you said: you like a fucking challenge.
“You like nicknames? Daddy? That kinda thing?”
A low growl passes his lips. “Not this early on, I don’t.”
You know from the hitch in his voice that he likes it. That little catch at the bottom of his throat, the way the words stumble on their way up. Know you’ve plucked a string deep inside.
“Well, you know you only got ten minutes, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“’kay,” you sing, flipping your hair over your shoulder. You exhale, drawing shapes on the pattern of your bedsheets. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, then? What’s on your mind, cowboy?”
Cowboy. It’s the accent. He sounds Texan, or something. His words float through the receiver all wound, coiled up and tight.
Joel doesn’t seem to care. He answers your question truthfully.
“Thinkin’ about what you’re doin’ right now.”
You smirk. Sometimes you like the attention, too. You turn your head, check the clock by your bed. Two minutes have passed.
“I’m…lying in bed, in the dark. Had a couple wines, feelin’ pretty good. But this is all about you, so.”
He chuckles softly. “’m lyin’ in bed, too. In the dark.”
“You feelin’ lonely?”
He takes another deep breath. You figure he does this before he gives most answers. He sounds the contemplative type. Always double, triple checking his sentences before he lets them go.
“Just need somethin’ to take the edge off.”
“Okay,” you breathe, “let me. What do you need?”
There’s a long break between the end of your question and the sound he makes before he answers. You pull the phone from your ear and glance at the screen to make sure it’s still connected. Time says another two minutes have passed.
Joel grumbles. It echoes around your ear like thunder in the distance. “You touchin’ yourself?” he eventually asks.
“Uhuh,” you reply, nails picking at a loose thread on your comforter.
“Yeah? How’s it feel?”
“Good,” you mewl, tugging at the seam. Your teeth grit as you yank at it. “So – fucking – good.”
There’s another growl from the other end. It vibrates through your speaker, purrs in your ear.
“You ain’t fuckin’ touchin’ yourself.”
Your hand stops. Your eyes stick on the thread. “I am.”
“You are?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how.”
You roll your eyes, turning onto your back. Your fingers play with the buttons of your shirt. Fuckin’ – tell me how. “I’m…” you sigh, “…I’m laying in bed, on my back. My hands are –”
“What you wearin’?”
“Isn’t that the sorta stuff you oughta ask when I first pick up?”
He speaks calmer. Clearer. You can hear the smile on his lips. “’m askin’ you now. What you wearin’, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. So he’s that type. Whatever. He’s kind of pissing you off.
“A shirt. And socks. And panties. No bra.”
“’n where you touchin’ yourself?”
You huff. “Between my –”
“Watch the attitude.”
You almost fucking laugh. Your breath escapes your chest in a silent burst. “Between my legs,” you tell him, flat and annoyed.
“Mhm. Above or beneath the panties?”
“Beneath, daddy.”
A tiny groan passes his lips. He doesn’t mean for it to, and a second, angry grumble follows, like he’s pissed at himself for letting it slip.
You take a lock of hair and twirl it around your finger, pulling tight until the tip whitens. “You touching yourself?” you ask, voice sickly sweet.
Joel ignores you. “Take it off. The shirt,” he clarifies, when you don’t answer.
You shuffle around a little, making sure he can hear the movement. You unbutton the shirt until it’s lying loose over your breasts, then tug it down over one shoulder.
“Alright,” you tell him with a heavy breath, laying back on the mattress, “it’s off.”
“Yeah?” he asks, and your eyes flutter closed.
“Mhm.”
Joel chuckles under his breath. “Know when you’re lyin’, angel. Take – it – off. Don’t be a brat about it.”
This is half the game for him, you realize. This is his thing. He gives commands, you disobey them, and he kicks you into line. Tells you to behave.
You figure you like it almost as much, going by the heat pooling between your legs.
Your shoulders lift and you tug the shirt over them, tossing it to the floor. You lie back, bare against the sheets, and your hand instantly cups over your breast.
“Better,” Joel breathes.
“What now, baby?” you whisper, laughing to yourself. You’re palming at your breast, your fingers pulling in around your nipple. Your core begins to throb.
“You’re gonna touch yourself.”
“That what you want?”
“’s what I want, angel. Do it for me.”
You don’t take much more convincing. Your hand slips down your front, cups over your mound. You gasp when your fingertips brush against your clit.
Joel hears. “Yeah,” he hums, “’s a good girl. Take those panties off ‘n rub that pretty little clit for me.”
Your fingertips give one last kiss to the fabric of your panties. Your mouth tips open a fraction. You suck in a quiet breath, and push your hips up off the bed. The lace slips down your thighs in one motion.
Joel’s grunting steadily now, small noises slipping past his lips and into your ear. You spread your legs and push against your bud again, massaging the sensitive skin.
“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, and he groans in response.
“I know, I know,” he’s saying, and you hear the metal tinkle of his belt buckle. The fraying sound of denim being shifted. One slow, relief-filled groan.
His hands are on his cock.
You’d put more effort into caring that he’s been fully clothed this entire time, if you could think straight. You’re applying more pressure to your clit, rubbing faster, harder, then letting your fingers drift downward, move between your gleaming folds.
“Wish I was there with you so bad,” Joel purrs, and your eyes flutter open.
“Yeah?” you choke.
“Yeah.”
“What would you – do to me?”
He shudders. “Would fuck you real good, sweetheart.”
“Fuck,” you breathe, fingers circling faster.
There’s a gentle tugging; a rhythmic breathing. The odd break in his voice when his hand tightens, or you make a sweet little sound, or he catches himself giving too much away.
“Fuckin’ – be all over you. Nice ‘n hard. You want that?”
“Mhm,” you mewl, panting. “Want it so bad.”
“Yeah, you do,” Joel says. You can hear the sticky sound of his precum, leaking from his tip and running between his fingers, being pumped down his shaft by his fist. “Feels good, angel, don’t it? When you do what you’re told?”
“Y-eah,” you whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and you picture a tight fist choking a thick cock. Picture that same fist unwinding, curving around your mound, fingers pushing deep inside you.
“Joel,” you whimper, and your fingers move down again, dipping nearer your tight, wet hole.
He grunts in response. “Don’t – not yet,” he tells you.
You whine.
“You got somethin’ else to use?” he asks, then interrupts before you can answer. “Yeah, you do. Go get it, sweetheart. Tell me what you got.”
“V-vibrator,” you mumble, hoisting yourself up and lunging across the bed to your nightstand. You haul the drawer open and sift between balled-up socks until you’re clutching the long, thick shape, fingers tight around the dips and curves.
“Let me hear it, angel.”
You click the button and the toy whirrs to life, vibrating strongly in your hand.
Joel hisses. “Alright, sweetheart, lie back. Gonna put it on that pretty little pussy, alright? Gonna make yourself cum for me.”
“Uhuh,” you murmur, one hand lowering the vibrator between your legs, the other holding the phone to your ear in a vice grip.
You push the round tip down to your clit and your head falls back with a loud moan. Joel sends one straight back at the sound of yours. It fades into a whimper, a desperate cry as you massage yourself with your toy.
Your legs clench as you dip it lower, letting the head nudge against your entrance, sending flutters of pleasure across your dripping cunt.
“Don’t fuck yourself,” Joel instructs, and your hand quickly pulls back. “Save it.”
This mystery man, who you’ve known for – if your clock is right – eight minutes, now; whose name is the most information you’ve gotten out of him; and whose face you couldn’t pick in a lineup…has such a hold on you, that your body instinctively reacts to his every word. An automatic reaction to do exactly as he says, when, five minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get him off the phone.
You fucking listen to him. Save it for what? your head asks, and you ignore it. You don’t push the toy any closer to your center.
It drives hard against your clit, fast vibrations rippling down on the hot, swollen skin. It sends floods of warmth between your legs, drawing your arousal slick and wet from between your folds.
Your chest is damp, gleaming with sweat. Your breath cuts short in your throat, guttural noises replacing it as they reverberate through your mouth, across your tongue and into your dark bedroom.
Your walls start to clamp around nothing. You angle the vibrator so that it sends deep pulses across your pussy, shutting your eyes to picture Joel’s thick cock burying deep inside you as you climax with a loud, broken cry.
“Yeah, good girl. That’s it. Sound so pretty, angel. ‘s a good girl.”
You’re whimpering his name as you come down, holding the toy to your clit and letting your high wash over you. Your chest jumps, breaths heavy and staggered, gasping for air and then letting it rush out of your lungs in desperate pants.
“You know how good you are at that?” he asks, when your breath steadies again.
You giggle softly. “’s why I do it, baby.”
“Worth every fuckin’ penny.”
You sit in the post-orgasm haze for a few seconds, waiting for the room to stop spinning and your body to feel like yours again. You pull the phone from your sweat-stuck cheek and glance at the time. You have less than thirty seconds left. Joel seems to do the same, for his voice returns to your ear in a gentle, low whisper.
“Alright. Speak soon, angel. Be good.”
The call cuts.
----------
taglist: @slvbl @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @acornacreacure @totallynotastanacc @alejaa-a @aphterthoughtt @pedroluver @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @cool-iguana @serenaxpedro @lizzyervs @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @patti7dc @pattwtf @atticrissfinch @pascalpvnk @lizzyervs @jediknightjana @jessie8605 @iknowisoundcrazy @caitispunk @vickie5446 @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel
(psst! after this weekend my taglist is no more! follow @macfroglets + turn on notifs if you wanna be in the know when i post!)
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#the last of us#tlou#tlou fic#joel miller x callgirl!reader
778 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cupid is Wanted for Questioning Chapter 4
Masterpost
Their strange bonding episode hung in a waiting breath. Father came by to confirm that they were alive, not laid low by their falsified digestive ailment.
“We are alive,” Damian said from the squashy chair, trying to verbally push the meddler out the door to his bleak office job. “We shall survive.”
“I think we can pull through one day in your well-stocked mansion,” Brown concurred nasally, from her tactical posting underneath a cushion. The device muffled her voice. She dug her arm out to point with her long fingers at the side table which Alfred had already stocked with beverages and nutritious rations.
Father touched the doorframe and his brow furrowed. “Alfred has appointments to keep. You’ll be alone for hours. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home?”
Brown pulled the pillow down just enough to reveal her eyes. “You let the two of us fight crime together,” she pointed out.
His lips twitched. “You didn’t have a cold then,” Father protested, but his mood seemed a little lighter. He took his phone out. “Call or message me anytime, okay? If you need anything at all or if your condition worsens. I’ll keep the volume on.”
Damian snorted. “Good day,” he said firmly. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to convey that he was prepared to get up and physically push Father from the house if necessary.
Father left.
An hour later, Pennyworth left as well on his worthy and unknown pursuits. As soon as the dust had settled from his departure down the gravel driveway, the two detectives were on the move.
Several minutes later, they were in the room with the ancient viewing device. Brown had clearly done her research. She expertly operated the device. Damian hung back and allowed her to be the leading expert on old person activities, as she was significantly more advanced in age and deserved his respect on that count. She did something arcane that made the device spin rapidly inside the driver, black tape whirring from one side of the VHS to the other.
“You have ancient wisdom,” Damian complimented her.
She side eyed him. “Thanks, D.”
He scowled at her from underneath his plush blanket cape. There was no call for such rudeness.
Unfortunately it was impossible to perform a binary search with the device, as they didn’t know what would show on screen at all. Therefore, they started by finding the footage of Damian’s encounter.
Damian held his breath as the villain came into focus. He bobbed and weaved through the crowded cafeteria, ostentatious and dramatic in his movements. It was, perhaps, playful? He seemed to be dancing. No one looked at him. Upon more than one occasion, Damian would swear on his mother’s honor that the fool had jangled through another person. Density shifting, perhaps?
“That guy?” Brown pointed at the potential villain himself.
Excellent!
“Can he be seen by anyone on footage, or is there something about your perception that aligns with mine?” Damian burst out. “We must make a copy and show it to another person to gather information.”
“Roger that, baby Boss.” Brown snapped a photo of the screen.
“I do not command infants,” Damian corrected her. “And this is no cherub to be controlled by any charm you or I might possess.” He scowled at the screen, lost in thought. The cupid shot their foolish arrow, smirked, and disappeared.
“I can’t believe Jason didn’t notice that,” Brown muttered. “That’s so far up his alley. If anyone should have run after Cupid shooting bullets or asking for a boo, it would be him.”
Damian opened his mouth to correct her that the mall was very far indeed away from the alleys of Crime, but realized in time that this was perhaps some jest or metaphor. He shut his mouth to hide his ignorance.
“Wait.” Brown scrambled for the remote.
He went tense. “What is it?” Damian demanded. He stood up. His blanket fell down.
“Rewinding- look.” Brown stopped the video and jabbed the screen with a finger. “This kid, red sweatshirt.”
Damian squinted. The child was alone, dirty, and in the middle of stealing a wallet from a uniformed police officer when Brown had paused the video. “I do not think it is advisable to pursue him, but if you are insistent then we can go to his home and give him a very stern lecture about target selection. If he has one.”
“No, no.” Brown waved that off. “I think he knows what he’s doing. What I want you to see is this.” She restarted the video. Damian watched as the urchin slipped the wallet into his pants pocket, turned, and visibly startled before whirling around to look at the crowd again, looking stressed.
Damian furrowed his eyebrows. Why? Why had he jumped, he was only facing a shop window–
“He saw the villain’s reflection!”
“That’s it!” Brown crowed along with him. “Yes!” She pumped the air. “He sees Cupid’s reflection after you point him out. Cupid is invisible to you, but just look.” She traced the urchin’s sightlines. “He can clearly see something, he is watching what would have been Cupid’s expected path through the crowd.”
