#so my grip has to be kinda unrelenting

[goldenleafly]

what if i’m crazy and evil and i don’t know. what if there’s something wrong with me. the guy i’m dating uses tumblr so now i use tumblr. the guy i’m dating drinks and does drugs but i still don’t do those things yet

[lordofthesillystraws]

godddd i wanna like. interact with moots but im so fucking bad at it. hello people who consistently like my posts and generally seem to enjoy my stuff you make my day every time i see you in my notifs. thank you!! /gen

have this gif i made from my fave episode :3

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Hi just popping in to say I love your art and I have your blog send me notifs when you post bc i love it very much. I dont know jack shit about nauruto but that doesnt matter

Also good luck with your housing stuff im also trying my best with moving in a college town rn and it SUCKS

I'm glad I like my stuff 😭 I've drawn so many things for so many different properties, I wonder about the people who stick around as I bounce from one thing to another haha. Good luck to u as well! Fuck the stress of moving for real 🫠

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Had a thought: reader has a hand-print bruise on their arm — like they stumbled and were caught or pulled out of the way of a curse or smth and the helper accidentally left a bruise when they grabbed reader. Jjk men see it b4 reader can / thinks to tell them so they just see a clearly-handprint bruise with zero context 🙃

Hand Print

Tags: Drabble, Fluff, JJK men getting angry, JJK men getting protective 🫦, smut (Suguru’s, Choso’s, and kinda Sukuna’s), dark content on Mahito’s, mdni

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, Mahito

SATORU

You had forgotten it even happened. Silly, clumsy you — nearly falling while exiting the subway onto the station platform. Thankfully, that good samaritan was right behind you.

His hand clasped onto your upper arm tightly as he pulled you back up to your feet to find your balance. You didn’t even give it much thought-! You thanked him and went on about your day.

Satoru’s six eyes can immediately spot the bruise before you’ve even taken off your coat after getting home.

“Baby —“ Satoru’s voice was bone chilling when he spoke. He’s normally got such a happy tone, but when he uses that baritone that comes out during fights, you’re frozen out of fear.

“Wha..?” You weren’t even able to get your words out before Satoru has your arm up in the air. His eyes wandering over the bruise that was wrapped around your upper arm.

“Who the fuck touched you?” His heart is slamming into his ribcage. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knew enough. You were hurt, and he wasn’t there to protect you.

He wishes he could extend his infinity out to you at all times, but even he has limits unfortunately.

“Satoru- My arm-“ You whine while your lofty boyfriend with his abnormally long limbs is nearly holding you up by your wrist. You looked pitiful — dangling from his grip.

“Who.” He demands again, and those stormy blue eyes meet yours. His mind is racing — thinking of who he’s going to kill. Will he snuff them out like a cigarette with his infinity? Or maybe he blow a whole in them with hollow purple. Maybe he could figure out a new technique to rip them in half on an atomic level.

“It was an accident!” You cry as you try to pull your arm aways from his unrelenting grip. “I was about to fall off the subway, and this guy grabbed me so I didn’t fall and break my neck.”

Satoru’s face stays cold, and his eyes look back at the obvious handprint bruise on your arm. Judging by the way it’s awkwardly positioned, he knows you’re telling the truth.

“Oh! Well baby, why didn’t you just say that?” Your entirely too happy boyfriend is immediately back with a coy grin as if he wasn’t just fantasizing about murder. “You got to be more careful when getting off the subway, silly goose.” His finger lightly thump you on the forehead.

SUGURU

You’ve always been so clumsy your entire life: tripping over your own feet, bumping into the corners of tables and walls, accidentally stubbing your toe, the list goes on…

You were racing down the broken escalator at the mall to try to get to your favorite store before it closed for the day. You were just so focused on getting to your destination that you weren’t paying attention to ahead of you.

You barrel straight into this guy who miraculously grabs onto you and the railing before both of you take a nasty fall. The two of you pant in each other’s arms for just a moment before you’re backing away — professing your deepest apologies for not being more careful. The guy just awkwardly smiles and waves you on, knowing you were probably trying to get to a specific store.

