#signs of healthy teeth

[capturelifedental]

7 Signs you have Healthy Teeth

A healthy smile is more than just a cosmetic concern - it's a key indicator of overall health and wellbeing. 

At Capture Life Dental Care, we believe that a healthy smile is a vital part of living a happy and fulfilling life. But how do you know if you have healthy teeth? 

In this blog, we'll explore the top 7 signs that indicate you have healthy teeth, from strong enamel to fresh breath.

1. Strong Enamel

Healthy teeth have strong, durable enamel that resists decay and sensitivity. If your teeth are resistant to temperature changes and sugary snacks, it's a good sign that your enamel is strong. You can test your enamel by trying a cold drink or a sweet treat - if you don't experience any discomfort or pain, your enamel is likely in good shape.

2. Pink, Healthy Gums

Pink, healthy gums are a key indicator of healthy teeth. If your gums are pink, firm, and don't bleed when you brush or floss, it's a good sign that you're taking good care of your teeth. Healthy gums are essential for supporting your teeth and preventing gum disease.

3. Fresh Breath

Fresh breath is a sign of healthy teeth and gums. If you don't experience bad breath or a sour taste in your mouth, it's likely that your teeth and gums are healthy. Fresh breath is also a sign of good oral hygiene habits, such as regular brushing and flossing.

4. No Sensitivity

If your teeth are sensitive to hot or cold temperatures, it could be a sign of underlying problems such as tooth decay or gum recession. But if you don't experience any sensitivity, it's a good sign that your teeth are healthy and strong.

5. No Pain or Discomfort

Healthy teeth don't hurt or ache. If you don't experience any pain or discomfort when eating, drinking, or biting, it's a good sign that your teeth are healthy. Pain or discomfort can be a sign of underlying problems such as tooth decay, cracks, or gum disease.

6. Shiny, Clean Teeth

Shiny, clean teeth are a sign of good oral hygiene habits. If your teeth are free of plaque, tartar, and stains, it's a good sign that you're taking good care of your teeth. Shiny teeth are also a sign of healthy enamel and a balanced diet.

7. Regular Check-Ups

Finally, regular check-ups with your dentist are a sign of healthy teeth. If you're visiting your dentist regularly and receiving clean bills of health, it's a good sign that you're taking proactive steps to maintain your oral health.

Conclusion

In conclusion, healthy teeth are a key indicator of overall health and wellbeing. By looking out for these 7 signs, you can ensure that your teeth are strong, healthy, and functioning properly. 

At Capture Life Dental Care, we're dedicated to helping you achieve a healthy, happy smile. 

Contact us today to schedule a consultation and take the first step towards a healthier, happier you!

[shentheauthor]

I love starting something new and just KNOWING that the story is going to destroy me, even though I’m going in blind

So anyway I started in stars and time today—

[outeremissary]

Still thinking about the conversation Harper and I had a few days ago in which we put together the list of BG3 party members who could conceivably have fangs and it was almost all of them. Everyone except Gale and Minsc. Nearly every single one. It's so funny to me. I committed to the DUrge fangs with the thought that they would be a Fun Little Supernatural Indicator of something weird with Kas but no. They don't even stand out. It's hilarious. Gale going "hey Kas elves don't usually have fangs right" and Kas responding "but Astarion does...?" "Astarion is a vampire" "Halsin does?" just down the line of madness until the subject is given up on

[watermelinoe]

hoping new kitty's terrible breath is from dental disease that's still treatable

[suksatoru]

satoru gojo drabble ୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

╰┈➤ husband!gojo x pregnant!reader ೃ⁀➷

ೄྀ ࿐ fluff, established relationship ˊˎ

HUSBAND SATORU, who finds himself swinging open the door to your shared home - panting from how fast he'd ran to see his favorite girl as his eyes widen in pure delight at the mere sight of you. A happy "Baby!" leaving his lips as he makes his way towards you - arms outstretched towards your smiling figure and prepared to tell you just how much he'd missed you and holding the growing bump on your stomach today

HUSBAND SATORU, who is always a step ahead of you. Need a drink? He has the overflowing and cold glass in his hands before you finish your sentence. Don't feel so good? He's already by your side, massaging any aches and whispering encouraging words in your ear - telling you how proud he is of you and how his little girl's kicks came from his strong legs, a teasing smile on his lips as he eased your pain

HUSBAND SATORU, who'd try to make you dinner while you napped - his panicked shrieks awaking you as you find your favorite pot on fire, Gojo already putting out the flames as you stand with your mouth agape in the doorway. He's laughing nervously, apologizing profusely for waking you up as you approach him with your infectious giggle. Your arms are around him only moments later, and he's so relieved you were well rested that he can only drop his face into the crook of your neck, telling you how big of an idiot he was while you told him he was anything but an idiot - he was, in fact, your hero. This had him smiling ear to ear - sharp teeth peaking through his grin

HUSBAND SATORU, who's practically jumping up and down while you guys shop for baby clothes. His blue eyes wide and bright as they light up at the matching family set that caught his sparkling eyes. His hands gently leading you towards them as he speaks - "We can all have matching PJ's, babe! Matching Pj's!"

HUSBAND SATORU, who cries more than you when your giving birth - he is a nervous wreck that is only soothed when your baby girl is residing in your arms and crying, a healthy sign as he peers down to find his own eyes looking back at him - the familiar shade of blue so wonderful that he's crying all over again.

HUSBAND SATORU, who insists that you need a bigger bed to rest in, and the hospital doctors comply right away. But once the doctors leave after the bed transfer, he's crawling oh so lovingly into the bed with you as you gently bob the small baby in your arms to sleep - too deprived from his sweet girl's touch as he peppers kisses all over your face. He'd carefully take the small baby from your embrace when seeing your tired smile, and you'd sigh as you snuggled closer and breathed in his comforting smell. He kisses your head gently before moving to your baby's small forehead next, in total awe at the most perfect thing you could have ever created. She was holding his hand as she babbled all sorts of things, her small finger latched onto his. You know she'd absolutely be spoiled with the way Gojo's eyes gleamed with pure love.

HUSBAND SATORU, who cherishes and bathes in your radiance like a flower in the sun.

[cherryheairt]

If I must

Cregan x reader one-shot

angst

'his wife' never named or described

summary - Cregan is forced to choose between his wife and his child

cw- death, blood, very sensitive topic ahead

Cregan paced outside of the birthing chambers, as he had for hours now. As tradition stated, the Lord was not to be by his Lady's side. Like his father Rickon Stark, Cregan had remained steadfast in his ruling of the North and its ancient traditions. The one time he had broken tradition in his four-year rule had been the night of his wedding, when he refused the bedding ceremony to keep his wife's dignity.

However, his resolve waivered greatly with every scream from his dear wife.

When her water broke on their morning walk through the Godswood, a routine they had developed since their first moon of marriage. His wife had insisted she could do it alone, as every woman in her own family had. They had both thought it to be over fast, just as her own mother had experienced with all of her children. A mere few hours for each, and they were out, healthy as horses.

Neither had expected the difficulty nor time her own birthing experience would be. It was approaching dawn, and no word had been given about the head breaching.

Finally, when it had gotten too much for her, Cregan's wife yelled out for him. Grateful for the excuse to break the tradition, Cregan stormed into the room like a man on fire. Immediately he went to his wife's side, allowing her to clutch onto his hand and arm to steady herself.

Maester Lyson and the midwife, an older lady that had seen many births of Winterfell and its surrounding towns, protesting his entrance immediately.

"My Lord, you must stay outside—" Lyson started before being sent an icy cold glare from Cregan, shutting the old man immediately up.

"Cregan..." His wife hoarsely called out, squeezing his hand as he held it in his. Her head leaned to his shoulder immediately, though the warmth was great and she felt like overheating, she still found a small comfort in his touch.

She was a mess of sweat and tears, skin glossed from the sheen of both. Her thin shift to conceal her modesty was drenched, sticking to her skin in a way that looked most uncomfortable. But, in front of a man, she was unable to remove the annoying fabric to cool off. Even though said man was gazing directly at her most intimate parts for hours as he waited for signs of the babe.

On one side of the bed were two of her handmaidens, who fussed over their Lady with glossy and concerned eyes. At the end of the bed sat the midwife and maester, with sweat dripped from each of their brows and concern lacing their expressions.

"What is the progress?" He asked them, gritting his teeth at their helpless glances.

"The babe has not yet breached, my Lord." The Maester replied, shifting to sit up straighter.

"Still? What is the matter?" Cregan asked, soothing his wife's hair out of her face as she yelled out in pain again.

The maester and midwife shared a glance that Cregan could not appreciate. Maester Lyson stood, beckoning his Lord to the door. "If I may speak with you a moment, privately."

His wife looked up at him, tightening his grip on his forearm and shaking her head, as if she knew something he did not. "Please, don't leave Cregan." She pleaded, though barely could conceal another groan of pain.

He kissed her forehead sweetly, rubbing a thumb over the apple of her cheek. "Just one moment, I promise." He told her, following the maester anxiously outside.

Maester Lyson wrung his hands, "Lord Stark, there has been a complication that we recently found."

Cregan knitted his brows together, sternly nodding for the Maester to continue.

"We thought the opening was simply taking a while to grow, so we waited. By now, it has been at proper size for hours."

"And what does that mean?" The Lord shifted on his feet.

"The babe is stuck in the canal somewhere, sideways instead of facing forward like he should." Lyson told him.

Cregan paled, swallowing harshly. "Can...Can he be moved?"

He recalled his own mother's birth complications with his younger brother, Breton, and how the maester was able to turn him within the womb to properly face head-first instead of sideways. It was painful for his mother, he knew from sitting outside anxiously with his father and hearing the sounds from the birthing room, but it was successful in the end.

The Maester avoided his intense stare, instead finding the floor more suitable to look at. "We could, my Lord. But, it would take a long time. By then, the babe might have suffocated."

"There is no other way?" He demanded.

"There is one, my Lord Stark." Lyson said, though did not look glad at his own revelation.

"Go on." Cregan said, irritated at the hesitance of the old man.

"We could cut the belly open, to retrieve the babe before he suffocates in the womb."

Cregan sucked in a sharp breath at the words spoken delicately to him.

A forced choice.

Between his firstborn child and his beloved wife.

Both were irreplaceable in his eyes. Both were the very beings he lived and breathed for—the ones he swore to protect before his own House and the entirety of the North. He would choose them over his duty to the North as its' warden, something his ancestors would turn their noses up at hearing.

But, it was true as the compass pointed North. Cregan would have to make a choice.

"If I must choose..." Cregan swallowed harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching a fist at his side. "I would choose my wife." He said, though his voice shook for perhaps the first time in many years.

Lyson looked sympathetic as he nodded, but Cregan interrupted before he could speak again.

"She will get a choice, too. I can not force that from her, nor take away her autonomy." He said firmly. Cregan lifted a hand in a 'stay' gesture, entering the hazy room once more.

"Everyone out." He demanded, watching the women in the room hesitate before slipping past Cregan to wait right outside of the door.

"What's wrong, Cregan? No one is telling me anything." His wife grit out, taking his offered hand once more instead of the splintering wood of the bed.

He took a long moment to look over his wife. A glossed over look laid heavy in his stormy eyes, admiring her even in the disgruntled state she was in.

"My love," He started, kissing her paled knuckles gently.

She looked up at him, a sudden distraught look in her eye as if she knew exactly what he would say. "No." She shook her head rapidly before he could. "I can't, Cregan, please!" She pleaded, panting after as another wave of pain hit her hard. Through a whimpering groan of agony, she sobbed into the crook of his neck.

"Can't what, sweet girl?" He asked in a soft mutter, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. She had to make the final choice. He could not force something so cruel upon her. If she wanted the babe to live on in her place, it would be something he had to accept.

Even if it meant living without her.

He desperately, selfishly perhaps, wished that she would choose herself.

"I don't want to die." She sniffled and breathed rapidly, almost panicking herself into hyperventilation.

Cregan 'shushed' her quickly, smoothing down her messed hair in an attempt to calm her from working herself up even further. "You won't. You won't." He said firmly, holding her sideways to his chest.

"Cregan," she whispered again. "I can't do it." She shook her head, hot tears wetting his tunic. "I know what they do. I've heard the tales. Our own Queen—cut open on her bed by her husband. Please, Cregan, don't make them cut me."