“You do not receive enough credit for your wiles,” Damian complimented Brown. Her eyes glittered with victory, pleased by his approval. “This means that I am not the only witness.” Damian clenched his fist. Vindication. “Is there a way to identify this person and track them down for an interview without opening our investigation to other parties?”
Brown sucked in air through her teeth. “If we put the still into the Batcomputer, someone else will catch it the next time they’re bored and going through the recent files. Bruce, Tim, maybe Dick. So that’s out. I know there’s privacy workarounds, but I definitely don’t know them…” She grimaced. Her tone turned a little hopeless and morose. “Neither one of us has a personal system we can access, unless there’s something you have access to…?”
She trailed off.
Damian hid a wince. She was covertly referring to his mother. “No,” he lied. If Mother realized that he was investigating on his own, she may retain the information to use in her battle of wills and wits with Father and share it at a personally opportune time. “So we require assistance from one of the more established figures.”
Grim indeed.
Resources outside of Gotham would hardly be helpful.
Every option was terrible.
Todd was extremely trickable and would not tattle on them, but he also would not notice a woman being shot with love in front of his addlepated face, so there was no purpose in asking for his assistance.
Richard could achieve it, but he would shoulder his way into the investigation.
Pennyworth was an expert with the surveillance systems and could surely hide their work from Father, but his time was too valuable to use on tracking a mythological demon such as Cupid.
Cain and Thomas did not possess any more Batcomputer proficiency or resources than Brown and Damian had.
Father was unthinkable, he was extremely bothersome and blundering and smothering.
Damian sunk to the bottom of a lake of despair. He forced himself to the surface long enough to make his most important stance clear:
“Drake is obviously the last resort among last resorts.”
“Oh, for sure,” Brown agreed, fire in her eyes. “He got Santa. He doesn’t get Cupid.”
“We may have to…” Damian fought the urge to make a face of disgust. “Go to the top, as it were.”
“You might have to fly with the other birds,” Brown said. Her tone said that she was sympathetic. Her demeanor revealed the lie: she was amused by his turmoil. Wretch. “Barbara will do that for me, but it’ll make it one of her operations. Can your ego handle that?”
Damian bristled. “I had defeated the weakness of egotism as a toddler,” he spat. Honestly. “I can work with anyone, no matter how loathsome or quarrelsome.”
Brown squinted at him. “...You mean as a hypothetical, because Barbara is an absolute delight.”
He gritted his teeth. “A guiding light to all who know her,” Damian lied, because he understood the ghastly necessity of diplomacy.
“You’re going to wear down your molars doing that,” Brown informed him. “Alright. I’ll tell her that you want to fall at her feet in supplication.” At his appalled expression she shrugged and put her hands up. “She has done all the free favors for me that I’m going to get! We don’t have anything that she wants, and we definitely don’t want her ire.”
“That is correct,” Damian agreed. He was already so weary. He felt as though he might legitimately have been struck low by a physical illness. The concept of lowering himself to request benevolence from the witch in her electric tower made his stomach twist with nausea. Would she once again attempt to ruffle his hair? He may yet weep. “Very well.” Damian took a deep breath. “We will fall upon her mercy.”
121 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love, Rest Your Head
Rating: Teen and Up CW: Canon Typical Injuries Tags: Pre-Season 4, Aftermath of Starcourt Mall, Aftermath of Torture, Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Harrington, Major Character Injury, Established Relationship, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Mentions of Vomiting, Self Sacrificing Steve Harrington, Mentions of Major Character Death (In Reference to Hopper), Foreshadowing, Ambiguous Ending
💕—————💕 The news was pure devastation. Overhead shots of the Starcourt Mall burning. Flames engulfing the building on all sides, swallowing it up until it sat a collapsed, ashen mess. There was no structure. No semblance to any kind of store that was inside. Just dust. Blackened walls. Melted floor tiles.
Eddie sat on the edge of the couch cushion, left hand tucked harshly under his thigh, chomping down on his right hand’s fingernails. There was a metallic tang on his tongue, but he couldn’t get himself to stop. Not even when the raw, exposed parts of his skin bared themself as a tender ache in his mouth’s warmth. Nothing could stop him. In between bites, there were moments where he was holding his breath. Gasping for it when push eventually came to shove. At least it was air he was choking on, not bile.
His uncle was stoic in his recliner in the corner. Until, with the quietest and gruffest voice Eddie’s ever heard, Wayne said, “Your boy. He’s in the parking lot. Has to be.”
“What if he isn’t?” Eddie barely mustered. “What if—What if he’s not there in the parking lot with all those ambulances? What if Steve’s stuck in the debris and he can’t get out and nobody can hear him and then he doesn’t come home and I never—“ He was back to choking on his breath. Sipping at the smallest pockets of air he could manage.
Wayne didn’t answer. The promises that could be made in this moment, every single one of them could be a fallacy.
Then, the news reporter read out those who suffered in the fire. That crisped with the building. Ones that couldn’t be recovered. Ones that were found, yet only identifiable by the licenses in their pockets.
Jenna Kinling Parker Smith Tony Roberts Billy Hargrove…
Eddie bit his fingers harder at that last name. Maybe they didn’t run in the same circles or maybe they weren’t friends. But Billy was still a young dude. He had a life ahead of him. They had classes together. What if…What if…What if, rings loudly in Eddie’s head.
Except, Steve isn’t listed. Neither is his new friend, Robin. They aren’t…They weren’t found in the rubble. They weren’t believed to be in it either. And, as if on cue, the trailer’s phone begins to ring. Eddie is up and out of his seat before he has a chance to miss a single ring.
“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” he answers hastily.
On the other end is the wet, nasally, raspy breathing of another person. The deeper the breaths, the more he can make out it’s somebody masculine. Their intakes are interrupted by small sniffles. Short bursting whimpers that come from sure pain, not pleasure.
“Hello?” Eddie speaks quietly.
The person gasps. Sobbing around the words, “Eddie…Eddie, I need help.” Steve.
“I’ll help, sweetheart,” he promises immediately. “What do you need? I—Uncle Wayne is here, too. We can help. We can—“
“‘M at the mall. And it’s all charred and…and gone. And I think I—I left your birthday present in Scoops and I’m sorry that I—My head hurts, Eds. It hurts and I’m bleeding and the paramed—they think…Billy’s dead and I watched him die and it scared me and—I don’t like him, I don’t like him at all but he looked sad and he looked…He’s dead, Eddie. I watched somebody die, Eddie,” Steve rambles. His words are heavily slurred. Barely breaking by his breath. Almost swirled by puke.
Before Eddie has the chance to interrupt, Steve is continuing. “I protected Robin from getting hurt,” he says seriously, gravely. But his next words are tiny, as if Eddie was listening to a child, not his eighteen year old boyfriend. “You’re going to be mad at me.”
“Why?” He asks. Shakes his head though, and asks instead, “Where should I pick you up? Does Robin have a ride home?”
“I got beat up again,” Steve barrels on. “’T’s really bad, Eds. Everything is ringing. Makin’ me nauseous.” His breaths grow heavier as if he’s ready to retch on his sneakers.
Eddie prepares himself to hear it all, because he knows it’ll happen. Knows it like the back of his hand, unfortunately. From how many other times Steve’s been concussed. Yet, he doesn’t care, saying, “I’ll take care of you here at home, but I need you to tell me where I need to pick you up. Does Robin need a ride?”
Steve mumbles, “She already left. Hugged her and everythin’. Rob—Robin’s safe. I protected her from getting hurt. They were going to hurt her, Eds. It would’ve been my fault for getting her involved.”
The words crawl under Eddie’s skin like spiders. He wants to scratch at himself, get them out of his head. Get away from how small each word is that comes from Steve’s mouth. He wants to find out who ‘They’ are and kill them. Wants to rip this world apart for making Steve sound so…horrified. But he just calmly asks, “Where are you, Steve? Where at the mall are you?”
“Front,” Steve mutters, “at the payphone. The one with all the gum on the back. It’s gross, Eds. I feel gross. Smell like—I’m sorry.”
Eddie just swallows harshly. Doesn’t know why Steve’s apologizing. But he’s scared shitless, that’s for sure. He grabs for his car keys on the dining table. “I’m going to hang up, Stevie. I’ll be there soon, okay?”
The last thing he hears is Steve coughing and retching up his lungs. Spiders work their way into his veins.
——— Sure enough, Steve’s by the payphone. Sitting with his knees up to his chest. Leaning against the thin pole of the phone. Inches away from whatever lunch he had last. Doesn’t look like much. Eddie just thought Steve was busy with work and relaxing at home. Though…Eddie’s starting to piece together that maybe Steve never left work. Like he’s been here way too long.
Steve shivers where he grasps to himself and Eddie approaches with great caution.
He crouches down to Steve’s level, keeps his hands to himself, and speaks softly. “Steve, it’s Eddie. I brought you a jacket. And some water. I’ve got crackers. You ready to go home?”
With his one good eye, Steve looks to him. Blood caked around his nose and mouth and chin. Eyebrow split, though covered with a butterfly bandage. His left eye is swollen shut and a deep, concerning purple. A part of Eddie almost wants to ask who left Steve here like this. To sit by himself and hold to his elbows. But, a stronger part of him cares too much about making sure Steve gets home.
Slowly, Steve reaches out his right hand and grasps at Eddie’s left wrist. Thumb harsh over his pulse point. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Without any fanfare or warning, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. Streaming down his face in sluggish lines. “I was stupid and got in trouble again and now I’m all…I’m all broken and ugly and I smell really bad and you’re gonna have to stay awake with me because I’m not allowed to sleep and I—“
“Baby,” Eddie whispers lowly, “Steve, I’m just glad that you’re alive. I’d rather look after you all beaten up and bloody than…Well, y’know.”
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Steve meekly asks.
“Do you want me to be mad at you?”
With great force, Steve shakes his head. Hissing and hiccuping at the pain that surges through him. “It hurts so bad,” he whimpers. “I just—They were going to hurt Robin and—and the kids. I couldn’t let them do that and now I—“
Eddie gently shushes him. “You don’t need to explain yourself right now, okay, sweetheart? We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”
“What if I never talk about it?”
He shrugs. Wraps his free hand over Steve’s where it still grips him. “Then you don’t talk about it,” he whispers. “Let me take you home, though? Give you the food and water I brought. Warm you up and change your clothes. Can clean your face,” Eddie lists. He cups the injured side of Steve’s face with a tentative hand, barely touching his swollen skin. “Clean this all up and brush your hair. Let you sleep.”
“I can’t sleep for long,” Steve reminds him.
“Wake you up every few hours, that’s fine. I don’t have school tomorrow, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“‘M’kay,” Steve agrees quietly. He’s drooping in Eddie’s hold. Exhaustion quickly swamping him. “Sorry if I throw up in the car.”
Eddie gently hefts them up off the ground, leads them towards the van, and gets Steve situated in his passenger seat. He murmurs, as he buckles Steve in, “I can clean up. But I’ll leave the window rolled down. I’ll drive slow. Do you want the jacket?”
Steve shakes his head softly. His eyes are closed and the rest of him is very still to his seat. As if moving anything physically pains him. It probably does, based on what Eddie’s able to see. “I don’t want to be reminded of the heat,” he state quietly.
“Okay,” Eddie whispers. He leans up into Steve’s space, presses a short kiss to his temple, and cranks the passenger window down. “Just lean towards the window a little. Rest. I’ve got you, baby.”
The car ride is incredibly slow, it makes Eddie antsy. But out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve tensing at every gradual rumble and deep pothole. It makes Eddie want to just get out and push the van. He slides a hand off of the steering wheel and goes to grab Steve’s left wrist, but he jolts away. Head colliding solidly with the window frame.
“Don’t,” Steve bites. “Don’t touch me there,” he whispers.
Eddie swallows down the sudden rise of bile in his throat. “Okay, Steve,” he murmurs right back. “Do you…you need me to pull off for a second? Give you a break from the bumpy road?” Steve gives a slow and tentative nod.
He pulls to the shoulder, parks in silence, and just sits in the driver’s seat. Face forward, eyeing beyond the windshield. He’d turn on the radio, try to fill the gap between their bodies, but knows that the noise would be too much. Instead, he listens in on Steve’s audible deep breaths. Like he’s trying to ground himself to the carseat or maybe veer away from puking out the window. Eddie wants to touch and soothe, like he normally would during Steve’s concussions. But…he can’t. There are tears percolating in the corners of his eyes.
“You need water?” Eddie quietly asks.
“Please,” Steve mutters lowly. His voice is crackling and snotty wet.
Eddie moves slowly between the front seats, grabs an unopened bottle of water, and uncaps it. He leans across the center console to find a straw in the glove box. Plops it in the bottle and offers it up for Steve to take. “Slow sips,” Eddie states, “don’t need to make yourself sicker.” Steve angles his body away from the window, leans forward slightly, and takes the straw between his lips. Each swallow of water looks like he’s trying to consume rocks. His tongue working slowly, hesitantly against the straw. Testing it. “You’re doing a good job,” Eddie can only praise.
When Steve pops off the straw, it’s with a gasping breath. Catching and falling and catching again. He lolls his head on the seat, looking over to Eddie. Chest moving up and down with shallow, croaking shakes of air. “We can go,” he rasps, “I wanna sleep.”
The water bottle goes to the cup holders. And Eddie does what he’s told. Crawling slowly back home. Taking small pauses to check in with Steve, help him drink water, nibble on some crackers, rub his back when he hurls out the car window.
But when they make it back home, they move in complete and utter silence. Through the front door and to the couch. Wayne ogles the two of them, fear present in his eyes. His mouth hangs open, suckled dry of all words he could ever think to say. Eddie makes him grab a bowl of warm water and a rag.