You didn’t even think about the little incident afterwards. You have so many “near misses” in a day that you just completely black them out.

Suguru’s lips are clasped to your neck, giving you sloppy kisses right on the sweet spot of your neck.

“Fuuuck, pretty girl… can never get tired of this pussy.” He groans softly into your ear. Both of you are so lost in each other, feeling your essences mix with each time his massive cock slips into your clammy entrance. You’re practically sucking him in at this point — greedyyy.

“Sugu- Ah~!” You’re breathy as your hand reaches up to clasp the pillow behind you. The way your pussy flutters around him as you’re nth orgasm is about to take over has him nearly seeing stars.

Nearly.

His eyes normally focus on you while he fucks you until you’re nothing more than a puddle in his arms, but right now, that damn bruise has his attention.

“What fucking monkey touched you?” He asks in a low growl before he’s pinning both your arms above your head. He slips his cock out of you — eliciting a frustrated whine from edging you.

His eyes are too busy scoping out the rest of your body. How did he miss the fresh bruise that was so blatantly displayed on your arm.

“Sugu..” You whine — still mindless and cockdrunk. Your thighs part as you try to seduce him back between your legs.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “I need my girlfriend right now — not my slut. Who touched you?”

“What are you talkin’ about?” You lazily whine as you look over towards your arm, and you think for a moment of how the bruise must’ve gotten there..

“Which fucking monkey touched you?” He grits again. His temper is only building. How were you unable to remember who touched you?

“Hmm.. oh! I was running down those broken escalators at the mall, and I nearly sent me and this guy down the entire flight. Thankfully, he was able to grab us both.” You’re finally able to recount the memory to Geto.

Your poor stressed boyfriend pinches the bridge of his nose. He instantly knows that you’re telling the truth because this is just so damn like you.

“What have I told you about being aware of your surroundings? Now you’re going to make me have to punish you.”

Great! Now you’re not getting to finish at all tonight! :(

NANAMI

It was another normal Sunday evening in your home. The lights were turned down low, and the curtains were drawn so the golden hour sun could pool into the kitchen and dining room. You and Ken were listening to your playlist while cooking dinner together.

Cooking dinner with Nanami wasn’t like some normal, ordinary task. Cooking with him was almost as intimate as having sex with him — the way his hands so carefully massaged into your hips. Your back was pressed flush against his toned chest, and his chin was either resting on yours or resting on your shoulder.

He wasn’t dead weight either. Nanami could cook his ass off. You were the one who needed the extra help, so right now, Nanami was guiding your hands on how to perfectly and evenly chop zucchini.

His eyes grazed over your hands, taking in your form to see if he needed to correct you in any way. That’s when he saw the bruise peaking out from underneath your shirt sleeve.

Nanami’s hand is quick, and he swiftly disarms you so you don’t accidentally cut yourself before he tugs your arm sleeve. His usually calm face slowly twisted into a scowl.

“Who did that to you?” He asks lowly with an intimidating glare. Of course, he’s not mad at you, but he is mad that someone touched his wife.

“What…?” You ask with a small pout, not knowing what he was talking about in the slightest. You had clearly forgotten about that nice stranger who pulled you back onto the sidewalk when a car decided to ignore the pedestrian walking symbol. They had saved your life.

“The name of the person who grabbed you.” Nanami demands as he gestures to your marked up wrist. “Now.”

“I- wait, Ken… That’s not what it looks like…” You try to explain with a small frown.

“Then please, do tell me what it is before I go find them for myself.”

When you explained to him that the person who grabbed you actually saved you from severe injury, Nanami let out a sigh — partially of relief and partially of stress.

He brings your wrist up to his mouth before he places light kisses around the bruise. “You have to be more careful, darling… I need you here with me.”

CHOSO

Yuji was the one to grab you harshly and pull you back, creating that nasty bruise on your arm. He really didn’t mean to grab you so hard!! He just forgets his superhuman strength sometimes.

You were about to run into someone while at the school. Yuji was just trying to be a good brother-in-law and protect you. He was nearly in tears when he saw the huge handprint on your arm.

“Please don’t tell Choso. He’ll kill me if he finds out! Please! Say you swear!” He pleads as he clasps his hands together and grovels at your feet.

