#so please ignore the lack of right arm in the drawing

[fluffy-sickfics-art]

coach rubbing sick athlete's back during practice

i actually really liked this one but i didnt like the way the coach's head was so big so i cropped it

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Lover's Quarrel

Pairing: Dark (aged-up) Katsuki Bakugo x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: You get away from Bakugo’s toxic clutches. But soon your peace comes to an end.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; minor Violence/Abuse.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

I just realized today is his birthday, so here it is :) hope you guys like this.

–

“...you better damn pick up my calls, (Y/N). I’m losing my patience here so you better get that fucking attitude out of your system or I’ll do it for you. Swear to god I’m gonna drag your stupid ass back home if you don’t come to your damn senses and if you fucking think that-”

You press a button, closing the voicemail with a sigh. Throwing your phone to the bed’s edge, you turn your back to it, curling yourself into a ball. 

Your mind is an unstable whirlwind of thoughts and worries and a solitary tear rolls down your face. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair.

You pull the blankets over you, but even their warmth isn't enough to calm the cold that scatters through your body. 

A sob breaks your composure and you hastily push your face into the pillow, smothering down the ugly sobs and whines that break out. 

It takes a long time until your eyes are finally dry and you have no more tears to weep.

But even afterwards, as you finally fall asleep, the heavy feeling still weighs on your heart.

Ding. 

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. 

Your friend looks at you and you’re quick to mute the notifications that pop up, eyes catching sight of the messages that Bakugo is spamming you before you black the screen. 

“I know I’ve asked before, but is everything really okay?” she asks, ignoring the movie on display in favor of looking at you, a concerned wrinkle settling between her brows.

“You seem… so distracted ever since you came. Is it about Bakugo?” 

You shift on the couch, uncomfortable. 

“It’s nothing.” you hesitantly tell her, measuring your words carefully. None of your friends know about the depth of Bakugo’s dark side and you’d rather not involve them.

Even though you’re almost sure that she suspects something is up, especially with the unannounced way you dropped by unannounced a couple of days ago, asking if you could stay a few days. 

“You can tell me, you know that, right? I’m not gonna judge or whatever.” 

You nod, giving her a small smile but no words come out of you despite the hefty weight on your mind. You don’t want to burden her with your problems. 

“I know, don’t worry. We’re just giving it some time. Lover’s quarrel and all.” you try to joke even though there's no humor in your smile.

"I see, okay." your friend draws a small smile, hesitating for a moment before letting it be. 

Work drags far too slowly. 

Boring paperwork to be filled, a few documents that need reviewing.

Nothing that actually manages to successfully distract you away from your current problems. If anything, it leaves you with far too much time for your mind to wander through your situation.

A definitive break-up is more complicated than what it seems as you’re aware that Bakugo won’t peacefully accept that. 

Just the idea of having to deal with an even angrier Katsuki has you cowering further into your chair and you distract yourself by opening your work email, digging into the emails that need to be answered. 

You’ll think about Bakugo later. 

“Later” arrives much earlier than what you expect.

When the clock hits 6 p.m you reluctantly turn off the computer, gathering your jacket and your purse. 

When you check your phone out of habit, the lack of messages surprises you. Strange.

Maybe Bakugo is finally catching the hints that you want to be left alone? You sure hope so.

You couldn’t be more wrong about it and you almost jump when your co-worker shrieks in delight, nudging your arm as you retrieve your car keys from the purse. 

“Oh god, he’s so cute, damn. Seems like someone was eager to see you.” 

Your heart drops at the sight of the blonde man that leans against your car, crimson eyes fixed on you.

“You’re so lucky. My boyfriend never comes to pick me up.” she whines before finally saying a distracted goodbye, throwing adoration filled glances at Bakugo when she walks away. 

For a moment, you consider leaving your car in the open parking-lot. You could take the bus to your friend’s apartment. It would be no big deal, only half an hour before reaching her place. 

But the impassive expression on your boyfriend’s face warns you not to ignore him and you don’t doubt Bakugo’s ability to cause a overly explosive scene right in front of your workplace. 

Your legs walk on their own towards him and he straightens up, pushing himself off the hood as he walks to you, meeting you half-way, far too close for your comfort.

He’s wearing civilian clothes, you notice. They make his firm muscles bulge from beneath the thin material, the veins in his arms popping out with his hands hidden in the pant’s pockets, as always.  

“What do you want?” 

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Talk then.” 

Irritation seeps into Bakugo’s face. He’s never had much patience. 

“We can talk in your car. The keys.” 

Despite his stretched hand, you don’t deposit the keys in his palm. It’s your car. It’s your life. You have to fight for it. 

“Y/n.”

You take a step back, shaking your head. 

“If you wanna talk, then we can talk here. Out in the open.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches with ire, and it compels you to take another tiny step away from him. 

“Will you stop fucking stepping away from me?” his voice booms loudly through the empty parking lot, eliciting a wince from you. “Quit acting like I’m gonna beat you to a bloody pulp or somethin’. I’m just trying to take you back home, you idiot.” 

“But I’m not going back.”

“You are.”

You clench your teeth, hoping it would help ease out the incoming flow of angry tears that threatens to spill at any moment now. 

“I said. I’m not going back.” 

Bakugo ignores your words, losing his patience upon your refusal. 

“Like hell you aren’t. I’ve had enough of this stupid attitude of yours.”

His hand latches to your wrist, holding it in a bruising grip, tight enough for you to feel the bones in your hands being painfully compressed together. 

“Ah, Katsuki, you’re hurting me!” you cry out, attempting to release his grip by using your free hand.

But your fingers are far too weak to pull him away and he groans when your nails scratch him. It makes him grip your hand harder and you sob, body limpless following forward when Bakugo tugs you in his direction. 

You bump into his hard chest, head sharply pulled back with his callous hand enveloping the back of your neck, his large palm easily covering all of it.

The tall hero doesn’t even bother looking around, unafraid of the possibility of someone walking by. Bakugo’s never been one to be overzealous, much less now that the position on Pro Hero Number 2 belongs to him. 

“You’ve had your fun these past days. But it’s over now, y’hear me?” the tips of his fingers dig into your neck, and you’re barely able to hold his threatening gaze, already knowing that you’re not coming out on top of this.

“You’re coming back home with me. No fuckin' fuss, no complaining, and that’s final. Like hell I’m gonna let you get away from me, so you better start fixing that attitude.”  

He squeezes your neck, looking at you with deadly eyes. 

“You hear me? Brat.” 

He keeps his hand on the back of your neck when guiding you to your own car, unceremoniously pushing you to the passenger’s seat before claiming the steering wheel for himself. 

A few tears escape from your eyes and you turn your face to the window, ignoring the sharp looks Bakugo throws your way.

You hug yourself, all of your hope dissolving at the realization that you’re never truly gonna be free from him. 

[oceantornadoo]

the realistic aftermath of ghost catching the handy in the back alley with best friend!johnny…a few weeks later

“ugh johnny, get off.” you tried pushing against him but he was deadweight, 200+ pounds of muscle at the mercy of many, many alcoholic drinks. “fhehnihernr.” you rolled your eyes. “i don’t know what you’re saying.” instead of answering, he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you into him by your stomach. “miss? did you need some help? or another drink?” you laid your hand on top of johnny’s and he growled in approval. “two waters, please.” the bartender nodded and turned around to grab the cups. “wanna be closer t’ ye, leannen.” you chuckled in spite of yourself. “can’t get much closer than you are now.” to save him from responding, the bartender placed down your waters and you took them, nodding your thanks. “drink up, come on.” you pushed the water cup toward him, ignoring his messy mohawk and gleaming blue eyes. how even shitfaced, your best friend was too handsome and flirtatious for his own good. “let’s go back to gaz.”

johnny slid into the booth first, wrapping an arm around gaz’s shoulder. “gazzy!” you snorted, attempting to slide in after johnny. he halted your plans by dragging you into his lap, losing no strength even with his lack of sobriety. instead of protesting, you laid back on johnny’s chest, mouthing “sorry”to gaz. gaz shook his head, opting to answer with a sip of his beer. “you’re lucky cap isn’t here.” johnny had finished the water cup, slamming it down on the table. you leaned forward, ignoring his growl at the movement, and placed the second cup in his waiting hands. he chugged it, muscled throat pumping at the exertion. you overted your eyes, wisely placing your gaze on the football game on the tv. “why’s that?” thankfully, johnny sounded more sober now, the slurring at a minimum. “‘cause you two are disgusting.” you shot him an affronted look. “i’m not doing anything!” gaz pushed at your shoulder, causing you to tilt, until johnny righted you in his lap, grip growing tighter. “soap’s annoyin’ but he knows how to take a woman’s no for an answer. you jus’ never tell him no.” hmph. he did have you there. instead of forcing you to answer, johnny rested his chin your shoulder, drawing the blame back on him. “think yer jealous ‘cause i hav’ a new favorite sergeant. she’s a wee more bonnie than you, gazzy.” he placed down the second water cup, sounding s bit more sober now. “well ‘ve got 100 quid on you tossers so don’t fuck it up.” instead of letting you answer, johnny pushed you off his lap and out of the booth, murmuring something about going to the dance floor.

and now you were here, arms wrapped around johnny as you danced way too slowly to the 80s rock crooning out of the pub speakers. the tension was calmer now, the drinks in your system finally hitting, putting you at an equal level with johnny’s slowly sobering brain. he rocks you gently, strong arms keeping you steady as your fingers skim his triceps, defined even under his shirt. his fingers splay against your waist, brushing the top of your ass as you sway off beat. gaz’s words swam through your mind, coupled with the looks ghost had been giving you since he caught you two in the alley. he hadn’t told anyone, hence the bet gaz mentioned, but youve felt the silent questions coming off of him every time you entered the room. johnny feels you tense in his arms, too intuned with all your movements. “ask me, lass.” you swallowed at the low gravel of his voice, accent deeper in your ear. “are- are we doing something wrong? i dunno, johnny, it was all fine before anyone said anything and now-“ he stops you with a pinch to your hip. “‘s a pile of shite, bon. unless,” he pulls back slightly, grasping your chin to force you to meet his eyes. “tell me to stop.” you shake your head immediately, noting the smile on his face. “don’t stop. i like being close to you, anyway i can. even with the blurry lines.” he tucks you back against his chest, grip finally relaxing. “no lines, jus’ us.”

