#now to start the teeth puzzles lol

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

another req.... lando with desi reader struggling with spice, he is trying to keep a brave face because theyre with family... but is suffering so bad lmaooooo while reader is relaxed lol.. and then lan doesnt hear the end of it obviously because thats our ghora pakora

gora pakora ୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ

·˚ ༘ ln x desi!reader 𓌉◯𓇋

·˚ ༘ fluff 𓌉◯𓇋

masterlist ☾☼

the dining room buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional clang of serving spoons as platters of rich, aromatic food were passed around. lando sat stiffly at the long dining table, flanked by you on one side and your cousins on the other. the desi family hospitality was in full swing, with heaping servings of butter chicken, biryani, naan, and more spread out like a feast for royalty.

lando was no prince, but tonight he was treated like one. a fact that would have been delightful if he weren't trying to survive the heat level of the food.

"so, lando, how's it going?" one of the uncles asked with a hearty laugh as he watched him load his plate.

lando smiled tightly. "great! love the food, smells amazing.

and it did smell amazing. the problem was, his first bite had already set his mouth ablaze. his tongue felt like it was tangoing with fire. but he couldn't back out now. not when everyone was watching.

he glanced to you, sitting calm and composed, spooning extra spicy curry onto your plate like it was nothing.

"how are you doing this?" he whispered, his voice little louder than the laughter and chatter.

you looked up, puzzled. "doing what?"

"this." he pointed delicately to your plate, then drank some water. "it's like you're immune."

you arched an eyebrow, smiling in resistance. "lan, this is mild."

his eyes went wide. "mild?!" He had whispered the words, but they sounded like he'd yelled them across the family. some of the family members gave him some inquisitive glances, so he tried to cover that by laughing and shoving a huge chunk of naan into his mouth to swallow the flames. that didn't work.

one of your aunts spotted the discomfort. "lando beta, is the food okay?"

he nodded furiously, swallowing down what felt like molten lava. "oh, absolutely. delicious! best i've ever had."

you nudged him, barely concealing your laugh. "you don't have to lie, you know."

"yes, i do," he hissed through gritted teeth. "they'll never let me live it down."

by the third course, his brave face began to crack. his forehead was glistening with sweat, his cheeks were flushed, and he was on his fourth glass of water. meanwhile, you leaned over with an innocent smile and whispered, "you okay there, gora pakora?"

the nickname nearly made him choke. he gave you a half-hearted glare. "i am never going to hear the end of this, am I?

you had the audacity to smirk, patting his hand. "nope."

after dinner, lando excused himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. his reflection told the story: red cheeks, sweat-dampened curls, and an expression that fairly shrieked, "what did I just survive?"

they reached the living room, where family gathered for chai and desserts. mango kulfi brightened up his face. he hoped his battered palate needed some soothing.

you made a place for yourself at the table; your cousin shifted over with an open grin to him.

"so, lando," the cousin started, "heard you race. pretty sure you were racing that curry tonight.

the room erupted in laughter, and lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “oh, come on. cut me some slack.”

your dad chimed in, holding his tea with a twinkle in his eye. “you’ve got to build up your spice tolerance, beta. start slow, work your way up. like training for a race.”

lando lifted his head, trying for a playful glare. "i'll have you know, i'm very good under pressure. just not this kind of pressure."

"you'll get there," your mom said kindly, passing him a plate of sweets. "here, have some gulab jamun. no spice, promise."

he took a bite and sighed in relief as the sugary syrup melted in his mouth. "finally, something safe."

you leaned closer, grinning. “you’re such a drama queen. it wasn’t that bad.”

he raised an eyebrow. “not that bad? my tongue’s considering retirement.”

by the time everyone left, the family had officially adopted Lando as their favorite comedic punching bag. As lando and you walked to the car, the cool night air providing much-needed relief, he let out a long sigh.

"i could not have taken it sitting down," he said, turning to look at her. "I would have died before that."

"oh god, that was the spiciest meal i've ever had in my life,"

"what about the quadrant hot wings video?" you teased. "besides, your little drama was cute."

he turned and stopped on the sidewalk, staring at you. "cute? cute? i nearly fought my life over there!"

you let out a giggle, grabbing his hand to pull him towards the car. "alright, mere gore pakore, let's go before you start crying again."

he groaned, shaking his head as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “alright, gora pakora’s getting his revenge next week. you’re trying british cuisine.”

you laughed. “deal. good luck finding something with flavor.”

his mock-offended gasp was drowned out by your laughter as thw two of you drove off, the night filled with the sound of your banter—and his not-so-subtle vow to conquer spice one day.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

i hope you like it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

[jellyfitzjelly]

May I request a NSFW prompt where non-tiefling female reader (crush) went to check on Zevlor in a rut but didn't know what's wrong. She offered to help from now on & confessed her feelings because she didn't want him to think it's out of pity?

I deviated a bit from the prompt, I hope that's okay! I ended writing about 3.8k of words about Zevlor in rut... I think I might unwell about this lol. Hoping you'll enjoy, anon!

From desire sprang delight | 3.8k words | NSFW | AO3

You feel excited as you make your way to the barracks to see Zevlor. You’ve been in love with him ever since you laid eyes on him at the Grove, though you’ve never admitted your feelings to him. You are too afraid to ruin the friendship you have built with him. You two have kept in touch after defeating the Elder Brain. You helped the old Hellrider settle into a new life in Baldur’s Gate. You know there will never be anything more between you two, but as long as he is happy, you are happy too. You greet him on the training grounds, but you immediately notice something is off. Zevlor looks uncomfortable, jittery and smelling of strong cologne and sweat. You wonder if he is sick, but he assures you he is fine. You start your biweekly sparring session. The old Hellrider is clearly distracted, so much so that for once you manage to get the upper hand for a short time before Zevlor inevitably gains his advantage back. Suddenly, the air thickens and his eyes seem to burn brighter as he pins you to the ground. You are overwhelmed with the scent of his sweat, but it surprisingly isn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, it seems to make heat pool in your belly. Your heart starts to pound as you gaze at the ex-Commander baring his teeth. He looks so…feral like this. Zevlor seems to snap out of his trance-like state and sharply pushes himself away from you like he’s been burned. You blink as you watch him get up, panting.

“Are you alright?” you ask with concern.

“Yes, yes,” he answers huskily. “I’m just more tired than I expected. I think we should stop there.”

You nod, a bit perplexed by what happened. You got into the changing rooms with him.

“You can go first, take your time,” the tiefling tells you. “I have some things to sort out before I can wash.”

He leaves you to strip. You undress and go inside the water room to quickly wash so you can help him with whatever chore he has. You come out and dress into the spare clothes you have brought, but you realize your dirty shirt is nowhere to be found. You look everywhere, puzzled, but you still can’t find it. You wonder if a servant took it for whatever reason. You decide to ask one of them in the nearby kitchen. On your way you pass by the storage room. You are stopped dead in your tracks by a noise coming from the room. You try to listen, and you hear something that sounds like a groan. You press your ear against the door and hear another groan. You wonder what’s happening. You quietly open the door a bit to take a peek and you are greeted by a shocking scene: Zevlor has his nose buried in the underarm of your dirty shirt, his pants down mid-thighs, as he fucks his fist. You stare, transfixed, at Zevlor’s cock. It’s large and ridged, the head wet with precum. The Hellrider moans, eyes closed, as he fucks his hand with desperation. You notice an odd swelling at the base of his sex, one that looks sensitive: when the tiefling squeezes it he lets out a loud moan he tries to swallow back. You look on as heat pools into your belly until it becomes unbearable. You slip a hand in your pants, finding your engorged clit. You gently give it circling strokes as you watch Zevlor snaps his hips into his fist.

“T–Tav!” he growls, his pace growing even more urgent.

It lights a fire inside you. You match the tiefling’s pace as you rub yourself, bucking your hips and wishing so badly it was your cunt Zevlor was fucking. You bite your lips as come silently, your clit pulsing under your touch as you watch Zevlor spills a seemingly endless stream of semen. His thighs are shaking with the strength of his orgasm. When hellfire eyes turn to look at you, you panic. You turn around and run back to the changing rooms with your heart thundering. Not long after, Zevlor arrives. His eyes widen when he sees you, and he gives a guilty look to your shirt which he’s been holding.

“Ah, you’re already out,” he says awkwardly.

He smells strongly of sweat, but somehow that just stirs your arousal again. Zevlor shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable.

“I wanted to have your shirt washed, but I thought better of it,” he explains.

“Oh, I see,” you say.

A heavy silence settles between you.

“I should go home, I do not feel well,” Zevlor eventually says. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel our usual drinks and dinner.”

“Of course,” you answer. “You shouldn’t work if you are ill-taken. I’ll walk you back to–”

“No need!” he hurriedly interrupts you.

You blink, a bit hurt but also puzzled.

“I am sure you have plenty of things to do. Don’t worry about me,” the Hellrider assures you.

You smile and nod. You leave him, feeling conflicted. He has lit a fire of lust inside you, but you are also deeply concerned. Has he seen you? Have you destroyed your friendship? The prospect is terrifying to you. Yet you now know he desires you. What should you do? And what on earth is going on with Zevlor? Was he sick? Or just pent-up? It’s so unlike him to give in to his needs like this in the middle of the day… No, something’s wrong with him. He needs your help. You know how reluctant he is about asking for help. You need to find out what’s going on.

You realize you virtually know nothing about tiefling anatomy. You need to read up on it and you know exactly who to turn to: Rolan. If you are completely honest with yourself, you are also curious. You keep thinking about that odd swelling on Zevlor’s sex and you can’t help but wonder if this is normal for tieflings. You go to Ramazith’s Tower and ask Rolan for anatomy books on tieflings. He gives you the books you request with a look that makes you blush.

“May I ask why you are suddenly so interested in my kind’s bodies?”

“Oh, just…curiosity,” you half-lie, your cheeks burning.

“Nothing to do with Zevlor, I suppose?” Rolan smirks with a knowing smile.

You splutter, deeply embarrassed but also feeling like the young man knows something you don’t.

“He��� He looks sick, I want to help him,” you finally manage to get out.

“Sure,” he snorts and leaves you to your reading.

You are deeply confused. You can hear Cal and Lia giggling somewhere in the tower, having probably heard your conversation. You decide to study the books rather than dwell on why you feel like the butt of the joke. Fortunately, you soon find out why you feel like it.

Zevlor is in rut.

Tiefling reproduction is different from humans’. At least once a year  they go through a period of intense fertility coupled with a strong sex drive. Males develop a ‘knot’ that ensure semen is not spilled out. If they are not mated, or do not act on their needs, they can become physically ill. Their sweat smells stronger during this period to signal their fertility to other tieflings. You suddenly understands why Zevlor smelled so strongly earlier. Your mind wanders then to him with his nose buried in the damp underarm of your dirty shirt as he jacked off. Does your sweat arouse him? It makes you shiver with arousal to think about it. Your heart also breaks: Zevlor is going through this plight all alone! You need to help him. You need to show him how bad you want his knot inside you. You want the Hellrider to claim you, to fill you. But…would he accept? Just because he wants your body doesn’t mean he wants you. Maybe…Maybe it’s just the rut talking. You shake your head. You mustn’t reason like this, you’ll only intimidate yourself out of seeing Zevlor. You need to go now and tell him your feelings. He needs help, whether he likes it or not! But first, you should prepare…

*

For probably the hundredth time today, Zevlor swears in Infernal as he spills once again into the waiting basin. He sags in the armchair he is sitting in, panting and cursing himself for his foolishness. He hasn’t had a rut in a few years with the amount of stress he had been under: the Descent, the travel to Baldur’s Gate, the Absolute, trying to settle in… He’s thankful Tav still wanted to talk to him after his terrible moment of weakness. She helped him find peace and build a new life.

Zevlor has been in love with her ever since their meeting at the Grove. A simple look from those enchanting eyes and he was smitten. He knows it would never be. Such an incredible young woman like her wouldn’t spare a second glance to an old man like him. Zevlor settled on having her friendship and he was happy with that. The Hellrider was content with what he had….until his rut came. After such a long time without it, his rut has come back with a vengeance. He hasn’t had such a strong rut since his youth. Work has been a torture this past week. Zevlor was a fool to think he could control himself in presence of Tav, he should have cancelled altogether their sparring session.  The aggression only heightened his arousal, and to have her under him, at his mercy… Watching gods, he almost lost control and kissed her at that point. Her intoxicating smell  was driving him up the wall. He ended up stealing her shirt when she went to bath to release some tension. He imagined fucking her, pushing his knot into her tight sex and filling her up. He felt deeply ashamed and embarrassed to do this at work, with Tav’s sweat-drenched shirt no less, but he couldn’t help himself. The worst in all this is that it backfired on him. Zevlor hopes the young woman will never know what he was doing with her shirt. Now he is home with only his hand to satisfy himself. It feels like some kind of twisted torture. No amount of release is enough to sate him. Zevlor knows having a partner would make things so much easier, but even the idea of going to the brothel displeases him. He cannot find it in himself to fuck someone while thinking of Tav.