Cregan felt his stomach drop at the words from his wife. She thought he would do that to her? Against her wishes, just hold her down and order the babe to be cut from her stomach, though the pain would be excruciating?

"That won't happen, my heart." He kissed her temple, glancing anxiously to the chamber's door. "But, the babe will not be likely survive if we turn it." He told her slowly.

"He will!" She insisted through a muffled sob. "I know he will. It will just take more time. I need more time."

Cregan found himself lost for words. He couldn't decieve her about her own child. She had been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms at the news of her pregnancy many moons ago. That first day, she immediately sent ravens to all of her closest friends and family about the good news. She got to work on making blankets and clothes, embroidering hankerchiefs with potential names, even setting up the Great Keep's nursery early for preparation.

All her hard work, all her tears of joy and discomfort, her fears of not being a good mother, would all be for naught in her eyes. Every morning when she woke and every evening before she slept she would silently whisper a prayer to whatever Gods were listening: hoping for a babe that might grow to be just like their father. The life she had cherished for so long would not live to see the day's light.

Cregan would delusion himself, too, if the situation was not in front of his eyes so clearly.

The Gods must have turned their backs on the Starks this time. Even after hearing Cregan's dutiful prayers every morning at the Weirwood tree in the Godswood, praying for his wife and future child's good health and happiness, both requests were denied.

When he had been praying daily for the health and happiness of his House for every year prior to his marriage, that request was fulfilled kindly. Why were they shunning him now? Now, in the most important event of his life?

He summoned the awaiting crowd of people back into the room. They could wait no longer, lest both lives be put more at risk.

Maester Lyson looked up at Cregan from the end of the bed, brows raised impossibly high and indenting the deep creases on his forehead even more.

"Save her." Was all he could mutter.

They immediately moved to work.

The two maids dropped down to grasp at her arm from the other side of the bed, causing his wife to jerk from his shoulder in a panic. "What are they doing?" She asked, looking between the four people in the room and then Cregan.

"They have to turn the babe." He said, shifting to hold her hand and hold her arm subtly towards the mattress. "It will hurt, but it will be swift. You will be okay, you are so strong." He focused on her directly, gently caressing the apple of her cheek and brushing tears from her skin.

She heaved raggedly, though tried to calm herself and closed her eyes tightly. "Okay, okay. It will be over soon." She whispered to herself in comfort.

Cregan nearly broke down himself, but hardened himself for her sake. "It will."

It had already been a full day of the pain. A full day of her just waiting for it all to be finished with and their babe to be in her arms. She didn't need any more, though she would have to deal with it for a while longer.

The pain would soon fade. It would only last minutes. Then, the recovery would start. No one could tell Lady Stark how long that might take. Weeks, moons, years.

The Maester, though weathered with age and grey, still carried skillful and strong hands from his days of experience. Placing them at the sides of her belly, he whispered a plea to the Gods before beginning to apply great pressure on either side in a subtle twisting motion.

Cregan winced as his wife let out a curdling cry. Her head lept forward, though she was quickly soothed down to Cregan's chest by his own hand. His other, still grasping her arm within his to steady her, shook.

After minutes of more tears, cries, and aching pain, the Maester had successfully pushed the babe to position. Panting, he sat back into his chair heavily and leaned forward again. "Push, my Lady." He urged gently.

Lady Stark took a moment to breathe carefully, grounding herself on the bed. She was beyond tired, mentally and physically. She felt as if a single push might bring her to an early grave, never to wake again. But, it had to be done. The worst was yet to be over.

The pushing part might have been the easiest for Lady Stark if she were not so exhausted and pained already. Unlike most other ladies' excruciatingly painful yet amused tales of their babe's giant heads providing a bump in the path on the birthing bed, Lady Stark's babe came quick. Though the hastiness of it did not lesson the pain of what felt like a giant pumpkin leaving her belly, it helped her to ease her own mind. The quicker the babe was out, the quicker it could breathe.

The room was dead silent after the babe was in the midwife's arms. Lady Stark laid back fully, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving up and down, face shining with exertion. It was over. She could meet her babe, and possibly even never go through that sharp blade of fear again in her lifetime, if it were a son.

"A boy, my Lord..." The Maester whispered out, barely audible though the room.

She opened her eyes, glancing up to Cregan, who held tears from falling from his eyes as he held eye contact with Lyson.

"A son." She gasped out, squeezing Cregan's hand as his head whipped down to look at her again. "You were right." She weakly smiled.

"I was, my love. You did so well. Rest, now." He commanded gently, kissing her knuckles with all the adoration in the realm. Lady Stark fell asleep quickly, allowing herself to rest after all this time. She entrusted the care of her newborn son to Lyson and Esmerelda, and Cregan of course, the three who's been loyally by her side the entire pregnancy.

🗡

Lady Stark was awakened by the soft 'click' of the chamber door. Her blinked herself awake, adjusting herself to sit more against the headboard. As she did, she winced at the feeling in her back and lower region. Taking a deep breath in, the Lady placed a soothing hand on her own stomach, a habit she gained for her time in pregnancy. Feeling the emptiness, she was reminded of the previous day.

Cregan silently planted himself at her side, looking to be in the same clothes he had been in since her labors started. Quite unlike him, she thought with amusement, their son must be keeping him busy.

"It's been nearly two days since you fell asleep. Gave us all quite a scare." He started, smiling weakly at his wife with those tired eyes of his.

Surprised, she raised a brow. "I must've been exhausted from the labors. Where's the babe, have you decided on a name yet?" She asked quickly, peering behind him as if the wet nurse might come in any second with her son in her arms.

He hummed. "Callan."

She smiled, huffing a small laugh. "That's the one I put on most of the babe's stuff." There were many that she planned, boy and girl names, but Callan had been a not-so-secret favorite of hers.

"I know, my dear."

Lady Stark frowned. "Is something wrong, husband?" She asked, wiping at a line under his eye. "You look worse for wear."

He took her hand, leaning into it and rubbing at her soft hand with his calloused one. "Rest up some more. I'll send someone in with your favorite." He said vaguely, standing from his seat and abruptly leaving the room. Lady Stark was left alone, feeling all but abandoned.

A million thoughts ran through her mind. Had her appearance changed after the birth? She'd been the one to comfort her friends whilst they cried about their husbands started favoring maidens after they provided heirs. She'd never feared the same for Cregan, he'd never gave any hinting towards such things. If anything, his hunger for her grew just as she did.

If not that, then what? Cregan was not a liar, and had never been. What he wouldn't lie about, he would simply stay quiet about. As a bowl of potato soup and soft rolls were brought into the chambers, Lady Stark found herself without an appetite even after three days of no sustenance. Weakly sitting herself fully up, she nearly cried at the feeling of pressure. Steadying herself and steeling her nerves, Lady Stark pushed through all the pain to leave the bed (that felt more like a prison by the minute) and stand to her felt. She hunched over like an old lady, clutching at her abdomen at the sharpness. It was a mistake to stand up without aid so soon, but she'd pay the consequences later. For now, she needed to see her son.

Every step felt like ten. She wabbled slightly each time, feeling as if she might tip over. The hearth and walls were her temporary crutches as she leaned against them, slowly but surely exiting the room to the Stark's family hall. Her and Cregan's chambers were just doors down, unused since she had been in the birthing room and he presumably hadn't slept.

Ahead, she found Cregan in the archway leading to the councilroom with Lyson in front of him. Neither spotted her as she leaned her full weight to the cobble wall. Lyson had a guilt-ridden look on his aged face, mostly avoiding his Lord's eyes as they spoke hushedly. She could barely make out the conversation.

"...will be fine, my Lord. As far as complicated births go, she is lucky."

"Lucky?" Cregan hissed, stepping forward. "Tell that to my wife's face. Nothing about this is fortunate, Lyson."

Lyson nodded solemnly, apologizing. "Of course, my Lord. I only meant that the Gods have blessed her with heath. She will be fine, and with some time, she will be healed enough to have another."

She almost groaned at the thought. Yes, it was her duty to provide at least an heir and perhaps a 'spare', though she hated the thought of people calling her second son a spare just because of birthing order. She would need a few years before she'd be ready for that again.

Cregan threw his arms up in frustration, running fingers through his hair. A sign of stress, one that she found he had recently been doing more since her pregnancy.

"We will not talk about her like that. Like her worth is just her womb."

"I do agree, Lord Stark. You know I do." Lyson said weakly. "But it's the people's expectation."

"My son is gone. The people can pretend to give their sympathies, but my wife cannot simply move on that swiftly. I cannot move on like that." Cregan insisted, almost sounding tearful despite present company. It was unlike him to cry, or even show any weakness at all. But Lyson had basically raised the boy since his parents passed.

Lady Stark felt that familiar pit in her stomach fall.

It had to be a lie, a falsehood from the Gods themselves. She had pushed through all the pain she was tasked with. She delivered her babe swiftly, leaving no time for him to suffocate like predicted. Callan was in the nursery.

Lady Stark turned as fast as she could, limping her way backward toward the Stark nursery. Whipping open the door, she was met with a stillness. The room was barren of any noise or life. Not even the trees outside of the window moved, not a leaf stirring. It was utterly lifeless. Moving towards the crib, Lady Stark leaned over the bassinet. The bundle of soft velvety pinks, blues, greens, and yellows lie perfectly still. Moving them, she found nothing but the sheet underneath. All kinds of names were sewn onto corners.

Aevery.

Rickon.

Aelise.

Benjamin.

Callan.

She clutched the grey-blue blanket to her chest, feeling it grow wet with her own tears. Falling to the floor, her knuckles paled at how hard she fisted the blanket.

She should have allowed it. She should have cut herself open to bring Callen out from her womb herself. She killed him. Selfishly, she picked her own menial life over that of her own son. The boy who never got to breathe a single breath outside of the womb. Never got to see the fresh powdery snow of Winterfell fall. Never felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Never got to live a day.

She was unaware of how much time had passed, if any at all, when she heard that soft and deep voice behind her. "Wife?"

She could not find a will to reply. Could not find anger at her husband for him keeping this from her, nor sorrow for her own failure. A stilling numbness surrounded her like a cocoon of protection.

"My heart." It came again, surrounding her. Arms wrapping around her from the front, encasing her further. Though she was silent, he continued to murmur. "I am so, so sorry. I wished to wait—until you recovered a bit."

Lady Stark did not yell. She did not scream or cry, nor pound her fists on his chest til he left her alone in her solitude. She sat there, lifelessly.

"Say something, please. Anything." He pleaded desperately, seperating them only to hold her face in his hands. She lifted her gaze, finding his sturdy grey eyes to be filled with wet tears. They, too, dampened the blanket.

"I miss him." She whispered. "But how can I, when I haven't even met him? When I killed him before he got his chance."

His gaze hardened, "do not ever speak such things. You did not kill our son. This is not your fault."

She stayed silent, nodding simply to please him. He sighed deeply, settling himself lamely next to her and leaning her head upon his shoulder.

"I miss him, too."

🗡

Wanted to do more with his in terms of length and fleshing out the characters but its been sitting in my drafts for so long I just needed to finish 😭

obviously this is written from the povs of the parents, post partem anything is super tough and emotional. it is in no way selfish to pick yourself or your wife over the baby. In fact, it is what I would do. the lady blaming herself for 'killing the babe' and being selfish for not killing herself to do it is purely in grief and not my real perspective on this type of thing.

Needed angst rn im sick of happy endings 😝

[spxllcxstxr]

At Least in that Life • S

(Gif not mine)

Request:

Summary: Ekko finds that Silco is alive and well with his wife by his side in the alternate timeline. He feels the need to tell you about it

Warnings: fem!reader (called wife at some points), no pronouns used though I believe, canon death mention, AU mention, implied Timebomb, angsty : ) , mentions of canon unhealthiness that comes with living in the Undercity, timeline is screwy but idc and neither should you LOL

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: listen, i know he was a little fruity with Vander in the AU BUT i still need this man desperately, don't worry about the timeline i stg, this is actually pretty sad lmao, have fun with it

•

Ekko stares at the man behind the bar; face simultaneously instantly recognizable and drastically changed. The scar was the same mangled mess across one side of his face, but that was where the similarities ended.