[undertheorangetree]

In The Woods Somewhere

Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.

Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below

She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.

She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.

But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.

"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.

"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."

"No more loose ends."

The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.

She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."

It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"

She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."

But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.

And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.

She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we’ll come across it again.”

His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.

“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.

She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”

She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.

“It’s still raining.”

As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.

“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.

Read the rest here :)

[megalomaniacz]

i’m so happy to see more ppl starting to write about sub ellie and i loved ur recent one!! do you think you could write subby loser ellie x mean reader? <3

nsfw! 𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ᡣ𐭩

i love being self indulgent. i didn’t know tlou tumblr fucked with sub!ellie like that, so as a dom i’ve been writing essentially from another perspective. i’m so happy i get to be in my element, i hope you like this.

sub!ellie vs being degraded (she loses everytime) sat between your spread legs, butt against your crotch. you’ve got her spread open, hand tracing shapes on her inner thighs but refusing to give attention to where she needs it.

“please.” she whines, bottom lip stuck in her teeth. face scrunched out of frustration. “fuck.”

“oh, you’re gonna have to do better than that.” you laugh, kissing the nape of her neck. she whines and it causes you to take your hands off her. you move them to her chin, forcing her to look back up at you. “what did i tell you about making all that fucking noise? if you want something you need to say it. use your words.”

and she’s about to cry, actually, she is crying. a tear slips down her cheek. puppy eyes staring up at you, lips finding themselves fixing into a pout. she just wants your touch and can barely think enough to ask. plus, the way you’re talking to her has her sodden.

you ignore her. let her cry and pout and whine until she finally calms herself. “i need you. please. i need you to touch me.”

bonus points for asking, but all that crying has got you lacking mercy. you slip a hand down over her dripping heat, collecting some on the tip of your fingers and rubbing it all over her clit. she digs her fingers into your arm, throwing her head back and bucking up into your touch. “fuck that- right there.” she cries out.

you wait until she’s shaking, struggling to compose herself. moaning your name out, breathing heavy. chest pulsing, nails nearly drawing blood into your skin. then you lean your head forward to whisper in her ear. “you better not fucking come until i tell you to, you don’t want to find out what happens if you do.”

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 9: Body Worship

DBF!Jim Hopper x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hooper becomes your muse.

Warnings: age gap (Hopper 40s, Reader 20s), unethical relationship, cheating, c*ck worship, cum eating, cumming untouched, facef*cking, body worship, hopper has a big one (i know it), dacryphilia

You’re sitting at your dining room table sketching away when you felt a heavy hand on your head, tussling your hair. You quickly place your arms over your work, looking back at the unexpected guest with an anxious smile.

Hopper gives you a warm genuine smile. He’d come over for dinner by your father’s invitation with his girlfriend, Joyce Byers. When you learned of his relationship status, you were quite disappointed to say the least. You want to be happy for him as he appears to be a lot healthier and happier but because he’s not with you, it doesn’t settle right. Because of this you ignored him the entire night.

“Hey, kid,” He says with a soft chuckle at your startled look. His eyes squint at the way you hid your sketchbook. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” You sigh, trying to feign indifference. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I’m really curious,” He insists, sitting in a chair to face you. “I always care for your art.”

You clutched the book to your chest before slowly releasing it for him to take. It’s erotica art. The male vampire lover similar-looking to Hopper feeding from the breast of a woman similar-looking to you.

“That’s pretty good stuff.” He says, much to your surprise.

“I-it is.”

“Yeah,” He laughs. “Is this why you were afraid to show me?”

Your eyes bug out of your head. Did he catch on that the drawing looks similar to him? It’s so obvious! Of course, he knows.

“Because of a little nudity?” He continues. So he didn’t catch on, after all.

“Well, yeah,” You follow through with his observation. “People tend to get a bit uncomfortable with nudity so I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“I don’t mind nudity especially when it comes to incredible art like yours. The human body’s a natural thing.”

“Exactly! That’s actually the concept I’m going for with my art. Natural bodies, sexualities, and kinks. It’s about what makes humans find beauty and attraction or lack thereof beyond the human flesh.”

“I think it’s brilliant. Maybe a little above my intelligence level but I know you’ve got it.”

“Actually, I think you might be the only one who understands around here,” You admit. “My parents…they just think this whole art thing’s unsustainable. But I think with this art installation project coming up, I can prove them wrong. Do you…do you think you can help me, Sheriff Hopper?”

“How could I help?” He asks.

“Be my muse, pretty please.”

And when he agreed he’d no clue what he’d signed himself up for. For you to be so bold to ask your father’s best friend to be your muse when it meant seeing him in the nude, he couldn’t fathom you asking such a thing. And yet now here he was in your small studio contemplating on whether he should go through with removing the remainder of his clothing.

You place your pencil down onto the canvas’s utensil holder, approaching his tall frame. “What’s wrong? Do you need help taking off your pants?”

He swallows convulsively. “When I said I’d be your muse, I thought you just needed me to hold a quick pose…fully clothed.”

“My art concept’s about natural bodies, Sheriff,” You grab unto the waist band of his jeans that had been slightly undone to reveal his white boxers. You drag his pants down a little to where his rather sizable member rests above the open fly. He’s growing hard. “You knew that though. It’s exactly why you agreed to becoming my muse—so I can worship you.”

You palm him through his underwear and he groans, taking your hand away to place them over his hairy chest.

“I knew you as a teenager.” He protests.

“I was 19.” You roll your eyes, using your free hand to hook into his underwear and pull him closer.

“Your father wouldn’t approve.” He argues, a moan bubbling in his throat when you begin to kiss on his chest and swirl a tongue around his nipple. He squeezes your hand a little, releasing as if it is an expression of his diminishing restraint.

You pull away with a wet pop, a line of saliva connecting as you stare up at him with doe eyes. “When have I ever cared what my father approves of?”

“I have a girlfriend.” He counters.

You move your lips to his ear, hotly whispering, “So do I.”

Your lips find each other’s in a sloppy make out session of tongues and clashing teeth. Your hands roam his body, caressing his belly then slipping down his underwear to jerk him off. Even though, you can’t see it, you can tell that it’s not only deathly thick and long but super veiny, too, with a wicked curve. No wonder Joyce had been limping all throughout dinner that day.

You break away from his lips, peppering wet kisses all over his stomach and dipping your tongue in his bellybutton. When you’re finally on your knees, you rub the base of him through the fabric. You bite your lip in anticipation as you finally take initiative and pull him out of his confines, mouth dropping open at the look of him. Just as veiny as you thought with heavy, sagging balls to match. You’re drooling, licking your lips and staring up at him one last time before focusing your eyes on the leaking tip and enclosing your mouth around him.

He cradles the back of your head with one hand while the other pounds a fist against your not-so-high ceilings, a loud growl escaping his clenched teeth.

You bob your head quickly, dramatically gagging on him and its loud and messy but neither of you care. Soon, he’s fucking your mouth both hands interlocked on the back of your head while you do a mix of massaging his clothed thick thighs or raking your sharp nails down his pudgy tummy. Tears prick your eyes as you struggle to take him but you’ll take whatever he gives you even if it kills you.

You don’t even need to touch yourself as the juices flow out of you, streaming down your inner thighs. You’re humping the air, core contracting around nothing as his whines are the only thing fueling you to near your end.

“Fuuuck, I’m cumming.” He hisses, rapid final thrusts of his wide cock into your mouth. He holds you down, your nose embedded in his pubic hair and you taste his hot spunk shoot down your throat. Just from that, you cum untouched, the act of being used so filthily making it possible.

You’re limited in breathing as you inhale through your nose and your jaw hurts but it’s all worth it as your eyes roll back and you quiver as much as your body could under his hold.

He finally releases your head, pulling his cock out of your wet mouth with webs of saliva to follow as you gasp for air.

“Was I inspiring enough for you?” He asks cockily.

Your throat itches as you let out a low giggle. “You’re perfect.”

[cosmal]

okay tasm!peter parker thought!!! he’s obsessed with touching your face. like, when you’re talking about something he’ll just randomly grab your face and smoosh your cheeks. he’ll boop or kiss your nose at random times. most importantly, when he’s kissing you he’ll be holding your face, his big hands on your cheeks guiding your head so he can kiss you better. omg

doughnuts

summary you're really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.

content tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader

note this is my first time writing for tasm!peter please forgive me if it sucks.

For the first time in a while, you come home after work with enough excitement to light up the entire flat.

Peter's sitting up in his bed reading when you find him. All things soft with rumpled hair, his clothes even worse, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. You're not sure if he really needs them anymore, but he likes to wear them to keep an ounce of normalcy.

"Hi," you chirp when he notices you. He dog-ears his book and puts it down almost immediately. You beam.

"Hi, baby," he seems just as happy to see you as you do him. Though, there's a buzz to you that Pete lacks. You think if you got home twenty minutes later he would've been napping.

You move across his room while pushing your work skirt down your legs. Peter's heart skips when it looks like you might trip and he tries to keep his eyes off your soft thighs. You rifle through his draws to find one of his shirts to wear, unbuttoning your own blouse in the process.

"How was your day?" you ask, holding up a shirt to your nose. You choose it because it smells more like your boyfriend than the others.

Peter crumples his face, trying not to laugh. "It was good. Didn't do much - you?"

You say something while pulling the shirt over your face that Pete can't discern. You all but jump into his lap when you reach him. Hooking your thighs over his lap until you're face to face.

He allows you to get comfy, pushing your knees into his side while he sits up, hands finding their place on your hips. "Hello," he says again, much quieter now that you're in his space. You look adorable in his shirt and your work tights.

"Did you hear me?" you ask, basically pulsing with giddy energy. You push your fingers under the hem of his shirt and he short-circuits for a moment.

He blinks. "You had your face in your shirt."

"Right," you giggle, a girlish sound that Peter wants seared in his brain, "I said, you know the food truck around the block?"

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, squeezing at your hips.

"The one that shut down."

