#so if there's any typos just

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[loonyloopylupin96]

Theme: Deer | @moonwater-microfic | Words: 282

"So, you guys are finally doing the patronus stuff?" Remus looked up from his book to see Regulus taking a seat beside him, bearing a haughty expression.

Remus carefully placed his bookmark and nodded. "We are - wait, what do you mean 'finally'? You've not got it for another year yet."

"You think the Noble and Most-"

"You can just say 'family', Reg..." Remus muttered, though the small smile on his face betrayed him.

"-of Black," Regulus finished, pointedly, "-would send me off to school without a firm grasp on a few advanced spells?"

"Um... are you expecting to encounter many dementors in your time?" Remus quipped, unable to help himself but also genuinely curious about why this of all spells would make the cut.

Regulus just rolled his eyes. "I had a choice. I wanted to know what my patronus would be - what was yours?"

Remus hesitated. "Wait, how did you know we've been doing that today?"

"Overheard Potter going on about Evans also having a deer, or something. I wasn't really listening but that guy is so fucking hard to ignore sometimes. He sits two damn tables away!" Regulus replied, testily. "So, you?"

"Oh, um. Mine was a snake-" Remus began, taking care as he unravelled the loose thread on his robe sleeve.

He looked up as Regulus snorted in response.

"Bollocks," he laughed. "Sneaking around with me for three months, does not a snake make."

"Four-"

"Four and a half, actually. I just wanted to see if you were counting too-" Remus watched as the left side of Regulus' mouth turned up in a playful smile. "Like I said, you're not sneaky, Lupin."

Well, he couldn't argue with that.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 28: Lactation + Day 7: Omegaverse. Maxiel (omega Max, alpha Daniel). About 2.6k words. Yes you read that number right. cw: mentions of mpreg (but not actual mpreg happens).

The doctor tells him it's just hormones, a combination of this stressful season finally being over and of the mating, and that he can't do anything about it, it will just go away on its own. Max tries his best to not roll his eyes at that, feeling like this was just an embarrassing waste of time.

The doctor tells him to keep hydrated, and that being close to his mate might help. And that a pump might help as well.

Max is not going to buy a milk pump, thank you very much. No matter how sore and full his chest feels, it's not going to happen. He's going to grit his teeth through it until his body remembers that he's not pregnant, and stops this lactation nonsense.

He gets out of the doctor's office in a worse mood than he went in with, which is made even worse when he realises halfway home that he's leaking through his shirt, the damp material rubbing against his already sore and swollen nipples.

Embarrassing, is what it is.

He's always prided himself with the fact that he's not a normal omega, he doesn't let his hormones and instincts control him, has never panted after an alpha. He's always wanted Daniel because he is Daniel, not because of his designation. He doesn't do silly omega stuff, like begging for pups, or getting pregnant.

Not that there's anything wrong with it, he loves pups, he just isn't that kind of omega. And yet here his body is, betraying him by producing milk that isn't even needed, just because he is finally mated.

Embarrassing.

When he gets home he has one email from Christian, one from the doctor's office, and three missed calls from Daniel. He wants to deal with exactly none of those things, so as soon as he's inside he strips off his top, glaring at the wet spots on the front as if they're personally offending him, which they are, grabs a towel because he is still leaking, and climbs into his nest.

Even with the comforting scents of home and Daniel wrapped around him, and the cats purring near his legs, he's still in a terrible mood when his phone pings again, with yet another call.

He knows that if he leaves Daniel without an answer for much longer he'll just worry him, and as upset as he is, he doesn't want to do that, so he forces himself to reach over and grab the phone, taking a deep breath before answering.

It's good, to hear from Daniel. Even when he's feeling like this, hearing his mate's voice is always good, especially since he's been in Los Angeles for more than a week, and Max misses him.

Misses him, but not enough to not feel horrified when Daniel tells him he's coming home early. Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?" Max asks, hoping he doesn't sound as choked up as he feels. Tomorrow is not enough time to make his stupid problem go away. If Daniel really comes tomorrow, Max will have to tell him, and explain, and it will be embarrassing and horrible and...

"Baby? Are you okay?"

Max takes a trembling breath, blinking tears out of his eyes, realising he must have missed Daniel's question. He doesn't even know why he feels like crying now, yet another omega thing he doesn't want. Stupid body. Stupid hormones.

"I'm fine, just...the cats are fighting and jumping on things." It comes out weak, and Max doesn't blame Sassy for blinking up at him from where she's curled up with her brother next to his hip, perfectly calm.

It makes Daniel laugh though, and it gives Max an excuse to wrap up the conversation more quickly, even as guilt eats at him. He hates lying, hates it especially when it's to Daniel, but he just...he can't deal with everything at the moment.

As soon as he hangs up, dropping his phone somewhere in the nest, he feels more tears track down his cheeks, unable to stop them, as his chest throbs, heavy and painful.

He hates this. It's not fair. He wants to be happy to know his mate his coming home, he wants to enjoy the feeling of being freshly mated, he doesn't want to feel like this, sore and all over the place.

If at least he was pregnant...he doesn't want to be pregnant, but at least it would make sense, to be such a mess. But he doesn't even have that excuse. He's just fucked up.

--

Max doesn't go get Daniel at the airport.

He had half heartedly suggested it, but Daniel had told him not to worry, his voice a bit weird, and to just wait for him at home.

So that's what Max is doing, curled up in the nest, purring softly and tugging at his own hair, trying to self-soothe. His chest really hurts today, nipples sore and oversensitive, sending sparks of pain through him every time he moves and the material of his shirt drags over them. He has thrown one of Daniel's hoodies on top, one of the thick ones that are actually way too warm from him, hoping the added material will stop any damp patches to show through.

He knows he should get up, go to the living room, at least try to look normal, but he's upset, and he's hurting, and he's...scared. He's scared.

He doesn't know how Daniel will react to his body being so fucked up, doesn't know if he'll be disgusted, if he'll leave again, if he'll leave forever. He knows how much unmating hurts, he doesn't want to go through that. He doesn't want Daniel to leave.

He loses track of time, cuddling a towel against his chest, under his shirt, trying to breathe, and he jumps when he hears the door clicking open.

"Max? I'm home!" Daniel's voice rings through the apartment, and Max feels torn. A part of him wants to jump out of the nest, run to him, let his alpha fix this, but the other wants to hide, burrow further into the nest, curl up in a tight ball until nothing hurts anymore.

"Max?" Daniel calls again, and this time his tone is different, worry clear in his voice.

Max is not wearing any blockers, and he knows the stench of distressed omega must be sticking to every corner of the house by now.

He knows he won't be able to hide.

The bedroom door opens slowly, and Max looks up, feeling himself flush, knowing how he looks, curled up in his nest. A weak, scared omega.

Embarrassing.

"Baby," Daniel breathes, concern and confusion mixing on his face, "what's wrong?"

Max blames on the hormones the fact that he feels himself tear up again, sharply bowing his head to try and hide it, without much success if Daniel's punched out sound is anything to go by.

"Maxy, talk to me. Can I..." Daniel takes a step forward, stopping right next to the bed. "Can I come into your nest?"

Daniel usually doesn't ask.

He used to, because it was the polite thing to do, but he stopped after Max made it clear that he was always welcomed, in any nest, at any time. But he asks now, and it makes Max whine, feeling shaken and out of place.

He nods, and a moment later Daniel's arms are around him, humming deep in his chest, trying to soothe him.

"Your scent is different," he murmurs after a second, nose dragging along Max's neck, lips brushing over his mating bite, making him whine. "Are you sick?"

And Max could lie, he could make up an illness, send Daniel out of his nest, but he's just. Tired. And scared, and so so done with this.

So he shakes his head, gently pushing Daniel away.

He knows he will have to tell Daniel, and sooner is better than later.

"I am not sick," he whispers, hating how his voice trembles, "but there is something wrong with me."

He watches as Daniel's frown deepens, his hands twitching like he wants to reach out for Max again.

"I went to the doctor, and he said it will pass." The words taste bitter in his mouth, but he needs to say them anyway, needs to make sure Daniel is not feeling forced to stay. " I understand if you want to not be here until it's over."

"Max, baby, if something is wrong I will be here with you. Why would I leave you? You're scared."

Max closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the love and confusion on Daniel's expression. Daniel doesn't know what he's saying, but Max can appreciate it anyway.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Daniel asks, hesitant.

Max nods, but then he shakes his head. He can't say it. He doesn't know how to say it.

Instead, he just pushes further away, and takes off his hoodie and t-shirt in one move.

For a second, nothing happens.

Daniel looks at him like he's trying to figure out what he's supposed to be looking at, eyes moving back and forth between Max's face and his naked skin.

And then Max feels the now familiar feeling of liquid swelling in his nipple, and slowly trickling out.

He stops breathing, watching as Daniel's eyes, huge and unblinking, follow the drop as it tracks down his chest.

When it reaches the waistband of his sweats, disappearing there, Daniel looks up again.

"You're...pregnant?" his voice sounds hollow, all color drained from his face.

"No," Max manages to choke out, swallowing around the heart beating in his throat. "It's just...my body is fucked up."