A knock on the door echoes. The Hellrider groans, willing whoever this is to go away. There is another, more insistent knock on the door. Zevlor curses in Infernal under his breath, wondering who has decided to show up when he is so wrecked.

“Zevlor, can you hear me? Are you ok?” he hears Tav’s voice behind the door.

The Hellrider curses again. What is she doing here?! The gods are truly out to get him, it seems. There is a more urgent knock on the door and Zevlor finally gets up. He’s thankful he has gone soft again. He hurriedly throws on a shirt and some pants before striding to the door. He winces as he gets a whiff of his own sweat. He reeks. He opens the door and is greeted by the enchanting view of Tav in a summer dress. She looks beautiful like this with her hair up. He wants nothing more than to have her.

“Are you alright?” she asks with concern.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” he lies. “It is simply a minor cold. I’ll be back on my feet in a few days. You shouldn’t have come, I don’t want you to catch what I have.”

He prays to the gods she cannot smell the heavy scent of sex stuffing his place right now.

“But I can’t catch what you have,” she tells him like it’s obviousness itself.

Zevlor pales.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re in rut, Zevlor. You’re in pain and you need a mate.”

By the gods, no. It cannot be.

“You know?” he squeaks, panic overwhelming him.

“I saw you earlier. With my shirt,” she says, blushing bright red.

Zevlor is torn between kissing her and throwing himself down the stairs.

“I want to help you, Zevlor,” she continues.

“Out of the question,” he snaps.

He won’t have her pity. He can withstand anger or disgust, but not pity.

“You’re suffering! Let me help you! I can take it!”

“I said no!”

He tries to close the door, but she jams her foot against it. Damn woman. She never knows when to back down!

“Zevlor, I am not leaving,” she tells him sternly.

“I don’t want you,” the Hellrider lies.

“Oh yes, you do! And…And I want you too.”

Zevlor’s eyes widen at that.

“Look, I– I get it. You’re just attracted to me. I am fine with that. It’s alright if you don’t return my feelings, but I won’t let you say I am doing this out of pity!”

“Your feelings?” he blinks.

He gets a whiff of her perfume and he starts hardening immediately. Fortunately the young woman keeps her eyes on his face.

“I– I love you, Zevlor,” she stammers, getting beet red.

The old Hellrider finds her adorable like this. His desire surges forward like a tidal wave and he finds himself gripping her by the shoulders  claws digging into flesh. She looks at him with her wide doe eyes, and the tiefling has to fight to keep himself from kissing her.

“I need you, Zevlor,” she pleads, and Zevlor breaks.

He crushes her against him as he brings her into a searing kiss, letting her feel his hardness. She gasps into the kiss, grinding back against him. The ex-Commander drags her inside and closes the door. She’s back at his mouth immediately, hungry. He wraps his tail possessively around her thigh, brushing the tip against her crotch and making a sound in his throat when he discovers she doesn’t wear anything under her dress.

“You little tart,” Zevlor growls against her lips and immediately regrets it.

How can he disrespect her like this? His rut has made him lose his mind! Yet the young woman moans, rubbing herself on his tail. He can feel just how wet she is for him, and he loses all reason after this. All he is preoccupied about now is stretching that tight little cunt with his knot. He hoists her up and sits her on the armchair. He nips at her throat, mouths a clothed nipple and dives under her dress. He noses at her bush, breathing in deep her intoxicating scent. His knot pulses at the smell.

Later, he tells himself.

He spreads her folds, salivating at the enticing view in front of him. He all but gobbles up her clit and sucks on it. Tav squeals above him, arching up as her legs wrap around his head. His cock aches as he eats her out. He swipes his tongue lower for a taste. He recognizes the taste of lubricant right away. Arousal overwhelms him so much at the realization Tav took the time to get her hole soft and pliant for him that it has him almost orgasming on the spot. He slips a careful finger inside and finds her relaxed and slippery. He goes back to teasing her clit with his mouth. Tav bucks into him, making all sorts of sweet sounds that spread Zevlor’s control thin. He digs his claws into the supple flesh of her thighs as he comes up for air, unable to resist his instincts any longer. He crawls back up to kiss her, shoving his pants down and kicking them off before rubbing his cock against her vulva.

“Yes! Yes,” Tav moans, bucking against him.

Zevlor loses all control on himself when he hears her. He pushes her legs on the armrests and he breaches her with easiness. She keens all the same. The old Hellrider grabs her hips and pushes forward, enveloped by her heavenly heat. He has to stop for a bit, breathing through his nose to keep himself from spilling right now. Tav grabs him by the neck to bend him down so she can kiss him, nudging him with her hips. He resumes, his pace erratic and urgent. The young woman doesn’t seem to mind, far from it: she tightens around him every time his ridges rub her sweet spot. He thumbs her clit, spreading her wetness as he fucks her hard. She writhes and arches, her face a mask of ecstasy. He has to have her. He must have her. Gods, he cannot let her belong to another man. He tries to tell himself it’s just the rut talking, but he knows deep down that after this he won’t be able to deny himself. She’s his. Just like he is hers.

He feels his knot swelling, his need calling for him to claim her. He looks down, greeted by a view he will never forget: Tav, in the throes of pleasure, a strap down revealing her breast, her dress hiked up, her lovely neck flushed. He wants nothing more than to keep her like this for the rest of his days, drunk on the pleasure his cock gives her. He pushes forward, his knot catching on her entrance. Tav moans brokenly, shoving herself down on it. Zevlor pushes and pushes and pushes, breathless with need.

He chokes when his knot slips inside. The young woman constricts around him, and that is the end for him. His release crashes over him like a storm. He moans high and loud as he fills her up. Beneath him, Tav cries out as she shakes with her orgasm, clawing at him. They stay like this for he knows not how long, mind blank as the pleasure tears him apart and stitches him back together. He slumps forward, resting his forehead against the armchair just above Tav’s head.

“We need to do it again,” she wheezes, panting.

“My next rut is in a year,” he chuckles with disbelief.

“I meant I want to do it again today.”

Zevlor’s eyes widen, shocked. Tav smiles widely at him, blushing. Gods, she’s beautiful. His back starts to pain him though, so he hoists her up again. She whimpers, tightening around his knot and Zevlor sees stars for a few seconds. He walks to the bed and lies down on it so Tav can rest on his chest.

“The advantage when you are old and decrepit like me is that your knot goes down much faster than if you’re young,” he tells her with a smile.

She looks at him, stern. It makes his cock twitch.

“Zevlor, you are not old or decrepit.”

She tries to shift, likely to sit up but she finds the knot still stuck inside her. She settles on glaring at him. The old Hellrider finds himself struck with fondness. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as he smiles tenderly.

“I didn’t even tell you if I return your feelings or not,” he tells her gently.

She scoffs.

“I know you love me too. I actually can’t believe it took me this long to realize you liked me. You look at me like I’m Sharess herself.”

Zevlor splutters, reddening. He truly did not expect her to be this cheeky…or to have guessed correctly.

“I could say the same of you,” he shoots back. “Why in the nine Hells do you not fancy a young man your age?”

“Why would I when you’re right here?” she chuckles and gods, all he wants is to kiss her.

She shifts and his cock slips out of her, his knot having deflated enough. Zevlor grunts. Tav looks with wonder at his sex.

“Don’t worry, being hard for this long is normal with tiefling,” he tells her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know either way,” she shrugs as she sits up and take off her dress. “It’s my first time.”

“What?!” Zevlor shouts, sitting up with alarm.

“Relax!” she laughs as if it’s a light matter. “I meant I never had sex. I got plenty of experience with myself…if you see what I mean. I am no blushing maiden.”

She eyes his cock with something akin to hunger. She idly wraps her fingers around the tip still wet from the lubricant and her fluids. Zevlor whimpers from the contact.

“I want to taste you,” she suddenly says.

Before the ex-Commander can answer, Tav grabs his knot and bows down to swallow him down. He’s left scrambling for purchase as she wraps her tongue around his ridges and squeezes his knot  She’s clearly not inexperienced.

“I– I thought you were a virgin,” he moans as he tangles a hand in her hair.

Gods, it felt so good.

“Blowjobs don’t count as sex,” she smirks before swallowing him down from tip to knot.

Zevlor shouts, tensing up as he watches his lover deep throating him. He swears in Infernal as he throws his head back. His thighs are starting to quiver with his impending release when Tav lets him go. She straddles him and rubs her vulva against his sex.

“Wait–” he pants, but she plants her gaze into his and lowers herself onto his cock.

Zevlor watches her cunt swallows him, his semen and her fluids making obscene squelching noises. He bites his lips as he digs his claws into her hips, trying hard to stay still while she slowly impales herself on his cock. She fucks herself slow and careful, hands above her head holding her hair as she scrunches up her nose in concentration. The old Hellrider devours her with his eyes, taking in her beautiful naked body. As she picks up her pace she lowers herself on him. He runs a hand down her back as she works herself on his cock. Suddenly Tav grabs him by the horns as she bears down on him. Zevlor keens. The young woman is above him arms stretched, holding onto his horns as she fucks herself on his cock. Her breasts swings with her thrusts and the tiefling watches, mesmerized, before capturing one in his mouth. He sucks hard, making his lover keen as her entrance catches on his knot.

“Fuck– You’re so big,” she whimpers as she’s taking him in.

They both shout when Zevlor’s knot locks into place inside Tav, both coming at the same time. When she slumps onto his chest, he wraps his arms around her.

“Are you alright?” he croaks, trying to catch his breath.

His lover hums dazedly, clearly on her way to sleep. He pets her hair with fondness. She deserved some rest after making him the happiest man in the world. This is going the best rut he’s had in decades, he smiles to himself.

[moonshynecybin]

@tartquez here with a mermaid Marc au question but only if you want to! ✨

After he does his deal with the devil to turn his tail into legs in exchange for his voice, are there any particular shenanigans you think (mute bambi-legged) Marc would get up to?

scream if we ARE doing the full little mermaid with mute marc, he would SO annoyed that he cant talk everyone around him's damn ear off omg... hm i like him talking/being irritating…. im gonna let him keep his voice. for this the witch fucks up his arm or smth.

so marc gets his legs (wildly traumatic experience), passes the fuck out on a piece of floating decrepit driftwood like that first scene in pirates of the caribbean, and gets rescued by vale's crew (cele sulking moodily in the crows nest like uh GUYS? when he spots marc. who is of course naked and gleaming in the sun like a piece of gold.) and the academy boys pull marc's body limp from the sea, and when marc wakes up it is to the loose shirt and rakishly raised brow of the famous captain valentino rossi... literally like THE guy who he got legs for (in all universes marc starts doing dangerous stuff bc he sees vale doing it when he was younger and falls head over ass in love w him lol)… and he has to think up a cover story QUICK

of course as we know, vale is the most curious man alive. so when this hot (weirdly familiar.....) mystery man is deposited on the deck of his ship two weeks away from any land with no clothes, no nearby ship wreckage to explain his presence, and seemingly no memory whatsoever, hes like okay. you can hang for a bit until i figure you out. at least until we get to land— but you also have to make yourself useful :) (in my head he’s so charming about this offensive even if he’s like. implicitly threatening marc a little lol) and marc gets bored easily so i think he folds himself into the crew p fast after that… there are scenes of immediate flirting (marc comma shameless and BOLD. hasn’t really figured out the clothes thing). there are scenes of marc not knowing how to use a fork because he is used to using his sharp teeth and nails to simply rend sushi to shreds. there are scenes where pecco and luca pull out their fiddle and flute for the crew at the end of a long day of raids and the marc stares at them like hes under a spell because they dont have that kind of music under the sea. there are scenes of marc being deathly afraid of the ocean because he cant swim now (thrown in as a prank and vale rescues him ? perhaps ?). there are scenes of marc being surprisingly, viciously good at sword fighting (makes vale even MORE suspicious... like okay he is definitely not a two bit merchant deckhand lol) and them shirtless and sweaty in the hot sun spending hours trying to get one over on each other. marc staring at fire like hes never seen it before. him and celestino pranking crewmembers. an ache in his chest when he thinks about alex. counting his toes because they’re WEIRD and learning how to PEE and learning how to JACK OFF. and most off all falling harder and faster than he thought possible and vice versa... truly nothing vale likes more than a surprising little puzzle who is obsessed w him, even while theres a voice niggling in the back of his head that the alien way marc cocks his head and stares rings more like a shark than an amnesiac sailor...