And they just exist in silence.
In fear, Eddie now realizes, of whatever happened to Steve.
Because they’re not stupid. This wasn’t a fire. There was something else. Something more…disastrous. Dastardly. But Eddie places the bowl on the coffee table, sits on Steve’s right on the cushions, and turns them towards each other.
“Alright, I’ve gotta clean the blood off of your face, Stevie,” he encroaches their silence. “I’m going to be really careful. I’ll go slow. But I need you to tell me when you need a break, okay?” Steve blinks groggily at him. His eyes are dilated beyond belief. Eddie’s nauseous just looking at them. These aren’t the eyes he fell in love with.
These eyes are like terror in existential form.
Steve nods, though. He places a shaking hand on Eddie’s left knee. Doesn’t tighten it, doesn’t pet the fabric under his hand, just rests it there. As if he’s searching for an anchor.
Eddie wets the wash rag with the warm water. Raises it to Steve’s chin. “If this hurts, you need to tell me. Here we go.” The rag stains pink and crimson as soon as it touches Steve’s skin. He hates how hard he has to press just to work the blood off, but it’s dried to him. It’s coming off in flakes, Eddie sees the particles fall to Steve’s dirtied uniform. As he works the rag over Steve’s face, he can’t help but notice how stained and red the uniform is, too.
It used to be something Eddie could tease Steve about. Be flirtatious and saucy about it. Talk about stupid things with. Make dumb fantasies and see if Steve will play into them. But looking at it now only makes Eddie’s chest hurt. Makes his stomach turn uneasily. Shrivels something inside of him that will never live again. But he’ll get Steve into his clothes. Get him comfortable. Maybe he’ll burn the uniform when Steve isn’t looking. Rid of it like a demon needing to be expelled.
The last bit of the blood finally comes away, flaking from Steve’s nostrils to the washcloth. Eddie places it back in the pink tinted water. And then he looks back. At Steve’s child like eyes. And his split lip. The plum like bruise around his left eye.
Eddie’s never had homicidal thoughts, but today might just be the eye opener for him.
But he continues to be gentle. Offering, “Let’s get you some of my clothes. I’ll wash your hair in the bathroom sink. Then, you can rest.” Steve just nods, allows Eddie to pull him along to the bedroom, and change him out of his clothes. Ignores the slight bruising on his ribs, where he most likely struggled or fell. Tries to not think about the red, twisting lines across Steve’s chest, arms, and wrists from where he’d been tied. Just covers Steve back up in reds and blacks and soft things. And, while Steve is looking away, throws the Scoops uniform away in a nearby waste basket.
Washing his hair is no struggle. Steve goes listless and quiet when Eddie scrubs at his scalp, carefully detangles knots that were glued together by sticky blood. He barely blinks as he watches Eddie move and go through his hair washing routine. Doesn’t protest any of what Eddie chooses to do—even when he puts too much conditioner in the ends of his hair or doesn’t do two wash throughs with the shampoo, even if he uses a hair dryer instead of a towel. Allows him, which Eddie finds a little odd. He has an inkling, though, that it may just be the gentle touch that Steve doesn’t want to mitigate.
When they’re back in bed, Eddie lays flat on the mattress. Putting space between their two bodies. His alarm is set for three hours from now, where he’ll wake Steve up and make sure his concussion symptoms either are stagnant or lessening. But for now, he just stays put. Eyes up at his ceiling, stomach turning and knotting at whatever happened today.
Whatever happened almost doesn’t matter, knowing Steve made it out alive.
But there’s a haunting to him that Eddie can’t ignore.
Right when he thinks Steve is asleep and goes to close his own eyes, does he hear the smallest of statements.
“Hopper died, too,” Steve murmurs.
“No…”
Steve nods sagely against his pillow. “Heard about it through some of the kids I babysit. Guess he…Guess I wasn’t the only one to make a sacrifice.” Eddie hears him shift, coming closer. His body warmth radiating and tight against his rigid body. There’s a hesitant palm that slithers and sits on Eddie’s chest. Where his heart beats rabidly. “Could…Could’a been me.”
Eddie places his own hand over the back of Steve’s. Presses them together firmly. His chest caving with the push. “Don’t say that,” he harshly whispers. “Don’t…Steve, I thought it was going to be you. Please don’t say that.”
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just…That’s the only thing I could think of before you got me. How I—I almost didn’t get to see you again.”
“At least you’re with me now, right? I’m just glad that you’re alive.”
“Yeah,” Steve croaks. “I just wish I could bring myself to tell you what happened.”
“Don’t need to do that, Steve. Just rest up and get better for me, alright?”
Steve shuffles closer. His head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. He nods. “Thank you. I love you,” he sleepily murmurs.
Eddie wraps an arm around his back and squeezes him tightly. “I love you, too, love bug. Get some sleep and I’ll check on you in a bit.”
The snores are a comfort after tonight.
——— And when he looks Steve in the eyes, mere seconds before he leaves for Vecna, Eddie understands the harrowing sacrificial fear. He’ll be the one to protect Steve now. “Make him pay,” he says. But he knows, reflected in Steve’s eyes, that there is finality in his stare. His stomach turns and his hands shake, but damnit, he’ll make sure that Steve won’t be the one drowning in blood this time.
He hopes to hear snores against his shoulder tomorrow night.
If night comes.
💕—————💕
125 notes
·
View notes
Note
HI LOVEEEER
I have a blurb for inflection point 👀👀 SOMETHINT MORE HOLY BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE HAD A SHITTY ASS WEEK!!
Jeonghanio and Seungcheol are just chattin away on their couch and reader comes home hella annoyed bc of work even tho jeonghans like "🤨" and then its just comforting bc reader just drops mega f bombs everywhere to a point where both men are terrified.
ANAGWAYS U DONT HAVE TO RESPOND I JUST HAD A IDEA 🫶🏼🫶🏼 LOVE UEYEYEYE
⟣ when you're having a bad day ⟢ wc: 1.8k words tags: fluff, sooo much fluff, cuddling
All you could think about after this shitshow of a workday is your wonderful cloud couch at home.
Not only does it provide maximum comfort during your...more risqué activities with either or both of your boyfriends, but on days much like this one, you can just sink into the plush cushions and let them swallow you whole. Almost like you're floating on a fluffy cloud—hence, the namesake.
You were mortified when Jeonghan finally spilled just how much money Seungcheol invested into that sofa. It was probably three—no, four times more expensive than the king-sized mattress he'd gotten for the three of you a year ago. Then and there, you realized that your first love has developed quite the eye for home furniture, and decided to make good on his paychecks by purchasing only the best of the best.
But the net worth of your cloud couch isn't the issue here.
When you shut the door behind you, the idle background noise from that sitcom Jeonghan has taken a fancy to these days flits to your ears—somehow easing the tension in your shoulders. He had to stay home because of a fever that's been running since yesterday evening. While that resulted to you having to cover for your boss' responsibilities for the day, you were glad to know he's been resting up just like you insisted all morning.
Jeonghan was particularly stubborn about using up a sick leave because one of the company's more insufferable clients scheduled a meeting with him today—one that apparently can't be pushed back a day since he's flying out of the country tonight.
So, like the outstanding employee and girlfriend you are, you reassured your boss-turned-lover to just relax, and that you and his secretary, Joshua have got it covered.
Besides, you've been in this business with Jeonghan for years. How bad could he possibly be?
"Whoa," Seungcheol pipes up from where he's buried under a fluffy comforter with Jeonghan on the couch. "You look like shit, babe. What happened?"
"Seungcheol," Jeonghan kicks his leg, and you don't miss the nasal quality to his voice. Your lover's miffed expression then morphs into something more hospitable. when he turns to you with a smile. "Hey, sweetheart. How was work? Not too difficult without me?"
You answer their questions by collapsing on the vacant spot right next to Jeonghan, a whine caught in the back of your throat as you buried your face his sweatshirt. He smells like laundry detergent and Salonpas—a far cry from his usual expensive colognes, but it fills you with a sense of quiet satisfaction, knowing you get to see him this vulnerable.
And Jeonghan can also see how vulnerable you are right now.
"He's so..." you trail off for a moment, the words lost on you because of how pissed off you are. "Why are we even considering doing business with such a fucking creep?"
Seungcheol tenses from the other side, rising a little to furrow his brows. "I know I don't usually ask about the specifics, but is this about that new client of yours? Did he do something weird to you? Am I going to have to beat someone up?"
Jeonghan sighs, easing a palm across Seungcheol's thigh over the comforter. "Cheol, calm down. If Mr. Seo has a type, it's definitely not our princess over here."
"What does that even mean?"
You huff before tucking your legs to your chest and shifting your weight into Jeonghan. You know you probably shouldn't be putting too much strain on someone who's sick but you can't help it!
"That weirdo wouldn't stop eye-fucking Joshua during the entire meeting! I bet he was even happy that Hannie wasn't with us today 'cause there was no one else that could tell him off. Joshua isn't exactly the confrontational type either, so..."
Jeonghan presses his lips together before making you rest your head on his shoulder, stroking your hair to placate you somehow. "But you're the confrontational type, right? Why didn't you show that asshole his place, hm? You've seen me do it dozens of times."
"In case you're forgetting, I'm just a regular employee, Hannie." You roll your eyes. "If I talk back to him, he might just have me fired."
"Who gets to hire and fire people in the office again?"
"...You."
"And do you seriously think I would fire my favorite employee?" Jeonghan teases, leaning down to plant a kiss on your nose. "You give the best head underneath my desk, love. What makes you think I'll let you go so easily?"
Your reaction is immediate, and Jeonghan lets out a soft chuckle when you peel yourself away from his embrace to relocate on Seungcheol's side—glaring at your boss as you grab tightly onto the football star's arm.
"Look what you did," Seungcheol laughs before nuzzling your hair affectionately. "As much as I want to know what that feels like, there's a time and place for everything, Han. Don't her feathers look ruffled enough?"
You let out a petulant noise, making a show of tilting your chin up with indignance. "Yeah, Hannie, haven't I gotten enough shit today?"
"Aside from the not-so-discreet Mr. Seo," he starts before getting up to pad over to your side so that you're sandwiched between your two lovers, "what else has gotten our baby so pissed off today?"
You puff out your cheeks, face souring at the mere thought of recalling everything that happened since you walked out of the door to your house today.
Since Jeonghan was sick, you convinced Seungcheol to stay at home to take care of him, despite the latter insisting that he drive you to work. You promised that you could manage, and that you sort of missed commuting to the office anyways.
That's your first mistake because you had no clue that the trains were down today, and you had to stand in a long line at the taxi bay, since none of the city buses pass by any areas near your workplace. You were already running a bit late as is, so you couldn't afford to walk either.
Today, you were an hour late for work when you've never been tardy your entire life (except for that one time your boyfriends tag-teamed you too intensely on a Monday morning, damn these men). In your attempt at apologizing profusely to Joshua—bowing a full ninety degrees and everything—you ended up knocking over his iced americano in the process.
The drink splashed all over an important document Jeonghan's secretary had been going over before your arrival, and that was honestly the first time you saw Joshua look like he wanted to strangle someone in the years you've worked alongside him.
It certainly did not help that you were supposed to meet that creep, Mr. Seo immediately after that altercation. Even if you managed to strike an acceptable deal with him after a few compromises, you could practically hear Joshua silently pleading for god to just kill him with lightning right then and there.
He must've been having just as bad a day as you are.
Your domino effect of misfortune carried over until lunch time when the nearby taco joint got your order mixed up. That happens pretty often though, and on a regular day, you wouldn't have minded, but with how terrible things have gone today, you ended up breaking down in a public bathroom.
As you animatedly recount the day's events, your two boyfriends listen intently. You're completely oblivious to how they slowly and quietly eased you into a more comfortable position on the couch—your back resting against Seungcheol's chest while Jeonghan props your legs on his lap.
"It was just a shitty fucking day," you complain, tears stinging the back of your eyes. You're not sad. You just tear up very easily whenever you're too stressed for your own good. "I hated that Hannie wasn't there. I hated the commute. I hated ruining Joshua's day. And I hate Mr. Seo even if he's bringing us a ridiculous amount of profit in the next few months."
Your rant makes you sound like a kid who got denied the toy she wants at the department store, and you hold your tongue at the realization. Seungcheol shakes his head before grasping your chin with his hand, turning your head so that your eyes would meet.
"Baby, I'm sorry we weren't there for you." He wipes the moisture from your eyes before pressing a long kiss on your lips—one that you immediately melt into. When Seungcheol pulls away, you even find yourself pouting.
"Trust me, I would've filled in Jeonghan's shoes for the day if I knew his absence would take this much of a toll on you," he reassures.
Jeonghan shakes his head at your lover's admission before nuzzling the crook of your neck. "Mmm... I don't know about that, Cheol. You might make the company go under within five minutes of talking to any of our clients."
Seungcheol scowls at him, and you stifle a quiet laugh. Can't argue with that. You and Jeonghan know very well that the way Seungcheol deals with problems is a bit too...aggressive for a corporate setting. He's better off channeling all that frustration in the field.
You jolt a little when Jeonghan circles his arms around your waist, peppering your neck, jaw, and cheeks with kisses that have you laughing at his ridiculousness. He only stops when his face is directly in front of yours, and you can't help the way your heart flutters when his lips curve into a handsome smile.
"Thank you for covering for me today, princess," he breathes, nuzzling your nose with his. "I can't kiss you on the lips 'cause you might get sick, too, but I hope you know how much I love you."
"I don't mind getting your cooties," you tease before leaning closer to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I love you, too, Hannie. But god, I can't imagine how you deal with our clients firsthand. It's one thing to watch you talk to them, but it's another to be the one making the important decisions on the spot."