In his timeline, Ekko remembers Silco as a cruel bastard with only room in his heart for his wife and Jinx. He never smiled nor ever had reason to. This Silco had a glint of brightness in eyes, even in the orange mutated one, that he would've never associated with the crime lord. The boy stands there, facing the middle-aged man in front of him as he waves his goblet around, body flowing with movement; no strain evident in his posture.

He's talking, Ekko knows this, they're all speaking to him like they aren't either dead or an enemy. But they aren't--these versions of the people he once knew in his own timeline are different.

His eyes drift briefly to you, teeth bared in a smile he hasn't seen since he was a child. You look like that one day, seemingly ages ago, when you kept and eye on him, Powder, and Violet, just days before the uprising. At that point you hadn't been corrupted by the deaths of your closest friends or your husband's vile need for justice. You had a sort of youth to you, though your hair was twinged with greys like Vander's and Silco's, you were practically wrapped around his slender frame, gesturing wildly.

Life had not just been given to Vander, but to you and Silco as well.

His breath hitches and his head throbs with a sharp pain unlike any other.

Ekko squeezes his eyes shut, the vibrancy of the Anomaly imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. Distantly, he hears Powder's voice, like a song in his ear, with a type of kindness he's almost completely forgotten.

When he snaps back to reality, whatever that now meant, he was sitting at a table, away from the bar, with Powder to his right and Mylo and Claggor across from him. They watch him, expecting him to act normal, like he was meant to be here.

"I think you might actually be going crazy," Powder laughs, the sound like a sweet summer breeze as it drifts by him. Her eyes scan over him worriedly.

Ekko swallows roughly, willing the wave of sickness to pass quicker. "I--I'm fine. I think I'll just grab water or something?" Swiftly he rises from his seat, partially unbalanced. He hates that his clothes are a perfect fit and his shoes are comfortable enough he can wiggle his toes around.

He walks to the bar, the sounds of rowdy laughter and girlish giggles surrounding him. The ease of it all is overwhelming.

"What'll you have, Ekko? Your usual?"

Ekko glances at you, taking you in now that you're within arm's reach. The only sign of age are your laugh lines around the corners of your lips. Gone are the sunken, tired eyes and ghastly paleness of skin caused by the contaminated air of the Undercity. You were healthy; sure there were a few scrapes here and there, but your cheeks were filled out, Ekko noticed.

"U-usual?" He manages to croak out before the silence got too concerning.

Obviously worried, your brows furrow and lips purse. "I'll just get you a water then, huh? You're not acting like yourself." You busy yourself, bringing up a glass from the shelf at your knees.

Silco is on the other side of the bar, talking to strangers with Vander. He barks out a laugh, nothing he's ever heard before, and runs his free hand through his already ruffled hair.

The glass clinks on the wooden table in front of him, snapping him out of his trance.

"Are you sure you're ok, Ekko? You don't look so good..." You place the back of your hand to his forehead, reaching over the bartop. The coolness of your skin brings him relief, but he knows you're not going to find he has a high temperature. Physically, he was mostly fine. Mentally, however, was another story.

He thinks about how most of these people are dead men walking or empty shells of their former selves back where he's from. Ekko can't shake the empty feeling he has in his heart.

This was the way things should have been.

"So how are things with you and Silco?" He asks, ignoring your previous question as you bring your hand back to your side.

Leaning against the bar you inspect him for just a moment longer. The boy picks up his glass and almost drains it in one go, which seems to satisfy you for now.

"Me and Sil?" You glance at him quickly, face burning. "We're married, kid, we bicker and are right pricks to each other...but in the end we love each other more than anything in the world. That's how it goes." You sigh, resting your head in one of your hands thoughtfully. "Why do you ask?"

Ekko fiddles with the collar of his shirt. "He just seems so happy. Despite...everything, y'know?"

Lips tilt down slightly in a solemn frown. "It was hard for him, forgiving, that is. He thought we had to endure bloodshed to assert Zaun's rightful existence; he thought it was the only way to get Piltover to listen." Your eyes glance down to the polished wood holding you up. "It was all he knew. And after the incident...after losing our friends and his eye...it was all just a hard pill to swallow."

Silco's laugh once again echoes through the air. You smile immediately, head perking up at the mere noise of your husband. "I never thought I'd see him smile after what we lost--after Vander's wakeup call." Ekko watches as your eyes grow wet with unshed tears. "But here he is, my Silco, living the life he always dreamt of..."

"And you?" Ekko shifts from side to side, feet shuffling below him.

"What about me?" You ask, willing the tears away, busying yourself with wiping the countertop between the two of you.

"Are you happy as well?"

For a moment, you pause, pondering the weight of his question. Ekko, the boy you've come to treat as your son, the boy you trust your Powder with, looks at you like you're not quite right. His eyes gaze into your soul with an intensity that's hard to decipher.

Little moments from your life flash before your eyes; swaying to music with Silco in your kitchen as dinner cooks on the stovetop, you and Vander venturing into Piltover to get more supplies for the bar, Silco's soft gaze and his warm lips against your skin.

"I never thought I could ever be this happy." You tell him truthfully, voice just slightly above a whisper.

Something breaks in his eyes, in his demeanor, but he nods anyway. Something wasn't right--that much was obvious, but before you're able to pick his brain he leaves you at the bar, almost sprinting back to Powder and his friends. She greets him with a smile but her fingers twitch nervously under the table.

With a huff you attend to the other patrons at the bar, occasionally catching Ekko's eye as you walk around your space. He watches you and Silco work in tandem like husband and wife. Even with Ekko's mind already severely overwhelmed with the world around him, he notices when your fingertips purposefully brush when handing glassware over to the other and the small kisses that accompany some flirtatious or loving remark. His head spins and senses buzz with the overload of what could have been.

He leaves without saying goodbye to you or Silco, thought you do call out to him before he exits, you, wrapped in Silco's arms.

"I don't know how to tell you this--or even if I should tell you this." Ekko sits in front of you, tinkering with his hoverboard. Jinx stands feet away, quietly eavesdropping while glancing over blueprints she probably already knows by heart. "But Jinx said you might wanna know."

With a frown already etched into your face, you raise your eyebrows at him. You hadn't spoken to Ekko in years especially since Vander's betrayal of your husband and Vi's abandonment of Jinx. But with Piltover and Zaun under attack, he requested your presence with the Firelights. You parted ways with your husband's right hand man Sevika, hoping that you would see each other again, but predicting that that simply wasn't realistic.

"Just spit it out, kid." You reply, exhaustion lacing your words. Fatigue had infiltrated deep in your bones; Silco's death had taken a large toll on you--you were the last of you little makeshift family alive, though Vander was dead to you long before his final breath left his body.

You were quite the contrast to you counterpart in the alternate timeline. Ekko knew this before, but the accentuated frown lines and lifelessness that surrounded your very being just hit him full force.

He takes a deep breath, cautious of how you were going to react. "I went to an alternate timeline and Silco was alive there." Ekko forces out in one breath.

You stare blankly at the boy, your mind somehow not registering what he was saying.

"That was my reaction too..." Jinx murmurs, her voices echoing in the vastness of her metal lair.

A wave of vertigo washes over you, submerging you in its depths. It's hard to breathe. But somehow you will yourself to stay calm in present company. Now was not the time to be weak.

"An alternate timeline?" You manage to ask weakly, drawing your arms closer to your chest and uneasily wrap them around your frame.

"Don't even ask me to explain it because I don't think I could," Ekko chuckles humorlessly. "But it was a timeline where Zaun and Piltover were at peace, where you could openly cross the bridge and not worry about what would happen to you. Zaun and Piltover thrived together."

You scoff at the notion, shaking your head in disbelief. "Are you sure this wasn't a dream?"

"No. This was real." Ekko's deep brown eyes gaze into yours, something painful swimming in his irises. He's different from the boy you once knew; he's seen something, dealt with something he had lost--had to leave behind. The seriousness laced in his tone convinces you.

You nod, indicating that he can continue as you pick at your nails. You try to brace yourself for whatever he's about to say, but you can't. There was no way to predict what was going to come out of his mouth. But the thought of Silco being alive somewhere kills you inside; your stomach churns and your heart aches for your one and only.

Ekko only sighs before explaining to you what he saw, occasionally pausing to recollect his thoughts or add another component onto his hoverboard.

He tells you about the Silco that could have been--should have been--yours. How his laughter filled the already boisterous main room of The Last Drop, how when a certain song played he would drop everything just to twirl you around behind the bar. Ekko described the brightness of his once clouded eyes and the genuine smile that was always present on his face. Your love was so palpable wherever the two of you went.

Powder confessed once, he told you, while looking over countless notes and equations late at night, that if she were to ever get married, she would want exactly what you and Silco had.

Ekko has you clinging onto each sentence trying to savor each and every word as if you were on your deathbed. You try to picture him in your mind, the greying tousled hair, healthy figure, and tendency to smile. The images are faint against the darkness of your eyelids, blurry from the passage of time.

"He's happy?" You ask quietly.

Ekko nods.

"And am I--Is she happy?" You ask again, stuttering at the thought that this person was not you. You were not the one sharing these intimate moments with your husband; these were strangers, who you could've been.

Again, Ekko nods silently, eyes cast downwards.

You feel your bottom lip start to tremble and tears fight to escape and fall down your cheeks. The lump in your throat grows bigger.

What could've been had haunted you ever since Vander's attack on Silco. It had loomed over you and your husband and suffocated you after his death. To know it was so much sweeter than you ever could have imagined...

Your breathing is uneven when Ekko finally stops talking; other than your labored breath the room was silent. You attempt to collect your thoughts and your emotions but they keep slipping through the cracks between your fingers.

"I shouldn't have told you..." Ekko mutters, apologetically. Eyes swimming with pity, he lays a comforting paint-stained hand on your shoulder. Behind him, Jinx stares blankly down at her boots.

"No it's ok, kid." You sigh, willing away the waves of tears threatening to spill over. "It was good to hear."

"Really?" He looks at you, unconvinced.

"It's good to know that me and Silco get a happy life, y'know?" Your attempt at a small smile partially works, but Ekko can still see the distraught written so clearly all over your face. "One where we can smile and laugh and live. If it couldn't be here, I'm happy it was at least in another lifetime."

Ekko helps you stand, still concerned for you.

With an uneven sigh you turn away from Ekko and Jinx who watch you intently, projects forgotten on the floor or scattered across a small table.

"I need some air." You tell them, ambling slowly to the exit, hoping for the cool polluted air to swallow you whole.

•

[sanchoyo]

my dog turned 14 the other day!!! 14 years old in human years... I've had him since he was a pubby and hes 14... woaw....🥺

[kkalimarii]

Do you have any Leech parent hcs you wanna share?👀👀🤭

my god, yes i do

thoughts below 💬

i feel like its a known fact from the community that jade and floyd’s parents are very much influential, and definitely shady. like the self defense courses, signing a contract to give birthday gifts in ‘good faith’, y’know, the works. all signs point to fish mafia.

but at the same time, they appear to be very loving and affectionate parents, which leads me to my interpretation of them:

headcanons! (sorry, its long. i have a lot of thoughts)

-i believe that leech mom and dad stand on equal ground. leech mom ain’t just a stay at home mom, her and her husband are equally apart of the ‘business’.

-continuing that thought, i think they would have a really similar dynamic as jade and floyd. mama appears with a kind smile and gentle voice, unassuming at first (in comparison to first impressions with her husband). in contrast, her husband definitely scares people off (he’s not scared to show his teeth off from the get go), but also has a sort of charm to him that makes him really alluring. but when you get to know the two… well, you’ve seen the twins, apple doesn’t fall far from the tree

-mama is scary. like, in that way floyd is, where she’s straight up laughing at your pathetic state with her eyes wide and mouth wide open, sharp teeth all on display. the minute she gets irritated with a client she’ll be very close to clawing out their insides.

-papa is…still scary, but not as unhinged his wife. he usually handles communications and relations, because he surprisingly, is more reasonable. don’t get it wrong - if someone tries to cross him and his family, he will easily tear their throat out.

-and no, they’re not always just going ballistic on normal people. they’re pretty cordial. if you met them for the first time because jade and floyd wanted to introduce their friend (or whatever you guys are), mama would think you’re totally adorable and immediately spoil you, and papa would come right in with snacks and treats for you to try (and a new pair of shoes!)

-they are, again as the game implies, very doting parents. they spoil their kids rotten, and actually have very healthy parenting habits with their sons.