UNFORTUNATELYYYYY for vale and marc, part of the reason marc excels at sword fighting is because marc IS the prince of the mermen or whatever the fuck. and his spell has a two week time limit to find true love before his arm (getting weaker every day) is permanently FUCKED (really bad when you live in the ocean or simply lead the kind of life marc marquez does) and he has to slink back home to papa marquez and all the boring, safe trappings of being royalty (PAUSE: santi is sebastian. thank u). so alex shows up trying to bring him back, but marc doesnt want to go (starts 2 become guilty about foisting this on alex) and cant swim like this anyways (scar on his arm getting bigger comma. new legs), and then vale CATCHES THEMMMM talking late at night when everyone else is in bed and he remembers all the stories about sailors being dragged to their deaths (true. lol) and remembers the glittering flicker of marc's tail after he pulled him from the sea twenty years ago and all of his suspicions at marc’s ability at violence. and then its a huge fucking mess.

[txtmetonight]

For Him ✆

call summary ⋆ ★ Chan is quite puzzling. But you're determined to break his walls.

pairing *. * Bang Chan x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ Fluff, Harry Potter AU

warnings *. Crude language (just one word lol)

call duration⋆ ★ 1.4k

a/n*. * I'm back in my hp phases lol and while I'm doing that, I'm pushing my chan wolf agenda yay

You suppose you’ve always known about Chan’s mysterious life. And then again, you suppose you always loved him since you were eleven, just as you placed your eyes on him onto the Hogwarts Express. But he is a tricky person to figure out and someone who doesn’t want to be broken down into pieces and given to another to be investigated upon.

Yet he still lets you do so in the very manner as you sit next to him with a full glory on your lips.

You used to wonder why you were the only one that he would let get close, but now as you stare at him with big eyes that hold much adoration, you’ve come to realize how grateful you are.

Chan is puzzling but god he’s a sweetheart when it comes down to it, always a gentleman and always with gentle love beating in his heart for anyone and everyone. Though he reckons that his organ is a little more honeyed for you though, not that he would ever admit it.

For he lives in the shadows of his past and present, and through a fear that he believes in will conjure into reality. And so, he hides a part of himself from you. You despise it very much from the bottom of your heart. You really do. You want to be his but he’s holding himself back and it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

The first time you chipped away a little deeper than he wanted to show, was when you were fed up with the white lies that slipped through his teeth.

When he excused his absences for something so abnormal you thought he was mental almost. Every once a month he left you alone with your thoughts over something so trivial or something extreme–just an explanation that made your head spin. So, you had the bright idea to follow him.

Everyone knows of the curfew set in place every night, yet he seemed to have a justification for doing so…why?

Your footsteps were quiet when against the floor and you held your breath, hiding amongst the dark and following the footsteps in the moonlight that shone brightly. It was a full moon.

You’ve known the castle like it was the back of your hand, 3 years since coming and the footsteps you’ve marked were etched in the back of your mind. And you very quickly realized where Chan was going–to the whomping willow. Your lips shivered to cry out to him, to ask him what he was doing but you clap your hands over your mouth when he starts to violently shake against the wind. He collapses. And the clouds reveal the luminous light in the sky.

Before your eyes, his hair shrinks back into his skull, and his body changes. You both see the same things, yet he feels it with pure disgust and embarrassment when his bones grow and rip underneath his skin.

But your perception is different because when he looks into the reflection of the deepest lake and sees a monster staring back at him, you see Chan. Not just a werewolf, but Chan, your lover. And you know that for sure when your nerves tingle with endearment as you stare at him in awe. He’s quite magnificent, you can note when he turns back to escape into the woods.

The second time you cracked it even more was 2 years later when O.W.L’s took over your brain, alongside Chan. Every single night, since that fateful day, you’ve found yourself stalking over the gardens to watch him on the full moon.

But you don’t dare to tell him that; you want him to feel like he has the right to tell you when he has gotten over his fear. Then so, you’ve trained yourself to go blind-eyed every moment except for that night. You suppose you could be selfish.

Chan is lonely. He carries a deep burden in his heart, and it aches to be released, not on its own but in the hands of another where they can sing a lullaby to soothe the pain. And you knew that it was going to be in front of you, but it left a sense of a hole in your heart when you saw him cry. You still sing to him, though.

“Hey Channie, what’s wrong?” You ask, wiping away the peals that streak down his cheeks. His face is flushed red, and he sniffles miserably. He doesn’t say anything, so you move in a little closer to place your hand over his heart, lips just ghosting over fingers at where it lies.

“I feel like, there’s something wrong with me.”

You look up to look at him, but he’s already staring at you with deep fondness in your eyes, you think that you’re going to tear up too. But you don’t. You question instead. “And why is that pretty boy?”

“Oh, I wish you would stop calling me that” He weakly chuckles. “But…I dunno why. I just–just know that there is something wrong with me. Like definite, for sure. And I hate it. It hurts, I suppose. I think it’s puncturing my brain.”

Chan sobs the last word before you grab his jaw and pull him, so your forehead gently tapped against his. Both pairs of eyes close and you realize how much your love runs deep for him. Again, where he feels nothing is where you’re encased in everything for him. For him.

The 3rd time is now, just after a year. You think. You hope his stone wall will shatter soon to let you in.

When the night is young, and the moon rises, you watch with curious intent as Chan drinks out of a gauntlet and shivers with grimace before the potion's professor with great urgency pushes him towards the hills that envelop around the school.

You follow him and it brings you great Deja vu that wraps around your stomach. Yet this time, rather than just breaking the mere school rules, you’re breaking the law by becoming an unregistered Animagus. Perhaps you’re a dunderhead, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You want to keep him company.

When the willow ceases its chaos, you slip past the hole near the trunk. Howls and whimpers echo but you don’t pay any attention. The shrieking shack is known for its ghostly activities but not for the true trauma that happens within the wooden boards. How Chan is in great pain because he is in love with someone whom he can’t have. Just because of himself and who he truly is; a bloodthirsty creature.

Yet he’s truly Chan when you strut your way into the broken-down living room, It’s truly Chan when he doesn’t attack you, and he growls against the moonlight. And it truly Chan when nudges you with his nose for a sense of doting that he craves.

You give it to him and lie on the floor, where he joins you. Your ear is near his pulse, and you feel it thrum alive against you, beating harder and harder. The thick wall is about to crumble, you reckon.

When it comes time for dawn to rise, Chan is Chan again, so you painfully twist back into who you are. Where the hardwood floor lies, instead is your boy, who scoops you on top of him. His eyes are glistening with tears and his lips quiver. Your fingers begin to tangle themselves into curls, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Neither of you have tried to get up yet.

“How long have you known?”

“Since 3rd year. You’re very handsome has anyone told you that?”

He turns pink but shakes his head no. You kiss him once more.

“Turning into an animagus…why would you do that for me. Go through all the trouble. You don’t have to.” He speaks. He starts to cry now.

As for his question, you decide that you don’t have anything else to offer but the truth. “I love you, Channie.”

He scoffs, “Am I not a monster? I could tear you…you apart if I got too out of control. I’m sick in the head and outside of it, do you not understand? You deserve better.”

You tug at his hair which results in a wince, but you move up closer to his lips, just where they hover above them. His breathing stills and he thinks that you’re a complete stunner in his eyes. You think the same if not more.

“And who is to say that except for myself. You’re not a monster, you’re just Chan who can’t eat spicy food. And I’m (Y/n) who’s been in love with you since the very fucking beginning.”

And then you kiss him hard, expressing unsaid emotions into that kiss, starting to tear up when he reciprocates, his fingers gripping your waist making you feel dizzy. When you two pull apart, Chan chuckles as he wipes away a stray tear.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts me. I love you too.”

You’ve completely broken in.

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of The Devil >Pessimistic Coffee // part 4

pairings: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean and cas are also there (as boyfriends <3)

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together. this part showcases the morning after your sleepless night where the boys try to find a solution and dean helps by making breakfast

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, hallucinations, graphic depictions of said torture

word count: 3,357

A/N: omgggg,, so this work is very quickly becoming quite dear to my heart so i just want to take a moment to thank anyone and everyone who has read this far!! (or any of it tbh lol) i'm not sure how many parts this will end up being but i think it's going to become my first ever supernatural consistent series and i just think that's super cool! thanks a million again, you all mean the world to me <3

read other parts here

———————

Sam nursed a cup of scolding black coffee while you showered. You insisted on being able to handle it yourself so he offered to make you coffee for when you were finished. He absolutely hated the idea of being out of arm’s length, but he had to trust you. Sam took another sip that singes his tongue but he endures the sting as it builds a layer of numb skin over his tongue. He idly runs his sore tongue over the tips of his teeth, worrying about if you’ve made it past shampoo yet or if you were dissociating under the stream of water.

He forces a gulp down his throat, feeling the roll of heat all the way down and settling into his stomach. The heat is soothing, aching, and somewhat regrettable.

The sound of footsteps echoing up the hall perks his attention even though he knows they’re too heavy and deliberate to be yours. No, he knew they were Deans. Sam's disappointment still made him sigh to himself when he confirmed that the footsteps were in fact Deans.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean tests. He walks casually through the kitchen and to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. He examined Sam as he did so though, letting his eyes rake over his baby brother's tense shoulders and along his pinched face. Sam mumbles a halfhearted “mornin’,” before taking down another- admittedly tad smaller- gulp of coffee.

Dean pours his cup and leans against the neighboring counter, trying to remain casual but the unspoken words itched to jump off his tongue. He takes a sip and hisses at the heat, holding his coffee low to let it cool a bit first.

“How was last night?” Dean settled on asking. He knew he had to ask sometime, and maybe without your presence it would be easier for Sam to be honest. Sam didn’t even flinch at the question, not looking up at his brother or really showing any signs of communication. Sam was stuck in thought, organizing his words to a precise speech as to do you and your situation justice, even in the small talk accompanied by morning coffee.

“Restless,” was the word Sam started with, figuring it was neutral enough to not find any pinpointed feeling to it just yet. He didn’t want to speak for you, but thankfully, at this moment, Dean didn’t really want to hear about you as much as he did his brother. Of course Dean was worried about you, but he knows how deeply Sam loves you and how deeply Sam feels for those around him.

“Did you get any sleep?” Dean follows. He has a feeling that even when you did fall asleep, Sam would remain up out of unyielding determination.

“Some.” One word again. The look that plagued Sam’s features wasn’t one of defeat or exhaustion, but one of deep thought. It was like he was spending every second he could to work out this puzzle of your situation. “It’s still Lucifer.”

Dean shakes his head, setting down his coffee, “what!?” He whisper-yells and Sam sighs, setting down his coffee and rubbing his forehead with his formerly free hand, his now coffee-free hand tapping on the cool metal table.

“Last night, they were having another… hallucination, we can call it, and I tried the angel banishing sigil and it worked,” Sam looks up at his brother with pinched high brows. Dean drops his jaw just enough to grind it instead of clenching it and looks off to the side for a moment to gather his calmest words.

“So that’s where Cas went,” Dean concludes, wondering where the angel in his bed ran off to in the middle of the night.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam scoffs a short, dry, laugh and pulls his coffee cup back to his lips, feeling a twinge of disappointment at the now cooled coffee. “It was the only thing I could think of, but it worked.”

“So, if Cas’ theory is right, then he’ll leave when the spell does?” Dean adds, his hands leaned against the island after taking a satisfied sip of his coffee.

“That’s the hope,” Sam nods, setting his half full cup of coffee down for good. Up the hall, Sam hears a familiar creak of his and your bathroom door. You had been on him about fixing that squeak so that you wouldn’t wake each other up in the middle of the night but Sam just kept forgetting about it, only remembering it needed done when he heard it. But right now, he’s glad he’s pushed it off for so long, the loud hinge was a reminder that you had graduated from your shower and could probably use that cup of coffee now. “Excuse me,” Sam said after standing and getting you a cup of coffee. It was just cool enough that he knew you would enjoy it since you often complained that a burnt tongue ruins your tastebuds for the following 24 to 48 hours of its initial damage.

Sam knocks on the door lightly before announcing himself, opening the door just enough to let himself in and then latching it again. “Here, love, it’s warm,” he hands you the cup. You sat on the edge of his side of the bed, a towel wrapped around you and your hair dripping onto your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you mumble into the rim as you sip down the bitter jolt of just under hot coffee.

“How was your shower?” Sam asks crouching down in front of you. He enjoyed looking up at you, knowing that whenever you felt sad or tired that you slouched, and this way he could still see every perfect detail that lined your face.

“Warm,” you reply simply, taking a larger gulp and licking the drip left on your lips. You sniffle since the steam has made its way from the cup and into your nose, loosening your already messy sinuses. After a night of crying and a warm shower, the stuffiness of your nose never seemed to go away. It would, of course, but you were starting to feel awfully pessimistic. Even over the smallest things.