Daniel just blinks at him, mouth still half open.

"The doctor," Max rushes to explain, feeling like he's running out of time before Daniel will just get up and leave, "he said it's just hormones. And it will go away. I swear, it's not...it will pass."

He knows he sounds like he's begging, a whine making its way into his voice, but he can't help it. He doesn't want Daniel to leave. He doesn't want to lose him.

"Max..." Daniel starts, but then he seems to not know how to continue. Max can't blame him.

He feels more liquid, milk he forces himself to think, dribble out of his nipple, and he instinctively brings his hands up to cup his chest, trying to alleviate some of the ache.

"Does it hurt?" Daniel's voice is rough, and Max can't bring himself to look at his face anymore, feeling already too close to tears to be able to bear any disgust.

"They are very sore," he nods, no point in hiding anymore.

"The doctor couldn't help?"

Max can just shake his head, shrugging a little.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." he doesn't know how to apologise properly for this. What do you say when your body betrays you?

Daniel shifts, and Max closes his eyes, not wanting to see him leave, but instead of moving away, he feels him come closer, his scent rich with something Max can't quite place.

"Can I?" Daniel asks, hushed.

Max nods, not really knowing what Daniel is asking for but knowing he would say yes to anything right now.

And then Daniel's cold fingers are on his chest, cupping it like...like tits.

Max shivers, but doesn't move away, feeling himself flush, unable to sort through everything he's feeling.

"Fuck, you are so swollen," Daniel says, his fingers still careful on Max's skin.

"The doctor said," Max swallows, shaking a little as Daniel's hands shift, "that a pump might help."

It's embarrassing to admit, to say it out loud, but Daniel makes another little punched out sound, breathing out another curse.

"Yeah, I bet it would. You're so full, baby."

Max swallows again, more shivers traveling down his spine. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he has any word to describe what he's feeling.

"Would it help if I..." Daniel doesn't finish his question, but cups one of Max's tits with his hand, bringing his index and thumb next to his nipple, and then squeezes.

Max jolts like he's being electrocuted, milk spurting from his nipple with the motion, and it feels so good he can't help the moan that falls from his lips.

"Shit, does that feel good?"

Something in Daniel's voice makes Max's eyes snap open, and he shivers again when he meets Daniel's, his pupils huge. His scent is deep with arousal, and with a start Max realises he's getting wet too.

It's overwhelming, going from being scared to being so turned on, and he'll blame it on the relief, or on the hormones, but he just wants Daniel to do it again.

"Yes, I...please," he whines, bringing his trembling hands up to Daniel's wrists, pressing them harder into his chest.

"Fuck, I got you, baby. Shit."

Daniel shifts slightly, and then he's squeezing both Max's nipples, and the feeling is so strong he moans again, so loud it's almost a scream. He can feel his chest getting more and more wet, and the ache that has been plaguing him for days is less severe now, relief mixing with pleasure.

Then Daniel leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, tongue gentle on his oversensitive skin, and sucks.

And Max comes with a shout.

It curses through him, quick and violent, leaving him shaking and panting, dazed and confused. He's never come so fast in his life. He didn't even know he was close to coming.

Daniel is still sucking at his nipple, liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth, and all Max can do is writhe on the blankets, clumsy hands reaching for Daniel's waist, dragging him closer.

"Fuck," Daniel chokes out, letting go of his nipple. There's a sheen of milky white on his lower lip. Max feels like he's going to shake apart.

"You taste so good, fuck, Max."

Max moans again, tugging at Daniel's clothes, trying to get rid of them, wanting Daniel closer now.

"In me, Daniel, alpha, please," he's whining, babbling, torn between wanting Daniel to go back to his nipples and wanting him to get naked already.

Daniel solves the conundrum for him, getting rid of his clothes and tugging away Max's sweatpants too, moaning at the sight of the wet patch in his underwear.

"You're going to kill me," he groans, bowing down to bite at Max's thigh, making him jump again, hips grinding against nothing, before taking his underwear off.

"Inside. I need...inside, please," Max begs, feeling half crazed. His chest hurts again, and he is too empty, and he wants Daniel to fix it.

And Daniel does.

Daniel snaps his hips forward without teasing, sinking all the way inside in one smooth stroke, and then he gets his mouth on Max's nipples again.

Max doesn't know what to focus on. Daniel's dick inside him, grinding in an irregular motion, all his attention somewhere else. Daniel's mouth on him, sucking, his milk dribbling down into his beard. The pleasure and relief of finally having his breast emptied.

He doesn't know what sounds he's making, doesn't know if he's crying, or begging, or moaning, or everything at the same time. He feels like he's coming, over and over again, or maybe only one never ending time.

He feels it when Daniel comes, knotting deep inside him, and when he doesn't have any more milk to give. He feels light, for the first time in days, floating somewhere above himself, lost in a daze.

When he comes back to himself, Daniel is mouthing along his collarbone, his scent sweet and satisfied.

"We will have to talk about this," he says, voice slightly hoarse, "but I promise you, I will not be leaving until this goes away."

Max laughs, tired and spent. Yeah, he sort of figured that out already.

[ganondoodle]

(OC Lore and design time!)

(it got longer again ... sorry ... idk how to make things short, i just need to talk, but i guess if you can read the written stuff in the pic thats the barest bare bones of what i wrote here)

i was asked what new lore story stuff i had thought about that made me sad which i mentioned a bit ago, and while that is too hard to explain given all the missing context i thought i could at least talk about lore having to do with it :D

so, (Lord) Eadrya is one of my fav OCs (big blue lad, here a rough sketch in humanoid form) they are both one of if not THE most powerful demon alive and the most battle trained;

at the mid point of the story the demon world gets invaded by the celestials (the angel inspired things i talked about in the previous lore post with Xaror) and Shargon, as the king, should be their first and only frontline, but at this point his life is only being sustained by maschinery after being mortally wounded, he cannot fight (he realizes what is going on, rips himself off the maschinery to get at least his youngest child to safety, barely managing it before dying- the guardian, the demons god, takes over his body to attempt to fight against the celestials but cant keep itself alive long enough since its host is already dead) Eadrya takes the role of the frontline fighter (despite being very full of themselves and aggressive they care about their 'job' of protecting their own, also giving them the chance to show off just how strong they are); the fight was going well for them all things considered, but when the guardian activates it drains the power of all elemental lords (which Eadrya is one of, and since they have the most strength it also takes the most from them), so much so that they lose the fight and suffer deadly wounds (the worst being a spear through the chest made of a material that grows hard, root-like formations when in contact with demonic blood like a fungus but worse, also stopping any self healing processes) after the guardian falls apart it creates a huge shockwave of energy that stuns every living thing within a certain distance and possibly more-

Eadrya (in true demon form, so like a blue whale in size at least) was likely taken through an active gateway to the human world in a large tidal wave also created by the guardians fall; they wash up in the harbor of a small secluded village, the head of which is 'lady 13'; although never having seen a demon before and everyone being afraid (largely thinking its a strange hurt animal, only she suspected otherwise), they still gather all villagers to pull out the celestial spear, which is diffcult and brutal given that its already taken root, but the village lacked both knowledge and means to help any other way- doing so damaged their heart which is how they were able to collect samples of all three demonic blood types ('normal' -red like humans-, energy -essentially purely magic- and heartblood -highly concentrated energy only found within the heart of a demon and the only one to contain genetic material) (this is the start of Eadryas character arc, having to deal with the fact that their world is likely destroyed, them failing what they didnt think they could fail, having lost a battle so badly (even if not really their fault) for the first time and not knowing if literally anyone else has survived .. also being now stuck in the human world, which they dont like)

Lady 13 (placeholder name? stands for experiment 13) is a human that was tricked by demon hunters to enroll into a series of experiments trying to create hybrids of demons and humans, which they hoped would be powerful and easily controllable tools for their endeavours, though the two are inherently not compatible, they tried grafting body parts of demons on humans to make them compatible- all experiments failed except for her, more or less, though she never got to see the hybrid she carried and was then told it had died too, they threw her out believing she wouldnt survive much longer either and all such experiments were cancelled due to the high cost of human life, research material (demons are still rare) and upkeep with no successful results Lady 13 survived though (perhaps even via the pirates picking her up?) and she ended up living in said small village far away, hiding her half demonic body, though most know there soemthing 'wrong' with her (her being this tall when it doesnt fit the rest for one), only few know the full extent; she enjoys the life she has now, perhaps on the more poor side but safer and more loved than ever before; she largely lead the efforts to try and help Eadrya when they ended up in the harbor, though there wasnt that much anyone could do it was still enough- they leave immediately after waking up, but return after really having nowhere to go and struggling to deal with everything that has happened; over time (probably years) they start to open up towards the people there (though not .. very much) enough to get rather close with Lady 13 too- she actually falls madly in love but after Eadrya (extremely aro/ace) rejects all her attempts quite clearly she respects their boundaries