"Oh, right. The Jam Van," he laughs knowingly. You'd moped for almost a month when they closed. You were inconsolable.

"Yeah," you grin, poking his chest, "yeah, they reopened!"

You're smiling so hard Peter worries that you'll get stuck like that. With your eyebrows raised and your cheeks appled. He thinks he needs to hold your face like right now.

He lets his hands leave your hips and raises them to hold your cheeks. Your skin is warm under his touch like he expected. "That's great, baby."

You ignore his hands. "Right? It's amazing."

Peter pushes your cheeks together until your lips pout outwards. He thinks you look extremely cute. Even worse when you try to frown and it just looks like a smooshed mess. He wants to laugh but you look peeved.

"Pete," you try to say. It comes out all mumbled.

"Yeah?" he says, distracted by your puffy face.

You pull your face from his hands and struggle a bit. Holding his arms to his chest you say, "Are you even listening to me?"

"The Jam Van," he says nodding. Smarmy.

"Right," you say, still mildly upset, "they're open right now if you wanna..."

"You wanna go get doughnuts?" he asks with his arms still pinned to his body. His hands wriggle to touch you.

"Can we?" you ask, eyes wide with hope. Peter wishes he had his camera with him.

"Can I kiss you first?" he grins boyishly. You wish you had a better resolve. He's awfully pretty and you really want doughnuts.

You let his arms go, huffing like kissing him is a difficult task. "If you really want." You have to hold back a laugh.

He reaches his hands back up to your cheeks and gives them another squeeze, "Of course, I want to."

You let him guide your face down to meet his lips, huffing into his mouth once they meet. You go lax in his lap when he presses firmer, spreading his fingers over your warming cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he has better access to slip his tongue in your mouth. You whine when he has you exactly where he wants. Putty in his hold, holding you close by your soft cheeks.

You pull away from his lips, blinking away the dizziness. "Pete," you say panting.

Peter licks his lips, "Yeah?"

You push your face into his neck to hide the way he so obviously makes you feel, holding onto his sleep shirt for dear life. You try to even out your breathing and fail.

"You okay, love?" he asks. There's a hint of smartassery you don't miss. He's awful.

"Yeah," you say a tad breathlessly. "Yeah."

He kisses your shoulder and you shudder. His ego swells tenfold. "You sure?"

You take a moment to compose yourself, hating yourself for being so pliable. You sit back to look him in the eye. "So," you say with a confidence you lack, "Jam Van?"

Peter laughs and catches your face again. You like it much more than the first time. "That felt like coercion ."

"You asked to kiss me!" you say bewildered, pushing at his chest with not enough force than you feel is deserved.

"You tricked me," he laughs with you, letting you paw at his chest. It's quite adorable, really.

"Whatever," you say with more heat than you mean, a smile tugging at your red lips. You untangle yourself from his lap and stand to walk away. "I'll get my own jam doughnuts."

Peter smacks your ass before you can get away and you gasp. "Peter Parker!"

"You can't go out like that."

"I'll do what I like!" you call from the other end of the hallway.

Peter chases you around the flat until he gets you in his arms. The doughnuts wait for a few more hours.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dyspathy

Warnings: non/dubcon, fingering, implied virginity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo’s Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Dyspathy - lack of sympathy (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

“You got any whiskey around here?” 

The metal boots crunch on broken glass. You shiver in only a satin sheath, wide awake despite the itch in your eyes. Your heart is still pounding from the chaotic awakening. You sniff and rub your nose. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask in a crisp croak. 

Tony chuckles as his suit gleams against the overhead light. He makes no effort to be subtle. His eyes search the front room of your apartment as he trods over the shards of glass. Your windows are shattered from his intrusion. 

“You know why I’m here, sweetheart,” he faces you and puts his hands on his hips, gauntlets clunking on his hi-tech armour. “You were never very... low key.” 

“I don’t,” you insist. “I have no idea why you would be here.” 

Your nipples poke against the thin night gown as another breeze rolls through. You hug yourself as he clucks and tilts his head. His eyes flit up and down. His brow arches. 

“That idiot could never see what’s right fucking in front of him,” he mutters. “You know what idiot I mean.” 

You blink and shake your head. Your cheeks burn. You think you know but you haven’t seen either them in a year. Not since you quit. 

“You really expect me to believe that you’re not helping him? Come on. Even right now, just thinking about Captain Good Boy, I see you getting all googly eyed,” he taunts. He taps his chest and his suit retracts into itself. “This doesn’t have to be difficult. Just give up lover boy and I’ll go in peace.” 

You frown, “I’m telling the truth. I haven’t seen Steve.” 

“Oooh, Steve,” he puts on a voice and bats his lashes dramatically. “He didn’t give a fuck before but now that he’s a criminal, he’s got time for ya, doesn’t he, baby?” 

“No.” 

“You know that’s what he is now. He’s aiding and abetting a fugitive. A murderer,” he snarls and comes closer. “And if you’re lying to me, so are you. Thing is, sweetheart, if that’s the case, you’re not special. Not like him. They want him alive, him and that metal-armed fuck. No one cares about you.” He brings his hand up under your chin, “hell, Cap doesn’t either. You’re just a convenience. A safehouse, a warm hole.” 

You shove him away, repulsed. 

“I’m not lying. If he showed up, I wouldn’t help him. But he hasn’t.” You back up as he reaches for you again. You dodge his grasp. “I quit. I walked away from that. From all of you. You are all just the same and I know that now. You just laugh at people who aren’t you. Whatever you’re fighting about, I don’t care. Leave me out of it.” 

He hums and snorts, “I just can’t believe you. I watched you moon over him for ages and now you’re what? Bitter? You never had that in you.” 

“Fine. Look around. I don’t care. You won’t find anything,” you hiss. “Because you’re right. He never cared about me. You really think he’d come groveling to me?” 

He smirks, “desperate measures.” 

You look away and sniff. He always was mean. People always called him funny or clever, but he’s always been cruel. If you’re not a woman he wants to fuck, you’re nothing. 

He continues around the apartment. You sit in chair and cross your arms. You ignore his intrusion as he lifts cushions, checks under the coffee table, then wanders down to your bedroom. You hear the draws scraping in and out. Books hitting the floor. You’re angry but mostly because you’re helpless. He’ll find nothing and he’ll go. 

“Jeez, you really live like this,” his voice wafts down the hall ahead of him. He emerges back into the light and whistles, “I mean, you are having a bit of fun, aren’t you?” 

He wiggles a silver shape between his fingers. You cringe. The small bullet vibe stays in your nightstand. Your sole companion on lonely nights. 

“So, he’s smart. He doesn’t leave a trace. Well, I’ll just have to ask you some big questions.” He approaches and you tense, pushing your shoulders back. You glare up at him. 

“I told you--” 

“You told me shit,” he interrupts. “So, we will do this the fun way.” He spins the vibe then click the button, “don’t worry, you’ll like it. Now, open those legs for me, baby. If it helps, you can pretend I’m him.” 

You scoff, “you’re disgusting.” 

“And you’re getting wet,” he sneers. “Pretend all you want but we both know you’re easy.” 

“Go. If you think I’m lying, go get a warrant. Arrest me--” 

“I don’t need all that,” he grabs your knee and pinches the pressure points until you squeal. You grip the armrests and arch your feet. You hiss up at him through your teeth. “I got full authority to do whatever needs to be done to get answers.” 

He wrenches your leg to the side and you wince. Your calf tendrils with electricity as he pinches deeper. You whine and writhe on the seat. 

“Pull that fucking skirt up,” he demands. 

“Tony--” 

“No, shut the fuck up and show me your pussy,” he growls. 

You gasp as the pain grows intolerable. You blink against the tinge of tears and curl your fingers into the satin. You tug up the midnight blue fabric and tremble. He shoves the buzzing toy against you, rolling it across your folds until it thrums against your clit. His finger tickles just along your flesh. 

“Knew you were getting wet for me,” he chuckles. “Ah, baby, if it was me, I’d have fucked you the moment you smiled at me with those lips.” He pushes the toy hard into you so it rattles your bones, “but it wasn’t fucking me, was it? You only had eyes for that fucking golden mannequin.” 

“Please--” 

“No, you talk when I want you too,” he wiggles the toy so your teeth chatter and you groan. “When was he here?” 

“I’m telling you--” 

He circles your clit with the tip and your thighs clench. He bends over you as he lets go of your knee. He grabs your hair and wrenches your head back until you look him in the eye. 

“You’re lying. When?” 

“He wasn’t--” 

He swirls the toy and you murmur nonsense. Your cunt clenches as you feel the climax building. You’re mortified at how quickly your body responds. You cling to the arms of the chair and arch your back. 

“He’s not--” 

“Tell the fucking truth.” 

“I am!” Your voice piques right as you’re about to explode. 

He pulls the toy off of you and your orgasm fizzles before it can erupt. You’re left untied and unsatisfied. He raises the vibe and shuts it off as he admires the sheen of your juices. He slides it between his lips. 

“Mm, sweet. He must love the taste of you. I know he’s coming back for more, huh?” He teases. 

“No, no,” you puff out, “he hasn’t--” 

“Does he share you with his buddy? Huh? You probably would. Captain’s orders, right?” 

You measure your breaths as your heartbeat peters out. He clicks the toy on again, this time tapping the button twice. He once more presses it against your bud. You squeak and twitch as you sway between your need and humiliation. 

He lets go of your hair as he rubs the toy up and down until you drone. Your lashes flutter and your body jitters. It’s so much different, so much more intense than when it’s just you. 

“What’s his favourite thing? He seems like a missionary guy.” 

You whimper and shake your head. You heave and blink up at him helplessly, “I don’t know. I swear. He hasn’t...” 

More embarrassing than what he’s doing is how pathetic you really are. You were head over heels for Steve. You dreamed of him, at night, during the day, and even with that toy in hand. Even after you swore him off, he still creeps back into your lonely fantasies, but never for real. 

You saw the news. You heard he was AWOL. You tried not to pay attention. Denial works for you but it won’t keep you safe. Just look at you now. 

“Ah, he hasn’t-- Oh, oh, oh,” you bite your lip and lean into the rising tension. He takes the toy away again. You moan and mewl and fall back weakly in the chair. 