You tried reassuring him that his brother wasn’t going to kill him, but Yuji wouldn’t rest until you promised not to tell.

“Hi baby.” Choso greets you as usual, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple as he casually strolls towards the bathroom to shower. He’s glistening with sweat from training with Yuki and Todo all day.

“Mm! Wait for me!” You call out, trailing behind him like a horny dog (it’s okay girl me too). Choso happily waits for you in the shower. His dark hair comes down to his shoulders as he lets his hair down and steps into the hot water, immediately rinsing his body of the filth and grime.

“Missed you, baby.” He hums as he slowly corners you against the shower wall. His hand gently cups your chin to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

You softly giggle as you feel something already poking at your leg. “So sensitive~” You tease as you go to wrap your hand around his length.

Choso quickly grabs your arm, going to pin it above your head. He wanted to touch you first. You’re always taking care of him. He wanted to return the favor.

When you softly hiss in response due to him pressing on your bruise, he freezes. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No- no, you did nothing.” You try to reassure him with a wave of your hands. Your bruise catches his eye.

“Did I- Did I do that?” He immediately asks as he takes your arm and cradles it gently into his oversized hands. His face slowly shifts to a guilty pout.

Your eyes widen as you realize your poor boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of human bruising. He truly thinks he grabbed you so hard that your skin immediately started to bruise.

“No, nonono, baby, you didn’t do that. ‘s okay.” You go to reassure him, gently holding your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb over the small tattoos under his eyes.

“Then… who did?” His voice shifts to a less panicked one, and his gaze hardens slightly.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize just how quickly he can turn on that more dominant, powerful side of him. “Uh.. well.. it was an accident.. We shouldn’t go on a witch hunt or anything like that…”

“Right. Who grabbed you so hard that they left a mark on you?” He doesn’t relent, towering over you with such an unamused gaze. His eyes are angry while staring at you.

“You have to promise me you won’t hurt him, Cho. It was really an accident. He was trying to save me.”

Choso stays quiet. He’s learned not to make promises that he can’t keep, and all of his thoughts are about how he was going to hurt this mysterious guy who laid a hand on you.

“Choso… It was Yuji. He was trying to keep me from running into somebody! He didn’t mean to hurt me-“

Your boyfriend’s face shifts to one of surprise. He didn’t expect Yuji to be the culprit of the bruise on your arm. His eyes flick over to the bruise, and he lets out a hefty sigh.

“Sometimes… older brothers have to be the one to teach hard lessons…”

“Choso, it was an accident.”

TOJI

“Mmm.. shit…” Toji hums before he goes in for another bite. You watch him with a playful gaze. He always gets so hungry after a completed hit, and when the job takes more than one day, he misses your cooking almost as much as he misses you.

“Toji, slow down. No one’s going to take your food from you.” You gently chide with a laugh. Little three-year-old Megumi is in his high chair, eating like an animal because he’s mimicking daddy.

You’re happy that your husband appreciates your cooking because you did nearly die while trying to get the ingredients to make this stupid dinner.

You were in the parking lot of the grocery store with Megumi in your arms, and while walking towards the store’s entrance, a car nearly backed over you and the small child in your arms.

Thankfully, a stranger was behind you, and he was fast enough to yank you and Megumi back away from the car. It was honestly a miracle that you and Megumi made it completely unscathed.

Well, almost unscathed. You did have a pretty nasty bruise on your hip where the stranger grabbed you with such strength.

“Look at what kind of table manners you’re teaching your son.” You continue on while wiping Megumi’s face clean with a baby wipe. The small child whines and tries to break free from your grasp.

“Can’t help it, doll. Your cooking’s too good.” Toji finally lifts his head up from his plate, and with almost lazer focus, he immediately notices the bruise on your hip due to your shirt hiking up a bit since you’re bent over dealing with Megumi.

“What the fuck happened?” He immediately asks, gesturing his fork towards the bruise on your hip. “Did some fuck touch you?”

You look at him with a hint of confusion for a second, but as soon as you look down and see the bruise, you immediately remember the event that transpired earlier today.