-papa is a fashion diva. can’t catch him in the same outfit twice. always is buying more dresses for his wife because he is never not completely infatuated with her.

-which is funny, because my personal hc of them is that they were rivals/enemies when they were younger. their families had a lot of beef over territory, and everytime they met up it would just be snarky comments and LOTS of bickering. eventually, who knows what happened, but they just started making out like crazy during a fight and fell in love, got married, and united their families together (by force)

-they go on fishing trips with each other when they’re in the human form. i’m talking dingy boat, dad caps, cargo pants. they’re also competitive with each other about it (mama has a heavy lead). don’t ask me why, i just feel like they do

-mama leech actually hangs out with azul’s mom a ton, they’re very close

-sometimes, when papa looks at his kids, even he’s surprised at how weak his gene game is. his kids look like they were only made by their mother

-i also changed my mind, i think i want leech mom to be 6’0 💀 i’m always changing my mind though

sorry for the long blurb, i had a lot for thoughts that have been in my head about the two because designing characters also means trying to understand them as people 🤣

[ddarker-dreams]

Better The Devil You Know.

Yandere Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety. Word count: 2.6k.

You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks. 

It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation. 

You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed. 

It’s better than the chill of encroaching death. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.

For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

Could you do the crew with a surprisingly aggressive reader? Like if an altercation they tried to de-escalate resulted in them getting hit and reader kinda snaps and punches the dog shit outta the person? On some “don’t you ever touch my man/girl”

HOT STUFF— CREW MEMBERS X HOTHEADED! AGGRESIVE! READER.

warnings: none i think.

synopsis: someone makes not so nice comments and you lose ur crap. crew reactions follow.

CAPTAIN, CURLY

He is literally golden retriever ™

Curly is not an aggressive man by any means, he prefers the pacifist way out in any situation, maintaining peace and harmony.

And you were the complete opposite, always ready to pick a fight if anyone looked at you the wrong way.

Curly always tired to explain how being so hotheaded wasn't gonna be good for your health, you just never listened.

something happened at the pony express meeting room and a co-worker remarked something to curly in a tone you weren't quite fond of.

And the next thing anyone knew, you were beating the living crap out of the fella. Everyone just watched on in shock as nobody dared to stop you.

Curly came in and immediately grabbed you in his grasp, not letting you go. He was surprised as to how difficult it was to restraint you.

"y/n you really ought to stop putting yourself in such situations, not everyone has to agree with everything i say. i can't always pull you out of fires, you know that right?".

He knows that you're not the one to learn, so makes sure to keep an eye out on you more.

Thinks it's kinda endearing that you care that much about him.

He asks to join him in the gym for weightlifting. :D

CO-PILOT,JIMMY

Even though jimmy isn't the most pleasant person to be around, he too isn't too fond of altercations and confrontations.

He prefers to always safe side his way out of everything, just making sure his peace isn't compromised.

That is until you came along, always ready to hand a person their ass for saying something wrong at the wrong time.

He wouldn't admit it, but it was quite amusing to him seeing you always ready to fight someone head-on.

He was just annoyed at the consequences which followed after.

Like at the local bar where you guys were out drinking, some girl tried to approach jimmy in the wrong way and welp.

Suddenly her makeup was off and was instead replaced with a black and eye and several bruises. The police had to be called and it was a whole ass thing.

Although jimmy scolded you for being so ill-tempered, he was smiling beneath all that, that you would go to such lengths for him.

Just stop getting your ass pulled into such idiotic situations, aight? It's annoying having to visit the station all the time.

kinda proud.

NURSE, ANYA

Anya is in the medical field, empathy and level headedness is one of her strong pursuits.

She is a pacifist, like curly she prefers to deal with things in a peaceful manner.

Plus, she personally does not like arguments or fights, at all. She herself is quite timid in nature.

After knowing you, she always reminded you to keep your cool and maybe read self help books to help you control your anger.

You guys were out on a date at the park,and a fuckass decided to catcall anya, right in front of you.

Next thing everyone in the park was witnessing was the guy laying face down with some of his teeth knocked out.

While anya was glad, that you looked out for her to such an extent, she did still believe such levels of anger weren't healthy for the body and mind.

So she signed you up for anger management classes.

" y/n I'm doing this for your own sake, who knows when something drastic might happen, please do this? For me?".

Also started making you attend the meditation classes she goes to.

MECHANIC, SWANSEA

Swansea is literally too old to deal with people by beating them up.

He's just way too tired to deal with stuff like this.

Prefers to just leaving things as is, and being "whatever helps you sleep at night". If anyone pisses him off.

Prefers peace and quiet.

So you were, infact a pain in the ass for him.

He was always yelling at you to keep it together or atleast try to get a grip on yourself whenever you feel like losing your shit.

During a maintenance meeting some young lad decided to tell Swansea 'let us handle this one yeah, old man?' and his tone definitely indicated that he didn't mean it with a friendly intent.

Swansea was just gonna let it go, i mean he was infact getting old, he couldn't help it.

But what he didn't expect was you jumping out of your seat and grabbing this dude by his collar and throwing him out of the room like a freaking ragdoll.

Shocked™ what the actual fuck? Why would you beat up a guy, for his sake?

"kid i don't know what was going on in that head of yours beating that guy up like that, but okay."

will die before admitting it, but he was touched seeing you so upset that someone was being unkind to him.

Doesn't scold you.

INTERN, DAISUKE

Daisuke is young and dandy, he is new the buisness and stuff and just wants to be friends with everyone without being on anybody's bad side.

He didn't like confrontations, and was frankly afraid of arguments with anyone for that matter.

So seeing you so fearless and ready to hand a guy his teeth over trivial things was like a breath of fresh air for him.

He liked it whenever you got into fights, he would cheer you on, and was always ready to haul your ass away to avoid any consequences.

This one time you guys were fixing something in the vents in one of the smaller freighter of pony express, and Daisuke accidentally ended up unscrewing one of the vents, which caused some wires to malfunction.

And one of the co workers, decided to be extra harsh on Daisuke for some reason, yelling all sorts of things to him.

But when that guy said 'this is why pony express shouldn't hire mama's boys'. You just simply lost it.

You ended up beating the guy to a pulp and he was put on bed rest for atleast 8 months ,which resulted in a trip to the HR

but Daisuke? He was more glad and giddy than anything or anyone.

"hey..I know that you kinda got into trouble for what happened back there, but i just wanna say, that was cool as fuck. I've never had someone care about what I felt like that much. Thank you, so much."

You both are inseparable after that.

[purple-babygirl]

don't call me daddy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 4,826

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: Bucky is mean, a couple of insults, mistreatment of age regressed reader, crying, mentions of hot liquid getting on skin, crying, mentions of the r-word and the s-word, Bucky's PTSD & nightmares

A/N: so this is an idea I've had for forever and I finally mustered up enough courage to share it with you guys. Please enjoy and let me know what you think and if you have anything you'd like to suggest for the upcoming parts. I love you 💜

~

“This sounds stupid,” Bucky grumbled when Sam suggested the program.

“It's not stupid, Buck and it works!”

“If it worked for you doesn't mean it's gonna work for me, Sam. You have patience and it's in your nature to want to take care of people.”

“Says the one who looked out for Steve all his life!”

“Steve was one person and he was actually dumb, he wasn’t acting like he can't fucking feed himself!”

“They're not acting. They're age regressed.” Sam tried to remain calm.

“What does that even mean!”

“It means—”

“You know what? I don't care because I'm not doing it.” Bucky smiled before leaving Sam's house and going back to hide in his own.

But Sam was persistent. He was determined to get Bucky help that would actually help. So he suggested the program to Bucky's therapist and before Bucky could punch him, she was having him sign the contract.

“Sam, I don't wanna meet anyone. It's not gonna work anyway so let's just pick any of them.”

“They're not service dogs, Bucky!”

“Really? Because that's exactly what it sounds like they are to me.”

Sam glared at him, elbowing his side as a short lady with a kind smile approached them.

Bucky didn't pay her much attention. He didn't want to be here and he didn't care what she was reciting.

Only thing that caught his attention was when she asked him what age he would prefer so she could introduce him to a group of littles.

He was dreading this. It was stupid.

“…what are you looking for?” Bucky caught the end of her talk with Sam.

“I don't know, someone who can talk like they're not retarded,” he answered the lady rudely and she smiled in understanding when Sam apologized.

“They're not retarded. All of them are perfectly healthy and okay. They're age regressed,” she told Bucky and he rolled his eyes so hard he felt they might never return from the back of his head.

He hated those two words. Age regressed, what the fuck did that even mean?

“Maybe we can meet some of the littles who are not so young, like 6 year olds?” Sam suggested and she nodded, leading them to a building with long corridors and lots of doors.

Bucky could see adult women and men playing with dolls, sleeping with pacifiers and some of them even had other people feeding them.

What the hell was this place? Did they expect him to do that? With a person perfectly capable of handling his or her own self but chooses not to?! Was this the 21st century? Because he didn’t like it very much.

The lady led them inside her office and got a group of files out of some organized drawer. She'd barely laid them out on the table before Bucky was slamming his finger on one.

“We'll take this one,” he said, staring at the lady in disinterest.

“But you haven't even seen them,” Sam said between his teeth, kicking his leg under the table. He wished Bucky cared enough to do this right.

“I've seen enough. I pick this file and I wanna leave,” Bucky seethed back.

“This is Doll. She's one of the softest littles I've ever met and I think you've made a great choice, Mr. Barnes.”

“You call her Doll?”

“Yes, real names aren't revealed for the privacy of our littles unless they decide otherwise and she chose the name herself when she joined us.” The lady smiled kindly, making Bucky even madder.

“Whatever, let's get this over with. Tell her to come so we could leave.”

“Mr. Barnes, I have to admit your attitude towards this is very concerning and I fear I cannot risk the peace of our littles who confide in us to find them safe partners! Like I said she's one of the gentlest and I need to know you're going to treat her right before I even let you meet her!” The woman voiced her concerns and Bucky sighed.

He couldn't blow this now. He's come far enough with this whole process and if he went back to his therapist like that she was definitely going to get out her dreadful notebook.

He had to take this girl home tonight or else they would make him go through this same process over and over again.

“I'm sorry. I'm just a little confused, I guess.” Bucky scratched his beard.

“That's okay.” She smiled again, “most of our visitors are, but you can always ask.”

“Well— what is wrong with them?!” He exclaimed, gesturing with his hands in the air.

Sam kicked him again and glared.

“What? She said I could ask!”

“It's okay,” she told Sam with a chuckle.

“Nothing is wrong with them. Them regressing in age is their way to cope and relieve anxiety or deal with other mental illnesses such as traumatic experiences, or even just stress. It's a freer, calmer state of mind for them to return to when it's no longer easy for them to be big.”

Her calm, kind manner while explaining this made Bucky even angrier inside. This wasn’t normal and they should all stop acting like it was.

“So they're supposed to be helping me with my issues but they're dealing with their own issues?”

Like he originally thought, this was stupid.

“Yes, it's a mutual helping program.” The lady confirmed.

“Oh. And what's this Doll's issue?”

“Doll reverts to age regression as a coping mechanism for her depression and PTSD. She's been doing great lately actually!”

“Is she suddenly gonna go grownup or?” Bucky continued, involuntarily asking every question on his mind.

“No, like I said, Doll reverts to little space for the comfort and safety of it and while she can coax herself out of her headspace, she rarely ever chooses to.”

“But she can?”

“Yes. But I need to tell you, Mr. Barnes, that this is not why you're here.” She reminded, wanting to ensure the safety of self expression for the little one.

“I know.”

“I also need you to promise me to be a good caregiver for her. She's a sweet girl and I can guarantee she will be good for you.”

“I promise.” Bucky knew he was lying but he couldn’t care less about his honesty at the moment.

“And it’s never acceptable to make fun of her or try to force her into a more grownup headspace. That only makes it worse and her mind regresses further.”

“So what she becomes younger?!” He was trying so hard not to get frustrated, why make him!

“That's correct.” She nodded.

“How young?” Sam asked.

“The youngest she's ever been is 4.”

“Oh.” Great. Just great.

“She can still talk just fine,” she reassured them, knowing Bucky didn't want anyone who couldn't talk or seemed 'retarded'.