"And you wonder why I make so much money," he chuckles.
Behind you, Seungcheol taps your thigh to call your attention, and you glance back at him with curious eyes.
"Jeonghan said he wanted to watch a bunch of Land Before Time movies when you got home, but we haven't decided on where to have dinner delivered from yet," he explains, leaning forward to press his lips to your temple. "You got any ideas, beautiful?"
Just like that, the day's stress has gone up in smoke. Though your beloved cloud couch certainly adds a degree of comfort you direly needed, cuddling with your two boyfriends is what ultimately quells your less-than-stellar mood. Even if the stream is lagging a little, and Seungcheol is getting crumbs and grease all over the comforter...
You wouldn't have it any other way.
⟢ end notes: this ended up WAYYY longer than expected. i can't even call it a drabble anymore but bc i've been having a shitty week myself too, i had to channel that all into this lovely request that anon slid into my ask <3 i miss inflection point jeongcheol so much and writing smth fluffy abt them for a change is such a breath of fresh air HEHE i hope more of you send in prompts like this!! i enjoy cooking them up so much~
p.s. check the series masterlist here!
#seventeen fanfic#seventeen fluff#💭 request#seungcheol#jeonghan#seventeen scoups#scoups#seventeen jeonghan#inflection point extras#svt fanfic#lovelyhan
514 notes
·
View notes
Text
Welcome Home
Part 1
Travis trudged up to the front door of his home, exhaustion evident in every step. His head throbbed, his throat felt raw, and his nose was a congested mess. The effects of a grueling game combined with a fast-spreading team cold had him feeling utterly drained. As he approached the door, it swung open, revealing Taylor's bright smile.
“Welcome home, baby!” Taylor exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a warm hug. Travis managed a weak smile, bending down to kiss the top of her head.
"Hey, babe," he murmured, his voice thick and nasal. As she leaned in to kiss him on the lips, he quickly pushed her away.
“Wait, Tay,” he said, backing up a step. “I... snff! I´ve got a cold.”
Taylor looked up at him, her smile turning into a concerned frown. “Oh, baby. Are you okay?” She asked worried, lifting a hand to his cheek.
“Yeah,” he sniffled and leaned away from her touch, “but you really don´t wanna kiss mbe right now”
Taylor smiled softly, placing a hand on his chest. “Baby it´s okay, I don´t mind.” She leaned in, aiming for a kiss, but Travis quickly dodged her, causing her to giggle. “Travis!” she exclaimed, feigning frustration.
“Ndo, really, I don’t wadt to give it to you,” he insisted, his words coming out in a nasal tone that made Taylor’s heart melt a little.
Taylor laughed at his determination. "Aw, babe, that's sweet, but we've been sleeping together and kissing each other all week. If I'm going to catch it, it's probably too late to avoid it." She leaned in, trying to kiss him again, but Travis shook his head, taking a step back.
He held her back, shaking his head. “Tay, I really don’t wadt you to catch it. You’ve got a flight tomborrow, ahd you have a ton of shows over the ndext few days. Snff! You need to stay healthy.” He sighed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand with a deep, liquid sniffle.
Taylor pouted playfully. "Trav, it's just a cold. I'll be fine." She reached out to him again, but Travis held up a hand, his eyes watering as his breath hitched.
"Hah... hah’NGSHhh!" He barely had time to turn his head before sneezing into his elbow, the sound echoing through the entryway. “Sorry… snff!” He sniffled again, louder this time, and fished a crumpled tissue from his pocket, wiping his nose messily.
“Bless you,” Taylor said, leaning in again, this time kissing his cheek before he could stop her, and started tugging him inside the house. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
Travis let her lead him to the couch, feeling too drained to argue anymore. He collapsed onto the cushions, his head falling back as he closed his eyes.
Taylor disappeared into the bathroom to get him some tissues, leaving Travis on the couch, his nose twitching as he fought off a sneeze. He pressed his knuckles roughly under his nose, scrunching up his face, and sniffling harshly and managed to kill the tickle in her head. At least for the moment.
"Here you go, for your sniffles." Taylor returned with a box of tissues, sitting down and handing some to him with a smile.
“Thadk you” He took a few, blowing his nose noisily, the sound harsh and congested. The effort made his throat hurt, and he turned away, coughing into his elbow. "This cold is kicking mby ass." He groaned, wiping his wet nose on the back of his wrist with another stuffy sniffle.
"Here, let me make you some tea," she said, placing the tissue box next to him and getting up. Travis nodded gratefully, still sniffling as he tried to catch his breath.
When she returned, Travis was surrounded by a small mountain of used tissues. He looked up at her with a sheepish smile, accepting the steaming mug. "Thags, babe," he muttered, his voice barely audible through his stuffiness. Taylor sat down beside him, gently caressing his neck.
"You're welcome," she said softly while stroking his hair. But Travis leaned away, shaking his head.
"Tay, really, snfl! you shouldn'd ged too close," he warned, his voice a nasal drawl. He sniffled and grabbed another tissue, wiping at his nose.
Taylor rolled her eyes and scooted closer, smiling playfully at him and wrapping her arms around his chest. "Stop being so paranoid. It´s just a cold”
Before Travis could protest, his breath hitched, and he barely turned away to avoid sneezing on his girlfriend as he snapped forward, unable to cover his mouth in time. "Huh'ISSHH! huh'ESSHH!"
"Bless you," Taylor murmured, still holding onto him. Travis wiped his nose on his wrist, looking sheepish.
“Ugh, snfff, I´b so sorry” he whimpered, pulling a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blowing vigorously into it. "See? Snff! This is why you should be staying a thousad miles away frob be." He mumbled from behind his tissue.
She rolled her eyes again and scooted closer, hugging him tight. “You’re being ridiculous. It's just a few sneezes, babe. I´m sure I'll survive.” She refused to let go, playfully tightening her grip around him when he tried to move away from her.
Travis sighed, his congestion making him sound even more miserable. "Snff! Id's dot just a f-few..." He barely got the words out before two more sneezes escaped him. "Hah'CHOO! huh'ISSHH!"
Taylor laughed, shaking her head. "Well, still. I´m not going anywhere”
She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He turned away, sniffling again. "I really dod't wadt you to get sick right dow."
Taylor couldn't help smiling at him, despite how miserable she knew her boyfriend was feeling, he looked awfully cute right now, with his voice all stuffy and his pink, twitchy nose. She could feel her heart swelling at her boyfriend´s fierce protectiveness over her even when he was so sick.
"Tay, I—"
"Baby, stop it," she interrupted, a sweet smile on her lips. "Are we really going to spend our last day together arguing about this?"
Travis shook his head, feeling defeated. "I just – snff, I jusd really dod't wadt you to catch this baby."
“Well, I really want to take care of you” Taylor leaned in closer, her eyes softening as she pressed a hand to his cheek and looked into his glassy eyes. "And I would really like to kiss my boyfriend before I leave for three weeks."
He hesitated but finally gave in, leaning closer and planting a kiss on her cheek. Taylor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"Oh wow. How romantic," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
Travis chuckled at her disappointment, cupping his tissues back to his face when it turned into a round of raspy coughs.
“Here baby, have some water,” Taylor murmured, reaching for the half-empty glass of water she had been drinking before he got home. She rubbed his back up and down as the coughing subsided and he was able to take the drink, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before taking the empty glass from her boyfriend's hand and replacing it with a tissue as he started sniffling again. He didn't have time to say thank you as he drew the fresh tissue to his runny nose, pinching his wet nostrils in the fabric as his lower lip quivered helplessly, breath hitching softly in his chest
"Huh'ESSHH!" He sniffled and wiped his nose with the soggy tissue he was holding before dropping it on his lap with a groan. Grabbing a few more tissues from the box, he blew his nose heartily, the sound loud and congested. He sighed, looking around at the mess of used tissues surrounding them. “I’b sorry, I just… hih… huh'ISSHH!! Ugh, I’b sorry, snff! This is disgustig” he apologized, wiping his nose with another tissue. "Do we have a trash cad?" he asked, cringing at the sight.
Taylor smiled and kissed his head before getting up to fetch a trash can. When she returned, she found Travis in the middle of a sneezing fit. "Huh'ESSHH! hah'CHOO! huh'ISSHH!" Each sneeze seemed to sap his energy, and he ended up coughing harshly. Taylor quickly set the trash can down and rubbed his back, murmuring soothing words. She looked at him with concern, brushing his hair out of his face.
"I can't believe you played a game like this," she said, shaking her head.
Travis looked up at her as he gave his nose a last wipe. "Half the teab is dowd with this cold, snff," he explained, sniffling. "We were all od the bedches, passig tissues ad blowig our doses."
Taylor laughed, imagining the tough football players reduced to a sniffling, sneezing mess. "Strong football men, huh?" she teased, making him smile.
"It's ad awful cold," Travis admitted miserably, gathering his used tissues and throwing them into the trash bin with another soft, wet sniffle. "It spread so fast. I really dod't wadt you gettig it. I should sleep id the guest roob todight."
Taylor raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin on her face. "Oh, really? You think you can get rid of me that easily?" She leaned in, hugging him tightly and pulling him closer to her. "You're stuck with me, mister."
Travis felt a familiar tickle in his nose and tried to pull away, but it was too late. "Huh'ESSHH!" He barely managed to turn his head to the side before the sneeze burst out of him, spraying the air in front of them. Taylor giggled, her grip on him tightening. "Bless you," while Travis groaned embarrassed, waving his hands in front of him as if to disperse the germs.
"You should go spray yourself with disinfectadt," he muttered, sniffling congestedly.
Taylor rolled her eyes at his paranoia and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "You're being ridiculous. I'll be okay” And then playfully kissed his nose. The light touch made his nose scrunch up and he sniffled sharply. Taylor giggled at his ticklish expression “You´re cute” She simply said, and gave his nose a little boop with her finger.
Trav chuckled softly, weirdly charmed by the notion that his girlfriend still thought he was cute when he was half-drowning in snot. “Oh, yeah, of c-couhh… Huhh… Huh'ESSHH!” Travis buried his face in his elbow with a damp sneeze, turning away from Taylor as his shoulders bobbed forward helplessly. “Hhuh... snfl... hhut'CHSHX!!” He sneezed again, and immediately gave his runny nose another swipe on his sleeve, sniffling softly.
“Bless you!” Taylor reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the tissue box, handing it to him. "Here, blow your nose," she said softly, watching as he took a tissue and blew his nose wetly.
“Uhh, snfl! Tay I… snff! I know I soud like a broked record by dow but-”
“Oh my God, Trav!” Taylor sighed, clearly amused. "Baby, it's just a cold. You're my boyfriend, and you're sick. I'm going to take care of you. If I get it, so be it. I've played shows with colds before. It's not the end of the world."
Travis finally sighed in resignation, realizing he couldn't win this battle. "Fide," he muttered, leaning back against the couch. "But if you get sick-”
“I´ll totally blame you” She smiled at him and leaned in pressing a small kiss on his lips, finally getting the kiss she'd been waiting for. Travis kissed her back, his lips warm and soft against hers. When they pulled away, he smiled at her, his eyes full of affection.
"You're crazy," he muttered, shaking his head and sniffing wetly. "You dow that?"
Taylor grinned stealing him another kiss. "I love you, you know that?" she said, her voice full of affection.
"I do know that. Mbakes me very happy" He mumbled into her forehead, pressing a long kiss there and rubbing circles with his thumb on her shoulder. "Me too"
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
im feeling a little bit sad today 🥺🥺🥺 :(((((
i remember i told u this hc before
like kuni and reader tck fight on the couch or smth i forgor
can i request a fic of this hc pls :)
Hey friend! Sorry for the incredibly late reply with this one- life and other fun stuff happened. 😅 Anyway- Kunigami is an absolute delight, and after many moons, I've gotcha covered! :D I hope you like it!
Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):
@ticklish-n-stuff @cupcake-spice13 @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @riisada
The smell of Kunigami’s body wash found you first before his hands.
“AHH!” You squealed in surprise when he wrapped them around your torso, fingers dancing against your sides and his face pressing into the crook of your neck. “Nohohohohoho, Kuhuuhuni!”
“Who’s Kuni? I’m the tickle hero- and I’ve come to fix a certain someone’s smile after they’ve been sitting here sad all day!” He growled into your skin, laughing as you thrashed and kicked against the cushions of the couch. “You look just like my target- lemme just make sure~”
“Aheahahhahaha, yohohohohou jeeheheherk! Gehahahahaha, stahahhap!” You cried, the dull ache in your chest starting to ease some with each flick of his fingers. It was true you’ve been feeling rather down as of late- the week had been a rough one and today no better. You should have known the ginger would come around.
Maybe that’s why you chose the couch instead of your room…
“Never! I’ll fight off the sadness within you until you’re happy once more-whoa!” Kunigami yelped when you suddenly jerked forward, bringing him halfway over the couch in your fits of giggles. Seeing your chance, you quickly grabbed him by the shirt to pull him over entirely. “Wait, hohohld on! (Y/N)-”
“Tickle hero, eh?” You grinned once you had the upper hand, scratching playfully into his belly and sides. “Well, call me the tickle villain- I’m gonna make you wish you never entered my domain!”
“Gehahahha! Whahahait nohohoho! Pleahhahahase!” The ginger cried out, unable to really fight back in his awkward position. Trapped upside down- all he could do was grab at your hands dancing along his weak spots. “Spahaahhare mehehehehe!”
“Never!” You giggled in glee, focusing your efforts onto the bad spots along the sides of his stomach. They always make him snort like a pig, and today was no different. “That’s right- laugh for me!”