“Good, honey,” Sam rests a hand on your exposed knee, lightly running his thumb over the skin. “Are you hungry? Dean’s making breakfast.” Sam had no idea if that was true, but he knew that if you wanted breakfast then he would make certain that Dean would make his famous biscuits and gravy that you absolutely drool over.

You just shrug. You really enjoy the warm coffee in your hands, the silky and bitter liquid that coats your mouth and reminds you that you’re back to your life. That you got out.

Except technically, you didn’t.

You got out from under Lucifer's thumb, but he’s still there.

And the ‘it’ that you got out of? Yeah, your brain? You would never leave- technically.

You stare down at the half empty cup in your hands, deciding on if it’s worth it to finish a measly cup of luke-warm coffee or not. You decide not to decide and simply set the cup on Sam’s side table.

“How’re you feeling, honey?” Sam asks, keeping pet names lush in his dialogue because he knew how much it soothed you. You pulled in your bottom lip, nibbling on the soft skin.

“Can you get my sweater,” you tick your head to your dresser on the other side of the room. Sam’s face hosts a sweet smile, loving and admiring. They say it takes more muscles to frown, but the lift of Sam's lips, despite the growing weight of guilt and worry, are starting to disprove that simple fact. He nods, standing to retrieve the sweater. It was a comfort piece of yours, large and warm, soft and drowning. He also grabs you a pair of comfortable shorts to wear with it.

Sam helped maneuver the outfit on your exhausted body, the cloth settling like a light and powdery blanket of snow. Sam takes the towel and hangs it up in the bathroom before returning with a hairbrush. He sits next to you on the bed, placing his hand on your knee.

“You should really eat something, love,” he pushes back a wet strand of hair that was right in your eyes.

“In a little bit, not hungry,” you take the brush from Sam, brushing through your hair sloppily, allowing some droplets to land on the comforter beneath you.

Sam understands, knowing you’re not usually hungry super early in the morning, but hoping that you’re not just ignoring your body’s needs. He lets the moment rest in this comfortably tense silence. So many unspoken words on the tip of his lips but the necessity to say any of them flying out the window.

He almost thought of mentioning Dean waking up to a lonely bed but he didn’t want to make you feel guilty. A part of him wondered when Cas would be back though.

“What’re you thinkin’, honey?” Sam asks, reaching out for your hand once you set down the brush.

“Waiting for him to come back,” you say, keeping your eyes glued to the desk across from the room. Sam follows your gaze and swallows, trying to keep a strict hold on his facial expressions as he turns back to you. “He’s real, isn’t he?”

Sam sighs, feeling his chest clench with the harsh reality of, yeah, that’s true. “A projection of him, at least.”

You just nod slowly.

“But I’ve been thinking,” Sam nods, his trademark puppy-dog eyes watching you with such a wash of comfort. “Me and Dean have these enochian sigils on our ribs that basically prevent angels from finding us. First, I think you should get them too, and second, maybe Cas knows of something that can imprint your skull too, or maybe another banishing sigil that’s less… forceful.” Sam finishes carefully, hoping he chose his words just right as to make the information settle easy in your ears.

Less forceful? Why would that sigil be a problem-?

Oh, fuck.

“Cas,” you breath out with wide eyes, turning your full attention to Sam who immediately shakes his head. He tries to assure you that it’s alright but the guilt has already finished its foundation in your gut. Because of you, Dean's boyfriend (even if he may not outwardly admit it), and your best friend- Cas, has been banished from his own home here at the bunker. “I-Is he okay? I didn’t even think about it. I just needed him gone. Sam-, I really didn’t mean to-.”

“Hey, hey, honey. It’s okay,” he nods, placing a hand on your cheek, hoping to coax you out of your panic. Your eyebrows pinch in regret. “He’ll understand, I promise,” that still didn’t really make you feel any better.

You nibble on your lip, letting your gaze drop to the floor beneath you. Sam has let his hand run through your wet hair, feeling the strands, settling them neatly.

“Wanna go to the kitchen? Get some more coffee?” He suggests, still carding through your hair and counting the different highlights, even if slight.

“Is Dean gonna be upset?” Your voice is small and worried- genuinely worried- that Dean would be mad at you for sending Cas away for a couple hours.

“No, baby, no, he understands. I already talked to him,” he assures, petting your hair with a tad of force to hopefully encourage you to turn back to face him again. You only continued to nibble your lip, the soft skin on the inside of your mouth was soothing and it squished under your teeth just right.

“C’mon, love,” Sam nudges softly, hoping to get you out of this room. You’re about to say no when you hear Cas’ voice. Your head perks up and your heart skips with guilty relief.

“Okay,” you nod, looking up at the door and then back to Sam who smiles warmly. He stands, reaching for your hands as he does so to pull you up with him. He snakes an arm around your waist to guide you out of your room. The cool air rushing past your wet hair tightens your scalp just a bit. It feels refreshing.

Muffled voices lead you down the path that you already know to be the kitchen. Turning into the room, you see Cas standing in front of a casually leaning Dean who looks up and down the angel with a warm smirk. Loving and domestic.

That’s what you four created here, in this post-apocalyptic style shelter that’s mostly underground. A loving and domestic home. Where Cas and Dean don’t have to worry about prying or judgmental eyes and where you and Sam don’t have to stress over the safety of each other. This place is home. Your home. And Lucifer is fucking ruining it.

You don’t see him just yet. It’s only Cas, and for that you’re thankful.

Cas notices you first, his affectionate eyes moving from one love in his life to another. You met the Winchesters through Cas after he helped you (well basically saved you) with a case a few years back.

He calls your name, filled with weighted love and understanding. He walks past Dean and towards you. “How’re you feeling?” He checks you over but mainly keeps his eyes on yours. Cas claimed he could read you like a book but you were not so sure. Of course, that’s just stubborn ignorance on your part though.

“I’m sorry for kicking you out,” you apologized, hoping it sounded lighthearted enough to take as a humorous apology, but your tone and face leads no further clues to allow someone to laugh. Cas still does though, knowing you meant to phrase it just in a way to be awkwardly apologetic.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just glad you were able to get some sleep,” Cas nods. In the back of his head, he remembers when Sam couldn’t sleep at all and how it led him to a ward. That thought also leads him to conclude that 75% of the beings in this room have endured a psychological torture at the hands of Lucifer in the extent of prominent hallucinations. He shoves the thoughts away to focus on the now.

“We were hoping that maybe you’d know something that could help keep Lucifer at bay but not you,” Sam explains. Cas flicks his eyes back to Sam to intake the words and then he looks off to the side thoughtfully.

“Perhaps,” he nods, still stoically zoned in on nothing visual- completely mental. “May I?” Cas outstretched his hand gently. You nod and he hovers his hand over your forehead, emitting a beacon of light that, again, warms your skin and soothes the underlying ache in your skull. When he pulls away, his face is a twist of confusion that makes Sam’s stomach sink.

“What is it?” Sam asks quickly, before you can even get your eyes fully open again. Cas looks up at Sam with a slightly gaped mouth, closing it to look back at you and actually find how to say this.

“Your levels of Valerian haven’t changed,” he states. You feel your breath hitch, it’s been 12 hours at least, shouldn’t they be down at all? Even a little bit? “Ideally, yes,” Cas answers, and you realize you were accidentally praying to him.

“What does this mean? How do I make it go away?” You ask, hoping to god that Cas will have the perfect solution hidden behind his back with a pretty bow and neat wrapping around it for you to tear into and take like a greedy child.

“We should talk to Rowena,” Cas suggests, knowing it’s the best choice. Dean's instinctual gut reaction is ‘hell no’, not wanting more magic would be the solution, and Cas can sense this, but Sam knows that Rowena is the best bet. Not only is she one of the most powerful witches they’ve come across, but the pure spite alone she would cast on Lucifer for helping would be enough motivation for her.

You nod, trusting Rowena, knowing she has her flaws but so does everyone. Only difference is she’s never had a support system like the individuals in this room.

“Okay,” Sam whips out his phone with no hesitation.

After a short phone call, there’s a promise of Rowena in about a day or so.

“For the time being, if you need to use the sigil, then I’ll just go far enough to not be affected,” Cas states. Your eyes soften at his simple understanding. You nod with a deep inhale of air and a tired smile as a thanks.

“That’s it, we need some breakfast,” Dean straightens his posture and clasps his hands as he heads to the fridge. The sound makes you flinch, but Dean doesn’t notice. You just shake your head at Cas as a silent, ‘I’m fine’, and the soft rub of Sam's hand on your lower back shows that he noticed, but won’t address it further than the simple comforting brush of his palm.

“C’mon,” Sam leads you to a seat at the bar, his heart aching with affection in the simple act. The fact that you’re just here with him now to watch over and protect is enough to make him feel okay right now, despite everything else. He pulls out a seat for you which you take, and then he takes the one next to you.

The air is tense, so many unspoken truths floating around the room with no promised destination. You nibble on your sore lip, looking down at the counter. Everyone can feel it. Everyone knows it. It makes your skin crawl with unease.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters after a thick pop erupts from the item in his hands. The sounds make you jerk your head up to see what happened. Dean looks up from the item in his hand, showing his embarrassment through a glare, and utters, “it spooked me.”

You stifle a laugh, because the oh-so scary item was just the roll of biscuits that snapped open in his hands. Sam is also watching with a stiff smile, one he knows will irk his brother further if he lets it grow.

“Shut up,” Dean rolls his eyes at both of you, setting down the rolls and turning to grab a can of non-stick spray for the pan. As soon as his back is turned, a small giggle melts past your lips and Sam smiles over at you. The humor in a roll of dough scaring Dean as if a ghost had just popped out in front of him- actually, no. You’ve seen that before and he’s never jumpy like that. That makes it a touch funnier.

Cas walks over to help with breakfast, his own smile ticks his lips up just a tad, strictly out of fondness for you. As he rounds the counter, he catches Dean pulling out the can of spray with a pleased smirk on his face. A smirk that he quickly wipes away and replaced with an annoyed scowl before turning back to you and Sam. “Do you want breakfast or not?” He grumbles, lifting the pan and spraying a generous layer of essentially really crappy butter as he sees it.

“Yes, please, sorry,” you murmur, trying to keep your fits of laughter away as honestly you’re too tired to deal with trying not to laugh in the face of a cranky authoritarian. Sam just watches you, enjoying the small peak of happiness you’re experiencing at this moment. He knows what's to come, he knows the troubles you both will soon face, on your own and together. He knows the toll Lucifer will have on you when all of this is over and he has a pretty tight bet that even with the Valerian gone, that the pesky stain of The Devil will leave charred remnants that will provoke consistent hallucinations.

But goddamn, he just wants right now to stay as perfect as it feels.

And you just want to ignore the crimson, glowing red dots in the reflection of the microwave.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @internallysalad, @checkedoutghost

[brightideathepunny]

Your sister introduced me to your YouTube channel and I love your puns. I used to be a brony and your MLP videos brought me down memory lane. (Even though I only saw the thumbnails lol)

You may remember me from asking your sister what it's like to be a twin, and now I want to hear your opinion on the matter. (Even if it's similar to hers) Consider it research for my upcoming novel.

Thank you for your question! Sorry it's taken me a long time to respond to your ask, I'm not nearly as active on Tumblr as my twin ^^;

I do remember @bettinalevyisdetermined responding to this question before, but not exactly what she said on her blog, so here are my own thoughts on

What it's like being a twin:

Growing up together, I knew we had something special that went beyond the typical sibling bond (we have a younger brother who we love dearly, but that love is so different). We were constant companions from baby-hood, what else can compare? Having someone to DO life with from the start feels like it made life easier for me to handle. If you saw one of us, the other one was never far behind. I always had someone close by who knew exactly what I was dealing with in life, because she was living it too. We explored, played pretend, lost baby teeth, learned to ride bikes, navigated family stuff, read the same books, watched the same movies and shows, solved the same puzzles, laughed at the same jokes. Not all the time, but definitely most of the time, whatever we did, it was together. We were separated in school from kindergarten-2nd grade, so we had different teachers and classmates and projects to do, but our parents started homeschooling us after our 2nd grade was over, so we spent even more time together and loved it.

Sharing is something that feels like we've always done instinctively, from sharing a birthday to bedroom space, toys, clothes, food, time, tastes...so much of what we had was ours rather than mine/hers. Even when people gave us individual gifts, we'd still often find ways to use them or enjoy them together. When we were old enough to dress ourselves, for awhile we would keep wearing the same things, as we would when we were little, or wear the same type of clothes but different colors, though starting somewhere around adolescence, we did find our own unique, preferred styles, eventually.