However, after hearing news of potential demon sightings Eadrya decides to leave in hopes of not being the last demon left after all; Lady 13 then decides to reveal her secret to them (though hearing and seeing what lengths hunters would go to for their experiments makes them absolutely seething with rage- she insists on not being out for revenge) and asks if they would be willing to donate a small amount of heartblood; shes always wanted to be a mother but is now incompatible with humans too- through things she picked up back at the experiments facillity, hers and her doctors research she is sure that is all that is needed, she dares to ask since she does not know when, if ever, she will meet another demon, much less one she could actually trust enough for this though Eadrya hesitates (why would she want to go through the same thing again that didnt work and threatened her life, if it does work, do they want to be involved with any of this? what if hunters find out it worked after all?) but after her ensuring that they would have no part in it other than giving up a little blood and would not be considered a parent in any way, nor made responsible for anything that might happen to her, but considering it all in the end they agree to it

only for her to reveal shes had a small bottle of it already, along with multiple samples of the other types, which she collected when Eadrya was bleeding out into the harbor not knowing if they will survive, though not wanting to make use of it without their consent either way (they are actuallly rather touched by this)

alot later the main group returns here and it turns out to have worked (though she is unable to walk/bedridden for a long while bc it did alot of damage to her body, which can heal since its demons parts, but only really slowly bc she does not have a full functioning system and no demonic blood of her own -she uses the other samples for the healing process-) though its a little awkward to explain, especially considering that 13.1 took alot after Eadrya xD (their theory as to why it worked so "well" that time is that even though the sample was already taken, them giving their consent for it still made it less likely to be rejected; demons dont need partners to have offspring, and all can do it, they just have to decide to- so them agreeing to it, even though its long been outside their body, still had an effect on the blood sample)

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Why? Sirius Black x Reader

Sirius is starting to feel a bit desperate to cum inside you again.

CW: Breeding kink. NSFW (obviously). Use of pet names. AFAB reader. Maybe a bit of coercion if you squint.

Sirius never put much thought into having children of his own. There were always more important matters taking over his mind: school, running away from his family, war, the Potters’ safety, being sent to Azkaban, a Potter’s safety, and then war again.

So, it’s probably safe to say this is the first time in Sirius’s life where he’s been able to settle down and focus on himself.

If you ask him, he’d say he’s doing pretty well so far.

He lives in a comfortable home adorned with plenty of windows. After spending so many years of his life stuck in dark and cramped spaces, natural lighting and a sense of openness is a must-have for him.

He spends most of his days working with the Weasley boys at the joke shop. Coming up with fresh and profound ways of helping the newest generation cause mischief is a good way to pass the time.

He has people he loves, and people who love him in return. Including you, of course.

For the first time in a long time, Sirius has roots. He’s comfortable and happy.

And maybe that’s why it’s becoming increasingly difficult for him to pull out when he’s fucking you.

It started a few months ago. You were casually complaining about the side effects of your birth control, and Sirius convinced you to stop taking it.

He promised he’ll pull out. He won’t penetrate you during your ovulation week: oral and hands only. Sure, it won’t be ideal, but he’ll do it if it means easing your pain.

So you stopped taking your birth control, and Sirius stuck to his word.

…for a little while.

Without your contraceptives in the way, it seems your libido shot up ten fold. Especially during your ovulation week. Sirius needn’t even track your cycles. He can tell what time of the month it is just by how often you’re pawing and grabbing at him.

The ‘oral and hands only’ rule didn’t last two months. The first month wasn’t too difficult, but by the second month, it just seemed too tedious, really. Why limit yourselves to certain body parts when Sirius can just pull out before cumming inside you?

It’s not rocket science.

It was a bit hard for Sirius to stick to his word, but he did it. Moments before he could shoot a load as deep into your pussy as he could reach, he’d force himself to waste it by releasing it over your tits and stomach.

It felt…. disappointing to see his ropes of cum littered all over your skin, rather than watching it drip out of your tight cunt. Even the idea of filling you up made Sirius hard again, but he couldn’t risk it.

Neither of you were ready for pregnancy, no matter how much the thought of seeing you with a newly rounded stomach made Sirius’s cock twitch and ache.

But Sirius stuck to his word. Every time he fucked you, he made sure to pull out. And it worked; you didn’t get pregnant. Sirius couldn’t help but grit his teeth and roll his eyes when he discovered you’d gotten your period that month.

Which leads us to now.

Sirius—for the third time today—sloppily making out with your cunt. His mouth feels incredible, your hands tightly gripping the bedsheets, but it feels empty. It isn’t enough.

“Sirius?” You breathe, opening your eyes and lifting your head to look down at him.

“Hmm?” He hums, circling his mouth around your clit and sucking lightly.

“Fuck—!” You gasp quickly at the small change, back arching. “Fuck me—please?”

Normally, Sirius wouldn’t need to be asked twice, but he’s feeling strangely agitated at the moment. He raises his head from between your legs, tightly gripping your inner thighs with his long fingers. He sits up on his knees, looking down at you irritably.

“Why?” He asks.

Your brain spent and foggy after several orgasms and on the brink of another one, the question confuses you. Your mouth opens and closes, not quite knowing how to answer that. It’s such an obvious answer, so what does he mean ‘why’?

Seeing your bewilderment, Sirius’s jaw sets. He isn’t sure what kind of answer he expected. Rather than explaining himself further, he aligns himself up with your cunt and pushes in. He gives you very little time to adjust, opting instead to completely bottom out inside you in one swift motion.

It’s quite easy, given that you’d already came on his mouth twice prior, but it still catches you by surprise. It’s a big change—going from being cruelly empty to achingly full.

Once inside you, Sirius rocks his hips slowly, leaning down until his lips are next to your ear. He murmurs lowly, “Do you miss me cumming inside you?”

“Miss when we’d go rounds and you’d be so full, it was practically spilling out of you?” He continues, his breath tickling your ear. “I know I do.”

“S-sirius, we can’t—I’m not-” You stutter, protesting weakly, barely believing your own words. Your fingers grasping at him, nails digging into the skin of his back.

“Why?” Sirius asks again, his voice hoarse and words sincere. “I love you. I dream of seeing you out and about, a little round stomach, knowing that I did that to you. That you’re carrying my baby.”

“A-ah!” You gasp out. Your legs wrap around his torso as he moves slowly in and out of you, the head of his cock continuously hitting that gummy sweet spot within you.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Sirius whispers, his voice intense as he can sense your fading hesitation. His hand cups the side of your face. “Tell me to fuck a baby in you.”

Breathing heavily and desperately grasping at him, you nod, giving him the go ahead to do as he pleases with you. The idea doesn’t sound half bad, after all.

[traumawhomst]

So Vampires, I won’t lie I love a platonic yandere vampire sire so much.

(1,250 words)

He sees you at your minimum wage job and at first just brushes you off as just another boring human. Then he notices the colors on your bracelet, school colors for a very expensive and exclusive school, a few (human) businesses partners he knew sent their children to that school and none of them worked for minimum wage on their free time. Between the bracelet, the callouses on your hands, and the way your eyes seemed dark and sunken, he knew everything. He left without much thought, telling himself that he didn’t care about some random human and their poor tragic life.

He told himself it was just curiosity when he looked up the current class list, (you can find anything with enough time and money) and found your name. Even in just the school photos you stuck out like a sore thumb, a wildflower in an otherwise perfectly manicured garden. A little further digging revealed you were an amazing student, even if your grades weren’t always perfect. You clearly had talent and a strong work ethic.

It’s just curiosity that makes him dig further, finding your admissions essay, in his office, finding himself smiling at some points, quietly charmed by your choice of words and styling of your essay. It had been a risk that had clearly paid off. He liked those willing to take risks, reminded him of himself when he was younger.

He might as well look further, finding your freelance writing which he poured over in chronological order a growing sense of pride in your progress over the years. Finding your work made him stumble upon your personal life.

Family, but not close, which seemed to be the theme for everyone in it. Did they know about your accomplishments? Did they even care?

He’s not very surprised when he follows you home and sees you living in a studio in an apartment with paper walls, living on a diet of instant noodles and whatever soda was cheapest for that week. How could you study living like this? You seemed to only ever work or study, taking every shift you could just to make enough to afford something a little filling than instant noodles. Surely you’re not at your best, he can’t help but wonder what you could produce given proper resources.

His colleagues laugh when he defends it all as just curiosity, and he decides to approach you in person to finally get over this little, inquiry to rest.

But you look so tired when you smile at him, you’re trying so hard to maintain the smile and he’s wondering when the last time you smiled and he realizes then, as he nods along to your explanation about whatever item he picked up, that he hadn’t seen you smile once in a week of watching you.

He could smell your blood and did his best to hide the scrunching of his nose. Wildly anemic and deficient in every vitamin and mineral that a human needed to stay upright. It set him on edge, wondering about the strain on your body it must have. Humans were so fragile already, how long could you live like this?

The thought of you dying sent a bolt of panic through him. You were young, talented, and hardworking you deserved time to flourish and grow.

It would take a few months for all the necessary paperwork to be complete and in that time he slowly builds a sort of friendship with you.

On your end an older man, (whose eye color you could never remember) started to come in at least once a week. He was sweet in a way you hadn’t expected, happy to talk about any book he or you had brought. That’s when you really noticed him, when he came in holding your favorite book. He hadn’t read it yet, and was happy to hear your small preview and talk about the major themes in it. He always managed to come in when it was slow and for some reason no one ever approached you when you two talked.