“Aheahahaha! Zhggggzz! Noohohohohoho-zhhhght! Ehahahhhaha!” Kunigami cried, cheeks reddening and eyes squeezed shut as he tried to wriggle off the couch. Alas, it was no use- you managed to keep him trapped. “Whahahahit wahhahait tihihihme ohohohout! My ehheahahahahahd huhuhuhurts!”
You paused, pulling your hands back at his cry. Kunigami managed to sit up, rubbing his forehead with a small sigh. “You good?” You asked after a few minutes.
“Yeah…come here!” He twisted, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest as he resumed tickling. You cried in shock, laughing almost immediately when his hands found the terrible spots along the back of your ribs and shoulders. “Gotcha now! Take this! Tickle tickle tickle!”
“Geahhahahahahahahahha! Oohohohoh yohoohohu dahhahahahang hehehehero! Gehahahahaha, noohohooho my ehehehehevil plahahhahhaans!” You mock cried through your laughter, your will to fight fading with each press of his fingers. “Iihihihihih’m mehehehelting! I’m mehehehehelting!”
“What are you- a tickle villain or a tickle witch?” He asked, cackling at your dramatics. He stopped his tickles, watching you fake die on the couch. Twitching limbs and groans and all. “Take that, you dastardly tickle villain witch person- I don’t really know anymore!”
You laid still, folding your hands over your chest and titling your head up. Kunigami snickered as he leaned down, inches from your lips.
“And now- I, the tickle hero- shall awake my beloved with a kiss.” He was about to do so when you suddenly shot your hand up, catching his nose between two fingers and squeezing. “Oh no!” He cried, voice nasally and squeaky.
Bursting into laughter, you released him. He made a dramatic gasp for air before looking at you once more, smiling at your giggle fits. “That’s more like it. I was wondering when my sidekick was gonna come back.”
“Whohoho you calling your sidekick? I’m your rival and your love interest.” You smirked, taking his hand and squeezing it. “But really- thank you for saving me, hero. I was caught up in my feelings.”
“Heh, anytime.” He blushed, not used to such sincere thanks. You grinned as you pulled him down against you, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and a leg over his waist. “Whoa there- don’t you think this couch is a little small to cuddle on?”
“Shhh- I’m thinking of my next evil scheme.” You hushed him gently, combing your fingers through his fluffy locks like you were stroking a cat. Against you, he laughed, body shaking with mirth. “Next time I’ll be sure to use penguins. They always come through.”
"I’m sure they do.” He smiled against your chest, closing his eyes as you played with his hair. “Maybe…maybe I’ll become a penguin..”
“You’d be a cute one.” You giggled, finding him falling asleep against you. “Of course, you already are.
Thanks for reading!
#Blue Lock#tickle#tickle fic#kunigami rensuke#reader insert#kunigami x reader#comfort#lots of comfort#playfighting#heros and villains#sillies#God I love Kunigami so much
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guys, I'm cooked. Alexandra finally admits her feelings to Vilkas 🙈
Shouts of celebration reverberate loudly within dragonsreach. Alduin, the world eater, had been slain just last night by the dragonborn. It was a difficult victory, but one all the same. The word of Alduin’s defeat trickled down from the Jarl’s tongue to the nobles, then the common folk. Social class mattered not, each and every person was allowed to celebrate. It seemed the cheer was enough to soften the grudge between the battleborns and greymanes. It's an uneasy, but somewhat agreeable alliance. For now. To the left stands the companions, and Alexandra feels excitement mixed with stupid, giddy emotions rising into her throat. She turns away from the venue, heels clicking as she hides behind a pillar. She can feel Lydia’s gaze on her. Their eyes meet, and she sneers when Lydia’s eyes crinkle.
“Don't say it.” Alexandra huffs, dropping the fabric of her elaborately decorated dress in a heap.
“Say what, Harbinger?” Alexandra growls at the jab.
“Stop. I don't have…” the words are there, but she doesn't have the will to say them.
Lydia arches a dark brow, “Feelings? Emotions?”
A voice nears, and Lydia watches Alexandra’s expression morph into panic. Brows low and lips pressed tightly, she looks ridiculous in her attempt to play the stoic.
“Lydia.” The voice greeted her housecarl with the brusque accent of a Nord. It's nasally and a little throaty, but somehow still satisfying to hear. Cold pricks down her spine in uncomfortable waves.
“Vilkas.” Lydia smiles neutrally, tugging her thane out of hiding. Alexandra gasps, stumbling forward into Vilkas. She stands feet taller than him, another testament to her Altmer heritage. In the face of battle, the added height is a boon as she looks over her enemies. Now, it only serves as a curse when her breasts cushion her trip against his face. With bared teeth, she rips herself away—heels digging into the wood beneath her—pointedly looking from his face. For the first time, she could admit to herself that she was simply too weak to see what expression he's conjuring at the moment. Too weak, far too weak that her hands begin to shake at her side. The petulant expression Vilkas is used to is wiped clean. With her eyes drawn to two beautifully, glassy heels, he feels a spike of confidence. Finally, he's gained the upper hand.
Lydia watches with a hint of a smile as he takes Alexandra by the arm, looping it into his. Her thane is as rigid and tall as an evergreen as she struggles not to lean into his embrace. She watches as they walk across to another balcony.
Alexandra struggles in his grasp, her fingers twitching in confusion. Does she lean in? Or, does she push him away and brush past him like every other day? Only she could tell when was the right time to face the warmth growing in her heart. Every time he looked her way, the icy frost melted, leaving her heart vulnerable to the touch. Each clap of their palms when he hoisted her up after a scrap, something other than a frown would grace her lips.
She doesn't realize she's hunching until he stops. He unlinks their arms, and leans over the balcony, brown hair rustled by the breeze. Overhead, the sky is beginning to darken to a rosy tint. Even such a sight as this does little to quell her anxiety.
Alexandra knows what he’s going to say. Before she had left atop Odahviing's scale-covered back to Skuldafn, he mentioned his feelings. They're so close to something, but she's stubborn in her refusal to acknowledge what they share. What she feels for him. It feels stupid. She feels like a dolt for even entertaining emotions at all. They muddy up relationships and only serve to make your head full of cotton at the worst of times. Still, her heart failed to calm in her chest.
“You never answered me.” She perks up, eyes sharp.
She remains as stubborn as a mule, so Vilkas sighs in frustration.
“Alexandra.”
Her glance drops in embarrassment. Did he have to say her name like that?
“I don't owe you an answer.” Her words are choppy. Short, dry, and hard to swallow.
Vilkas’ fingers rub across the smooth, marble surface of the balcony. “You’re right.”
Disappointment lowers her shoulders, “You don't owe me one, but I would prefer it.”
The emotion is quickly replaced with annoyance. “Fine.” Her heeled foot stabs against the wooden surface beneath her. Vilkas turns to face her, silver eyes wandering a fair canvas strangely left unclaimed by freckles.
Her jaw works furiously, and for a moment, Vilkas fears this may be too much for her. She's never been one to freely express herself. The amount of resistance he's dealing with is astounding. This woman has faced countless threats—each larger than the last—and yet she can't even admit to her incredibly obvious feelings. Perhaps it is torturous, but it's not the same if she isn't the one to speak the words.
Her face is tight, screwed up like she's in pain. It's comical.
A laugh passes his lips, and she has the most incredibly offended expression he's ever seen.
“What?” She snaps, crossing her arms in indignation. “Stop laughing.”
Vilkas groans, “For the love of the Gods, woman. Spit it out. You're the dragonborn, how can this be so hard for you?”
He receives a huff and a sour look in return for his gripes. “Unlike you, I don't spend all day chasing my feelings. It's a foolish endeavor.”
He scoffs, “Foolish? You’ll fail at diplomacy. Perhaps Kodlak was wrong to choose you as Harbinger.” It's a low blow, but this back and forth is beginning to irritate him.
Her wrath is as clear as day as she grits her teeth and a bit of force is felt leaving her angry curse. The thu’um. He'd better be careful.
“Fine, don't answer.” Vilkas shakes his head, preparing to turn on his heel when he finally hears it. It's small. Quiet, so quiet that if the celebration were outside, he couldn't be sure he'd hear it.
“I love you.” Tears prick her eyes—unshed emotion threatening to close her throat. Blood pools up past her spine and to her cheeks, flushing them. His hands are surprisingly gentle as they turn her slowly to face him.
Never, not even in her worst moments, had he ever seen such an expression. It's as gratifying as it is disarming. Her brows turn up as her lips tremble in a pitifully tragic expression. He knew her prickly demeanor was a shield, an easy way to protect herself from getting too close, from falling too deeply into another.
The words that come next are just as shocking as the last, and he brings a knuckle up to brush her tears away.
“I'm sorry.”
Her croak is whispered against the wind.
“Don't be.” Vilkas murmurs, matching her volume. She looks so soft, so very weary of this world. The rough pad of his thumb rubs circles into her cheekbone. Her chest rises, but whatever words she meant to utter are swallowed by his lips.
#omg omg omg im insane guys im blushing this is killing me#been thinking abt this since i answered it in the ask 😭😭#skyrim vilkas#tes oc: alexandra#sometimes i want to make these into an actual story lol i gotta get better at writing first tho 😭
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Multiverse Madness Chapter Seventeen
Upon arriving back to the castle, Insanity was looking around, guard slightly raised but not entirely up. They were in Nightmare's throne room, near the staircase upstairs, to be more precise.
"you can relax, insanity. no one here will mean you any ill will. just don't harm them and they won't harm you, understand?" Nightmare told him, receiving a few tics and a nod, "good, now, let's go meet your new team."
Nightmare started walking, heading up the stairs with Insanity following behind him, the skeleton's steps a bit quick behind him, and Nightmare could feel his unease at the small space. It seemed he was claustrophobic, and that was something Nightmare could work with. After ascending the staircase, opening the door, and heading to the living room, Nightmare could hear laughter up ahead. Nightmare looking into the living room, seeing Dust passed out on one of the couches, Killer and Horror putting red rope candy into his open mouth as he slept.
". . . what are you two doing?" Nightmare asked in confusion.
Killer and Horror flinched a bit, the candy Killer was holding going into Dust's nasal cavity, waking him up with a muffled confused shout. Dust spat out the candy, Horror catching it as Killer laughed, Dust giving him a very unamused look. Nightmare could sense a large amount of negativity from Insanity towards Dust, it feeling like a previous grudge, but Dust wasn't the variant Insanity had a grudge with. Nightmare held his tentacle up in front of Insanity, keeping him from doing anything stupid here. Insanity would lose any fight he started.
"hey, don't look at me! horror was doing it too!" Killer snickered.
"twizzlers?! seriously, you two?!" Dust complained.
"yup!~" Killer grinned, and he looked back at Nightmare, leaning forward a bit and waving behind him, "looks like boss got us another teammate. he looks kinda like you, horror~"
"wha- he does not!" Horror snapped.
Killer looked between Horror and Insanity, before shrugging, "looks the same to me~"
"oh screw you!" Horror shot back, mildly irritated but mostly joking around.
Killer snickered a bit, and Dust looked tiredly between them before sighing, asking, "what's your name, new guy? i'm dust, the laughing one is killer, and the other one's horror."
". . ." Insanity was quiet, like usual.
"his name's insanity. he.. doesn't talk much. he also seems to have a grudge with someone who looks like you, unless you know him?" Nightmare replied.
"he doesn't look familiar." Dust shrugged.
"maybe he's got a grudge with murder? wouldn't that be fun?" Killer smirked.
". . . you do realize there's more than two dusttales, right?" Dust asked.
"i know, but it'd still be fun~" Killer pointed out.
". . . it would be fun seeing him get his coccyx handed to him." Dust agreed after a moment.
Nightmare lifted his tentacle from in front of Insanity, feeling the negativity settling as he realized Dust wasn't the one he had the grudge with, and Insanity sat down on one of the empty couches across from where Dust, Killer, and Horror were.
Horror walked over to Insanity, holding his hand out, saying, "well, uh... welcome to the team, insanity. don't mind those two. they can be a bit... much, but you'll probably get used to them."
Insanity regarded Horror strangely for a moment before shaking his hand, a fart ringing out through the area from a whoopie cushion on Horror's hand.
Horror snickered, grinning at him while Nightmare pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, shaking his skull with an exasperated sigh. Killer and Horror snickered a bit, and Insanity giggled quietly, similar to Horror's laugh but much quieter and near hyperventilation sounding. The trio didn't seem to mind it much, though, considering Horror's laughter wasn't much less unsettling to a normal monster, and those three were far from normal.
"so, you don't talk much, huh?" Killer asked, smirking, "good thing i'm such a chatterbox~"
"you're also annoying." Dust teased.
"says you!" Killer shot back, no heat behind his words.
"what do you mean 'says you'?! you're a million times more annoying than i am!" Dust replied.
"nuh uh!" Killer denied.
"you can't just use 'nuh uh' in every debate!" Dust snapped.
". . ." Killer was silent.
". . ." Dust continued the silence, and Nightmare knew what was coming.
". . . yuh uh!" Killer grinned, Dust lunging off of the couch and tacking Killer, the two ending up in a heap on the floor, roughhousing.
Insanity watched them, eyelights shaking and eye sockets twitching.
Horror looked him over for a moment, before asking, "you hungry?"
Insanity immediately shook his skull no, and Nightmare sensed fear coming from him, his jaw shaking a bit. Was Insanity afraid of eating, or just the motion of biting? The broken jaw probably hurt, now that Nightmare thought about it.
"you aren't?" Horror questioned, before observing his expression, "the food's safe, trust me, we wouldn't waste food by poisoning it or drugging it."
"i don't think he likes biting, horror. his jaw must hurt." Nightmare mentioned, moving to lean on the backrest of a recliner.