I remember my identity used to be so wrapped up in twin-ness, I had a hard time imagining any life without Bettina by my side. Around the time we were learning to drive and getting our learner's permits, that's when I got my first set of glasses, and I remember being quite upset because I would look different from my sister. Looking back on it, it's kinda silly, because we'd already been different for a long time, with our emerging personalities and slight but noticeable physical distinctions, such as a couple inches difference in height. As we grew up and sought independence from our family and cultivated our own relationships with other people (platonic and romantic), we learned that our twin-ness was still very special, but not the end-all be-all I used to believe it was.

The past couple of years we've gotten to attend the amazing Twin's Days Festival in Twinsburg, Ohio. Getting to know other people who are twins who've either lost their twin or aren't on good terms with their twin makes me appreciate the relationship I have with my twin even more. We stay in touch with each other as much as we can, but of course life gets busy sometimes, on both our ends.

Januarys always make me feel self-reflective, so this was an excellent question to mull over. Thinking about "what has being a twin meant to me" makes me feel all the things, happy that I can still reach out to my sister whenever I like, sad that we don't physically hang out as often as we used to, proud of all she and I have done in our respective lives, and excited to make more memories with her. No matter how much time passes, she and I can always pick up where we left off; even though we're long distance these days, we remain incredibly close. She's my twin sister, apart from me, and yet no less a part of me.

[qin-qin16]

If it's ok can I request a Reaper sans x reader x geno sans oneshot with fluff and suggestive themes (since reaper can act spicy lol) where it is a polly relationship with the three of them dating each other. The reader is kind, chill, Tomboyish and plays guitar and sings. Reaper acts like his usual flirty but caring and coffee loving self and geno acts like his shy, smart, kind and tsundere self and reader does tolerate reapers clingyness and flirts more than geno lol and reader would show the Bois an equal amount of affection. I hope this is ok with you :)

cw: Reaper x Reader x Geno, fluff, reaper can touch reader, maybe ooc?, suggestive talk in the end, bird courting, gn!reader…  

note: This was a big challenge since I never write anything about Reaper or Geno, but I tried my best! I didn't put the guitar part because I couldn't find where to put it.

You examine the small stone between your fingers; it not only fits comfortably in the palm of your hand, but it is also meticulously oval-shaped without any sharp or deep edges. However, what made your eyes light up about the stone was its color: a lovely, transparent rose hue that stood out vibrantly against the surrounding light.

Without realizing it, your lips curled into a small smile, subconsciously mirroring Reaper’s grin, who had, in fact, been the one to give you the small stone.

“What is this?” Your eyes finally lift, shifting your gaze to the empty sockets of the skeleton.

Reaper merely tilts his head to the side, as if observing something about you — perhaps your curious expression or the glimmer in your eyes. To you, he seemed just pleased with your reaction to the stone, but there was something more in his familiar and relaxed posture.

“It’s a gift, a mate gift.” He confesses in a tone so unlike his usual one; his voice is soft, almost a hesitant whisper.

You bow your head for a moment, your teeth fully exposed in the broad smile that spreads across your face — your eyes once again focused on the stone, which now rests in the palm of your hand. Even though you don’t fully grasp Reaper’s words, your appreciation for the gift hasn’t lessened at all; in fact, it seems to deepen, resonating with your soul.

“It’s a beautiful gift, I really like it…” Your voice is as soft as his; not shy, but warm and appreciative of the small, yet deeply meaningful gift.

In response to your words, Reaper brushes his face against yours, letting out a deep purr between his teeth. Laughing at the gesture, you don’t even realize you’re reciprocating the affection, gently rubbing against him, your foreheads touching in a tender display of affection. Wanting to amuse him a bit, you whistle melodically at him, a sound reminiscent of a bird calling to its mate.

“Did you know that penguins give stones to their partners as a symbol of marriage?” You only realize you had your eyes closed when you open them and see Geno standing not too far away, a smug grin on his face, “It’s like an engagement ring in their language,” he adds, approaching with slow steps.

Pulling your faces apart slightly, you glance sideways at Reaper, beginning to piece together the puzzle in your mind.

“Why am I not so surprised?” It was a rhetorical question, as with Geno’s words, you were starting to make sense of some of Reaper’s peculiar habits, like the one from earlier (or when he gathered a bunch of blankets and sheets and had both you and Geno sleep in that pile of fabric with him for days).

Finally at your side, Geno also pressed his face against yours, though more as a gentle touch than a warm embrace. He then extended one of his hands close to your face, revealing that, in the middle of his palm, was a small stone slightly different from yours — it was rounder and more opaque, resembling a pearl except for its size and its pinkish hue.

“I couldn’t pass up the chance to court you two before moving on to the mating part—” And before Reaper could finish his sentence, Geno pushed his face away from yours.

This prompts a genuine laugh from you. While such moments like these weren’t unusual, it’s still amusing to see Geno blushing at Reaper’s intimate suggestion.

If these small stones really mean what you’re starting to understand from Geno’s explanation, then you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with these two skeletons so cherished by your heart.

[girlnadian]

Hi Five ^_^ hello... it's me, your mutual... So I saw you were doing kiss prompts for Valentines. Idk if I'm late since it's ending for me, but, um. I think it's obvious who I'm going to ask for, lol. If you do 66 from the kiss prompt for Theoken I will owe you my life.... they're my little guys...

kiss prompts — 66. staring at the other's lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

SORRY THIS IS LATE BUT I WAS SOOO HOPING SOMEONE WOULD ASK FOR THEOKEN tysm melli. i wanted this excse so bad.

651 words // divider

"That was stupid," Ken says. "You know that was stupid, right?"

"Shut up, dude."

"That was a creeper, Theo." Ken doesn't roll his eyes, but he's definitely doing whatever the verbal equivalent of rolling your eyes is. It makes Theo's feathers ruffle and his wings flare, indignant and embarrassed. He grits his teeth. Ken continues, "I can handle a creeper explosion."

"I know," Theo says. He drags a hand down his face, "What does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter," Ken seethes. "But you're the one that jumped in front of me. Why did you do that if it doesn't matter?"

There are a lot (a lot) of things Theo has come to admire about Ken over the last few months—they have a surprising amount in common. Ken talks about prisons and puzzles the same way Theo talks about PvP, with the passion that only comes from people who understand their craft beyond a surface level. Ken wants to be the best at what he does, just like Theo does. Ken is selfless and clever and snickers in a way that makes Theo's heart flutter. This, however, is something Theo goes back and forth on. When he's feeling especially down bad, Ken is determined. Right now, Ken is just stubborn.

Theo doesn't have an answer, so Ken keeps going. "I want to know why you always do this. It– It was a creeper today, what is it going to be next? Are you going to start putting your jacket down so I don't have to step in puddles? What if you got in front of an explosion that could actually kill you?"

And that's another thing: Ken is smart. Theo isn't dumb, but he's never had to be clever in the ways Ken has had to be. Theo has always thought, worse comes to worst, he could fight his way out of anything. Ken plans and then makes backup plans and is always prepared, but Theo has never needed any exit strategy other than himself. It's worked for him every time except for right now, with Ken standing in front of him, ears pinned and tail thrashing. Theo has long since learned to bite down the half of him that wants to cower in the face of a predator. He isn't weak. Still, he doesn't have a way out.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Theo tries, teetering somewhere between desperate and bitter. Ken falters.

"I don't," he starts, stops, and then shakes his head. "I don't need you to protect me like that."

This time, Theo does bristle. Maybe it shouldn't but it hurts. It feels like a dismissal; he feels like an idiot. It's far from the first time Ken has made him feel like that.

For lack of any other outlet, Theo reaches out to grab Ken by the jaw. The cat-hybrid startles, but doesn't pull away or struggle, even as Theo drags him closer. He tilts forward and braces his hands on Theo's upper arms to steady himself. Theo doesn't– he doesn't realize what he's doing until Ken is close. Really, really close. Normally it's Ken sidling into his space, coy and teasing, Theo has never–

"I do things like that because I want to," Theo says. He says it too quietly to be meaningless. "I want to protect you. I'm good at it. What's wrong with that?"

Something about the position dissipates all that charged energy. No, it's still there, it's just… it's different. Theo's eyes drop to Ken's lips unwittingly. He flushes before he remembers his sunglasses will hide the gesture—when Ken glances down in kind, it's out in the open.

Theo isn't weak. Ken might make him feel that way, but– Fuck it, Theo is not weak.

The hand on Ken's jaw moves to the back of his head, and someone (Theo thinks it's him, Ken will argue against that later) closes the distance.

[perpermintttt]

Lantern of Wishes: Episode 2:6 ~ Translation

Warning! Spoilers for the event, obviously. Originally I wanted this to just be moments I wanted to share but it turned into me just adding the whole chapter so... translation...sorta...😭🙏 Chapter title! "I thought you were a stranger"

The chapter starts with Kalim and Jack praising Riddle! AWHH I LOVE HIS SMILE SO MUCH There was a question about strength and exercise that Riddle didn't immediately know but Jack helped him with that one!! They rejoice in the disappointed faces of Idia and Ortho LMFAOO Poor Deuce has his head hurting from the crossword puzzles :(

There's another gush of wind! The pattern for Part 2 of the event seems to be everyone visiting them! OHHH ???: "Pathetic. You should be using your brain more often." HEARTSLABYUL DORM THEME / OST PLAYS AND IT'S ACE WHO SAID THAT!! Deuce asks if he came there just to laugh at them and Ace replies he isn't THAT bored with an offended expression 😭😭😭

Ace says he went through the trouble of getting the darts set he and Deuce sometimes play with in their room! Also there's something from Jamil but he handles it roughly making Riddle mad but Riddle literary immediately goes back to normal when he sees Trey LOL Trey tells him to not worry about the dorm and just focus on escaping <33

And there's the chapter's title reference!

The gift from Jamil is a basket with Kebab ingredients and Jamil was busy with arrangements so he couldn't come. They're about to cooking to recreate the princess's story!! Trey says he and Jamil are worried about them doing the cooking 🙏 Awhh the list sent by Crowley said "baking ingredients" so Trey thought they wanted to bake something but they can't bring in big stuff to the library. He just brought simple cookies so they can just finish it themselves by putting chocolate or jam in between 🥺💞 In a way they make the cookies themselves. TREY ALSO BROUGHT A TEA POT FOR TEA!! Anyways, this teeth freak.

Trey told Ace to also bring some kind of collection that Riddle will use even if when they cook they won't be using any fire. Riddle says he will also be using the darts Ace brought with a smile ❤️‍🩹 Only now does Ace notice that Riddle's hair is much more longer than everyone else's hair. AWHH Deuce saying that their housewarden is amazing 💞💞💞 Ace doesn't get what he's praising though 😔 Trey asks if the hair length is bearable and Riddle replies he'll just have to deal bear it until he can escape.

THEY'RE GOING TO CUT IT NOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭 But indeed Trey, it has grown so beautifully.

Riddle tells Ace and Trey to leave the rest to him. They comply with smiles. End of chapter. This one is a little late cause I ate breakfast sorry 😔😔

Previous ~ Next

Episode 2:1, Episode 2:2, Episode 2:3, Episode 2:4, Episode 2:5, Episode 2:6, Episode 2:7, Episode 2:8, Episode 2:9, Episode 2:10, Episode 2:11,

[waydowninwastetown]

Content Warnings ahead; Animal death, mentions + implications of abuse, neglect, violence, body horror. all appropriately tagged in respective moons/discussions

Why'd he have to go and do it? Hushback should have known his brother had gone and fucked it again. But Dustyshiver was Strongstar's shining son, golden and delicate like a drop of honey. Strongstar's surprised final expression was atonement for coddling the only son borne of his body. Hushback would do it again. They were lucky Little Arrow Beneath Falls agreed to nurse their festering party. Hushback did not deny it. He limps forward, resting his weight on her as they walk. Little Arrow Beneath Falls presses back against him gently, eyes half closed. Would it have been the same if it was her that died? Would Dustyshiver come to his aid if it was his mate that felt the dark tip of a stranger's claw and not Softkick? Hushback's good foot slips under him, just a breath, and he sucks in air through his teeth. His bloodied leg twists. Little Arrow Beneath Falls stops, looking him over. Ahead, Dustyshiver does not stop, and neither do his children. Brown and cream fur brush past thoughtlessly in the tight space between reeds.

synopsis "A series of bad decisions made by would-be leader, Dustyshiver, have lead his small, struggling family into a new, unfamiliar land."