He’d said he owned a bookstore, (more than one you imagined from the amount of first editions he causally walked around with) but was visiting here for business. He told you that when you refused to take one of his very expensive first edition he tried to give you. He only relented when you explained that your apartment was rather damp and you knew that it would only degrade the book over time. Next week he showed up with the newest edition, and refused to leave with it. Really you’re doing him a favor, he’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

He wasn’t scary either, he always had this air about him that was calming. Something that made you relax and trust him, and in the few months you met him he’d never done anything make you doubt your trust in him.

He’d brought you a book to read with an immortal character in it, and asked what you’d ever take the chance if offered. The thought of being stuck in your life forever or any life really made you sick to your stomach. No you’d rather accept that your life would be finite and told him you thought life would be meaningless if you were immortal.

And for the first time, something new quickly twitch across his face. Anger? Disappointment? After months of friendly banter and discussion it was almost a slap in the face of the reality of it all. You didn’t know him, or his motives. The look only lasts a moment, before shifting to his pleasant neutral again, but you still saw it. You pretended for the rest of the conversation until he leaves. You request to a new work schedule when you finished for the day.

He on the other hand was practically spinning about it. He should have been ready for this sort of answer, but he wasn’t. He’d had the conversation played a million times in his head, and you always agreed on it being a gift. He rationalized that you simply couldn’t understand it, given time you could be persuaded to see differently.

He showed up, ready to talk with you only to find out (through a heavy layer of compulsion) that you’d changed your hours to avoid Him. Time to move forward with the plan it seemed.

He found you one late night as you walked to your apartment and something about him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand-up.

He offered to walk you home, and you finally put your foot down and told him to leave you alone, as politely as you could muster. But you couldn’t seem to actually speak any of the words. What were you trying to say again?

He happily chatters on about how excited he is to show you your home, one arm around you steering you to some place you didn’t recognize. But every time you tried to say something you’d forget a little more of what was going on.

He didn’t really want it to do it this way, he told himself as he guides you in the deep state of compulsion you’re in. He wanted to win you over with the idea, to gladly accept his offer, to see it as the gift it was. But he could also admit to himself watching you try and fight the compulsion and fail, it was adorable to see the stubbornness that you had, it’d serve you well in your new life.

[redo-rewind-if]

Redo; Rewind Demo Update - Chapter 3

This update adds: Over 140k words (including code)!!

Features:

Go clubbing and run into a very familiar face.

Or, you could head over to the local music festival instead! Why bother tracking down your hitman. Unless...?

Attempt a little breaking and entering, just for fun.

Plant a listening device and hope for the best.

Head home and plan your next steps.

Possibly use your new time travel abilities to fix your mistakes. Or don't. It'll probably be fine.

As you can see, the update is finally here! I'm sorry it took me so long, I really wasn't expecting it to. Alas, writing and coding are rather time consuming. And 100k words is basically a novel's worth.

Despite the word count, if you're only playing one route, it may not take you that long to read. Unfortunately, that is a problem with writing IFs, it feels like a lot when you're writing it but then when you go to play it...

On the plus side, there's many different routes you can try! I'd highly recommend using multiple saves to check out other options.

Regardless, I thank you all for your patience and support, and hope you enjoy it!

[Link] - Demo Update, Available Here!

(Make sure to start with a fresh save to avoid possible bugs caused by the old ones!)

[yuri-is-online]

Hi hi so can we have an expansion of middle school Floyd completely being his unfiltered self around yuu (maybe even octotrio going like "Oh please don't believe that merculture is like this" because middle school Floyd is embarrassing them in front of their crush) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Hmmm

So Floyd says morays are cowards right, but my experiences with little kids tell me that they don't always have the best sense of self-preservation. I picture little Floyd as one of those kids on crack. He thinks this human is cute! Especially because they don't have the sense to be afraid of him at all and are calling him cute, that's real funny. What if he just takes a big chomp outta ya, will you still think he's cute? As for the embarrassment, well...

Azul

It comes from how blunt little Floyd is.

He's got even less patience for Azul's plans than big Floyd does, and the complete inability to see the value of waiting for the pay off. He's actively getting angry at him and throwing temper tantrums every time Azul tries to smooth things over with Yuu.

"No you can't get the ability to breathe underwater from kissing a mermaid Floyd is making that up. And no not all merfolk are obsessed with legs that's just a him thing-"

"Nah Azul really likes your legs and pretty much everything you do with them!" Little Floyd is loud enough that other people than just you are looking at him in confusion (Azul is convinced it is overwhelming judgment) because he's choking on a mixture of spit and air because how did he pick up on that already?!? Azul thinks he's so subtle when he admires you, he's got to be so you don't think he's weird.

He can't wait for this to be over, he can handle being made fun of by the twins now since they've got a good rapport and he can give as good as he gets but little Floyd is like a sea otter with a clam, he just won't let this go because he thinks octopus courtship is boring and he's not above saying that. Outloud. In front of you.

Jade

It's from how willing he is to throw Jade under the bus.

Floyd knows Jade pretty well, even if it's a younger version of him so he knows just how down bad stupid Jade is within 15 seconds and he is determined to "help."

Said help is mostly just humming a very specific song while swimming around you in circles and doing little tricks to "set the mood." Or asking you what you think about Jade when he thinks he's out of earshot, something he's never once been since little Floyd got summoned.

He thought this would be fun, Floyd is always so delightfully unpredictable and now there's two of him! But instead of bothering Azul he's decided to torture Jade and ruin his carefully cultivated image instead. He sort of gets why Azul was so determined to get rid of all his childhood photos now, you're never going to look at him the same after this.

When his efforts don't work because Jade is too much of a coward little Floyd starts just telling you a bunch of stuff they got up to as kids in an effort to embarras him. It clearly works from how quick Jade is to shove him to the side but you're polite enough to keep the laughter to a minimum. For the most part

Floyd

It comes from how much of a coward he is.

Floyd is waiting for the right time to speak with you, when he's extra sure that you feel the same as he does. When he knows you'll accept everything he wants to give you and more.

But no. Little him has to say everything that comes into his mind. "Are your legs soft? Why are you leaking seawater? Do all humans really only have ten toes and can I count them-"

If you find this funny, I think it might depress him somewhat. He wants you to see all the ways he's smart and not brush him off as an unserious joke. If you think it's cute, well that's a mix of emotions. He doesn't want you to see him as cute now, but it's ok if you find morays cute, and even nicer if you find baby morays cute. That thought alone perks him up.

Until little Floyd starts telling Yuu he thinks they're cute. Then he gets possessive and starts competing with himself like a looser. Probably by picking Yuu up and carrying them away since his legs are longer and he can get away faster.

[catscidr]

dottore lowkey teaches u how to dissect a dead body to preserve and sell study the organs but make it romantic and weird and im tired cw; gn!reader, descriptions of blood and organs, tension, confession? sorta

His hand is atop your dominant one while your fingers hold onto your scalpel tightly, making sure your grip is steady and precise. Slowly drawing incision after incision, you watch blood seep out of the cuts you make. The flow of it is so slow and serene it nearly brings you peace, as you observe it slide across the corpse’s skin silently.

(plus, you’re doing a decent job cutting it up since there are no surprise blood geysers, so the slow trickle of blood almost counts as a reward for your good work.)

It trickles down the dips and indents of the body, leaving a faint trail of crimson down, down, down until it reaches the cold vivisection table. You watch it form a small pool of ichor, and only when Dottore hums a soft, low 'focus' do your eyes snap back to the cadaver’s torso, where your blade rests.

After you lift the scalpel away from the skin, he slides a swift hand beneath the cut to push the flesh and sinew aside, bearing organs to the cold air of the operation room.

Watching him work so fast and casually after taking the time to teach you how to do something as simple as cutting skin makes your body run warmer than it should when faced with such a gruesome sight. His bloodied hands gently pry the scalpel from your hands, and you do nothing but observe as he works.

Slicing, pulling, prodding, tearing. You subconsciously lean over further, eyes focused on the way his hands and fingers pry apart the deceased’s organs from one another. If you didn’t have a problem disrespecting the dead, you would say that the Harbinger was doing so almost elegantly.

The previously empty metal platter fills with what looks like bloody chunks of meat as Dottore places each organ in it one by one, hollowing out the upper body. The incision might have been a pinch too small, you think, because you notice some streaks of blood that had already oxidized on the bare skin of his forearms from where he had to reach under the skin to take… whatever it was he grabbed.

You weren’t really paying attention to the organs anymore.

You’re pulled out of your musings when Dottore snaps his fingers to grab your attention. Looking up at him for the first time in what felt like hours, you spot a twinkle of amusement in his carmine gaze.

“Apologies, but I’ve called your name twice and you didn’t react. Is something on your mind?” You blink, swallowing down the embarrassment from catching you red-handed, daydreaming about him—not that he knows that’s what you were thinking about, anyways.

...well, maybe he does.