"ohh....." Horror realized, "you don't like biting, is that it?"
Insanity nodded a bit, twitching a bit more at some moments and less at others.
"so we just gotta play simon says with this guy?" Killer asked from the floor, voice strained from Dust's elbow being pressed against his neck.
"killer, be nice!" Dust scolded, lightly swatting at his skull as Killer flipped them over, jamming his elbow into Dust's ribs.
Horror sighed, rolling his eyelight before looking back at Insanity, the skeleton being confused, skull twitching occasionally, and Horror got his attention by asking, "would putting the food in a blender help you?"
Insanity's skull tilted almost ninety degrees, confused.
"you don't know what a blender is?" Horror asked, and Insanity's skull rightened itself as he shook his head no, ". . . alright, come with me, i'll show ya."
Horror started heading to the kitchen, Insanity following him after a moment while Dust and Killer continued tussling on the floor. Upon getting into the adjacent room, Horror showed Insanity the different appliances, finishing with the blender.
"-and this right here is called a blender. you put foods inside it and it turns them into a liquid or a paste, dependin' on how much liquid's in it." Horror informed, "ya got a favorite type of food?"
Insanity, still not on board with eating, both remained silent and just ticked at Horror. Horror sighed, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity and looking around the kitchen in thought.
"maybe he just doesn't wanna eat anything?" Killer suggested, leaning on the breakfast bar, sitting with his legs crossed on the seat, "most of the time i don't either."
"yeah, but if he ate something or got something in his body, his jaw might heal faster." Horror pointed out, "and eating is important!"
"you went seven years without it." Killer mentioned, "and i went countless resets without eating."
"i'm basically a zombie and you relived the same day over and over! those are completely different!" Horror shot back, and Insanity held a hand up.
"you dead too, insanity?" Killer asked him, receiving a twitchy nod, "heh, i'm dead inside so i guess that makes three of us."
Horror sighed, before saying, "still, just because you can go without eating doesn't mean you should."
Insanity crossed his arms at him, and Horror crossed them back.
". . . there would be a tumbleweed in front of the camera if this was a movie instead of writing on a screen right about now.." Killer muttered.
". . . do i even want to know what you're talking about?" Nightmare questioned, looking at him.
"cowboy stand off." Killer smirked, and Nightmare snorted, covering his mouth afterwards, and then he realized Killer hadn't explained the other part yet.
Oh well, it was probably another joke. Nightmare wasn't going to make himself seem stupid for not knowing, either.
"look, what if i eat a bit of it to show you it's not dangerous?" Horror suggested, and Insanity shook his skull no, "why not?"
Insanity was silent, just twitching at him with a look of pure stubbornness on his face.
"he's determined, i'll give him that..." Dust mentioned, teleporting to sit on the seat next to Killer.
"yeah, i wonder how he's gonna react to tacos tonight. we've been having those like three times a week now, haven't we?" Killer asked Dust, and Nightmare smirked slightly.
"yeah, that'll be fun." Dust sighed.
"hang on..." Horror muttered, Nightmare sensing and seeing his agitation as he handed Insanity a notebook and pencil, "write down why not."
Insanity remained silent, staring at it before moving the pencil around, showing Horror a picture of a plate with scribbles on it, an 'x' over it.
"yeah, i know you don't want food, i wanna know why." Horror told him in exasperation.
Insanity just stared at him, eyelights shaking in their sockets as he looked at the notebook and back at Horror, making no move to write anything.
". . . you can't read, can you?" Horror sighed, and Insanity twitched at him, Horror groaning and running a hand over his eye socket.
"hey, in all fairness, i couldn't read either!" Killer piped up.
"seriously?" Dust and Horror asked in sync.
"yeah! boss taught me how to read and write, but i'm sorry, horror, but your handwriting is atrocious." Killer responded.
"it's not that bad!" Horror defended himself.
"horror, buddy, you know that thing called psychopath writing? where you can't read a single damn thing it says?" Dust questioned.
". . . yeah?..." Horror answered after a moment.
"you've got it, and worse." Dust told him, and Killer snickered, "so do you, killer, but you have a valid excuse of having a single braincell."
"hey!" Killer whined, lightly smacking Dust on the back of his skull.
Dust went to smack back, Killer's hand already raised, and Nightmare extended a tentacle, blocking them off from each other.
"can you two behave yourselves for five minutes?" Nightmare requested.
". . . i think we know the answer to that." Dust replied, Killer snickering and Horror facepalmed.
"right, of course we do... look, do you like ketchup?" Horror asked, and Insanity shook his skull no.
"not liking ketchup? really?" Dust asked as he himself reached over and grabbed a bottle of ketchup, drinking out of it.
"i don't either." Killer shrugged.
"ok then 'mr. relatable', what would you recommend?" Horror questioned.
"well, i personally wouldn't make him eat-" Killer started.
"which isn't an option." Horror cut him off as Insanity walked off, Horror too focused on Killer to notice.
"you asked." Killer shrugged.
"you didn't help." Horror replied.
"uh, guys-" Dust went to speak, but was overshadowed by Killer.
"well i gave input, like you asked me to." Killer said.
"useless input." Horror muttered.
"your mom's useless." Killer smirked, teleporting to stand in front of him, looking overly proud of himself.
". . . what??" Horror asked, looking at him in confusion.
"guys-" Dust went to talk again.
"you heard me!" Killer said.
"you didn't make any sense!" Horror snapped.
"guys!" Dust shouted, slamming the ketchup bottle onto the breakfast bar.
"what?!" Horror and Killer asked, and Dust pointed past them.
When the arguing duo turned to turn around, Insanity was standing next to the fridge, a straw in a container of previously unopened applesauce, staring at them both with an unhinged yet entertained look on his face. Dust, Killer, and Horror all stared at him, and in return, all Insanity did was drink the applesauce, the edges of his mouth twitching up and almost reaching his eye sockets at different times. Nightmare snickered into his hand, a smirk on his face.
"No one can resist a snack when there's drama~" Bill grinned, appearing sitting on the breakfast bar and grinning at them.
"and here i was thinking we wouldn't be unlucky enough for you to show yourself..." Nightmare muttered.
"Awwww! You think I'm that merciful?~ Cute!" Bill grinned, and Nightmare groaned.
"come on, murder! this has been long overdue! besides, it'll be good for you!" Ink exclaimed, dragging the dusty skeleton through the snow.
Murder made no efforts to help, though, as his slippers were firmly planted on the snow, leaving two lines behind him as Ink pulled him, Blue up ahead and Dream next to Murder. Murder sent a look over at Dream, but the guardian of positivity shrugged with a small smile, not having much he could do to stop this.
"INK IS RIGHT, FRIEND! YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THIS!" Blue exclaimed.
"i already have a place to stay, you know. back in the omega timeline." Murder pointed out.
"MWEH HEH HEH! WE KNOW THAT, BUT WE'RE ALSO A TEAM, AND TEAMS WORK THE BEST WHEN THEY KNOW EACH OTHER VERY WELL AND HAVE TIME TO BOND UNDER THE SAME ROOF!" Blue smiled.
"yeah, this'll be so much fun!" Ink grinned.
"don't you live in the doodlesphere, and dream doesn't even stick around that much!" Murder pointed out.
"well, i can stay here for a while, and as for dream, he needs to take more breaks anyways! besides, this makes blue safer! if there's an attack, dream'll already be here to stop it!" Ink replied.
"i don't need-" Dream started, but Blue cut him off.
"NONSENSE! YOU NEED REST, MY FRIEND! YOU CAN'T BE THE GUARDIAN OF POSITIVITY WITHOUT RESTING ONCE IN A WHILE!" Blue replied, "AND MURDER! IT'LL BE GOOD FOR YOU TO HAVE A WAY TO BE MORE SOCIAL! THERE'S NO RESETS HERE, SO YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT! EVERY DAY IS A NEW ONE!"
"still not gonna handle being in a place similar to the one responsible for the worst moments in my life, though." Murder muttered.
"WELL THAT'S WHERE I SAY OUT WITH THE BAD MEMORIES AND IN WITH THE GOOD! YOU'LL BE JUST FINE, TRUST ME! WE'LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO MAKE SURE YOU'RE COMFORTABLE HERE, AND NOT DRINKING OR SMOKING! YOU KNOW HOW BAD THAT IS FOR YOU!" Blue told him.
"that's what this is, isn't it? keeping me supervised so i don't 'harm myself'?" Murder asked with a sigh.
". . . we also get to bond!" Ink chirped, and Murder facepalmed with the hand Ink wasn't gripping to drag him.
"this is gonna be a shi-" Murder started before he was cut off by Blue yelling, "WE'RE HERE!"
The four stood in front of Blue's house in Underswap, snow still falling from the ground. It looked like the house from Murder's timeline, but a NASA flag was flying from the left side of the house. It was made up of tan wooden boards, and there was a snow-covered awning over the door, held up by two black beams, and there was a window to the left of the door, since it was on the right side of the house.
There was a circle window on the second floor, and a porch extended out from the right side, coming out of the second floor. There was two mailboxes to the left of the house, the right one filled with letters and the left one empty. It... was so eerily like his home back in his timeline, yet there were some details that were different. Murder focused on those differences.
"i'm surprised it isn't summer here or something, considering it's a swapped version of the original timeline." Murder noted after a moment.
"THAT'S THE FUN PART! STARLIGHT ISLES HAS SEASONS! THIS IS APPARENTLY A RARER VARIANT, BECAUSE... WELL, LOOK UP!" Blue grinned pointing up.
Murder looked up, seeing a large gap in the mountains overhead, stars visible between the rock and snow raining down from the gap. Murder took a moment to just stare, in both amazement and awe. He's spent so long wanting to see the sky, only remembering fragments of Pacifist Routes or glimmers of the sun through Judgement Hall, and now Blue didn't even need to leave the Underground in order to see it. Murder was almost jealous.
"WE GET WEATHER HERE FROM THE SURFACE! NOTHING PASSES THROUGH THE BARRIER HERE, BUT IT'S STILL PRETTY! THERE'S EVEN SUNLIGHT TOO, BUT RIGHT NOW IT'S NIGHT TIME!" Blue grinned.
"yeah, blue gets some amazing views of meteor showers here! they're so pretty!" Ink piped up, "the creators did a great job with this au!"
"it... is beautiful." Murder admitted, tearing his eyelights away from the sky to look back at the other three.
"OH! WE SHOULD HEAD INSIDE! PAPYRUS GOT TACOS, AND HOPEFULLY THE TACO DEMON HASN'T STOLEN THEM YET!" Blue said.
"taco demon?" Ink, Dream, and Murder asked in sync.
"YEAH! I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT CAME FROM, BUT IT'S REALLY SCARY AND STEALS ALL OF OUR TACOS! MAYBE WHILE YOU'RE HERE, YOU CAN HELP ME CATCH IT!" Blue grinned, heading to the front door, opening it and beckoning them to enter, "PAPS! THEY'RE HERE!"
Ink dragged Murder to the front door, Dream next to the dusty skeleton as they went inside, Ink letting Murder go once the door was shut.
"oh, so you're the one my bro's been talking about so much, huh?" A Papyrus said, wearing an orange hoodie, brown shorts, and orange slippers, and he walked over from the living room.
The carpet was the same at first glance, but the pattern was reversed, and the walls were purple instead of red, and the green couch had turned mahogany red. The kitchen floor was purple and violet, and there was still a TV, and a staircase off to the left. There was also a dark purple table to Murder's right, and it had a rock on it. Well, at least he'd have an easy time remembering this wasn't his timeline; the colors were all off.
"yeah, this is murder! don't worry, he's cool!" Ink introduced.
"so i heard. my bro really likes you, you know?" Stretch told Murder, getting his attention.
"really?" Murder asked, surprised.
"yeah. he said it takes a lot of bravery to go through what you did. granted i don't approve of it, and neither does he, but we both understand it in a way. luckily for you, resets aren't a thing here and neither is genocide. every day's a new one. you can call me stretch by the way." Stretch responded and introduced himself, holding out his hand.
Murder hesitated for a moment before accepting it, a loud fart ringing out through the house, and Murder snorted.
"PAAAAAAAPS!" Blue whined, and Stretch chuckled.
"sorry, bro, had to give him a-" Stretch started, but Blue cut him off.
"DON'T!"
"-scents of my humor."
Murder chuckled a bit, smiling slightly.
"PAPS, THAT WAS HORRIBLE!" Blue whined.
"ah well, at least i cut the cheese for the tacos." Stretch smirked.
"ha! good one!" Ink grinned, snorting as he giggled.
". . . YEAH THAT ONE WAS A BIT BETTER. HAS IT SHOWED UP YET?" Blue asked.
"not yet." Stretch shook his skull no.
"how long's this been happening for?" Murder questioned.
"around a month or so, like three times a week." Stretch answered with a sigh.
"I TRIED FIGHTING IT ONCE, BUT IT JUST ABSORBED INTO NACHO CHEESE!" Blue sighed, "BUT LUCKILY WE'VE BEEN KEEPING BACK UPS!"
"i've never heard of a taco demon before." Ink muttered.
"me neither." Dream replied.
"i don't remember a taco demon anywhere." Ink added.
"you also don't remember what day it is or where you put something that you have in your hand." Dream pointed out.
". . . what were we talking about again?" Ink questioned, eyelights question marks, and Dream sighed, skull falling forward a bit.
"well it exists, and it steals our food." Stretch sighed, "we should probably eat before it shows up again."
The five skeletons headed into the kitchen, tacos set up on the counter next to the oven, and Murder felt a shiver go down his spine, and it seemed to affect the others too, the room growing colder. Dream's guard went up, summoning his knives as Murder watched in shock as something emerged from behind the counter. It looked like a giant hard shell taco with rice teeth, meat inside of it and melted cheese between the pieces of chip, and it had an olive in the center of the meat, almost like an eye.