“I-“

You don’t even get the next word out before Toji’s on you, lifting your shirt up to see the perfectly drawn out handprint bruised into your pretty skin. The scar on his lips twitch in frustration, and your heart begins to stutter — understanding exactly what it looks like.

“Toji-“

“What the fuck happened?” His voice is a low grumble as he eyes you closely. He’s itching to hear a name — someone to kill for touching you like that. Only he gets to touch you there.

Your words are choked up in your throat, misunderstanding Toji’s possessiveness for anger towards you. You can’t even think of what to say before your son speaks up for you.

“Mama and I saved by a man!” Megumi shouts, looking up at his dad, even your toddler understood the gravity of the situation.

“Saved?” Toji questions as he shifts his gaze over to Megumi with a raised eyebrow — still angry but albeit a little amused.

“Yeah! Car almost hit mama and me! The man grabbed us to save us.” Your toddler explains it as if it’s a fond memory for him.

Your eyes meet Toji’s, and you nod your head slightly, agreeing with your son. “I was going into the market, and a car nearly backed over Megumi and I. The guy grabbed us up before it completely hit us.”

Toji takes a big breath, and his large palm finds the back of your head, guiding you to lie on his chest for moment. He just needs to he close to you after the gymnastics his brain just did.

“Christ, mama. Don’t worry me like that.” He mumbles lowly before pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

“Daddy, ew! Gross!”

SUKUNA

It was time for nightly worship for you and the other concubines, except here recently, it’s only been you attending nightly worship. The concubines had been dropping like flies recently… like actually dropping dead.

Why would Sukuna need concubines when you were already his most devout follower? Not to mention, he immediately made up his mind once he felt your precious cunt for the first time — so fucking tight and wet, begging to be bred by him — he didn’t need anyone else. You were the solution to all of his problems. Hell, he might even give you his heir one day.

He was sat in his throne with a mere red and black silk robe covering his monstrous body. One of his hands was occupied with a chalice of… well, you don’t really want to know what he was sipping on.

His other oversized hand was tenderly resting on your head. His palm was as big as your head, covering the crown completely, while you had your chin propped up on his thigh — on your knees in front of him. This was his favorite sight. He could really appreciate your beauty when the other concubines weren’t making so much racket. It was the right decision to have them disposed of.

You’re so pliant with your head in his lap. He finds it amusing how comfortable you look before him — as if he isn’t the literal incarnate of evil. He almost finds you adorable like a small kitten.

“What are you thinking about, woman?” He asks, surprisingly breaking the silence between you two. He’s the type of man to value the quiet, and he hates small talk, but he can’t help but want to hear your voice.

“Hm?” You hum lazily, being broken out of your daydream. Your eyes meet his as you look up at him. “I’m just thinking about bedtime… It’s been an eventful day.” You answer softly before a yawn escapes you, earning a small snicker from Sukuna.

“You shall retire in my chambers tonight. Go dispose of your clothes and slip between the sheets. I’ll be in there in just a moment.” He pats your head, signaling you may get up now.

Scurrying off to Sukuna’s chambers, the King of Curses narrows his eyes. He could’ve swore he just saw a bruise on you, and it’s definitely not one that he left…

Once he was inside his chambers, his eyes rested upon your small, frail body. You looked so cute, curled up in his massive bed. He slips his robe off, revealing his sculpted body. He looks like more than a king. He’s no less than a god.

Slipping between the sheets so he can finally feel your flesh against his, Sukuna can’t help but check. One of his hands captures your arm, and he looks at it. A deep scowl forms on his face as he sees the mark of another on you.

“What fool dared to touch you?” He demands, blood pressure already rising.

“What-?” You ask a bit confused, but you’re quickly reminded when Sukuna presses down on the bruise, making it worse. He’s sick in the head, thinking that if he can’t remove the bruise from you, he’ll just make his own mark right on top of it-

“Ow-! Kuna-!” You whine as his thumb presses down firmer. “Why are you- oww! please! I’m sorry, my lord! The gardener was just trying to save me from tripping and falling-“

His hand releases. “The gardener, huh?” He muses before making a few hand symbols. You’ll never see that gardener again. He should’ve known better than you touch you. You watch Sukuna with a slightly fearful look, and Sukuna feels his stomach twist with detest.