“No, sir. I was just studying your, um... technique," you cough. "Did you need me to do something?” You feel sweat bead at your temple, nervous that he could somehow see your thoughts.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling up into the faintest smile. “Yes, actually.” Turning his back to you, he shields your sight from the carcass on the table. “Hold your hands out, palms facing up and close your eyes.”

Setting hesitancy aside you follow his instructions, keeping your eyes firmly shut. Now unable to rely on your sight, your ears pick up on the tiniest of noises; you hear the sound of a particularly obscene squelch, followed by a quiet, seemingly irritated hum.

You hear the sound of clothes shuffling mixed with a similarly grotesque, squelch-y noise; as soon as the room fills with silence again, warmth spreads across your palms. You bite back the urge to open your eyes to take a peek. Dottore watches your face carefully, examining every twitch and shiver of your skin with rapt attention.

"You can look now," he hums, a smile hiding beneath his tone.

...Your eyelids suddenly feel super glued shut. Pushing through the nerves, you crack your eyes open, gaze immediately focusing on Dottore's face. He scoffs, amused at your sudden demure change in demeanor and glances down at your hands in silent encouragement.

Slowly peering down, your eyes widen as you gawk at the fresh, large organ in your hands, staining your disposable azure gloves a deep scarlet. You're almost unsure of what you're even looking at—all previous anatomical knowledge having flown right out of the window the second your eyes fell on the wet, goopy mess in your hands.

There are no arteries jutting out from the organ, so a heart is out of the question; it was too big to be one, anyways. It can't be the pancreas either, so maybe a stomach? Or—

"Good thing this isn't an evaluation, huh?" Your gaze snaps upwards to the sound of the Harbinger's mocking but light tone, shoulders squaring in pathetic defense. "You're putting me on the spot," you huff indignantly.

(Thank the Archons the only light in the room was the obnoxious overhead light above the table so the fine changes of your features can go unnoticed.)

Taking a step forward, Dottore swiftly invades your personal space as he brings his hands up to cup your own, not unlike how he held your hands a while ago to guide them. He looks down, and your gaze follow his, hand in hand.

You imagine a pulse. Blood flowing through, hundreds, billions, trillions of cells traversing lobes and segments—imagine that it's part your own body in the palm of your hands, held together by the man before you.

(The horrible, irredeemable man before you. Standing, observing, waiting oh so patiently. And he would wait an eternity if need be, for you have been safe from his hand the moment he shared a part of his humanity with you.)

Ridding your throat of the lump that had formed, you crack a nervous smile. "Is this supposed to be a test, or are you trying to be romantic?"

Returning a ghost of a smile, Dottore raises a brow. "Do you really think this is how I flirt?" he asks with uncharacteristic softness. Bloody, gloved fingers trace mindless patterns along your hand, and goosebumps bloom beneath your skin.

"The liver is often thought of as the source of one's passion," he murmurs. "It is also said to be the seat of life and the soul. While I can't prove nor disprove these claims using scientific research, I have come to understand why people view it as such."

Your hands feel slimy even with the latex barrier between your skin and the large liver in your palms, but with this discomfort comes elation.

"It only took me losing my own to comprehend," he continues quietly. You feel his breath grazing your forehead—it makes you itch and burn with the urge to look up, but you abstain yourself.

Dottore's hands slide up, cupping the sides of the organ, containing it solely to your hold. Long ago had his sights left the mound to gaze at your features. Looking at you wasn't all that dissimilar, after all.

(Thinking hard on his words, you want to ask him to teach you how to give him a liver of your own, next time.)

[surelysilly]

SuperPhantom Week 2024, go!

What: A week to celebrate the bestest crossover — Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005)! Fanfic, fanart, playlists/music, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, are all welcome! There are themed prompts for each day, so try to include it and more or as little as you want!

When: September 7th, 2024 - September 13th, 2024

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic) Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade Day 7: Sept. 13th - Free

*I will catch up on what I've missed in the following week to the best of my ability, but can't guarantee any swiftness. Submissions may show up the day after their prompt as I queue them up.

Sentence prompt for the week:

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

How: Post your works on Tumblr with the tags #superphantomweek2024 and #superphantom. I’ll reblog them here! Submissions to the week can also be added to this Ao3 Collection!

Just want everyone to have fun with this old little crossover here, so be free and be merry!!! <3

Below are extra details and information for each day.

Honorable mentions for extra brownie points:

Focus on side characters from either show! Last (few) season(s) nonsense Where do ghosts fit in the war between heaven and hell?

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety

Do you think God lives in Heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He's created Here on Earth? - Spy Kids 2

Divine: Angelic Presence, Angels, Grace, Holy, God(s), Wings, Pie, Fudge, Resurrection, Prophets

Impiety: Deals, Crossroads, Demon, Betrayal, Curse, Desecration, King of Hell, Abomination, Half-human (Nephilim, Cambion), Halfas (Half Angel & Half Ghost)

Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange

There's something wrong with those boys... Something off about that house...

Too Many Eyes, Charade, Fleeting Glimpses, Veil, Death Defying, Midwestern Gothic, Limbo/Purgatory, Horror, Biblically Accurate, Ghosts, Weird Age Club

Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider

This is about the blood of the covenant and the water of the womb, or neither or.

Family: Children, Childhood, Siblings, Old Friend, Blood, Fluff, Teamwork, Bonds

Outsider: Accidental Meeting, Secret, Outside POV, Found Footage, Ghost Facers, Wrongfully Accused, Strange Bedfellows, Incorrect Assumptions

Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic)

We've got a long road ahead of us... can't just sit in silence! Or can we...?

Mixtape, CD burn, Radio, Voice, Enochian, Ghost Speak, Silence, Lullaby

Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left

The usual canon divergence, even canon compliance... or something even further removed!

Right: Time Travel, Pre-canon, The End AU, It's a Terrible Life AU

Left: Roleswap, Fantasy AU, Sci-fi, Multi-Crossover

Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade

These vary by profession. What are yours?

Overshadowing, Shot gun, Blade, Salt Circle, Trap, Ghost Portal, Ectoplasm, Impala, Feton AV, Cold Iron, Disguise, Fire, Possession, Wail, Monster of the Week, Summoning

Day 7: Sept. 13th - (Team) Free (Will)

New beginnings. Final endings. Let's do it all over again, it's only just getting started. Or is it?

Friday the 13th, Unlucky, Carry On My Wayward Son, Thrill, whatever you want!

*Take what you like, leave what you don't; these are all just extra suggestions for each day to help get the brain wrinkling up! Send any questions my way~

[starlit-soothsayer]

So what's your issue with Sai? /genq

I have issues with plenty of people. The internet is full of obnoxious individuals, and for the purposes of my main accounts online I quickly block them (it's what those tools are for, after all). That doesn't mean I don't enjoy watching from a distance, however.

Sai is just one on a long list of internet people that wreak havoc wherever they go. Most just don't seem to notice that because she often targets (or tries to target) people that the internet masses are likely to frown upon. Lily Orchard is ideal for this. A vast majority of the internet dislikes her or doesn't care about her. To me, though, it's about the same as watching any United States election since 2016. It's not about getting something good anymore, it's about taking the side of the guy who sucks a little less.

To put it simply, Sai and Lily are two sides of the same coin.

Lily just so happens to have done much worse things by comparison and Sai just so happens to have opinions on media most agree with and internet history that hasn't been picked clean. At the end of the day though, their personalities and way of interacting with the web at large are incredibly similar.

Both of them, despite repeatedly claiming the opposite, are hopelessly obsessed with each other. Both of them use what little amount of minority status they have as a shield against critics. Both of them love to argue, to the point where it seems it's the only form of communication they can navigate. Both are quick to cry cowardice when someone decides an argument isn't worth having and walks away. Both of them must get in the last word, always. Both of them feel that they are in the right all the time, and that anyone else is either stupid, immature, or both. Both of them often label others as sensitive until it's their own feelings that are on the chopping block.

The best thing that Lily could do, if she really wanted to hurt her critics and make them leave her be, is to simply disappear from the internet entirely and let the people leeching off of her starve. The communities based entirely on making fun of her would dissolve overnight. Lily would never do that of course, because she has the same problem as Sai (one also pinpointed by CrimsonEnder): she simply can't let things go.

Neither of them will ever have the ability to walk away from something unless they have the final say, no matter how small it is. I've seen them both revive petty squabbles that have already long since simmered down for the sake of just wanting to argue.

It's not exactly difficult to put together why Sai has so many "haters" when almost every public interaction she has is a argument. It's not always about some form of homophobia or sexism or difference of opinion. Pardon my French, but sometimes your personality just fucking sucks.

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: mentions of scarring, canon-typical violence, flashback (not graphic), minor body horror (again, not graphic, mostly just emotional feelings about scars)

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Everyone gave him weird looks when they walked in, quickly schooling their features when they noticed he was awake and watching them.

He didn’t know exactly what that was about.

They had him on a lot of good drugs.

But eventually he got weaned off them, and he noticed the pull of bandages on his side, and his arm, and his neck, and his face.

He was still unable to get out of bed. Still couldn’t even reach his arms above his chest for more than a few seconds.

But he damn sure reached up to feel the cloth and plastic surrounding his cheek. How had he not noticed for days? How had no one bothered him about it?