It's body was made of a burrito, having arms made out of burritos with quesadilla slice fingers, and it had a fry tail with a taco shell bowl on the end, the bowl filled with salsa. Murder had to admit, it was terrifying, and he summoned a few bones to protect the others. The creature seemed to freeze upon seeing Dream, though, and Dream was tense beside Murder, and the dusty skeleton saw Dream's jaw briefly drop before his mouth became set in a firm frown.
". . . nightmare, what the hell are you doing?" Dream demanded, confused yet also deadpanned.
. . . What?...
"WHAT?..." Blue asked.
"wait, what?!" Ink exclaimed, looking at the creature as Murder just processed what Dream said.
The olive eye inside the taco creature's mouth seemed to glance from side to side, sighing as the form melted away into Nightmare's usual one, everyone immediately having their guards up. Murder was a lot of things right now. Confused, flabbergasted, in shock, and processing the fact that Nightmare would do that.
"wait.... nightmare has been stealing our tacos this whole time?!" Stretch questioned.
"nightmare, why?" Dream asked, sounding much more confused than anything.
". . . i have idiots to feed." Nightmare sighed, grabbing the food in his tentacles and teleporting out of the AU.
"HEY! GET BACK HERE!!" Blue shouted, arm up in the air, his hand clenched into a fist.
". . . that's one of the weirdest things i've ever seen, and i've seen bill in a thong." Ink muttered.
". . . HUH?!" Murder, Blue, Stretch, and Dream asked in confusion and alarm.
After that... revelation, everything was mostly a mix of trying to process that and trying not to process that. Stretch grabbed the backup tacos, and they all settled down in the living room, Ink sketching in a recliner he'd painted, and the other four eating, with Blue on Murder's right and Dream on his left, Stretch laying back in a bone chair next to the couch. The TV was playing something in the background, Murder wasn't concentrating too much on what, and after finishing his meal, exhaustion caught up with him. It wasn't just the alcohol and smoking he'd miss about his house in the Omega Timeline, it was the fact that he would lose his ability to sleep and no one witness him having a nightmare.
They'd gotten better over time, but they could still range from severe to mild panic, and he wasn't ready for his teammates, much less a Papyrus to witness that. It was why his house back in the Omega Timeline was so far away from everywhere else, not only because he preferred to be left alone but also so that he could sleep without waking anyone or worst case hurting anyone from one of his night terrors. Unfortunately, Murder didn't register his eye sockets were falling shut as he thought about this until he was enveloped in darkness, skull falling to the left as he fell asleep.
Dream glanced over to his right as he felt a weight on his shoulder, smiling a little upon seeing Murder sleeping, and he glanced over at Blue. Blue nodded with a smile, grabbing a galaxy blanket from his room before coming back, carefully draping it over the sleeping skeleton.
"HOW LONG DO YOU THINK IT'S BEEN SINCE HE'S SLEPT?" Blue asked quietly.
"i don't know, but probably a while. dusttales don't usually sleep very often." Ink shrugged from where he was sitting.
"yeah, i don't think he realized how big the bags under his eye sockets are..." Dream sighed, looking at the sleeping skeleton next to him, carefully putting an arm around him and pulling him a bit closer.
"i still can't get over nightmare stealing our tacos..." Stretch muttered.
"it kinda makes sense? i mean cross loved them too. not sure why nightmare would care about that, though, much less being responsible for feeding them..." Ink shrugged.
"I STILL DON'T KNOW WHY YOU NEVER INTRODUCED US TO CROSS." Blue said.
"i just never thought about it, honestly..." Ink replied, but Dream sensed there was more to it than that.
"i still think there was good in him. i sensed it. i know it was there... i don't know how it just vanished like that..." Dream sighed.
"MAYBE NIGHTMARE SAID SOMETHING TO HIM? WE STILL DON'T KNOW WHY DUST HATES YOU SO MUCH." Blue mentioned.
"maybe... i don't sense nightmare's magic in his mind at all, or in dust's, and nightmare can't mask his magic to my knowledge, so i don't know..." Dream sighed, shrugging a bit with his left shoulder.
"it would be kinda cool if nightmare was... you know... capable of caring about them. kinda like character development?" Ink said.
"from what i can sense, dust, killer, horror, and cross care about and trust him. it's nightmare who's throwing me for a loop. i can't sense his emotions, so i can't tell if he actually cares for them or not, but it seems like they have some form of strong bond. they don't seem hurt or in any way scared of him, so maybe he really does care about them..." Dream sighed, "i just don't understand him..."
"he's nightmare! the ruler of negativity and everything bad and sad in the multiverse. he's gonna be bad no matter what!" Ink pointed out, keeping his voice down.
"he wasn't always like that. he was... shy, quiet, had a bit of a temper, but was otherwise very kind, even when he was grumpy... he always loved animals, and he was such a kind spirit once you got to know him, but so few ever did... murder reminds me a lot of him sometimes..." Dream admitted, looking back at Murder, "and then that thing took him over, stole his name, and has been terrorizing the multiverse for five hundred centuries."
"MAYBE YOUR BROTHER IS STILL IN THERE, DREAM?" Blue asked, "MAYBE HE'S SLOWLY COMING BACK, AND THE ONES NIGHTMARE RECRUITS ARE SEEING THAT SIDE OF HIM?"
". . . no. i used to call him nightmare my brother sometimes, but i know he's not, so i haven't done that in a while, since he's not... not anymore, at least.... he died five hundred years ago..." Dream sighed, holding Murder a bit closer, and the room fell into silence for a while.
Eventually, Stretch and Blue went to bed, Dream staying with Murder on the couch while Ink sketched them from his recliner. Murder slept for a few hours, before he started showing signs of a nightmare, and Dream looked down at him in concern as he started muttering things in his sleep. Dream couldn't tell what he was saying, but he could sense his negativity growing, Murder being so close starting to burn a bit.
"murder? murder, it's ok." Dream told him, gently shaking his shoulder to try waking him before the nightmare could get too bad, the negative feelings leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a burning feeling on his right side.
It didn't take long for Murder to wake up with a gasp, eyelights red and cyan with a purple vapor trail exiting from his left eyelight. Murder's breathing was heavy, and Dream could hear Papyrus's voice saying things, and Dream looked around, seeing a version of Papyrus floating to his right, next to Murder. It was just his skull, with glowing red eye sockets, a tattered red scarf, and his red gloved. Murder's eyelights were locked on it, shaking a bit, seeming to try listening to it.
"murder, it's ok... you can relax. it was just a nightmare..." Dream reassured softly, though Murder's breathing didn't slow, tears forming in his eye sockets. Dream remembered the lullaby he used to sing to Nightmare after, well, a nightmare, and he started to hum it softly before he started singing.
"upon a hill, in the dead of night, there stood a tree, leaves of bright white, around the tree, lurked a small stream, where within it's water, all the fishes dream,
the ground, it was covered, all in fluffy snow, and in the air, a calming breeze would blow, and it whispered, softly, in the dead of the night, sleep soundly, because everything will be alright,
and as the clouds overhead, covered up the moon, it whispered not to worry, that morning would come soon, the snow would melt, carried through the stream, it would go with your troubles, which were a mere dream,
and as the grass shone through the cold, soft snow, and the ice melted away, revealing the green below, the fish would rise, to greet the morning sun, with the knowledge that a new day, had once again begun,
now sleep softly, soundly, knowing what will come, and wake in the morning, to the rising sun, and as you sleep, just remember, when inside you're a storm, that it will calm, and the cold, will be replaced with warm..."
As Dream finished, Murder had mostly calmed down, eyelights white again and the Papyrus vanishing. His breathing was a bit slower and the tears that had started to fall had slowed down. Dream rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, and he sighed in relief when Murder had mostly calmed down.
"that was beautiful..." Ink whispered from where he was sitting, holding up a large 10 on a piece of paper.
Dream didn't reply to him, instead asking Murder, "are you doing ok now?"
"y-yeah... sorry... what.. what was that?" Murder asked.
"something i used to sing for my brother, before he got turned into... you know..." Dream trailed off.
"a taco thief?" Ink asked, and Dream sighed.
"no, before he got corrupted. that's one word for it... anyways, it always used to help him. i doubt he still knows it, but i do, and i figured it could help you." Dream told Murder.
"thanks... sorry for the negativity... i doubt that felt good..." Murder apologized.
"don't worry about it. you don't need to apologize for feeling things, murder. emotions are perfectly natural, especially for what you went through. besides, it's better now. i can tell you're calmer, and that's all that matters." Dream reassured, Murder nodding a bit, looking sleepy again.
Dream started humming softly, trying to lull Murder back to sleep, which he eventually succeeded at, Murder's breathing evening out again, him falling into a hopefully more peaceful sleep. While Dream could sit up all night, it wouldn't feel the best, and Murder already didn't have the best posture, so Dream slowly moved to where he was laying down, Murder practically laying on him. Murder was likely effected by the small aura Dream always put out, but at least it kept him sleeping peacefully this time since Dream dialed it up a little. He could see Ink taking multiple pictures, and Dream sighed, ignoring him for now, instead hugging Murder while he slept, trying to give him good dreams so he could sleep peacefully.
While Dream didn't like using his aura to effect others, mainly to burn away Nightmare's magic, he would do it to cheer others up when they needed it, or, more often than not, help someone sleep peacefully. It definitely helped this time, since Murder was cuddling into him, hooded skull pressed under Dream's jaw and one of his arms hanging off the couch, the other arm wrapped around Dream a bit. Murder didn't move much in his sleep; he didn't even make a sound, he just slept. His quiet, rhythmic breathing was actually soothing, and if Dream could still sleep, Murder's breathing would lull him right to it.
Discord server: https://discord.gg/wQfvxyEuvj
#undertale au#undertale#killer sans#undertale fandom#sans undertale#ao3 fanfic#undertale alternate timeline#undertale sans#dust sans#horror sans#nightmare sans#insanity sans#ink sans#dream sans#blue sans#multiversemadness#undertale multiverse#murder time trio#murder sans#stretch papyrus#undertale fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#bill sans#bill cipher
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could I maybe....just once.........give Void a littol kiss?
"How do you feel about kisses?"
Void's hands stilled as he processed the question. Blinking, he set his pen down and turned to look at his guest.
"Kisses?"
"Kisses," they confirmed with a nod, settling themselves in the cushioned chair across from him.
"I've heard mixed reviews. I suppose I'm neutral on the subject." He looked back to his work, brow bones furrowing as he inspected his desk for something.
They watched as folders and papers were shuffled about with practiced ease, until he'd found something and brought it closer, narrowing his eyes as he read.
"Okay. What about kisses...for you?"
"I don't have lips," he mumbled distractedly, not even bothering to give them that Look he reserved for whenever they asked questions like this.
"Kisses don't have to be on the lips," the guest repositioned themselves, raising their legs over one arm of the chair and curling against the back. "They can be on the cheek, or the forehead maybe. Don't pretend you've never kissed your cats on their stupid little heads."
Void rolled his eyes setting his work back down, finally turning an unamused look on them. "What is it you're really asking me, Moon?"
"They wanna kiss you, boss man."
"Don't call me that-" he straightened, frowning, "who?"
They pointed upward, and Void glanced up for an instant before he cringed, a scowl pinching his features.
"Moon." Flat and annoyed and perfectly reflecting his expression.
They chuckled, shrugging, "You know who I mean, Papyrus. The ones I told about you. Or, well, mostly just one, in this case." They hesitated at that, amending, "Maybe. I don't actually know how many. But one who's asked. Very politely, might I add."
His glare eased as they spoke, something tired seeping into it. "What exactly have you been telling them about me?"
Shuffling into a new position with their legs crossed, they only offered a smile, "This and that. All true things...I think."
Sighing, Void leaned back in his chair, setting his pen down fully to cross both sets of arms. His focus went glassy as he stared somewhere past them in the room, exhaustion becoming more apparent.
After a long moment, the guest hummed. "You've been up too long, haven't you?"
Slowly, he pulled his gaze back to the present and rested it on them, quirking an incredulous brow bone.
"Humor me," they responded, almost softly.
Void's eyes travelled to the mess cluttering his desk and he sat up straighter again, "Once I finish this and hand it over to Ash, I'll rest."
Pulling something from their robe, the guest waved it with a smile.
"Kiss for good luck?"
That odd cat plush hung from their hand. He rolled his eyes as if to say 'I should've expected that' and then settled back into that signature, scathing Look.
"Just a little one," they bobbed the doll as if it were nodding, too, "promise."
Their eyes locked unwaveringly for a moment, until he sighed, bringing up a hand to pinch his nasal ridge. The guest's smile broadened slightly, but they waited patiently until he looked back to them.
"Just once, correct?"
"Correct."
Rolling his eyes yet again, he shook his head in disapproval of his own easy surrender before conceding and raising a hand for them to place the plush into.
Its craftsmanship crude at best, the strange little plush still held an undeniable charm. The weight of its presence less so, but to some degree, he might've understood. Almost.
With practiced care he himself was unaware of, Void brought the doll close and placed a gentle kiss to the top of its head. For the briefest of moments, it felt like a head cradled in his hand rather than a toy...but when he opened his eyes only two beads looked back at him.
Drawing a deeper breath, his senses alerted him to movement just before his guest's hand appeared, next to him now. They accepted the plush easily, and he turned his head to watch for a moment, as they fixed the fur before tucking it back into their robe.
"See? Not so bad. Maybe even nice?"
"Absolutely grueling."
The guest sighed, rolling their head back. Then, they chuckled. "Whatever you say, edgelord."