“He can’t have been here recently, huh? Not with you so fucking needy,” he tuts. “Or maybe the greatest generation isn’t really all that great. He give you head?” 

You shiver and shake your head. You try to close your legs and he kicks your feet apart. Your knees splay as you latch onto the chair. Your body is jelly. 

He turns off the toy and flings it away. Your eyes follow it in disappointment. Your unspent orgasm tickles in your pelvis. 

He leans down to grab your thighs and lowers himself to his knees. His dark eyes glimmer menacingly as they wander up and down your body. 

“Show me those tits. I wonder if there as pretty as the pussy,” he slides his hand up your thigh and flicks your clit. 

You whimper and shakily bring your hands up to the thin straps. You pull them down your arms and uncover your chest. You look away as your skin smatters with goosebumps. 

“Mm, fuck, he really is stupid.” 

He traces along your folds, rubbing you up and down as he bends forward. He cups a tit in one hand as he takes your other nipple between his lips. He purrs as he sucks and teethes. The sensation plucks in your core. You groan and tilt your hips as he toys with your clit. 

He presses his thumb to your bud and angles his hand to push two fingers into you. You drone at the stretch. You never use more than the vibe. It always hurt too much to put anything in you but not this time. Your head lolls and your eyes drift over to watch the top of his head. 

He rolls your clit as he rocks his hand into you. He curls up and finds a spot that makes your insides pulse. You clasp onto his shoulders and moan. You need to cum. You don’t care that it’s him, that it’s not Steve; none of it matters. 

He pushes his hand in and out. Your cunt clings to him, making sloppy wet noises to match those of his mouth. He sucks your tit as he groans. He drags his mouth up your breast as he rams his knuckles into you, over and over. He smears his spit and hot breath over your skin. 

You mewl and hug his head as every ounce of thought trickles away. You quake as your orgasm crashes down like an icy wave on a hot day. You cry out in delight and rock in time with his hand. You feel the cool gush of your pleasure pour out onto the chair and you pant through the hammer of your heartbeat. 

He buries his fingers deep and reaches to unwrap your arm from his head. He sits back, his hair tussled, the silver along his temples puffed out. He grins and looks down, wiggling his hand against your cunt as you spasm. 

“I believe you, baby. You’re not this tight with a man banging down your doors,” he snickers and plays with you, eyes fixed between your legs. “But he’ll show up.” He pushes in until you whine, “and you’ll keep him on the hook til I get here, won’t you?” 

[27spoons]

Wintering | Yellowjackets

summary: Late S2, you decide that the team could use some Christmas spirit. So, you do what you can to bring them some.

pairing: just general platonic yj/reader

warnings: n/a

wc: 1560

ao3

Snow falls delicately around the cabin as the fire crackles before you. Van adds another log as she takes a seat beside you, the orange glow flickering across her face.

"We'll need more wood soon." As the flames consume the log, she asks, "Didn't you draw the card?"

"Yeah," You nod, taking a quick glance outside. "Guess I just hoped it would stop snowing before I went out." The snow isn't falling harshly, just large snowflakes slowly descending to the ground. "Looks like I might have been hoping for too much." You sigh as you look back to the fire.

"Yeah, well, everyone has to play their roles." Van remarks flatly, "Everyone draws cards for chores. Yours just happens to be gathering wood today. Don't see Nat and Travis complaining about hunts."

You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it." You push yourself to a standing position, "I'll go get started before it gets dark out." In response, Van makes some sarcastic half-comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Tensions have been high since Javi. Everyone copes differently, you suppose. And she does have a point. You guys do need firewood, and everyone does have a role to play.

You throw on another hoodie, and if you had known you'd end up stuck out in the middle of fucking nowhere, Canada, you would have packed gloves. You miss having warm fingers sometimes. You miss a lot of things, actually. But warm fingers are the most significant thing you miss right now.

Grabbing the axe from the wall, you pause before you leave, overhearing a conversation between Mari and Gen. Christmas. They're talking about when Christmas could be. Has to be soon, right? Or maybe it already passed?

Now, that's an idea.

You grab the rope as well and make a mental plan. Will you chop down some trees for wood? Yes. But you're also surrounded by pine trees. There has to be one out here that would fit inside the cabin.

It's not the first tree you cut. Or the second. Or even the third. Those are for firewood. God knows if you showed up with a pine tree, talking about Christmas, with nothing to keep the fire fed, none of the girls would be all that eager.

Well, maybe Misty. But Misty is… Misty.

It's nearing sunset by the time you find the perfect tree. Well, perfect is an overstatement, considering it's bald in a few spots, and you accidentally slipped while cutting it, so now there's a giant gash in the trunk, but whatever.

A tree, anyway.

When you drag it back to the cabin, it takes a little more effort than usual. Typically, you'd debranch it before moving it, but that's hard to do when you plan on using this tree as a Christmas tree. Doesn't help that by the time you get the tree down, it's almost pitch dark out.

Damn Canadians and their winters with their lack of sunlight.

"Need a hand?" Nat leans against a post outside the cabin with her arms crossed as you approach, dragging the tree behind you with exertion. "Surprised you brought another tree back. Seemed like the ones you got were enough for now."

You shake your head as you drop the rope onto the snow out front, "Not for firewood." You stretch your back, groaning as you feel something pop into, or out of, place. "Thought we could, uh, maybe… Christmas." You gesture to the pine.

"Seriously? Christmas?" The hunter scoffs, "Yeah, nothing like thanking Santa Claus for our dead friends." She then sighs and shakes her head, "Sorry. Just… yeah. You want a hand?" She takes a step off the porch and into the snow, joining you at your side. "I can help you bring it in."

"God, please." You murmur as you unwrap the rope from the trunk, "If I try to move it again, I'll probably throw my back out or something." A tense laugh follows the statement as you rub the back of your neck. "C'mon, let's, uh…" You move to one end of the tree as Nat takes the other, and you two hoist it off the ground with simultaneous grunts.

"Is that a Christmas tree?!" Misty is the first to speak up, because of course she is, when Nat kicks the door open as you two move the tree inside.

You find yourself smiling all the same. "Yep." You and Nat move the tree to the corner of the main area, setting it down with a thud. "Dunno when Christmas actually is, but… we had a prom, had a baby shower. Why can't we… do something else, y'know? Make things slightly more tolerable for a little while." You walk over to the fire and warm your hands in front of it as the others glance over at the tree with mixed expressions. 

"This is stupid." A voice cuts through, "Hardly anything, or any reason, to get into the… "holiday spirit."" Shauna scowls as she appraises the tree.

"Could be fun." Van shrugs with a grin, "Sing Christmas carols." She laughs at that as if finding the idea itself funny.

"Oh, that's a good idea!" Misty chimes in, "I could-"

"No." Mari cuts her off with a scoff, "We’d be better off listening to wolves howl."

"But it isn't the worst idea." Taissa nods, "The tree. Not the… carols." She adds for clarification, waving a hand dismissively in Misty's direction.

"We need something to distract us right now." Lottie offers quietly, "Something more than this. We could… use it as a way to honour the ones we've lost. It doesn't have to be for no reason."

"We could carve some ornaments! Or use some paper to make some paper snowflakes! Decorate the tree properly!" Misty is practically bouncing on her heels at this point. And… yeah, you saw that coming. Hardly surprising she's the most excited about the idea. "We don't need presents for it to be Christmas!" She adds, "Just each other!" 

The last statement earns a collective groan from the group and a scowl from Shauna.

"Could use some paper from my SAT book." Akaliah says as she rummages through her bag, "More useful as snowflakes than study material at this point…"

"And someone," Van shoots you a grin, "Just chopped down a few trees, so we've got the wood to make some shitty ornaments. We could do this."

"This is stupid," Shauna repeats louder this time. 

"Yeah," Nat snorts, "But… Lottie is right. We could use a distraction. What's the harm?" She shrugs and leans back against a wall. "Not like we really have much to lose by spending half a day doing… this." She gestures to the tree with one of her hands before crossing them again. 

Silence falls over the groups as everyone considers this. No one seems to have any strong complaints or actual reasons not to do it.

"Great!" Misty says finally, cutting through the silence and clapping her hands. "It's settled! We'll have Christmas in a few days!" And, since no one is arguing with her, it gets added to everyone's mental calendar.

The next few days are spent mostly the same, except for the people carving ornaments and cutting snowflakes to decorate the tree. Not everyone partakes, but those that do have a noticeable morale boost.

By the time "Christmas" comes around, the tree is looking… more like a Christmas tree and less like a regular pine tree.

"Someone call Charlie Brown and tell him we stole his tree." Van snorts as the group takes in sight of the tree.

"Hey, at least we have more than one ornament." Tai chimes in with a grin from Van's side. "And it's got…" She gestures to the tree, "Less bald spots. And it's taller."

"Gee," Van replies, "Talk about the bare minimum."

"Well, I think that it's great." Misty says with a little too much cheer in her voice, "Now all we need is hot chocolate." She practically skips over to the base of the tree and takes a seat, very obviously expecting everyone to follow suit. When no one does, she pouts.

Then, an idea comes to her mind. "Van!" Misty says, turning to face the redhead. "Would you be able to tell us a Christmas story?"

Van perks up slightly, "That I can do." She grins lazily and takes a seat on a chair, and eventually, you and the others find their seats around Van. Like kids listening to their grandpa spin a tale.

"Alright." Van grins, slapping her thighs as she glances around, "Alright. Let's set the scene. Suburbs of Chicago, right around Christmas time. We're following the McCallister family, specifically, Kevin McCallister…" 

As Van starts retelling Home Alone to the best of her abilities, the fire crackles in the background, the tree stands (mostly) proud in the corner of the cabin, and things are okay for the first time in a while. You can pretend to be teenagers listening to a Christmas tale and not worry about what tomorrow brings. That's a tomorrow you problem.

"I still think it's stupid that they forgot a whole child," Shauna grumbles at some point during the story, earning a laugh from some of the girls.