Maybe they had and he just didn’t notice. The morphine was one hell of a drug.

Wayne was soft, patient with him. Saw him touching it, saw the way his eyes filled with tears. He’d never been particularly vain, hadn’t cared much about what he looked like to others, but this felt bigger than that. This felt like he was changed in a way that everyone could see.

Add it to the list of things people could bully him for.

He cried himself to sleep, Wayne’s hand in his, silently comforting in the way he’d always done.

When he woke up again the next morning, he was alone.

It was the first time he’d been alone since the boathouse.

He could swear he heard bats outside his door, screams coming from the attached bathroom, flashes of someone dying on the ceiling.

He felt the sharp sting of teeth puncturing his skin.

He felt hopelessness creep into his bones as he gave in.

Maybe this time they would finish the job.

“Eddie!”

Steve Harrington’s voice broke through the thoughts, panicked enough to bring Eddie back to his hospital bed within a second of hearing it.

“Shit, are you okay?” He continued, hand brushing against Eddie’s bandaged cheek.

Eddie nodded once, closed his eyes, leaned into the touch.

He could blame it on any number of things if Steve felt weird about it. The morphine, the flashback, the loneliness.

“You’re okay, Eddie. I promise. Won’t let anything happen to you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie believed him.

He fell back asleep with Steve’s hand gently cupping the mangled side of his face.

If Steve could still touch him there, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Steve came by every day, sometimes in the early morning, before visiting hours officially started, sometimes well after Wayne had left to get some sleep. He always smiled when he walked in, a genuine one, not the one everyone else gave that was so fully of pity and pain he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. He sat down on the side of the bed, not the chair like everyone else, not scared to be close.

And every single day, without fail, he would run his finger along the edge of Eddie’s bandage on his face, watching his own movements and cataloging any changes.

Eddie sat quietly, still, scared to put words to anything happening. Scared to tell Steve what it meant to him to have someone acknowledge his pain in this way. Scared to think Steve could mean anything by it.

It was easy to pretend Steve was doing this because he cared.

Maybe he did care.

But he didn’t care the way Eddie wanted him to, needed him to.

So he stayed quiet, still.

He watched.

He fell asleep while Steve talked about his day, the kids, what Joyce made Hopper do around the house.

He woke up alone most days, but that was okay, because Steve would be there eventually.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

“You ready to get that thing off?” Wayne asked, gesturing to the bandage.

“Oh. Today?” Eddie suddenly didn’t want to ever be without the bandage. Removing it meant he’d see what was under it.

It meant seeing how much that place had ruined him.

The pull of the stitches hadn’t been as obvious with the pull of the bandage masking it.

But now it’s all he felt.

The nurse smiled at him as she put some antibiotic cream over the area, saying he would probably still have to keep it extra clean for the next week or so while the stitches did their job.

Wayne smiled at him in the way that meant he didn’t really want to smile at all, but knew Eddie needed him to.

Steve didn’t come.

Eddie didn’t sleep.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

He woke up with panic in his chest and a silent scream in his throat.

He woke up with Steve’s hand on his face.

Gentle, soft, but a strong comfort.

“Promise I washed them first. They said we have to be careful about germs,” Steve said quietly.

“You don’t have to. I know it’s…it’s gross. It’s ugly. I’m ugly.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not gross. Not ugly. Alive.”

“Steve-“

“You’re alive, Eddie. You could have your entire face held together by staples and you would still be a miracle. You’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Well, Steve’s charm wasn’t an exaggeration, was it?

He wasn’t even sure if the skin barely pulled together could blush anymore, or if the heat that should be on his cheek was burning on the outside the way it felt like it was on the inside.

“It’s gonna be awful when it heals. I saw it in the mirror.” Eddie could feel every stitch in his jaw, the few that spread across the corner of his mouth and bottom lip, the ones that were nearly up to his ear. “I’ll always have a crooked face. The scar will always be huge. It’s all anyone will see.”

“Then they aren’t looking.”

Eddie bit his lip, eyes searching Steve’s. “But you are.”

“No. I’m seeing. There’s a difference. I see you. I see what you’ve survived. I see the mark it left on you. I know it wasn’t just the scars that cover your skin.” Steve leaned his head down, touching Eddie’s forehead with his own. “We all have them. And we’re all still here. Your heart’s beating. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Who knew you were so good with words?” Eddie smiled sadly.

“Robin says I’m just good at not having a filter.”

“She’s right as always.” Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, turning as slowly as he could to kiss his palm. “You’re not scared of it.”

“No. Are you?”

“I’m scared that you’ll change your mind when it’s always there as a reminder of what happened.”

Steve kissed his nose, making him smile for the first time in what felt like years.

“I’ll have the reminder that I got you out of there. That no matter what, the bats couldn’t finish the job. That you were stronger and you made it.” Steve let his hand drop, but quickly laced his fingers with Eddie’s. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to trust me, but will you? For today?”

“Just today?”

“I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“And what? Every day after that?”

Steve smirked.

His eyes were glistening with tears, but Eddie could tell it wasn’t sadness or fear.

“If that’s what I have to do.”

They hadn’t even talked about feelings, not really. Nothing that made any sense to Eddie, nothing that they could define. A part of Eddie was still convinced he was in a coma and dreaming this entire conversation up.

But even the nurse had noticed the way Steve watched him, how he touched him, how he fought for him. She said he’d been a firecracker from the moment he carried him into the hospital, dripping blood on the tile, staining the halls with his demands for help.

Wayne said he barely left his side the first day, only doing so when the doctors had told him they would call the cops if he didn’t.

Erica even noticed how things had changed between them, stating that she refused to watch her babysitter and the only DM she had respect for make out.

But Steve held Eddie, made him feel like he could get out of the hospital bed and live a life that wouldn’t keep him running. Steve was there.

Steve might even love him. If not now, then some day.

And Eddie could trust him today.

He could probably trust him tomorrow.

“Kiss me?” Eddie probably shouldn’t. The stitches tugged when he talked, and another mouth anywhere near his wounds was just asking for an infection.

But Steve would be careful. He knew what Eddie could handle.

It was barely a kiss. A graze of the lips at most.

But it was the best kiss Eddie had ever had.

At least until tomorrow.

[u3pxx]

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Abort! You clearly have not thought this through. You won't like what you will see there -- and you will never *un-become* it.

watching an lp where they didn't continue to look in the mirror, so just brain-empty playing around with that idea

[zorosdimples]

mdni. cw: foot job. the idea stemmed from this post.

ino takuma thinks you’re bluffing.

“you clearly don’t know me very well,” he shrugs playfully, plopping down to sit next to you at the foot of your bed.

he bumps your shoulder and you scoff. “you think i don’t know my own boyfriend? you’re just scared to admit that i could be right.”

he demurs without skipping a beat. “bullshit.”

you chuckle. “okay. prove it, then.”

oh—those are fighting words. he can’t back down; he loves it when you’re like this: pushy and stubborn, a curl to your lip that has never once led him astray. he squints at you in mock appraisal, umber eyes sparkling with mirth. he grins, cheeks dimpling.

“go ahead and show me your best, baby.”

“fuck—shit. jesus. could you pl-please,” takuma gasps, throwing his head back, “please slow down?”

your smile is sharp, a bright, mischievous gash that distorts your usually-placid demeanor. “how about no,” you coo. “this is what you get for doubting me.”

you stop stroking his length, your right foot dancing down to toy with this balls, your left foot pressing—perhaps too harshly—against his shaft. he groans as you play with his sack, rolling the ball of your foot against his velvety skin.

the man huffs. “are you seriously gonna—?”

pausing all movement, you look up at him with a warm gaze. “we can stop here if you want to.”

there’s something about your gentle tone and the vulnerable position he’s in that makes his cheeks flush; he pulls his beanie down over his eyes. as much as he wants to deny it, to gloat, to rub it in your face that he was right and you were wrong—so, so, so wrong—he can’t.

if you keep this up, he’s going to finish. all over your feet.

he pushes his beanie up and shakes his head. his voice wavers. “keep going, please.”

[starrystevie]

18+ | modern office steddie au | cw: public sex, undernegotiated kinks, unsafe sex | crossposted to ao3 here

eddie doesn't do it often. okay, maybe that's a stretch. frequently might be a better word for it, more accurate. but he wouldn't say he does it everyday or anything. it's just a little break from the day, an escape from the monotony of corporate america.

he's only been in this new tech support job for a few months but he's already comfortable enough that working on his next novel at his desk doesn't give him anxiety anymore. he isn't afraid someone is looking over his shoulder all the time like he did when he first started with the company.

the thing is, eddie's good at tech. he's good at finding the problems, finding even better solutions. half the time all he's doing is updating and restarting people's equipment that hasn't been refreshed in years. so he finds himself with enough free time at his desk to work on the second installment of his fantasy novel when the problems seem to be at a low.

as he waits for his laptop to boot up, eddie cracks his knuckles and grabs his phone to send a text to his editor that may or may not also happen to be his best friend so he could cut back on over exuberant editing fees. he doesn't read the message over, just fires out a text to nancy quickly before pocketing his phone.

he only realizes the typo once he gets a laughing emoji in return and cackles at what he actually sent.