_____________________________________________ Hey! My name is Syd. I started this blog a while ago now, but without much thought or direction. I have a little more now! lol I work in fast food, so my life schedule is unpredictable. I upload any finished moons, comics, or related art every Thursday, and answer asks every Friday. Comic will be separated into two styles, see more below cut. Should this comic do very well, perhaps someday I'll remake it entirely in a more narrative style. A """warrior cats""" Clangen, if you understand what I mean, The setting is collaborative, shared with three other Clangen Comic Makers linked below (see #sisterclans on this blog) Asks for characters, and all others, are welcome! click the view more button for tags, fun stuff, sisterclan links, and references

current moon count: [ 0 ] {as of 3/22/25 } first - current

OTHERCLANS IN THIS SETTING vv the strong-willed floodclan inhabits the lower flood-planes and marsh. run by hex, of @idkimjustboredandidkwhattodosooo the brave and hardy squallclan claims the mountain as their own. run by love the ever wise basinclan holds domain over the largest water source in the wastes - the man-made delta and circular basins. run by fox --

territory maps v region clan camp [external] [internal]

family tree [check back thursday afternoon!]

allegiances [check back tomorrow afternoon!] -- using picture at top of post as example artstyle for non major moons and generated events: cutesy, thick outlines, simple or no shading, single color background

artstyle for narrative heavy events and gatherings: more akin to my usual style, Disney inspired, simple backgrounds, cell shading if any

-- common tags: #drymoon - nonnarrative moon updates #wetmoon - narrative style updates #manymoon - gatherings, which will always be in a narrative style #puzzle - things for you, Littlepaw, and Hushback to solve #choice - a few are able to make them, a few are indecisive #suspect - suspects, a few #witness - one or two, here and there

#ina - in character asks #oa - out of character asks

#lore - lore, nonspecific #before - lore from before the wastes came to their current state #sisterclans - clans in this setting, nonspecific #basinclan - basinclan #floodclan - floodclan #squallclan - squall clan

[sweet-star-sketches]

Sketches + Colour from December 25th, 2024 - January 20th, 2025 -throws more of my nonsense to the wind while I continue to panic about not getting anything done this month- (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ★*:･ﾟ✧★ This is (some of) the randomness I've been meaning to comp together and actually post! There's very little context for these existing to begin with but I'll give it to you anyway lmao:

Saiou appeared like this in a dream I had and I wanted to try drawing it after I woke up that day. All I remember is that he was on the moon and in need of rescue (boy what are you doing up there???)

I have brown hair and got it cut short about a month ago, making it coincidentally very Kuriboh-like, so I drew myself as one just for fun :D If I had to give her a separate species/card name I'd probably call her Starwinged or Stellarwinged Kuriboh :]

I wanted to draw a theoretical Saiou plush based on the SK Japan Minikore ones that I bought for my buddy @eleanorose123 for Christmas, especially the GX anniversary plushes. He looks so cute as one aaahhh!!!! The blushies!!!!! ;;;u;;; (though it was definitely a trip attempting to simplify his Season 2 outfit for this lol, luckily I had Fubuki as a starting point)

Another instance of two of my favourite guys interacting :D Purple eye and pointy teeth solidarity 🤝 [gently pats Saiou] I'm gonna make you hold so many creatures by the time I'm done I swear-

Adventures in fishing with Judai, with Saiou puzzled but still accepting the hat as a gift from him regardless (not my joke btw, it just inspired me to draw it lol)

I spent some of today/yesterday organizing my folders (long overdue and I'm very much Not Done) so it's nice to catch up on uploading some of these. They have their own folder now, haha! More to come :)

[heartshapedbubble]

Ooo could you write luchino and wu chang walking in on their s/o getting punched in the mouth. The context that they missed is that s/o tried to stop a fight but ended up getting their ass handed to em, it did work tho! Fight did stop, mission failed successfully lol

Oh hey look a scorpion 🦂

i love asks like these they make me smile so hard when i get them (these r a bit short tho sorry :c)

scorpion i hope you're still with us now in the moment of posting🙏🙏 you're a real warrior

luchino diruse and wu chang walking in on their s/o getting punched in the mouth hcs🦎☂️

luchino diruse🦎

"Amore mio, where are y- What just happened? What have you done to them!?"

jumps the second he sees the scene in front of him, going straight for the other person's head

you'll have to restrain (warning: very hard considering he weighs the same as an adult grizzly bear and your hands will hurt due to his scales) and keep convincing him for a good 5 minutes that it's your fault, not theirs

good luck with having the patience to get that through tho since he's going to be spewing insults in italian at them and hissing, seeing only red

once it finally gets to him he's... confused? but at the same time he feels incredibly ashamed and will apologize profusely to the other person

as you two get going he's going to groan about how careless you can be and how sometimes you should rethink things before acting

all that complaining while he simultaneously plants you on his shoulder and wipes the blood from your face :')

"Tsk, splendore, you should really think things through first with that head of yours... promise me that you'll be more careful next time, piantagrane, will you? "

wu chang☂️

"___, dearest? Where are you- Oh my!"

xie tries to avoid conflict at all costs so he's quite stumped at first

the first thing he goes for is you, kneeling down and grabbing you the second before you lose your balance and hit the floor

not releasing you from his grip (in fact, he pulls you even closer to him), he starts questioning the other person, his tone hostile and less composed than usual

he's not that much of a hothead so telling him the truth won't take long, and he'll formally apologize to the other person for accusing them, although puzzled on why you're being so defensive of them - you were the one who got hit, after all...

the second you two get a bit further away he starts tending to your injury, not wasting any time, wiping blood off of your lips and nose with his sleeve and checking your jaw in case of broken teeth

"I'm so relieved it wasn't anything worse than this... but please, sweetie, will you be more careful next time? You almost gave me a heart attack... I know you had good intentions, but sometimes you really have to know how to control yourself."

~

"___? Come here, where did you g- Ah, god."

fan would barely supress his laughter tbh

goes up to you, picks up the entirety of your body weight with one hand and puts you back on your feet

starts nagging the other person for details, not even being mad, until you tell him what actually happened and he just loses it and starts laughing uncontrollably

takes you by your hand and yanks you away with him, still laughing as he says his goodbyes

wujiu can be evil yes (especially in this scenario) but he's not a complete asshole 😞 although he'll annoy you to no end about your failed little heroic attempt to stop a fight he'll be doing it so you're going to be less focused on him brushing the blood off your chin with his thumb (GOD FORBID wujiu shows affection without sneaking in something mean)

"Jeez, ___, you should have seen your face when you got hit! You should have known what was coming the second you tried to intervene... H-hey now, would you stop wriggling?! There's more blood under your nose..."

[nightfall093]

@dynamite124 Here’s that writing prompt you wanted lol

———

It was time.

Odahviing perched his immense form upon the walls of Dragonsreach, awaiting his command. The Whiterun guards cautiously shuffled back into their positions, their eyes never quite leaving the great dragon.

Iorek’s friends slowly turned to face him, realisation dawning on their faces. This was it.

It was time for the final battle against Alduin.

He met their eyes one by one, reading their minds with the solemnity of their gazes alone. This could be the final time they ever saw one another.

He shared words with them all, rounding off his sentiments with a hearty hug. Holding back his tears was a difficult task.

But when he turned his gaze to his final companion, he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. He could feel everything he’d felt these last few months bubbling up to the surface. It could literally be now or never.

“Taliesin,” he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the others, who had politely turned away and started talking amongst themselves. Iorek had a feeling they knew what this was about.

“I need to speak to you”, he said, gesturing over towards the wall near the great chains. “Over here.”

“Ominous,” the Altmer said wryly as Iorek gently steered him by the arm. “Don’t I get a manly slap on the back as well?”

Iorek gritted his teeth, taking a slow, steady breath. His heart had never pounded harder. Taliesin seemed to notice his expression of barely concealed terror, and tilted his head curiously as they reached the wall.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with apparent concern.

“OK, so…” Iorek started to pace, wringing his fingers. Every time he tried to speak his words slammed to a halt in his throat. He took another breath, and rambled, “Look, I need to say this now in case this is the last time I ever see you, and I’ll regret it forever if I don’t… or at least, until Alduin eats my soul.”

Another breath, his heart trying awfully hard to break out of his ribcage. He could do this. “I like you,” he blurted.

Taliesin said nothing, his puzzled expression unchanging, but Iorek could swear he saw something glimmer in his eyes, just for a moment. Or had he imagined it?

“I mean, LIKE like you,” Iorek continued before the Mer could generate a sarcastic reply. “As in… I wake up and you’re the first thing I think of. You’re on my mind every minute until I get to see you and when I do… nothing else matters. I was talking to Remi the other day and barely heard a word she said because all I could look at was you, sitting behind her shoulder. Whenever I leave for a few days with some of the others and leave you at home, I can’t wait to get back so I can see you again. I want to be next to you every minute, and it hurts when I’m not.”

He stopped, determined not to meet Taliesin’s gaze, at least until he was finished; if he looked up and saw disappointment, or anger, or anything remotely negative in his face, he’d never be able to finish. He’d never get over that.

“I’ve… never felt this way about anyone, not even with Sabine back in Cyrodiil. I love you all, of course, as a family. I couldn’t do any of this without you all. But with you… it…” He swallowed the lump in his throat, still staring fixedly at the floor. “It’s… more. It’s definitely more.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. He still couldn’t look at Taliesin’s face, despite how much he wanted to. He sighed deeply through his nose and braced himself.

“There,” he muttered. “Now you know.”

[liriostigre]

Hiiii ty for such a great uquiz!! Would it be possible to see the description of all the books you could get matched to? I’m curious what the vibes are for the rest!!

hi 🌷 here you go:

White Teeth by Zadie Smith: Excessive, maximalist and very ambitious multigenerational and multicultural epic novel that starts with the unlikely friendship between Archie Jones and Samad Iqbal. It explores themes of race, identity and the intersections of culture, heritage, and modernity. Clever and hilarious dialogue, very creative when it comes to language and style, unique and bold when it comes to narrative. Perhaps a flawed novel due to its ambition, but excellent nonetheless.

Despair by Vladimir Nabokov: Excellent writing; very ambitious and stylish. It is somewhat a twisted novel but you will find a lot of humor despite. The narrator speaks directly to the reader as he writes what he regards as his perfect crime. This novel is one of Nabokov's earliest works in which one can easily identify themes and literary devices that the author explored later in his most known works.

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño: Brilliant and stunning novel about poets and poetry! Very dense and challenging; it requires patience from the reader. This novel is so infinitely dear to me that i can't even explain its brilliance, but i have to give you at least an idea of the plot so: The story is arranged in three parts and told from multiple points of view. It starts in Mexico City, in the 70s, and continues across decades and continents. It follows the adventures and misadventures of Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima—poets, drug dealers, wanderes, criminals. Now, about the themes, the writing, the style, the narration? Just absolutely perfect even at its most tedious, difficult and anticlimactic parts.

The Hearing Trumpet by Leonora Carrington: Unconventional, absurd, imaginative and exuberantly surreal apocalyptic fairytale quest. It follows 92 year old Marian who is sent off to a peculiar old-age home. If you aren't familiar with Leanora Carrington's art you should look at some of her paintings because this wonderful novel feels just like her surrealist paintings!

Mrs. Caliban by Rachel Ingalls: This novella tells the story of a love affair between a depressed suburban housewife and an amphibian creature who escaped a scientific research center. It might sound like a quirky fiction story but it actually deals with the most mundane and banal aspects of life and human relationships. Brilliantly written; neat and precise prose, wonderful storytelling. The author knew what she was doing and not a single word she wrote was wasted.

The Borrowers by Mary Norton: Delicately written little adventure about tiny people who live in the secret places of houses. I am enamored (obsessed!!) with miniatures—dollhouses, dioramas, fairies—so imagine how dear this book is to me.

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn: The murders of two girls bring reporter Camille Preaker back to her hometown. As she works to uncover the truth about those crimes, Camille finds herself forced to unravel the psychological puzzle of her own past. Very entertaining read. It has best seller written all over it (which might not be the biggest compliment lol but i mean for this genre so it is a compliment).

Rage by Sergio Bizzio: Claustrophobic, anxiety inducing, fast-paced psychological thriller that made me think of Bong Joon-ho's Parasite the whole 4 hours it took me to read it. I read it in it's original language, Spanish, and i particularly loved the dialogue; its idiosyncrasies and authenticity (tqm Argentina!)

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby: Rob, an obsessive music fan, reminisces his top five worst break ups to understand his most recent heartbreak. He is a very arrogant and cynical guy who defines his entire life through records, and because he is constantly interacting with music that almost exclusively deals with love—and a very idealistic version of it—he finds himself unsatisfied with the way his life has turned out.