"Five kids?" Tai rolls her eyes, "I'd probably forget one, too."

a/n: i have yellowjackets brainrot and i love christmas so much its not even funny bro

i also havent written fanfics since i was 16 but yk theres always time to start again

[authorred]

Doctor's Orders | Part 1 | Li Shen/Zayne x fem!Reader | Love and Deepspace |

Preface: As someone who chronically ignores her cardiologist's orders, what happens when that backfires on you worse than normal? Recovering from a life-threatening run-in with a wanderer, it's up to your doctor to put you back together.

This is entirely self-indulgent bc I love this man and this game is so pretty for no reason????? Download that shit (not sponsored, they're just my husbands fr)

Part 2

Warning(s): Mentions of bodily injuries, blood, near-death experience, SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 5!

You didn’t mean to stumble into another fight—it literally came to you. The aether core in your heart has begun to act up, resulting in you short of breath and lightheaded upon any sort of physical exertion. Your heart rate would increase dramatically in compensation which in turn made your evol act up—it was a shit show. Because of that Doctor Zayne firmly instructed you to rest until the core in your heart settled so tests could be run to determine the stability.

You wish you could’ve followed his orders—and you were, very well—but a wyrmlord’s protofield suddenly appeared around your apartment, trapping everyone and you inside of it. Xavier was gone, and you were the only Hunter stronger enough to fight it; you did everything in your power to ensure no one would get hurt. The Wanderer was strong, and you knew if you went full out your evol could get out of control—not to mention the core in your heart would act up, and you'd go into cardiac arrest.

You look around yourself to the frightened people huddling together as a feeble way to protect themselves from the monstrous metaflux monster. If you weren’t here they’d all be dead within seconds. You made an oath, and you will honor it until all life leaves your body.

Drawing your sword, you slide your hand down the smooth, sharp blade. Tendrils of black coil out and wrap and wind in the air. I’m sorry, Zayne. Please don’t kill me for this. The wyrmlord flies at you and you encase yourself in a layer of darkness, of which it absorbs the impact. You spin the sword between your arms for momentum before stabbing it through the shield, and the darkness follows. It pierces into the wanderer, leaving it to cry out in pain. It's not a difficult fight—this is rather easy for you—well, it would be if your heart wasn't an issue. You're not fighting at 100% capacity. Right now, you're at 67%.

The wyrmlord lets out a shriek before sending spikes of stone and ice to come up from under you. You're forced to move, dashing to the side quickly. One of the spikes nicked you on the outside of your knee, sending it buckling. You trip to your hands and knees but force yourself to keep moving out of the range of the wanderer. With your back essentially turned to it, it takes that opportunity to break from your shadows to lunge at you.

~ There is no such thing as a break at Akso Hospital--not for Zayne, that is. The head of Cardiology, chief cardiac surgeon, and one of the most gifted doctors of his generation has little time to relax, other than what time is granted to him. Though, he seems to enjoy the business of his life. It's not often he complains about his packed schedule and lack of vacation time. He stays professional at all times, never letting his personal feelings mix with his professional ones. He treats all his patients with patience and respect but very rarely is he emotionally involved. The last person he felt personally involved in was your grandmother.

However, he wasn't sure if he could keep his personal feelings out of this particular situation. He heard the paging of a patient being wheeled into the ED but he wasn't the one paged. Walking down one of the many corridors connecting to the ED he caught a glimpse of the person being hauled to the OR and he does a double take. His feet stay rooted to the floor but his eyes stare at the parade of nurses and techs following the gurney. Is that. . .

There is no way for him to confirm it yet--he wasn't the one called for the case. Not able to stick in one place for a long time he forces himself to look away and finish walking to his destination, body feeling light and dizzy. Something inside of him told him to call you—something wasn't right, and he needed to be sure one way or another. When he got to a relatively quiet area, he took out his phone and navigated to your contact under his favorites. The line rang for an agonizingly long time until it finally went to voice mail, of which your voice delicately greeted him with a, 'Sup bitch, I'm either busy or dead. Say what you want now or say it to my gravestone, it depends'. Zayne slowly lowered the phone from his ear—you're supposed to be resting, there's no reason as to why you shouldn't be answering your phone. You always answer him when he calls or texts.

The pit in his stomach sinks deeper into his gut and doubt gnaws at him. Could the person that was just wheeled in for emergency surgery really be you? He'll have to wait until the OR is finished or wait until he's paged. He wishes to the gods it's not you, and if it is, he wishes you'll pull through whatever is wrong.

[randomperson0k]

the evil thoughts got me fucked up and shit

OH forgot to mention: top 2 images are the final 'redesign', 2 images below are concept sketches i made for the 'redesigns'

tgs jekyll and hyde but they got evaporated by my evil headcanon beam and stitched back together by somebody who has no experience with using a needle and thread to the point where theyre more just like a seperate character

im sorry for my sins

PLEASE HEAR ME OUT BEFORE BITING A CHUNK OUT OF MY ARM. if anybody wants to read about my evil headcanon world all the stuff is below. wasnt really exaggerating when i said i ripped their character apart and stitched them back together though.

i do have a google doc full of everything i headcanon for tgs but some of that is embarrassing as hell so im just slapping the important stuff here

most of these 'headcanons' are here more because they make me happy than to actually make any sense. as a warning.

smokes fat blunt puffs it in your face anyways uh trans henry jekyll yeah (gets shot) ty person from the j&h community i was messaging that dragged me to the dark side and introduced me to the world of embracing my j&h trans headcanons. a true angel.

i really like more book inspired takes on j&h than the musical ones soo uhh.. yeah theyre the same person fully no j&h arguing thing. im soooorrrrryyy its just my preference for adaptations and i find it a lot more fun to play with story wise. also some other reasons but i wont get into those

polyamorous and bisexual (bi because... obvious reasons. poly because of that one couple they meet up with in the comic every now and then. my favourite ... ship (i think thats the right term?) in the comic. i love them.)

gas mask because it looks cool + chemical shenanigans ("oh but those didnt exist" shh. shhhhh.")

speaking of chemicals! they are much more into science. mostly does science-y stuff when theyre hyde though. they like to break into lodgers rooms and contribute to experiments.

facial hair. thats it. no further reasoning will be given

tried making jekyll in the concept redesign of him look older. failed SO bad im sorry i know its horrible.

hyde has pointy ears + pointer teeth (and green tongue because potion goop) + slit pupils because i am incapable of designing a human hyde. i have no idea why but i just cant.

earrings because 1: i have a bad habit of giving designs earrings and 2: i remember seeing a few headcanons of j&h with earrings and they were so tasty to look at so i had to do my own

bandage scarf thing from the beta tgs hyde design + newer tgs design that only shows up in the mind... world.... thing.

added the uhhh goggles from the old design too.

red and green hat because i couldnt decide if i wanted hyde to have the red hat from the old design of tgs hyde or the green hat from the current design. ripped it in half and chose both. great decision making i know

chunks of brown hair in hydes because why not. also red ring around one eye as like a weird variant of half heterchomia.

hyde has weird patches of green colored skin idk it just looked cool when i was fiddling with colors so i kept it

hyde has red scales in certain spots of the design. no further explanation

gave hyde black gloves to contrast jekylls white gloves + cmon. hyde probably touches the most gross revolting shit with the places they go to. they deserve some gloves.

changed their body type a litttttle bit just a smudge

i was going to give jekyll a cravat around the neck (a really bad designing habit of mine is to give characters cravats. not my fault they look so cool) both as a fancy thing + to hide lack of a adams apple buuttt the design felt way too clumped so im scrapping that. ignore the cravat in the drawing. grrr bARKBAKRABK

actually does sparkle visually/not just as a non-existent visual effect and people can actually see it. lanyon always swats them away because the sparkles get in his face.

hyde is more shorter than shown in the comic, more like book hydes height. like a foot or more shorter than jekyll. jekyll stays around the same height though. hydes probably the shortest one in the society.

permanent eyebags. does not sleep but cmon we all already knew that

hyde has a strong scottish accent instead of the other accent he fakes in the comic that i always forget the name of

has a cane like the og book. its a sword cane.... yeah i have a addiction, im sorry. (like half my own personal characters have sword canes)

i suck so bad at drawing shoes so hydes shoes look like ass but theyre supposed to be big boots since this guy probably walks through yucky mucky areas and stuff

i would totally write some oneshots or something like that of these guys going on adventures doing experiments and stuff yknow . (stuff like lodgers content and interactions, lanyon and hyde interactions because i enjoy secret identity and person said secret identity personal knows outside of their secret identity interactions, that one couple i talked about before interactions with jekyll/hyde and just in general random oneshots that make no sense) if i actually had any literacy skill

anyways im done my ramble. now you guys can shoot me

[tsuutarr]

So for my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Kukui and gn reader practicing exhibitionism please? In the fic, the two go to the city to do errands while Kukui wears nothing but his labcoat and a face mask. In truth he'd be butt naked underneath with a vibrator up his butt and his mouth tape gagged under the mask. His objective is to finish his errands without making a scene while the reader teases and tests him. What do you think?

(it's my first time writing something like this, but I hope you enjoy! It was a very fun writing exercise ^^)

Pairing: Kukui x gn! reader

Contents: NSFW!!!, vibrators/sex toys, exhibitionism, gagging (mentioned)

Word count: 1459

The sweltering heat of Alola forces its inhabitants to dress rather lightly, abandoning any outfit that traps in heat. This is precisely why Professor Kukui usually opts to go shirtless, his lab coat’s long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Today, however, he’s bundled up in his lab coat, a face mask on his face. Most other people on the street give him quick glances, wondering why their neighborhood professor is dressed so heavily, sweat lining his brow. 

A quick murmur of, “Let’s go home right after our errands, okay? I hate that you’re so sick,” from you seems to calm most onlookers, however, and they soon switch their attention elsewhere.

What they don’t know is that Kukui isn’t sick, nor is he flushed due to the heat – no, he’s sweating because of the vibrator in his ass sending shocks of pleasure down his spine.

“Just a little bit longer,” you hum lightly, wrapping an arm around his waist, your hand trailing down his side. Your other hand is in your pocket, fiddling with the remote control for the vibrator.

All Kukui can do in response is bite his lip, trying to hold back his moans. He’s not usually one to be so quiet or embarrassed, but there’s a thrill – a challenge – whenever he does these little scenarios with you.