“Okay, good.” Bucky nodded, wanting to get out of the place as soon as possible.

“Would you like to meet Doll now or do you wanna take a look at the rest of the files?”

“I'll meet her.” Bucky stood up, hand already at the doorknob.

~

The meeting thing went relatively well and Bucky was surprised the girl wasn't intimidated by his frown or intense stare. She was mesmerized by the metal arm even.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he still thought this whole thing was dumb but he needed to convince his therapist and everyone that he was okay again so they'd leave him alone.

She didn’t ask him any questions or have any conditions. She just stared at him with wide, sparkly eyes.

A minute later he heard the girl whisper her agreement to the short lady.

Apparently, she was big enough to make the decision to leave with a strange man she didn't know but not enough to properly dress herself or sleep without a damn toy.

Bucky was relieved anyway; glad she was idiotic enough to choose him so he wouldn't have to meet with any other 'littles'. And she wasn't ugly to look at either.

The old lady had a word with her privately before she was packing a bag and they were on their way to Bucky’s place.

~

“Where do I stay, daddy?”

Bucky hasn’t said a word to her since they’d left the institution. He made her carry her bag from the car to the elevator and from the elevator inside the apartment. He wasn’t going to be nobody’s maid.

She was physically capable and that didn’t need a professional to see it.

“I don’t know, figure it out.” Bucky shrugged, kicking his shoes off by the door and stepping inside.

She followed his lead and neatly placed her shoes at the corner by the door as well.

“Where do you want me to stay, daddy?” she asked politely, wanting to make him comfortable, seeing he was the owner of the house.

He was making her a little nervous.

This wasn’t his energy back at the institution and she tried her best not to get scared.

“I don't want you. I never did,” Bucky told her the minute she sat on his couch, throwing his keys on the wooden coffee table, “We're just gonna pretend your presence here is changing something and then I'm gonna return you.”

I don't want you.

She's definitely heard that before.

Return her. Like she was some sort of item. She wasn't what he wanted and it cracked her trained-to-love heart.

“Yes, daddy,” she replied brokenly, tears threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes.

Nothing was worse than feeling unwanted.

“Don't call me that.” Bucky snapped.

“B— But you're my daddy.” She was seriously confused now. Why would he pick her if he didn’t want this?

“I'm not your anything and stop acting so small, you look grown up enough to me.”

Why did he take her home if he didn’t like her and didn’t want to be her Daddy?

“I'm not acting.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt more insecure than ever.

“Yeah, yeah, you're age regressed. Whatever, just don't call me that. I'm no one's daddy.” Bucky took his shirt off throwing it on the couch beside her, making her flinch.

“But what should I call you if not—”

“Call me Mr. Barnes, if you're so keen on being polite.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She sniffled.

“And stop crying.” He huffed.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly wiped at her face, holding the rest of her tears inside and forcing the lump in her throat further down.

Bucky muttered something under his breath before snatching his shirt and leaving to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as she flinched again.

He didn't say she was a good girl for calling him what he wanted, or for stopping her crying when she was told to. He didn't like her and he wanted to return her.

What was she supposed to do until he sent her back? He didn't want her help even if they said he needed it.

Was it going to be like this for the next 3 months? How was she going to do all of the grown up stuff if Daddy Mr. Barnes didn't help her? How was she going to live? And why did she still care to try her best to be good for the harsh, blue-eyed man?

~

She didn’t know what to do so she sloppily changed her clothes by herself, putting her socks in the hamper to be washed like a good girl.

She washed her hands and feet by herself, unknowingly making Bucky think he was right all along about letting her do things on her own as she should.

That was until he put a hot cup of instant noodles before her for dinner though. He refused to help her eat and she accidentally spilled hot soup over her hand and the wooden table. It was chaos.

Bucky cursed out loud and she started crying in pain.

He had enough pity on her to drag her to the bathroom and put her hand under the cold water. If his hold on her arm hurt, she didn’t say anything.

“Keep it there, don’t you dare move.”

“Mr. Barnes, don’t leave,” she sniffled, eyes red and in pain.

“I’m not leaving you in the Sahara desert.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “I gotta go clean the mess you made.” He left her in the bathroom and she kept her hand under the water, not daring to move like she was told.

“How hard is it to eat fucking noodles! It’s not quantum physics!” Bucky muttered angrily as he wiped the soup off the table with a cloth.

“Fuck that age regression shit I am done!” He took their noodle cups to the kitchen and dumped both in the bin.

“What are you still doing in there! It’s not like you got burnt by lava!” Bucky shouted to her, walking to the bathroom.

“I— I— Mr. Barnes, you told me not to move.” She began crying again at his angry demeanor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky groaned, “do you ever stop crying?!”

“I’m s-sorry.” She hiccupped. She didn’t know what to say or how to please him she just wanted him to stop glaring at her. She was scared.

“Get out of there and dry your hands,” Bucky told her, sitting on the couch with a sigh.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” Came her chocked whisper.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked when she came out of the bathroom, tears drying on her cheeks.

The question surprised her. Maybe he did care after all.

“Burns a little,” she told him, pointing to the back of her hand where the skin got burnt.

“I might have a cream here somewhere,” he said, trying his best to keep an unconcerned expression on.

She took a look around when Bucky stood up to look in the kitchen. It was a cozy place and she wasn’t too needy but she couldn’t help but wonder about where she was going to sleep.

There didn’t seem to be enough furniture in here.

“Try not to touch it and you should be fine in the morning,” Bucky instructed after applying the burns cream to the sensitive area of skin.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered before absentmindedly pecking Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her guts. He certainly didn’t see that coming. It was her first night here how was she so bold!

His breath stuttered out of his lungs but he quickly recomposed himself.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he gave her a dark stare.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“N— No.” She quickly shook her head.

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

“No.” She shook her head again, sort of knowing where this was going. She was going to get punished.

“Then why’d you do it?” Bucky sneered through his teeth.

“To th— thank Mr. Barnes.” He made her so nervous she could barely hear herself answer him.

Bucky hated her. She had no sense of boundaries. He hated the way she cried all the time. He hated the way she referred to him in third person.

He hated her.

“You already said that, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Don’t do it again.” Was all Bucky said and she was relieved.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky scoffed and stood up to put the cream back where he found it.

~

Turned out, Bucky had no bed. He slept on the floor and he didn’t need one.

“But where do I sleep, Mr. Barnes?” She asked in a small voice.

“Anywhere that is not next to me,” Bucky replied, not even sparing her a glance.

“Can I sleep here?” she asked, patting the couch.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She gave a shy smile.

“I didn’t make the damn couch. Just go to sleep.”

“Bad word again,” she whispered.

“What was that?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” She slammed a hand on her mouth.

“Repeat what you just said if you know what’s good for you.” Bucky glared.

“I— Mr. Barnes said a bad word,” she whispered shakily.

“Yeah, well, it’s my house! I’ll talk however I want!” Bucky raised his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She nodded, not even thinking about arguing that he shouldn’t curse in front of a little.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She quickly plopped on the couch, covering herself with a blanket, and burying her face in a cushion.

Bucky almost chuckled; almost thought it was cute but he shook the smile off his face quickly and sighed, taking his shirt off and getting himself on the hard floor, easily falling asleep.

He always falls asleep so fast because nightmares usually wake him up few hours after; he be waiting for bed time all day.

She peeked from under the blanket when she heard Bucky snore, carefully tiptoeing to her bag to get her stuffie. She took one look at shirtless Bucky, her cheeks heating up, before sliding back under the covers on the couch.

Her Daddy that didn’t like to be called Daddy was beautiful.

~

It has started again. He’s chasing a person, he corners them to where they could not run anymore, his left hand wraps around their throat, they struggle and beg and then snap. He kills them.

Bucky startled awake, having a hard time taking his breath only to find her on the floor next to him.

Her eyes were full of worry and maybe even sympathy as she clutched a stuffed animal. Bucky didn’t like it.

“It’s okay, Daddy— Mr. Barnes. ‘T was just a bad dream.” She whispered, dropping her stuffie to wrap her short arms around Bucky.

He wouldn’t admit it but it felt nice to be held. Something inside him wanted to succumb to the gentleness of her gesture. But Bucky shut that down at once.

“Get off,” Bucky huffed tiredly as the girl clung to him and rubbed his sweaty back.

“But—”

“Get. Off.” He repeated, grinding his teeth and she reluctantly slipped off his lap and went back to her spot on the floor.

She stared at him as he panted and frowned for a second before leaving the room.

Bucky scoffed, rubbing a hand down his hot face. She probably went to cry in the bathroom again; such a crybaby.

Except she didn’t.

She returned with a relatively cool glass of water, only half full. She didn't want to be bad and spill.

“I got you water, Mr. Barnes.” She carefully got on her knees and offered him the cup.

“Stop saying my name so much.” Bucky snatched the cup out of her hand, gulping down the water without showing an ounce of gratitude.

She pouted, crawling to her bag to get him tissues because she didn’t see any around.

“So you do know how to act around liquids after all.” Bucky taunted, still not over the fact that she spilled soup over his table before taking the tissues from her to wipe his forehead.

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby, Mr. Barnes? It helps me after bad dreams.” She suggested, desperately hoping he would let her help.

“Not all of us act like kids to flee our nightmares.”

“Mr. Barnes.” Her eyes filled with tears and it was the last thing Bucky wanted to deal with, “I’m not acting.”

She was hurt but he didn’t care. He said what he said.

“Get back on the couch, I wanna go to sleep.” Bucky dismissed, pushing the empty glass against the wall.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” She whispered dejectedly, taking her friend and crawling back to the couch.

~

The same thing happened every night for another four nights. At this point she was really worried about the man she started singing lullabies anyway, not waiting for his permission.

“Hey, you!”

“Doll,” she corrected.

“Whatever! Shut up already. I told you I don’t need your stupid singing.” Bucky growled into his pillow.

He was lying. He hated admitting it but he was. Her voice was actually angelic. He never went back to sleep again after a nightmare but that changed when she ignored his wishes and started singing. Bucky could drift off again to her soft voice.

He could get more hours of nightmareless sleep because of her lullabies. But he was too stubborn to admit anything that came from her was working for him.

It must be a coincidence. He probably fell asleep again because he was exhausted from being mad at her all day.

“I know Mr. Barnes doesn’t need it. It’s for me.” She lied as well. She knew lying wasn’t good girl like but she was helping Mr. Barnes; it was for good reason.

~

“Mr. Barnes,” her small voice called to him but Bucky was ignoring her.

He was pretending he couldn’t hear her and continued staring at the TV because she talked too much for his liking.

“Mr. Barnes.” She ever so lightly touched Bucky’s arm.

“What!” he spit suddenly, making her jump.

“We— We need to go shopping. Mrs. Morrison will visit tomorrow.”

She knew the process and for some reason didn’t want to be taken away from Bucky.

If Mrs. Morrison came and saw the way the apartment was or the way Bucky treated Doll, she was definitely going to make her leave with her.

“What?!”

“It’s day five.” She reminded, tilting her head to the side.

“Yeah, so?” Bucky’s body fully turned to face her.

“Tomorrow’s visit day. We have to go shopping.”

“How do I know you’re not lying just to get me to buy you things?”

“I don’t lie, Mr. Barnes.” She assured him, looking hurt at even the suggestion.

“It’s in the papers,” she told him, referring to the contract he’s signed as well as the guide he was provided with her file before leaving the institution.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but stood up to look at the papers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer in the kitchen a few days ago.

“Shit,” he muttered when he saw she wasn’t lying. He heard her whisper bad word but chose to ignore it.

There were scheduled visits listed with different time intervals between each visit for the next three months.

Bucky groaned, throwing the paper sheet back in the drawer and slamming it shut.

“Put your clothes on, we’re going fucking shopping.”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t even—” she ran to the bathroom to change before Bucky could get angrier.

What has Sam gotten him into?

~

“Why’s your hair so messy!” Bucky asked, shoving her out of his way to grab a jar of peanut butter and put in the cart.

“I don’t know how to do it on my own an’ Mr. Barnes kept telling me to hurry up.”

Her voice was so small and if Bucky wasn’t so infuriated by the situation he would’ve felt bad for how he spoke to her.

“You’d think you’d actually look decent enough after taking forever to get ready.” Bucky huffed.

She remained silent, looking down and closing in on herself.