[angryaggoria]

Huuuuuughhh saw your werewooves AU. I need to know the details about this AU’s wooves. What are the romantic implications (like Crozier/Sophia) - is marrying a woof taboo or considered honorable? Do some wooves try to hide their lycanthropy or is it obvious to everyone. Do they turn on the full moon or can they control it? Do you need to get bit to turn? WHO BITES JOPSON TO TURN HIM???? PLEASE I GOTTA KNOW!!!!!

oh boy let’s go (or, as i’ve typed it initially, let’s ho)

it turned out quite lengthy (1k words what the FUCK????) so i'm putting it under a readmore

1. ROMANTIC IMPLICATIONS

this one has puzzled me the most because there are a LOT of possible layouts and it feels too important to ignore or blur out or be careless in hope of retconning it later if some better idea comes. still not sure that i've dealt with it the way i'm 100% satisfied with but it's a start nonetheless.

the safest statement is that commonfolk werewolves are allowed to marry one another rather freely -- there is always a community of civilian lycanthropes and you cannot just... enlist them all at once or something. you have to let people live a relatively normal life, or there may come larger concerns than just a relatively small and idle population of half-wolves. i guess it is also possible to marry into such, but it is considered a taboo -- there are superstitions, and there is also collective memory of times when the relationship with lycanfolk was not that peaceful.

now, we also have completely different breed, all military and navy officers -- that's quite a decent party here! the church made terms with the idea a long enough time ago for such a marriage not to be scandalous nor innovative, and it requires a reasonable amount of registry paperwork. however. it is one thing to be born into a 'military' or 'naval family' and be likely to follow it the steps of your ancestors and completely other to have to do it. you're already born a perfect soldier, my dude, there is no way around it, and no-one lets you downshift straight into the slums and ghettos.

and this is not a social contract that most of the families -- and women -- are eager to comply with.

(i'm specifying women because, well, for obvious reasons it is a gendered question. it also leads me into thinking about what happens to girls born into such families but it's a matter for another... ugh... processing-through-a-longpost session.)

this is what, among a plethora of other things, influenced crozier and sophia's relationship! at the back of her mind she's rightfully afraid of what might come when they have kids and she has to send them out to who-knows-where, while sir john and lady jane are too familiar with this life to wish it for their beloved niece.

2. SECRECY & STATUS

victorian society is all about manifesting social status and disposition (as well as ranks, attitudes, etc.) through material attributes and fashion codes, so lycanthropy should be demonstrated in some way. for institutionalized werewolves it may be certain insignia, like an ornament or a badge on their epaulette. in daily life, maybe some fabric colours and patterns are considered to demonstrate their imposing and beastly nature lol -- that is sure to be popular among 'lycanthrope and proud' kind of guys; maybe it is considered an act of conscientiousness to wear something as a warning of your state or, on the contrary, to appear normal. it's a plethora of things to think about really! (and i'd be glad to hear your thoughts! because as enthralled by fashion i am, costume design and visualization has always horrified me)

speaking of physical differences between lycanthropes and ordinary people, i don't think there are any, so hiding your identity is entirely possible -- after all, that is why it has been an issue for years back. a person might lead a life without anyone knowing that they may somewhat effortlessly maul a sheep with their teeth and their teeth alone. however, if they get caught, they are certain to face repercussions, extant of which is defined by the amount of time they have lived like this and possible connection to crimes previously committed.

and it is happening -- way more often than they would desire, in fact.

3. MOON FRENZY & CONTROL

irresistible influence of the (full) moon is a cheesy little detail that i really like so why not! yet again, it adds to the whole 'werewolves are dangerous and need to be stopped contained under watch' thing. and oh boy do they get creative with the ways to suppress the thing.

to be clear: werewolves are able to control it themself but it takes training and a lot of self-discipline to resist a compulsion like this. the ways are taught inside the community, or by peers and superiors. and there is always a chance of failure, whether it be ill fate or external influence like certain substances or environmental variations (namely: prolonged moon exposure in the polar regions. yeeehaw).

that's why you need to know your werewolf suppression 101 kit!

first and foremost, we have good old physical restriction -- straps, shackles, cuffs, you name it. it is the cheapest and widely available way but they must be really sturdy. to tie them down before it's too late may be the safest option; maybe they will even ask you to do it themself! it is also possible to lock them up until it's finished, but watch the door. werewolves don't get dumb, you know -- they know it opens.

however, it renders a lycanthrope immobile and mostly insensible for a good deal of time -- and it is not easy to treat someone dear to you like this. that is why apothecary solutions and concoctions have proven to be instrumental in moonly matters. there is nothing impossible for a dose of laudanum! be careful with the measures though -- it is a nasty habit, especially for someone big and toothy.

4. SPREAD

of course you need to get bitten. at first i thought that there must be some difference between a bite and a bite in order for werewolves to be useful in combat & the spread to be really controllable, but that’s my vampire admiration blending in i guess. no such shit in our wolfish business. we’re talking BIG stakes here.

any bite may pass the infection. there are various theories on the exact principles of the process; regardless of them, in medical practice the method considered most effective to cease lycanthropy development is bloodletting -- however, it must be done during the first hours and does not guarantee success.

there is always a risk of occasional bite -- some lycanthropes are rather liberal in following Royal Medical Society's Guidelines, and even the most responsible individuals are not immune to misstep or wicked blunder. in such cases bite victim is devoid of punishment and offender's perspectives depend on their remorse.

if it was consensual intent, then well... you are considered equally responsible. don't attempt turning into a werewolf folks it's bad for your life expectancy

4a. who bites jopson?????

it is crozier who orders the promotion so imo it's only right, both in moral and administrative sense, for him to offer the bite. not laudanum nor coca wine could be as successful at relieving this simmering pain as gratitude and -- that jopson would have denied -- pleasure of sensing his devotion being returned.

[mandowifey]

Exhume

Miguel O'hara x Reader

This is part of a nonlinear story.

Warnings: This has multiple changing POV's (Im trying here), PwP, dark!Miguel, captive reader, stockholm syndrome, NSFW, dead dove, this has officially become 'dub con' territory. Au events, following along the movie SORTA. Reader is referred to as she/her pronouns.

Lil warning: this was hastily written in different points of the past couple months. I wanted to release it as is and not over edit the work I put in. The next chapter(s) will be more refined. Enjoy the slop LOL

° ° °

The space behind Miguel's eyes throbs as Jessica speaks up. Not that he hadn't found kinship with the woman before everything, but lately, he'd been irritable more than usual. While he tried to conceal it and bury himself away in his work, of course, his infuriatingly perceptive companion would notice.

His patience was wearing thin. He didn't mind the company before, but now that he had you, he wanted time to check the cameras. More than once, he'd caught you attempting to break loose or creatively end your life. Keeping you alive meant being attentive, and right now, Jessica was making that difficult.

"Miguel, are you alright?"

What kind of answer could he really give?

'No, I'm exhausted trying to maintain the multiverse while simultaneously covering the fact I have lost my mind and am holding a young woman hostage in my loft.'

Instead, he sighs and drops his shoulders. "Yes, Jess, I'm fine-"

"You aren't, I know you. I know when you're hangry, or moody or brooding, or when you are in need of your 'medicine'. This isn't fine." The woman folds her arms just below her bossom, against the swell of her belly. Miguel had congratulated her somewhat bitterly when she told their group.

Gritting his teeth, he pawed his face before he looked at her. "What do you want me to say?" Miguel snipped, a flash of red glinting in those onyx orbs. Jess seemed unphased and stood her ground with a frown.

"Just tell me what's going on. You know me, anything that's troubling you, I'll help." Her voice changed, adopting something acute to motherly. Jessica was by no means a soft woman before, but pregnancy had upset the balance of her hormones and now, sometimes, her rough exterior broke to show the gentle soul nestled within.

Miguel watches her, catching her gaze before averting his eyes shamefully. "It's nothing you can help with." He turned the broad canvas of his back to her, staring at the array of holoscreens above the control board. His fingers itched to press the code to the loft, wanting to check on you. He typically watched off and on in five minute intervals, but with Jess standing and practically breathing down his neck, he couldn't.

The woman tilts her head at the vague response, her brows raised behind her yellow glasses. Persistence was one of her strong suits.

"Try me."

-

Time ticked down like sand through an hourglass. Dragging, unyielding in its slow descent. You struggled to amuse yourself now. Tv, YouTube, baking, none of it worked anymore. You felt compelled to do something with your time but couldn't determine what. Puzzles became boring now that you'd completed each one three times. Sometimes, you cleaned and took things apart just to put it back together.

All this time, locked in a tower.

You started to feel bad for zoo animals.

As your mind began to drift away, so did your resolve. Instead of dreading his return, you looked forward to it. In the morning following your break, you had almost begged Miguel to stay home with you. Your hands ached to feel the weight of his face between them. Your lungs missed the way he compressed you. Miguel left you yearning for more, especially after the evening you had consented his touch.

Instead of sleeping the day away, you turn music loud on the speakers and close your eyes. It wasn't much, but you imagined yourself on a stage, dancing in an empty amphitheater. Shy ministrations became wild as you lost yourself in the fantasy. You were having fun, feeling almost childish in your amusement. Miguel had never confirmed your suspicions, but you knew he had the place rigged with cameras.

Part of you hoped he enjoyed the show - as silly as it was.

You spun and twirled, throwing yourself over the chair and couch, dramatically flinging yourself off the furniture and laughing as it became less of a dance and more of a mosh pit. A sensation of freedom and peace washed over you, taking you off your feet with each lunge and jump. Arms out, you did circles on the coffee table before falling backward off of it and onto the plush couch. As the song faded, your eyes opened at the ceiling, and your smile began to fade.

Nausea hit you like a truck.

Even with the room spinning, you scrambled and found your way to the kitchen trashcan. Knocking it to the ground along with yourself, you shoved your face into it just in time to vomit. Lunch - a sandwhich and chips - mostly digested and not nearly as enjoyable as it was going down, fell from your mouth in violent, painful heaves. Sweat from your wild dance routine now mingled with the sweat of being sick. Beads traced down your forehead and temple as you puked again, your shoulders bunching.

A fever rocked through you, aching to the bone. Coughing, you gasp for air as your eyes water. Lesson learned: Don't mosh pit in the living room. You wait on the cold tile floor until the nausea passes. Drawing upwards, you fix the trash can and groan as you get woozy. Bracing a hand on the island, you wobble towards the bedroom, having to go slow and lean your weight against the nearest surface.

Once you reach the bathroom, you turn the cold water on and keep the lights out. Undressing was impossible now that your limbs felt like cement blocks. As you climb in, you lay on your side as the shower rains down onto you. With your eyes closed and fever addled brain not working, you don't notice the steam rising off your body.

-

"A... girlfriend?"

Jessica looked skeptical with her hips tilted in the opposite direction of her head. A frowned pinched in her face, and nose slightly crinkled. Miguel was a lot of things, but she had assumed that after all he'd been through, he lost interest in companionship. Though, it would explain why he'd been ducking out of missions and avoiding any talk about it. Her shoulders relaxed as she acted like she made sense of it in her head.

"Well, I- I mean, that's great." Her skepticism was replaced with a genuine smile. "That's pretty big, I won't tell anyone." She laughed and rested a fist on her hip. Before Miguel could begin saying thanks, she cut in; "If you tell me about her. I want details. Is she cute? Is she local? A Gwen?" A grin stretched across her features as she drew in closer, the other spider staring at her with a confused and somewhat uncomfortable expression.

Something beeped rapidly, and Lyla came into view near him. "Miguel, there's something wrong." Her voice chirped in his ear. Jessica looked between the two, her brows raising. "Multiverse? Anomally?" She was ready to spring into action. Miguel shut down the console, and his mask reformed over his face. "No, I'll be back tomorrow." He jumped from the platform and landed noisily on his feet. The man took off into a sprint, tearing past Jess and vanishing out the door.

Once gone, Jessica stood in silence. While the gears churned in her head, she frowned, knowing Miguel was lying.

-

With the loft situated at the tip of the tower, Miguel typically would ride the elevator up. Lyla had brought it to his attention that something was seriously wrong with you, and his instincts had him ferociously clawing his way up the side of the building. Pieces of cement and glass falling behind him as he tore himself upward, powerful shoulders and biceps flexing as he propelled on. Anything could have happened to you, and his mind went to the darker extremes.

After just a few moments, he crawled onto the balcony and ripped the door hard enough to break the lock. The force he used to tear the sliding glass door open caused an entire panel to shatter on impact as he walked inside. His mask pulled back, exposing wild red eyes and furrowed brows.

"Y/N?"

Miguel's sensitive ears picked up on the sound of the shower, and he cleared the living room in a single jump. A sweet smell tickled his nose, and he recoiled slightly, unsure what he was smelling. More panic pricked at his guts as he felt the desire to nest and protect you grow. "Y/N!" He barked, stepping into the bathroom and looking at your clothed, soaking form in the tub. "Dios- what are you doing?" He withdrew his gloves and felt the ice cold water. Hissing, he turned the shower off and dropped to his knees.

"Hey, hey," his voice softened, his burning red irises fading to brown as he delicately tried to lift and move you. As his bare hands touched you, he was stunned at the sheer amount of heat radiating off your body. "Hey!" He snapped, feeling a familiar dread building in him. Miguel was suddenly back in that alternate universe, watching everything fall apart and his daughter dying in his arms. That helplessness returning, realizing something was seriously wrong with you.