"getting ready to write some smut on the cock!!!!!"

it doesn't take long to send a winky face before correcting himself to say " on the clock obviously", before pocketing his phone and opening the document where his novel is. just as eddie is about to start typing, a voice behind him makes him jump out of his skin.

"what was so funny?" steve asks, arm propped on the top of his flimsy cubicle wall, legs crossed over one another, smirk on his face.

eddie forces himself not to swoon. he takes in the way his white button up stretches across his chest, dress pants oh so snug over his thighs, hair pushed back in the way that only steve harrington could pull off. he may have only been at the office for a few months, but ever since he first saw him, steve very quickly became the only thing eddie could think about.

"i'm sure you wouldn't find it funny," he starts, tilting his laptop screen halfway shut so steve can't catch him doing his other job, his favorite job, while at work.

steve smirks again, his cheek lifting enough to crinkle his eye. "try me, munson."

with a dramatic push, eddie rolls in his wheely chair and stands up so he can keep his voice low. "i sent my editor a dirty text on accident."

if steve's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"editor, hmm? for what?" his voice is as low as eddie's and it makes the cubicle feel even smaller than it is. like everything in the world has zeroed in on their whispers to each other.

"i might be writing a book. well, technically i've already written a book. this is just the sequel."

steve's eyes flick from eddie to his laptop and then back once more. "is it anything i'd know?"

he cackles again, picturing steve reading his smutty fantasy novel, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to make any sense out of the haphazard world map eddie drew for the back page. but then again, he could easily picture steve in the world he made. he'd be a prince- no, scratch that, an elven prince- just like the one he's writing about in this one.

"i do read, you know. i'm not entirely up to date with everything but i do like books." steve says it like he's almost hurt and it makes eddie look back up at him, mellowing out his wide grin into a softer smile.

"oh, i wasn't doubting that. i just doubt you read elf porn in your free time."

whatever hurt was lacing through steve's face is gone, replaced with wide eyes and eyebrows to his hairline and a bright smile pulling at his cheeks.

"yeah," he says a little breathless, "yeah, definitely not the first thing i'd reach for."

eddie gives him a told-you-so head nod and brings a hand up to run through his hair, tracking steve's eyes as he follows the motion for a moment. having his eyes on him rushes through eddie like a wave crashing and he's halfway tempted to do it again if he didn't think it would look forced.

"well you probably don't know mine then."

as he turns to go back to his chair, he hears steve cough to get his attention back, arms crossed over his chest to make his shirt pull taut over his beautiful, gorgeous, annoyingly perfect biceps. "so what was the dirty text?"

"well, it was actually a typo," eddie starts, cocking his head to the side with a smirk as he pulls out his phone, "so an unintentional dirty text. but still funny, none the less. and i don't think i can say it out loud without getting hr called on my ass so-"

he holds up his phone so steve can see the brief conversation between him and nancy, watches his eyebrows shoot back up to his hairline, watches as his mouth drops open for a millisecond before giving eddie another goddamn smirk. steve leans back, drops his arms to put a hand on his hip, and looks eddie less than subtly up and down.

"so... do you want to?"

eddie can feel the moment his heart stutters in his chest. a combination of steve's general... steveness plus the implication of what the text said and his mind travels to a dirty, dirty, not meant for work place until he pieces it somewhat together and asks-

"...are you asking if i'm gay?"

steve huffs out a laugh and takes a step further into eddie's cubicle. there already isn't much room and with him coming in the tiniest bit closer, their toes are almost touching.

"sure," he says like it's the easiest thing to say on a thursday afternoon. "it can be a two-part question if you want."

a few things run through eddie's head all at the same time:

steve's close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off of the arm he now has resting on his desk, and he's really about to come out to a coworker which he normally leaves for at least 6 months into a new job, and that he thinks he's going to pass out if steve is actually asking what he thinks he's asking.

do you want to write smut while you're on my cock?

he doesn't know where he finds the courage, honestly. call it a slow thursday, call it a little extra motivation for his novel. eddie scoots closer and throws caution to the wind.

"then yes to both."

he's never seen steve's office. he's been to the top floors before when some higher up needed him to install a web browser on his new desktop so he has kind of an idea of what the private offices look like.

eddie didn't expect the first time that he got to see steve's office would be spread out, bent over his desk with his novel pulled up on his laptop while steve runs his hands over his ass.

"here's how this is going to work," steve whispers close to his ear while he lays against his back, snaking a hand up to undo the knot of eddie's messy tie, popping open a button on his dress shirt in the process. "you stop writing, i stop fucking you."

with a hum, eddie presses his hips back, up on his tiptoes with his off brand dress shoes pinching his feet tightly. "i think i can manage that."

"i'm not finished," he bites gently at eddie's ear lobe, returning his hands to palm over his ass cheeks. "everything i do to you, and i mean everything, needs to be written down. turn me into a character or something, i don't care, but i expect you to be thorough."

he doesn't mean to moan at the instructions, really he doesn't, but it's so easy to picture steve morphing into a character in his world. his mind races trying to figure out how exactly to write him into the scene that had already started, but with a snap of his fingers as the idea clicks, he writes out a quick line and looks at steve over his shoulder for approval.

"who's sylvar?" steve asks, pronunciation clunky on his tongue.

"sylvar is an elven prince, might as well make you him. besides, you both have an s name."

steve chuckles, his breath ruffling eddie's hair. "okay, fair. prince, huh?"

he doesn't have to look over his shoulder again to know that steve's smirking so he rolls his eyes and finishes the sentence, only breaking away to gasp as steve brings his hand between his thighs to spread them further apart.

"i'm gonna take a wild guess and say that elidyr is supposed to be you?"

eddie nods and pulls his tie off the rest of the way. "let's see, he's one of the prince's newest attendants, known for being a bit out of control, gets chastised for staring at the prince's ass in his khakis too much-"

"you're making that one up, huh?"

he tosses his tie to the side and brings a hand up to tangle in steve's hair, pulling his lips down to his neck and waiting for him to get the hint and start kissing. "steve, i'm making all of it up. that's the way writing a book goes."

"is that so?" he murmurs playfully against his neck, teeth pressing against the skin as he smiles, hands yanking on his hips to get eddie flush against his cock. "...i don't see you writing."

eddie huffs and shakes his head before writing out quickly how sylvar grabbed elidyr by the hips roughly to show him how excited he was. steve takes the typing as the go ahead and quickly undoes both of their pants before running his hands up eddie's now bare thighs.

he didn't really have any idea of how well he'd be able to hold out to steve's ministrations while having to write them out at the same time, but any confidence he had in himself leaves when steve's palm cups his cock through his briefs. eddie cants his hips forward and brings his hand back up to tangle once more in steve's hair.

and just like that, the touch is gone.

"oh, come on!" eddie whines and brings his hands back to the keyboard, typing in random filler words until suddenly he has no underwear and hands pulling his ass cheeks apart.

"gonna fucking take you apart... shit," steve whispers and eddie doesn't think he was supposed to hear it, but he writes it into the scene anyway.

there's a cool dribble of what must be lube on his hole and he fights against the shiver it sends up his spine. "you have lube in your office?"

"no, i have lube in my briefcase. big difference."

eddie doesn't really see how to the two are different, but he laughs to appease steve before getting cut short as a finger starts to enter him. he must whine, must jerk or do something wrong because it's leaving almost as soon as it had arrived.

"steve, i swear to god," eddie groans, head dropping down as he types without looking. poor nancy is going to have a hell of time reading and editing over this draft.

they both sigh when the finger presses into him once more and steve weaves his other hand into eddie's hair to pull him up and look at his screen. "there you go, just keep typing. write about how good it feels."

and shit. that's hotter than he expected it to be.

it goes well for all of a few minutes, eddie typing and steve reading over his shoulder, scissoring his fingers to get him nice and wet and open. they both somehow manage to keep their composure, filthy words being muttered out loud that then end up on the screen.

it's after steve gets him cock in him that it all goes down hill.

"oh fuck-" eddie moans as his leg gets hoisted up for a better angle. steve's grip on his hip is brutal, bound to be leaving bruises, as he pulls eddie back to meet him in the middle.

his chest is rubbing against the pleather desk cover, nipples catching on just the right side of painful when steve pushes his shirt up and out of the way. his dick is flopping against his thigh with every thrust, the lack of friction driving him insane.

he swears he only takes his hands away from the laptop for a second but then steve's pulling out quickly, dropping his leg and getting eddie off balance. he whines like he's throwing a temper tantrum before bringing his fingers back up to type more nonsense, gasping when steve slides back in like no time has passed.

"read it," he huffs next to his ear, "tell me how perfect you make fucking me sound."

"oh my god," eddie croaks, eyes rolling back as steve lets go of his hip once more to pull his head upright. "sylvar fucks wi-without abandon, hitting every right spot possible inside elidyr, the heat of his h-heavy cock punishing him making him mad with lust."

"good, yeah that's good. like when i fuck you hard?" steve grunts out before pistoning his hips even faster, eddie's moans bouncing off the bare office walls. "tell me more, keep going baby."