“Do you eat this?” Bucky asked, waving a box of corn flakes in front of her.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, throwing the box in the cart.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop saying my name so much?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barn—” Bucky’s cold stare stopped the word on her tongue.

“Call me Bucky.”

He didn’t want her to call him Bucky. But if that Mrs. Morrison was visiting tomorrow she couldn’t know he made her speak to him formally.

“Bucky?”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Bucky.” She smiled shyly, feeling one step closer to the man.

Bucky didn’t know his life would turn upside down so fast.

He never cared about grocery shopping because he didn’t need that much stuff and he mostly ate at restaurants or diners or bought take out. He mainly just had beer filling his fridge.

But with her tied to him now he was buying all kinds of food: fresh vegetables and fruits, juice boxes, snack bars and way too many Oreos. Not to mention the toiletries he had to pay for because aside from her tooth and hair brushes, she came with nothing.

“Bucky, can we please get this?” she asked, pointing to a stuffed white wolf.

“No, you already have one at home. I see it every night.”

“Please, Bucky, please. Pretty please,” she begged, giving puppy eyes and pressing her palms together even.

“Okay, fine, shut up. God!” Bucky grumpily put the toy in the cart and got them to the nearest cashier before she could pick anything else.

She was so happy and was going to cherish her new stuffie more than ever.

~

Bucky was pacing back and forth in the living room. He needed to find a way to convince her not to tell Mrs. Morrison or whatever her name was how he treated her.

He didn’t want her to know she had any type of power over him because of the situation.

Bucky definitely wasn’t going to say please, but he also knew he couldn’t scare her into saying what he wanted.

“Bucky, please go to bed. Wolfie can’t sleep.” She whined, hugging her newest stuffie to her heart.

Bucky gave her yet another hard glare. She made him so angry that sometimes he forgot how to function. She was so spoiled and oblivious.

“I won’t say anything to Mrs. Morrison,” she whispered.

“You think I care what you have to say?! They could take you right now for all I care!” Bucky replied angrily.

“I know…” she mumbled, “I don’t want them to.”

Her words left Bucky without a reply. He was confused. She didn’t want to leave? Why not? Bucky hasn’t said one kind word to her since she’s been entrusted to him.

Was she some type of masochist?

“I wanna stay with Bucky. Sing him lullabies and eat noodles with him,” she said, her voice soft and heavy with sleep, before her eyes shut as she drifted off.

Her words put Bucky at ease for now and he got on the floor to finally try to get some sleep. He tried to ignore the way they affected him though.

~

“Bucky,” she called gently.

“Hmm.”

“I need to shower,” came her timid whisper.

“Do you see me using the bathroom?! Help yourself.” Bucky huffed, stirring the sugar in his mug.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!” he snapped, throwing the spoon in the sink.

“I need Bucky’s help.” Her face was on fire with embarrassment of having to say this out loud.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky rolled his eyes, pushing his mug aside before grabbing her arm and pushing her to the bathroom.

She whimpered as they stood before the glass door of the shower.

“This, because you’re not stupid you’re just age regressed, opens the hot water.” Bucky pointed to the tap handle on the right. “This opens the cold water. And this—”

“Bucky, that’s not what I need help with.” She shook her head, biting down on her lip.

“What do you want from me then?!” Bucky had no patience and her bashfulness wasn’t helping.

She raised her arms up before whispering, “I need Bucky to gimme a shower.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Bad word.”

“Don’t start now! You don’t know how to shower?!”

She shook her head, pouting as her eyes got teary again, “not when little.”

“This is bullshit. I didn’t even wanna do this. Damn you, Sam Wilson!” Bucky said, walking out of the bathroom angrily as she trailed behind him like the lost puppy she was.

“Bad word.”

“Stop!” Bucky boomed and she put her hands behind her back timidly.

“Please, Bucky,” she begged, getting hold of his hand.

“No! On my dead body!”

~

“Stand straight or I swear I’m gonna leave you here and go!”

“Yes, Bucky,” she giggled, the water trickling down her spine tickling her.

“Now what?” He huffed, trying not to stare at her naked chest.

“Now, this.” She held up the bottle of conditioner for him and Bucky sighed before taking it and squeezing some on his hand.

He was about to smooth it down her scalp when she moved away.

“No, no! This goes on the ends or else it gives you dandruff,” She said and Bucky would’ve facepalmed so hard if it wasn’t for the slippery matter covering his palms.

This was going to be long.

~

She was fast asleep on Bucky’s couch after her shower, so peaceful and without a care in the world.

Bucky envied her as he got in place on the floor. He really wished he had enough flexibility in him to accept help and care from someone.

But no, he didn't need her. He didn't need any of this. He just had to go through tomorrow and the rest will figure itself out.

Yeah, yeah just tomorrow for now, Bucky thought as he drifted off.

part II

~

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[mediumgayitalian]

Will would like to say, at risk of perjuring himself, that he did not intend to fall asleep.

Like, he wanted to.

And he did.

But it was not his original intent.

His original intent was to stabilize his patients (success), climb out the back window of the infirmary (success), stick the landing (failure is good for growth), meet Nico behind the Big House (success), and shadow travel to his cabin without throwing up (fifty percent is a pass). The secondary intent was to sprawl on his boyfriend’s lap, taking up as much space as possible in his massive, against-camp-regulations bed (how it is possible to be Dionysus’ nepo baby without actually being a child of Dionysus, Will shall never know), turn off his brain, and watch him play video games for a while.

The issue is that Nico is so comfortable.

Yeah, he’s bony. And yeah, sometimes he gets really into the game and forgets that Will is there, elbowing him in the face as he cusses at the screen in what sounds like ancient Latin. And yeah, the sound of a CoD lobby is the opposite of a sleep-conductive environment. However.

However.

While he may spend hours of his week standing on tables, lecturing on healthy eating habits and regular circadian rhythms via sonnet, and enforcing said habits via taser (rip Leo Valdez, you would’ve loved watching Will taser people for stress relief, come back alive soon), Will is what his friends and family call a ‘big fat hypocrite’.

He wouldn’t know healthy habits if they painted themselves bright neon blue (the easiest colour for him to see), stood ten feet tall, dressed in Malvolio’s outfit from Twelfth Night, and roundhouse kicked him in the teeth his mother spent thousands of dollars on (braces suck). He has not slept through the night even once his whole life. Yesterday, his two meals were 1) twizzlers and 2) audacity. He once measured how much liquid he had in his system on any given time and then drank approximately two point seven litres of RedBull to become, by volume, one half percent caffeine. (His heart did indeed stop. But it started back up again when Jason shocked him, so it was fine. Plus, he wrote it all down, so in reality it was science.)

Also, his dumbfuck peers keep getting themselves maimed, and he was informed unfortunately by Chiron that he cannot strike and leave them to suffer. (Accusing him of violating his First Amendment Right To Petition got him nothing but stable duty.) As of ten minutes before Nico picked him up, he was on his thirty-ninth consecutive hour of being awake. Probably. (He’s reasonably certain that climbing a tree on Friday morning and belting himself to the trunk, Katniss Everdeen style, for a quick catnap was not a fever dream, but one can never be too certain.)

Regardless. Point is, Will had cute boys to cuddle and Thoughts to Think. He had no intention of falling asleep.

And, yet.

He wakes up warm — the perfect kind of warm, wherein you feel akin to a soupified caterpillar in a chrysalis — or like a croissant lovingly shaped by the hands of an elderly chef in Paris and baked with care in a regulated oven — or like a wonderfully blubbery elephant seal baking on a slick rock — or like a space rock hurtling through the —

“Morning, Sunshine,” murmurs a very familiar voice. Following the very gentle murmur is a very gentle smooch on the forehead. Will, still mostly asleep, thinks he would sign off his soul without a second thought to ensure it happens again. “Or evening, rather.”

“Has anyone ever offered you their soul?” Will asks, fuzzy and disoriented. He tries and fails to blink the grogginess away, but the world around him stays dark, and the hand in his hair remains where it is, and he is so, so sleepy.

“Not yet,” Nico says. Will can hear the amused smile in his voice. “Why?”

Will yawns. “No reason. Timizzit?”

“Late, tesoro. Past curfew.”

Will groans, knocking his head gently back into Nico’s hold.

Of course his dumb ass slept through the evening. Of course he now has to drag himself awake and walk, in the blistering, nose-numbing frost (it’s sixty degrees, Solace) across camp, dodging feral harpy attacks (Apollo kids have harpy immunity, William), and trudging into his sad, small, lonely bed (gods above you are your father’s son) where he will of course be fully awake by the time he gets there. God really does give his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. (You’re an atheist, William Andrew.)

“Why me,” he laments, refusing to move from his boyfriend’s lap. Perhaps he will simply wither here, warm, satisfied, and more importantly away from little siblings who will not stop squabbling even when their long-suffering older brother looks longingly and pointedly at a bottle of cyanide.

Nico snorts. “Because the gods are punishing you for your crimes.”

“I have committed no crimes! This is unjust! Partisan! I am Hester Prynne and she is me —”

“Your mother is going to hell for teaching you literacy.”

“Defamation and libel!”

“Shut up, Will, gods —”

But he softens the blow of his words by leaning down, hands on either side of Will’s face, and kissing him like he’s trying to breathe him back to life. Or keep him quiet, honestly, but he smells like woodsmoke and citrus and old leather so Will doesn’t really mind. Even if he did, the chapped skin of Nico’s lips serves as a very good distraction, as does the brush of his thumb over Will’s cheekbone and the cool press of his ring against Will’s heated skin.

“Stay over,” he whispers, shifting his lips to Will’s chin, his jaw, his neck. He scratches his teeth lightly against Will’s adam’s apple and his hemoglobin briefly forget how important their job is. “You don’t have a shift tomorrow and everyone at camp owes you, like, twelve favours each.”

“That’s very convincing,” Will mumbles, unsure if he’s referring to Nico’s sound logic or the breath he blows on the shell of Will’s ear, which makes his arrector pili muscles go crazy. (He could make a more convincing case for the logic if all the blood had not abandoned his brain. Alas.)

“I’m a very convincing person.”

He slides a hand under Will’s shirt and his already very weak resolve pulls out a suitcase, packs its things, and abandons its family to pursue a career in competitive shoemaking. Or something. Nico’s hands are very very cold and it feels really really good for some reason and Will is just one man, okay. He may have been named after willpower but that does not mean he possesses any. And Nico is a convincing person. He out-stubborned Death.

“Okay,” he gasps out, arching into the nail Nico scratches over the intensely sensitive skin of his hip, “I’m staying, I’m staying, please take all your wiles and ship them out into the sea in a wine crate ala Danaë and her newborn.”

“…You are such a deeply strange person.”

“And yet you love me so.”

Nico presses his smile to Will’s forehead. “Indeed, I do.”

[tayraedoll]

Mine for Eternity

Part two of Mine for the Taking

MDNI 18+

Part 1

TW: Alastor is his own warning, manipulation, pregnancy, birth(not an accurate portrayal- just enough detail for the story and that is it), swearing, oral (female receiving) hair pulling, p in v intercourse, nipple play, slight bondage, biting

If any portrayal of birth makes you uncomfortable feel free to skip from "Alastor ushered you over to the bed and with a snap of his fingers your medical team arrived in the room with you" to ""Congratulations! You have a daughter!", the midwife smiled down at you before going about her post-birth duties".

You have been warned.

Word Count: 3,792

Alastor paced outside your bathroom door rather impatiently. He ground his teeth in frustration, smile pulled tight across his face; he wanted to be in the bathroom with you but you had kicked him out. Why you wanted to keep him from sharing this moment with you he had no idea, but he relented to your request for privacy- he was a gentleman after all.

You never cycled back into estrus during the mating season. You should have cycled a couple more times like the other doe sinners. Your lack of repeated estrus could only mean one thing- you were pregnant, he bred you the first time around.

The buck was quite a prideful man; he was quite happy to continue fucking you to relieve his rut, chest puffed out that his job was done after the first round and now he was just having fun. He was absolutely over the moon that soon he would see your body swell with his offspring.

Now, it was two weeks passed the mating season and you have not menstruated, body holding onto the blood and tissues needed to nourish the growing fetus he knew was inside of you. Alastor all but skipped to the drugstore to purchase the pregnancy test normally only used by hellborns; but no one dared question The Radio Demon. His joyous mood was only dampened when you had barred his entry into your en suite with you. He wanted to witness the moment the test turned positive but you pleaded that you would be more comfortable alone and he did not want his darling doe to be uncomfortable in his presence.