“Don’t look at me like that. It displeases me.” He frowns when he notes your fear does not simply vanish. Releasing a tense breath, he carefully brings your arm up to his mouth, and he presses a gentle kiss to the darkening bruise on your arm. “I had to make my own mark. I forget how fragile you mortals are… I… apologize.”

MAHITO

His eyes were wide and filled with utter rage as he saw the bruise displayed on your arm. He didn’t know how to cope with these new… emotions. Mahito didn’t believe he could feel a thing such as jealousy until you came around, his pretty pet. you just didn’t know it yet.

His foot was tapping violently against the ground as he tried to think of a way to bring it up casually in front of the others. He didn’t need Kenjaku on his case again for “falling for you”… whatever that fucking meant.

“Did you have a run in with the sorcerers, pet?” He finally asks as you and Jogo are playing Mahjong.

You look down at your arm at the blue and purple bruise that was welping up on your skin, and you nod your head at Mahito’s question.

“One of them got me good… He barely touched me though, so it caught me off guard.” You finally respond, and Mahito feels his very soul light on fire. Another man dared to touch you? You? His pet?? Even worse, it was a sorcerer.

“Did you kill him?” Mahito asks as he has to place his hands underneath his thighs to keep from reaching out to grab you up. Last time he did that, Kenjaku threatened to swallow him up like an uzumaki, but he can’t help it. He constantly feels an overwhelming urge to just touch you. If he could, he’d merge your soul with his so you’d be bound to him for life.

“No… he got away before I could finish the job.” You pout as you place your next tile down on the playing board.

“What did he look like?” Mahito’s heart starts to race. The thought of killing the guy who dared to touch you is intoxicating. He wants to hear the man cry and beg for mercy. He wants to coat himself in the man’s blood then fuck you until you cry.

“Oh, um, he had pink fluffy hair, and a jujutsu tech uniform on with red sneakers.”

“You ran into Sukuna’s vessel, Yuji Itadori???” Kenjaku perks up from the newspaper he was reading, and he immediately stomps over to you, needing more information.

“Yuji Itadori…. I’ll kill him.” Mahito mumbles to himself before breaking out in a small laugh. The thought of it— it’s so euphoric.

[fairene]

Fic idea!! maybe some sick lando? like taking cares of him, kinda overlapping with Austrian Grand Prix?

i love your writing; am always rereading it and still have the same effect as reading the first time :))

sweet love / ln4

anon!!! i love this idea.

lando norris x f!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

a/n ⋯ felt the most grueling muse for this as lando has been sick. needed to spill out my love for this man. he needs all the support he can get for the race tomorrow! took a break from writing beneath the moonlight, too, just for a brief time. i wrote this whole thing at work haha. as usual, reader's looks are left up for interpretation, and whatever outfit you choose. hope you all enjoy, cheers!

warnings ⋯ no smut, kissing, anxiety.

wc ⋯ 2.3k (unedited.)

this weekend, you knew, was going to be difficult. within the past few days from barcelona’s grand prix, lando had come down with something. he woke that morning beside you, snoring louder than usual, with a hoarse voice and a congested nose. it startled you upon waking, thinking that it would be much worse than you suspected. 

ultimately, you believed it was.

when you were getting ready this morning, taming your hair and throwing on a relaxed fit for the sprint race, you were watching him. you watched him from the ensuite, hunched over the side of the bed with his head in his hands. he sniffled and blew his nose relentlessly. 

your shoulder leaned against the bathroom’s door frame, his hoodie covering your figure completely. with arms wrapping around your body, your head lolled to the wooden plaster. “lan,” your voice came soft, rugged with the toils of sleep. 

he turned to face you, slinging his legs on the end of the bed. he replied with a small ‘hmm?’ and you felt your heart wrench. 

he shouldn’t race today. he shouldn’t. but you knew he had to. this wasn’t a sport where you could simply take days off, but looking at lando in his disheveled state had you overcome with worry. 

you let out a sigh when you approached him, running a hand over his shoulder. he relaxed into your touch, needing it now more than ever on this cloudy morning. you shuffled your way between his thighs, settling above him. you captured his face between both your hands, angling him to look up at you.

what you were met with was a sea of despair and disappointment. his eyes were bruised, bloodsohot, weak. but your lando wasn’t a weakling. this was an obstacle for him to overcome, and you’d help him in any way that he needed. 