"C'mon, come on. Open your eyes, you're okay. You're okay." He pulled you into his arms and lap, cradling your soaked body against his. "Look at me, please. Please." His voice tightened, and a lump formed in his throat. Seeing you so pale and limp made him uneasy. His fingers press to your throat, feeling for a pulse. When you cough, he startles and stares down at you.

"There you are."

"Miguel.." You croaked, your throat raw from puking.

"Yeah, I'm here."

He was standing slowly, keeping you bridal style in his strong arms. "I missed you." You smiled, eyes still closed as you tucked your face into his chest. He felt his heart pound, heat rising to his cheeks as he took you to the bed and peeled your saturated clothes off. "You did?" He asked, flicking his eyes to your peaceful and tired expression. Miguel watched as you smiled and nodded, your little hands reaching to find him blindly. He leans close, pushing kisses to your palms and rubbing his face into them. A whine builds in his throat, relief hitting him now that you were conscious.

Miguel stood and tucked you naked into the bed. You curled up, still feverish but comfortable in the warmth. He runs back and forth from the kitchen, fetching you water and saltines, along with a small bin from the bathroom in case you need it. When you slumped and your breathing slowed, Miguel climbed into the bed behind you and curled his massive frame around yours, his own eyes feeling heavy. That sweet aroma persisted, making his heart pound and bones itch. There was a lingering desire to tuck you up somewhere high and far away, to build you a nest of webs and keep you from the world-

"Did you like it?"

Your voice pulled his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

Squirming yourself into his chest, you yawn and sag into the pillows. "My dance." You sounded dreamlike. Miguel was confused but pushed his face into your neck as he squeezed around you gently.

"I loved it, kid."

-

It was only nightmares in your slumber.

Your body, swelling and growing more until you burst. Spiders crawled out of your belly and along your skin, chittering as they began to feast on your skin. You were helpless to watch, sobbing and frozen, suspended in red, vibrant webbing.

"You're doing so well, you'll be ready for the next clutch soon."

His voice came from the dark, peering red eyes and a silhouette against the inky black. You sob and cry for help, but he only watches as your offspring take bite after searing bite.

"Such a good mother, Y/N."

As you sob, he says your name again.

Then again-

"Y/N!"

Blackness becomes light, and light gives way to the familiar face of Miguel. You gawk up at him, aware your heart was pounding. Miguel cupped his hand against your cheek, brown eyes wide and concerned as he leaned over you to check your eyes. "You alright? Bad dream?" He leaned closer, knocking his forehead to yours and sighing. "Thought you were a goner." He mumbled, his breath fanning your lips.

Everything in you felt electric. You recalled getting sick and stumbling into the shower, but you hadn't been sure what followed. It was difficult to discern your memories with him so close. He smelled differently to you now, too. His scent was stronger, comforting in the sense that you had a strong urge to push your face into him and inhale.

So you did.

Miguel jerks with surprise as you sink into his chest, clutching at him and breathing in. The smell was borderline hypnotic. You already had begun the process of crumbling for him, and now you were sinking even further. A large hand touches your back and rubs gently, uncertain. The change of heart confused him. "That fever really cooked your brain, princess." You smile against his shoulder and rub your cheek into his collar bone.

"I had a fever?" You lean back, looking up at him and admiring the strong line of his jaw. Miguel tilts, looking down at you. The eye contact makes your heart throb and heat rocket to your groin. "You were burning up when I found you. You had dragged yourself into the shower and passed out. Lyla picked up on the dip in your vitals." His thick fingers pet through your hair, dragging along your scalp and coming to rest at the base of your neck. The concern in his tone was palpable.

More warmth pooled on your insides, your heart quickening and loins catching fire. Miguel caught your scent, and his nostrils flared. At this distance, you could see when his pupils stretched and blew out. He drew a shaky breath and curled his fingers tighter against your neck. This reaction from him was new. Certainly he got riled up when it came to fucking you, but something was different. Your scent was amplified tenfold, and he could hear the patter of your fast pulse beneath your skin.

Jaw aching, Migule suddenly released your neck and tore himself across the bed. You were left stunned, sitting half obscurred by the think blankets as your captor stumbled out of the bedroom. Slipping out of the bed, you stand and realize how good you felt. It was a strange sensation, like having a really good nights sleep post workout. "Miguel!" You call, hearing him rummaging around. Stepping into the bathroom, you rinse your mouth and brush your teeth before heading out in one of his discarded shirts.

"Shit."

Miguel tossed things from the drawers and looked around. "Miguel?" You ask again, and he swivels to look at you. "Keep back." He warned, his teeth sharp and eyes glowing. One of his hands covered his nose and mouth, trying to keep your scent at bay. Miguel felt it had to be time for another shot. He had no idea you were having the same issue, like a tiger in a cage. All you could see was him, your body tightly coiled, ready to burst. Your skin itched, your bones tightened, and you struggled to form a coherent thought. The both of you stared at each other, wordless and trying to keep composure.

The scent of you was killing him. He could smell your sex and practically taste it with how strong your pheromones wafted over his olfactory sensors. This was different than when he was off his medicine. He wasn't hungry for blood. He was hungry for you. Every part of you calls to him like a lighthouse in the night. He wanted to nestle inside of you and draw your warmth for his own. In the same breath, he felt the powerful urge to breed you, to nest you, and to keep you safe.

His smell was doing almost the same to you. You had woken up with a new set of senses. You could see him better, hear him better, and smell him better. Your skin burned with desire, craving his own against it. An ache grew in your own jaws, the desire to sink your teeth into him and take him as yours, to cover him in your smell and ward off any others. To tell the world he was yours, only yours.

Something broke inside of you both.

Miguel came towards you as you rushed towards him and caught you in his arms. Your limbs wound around him like pythons as your mouths crashed together. The kissing was frantic and sloppy. Teeth against teeth, spit, and blood spilling from burst lips as you both fought tongue to tongue. He moves you backward, knocking you against the fridge and making you grunt into his mouth.

"Baby," you gasp, petting a hand through his thick, dark hair before gripping it like a vice. When you yank his head back, Miguel hisses. His red eyes are wild and teeth bare as he looks at you like an animal in a cage. "Fuck me."

Miguel takes you to the bedroom, bumping into various objects along the way as you devoured one another. He throws you down into the mattress - harder than intended - and you bounce and snarl. Something is different now. You feel alive, you feel *strong.* Baring your own teeth, you shift on all fours, lunging at him with your arms out. The bigger man catches you and throws you down again, and something in the bed cracks.

He descends upon you before you can retaliate. "You're an animal." His voice was breathless, amused as he grabbed your hips and flipped you face down into the mattress. Usually, Miguel controlled his strength to avoid breaking you. But now he grabbed you relentlessly, holding you down as he shoved the shirt up your back. "Gonna act like a wild bitch, I'm gonna fuck you like one." Miguel's voice was heavy with lust, growling out of his chest.

You struggle, but dip your back and widen your knees under you. While your new instincts begged for you to bite and mark him, they also simpered at being put in their place. Cunt leaking, you whine against the blankets. Miguel inhales, savoring your scent as he slaps your ass , claws out. The hit stings, making you lurch forward and shriek. Your own nails dig into the blankets, tearing them as you shove back towards him. Miguel watched the mark bloom on your skin, and he smirked as he cupped your mound and shoved in two fingers.

The heat of your insides is searing, and he gasps, pumping to the knuckle in quick, strong movements. You keen for him, shoving back to meet him as stars burst behind your eyes. "Fuck me, please." You couldn't recognize your own voice. The desire so strong you were certain you'd end up melting into the mattress itself. A chuckle rumbles behind you and you whine at the loss of those thick fingers, though you weren't empty for long. Miguel's cock forces inside, filling every inch of available space within you.

You two groan in tandem, and you shove back to force him to hilt. Miguel grunts, his large, calloused hands grasping your hips to start pumping you on his dick. His dark eyes honed in, watching your tight body swallow his length like it were made for him. The sounds you make are unhinged. Sharp cries mixed with breathless groans as he punches the air out of you. Your mind is white hot, and your cunt sears from the friction of him dragging within you.

"O-oh, o-oh f-f-fuck." You manage to gasp out between thrusts. The sound of your bodies plapping together nearly as loud as your cries.

Miguel grins, teeth flashing as a fist slides up your spine and grips into your hair. Grasping at the root, he curls his digits and yanks. Your face is pulled from the bed and your back in a deep arch as he continues to fuck you. "There's my girl. Look at you." He was panting too, his body wracked with the same heat that ravaged yours.

"I wanna feel you cum, princess." Miguel shifts his weight after a few good thrusts. Forcing your head into the blankets, he leans his weight over you and begins to rock harder. Pummeling your end with each pump, his hips colliding noisily with your ass. You are certain he might break you. Shrieking in response to the new angle, you drool and babble for him, his cock stoking the swelling bubble inside you.

You were babbling to him, pleading for him to stop - possibly from a force of habit - but also begging him to cum inside you. Miguel can't make it, and neither can you. As he collides his dick against the spongey, puckered hole of your cervix, you feel fireworks. Your cunt clenches down around him in a wave of convulsions so hard it nearly forces him out. Miguel holds your hips, no longer thrusting but pushing against you to keep himself nestled deep. The milking of your pussy tugs him over the edge shortly after you.

The hero bucks once more for good measure as he empties inside you. His cum hot and thick, painting your insides and saturating you with his essence. As you both catch your breath, you feel Miguel slip out of you and whine from his absence. Large hands flip you over, and he scoops you up. Settling back and leaning against the headboard, Miguel rests you in his lap. For just a moment you look at one another. Sweaty and flushed from sex.

You lean forward, hands on his shoulders as you steal one kiss, then another. Miguel chases your mouth with his own, his hands smoothing over your hips and squeezing before repeating the motion on your ass. "What has gotten into you?" He mutters into your starving mouth. You pause, a hand moving behind his head to grip his hair and yank his head back. Miguel flinches, looking up at you through lidded eyes.

"Aside from you? Nothing." You hum, admiring his jaw and the grooves in his cheeks. "That's funny." His voice was flat, but he did smirk. "Think you can go again, old man?" You release his hair to focus on sitting up on him. Miguel blinks, then nods, his hands back on your hips.

"Good boy."

-

When you both were fully spent, you laid in his arms. Miguel was watching the ceiling, listening to you as you rambled about trips you took outside the city. It all felt strange to him now. Your scent, your cooperation, the way you touched and looked at him. He couldn't place what happened - assuming maybe you had finally snapped. But that wouldn't account for your smell.

Breathing in through his mouth, he tasted your pheremones and felt his chest twinge again. He could feel those urges from before growing; to nest you, feed you, and protect you. Then, the pieces started to fall in place.

You getting sick.

The change in your smell.

The change in your behavior.

How you ached for him.

Miguel's mouth pressed to a thin line as he ran over all the facts again. Then again, and again. No matter how he tried to explain it, there was only one answer. His dark eyes flicked down to you, watching as you rubbed your face into his chest and sniffed at him. He watched your mouth open and the glint of your newly growing fangs as you nip at him. Miguel feels his heart begin to race, recognizing now that you were changing too.

There was no other explanation.

"Miguel? Did you hear me?"

The pound of his heart drowned your voice out. This had been what he wanted, hadn't it? To fill the void his daughter left? To find new happiness and move on, to have another chance?

Panic was building now. Everything was uncharted territory. You were changing, pregnant with his child(ren?) and he was going to be a father again. Miguel didn't register your little hands on his cheeks or the way you continued to say his name. All he could hear was the screams of people around him as their universe caved in. He could feel his daughter's weight fading from his arms, leaving him empty. Now you were pregnant and everything could go wrong.

How did he take care of a pregnant woman without getting caught?

Where would you go for check ups? It wasn't like an OBGYN worked in the tower. There were too many holes in his plan now, he would be risking keeping you to himself. He hadn't thought this part through. Now he could potentially lose you both - not to mention the complications of carrying mutant spider spawn.

"Miguel." Your mouth presses to his.

Eyes widening, he saw you. You sat on top of him, eyes big and face concerned. Miguel clasped your hips and held you close. "Where'd you go?" You ask, rubbing his chest. He stares up, watching for a moment before he sighs and takes your wrist. Pulling your hand to his mouth, he kisses your palm before pressing it to his cheek. "Long day at work, is all."

He knew lying to you wouldn't work for long. No doubt you'd realize sooner rather than later that your body was no longer just your own.

Miguel could cross that bridge when you got to it.

"I'm sorry." You mumble, shifting off of him. "Let's get some rest then. We can shower in the morning." Nestling yourself into his side, you stretch an arm over the expanse of his stomach and squeeze him gently. Miguel wrapped an arm around you and squeezed gently, his eyes still fixated on the ceiling.

It was going to work out.

It had to.