The demon was by your side the moment you emerged from the en suite. He watched your face carefully, cataloging every emotion the flitted across it- wonder, apprehension, joy, nervousness- as you slowly handed the test over to him. Alastor barely had to look at it, immediately catching the two lines, his smile nearly split his face at the confirmation that his desired outcome came to fruition.

"I didn't even know that it was possible", you whispered, looking up at him timidly, nervous about his reaction to the news.

"Mon Cher, you are incredibly special. This is a sign that you were always meant to be mine", he cradled your face in his hands and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. No need to worry your pretty head with how he was directly responsible for this "miracle".

"How do we tell the others?", you ask as you lean into his tender embrace. You close your eyes as happy tears begin rolling down your cheeks. Alastor stooped forward to kiss those little drops away.

"Hmm, you just leave that to me My Dear. Your job is to remain happy and stress-free so our offspring can grow healthy and strong inside of you. I will take care of everything." He picked you up bridal-style and carried you over to your bed, climbing in gently and laying you across his chest as his claws ran gently down your back in a soothing manner. You hummed happily and snuggled into him, excitedly anticipating this next chapter of your afterlife.

The news was met with a myriad of reactions from the other hotel guests, the most common being shock and worry for you. Lucifer in particular reacted with utter disgust. Not at you or your baby of course, but at the father. If the deplorable cannibal wanted literal demonic spawn then fine- he could surely just conjure a shadow child for himself. Why did he have to bring you into it? Why did he have to take someone so gentle and sweet and corrupt their innocence in such a way? He knew Alastor must have done something to cause this, there was no way this just happened without a catalyst and he doubted very much that the cause was love. The devil nearly threw all his self-restraint aside and killed the red demon right then and there if Charlie had not stepped in.

Charlie was the most accepting of the situation. Although she was sad that your redemption was now an impossibility, she was excited about the baby. She was constantly gushing over you and telling you what a great mom you were going to be. The princess took it upon herself to plan your baby shower, putting together a small gathering with an adorable little deer theme. The napkins and balloons had little fawns on them, the cookies were pink and blue deer since you were waiting to find out the gender, and the gifts were wrapped in thick, brown paper to resemble tree trunks.

Alastor was an extremely doting father-to-be. True to his word, he literally took care of everything for you. He carefully kept track of your micro and macro nutrient intake, you were not allowed to consume anything that he did not make for you- the only exception being an occasional cookie from Niffty. A fight nearly broke out in the kitchen one day when Lucifer was making pancakes and had the audacity to try to give you one; once again the only reason blood was not shed was due to Charlie's intervention. He was at every doctor appointment, every ultrasound, and every test. Your medical team was the best Hell had to offer, you received only the best treatment due to fear of becoming guests on Alastor's radio broadcast if anything were to go wrong.

As your pregnancy progressed and your womb inflated, Alastor became more and more possessive protective. He loved the way your body changed, how it accommodated the life growing inside of it and prepared for delivery. He lovingly caressed the stretch marks that formed across your hips and waist with both his claws and lips. His large hands would wrap around you from behind and he'd ever so gently lift your baby bump and keep the weight supported in his hands to give your lower back and hips a moment of relief. The demon reminded you daily how breathtakingly beautiful you were, quickly extinguishing all your self-depreciating thoughts the moment they formed. Soft jazz would play every night as he'd lay with his ear on your belly, listening to the fetus within as he sang along to the gentle tune.

When summer arrived and your due date loomed near Alastor was on edge, scrupulously taking notes of your behaviors as he waited for signs of labor. You were not allowed out of his sight anymore, he had become your very own shadow. The day your breasts swelled with milk was the day he officially secluded you away in his room which was fine by you as you no longer had the energy to be around the others anymore. You sought out the safety and comfort only provided by your buck.

A few days later you became restless, constantly pacing around the bayou section of the room. Your belly was so swollen you were constantly uncomfortable no matter if you were sitting, standing, or laying down. Alastor offered you what comforts he could, but mainly stayed by your side as a silent observer. Finally, after what seemed like days of pacing around uncomfortably, contractions became regular and closer together. Alastor ushered you over to the bed and with a snap of his fingers your medical team arrived in the room with you.

"Alright Miss, it is time to push!", the little imp midwife told you. Alastor was by your side, your hand wrapped around his with crushing force although he did not show any signs of discomfort.

"You are doing so well", he murmured against your temple before looking back down to where your child was exiting your womb.

You grit your teeth as you began your push, hissing your breath out between them before slumping back down to the bed.

"Very good, just one more Miss, baby is nearly here!", the jovial little imp chirped at you. You took deep breaths and then pushed again, letting out a piercing battle cry as your body finally birthed your newborn. You fell back again, breathing heavily and sweat drenching every part of your body. You were slightly disoriented but you instantly perked up at the shrill cry of your fawn. Before long your newborn was placed on your bare chest as tears of pure joy cascaded down your cheeks. She was the spitting image of her father, the same vibrant red and black features. Though she had your large, innocent doe eyes.

"Congratulations! You have a daughter!", the midwife smiled down at you before going about her post-birth duties.

Alastor leaned down to kiss your sweaty temple once more, "I am so proud of you Mon Cher. She is absolutely perfect!" He lovingly ran the back of a finger up and down your infant's back, cooing softly at her. "What shall we call her?"

You really were not in a state of mind to think about names at the moment. You sighed softly, "Any names that you like?"

The demon hummed thoughtfully,"What about Bessie Marie? Bessie Smith was the top female vocalist in my life, she made quite the impression on me. The number one baby girl name of my time was Mary, but Marie rolls off the tongue much easier don't you think?"

You mulled it over, getting a feel for the name on your tongue, "Bessie Marie Hartfelt. I love it! Hi baby Bessie, I love you so incredibly much." you murmured into your daughter's ears.

"Get some rest Mon Cher. I'll keep watch.", Alastor whispered softly, taking Bessie and cradling her protectively in his arms. You snuggled against him, succumbing quickly to a much-needed sleep. Alastor vigilantly watched over you both, Bessie never leaving his arms all night, smiling sweetly down at his little family. It was the first night of many that he would spend feeling like he was as close to heaven as he would ever be.

Bessie quickly became the universal favorite resident of the hotel. She definitely inherited her father's charm, but hers was more innocent and sweet thanks to your influence. Even Husk and Lucifer were not immune to her allure, Husk actually cracking a smile at her and Lucifer's own daddy instincts kicking in much to Alastor's displeasure. Charlie was always at the ready to babysit if you and Alastor wanted a night to yourselves. The little fawn had everyone wrapped around her finger as soon as they met her.

Alastor's existence had never felt more fulfilling than when he became a father. Not when he first became a radio host, not when he became a murderer, not even when he became an Overlord, all of those milestones were overshadowed when he became a father. Bessie was everything to him, he knew he would set the world ablaze if she asked him to. The buck was involved completely in his daughter's upbringing, not a man happy to take a backseat in any way. He changed diapers, fed and burped her, and played with her every chance he got. As she got older, he happily joined tea parties and dressed up as all Bessie's favorite book characters (television and movies were strictly forbidden).

As Bessie left the infant stage and became a toddler, Alastor started to feel like that hole in his heart cracked open again, like something was missing. This confused the demon at first, why had this feeling returned when it had been sated for so long? He found himself staring down at his young daughter as she slept in her bed, reminiscing her newborn days, when the answer washed over him. He wanted another baby. Family's had an average of 3-5 children when he was alive, he suspected he would want at least that many.

You had not come into estrus the mating season after Bessie was born for you already had a young fawn you needed to take care of. But surely your body would be ready to come into heat again this season. As Alastor sat there thinking of your pregnant body; how your womb and breasts swelled, hips widened, your total dependency on him, all thoughts that made his cock stir in his pants. Yes, his mind was made up- he would breed you again this year so that you will give him another heir. He'd make that a part of your deal- his protection of you in exchange for as large of a family as he wanted; a pregnancy every other year until he was satisfied. He knew better than to set a required number of fawns- deer were prone to having twins. A required number of pregnancies was more beneficial for him to gain as many children as possible.

That fall, the buck waited patiently for your body to respond to the season as he knew it would. You were still largely in the dark about your heat, only ever experiencing it once two years ago. Your early signs of estrus were slightly different than they were the first time around due to already having a young fawn. Much like Alastor, your earliest sign was the longing for your babe to be so new to the world again. You got emotional, crying silently as you went through Bessie's newborn clothes and toys, clutching them to your chest as you willed time to slow down. Your sweet scent rapidly spiked with your emotional state, alerting Alastor to your hormonal plight.

"Oh my, whatever has you in such low spirits Mon Cher?", he cooed at you as he walked over to where you were on the bed, Bessie's baby items strewn all around you.

"She's just getting so big! Before we know it she will be all grown up and she won't need us anymore.", you sniffed, looking up at him with tears in your eyes. He hands you a cup of tea, which you gratefully take and sip eagerly from, letting the warm liquid soothe your inner turmoil.

Alastor's smile softened as his thumb gently wiped your tears away, "Such is the natural way of things My Dear. But you know, we can try for another...gift our little Bessie with a sibling", he sat behind you as he started massaging your hunched shoulders, his voice lowering to a barely audible whisper in your ear.

Your ears stood straight up as you gasped at his proposal, "Alastor, we have no idea if that is even possible! For all we know Bessie was a total fluke, a complete miracle!"

The Overlord hummed, 'a fluke-no, a miracle- yes, a miracle of his own making', he thought as he eyed your nearly empty cup of tea. He began placing wet, open-mouth kisses along your neck, brushing his cheeks against yours to mix your pheromones together, "Well, where is the harm in trying Darling? We could very well get lucky a second time."

"I am not sure I am ready for another one yet...", you mutter unconvincingly, without any authority in your voice as you stretch your neck out to give him easier access. Heat was pooling low in your belly, thighs rubbing together as he nipped at your tender flesh. His arms came around you to grab one of Bessie's old onesies, holding it up before you both.

"Oh but you make such as wonderful mother Mon Cher. It would be a tragedy to limit your affections to just one fawn", he gently placed the onesie in your lap over your womb, your own hands coming up to cradle it there. "But I suppose if you are not ready then I will not push the subject", he gave you one last peck on the cheek before abruptly standing up and walking away with his arms crossed behind his back, humming away as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Wait!", you called after him, a desperate edge to your voice, "You're right, there's no harm in trying..." you bit your bottom lip "for another baby", you whispered out.

The demon's eyes flashed in triumph, his grin sharpening slightly before he turned back to you, "Oh Darling, I just knew you'd see it my way!"

He was on you in a flash, pushing you down into the mattress as his scent overwhelmed you. All doubts that you wanted this instantly vanished from your mind as the rut fully took over. His lips captured your in a feverish kiss, immediately nipping down on your bottom lip and plunging his tongue down your throat when you gasped. He was everywhere, hands running along the entire length of your body, tongue massaging your throat, weight pinning you down completely; your entire world began and ended with Alastor.

He roughly palmed at your breasts through your shirt, "I cannot wait to see these engorged with milk again", he growled out. Before you could respond he grabbed each side of your shirt collar and ripped your shirt in half. Upon seeing your lack of bra he swiftly swooped down and captured a nipple in his mouth while his thumb swirled around the other eliciting a high-pitched keen from you. His free hand traveled down to your pants, slipping passed the waistband and lightly stroking your clit through for panties. "Your bosom was never more enticing than when it was feeding my young."

The buck traveled down your navel, nipping your sensitive skin to create raised welts signifying his ownership of your body. Your heart hammered away in your chest, his thumb pressing harder into your nub. As he traveled south he latched onto your waistband with his teeth, pulling your pants and panties down with his mouth. One hand went up to press on your hips while the other spread your lower lips to reveal your most intimate parts, soaking the sheets beneath you as your juices flowed out of you. Crimson painted your cheeks as you bit your lip, feeling more exposed than ever before. "Remember our rule Mon Cher?"

"Do not take my eyes off of you". you obediently recited.