"Don't call me that."
He turned back to his work, ignoring the way their gaze on him lingered. Until suddenly something pressed against his skull, right on his sphenoid bone, light enough to tickle and gone before he could finish turning his head.
"You said once," he glowered at them, no real heat to his tone.
"You looked like you could use it," they teased, completely unrepentant.
Tucking the toy away, again, this time, Void kept his eyes on the guest until they'd made their way back around the desk. Opting to lean on the chair rather than sit this time, they slanted a sympathetic smile at him.
"Actually take a break soon, alright?"
With a huff of breath bordering on a scoff, he hesitated almost petulantly before nodding once. The both of them knew full well he'd stop when he stopped and not a moment sooner. But the guest could hope. He could use decent judgment sometimes.
They walked out the door and their presence vanished, but Void watched after them for a long moment. Drawing a deep breath, he leaned forward and attempted to pull his focus back to the task at hand. The faint warmth that still tingled beside his eye socket didn't help. Although...perhaps the distraction wasn't wholly unwelcome.
#I wanted to make a short little comic but I knew that would take ten million years so I hope this is alright:*)#anonymous#vf void#vesselfell#clear sky sunset#capricious moon#overcast moonlight
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Welcome to New York 7
Find the series masterlist
You finally see more of Miguel than his ire, and you like what you see.
Warnings: Pain, migraine, eye strain, poor reader does not have a fun time at the beginning, Miguel is still stubborn, but so is reader, Lyla is an instigator.
Word count: 1.8k
Eventual Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
Another week had passed, and your cuts were mostly healed up. Thank goodness. The itching had driven you crazy for a day or two. You’d brought in cookies once more, and so far your secret as the baker was still safe. You were sure Miguel knew, and obviously Jess knew, but nobody else had approached you about it.
Which was just fine with you.
You ended up in the caf, slumped at a table with nothing but tea in front of you, headache pounding behind your eyes. Your stomach threatened to rebel at the very thought of food, everything was too bright, and if you weren’t in the middle of Spider Society HQ you’d be tempted to curl up under the table and die.
A gentle rap to the tabletop made you lift your head just enough to see who had disturbed you. Your heart still lurched into overtime on seeing Miguel, mask gone, crouched down to be almost on a level with you.
“You look like shit,” he said, voice quiet.
“Thanks,” you rasped with as much sarcasm as you could muster. If Miguel was here, he probably needed something, so you braced yourself. “What do you need?”
He blinked, just once. His brow furrowed, gaze sweeping over you again. “You need to go to medical.”
You huffed and put your head down again, forehead pillowed on your arms. “No I don’t,” you muttered, obstinate. “Just need a bit of rest.”
“Then rest at home.” Miguel shifted closer to you, eyes narrowing further. “Do not fall asleep on the table.”
You huffed. Who knew he was so bossy? (And definitely less scary when he was fussing, as opposed to holding your weight near the edge of a building.)
Miguel huffed right back at you. “Go home,” he repeated firmly, standing back to his impressive height.
“Sure thing, bossman,” you mumbled into the cushion of your arms. You were tired and hurting and about 80% certain if you tried to get up you’d go right back down.
You didn’t hear him retreat and didn’t see him, but you knew you were alone again. You breathed out slowly, trying to muster the energy necessary to get up and go. He was right - you’d be useless the rest of the day if this headache persisted. The glowing screens were probably the worst possible thing to look at while your eyes hurt like this.
It took a few more minutes to get up, and you swayed, just a little. But nobody gave you a second look as you left the caf, cool tea still sitting on the table. You even made it to the elevator to get back to the main portion of the building, one hand half-covering your eyes to help lessen the glare.
The pain wasn’t debilitating yet, you could make it.
You did fumble to a halt on the bottom floor, though. You really didn’t want to walk, and you hadn’t had the foresight to call a cab. Fuck. Resigned to endure a little longer, you leaned back against a wall to summon a cab, fingers nearly slipping on your pad.
“Hey! Didn’t you see the signs?” a nasally voice demanded, loud and only growing louder as the person approached. “No loitering!”
You blinked, squinting a little. You couldn’t see much beyond dark blue business attire, and didn’t even try to look this asshole in the face. Even lifting your hand to look that much had hurt, needles driving straight through your eyes into your brain. “Waiting for a cab,” you answered, short and soft. You didn’t think you could raise your voice more than that, honestly.
“Are you drunk?” the person demanded, stopping in front of you, openly disapproving. “Or hungover?”
You didn’t answer, hoping if you ignored him, he’d go away. Of course you weren’t that lucky.
“Which office do you work in?” they demanded, stepping closer to you. The smell of their cologne was nauseating, too strong and artificial. You honestly thought you’d throw up for a moment, eyes watering with the combination of everything.
The person backed off a step as an unlikely savior stepped between you. You blinked when the light around you dimmed, blocked by someone’s frame. Miguel’s, you realized after a moment of silent shock. He’d dressed down into street clothes, though that didn’t soften the breadth of his shoulders or his height, not at all.
He didn’t even have to say a word to have the other person scurrying away, and you slumped in relief against the wall.
“I told you to go home.” Miguel turned to look down at you.
You made a vague motion at the cab you could just barely see outside. “I was waiting,” you rasped. You even sounded awful now.
Miguel didn’t say a word, but he did wrap an arm around you, helping you out to the cab. You needed it when the sunlight made pain lance through your skull, nearly enough to make your knees buckle.
But you were shocked when Miguel dropped into the seat next to you.
“What–?” you started, hand lowering from your eyes.
“Just making sure you get home.” His hand fastened around your wrist, gentle but implacable, as he pushed your hand back over your eyes.
You didn’t try to question him again, just breathing past the agony in your head. You’d be home soon and you could bury yourself in blankets until things felt less awful.
Miguel didn’t just see you off at your building, though. He kept his arm around you into the elevator, and then to your door. He didn’t say a single thing, just supported as much of your weight as you needed.
Finally, though, you were in your apartment. You made it to the couch and collapsed face-down with a muffled whine of pain. Still too bright. But you didn’t have the energy to move. But too bright.
Until the brightness dimmed. You didn’t even question it, just went as boneless as possible and pulled a pillow over your head, half-tempted to try smothering yourself.
The door clicked as it closed, the lock engaging after a moment. You didn’t pay attention to anything else, busy breathing through the pain, until you finally fell asleep.
There was a message on your pad in the morning informing you to take the day and recover. You thought about arguing or going in anyway… but honestly, you were still exhausted.
You ended up sleeping half the day away.
You felt up to working the following day, though, and intentionally didn’t check your messages before you headed to HQ.
“Well, you look better,” Lyla said, popping up once you were in the elevator.
“Definitely feeling better,” you agreed, smiling. “Did I miss anything exciting?”
“Weeeeeell.” Lyla smirked, floating along next to your shoulder as you walked to the elevator to take you down to your work area. “Miguel threatened to throw Peter B. out a window.”
“Wow, Peter must have really annoyed him.” Your eyebrows shot up your forehead and you side-eyed the AI. “Then again, I’m pretty sure Miguel threatens him on like a weekly basis.”
Lyla shrugged, still with that mischievous smirk. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
You snorted and pulled your sweater on as the chilly air of the computer room made you shiver. “Right, where did I leave off?”
Lyla obligingly pulled up the files, and you took a moment to just look. There was still so much work to do.
“Do we know why the multiverse has turned into swiss cheese?” you grumbled an hour later, busy sorting files into the appropriate folders.
“Not exactly,” Lyla hedged. “Miguel has a theory, but…”
You blew out a breath. “But it is just a theory,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “Right. Okay. Continued damage control it is.”
But the mention of Miguel doing damage control made you think of two days prior, when he’d not only ordered you to go home but escorted you home himself. You honestly never would have expected it of him. Hell, you’d been convinced he still disliked you.
Until he’d taken care of you. In a slightly weird way, but still. He’d even pulled your curtains closed to help block out the light.
A simple thank you for his help didn’t seem like enough.
“Hey, Lyla?” You waited until the AI hummed to continue. “What’s Miguel’s favorite type of cookie?”
Lyla blipped out to appear right in front of you, leaning forward, an impish smile stretching her lips. “Miguel’s? Why, you thinking of making him cookies?”
You warmed at the clear implication in her tone and huffed. “I want to thank him for helping me, the other day,” you admitted, waving a hand at her. “But he won’t just accept a thank you.”
Her expression softened and she backed off a bit. “Well, you’re not wrong,” she chirped. “I don’t think he has a favorite cookie. But…”
“But?” You leaned forward a little, eyebrows raised, well aware that she was dangling a carrot in front of you.
“He likes empanadas. Loves ‘em, really. I’ve seen him devour six.”
You blinked, leaning back again. Empanadas. You’d never made those before. Maybe that could be a weekend project.
“Thanks, Lyla.”
“Have fun!” She vanished with one last wink, leaving you to your work.
You made a batch of chocolate chip cookies that night, leaving the best of the cookies on Miguel’s floating platform. The rest got left in the caf again.
The weekend adventure was making empanadas. You tried three different recipes - two savory and one sweet. Did you go overboard? Maybe a little. But it turned out to be kinda fun, and your first attempts at closing the things was… less than pretty. (Those you ate, unwilling to give those to anyone else.)
You left early on Monday morning specifically so you could drop the empanadas in Miguel’s office.
And then you booked it back down to your work space and turned on music, pretending not to hear Lyla’s attempts to tease you.
But the best moment of all was at lunch. You had decided to try to power through the day, having hit a good rhythm with your work and your music. You bopped your head side to side a little as you tagged videos for ease of reference.
When you finally resurfaced, mid-afternoon, starving and tired and probably a bit dehydrated, you didn’t have to go far to find food.
A big reusable water bottle (with a sticker from your favorite show, you noted with surprise) and food. Left specifically for you.
“Lyla?” You blinked at both the water bottle and the food. The bottle was nice, heavy duty. That would definitely become a favorite. “Did a certain grumpy spider leave this?”
“No idea what you mean,” Lyla answered playfully. “Haven’t got a clue.” She winked, though.
You just smiled. Well. Miguel really wasn’t so bad. Maybe you could even be friends with him.
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gift for @mx-perfectly-fine
@leveragegiftexchange
Series of arts showing Eliot dealing with the consequences of a rough job (with specific 'job cameos' of the carnival and rundown jobs. Accompanying ficlets for each sketch are here
I hope you like! <3
-
Patching himself up on his own on the side of a road
[ID: Sketch of Eliot Spencer wearing a beanie hat and a sleeveless top and overalls, the top half of which are tied around his waist. He is leaning against the back of a pickup truck and sewing up a wound in his right arm. End ID]
Dealing with injuries alone, in Leverage HQ
[ID: Sketch of Parker, Hardison and Eliot from season 1 of Leverage, in the main conference room of their offices. Hardison and Parker are sitting at the table, looking at Eliot, who is walking in and bandaging his right hand. End ID]
Injuries get poked by Parker
[ID: Sketch of Parker, Hardison and Eliot from season 2 of Leverage. Hardison is walking in the background towards the lounge area of Nate’s apartment. Eliot is sitting on the couch and Parker is sitting behind it, leaning over to poke Eliot on his cheek, on the side of his face that is bruised right along it. Eliot is wincing and leaning away. End ID]
Parker forcible 'offers' an ice pack to help
[ID: Sketch of Parker, Hardison and Eliot from season 3 of Leverage. Hardison is in the foreground, leaning on the counter, and smiling as he looks over his shoulder at Parker and Eliot. Parker is shoving an ice pack against Eliot’s shoulder, forcing him back slightly. End ID]
Hardison confronts Eliot for not letting them help him
[ID: Sketch of Hardison and Eliot from season 4 of Leverage, as they are at the end of the carnival job, but Hardison has a coat and scarf on. He is standing behind Eliot, looking serious and frowning. Eliot is turned half away from him, his expression slightly sad and his face deeply shadowed by his hood. End ID]
Thinking back on the events in DC, Parker realises Eliot sought their help, and texts Sophie a photo of the boys in the hotel room after, with appropriate annotations
[ID: Three sketches of Parker, Hardison and Eliot from around the time of the rundown job. Top is the scene at the end where the three are walking away, Eliot with an arm around Hardison’s shoulders and Hardison with an arm around his waist to support him, while Parker is on Eliot’s other side, smiling at them. A bandage is wrapped around Eliot’s chest, over the bullet wound in his right shoulder and the colours are muted. The second one down is Parker in close up profile on her phone, smiling to herself as she uses it. Bottom one is white-framed image of Hardison and Eliot. Hardison is smiling and looking at Eliot, who is smiling and looking at a laptop in front of him. Over the image there are green annotations saying ‘hole through shoulder’ with arrows to the front and back of Eliot’s right shoulder, and arrows to both boys with a smiley face and the word ‘happy’ under them. End ID]
Best way to make Eliot take bed rest: lay on top of him
[ID: Sketch of Hardison, Parker, Harry and Eliot from Leverage Redemption. Harry is in the foreground, smiling and looking at the other three who are on/around a couch. Eliot is lying on the couch with a cushion under his head and a blanket over him, with a nasal cannula linked to a small oxygen tank and one arm draped on Hardison’s shoulder, the wrist of that arm in a plaster cast. Hardison is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, leaning his head on Eliot’s arm and smiling with one eye half open, looking at Harry. Parker is lying with her head on a cushion that is on Eliot, and her legs up on the back of the couch. She is partially turning towards Harry and smiling, and Eliot’s other hand is in her hair. End ID]
-
#leverage#leverage redemption#leverage ot3#alec hardison#parker#harry wilson#eliot spencer#cw blood#leverage gift exchange#masks whump art
108 notes
·
View notes