 “don’t,” he said, attempting to shake off your grip. but you remained strong and firm, unrelenting to his disapproval. “don’t want to get you sick.” 

you scoffed. “you think i care?”

“you should.”

you shook your head. with both of your thumbs you swirled circles across his scruff of a stubble. “i care about you.”

he let his weight fall limp against your body. his entire chest leaning against your abdomen, head nuzzling just beneath your breasts. you combed through his curled, mahogany hair, soothing him the best you could before you decided to make him breakfast. 

he groaned into you, letting you know of his adequate discomfort, and sniffled a few more times. you finally gained the strength to to lift his head, curling a hand around the back of his neck, the other beneath his chin. his stubble had grown long and itched at your fingertips, but the sensation was more than welcome. 

your eyes were connected with one another again. he blinked slowly, his pupils blowing wide. you looked angelic looming above him, stroking the rough skin of his face. he’d never felt so much ease as he had before beneath your hands. your wondrous, careful hands. he had so much love for you, and it only grew tenfold when he saw how worried you were. worried that his sickness evolved to an ailment of his performance. he decided then that he would try his hardest for you. 

“i love you.” he whispered, turning his head to the side to kiss the open palm of your hand. he let his mouth wander up your wrist, kissing the vital veins that ran beneath your skin. your heart was thummering at a stable pace, calming him much further from his rampant anxieties for the upcoming sprint race. 

you knew he meant his words with his entire heart, and the universe combined. you were awed by his courage to want to race today–not that he had much of a choice– but you knew that he would perform to his utmost capabilities. you were proud of him, though the race wasn’t starting for a few more hours. 

“and i love you, baby,” you breathed, sucking in a tight breath when he kept kissing up the length of your arm. his lips were tender, caring, a way that he expressed just how much he meant to you. “come on, i’ll make you some soup.” 

he had a spur of energy at those words and didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet. he stood a bit taller than you, and planted a kiss on your forehead. his mouth lingered at your hairline, his nose brushing through the strands of your hair. you savored this moment. hands coming to his chest, you gripped at the fabric of his shirt. 

“you’ll be okay.” you said the words not only to consolidate him, but to soothe yourself. he hummed a soft sound of approval, music to your ears, and kissed your forehead once again. 

“get dressed. your soup’ll be done soon.” 

he sighed a soft thank you when you detach yourself from his grasp. you made your way to the small kitchen, and began to work with the ingredients you had on hand. lucky for you, you had ordered an instacart order for prepping dinner. you had everything that you wanted and more, and couldn’t be more thankful that you had prepared. you had a feeling that with his illness, the only thing that could make him feel better was a warm cup of soup. 

into the pot went the essentials. stock, protein, and over the burner it was lit. it wasn’t until another hour that the soup was ready to eat, but you had gotten to work hastefully. 

lando emerged from your shared bedroom and immediately aimed for you. his arms wrapped around from behind you, riding up the expanse of your body, gripping at his most favorite parts of you. his hands were tight as they held on, desperate to feel you, and you leaned into him as you stirred the goodies in the pot. 

“smells delicious.” he commented, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. you smiled, angling your head to kiss his cheek. 

in only just a few minutes you had plated the soup for him in a cup from the cupboard. he was eager, but couldn’t find himself to sit down. he was latched on behind you the entire time, littering tender kisses down the column of your throat. you noticed that he became touchy, needy, when he was sick. not that you were complaining, just about ready to give him the whole world if he asked. 