“Okay, here we are,” you say, approaching the Malasada store. “I’ll wait at one of the tables. You can order, right?”

Kukui raises an eyebrow, pointing to his taped mouth under his mask, making you laugh.

“I’m sure you can do it. You’re a big boy, hm?” you squeeze his hip. “...Still green?”

Kukui shoots you a thumbs up, nodding his head to emphasize his consent.

“Okay, handsome, but remember that you’re free to back out any time, okay?”

Kukui gives you another nod.

“Attaboy, then.” You give his hip one last squeeze, before the two of you enter the Malasada store. There’s a lack of patrons, but there’s enough that Kukui knows he can’t act too suspiciously – the thrill makes his cock twitch underneath his lab coat.

True to your word, you detach yourself from Kukui’s side, instead opting to head over to a spot where you can easily see Kukui as he heads to the counter to order. The worker seems to be a bored college student, unaware and uncaring of what’s going on with Kukui.

“Welcome to Massive Malasadas,” the college student’s bored voice drawls, “What can I get you?”

Kukui pulls out a notepad and pen, jotting down your orders. You find this the perfect time to play a little trick, turning up the vibrator’s speed, causing Kukui to jump. His pen draws a line up to the top of the paper, before both his pen and notepad clatter onto the counter. Kukui grabs the counter to steady himself, his breathing getting rough.

“Uhm, sir?” the college student asks, boredom replaced by concern.

Kukui can only respond with a weak wave of his hand, his legs buckling from under him.

“Sir?!”

Kukui ignores the college student’s concerned cry as he fumbles around the counter, looking for his notepad. When he finds it, he shows the college student crumpled pieces of paper with your orders written on it.

“Okay…” the college student says, eyeing the way the Pokémon Professor is hunched over in what most would assume is pain. “Uhm, a Malasada Set 9 and a Malasada Set 15?”

What most wouldn’t assume, however, is that Kukui’s struggle lies in the fact that he’s in pleasure. He bites his lip, trying to steady his breathing, his eyes clenching shut. He can feel the pleasure build and build and build – on the cusp of overflowing. His cock twitches and strains against his lab coat and all he wants to do is feel your hands on him. 

But he’s on a mission.

So, with clenched teeth, he gives the college student a quick thumbs up, tucking his chin into his chest to avoid showing the worker his face.

The worker lingers for a little bit, worried, before they decide to head to the back to prepare your orders. You take this as your cue to lower the speed of the vibrator, watching Kukui’s trembling form.

Kukui partially wants to cuss at the sudden loss of sensation, but is also grateful that he’s granted some reprieve. He uses this chance to stand up, almost toppling over due to his shaky legs. Thankfully, he manages to stand up, tucking his notepad and pen into his pockets as he adjusts his coat to try and hide his erection. Kukui’s forced nonchalance despite the vibrator in his ass makes you smile – he can be very cute sometimes. 

You watch as Kukui idly taps his fingers against the counter, waiting for the worker to come back. As a treat, you decide to entertain Kukui by increasing the speed of the vibrator for a few seconds, before lowering the speed again. With a grin, you do this a few more times, watching as Kukui’s shoulders jump upwards, his fingers gripping the countertop, before his grip loosens. When you're done teasing him, Kukui turns to look at you with raised eyebrows. You shrug, making Kukui shake his head affectionately.

With a small hum, you continue to observe Kukui. The Pokémon professor is usually so good at keeping his cool that it’s unusual – and honestly quite exciting – to see him so flustered. The quick tapping of Kukui’s foot against the tiles of the Malasada store also does little to hide Kukui’s growing impatience.

“Sorry for the wait–”

As soon as the worker comes out, you dial up the speed of the vibrator, making Kukui collapse to his knees with a repressed groan.

“S–sir!” the worker yells, turning to come around the counter to help Kukui up. Kukui prevents that from happening with a quick wave of his hand, shakily standing up.

Kukui stands up on wobbly knees, digging through his lab pocket to find the needed cash. The Poké Dollars in his grasp become rumpled as Kukui tries his best to temper his building arousal. The vibrator in his ass grinds against his most sensitive spots, making his cock strain against his lab coat. With shaky, deep breaths, Kukui hands the money to the worker who looks increasingly concerned.

He’s close he’s close he’s close–

“Uhm… so, the total is fifteen Poké Dollars…” the worker trails, fumbling with the twenty Poké Dollar bill Kukui handed over. “The change–”

With a groan, Kukui collapses onto his knees, his cock twitching inside his lab coat as he cums. Kukui’s whole body feels like it’s on fire as his knuckles turn white from the death grip he has on the counter.

“Sir–” the worker’s concern is stopped as you approach, gently rubbing Kukui’s shoulder when you’re by his side. You bend down to press a kiss to Kukui’s temple, before standing up again to allow him to rest his head on your hip.

“Darling, I told you that you were being stubborn when you said you'd come out here despite being sick,” you murmur. “You’ve scared the poor worker here.” You turn to the worker with an apologetic smile. “So sorry about that. Please, keep the change – we’ll take our leave.”

“Ah… yeah. Sure.” The worker blinks at you, confused, as you help Kukui up. Kukui’s rather heavy – with all that muscle mass – but you manage to balance him just fine as you help him to his feet. Though his hands still tremble, Kukui manages to grab the takeout bag with your Malasadas from the worker. You shoot the worker another apologetic look, ushering Kukui out the door.

As the doors close behind you, you give Kukui’s hip a light squeeze. “Well, first errand done. Good job, sweetheart.”

Kukui huffs from under his gag, thumping your hip with his.

“Aw, c’mon. I was very lenient.”

Kukui’s eyebrows shoot up, making you chuckle.

“Oh, trust me, you don’t want to test me…” you trail off, before waving your to-do list. “...But if you’re so inclined, we do have a few more errands. Still green?”

Kukui shivers at your low tone, before he gives you a firm nod. He jolts when you give his ass a squeeze.

“Good.”

[twistedisciple]

Few could mistake the appearance of a Hound or ignore the corner he claimed. Where others carried themselves wary and on edge, a certain Fell Dragon seemed all too pleased with this new arrival. Though it would be remiss to call Griss a perfectly kindred spirit, both were given a wide berth by the tent's inhabitants, and that berth grew wider still as the dragon approached him. 

“So you have finally made your way here, Griss. You did well to last as long as you have, though I admit it is somewhat of a shame.” He looked at him steadily, a face entirely wiped of enmity, only rapt attention. Amicable? Threatening? That was for Griss to judge. “Had you spelled allegiance to a different house, I would have enjoyed the chance to defeat you myself.” 

Rafal smirked, cocky and assured. Pointedly omitting the early circumstance of his own defeat. That failed to be the crux of the next matter and, after expressing his unique greetings, a spell of quietude wormed itself between them owed predominantly to himself deep in thought. A longer moment than anticipated.

“. . .On the way here, I was approached by a foul woman.” 

An understatement, an offender of discretion lacking clear identity markers at that. Even as he did it, he did not know why he tested Griss, or realize that he watched his reaction with every syllable. The other's name had surfaced, as had his part played in the intelligence thrown around of Rafal that few others could know. But still it was not tantamount to hurt; still it was not betrayal. Even if he would not ever lay claim to the term, the Fell Dragon possessed no right to brandish it between them.

Betrayal, after all, was a crime only between friends. Not a lord and a knight from two different worlds playing at patchwork fealty.

“A Mage Dragon by all appearances, she spoke of both you and I with special awareness,” he finished evenly, pivoting on his heel. Both dragon and topic to dissolve on an air of enigma. “I only thought you should know.” 

“There you are, L—“ Griss clamped his mouth shut, teeth snapping down on his tongue (unintentional and not sharp enough to draw blood, but a pleasure-punishment for speaking out of turn anyway), although his lips still formed their smile. Like Zephia, Lord Rafal had come with his own agenda, his own questions, and his own evaluation of his performance, so the Hound swung his legs over the edge of the cot and offered his full attention like the very beast that gave him his name. For now, he detected nothing in the dragon’s face that suggested he’d come for anything but the follow-up for a job - and one that Griss had done exactly as it’d been given to him: make it to the next round. No more, no less.

As Lord Rafal spoke, Griss’ attentive eyes remained fixed on his face even as the rest of him swayed a little side to side to satisfy his need for constant motion. Some mute unconscious thing could read the lines and shadows there, but it was quiet, easily drowned by an epiphany the dragon gave him instead. He stopped abruptly, eyelids flaring.

“What?” It had never occurred to him that he could have picked a different house. “You coulda said that earlier!” He clasped the thin edge of the cot and leaned forward eagerly. With the sliver of uncertain tension broken, the two of them now smiling in their own ways, they almost looked like everyone else in the medical tent. Friends seeking out the company of friends, sharing the tales of their conquests and defeats between spells of laughter.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna make me wait ‘til next year… What do I gotta do to feel your axe arm?”

He knew, even as he went on with his theatrics, groaning and sighing and complaining about his missed opportunity, that he’d picked the Black Eagles because of Zephia. And he’d promised he’d never leave her side, no matter what. Maybe if he was a different person, he would have thought he might have a chance to convince her to support a different one next year. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t. It was no source of regret, no source of resentment; it was simply what it was.

Even when Griss had little reason to bring her into the conversation, she appeared anyway - conjured by Lord Rafal, instead. Mention of a ‘foul woman’ had settled him back down, and he cocked his head to the side with real and obvious confusion, even though his intuition had grasped the connection between Zephia’s meeting with him earlier and this one, and stuck him like a pin. Then Lord Rafal identified her as a mage dragon and all but drove it home. Griss stiffened with the realization, just slightly, because he’d seen Lady Veyle’s face in this fair-haired child of Lord Sombron, and he didn’t like it.

“Wonder what she did to ruffle you,” Griss muttered, still staring up at him, glazed eyes unblinking, still wearing his half-formed smile. “And why’re you telling me? You want me to do something about it?”

[siphoklansan]

Ok ok last one. How about Your oc’s reacting to Phobes getting too confessions and love letters?