"the grip he uses to hold onto elidyr's hair is the only thing keeping him upright. this is all he could want, tending to the prince's every desire, being whatever the prince wants him to be." eddie expects it when the fingers in his hair curl even tighter, his back bowing against the desk with the pressure, but he still keens loudly at the pull.

steve chuckles roughly, like he's barely holding on himself, hips stuttering before evening out. "is that what you want?"

"wha-" eddie murmurs, not trusting his voice much more than that, his brain turning into mush. "is what what i want?"

"want to tend to my desires, want to be for me to use however i please?"

and the thing is, realistically, eddie knows this whole thing is weird, blending his two worlds together in a way he's never done before, but it doesn't stop him from forgoing the rules and bringing a hand down to work over his cock. "god, don't stop. please, please, please..."

steve must be tired of the game, too, because he doesn't even attempt to quit what they're doing to punish eddie as he stops writing. he barely has time to appreciate that the game is finally over because the hand in his hair slides around to rest gently around eddie's throat, pulling him up so his back is to steve's chest, every thrust punching out another gasping breath.

"answer the question," he says, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips. "gonna let me use you how i want?"

eddie has died and gone to heaven and the cause of death is a mixture of steve's tongue, hands, and cock. his mind wanders to what else they could do together, what else he'd let steve do, what else he wants steve to do. he sends up a quick thank you to whoever is listening that he saw the job posting for this company so he could be here in this moment with a possible sex god in his midst.

the hand that he had braced on the desk for support makes its way up to cover steve's on his throat, a barely there pressure combined with his quick fingers on his cock that sends him over the edge.

he breathes out a "yes" as he shoots come across the stop of steve's desk and see stars dancing in his eyes. steve fucks him through it, whispers filth of what he wants to do to eddie right into his ear, and when he comes back to himself, he digs his nails in the top of steve's hand.

"want it, want you, however you want me-" he chokes out.

and when steve finally comes inside of him, eddie makes sure he bends back down with his cock still pounding into him to write some line about how nice elidyr thinks it feels to filled up from someone who probably shouldn't be giving him the time of day. he tries not to find parallels as steve kisses up the back of his neck as he rocks his hips for the final time.

eddie's bare ass is in a mixture of their come as they maneuver him around to let him sit up and wrap his legs around steve's hips, pulling their spent cocks together while they lazily make out. steve's hands dance softly over his bare thighs, eddie threads his fingers through steve's hair.

"how does it end?" steve whispers against his lips.

"i don't know yet," eddie says truthfully, his mind wandering as kisses start to trail down his jawline. "how do you want it to end?"

"i don't suppose they have bars in this elf world, do they? one where they can go on an actual date to before going back to the palace or whatever to ravage each other?"

eddie grins, tipping his head back to catch steve's lips one more time in a slow kiss. "i can arrange for them to go to the tavern. i think they'd both like that."

the next morning, slightly hungover and draped over each other in steve's way too large bed, eddie ignores a text from nancy asking why the names change halfway through the draft and wondering who the fuck steve is. eddie silences his phone and goes back to sleep, so glad that he didn't double check his first message yesterday for typos.

[cloversnstrawberries]

Can you write Vox x reader relationship Headcannons? Totally fine if you can’t. Have a nice day! <3

yandere!vox x gn!reader general headcanons ! !

masterlist !

warnings; possessiveness, very slight violence, Vox being a very questionable guy (but we love him for it), overprotectiveness, arguing, very much implied that Vox hired some people to scare Reader into agreeing with him, manipulation, + anymore i may have forgotten!

additional notes: hello!! i'm not sure if you meant platonic or romantic relationship (i need directness or my ASD will cause me to short circuit), but i think you meant romantic. so i'm going with that!! if you meant platonic, please let me know and i'll make another post for it!! :] for some reason i focused really hard on the fact that Vox is from the 50s in the first HCs, but that's not all this is about, prommy!!

Vox died at 50 in the 1950s, and I feel like no matter how much he tries to modernize himself; the fact he lived and died in the early to mid 20th century always comes back to bite him in the ass (in one way or another).

He'll call you things like babes, baby, dollface, sweetcheeks, so on and so forth. You've caught him on more than one occasion referring to your relationship as "going steady". You never correct him on it-- or mention it, because you know that if he becomes aware of it, then he'll make an effort to stop it.

You find it cute, you really do. You also find it cute how, if at any point you so much as seem to be even just a teensy weensy bit cold, then boom. His jacket is over your shoulders, no need to thank to him. Just doing his job.

Though, along with the title of 'going steady' usually came the expectation of the girl wearing the man's class or family ring to show they were together, and aiming for marriage. No matter what your gender is, he'll give you his class ring (that he somehow sourced from his life, don't worry about it) because he knows that you probably don't have a ring to give him.

The problem comes when, just once-- just once was all it took for him to catch you without the ring on; in all honesty, you were probably doing something that would risk damaging or messing with the ring. Washing dishes, cleaning, or maybe it just got in your way somehow, someway.

Regardless of the reason, Vox was livid. He couldn't explain why, really. In he was a more rational man, then he would've stopped to think. To look at what you were doing and connect the dots-- that you hadn't meant any harm by it,

Too bad he isn't a rational man, not one bit. You learned that much when he stormed forward, and without a word he swiped up the ring from whatever surface you'd placed it on.

Halfway through asking what was wrong as he curled his fist around the piece of jewelry-- thinking that he may destroy it (really, you had no idea. Your best guess wasn't that good of one, but it's all you had in the moment),

And for a split second you began to believe that reason, as deep blue light emanated from his hand. You didn't know what he was doing, but when he opening his hand with his palm facing up--

The ring was just fine, it didn't seem to have changed at all. You were... confused to say the least-- unable to get a word in edgewise as Vox grabbed you by your wrist.

He wrestled your hand up, grabbed your ring finger and--

As soon as he shoved the ring back on, you realized something was very wrong. There was a thrum of power in it, before you feel like tiny pins and needles were descending, burrowing into your flesh and bone.

When Vox realized what he did, he was inconsolable at first, leaving you to have to comfort him for his own actions.

That was one of your first encounter with his more possessive side, though you hadn't put a name to it just yet.

Sure, you knew he had some jealousy issues; always needing to have an arm around your waist, or your shoulder, or keeping you close while out in public. You thought maybe he was just a little protective, having lived in hell for so long had conditioned him to be so.

But after the ring incident, as you'd come to know it as, Vox was being a lot more open with his less than ideal behaviors. He couldn't let you out of his sight for very long-- it ended up landing you a "job" at his studio, where you didn't have much of a job at all.

He just wanted an excuse to have you close at all times, within sight as much as possible. It was a little insulting. You were an adult, a full grown person that didn't need to have Vox constantly monitoring you.

Vox always said how dangerous it was for you, but you never believed him. He said people would be after you because they'll see you as his weakness, as a surefire way to get to him.

Eventually, it escalated to an argument. You called him paranoid, he called you naive. You called him too stubborn for his own good, and he said you were just the same.

That was one of you two's first major fights, resulting in you grabbing your shoes, coat, and heading out the door. You left your phone, and demanded that Vox doesn't follow you.

You walked around for a few hours, nobody approaching you the whole time. Some even crossing the street to avoid getting in your way, and you felt like your point was more than proven.

When you got back home, Vox went to bombard with questions, pulling your head every which way as he checked you for-- well, you didn't know. Maybe wounds? Maybe he was expecting a gash in your head or something.

You swatted his hand away, and asked "how long was I gone?", it was a little... unsettling how quickly he responded with the exact time, down to the minute. You'd been gone for 2 hours and 17 minutes, and Vox says he was worried sick.

"You don't have to be." You said confidently, going back to the door and taking off your shoes and coat, placing them in the shoerack and on the coatrack respectively. "Within that 2 hours and 17 minutes, I found that people actively avoid me, probably because they know I'm with you."

You turned around-- seeing Vox so... well, you don't know. Downtrodden, maybe; well, it made your gaze and voice soften a little. You stepped forward, and gently grabbed the sides of Vox's head, tilting his head so he'd have to look at you head-on.

"Look. I'm sorry I yelled at you, and called you paranoid; but you really don't have to be so worried. I'm fine." A spark ran across Vox's antennae as he mumbled, and you laughed, asking him to speak up. He didn't, just pulled you into a hug instead.

You stayed like that for a while, until you went to bed together. You thought that'd be the end of it, and in a way, it was.

Until you got attacked.

It was so out of the blue that you couldn't question it, you didn't question how they didn't rough you up too bad. Didn't question how all they did was pull you in an alleyway and box you in, brandishing a closed siwtchblade.

If you examined it any further, you'd realize just how fishy it was-- but you didn't. You were shaken up, ran past them and right on back home, where Vox was sitting on the couch, editing some random script.

He was happy to be your shoulder to cry on, rubbing comforting circles into your back as he hushed you, as he softly said "Look, I don't want to sound mean, but didn't I tell you this would happen?", and you only cried harder at that.

With the way your face was pressed to his chest, you couldn't see how he was smirking. How smug he looked as he comforted you in a saccharine sweet tone, almost too sweet to be real.