“come on, lan,” you urged him, placing the bowl at the table for him with a spoon and napkin. “gotta eat. we’re leaving soon.” you had checked the time an he only had a half hour to eat before the car would be here. 

his head buried into your shoulder. his words muffled against your sweatshirt–his– “don’t wanna.” if you heart could shatter even more, it split into pieces. you knew he was struggling, and he would only share these disparities with you. 

your hand came to hold the side of his face. you squeezed his cheek. “i know.” 

he finally sat down, tucking himself against the table, and began to eat. he was in heaven, truly, with how your soup tasted. it brought back nostalgic memories for him when he was a boy, and it could only be described as euphoria. a feeling or state of intense happiness.

he made a sound in the back of his throat, guzzling the soup with earnesty. “fuckin’ good, baby, thank you.” 

you smiled, coming to rub your hand along his back. he was in his mclaren kit, the papaya color shimmering beneath the kitchen lighting. 

it didn’t take him much longer to finish. you had filled his water bottle for him, full of icecubes, to soothe his burning throat. you even gave him some lozenges to pocket. he washed his dish and the pair of you moved in comfortable silence. your eyes never left him, as if you were waiting for him to change his mind to race today.

but he didn’t. and you could only hold his hand tight when you left the hotel room, the door shutting quietly behind you. 

you arrived at the track and were met with the onslaught of paparazzi. lando clung to you closer than usual, hiding his face from the shutters of photographs. instead, you took the heat, and even talked to the paparazzi that wished to speak with you. 

you took up the majority of the media for the morning walk to mclaren hospitality. with a plastered smile and good manners, you took all the selfies you needed. you were happy to do it, but your mind wandered elsewhere. lando loomed quietly, eerily taught, and it worried you even more. he hadn’t said a word except for a few pleasant hellos. 

arriving through the pitlane, you joined with alexandra. she was bubbling with happiness, a ray of sunshine, and she cleared the dark clouds of worry from your shoulders.

“how’s he feeling?” she asked after giving you a greeting of dual cheek kisses. you crossed your arms with a shrug, mclaren hat atop your head to hide your woes. 

“not well.” 

she let out a soft sight, offering you a brief reprieve. “well, i’m here for you and him. anything.” you thanked her sincerely, looking around for your british driver. he was waiting for you, standing in conversation with will, his engineer, and his brows uplifted. it was a desperate attempt for him to urge you over without his words. 

you responded quickly, bidding alexandra a quick goodbye with a hug, and moseyed over to your boyfriend. you tucked an arm around his waist and he topped your cap with a kiss. you could feel the pressure of his lips, hot and clamoring, and squeezed his waist. 

in the heart of the hospitality, lando was still hovering behind you. he’d been needed for press, but he denied as much as he could. 

you were standing by the coffee station, prepping a cup of tea for him. the water boiled as he scrolled on his phone, sniffling as quietly as he could with an occasional cough. 

prepared to his liking you snapped the plastic top on. you swirled it a bit with a wooden stick and handed it to him. he glanced at you, unexpectant of the treatment, and he smiled for the first time that day. 

“you’re an angel, you know that?” you laughed softly. it seemed like one of the most quiet moments you could muster for the days activities. 

“go do your press. i’ll be here when you come back.” 

he leaned down to kiss your cheek. you pulled his chin back between your fingers and kissed him fully. your lips on his, it was a kindhearted gesture, one that filled him full of comfort, and washed away the squall of his anxiety falling away. he tasted of the soup you made him, and smelled of his cologne that you loved so much. 

his forehead leaned against yours. his nose brushing your own. he took a deep breath in and nodded. you did, too, encouraging him further. 

he left your side with an “i love you,” and you didn’t see him for another hour. 

he came back in his fireguard, prepared to hop in his car for the race. you met up with him, fixing his collar and brushing off the excess rubber from the car. you could feel his beating heart beneath your fingers, your bottom lip catching beneath your teeth. he saw it then, just how anxious you were. 

“i’ll be okay.” 

the words meant a great deal to you, but it did little in the grand scheme of your concern. you nodded your head. 

“you’ll be okay.” you agreed. though you couldn’t help but think of the worst things that could happen, and the guilt that you would carry. “tonight we’ll watch a movie, yeah? more soup when we’re back, too.” your fingers wrapped around his neck. 

he smiled again, cheeky and toothy. you loved him so much, and he you. “you’ve got it all planned, don’t you?” 

you knew he was making an attempt to lighten the mood. you allowed it, the sun shining on your darkness. 