“Oooooo looks like someone’s pretty popular, huh?” Siphok teased, cackling at the sight of the mountain of confession letters at Phobes’s feet. She shakes her head, a smile adorning her lips “Don’t worry, I’ll help you clean up.”

She crouches, picking up the letters with Phobes in awkward silence before she finally spoke, “….can I read them with you too? Kinda wanna see if they’re cheesy—”

A sharp tug at Phobes hoodie, yanking him backwards. Phobes lets out a tiny yelp at the force. Who knew Charin has such strong arms, hiding under those oversized clothes? “Sorry about that— you never know what’s gonna jump out.” Charin says with a soft sigh. There were only confession letters on the ground.

He raises a brow, a sly smirk as he glances at Phobes “Now look who’s stealing hearts…maybe you’d find a letter under my name somewhere in that pile, hm?”

“Careful.” Anan says as he swiftly waves his magic pen, the letters floating up in the air before it stacks perfectly and lands on his palms. Phobes caught one, however, and he’s looking nervous at the sight. Maybe even more so that a crowned prince is carrying the stack of letters for him.

“Worry not, I will carry them for you.” Anan says before raising a brow “Though I am quite curious why you have so many…and why some letters have hearts on them.”

*opens the door in shame* it’s been a while since I’ve posted something relating to the interaction and I’m so sorry🥲 BUTTTTT I HOPE I CAPTURE PHOBES PERSONALITY RIGHT! He looks super cute tooo (and please ignore the lack of headphones in the second pic i forgor💀) If I made him OOC I APOLOGIZE😔🙏

I planned to draw Anan punching the locker closed at mac speed (as like a funny pic) but it’s pretty out of character for him to do😭 Charin’s more like the type to get rid of danger, while Anan’s the type to go ‘safety first’. Meanwhile I am just giggling and kicking my feet while reading the love confessions with Phobes— I am nosy like that—

OC INTERACTION EVENT: CLOSED

[boxfullaturtles]

For the commentary meme! I ignored word counts so long ask is long

It was hard to pick for Adagio in Green but I went with the following bit. But everything about this section of the fic gets me, including the fight immediately afterward and then Casey trying to help Donnie with the security upgrades.

"“He got up yesterday,” Donnie grunted in a hoarse voice. He was laying on his plastron on the cot, his blanket pulled all the way over his head. The only part of him that was visible was his snout, peeking out from the edge of the blanket and sunk into his own pillow. He had despised the bath, grumbling and hissing the entire time, flinching when the sponge had dabbed at the raw wounds on his tender shell.

“What!? Leo got up!? When!?” Raph had been laying on his front too, but at Donnie’s words he pushed himself partially upright, bracing himself on his good arm. His tail thumped the mattress, making the communicator bounce.

“When I was sick,” Donnie mumbled, nose wrinkling in distaste at the memory, “Throwin’ up yesterday. Lee helped.”

Casey had been shrinking back in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, a look of wariness and hurt on his face. He was staring at the med bay floor, picking at the fibers of his borrowed jeans. Raph noticed the lack of enthusiasm and cocked his head,

“CJ? What’s wrong? Thought you’d be happy to hear that Leo woke up.”

“I…” Casey shuffled nervously, chewing on his lip and looking anywhere but at the turtles, “It wasn’t...Leo.” Donnie stilled underneath his blanket and Casey’s breath caught, “It was me. I...you were...I tried to tell you I wasn’t Leo, but I don’t think you heard me. You were really out of it...”

A chill settled over the med bay, something bitter and fragile that twisted the shadows and made the spaces between all of them feel cavernous. Raph’s shoulders slumped and he sagged back down onto the mattress, tucking his chin into his pillow and wrapping his arms around it. Donnie hadn’t moved since Casey’s revelation, as if he were still processing it.

“Donatello, I’m s—” Casey began.

Donnie disappeared completely underneath the blanket. Casey made a hurt noise in his throat and clenched his jaw, ducking his head so that his dark hair fell into his face."

---

We Were Made to Suffer and to Love kills me every time I think about it. This isn't quite the money shot of the boys getting retro/double-mutated but I love this section for all the Draxum dad feels (he calls them his sons!).

"Raph whimpered in his cage and tugged at the cuffs hopelessly. He caught Draxum’s eye and Draxum saw fear there. Raphael was so young. They were both so young. They were children, babies compared to his centuries of living.

“Don’t—don’t do it!” Donnie gasped, trying to wear a brave face despite the way he was shaking, “She could destroy everything!”

Halima scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Please, I don’t care about the humans. I’m quite happy right where I am, thank you. All I want is to secure my place among the houses of the Hidden City.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she stared Draxum down, “So, Draxum. What will it be?”

Draxum had always intended to give her what she wanted. They both knew it.

Like Splinter before him, Draxum would let the world burn if it meant keeping the boys safe.

“I will give you the formula,” He said in a low voice, a thundercloud of resignation and rage and resolution all at one, “And you will not harm my sons.”

“No one will lay a finger on them,” Halima pressed a hand to her chest, her expression solemn and serious.

“And you will free them.”

“They will be released once things are finished.”

A part of Draxum, the part that had dealt with centuries of yokai paperwork and contracts and promises, clawed at him to get it all in writing. To make Halima keep her word with ink and paper and blood. But they didn’t have time for that and the anxious desire to get Raph and Donnie away was a roaring river that washed everything else from its path.

“Very well,” Draxum drew himself up, back straight, posture proud despite the circumstance, “The mutagenic formula is yours.”"

---

And then how about this section of Worth it for the Laughter because I really like it (especially Leo calling Draxum "evil dad" and Donnie telling Draxum not to call Leo stupid)

"

“You!” Leo’s attention snapped to Draxum, his eyes wide as he fumbled to shove Donnie off of him and point dramatically. His entire arm swayed around in the air, his accusatory finger drawing squiggly figure eights, “D-Don! He—the guy—it’s him! Why’s he here!?” Leo slapped his blankets, making an agitated noise, “Donniiiiieeeee! Donnie you gotta get out of here! It’s Dad! Evil Dad! Evil Dad is in here!”

Silence.

April, Donatello, and Draxum all stared at Leo with wide eyes and open mouths. Leo was breathing heavily, staring hard at Draxum, but when no one responded to him, he glanced at his siblings, brow furrowing,

“Guys? Hey...heeeeyyy…”

“You…” Draxum’s expression was difficult to discern, a crease between his brows, something like confusion tangled up with concern and something softer, something warmer, “You...you called me…’Dad’?”

Leo stared.

Donnie stared.

April stared.

And then Leo started crying. Again.

“I called Barry my ddaaaaaaddddd,” He wailed, flopping backwards on the bed, sprawling there like he’d been tossed aside, tears running down his face all over again, “He’s my dad toooooo! Don’t tell Pops, guys, you can’t Pops I called Dad my daaaaddddyyy!”

Donnie slapped a hand to his own face with a groan of exasperation, “If it’s not one thing he finds to cry about, it’s another…”

“Aawww, Leo, do you think of Barry as part of the family?” April cooed over the crying turtle, smiling in good humor as she rubbed Leo’s shoulder and tried to get him to calm down, “That’s really sweet of you. You should tell Mikey, he’ll be over the moon!”

Leo sniffled, almost poking himself in the eye as he scrubbed at the tears on his face, “M-Mikey? Is on the moon?”

“No, that’s not what I...ya know what, nevermind. Lemme tell you about this school project I’m working on.” April nudged Leo over on the bed and climbed up next to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder with the slider as she pulled out her phone to show him pictures. Leo appeared to be listening, but it was hard to tell when his gaze slid out of focus and drifted to random parts of the room before snapping back to April again. His head was slowly starting to dip towards resting on April’s shoulder, his lids getting heavy as drowsiness began to set in. But April didn’t seem to mind being used as Leo’s impromptu pillow, looping an affectionate arm around Leo’s shoulders and tucking him close to her side.

“What happened to him?” Draxum asked in a low voice, moving to stand beside Donnie’s chair as he watched the usually animated Leo slouch further into April and the nest of pillows, eyes falling completely closed.

Donnie was digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, fighting off the urge to take another nap. He squinted up at Draxum with a huff, “I thought April told you; Nardo had to get his wisdom teeth removed. He’s just recovering from the surgery right now, high on the painkillers I gave him. It’s stronger and a little different from the usual stuff we use, but this was a major operation with a longer recovery time so I had to use them.”

Draxum gave Donnie a look of confused disgust with a light dusting of horror, “You removed a portion of his wisdom? His mind!? This one is already so stupid—OW!”

“Don’t call him stupid,” Donatello said coolly, as if he hadn’t just kicked Draxum in the shin hard enough to leave a smarting bruise,"

Donnie disappeared completely underneath the blanket. Casey made a hurt noise in his throat and clenched his jaw, ducking his head so that his dark hair fell into his face.

This is one of the scenes in Adagio I really wanted to work in to try and show just how much Donnie is struggling. He desperately wants things to go back to normal so he can compartmentalize and just forget about everything. He doesn’t like being stuck in bed, he doesn’t like feeling weak, and most of all he doesn’t like feeling useless. So Donnie found a little comfort in the idea that Leo woke up and was moving around.

Only for Casey to kind of turn around and yank it away from him. Casey’s too honest to let Donnie keep believing that Leo was awake. And Donnie’s mad about it! His frustrations and struggles have an outlet and it’s to attack poor Casey! So he wasn’t really mad at Casey and I wanted that to come across with this build up to that fight, and the apology and offer to work on the upgrades/fixes thereafter. Donnie’s not mad at Casey and he doesn’t really blame Casey for locking Leo in the prison dimension. He’s just having a struggle, his world’s all messed up and he doesn’t have access to his usual coping mechanisms. So Leo being awake was a form of stability to him.

“I…” Casey shuffled nervously, chewing on his lip and looking anywhere but at the turtles, “It wasn’t...Leo.” Donnie stilled underneath his blanket and Casey’s breath caught, “It was me. I...you were...I tried to tell you I wasn’t Leo, but I don’t think you heard me. You were really out of it...”