"Good girl", he dove between your legs, running his nose along your slit and inhaling the scent of you in such an obscene display it would have made Val's movies look tame. His tongue licked a rough stripe up your sex before circling around your clit. His teeth lightly grazed your nub as he sucked it between his lips, two fingers pushing inside of you. You struggled to keep your eyes open, wanting so desperately to throw your head back, but you dutifully kept your eyes fixed on your mate like he asked you to. You whimpered as your thighs tensed, the coil in your abdomen tightening rapidly.

Alastor curled his fingers and pressed into that spongy spot inside you, creating black spots in your vision as you struggled to keep your eyes open. His sucking on your clit became so intense it bordered on painful; then, one precise nip of teeth on your sensitive nub later, the coil harshly snapped and you let out a strangled cry of his name as you completely came undone.

You felt like you were floating for a bit, only vaguely aware of the sound of Alastor undressing beside you. It wasn't until you felt his hands on your hips flipping you around that you fully came back to yourself. You were on your knees and forearms, ass high in the air and back arched deliciously as your buck positioned himself behind you. He leaned forward and wrapped your hair around one hand, pulling tight to keep your back in a low arch, chest brushing the mattress below you.

"You are going to look exquisite swollen with my seed again Mon Cher. Truly a sight to behold!", he nipped the skin of your shoulders. You whined as he sank inside you to the hilt, his free hand gripped your hip so hard it was sure to bruise, effectively keeping you in place. His first thrust was sharp and hard, his tip battering into your cervix making you cry out.

His pace rapidly picked up until he was hammering into your cunt, his pelvis angled in a way that his balls would slap into your clit with each thrust into you. The squelching that enveloped all sound in the room was downright pornographic mixing with your gasps and moans and Alastor's grunts. "I'm going to fill you to the brim, you are going to give me another fawn- hopefully two! I will do everything in my power to keep you pregnant for the majority of the next decade at least!"

You groaned loudly into the mattress, only half-absorbing what he was saying. At this moment, you were so preoccupied with your pleasure that you would have agreed to anything he asked for. His thrusts grew sloppy, his vice-like grip on your hair tightened impossibly more- the pain only adding to the euphoria you found yourself in. "Cum with me Darling! Milk me for every last drop!"

Your jaw dropped open in a silent scream as you did exactly what he told you to do. You felt the hot ropes of seed spray into your greedy womb, giving you a satisfying full feeling. All strength drained from you, but before you could slump forward a cold, smooth tentacle wrapped around your waist to hold you up. "Not quite yet Mon Cher, you need to stay up so that nothing leaks out."

Alastor slowly pulled out and let go of your hair, your neck finally getting some relief from being tightly held back. He started kissing up your spine, soothing the tension in your back. You stayed like that for a few minutes until the tentacle finally disappeared and Alastor wrapped you in his arms.

You laid there for awhile, enjoying how Alastor's claws caressed you from shoulder to waist before finally speaking, "Do you think it will work again?"

Alastor looked back over to your empty teacup on the table, letting out a chuckle, the dark undertone of which was not caught by you, "I have a good feeling about it, Mon Cher." You hummed happily and snuggled into him as you drifted off.

Alastor looked down at you for awhile, so gentle and sweet, and oh so oblivious and naive. He adored that about you, how you were so ready to see the good in everyone that red flags never even registered in your mind. He wondered how long it would last- a decade? a century? perhaps an eternity? No matter, you were bound to him for the rest of your joint damnation together; and he would be sure to take advantage of every second of it.

After all, you only had forever- not long at all.

Thanks for reading!

@fandomgoddess05-blog

@littlebluefishtail

@cryssyd

@michi-keinz

@fairyv-ice

[fuctacles]

<< 10 | - | 12 >>

Robin finds them sprawled on the grass, resting after their play break. Steve notices her first, his head raising and tail wagging excitedly, though he doesn't move from his spot warming Eddie's thigh. 

"Steve?" 

That's when his friend realizes what got him so excited and he waves to Robin as she spots them in the middle of the yard. Their eyes meet and he knows she's surprised to see Steve in his other form again, but she doesn't say anything. Their werewolf friend yips happily and stands up, away from Eddie's petting to greet his best friend. 

"Hello, Buckley."

"Hello, Munson." She puts her hands on her hips in a perfect mirror of Steve. "I see you two are hard at work?" Robin quickly folds when Steve sits at her feet, his tail moving so fast it is barely visible. She squats down to scratch around his ears. "Hi, dingus."

"Exactly, and we're taking a well-deserved break right now," Eddie says with a smile, sitting up. "The barbeque is out and cleaned up, and we're almost done with the pool and chairs," he sums up their work so far, pointing vaguely to where everything is. 

"Damn, it's like you don't need me at all, huh?" she asks mostly towards Steve with a tilt of her head. He nibs at her fingers in retaliation before trotting away. "Hey, I was joking!"

But Steve picks up the ball still lying next to Eddie's leg and brings it back to Robin. She looks at him in confusion, so Eddie quickly swoops in with an explanation.

"We were playing fetch!"

The yellow, damp ball falls away from Steve's mouth like he might have just gotten self-conscious about the thing. But Robin takes it in stride, grabbing the toy and straightening up. Her friend quickly forgets his inhibitions and straightens up, hyperfocused on her raised hand. 

"Fair warning, I'm not the best thrower. But I guess I can't be much worse than Munson."

"Hey!"

She proves her words seconds later when the ball barely misses his head and Steve jumps right over his body, making him yelp. 

"Jesus H Christ you two!" he yells at them, but is genuinely happy for his friend enjoying his dog form without second guessing himself. 

He idly picks at the grass, observing them and dodging Buckley's shitty aim, wondering how he would feel if he could shift to a creature loved by everyone and with simple needs and ways to express himself. It sounds freeing, but he likes too many things his opposable thumbs can do, like playing the guitar, petting a dog, or playing fetch. 

Does Steve have things he needs his thumbs for? Is he still playing basketball? Maybe Eddie could teach him the guitar. Or Maybe Steve just needs a healthy balance between human and animal treatment. 

Eddie is so preoccupied with his thoughts, that the next ball Buckley throws boinks right off the side of his head. 

Steve skids to a stop in front of him, eyeing the skittering ball like prey, but in the end, jumps up to Eddie and starts licking at the sore spot, while Buckley yells her apologies in the background. 

"Okay, okay, I'll live! It's just a flesh wound!" he laughs, while Steve's hot tongue is ruining his already questionable fringe. The dog boops his cheek with a cold nose and goes to pick up the ball. Eddie takes it as his clue to stand up and fix himself up a bit.

"It pains me to say it, but I guess it's our sign to get back to work," he sighs, dusting off his knees. Steve shows up next to him, eyes huge and the ball between his teeth. "Nuh-uh, man, we can play more later. We gotta finish the yard today so we only have the food to worry about tomorrow."

Steve huffs, the ball falling from his mouth with a sad thump, but he walks away towards the house, bumping Robin's leg on his way to the back door. While he disappears inside, Eddie jogs up to her. 

"Hey," he says again. "I'm trying to help Steve out of his funk." 

Robin raises her eyebrows. 

"How?" she crosses her arms. 

He suddenly feels uneasy, shifting his weight while trying to give his theories and plans shape. There's no one better to talk it out with than Stev's best friend, so he pushes through. 

"Well, he likes how we treat the dog-him, so I think we should treat him more like that on a daily basis. You know, scratches, praises, and shit," he looks up at Buckley hoping he doesn't sound completely insane. "So he likes being human a bit more."

She hums, glancing back at the house.

"You're right," Robin says to his surprise. It's not something he hears often. "Though I think it works best with you."

"What do you mean?" he asks with a frown. 

But she waves him off, turning to where Steve is emerging through the back door wearing loose sweatpants and with his hairy chest on display. 

"Robs!" he greets his friend with a grin, gathering her for a side hug that quickly turns into a friendly chokehold. 

Eddie hopes Buckley can sense his menacing glare despite their roughhousing.

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

[anisespice]

heyy

can i request hanma w reader who has abandonment issues? if you don’t write for that kind of topic it’s fine!!(:

take care!!<33

of course! thank u for the request anon, sorry for the delay <3 had to do some more research into the topic, and brush up on my hanma lol hope you enjoy :)) !!

pairing: hanma x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI, crude jokes, violence, cringy/cornball behavior lol and hanma gets his own warning, not proof read, sorry for any errors!! and i think that’s it :)

notes: SO SORRY FOR TAKING LITERALLY A WHOLE YEAR TO MAKE THIS ANON, i wanted to do a little bit of research on the topic (ended up learning a little about myself LMAO) but it’s finally done! i’m happy with how it turned out, and i figured this format would work perfectly, so i hope you enjoy!! <333

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow, @captaincyberqueen

I struggled with the idea of how Hanma would be like with someone with abandonment issues/anxious attachment. At first, I figured he’d be the absolute worst in terms of handling someone with such an intense need for validation and reassurance, but after some further contemplation I realized how he’d be the absolute best—To the most unhealthily healthy degree, if that makes sense. Let me explain:

“yo, who’s blowing up your phone?”

“jeez, your s/o again? talk about excessive”

“couldn’t be me, bro. if i was you, i’d set a boundary-”

hanma wouldn’t miss a beat by giving them a dangerous grin and say, “i’ll a set a boundary for your fucking teeth if you say another word about my s/o.”

then, in the same beat, he’ll answer your call with a whole different energy, like, “hey doll, my love, my sweet, my sexy” something corny like that

you’d express that he said he’d be back around 9, and it was pushing 9:30…

he’d chuckle fondly, “aw, you miss me that bad? you’re obsessed, doll, it’s adorable.~”

the guys with him would watch in shock as the usually violent, and quick to annoyance, shuji hanma was…understanding? patient??

i hc hanma to be so so so patient with you whenever you get that intense clingy feeling, or talk yourself into thinking he’s sick of you and your neediness

like

homie WANTS you to want him

even to an unhealthy attached degree, sign him up, yes ma’am, yes ham, yes turkey

if you do get into those moods of feeling like he’ll leave you, TRUST that he’s gonna feed into it just a little bit (he’s a bit of a sadistic bastard) only to shower you with every possible reassurance until you are drowning in him him HIM

“why you cryin’, hm? i said i’ll be back, what, you think i’ll just up and leave? never come back?”

“hm, maybe i should do that, make you miss me a little more, yeah?”

but, once he sees you’re really torn up about the thought, he’d gather you in his arms with a small, teasing grin, kissing your tears away and telling you how silly you’re being

“baby, i’d rather get shot in both of my legs than ever think of leaving you”

“you couldn’t get rid of me even if you begged”

“no more cryin’, kay? i hate seeing you cry…unless it’s for different reasons” he’d suggest, earning a weak hit to his arm for being a pervert

he’d snigger, holding you up until your legs wrapped around his waist, “how bout you just come with me then, hm?”

he’s not perfect, far from it, but he tries

he’ll tease, and poke, and push but he always has his moments where he takes your situation deathly serious

like

let someone talk shit about you in anyway, whether it’s about how you need to touch him a lot, or constantly text/call just to hear his voice, or accuse him of this that and the third, just let someone TRY it and he finds out about it

“man, i don’t know how he puts up with them”

“yeah, his s/o clearly has some issues..”

“god forbid he’s gone for more than ten minutes, it’s like they’re some kind of parasite-“

the air in the room shifts DRASTICALLY when they eventually notice hanma standing there, with you at his side looking more than upset

how long he’d been there didn’t matter…the damage was done as soon as those idiots spoke your name

if looks could kill, they’d be playing uno w the devil right about now and losing

hanma looked rather calm. but his eyes told a different story as the gold shined bright with malicious intent

he slowly grinned, tilting his head “oh? don’t stop on our account. keep talkin’. i wanna know what else you think.”

none dared to even blink

you sniffled, embarrassed, ready to bolt out of there, but hanma’s grip on your hand doesn’t falter, merely pulling you closer as he rested his chin on your head

you wiggled for a moment, but hanma wasn’t letting you go anywhere

he called out your name, making you stop as he turned you in his hold to have you look him in the eye

“stay right here. i want you to see just how much i love you. my little parasite.~”

hanma had you stand there and witness what happens whenever someone dares to speak on you and your relationship, solidifying his devotion and loyalty to you and you only

as those guys laid in a pool of their own blood, hanma still took the time to shower you in love and his undivided attention

he’d wipe your tears with bloodstained hands and kiss you hard on the mouth

“you’ll never be too much for me, [_____].”

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