And this moment of Casey knowing what he’s about to do, knowing he’s going to hurt Donnie, is hard on both of them. Casey’s got his own struggle of “I know these turtles, but at the same time they’re complete strangers”. It makes things super awkward for him, poor kid. So he knows what he's saying is going to hurt Donnie, he's just not sure what the reaction will be. I think that's really hard and scary for him. He can see bits of his old family in these turtles, but they will never be the people he grew up knowing.

-----------------

I hold Made to Suffer and to Love in my hands and get mad that the author didn’t write more of it. Even though I am the author and I have nothing more to write for it.

Raph whimpered in his cage and tugged at the cuffs hopelessly. He caught Draxum’s eye and Draxum saw fear there. Raphael was so young. They were both so young. They were children, babies compared to his centuries of living.

I like to put emphasis on the fact that the turtles are children. They are kids. And while Rise does a very good job of having them act like teenagers, during those big action scenes it’s sometimes so easy to forget that they are just kids. Those are babies, your honor.

And to Draxum, whom I headcanon has lived for a very, very, very long time, looking at the turtles and actually seeing them as children I think is a big deal. I don’t think we really get that in the show, so this moment where he looks at big, powerful, intimidating Raphael and sees a scared little boy is so important. It’s such a big deal for Draxum to look at the turtles and see kids instead of warriors.

Draxum had always intended to give her what she wanted. They both knew it.

Like Splinter before him, Draxum would let the world burn if it meant keeping the boys safe.

I have so many emotions about how Splinter chose his sons over the world. How he defied his ancestors and instead of abandoning his family, he stuck with them, and that’s what saved the world in the end.

So of course I had to give that moment to Draxum too.

I think at this point Draxum didn’t really care about his mutagen at all anymore. It wasn’t about not giving it to Halima, it was about making sure his family was safe. And I kept thinking of the scene in Bug Busters, where Draxum dropped Leo off the roof because he wanted his mutagen back. And I wanted this to kind of feel like a mirror to that.

But I also wanted it to be clear that Draxum isn’t really used to being on this side of the emotional conflict. Which is why his anxiety to get Raph and Donnie free is ultimately his undoing. If he’d had a clearer head, he might have taken the necessary steps to iron out the fine print, even if it meant leaving the boys in the cages a little bit longer.

To be perfectly honest, I feel like I could almost write an essay about the parallels between Draxum and Splinter’s characters….

-----------------

Calling Draxum “Dad” was a moment I planned from the get-go with this fic!

Yeah, like, half of Leo’s dialogue was very much inspired/stolen from when Markiplier got his wisdom teeth removed. But I knew I had to have Leo call Draxum “Dad” and then be absolutely mortified by it! And then tucker himself out by crying and fall asleep on his big sister.

Donnie defending Leo, also a mirror to Leo defending Donnie in the Battle Nexus New York episode. No one can call Leo stupid except for Donnie. That is Donnie’’s privilege and Donnie’s privilege alone. Leo is stupid (affectionate), and he will not stand to have Baron Draxum calling Leo stupid (derogatory).

(Side note; I have a great love of making Donnie kick. Headcanon that if he’s not using his tech, Donnie’s kicks are absolutely capable of obliterating your kneecaps. Will pulverize them into dust. Raph’s got the punches, but Donnie will roundhouse your head clean off your shoulders.)

[vatnalilja]

Lamli x Female Reader

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You find Lamli asleep in your bedroom, half-dressed.

1600 words, 325 of which are smutty. Mostly fluff.

You open your bedroom door and peek inside. Having finished your obligations back home, you somehow managed to return to the mansion when everyone was out on business or otherwise busy. Even Lono had been absent from the kitchen.

Your room is quiet, and the late afternoon sun streams through your large windows. After closing the door behind you, you tip-toe to your bed, expecting to find Mu curled up in its center. You've only made it a few paces when you freeze, discovering that instead of a small, round black cat, you have a shirtless Lamli sprawled out on your duvet. His black hair is damp and flared in a wild mess around his calm, sleeping face. His nimble arms are cast haphazardly, and one of his legs is draped over the edge of the bed.

You know precisely what happened: he took a bath, then came to your room before fully dressing. His shirt and coat are piled on a nearby armchair, since forgotten. The butlers all shared rooms, and he had a habit of sneaking to your room to be alone when you weren't around, to avoid his work and to will you back to the mansion. And rather than finish dressing, he crawled onto your bed after deciding a nap was in order.

It's almost a shame to wake him.

Yet, the temptation of being close to him was too strong to ignore. You gently sit on the bed and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. He stirs slightly at the motion, and you lean closer, brushing your fingertips against his forehead.

As your fingertips glide over his lips, his chartreuse eyes flutter open and he looks up at you. Reaching up, he takes your hand and entwines his fingers with yours, his eyes still full of sleep. Your cheeks flush at having been caught as Lamli's lips curl into a smile. He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a tender kiss against your knuckles.

"You're back," he mumbles, still too drowsy to exhibit his usual enthusiasm.

"You didn't dry your hair before you fell asleep," you say.

His eyes widen, and he clutches your hand as he remembers the state in which he curled up for a nap. You chuckle and shake your head, combing the fingers of your other hand through his hair, parting the pink strands from the wavy dark ones. His panic evaporates once he sees your calm attitude, and his expression rapidly changes from relief to something more impish, his own cheeks turning pink.

"Nac would be so mad if he knew about this," Lamli says.

"It'd be another lecture," you say.

"But there's no reason he needs to know. Right?" he asks.

"Who's telling him? I'm not," you say.

"My l-lord," he stammers. "Lie here with me for a little longer, please."

You can't bring yourself to deny him. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he looks at you as if you are the only other person in the world.  You smile, placing your hand against his cheek, and you both sink into the soft bedding. Lamli wraps his arm around you, drawing you closer to his chest. You settle against him, and he takes a deep breath as he holds you, as if breathing might ruin the fantasy he's somehow found himself in.

You forget about the worries and responsibilities of your everyday life. For now, there is only Lamli, his warmth, and the peaceful beat of his heart. He smells like the garden, like freshly cut grass and lavender carried on a summer breeze.

Slowly, he moves his face closer to yours again and brushes his lips against your cheek. You feel the heat of his breath on your skin, sending shivers down your spine, and you can't resist the urge to lean into him further. His lips meet yours in a slow, sweet kiss that grows more passionate with each passing second. He murmurs breathlessly into the kiss, fumbling but undeterred by his lack of experience. The blankets rustle beneath you as your bodies shift, and you fall deeper into each other.

When the kiss finally breaks, Lamli rests his forehead against yours and stares into your eyes, the flush in his cheeks growing deeper. He runs his fingers through your hair, then trails them along your cheek and down your neck. You know he wants more but doesn't know how to proceed.

"I love you so much," he whispers.

In the year you've known him, he's professed his love for you hundreds of times, and he'll do it a thousand times more. But you've never told him how you feel. Of course, you love him, but the barrier between you--your relationship as lord and servant--has made it difficult to be forthright. You can't bring yourself to say the words. Every time you try, you hesitate and find a less resolute alternative.

"C-can I use your name while we're like this?" he asks.

"Yes, of course," you say.

His mouth meets yours once more, almost desperately. He parts your lips with his own, silently begging you to open up to him. His hands explore your body, tracing the curves of your hips as your tongue finds his. Everywhere he touches you sparks a warmth that spreads throughout your body, melting away your inhibitions.

He pulls back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as he looks into your eyes with an expression of vulnerability. You know he's unsure but willing to take this chance to be close to you in a way he never thought possible. He squeaks quietly when you grip his narrow waist and draw his weight on top of you, then buries his face in your neck, where he mumbles your name.

You feel his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your stomach. His lips are on your earlobe as his hands push your shirt up inch by inch until you can feel his skin against yours. He pauses and sits up, looking into your eyes as if to ask permission. You give him a small nod, and he continues until he peels your shirt over your head. His brow furrows as he stares at your bra, noting the clasps in the front--they're much smaller and finer than anything Flure uses on his pieces.

He grips the center of your bra and works the small clasps until they're undone, then hesitates as he frees your breasts from their garment. His eyes glimmer at the sight of you half-undressed beneath him, and he takes another deep breath. He releases it slowly as he rests his hands on the sides of your chest, just beneath your underarms.

"Can I touch you?" he asks.

"As much as you like," you say.

He grazes his fingertips along the tops of your nipples, and they raise to his touch as he traces their outlines. His hands shake ever so slightly as he continues to explore, growing bolder as you mewl in pleasure. With more confidence, he cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently. Unable to resist, he leans down and kisses you again as he caresses you.

His hands wander lower until he reaches the waistband of your skirt. He pauses again, seeking approval. You give him another nod, and he slides your skirt down your legs. His eager eyes rest on your panties, and you feel your body heat rise in anticipation of his next move.

Biting his lip, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric, making you shiver with delight. His touch is clumsy but purposed as he traces the folds between your legs. You moan as he massages you, and encouraged by your pleased response, he quickens his pace. His brilliant green eyes are locked on your face, observing your reactions as he strokes you.

His fingers drive you closer to the edge of ecstasy. You pant, grabbing the duvet beneath you as you feel the orgasm build until it crashes through your body, sending wave after wave of delight through your nerves. He watches eagerly as you are wracked by blissful shudders, his eyes filled with a hungry wonder as he smiles in mischievous delight.

"Lamli," you groan.

"I like it when you say my name that way," he says.

You both freeze and exchange startled glances when you hear voices and the stamp of feet on the first floor. He wants to do more--you want him to do more--but others have returned home. You hear Nac call for Lamli, and he practically falls out of your bed. He snatches his things from the chair and dresses as fast as he can, almost doing his buttons wrong several times.

"I'll tell them you're napping," he says.

With a lazy hum, you pull the covers over your body. Before he departs, he rushes to your side, gives you one last playful kiss, and hugs you. You laugh softly and respond to his kiss by adding several more of your own.

"Let me stay by your side while you sleep tonight," he says. "Not anyone else."

"Only you, nobody else," you say.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," you whisper back.

He beams as he squeezes you, then slips through the door. The warmth of his embrace lingers after he leaves, and you can't help but smile to yourself. You curl into the sheets and close your eyes, your body still tingling from his touch. Your duvet still smells like him, so you pull it to your face and inhale, clutching it to your nose as you drift off into a satisfied sleep.

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