“something for you to look forward to out there.” you offered in return. he took a final deep breath in, and you took an inhale. you wanted to take his exhaustion from him. you’d take it all. 

you reached your lips to kiss the scar across his nose. then, to his lips. he leaned into you, deepening the connection. your hand came to cup the back of his neck. you were lost in one another for the moment, and that was okay. it was tribulating to see him go out there, but you’d be cheering him on. you’d always cheer for him. your man, your man. 

“ice cream, too?” he asked against your mouth. you chuckled.

“of course. anything that helps.” 

he kissed you again. teeth clashing with yours, tongue daring to swirl against yours. “this helps.” he promised, hand against your back pulling you closer. but you heard the bell, an alarm that meant your time was up. 

you broke the kiss, but lathered two more onto both of his cheeks. 

“let it rip, baby.” 

and he did. with the thought of your evening on his mind, he’d do his best during the race. it was a tough battle, but he would do anything to taste your sweet lips again. 

[14dyh]

#18!! I just wanna make hange jealous/be jealous

Replacement | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader Summary: Hange seems to love it when you style your hair a certain way. Content Warning: slow-burn - happy beginning, things fall apart, angst, jealousy, lots of mentions of pikuhan (because they were ex lovers on this one), doubts and insecurities, reader is mentioned as kinda feminine Word count: 3.2k A/N: sorry this took so long. it was a bit slow but i hope you'll like it, anon :)

It has been a month of exchanging letters with Hange, and a few minutes of waiting for their arrival in the dock when you spotted their figure on the ship. The bluish sky seemed to brighten as the ship drew closer, your eyes brimming with joy at once when Hange came running to you once the ship landed.

Family, lovers, and friends await, the waiting area almost filled in groups of twos or threes but all seemed to blur out once Hange filled your vision, hands around your waist as they happily twirled you around. You smile into their neck, your fingers finding their way back to the soft brown hair you longed to touch.

Hange nestled their head onto your body, their grip unrelenting as they inhaled the familiar flowery scent from your perfume that always makes them smile.  "I missed you, sweetheart," they smiled against your ear.

As you walked hand in hand towards the awaiting train, you expected the heliotropes they brought out of their coat, the never-ending stories of fascinating things they encountered from their trip, and most of all the photographs and souvenirs they bought for you. But they showed you something that sent your senses frozen in both disbelief and overjoy. They fished out a small velvet box from their pocket, one that reminded you of the curtains and sheets you share at home. Your mind cannot fathom how your early morning on the train could start with a marriage proposal and an engagement ring on your finger but your thoughts failed to speak as you caught Hange by surprise through a tight embrace, whispering a small "yes, I'll marry you" on their coat before soaking it with your tears.

-

"Don't cry anymore, sweetheart," Hange chuckled, kissing the last few tears from your cheeks before the train stopped. "I don't like making my future bride cry, you know that."

A smile etched on your lips as you depart the train. You longed for this usual banter, their laughs, the way their eyes smile whenever they face you. Not long ago, these images plagued your dreams in a rosy film, wishing every waking for your dreams to be true. Maybe have a life where Hange doesn't have to be away from you for so long, a less demanding job perhaps? You wonder if a sudden shift would occur once you're married.

Rows of greenery grew near the embankment, the water rippling gently along the wind as you walked hand in hand. A short walk full of promises, and excited glimpses at what the future could be.

"After our wedding, maybe I'll take a week or month off from work," they would say, hand around yours. "I'll spend time making you happy. In many aspects. Would you like that, dear?"

You knew with half of your heart that they were trying to cheer you up, their fulfilling presence healing the time lost. Hange knew you enjoyed lounging at home, tending on the expanse of your garden. It felt like a perfect view, you and the flowers around you. Simple and tender, reminding Hange to purchase a camera once they returned to Marley to capture such moments.

Later that day Hange received an invitation letter. It was a simple party in the headquarters to welcome them back, along with the new Marleyan visitors.

"It wasn't such a big party, we can style ourselves then." Hange placed the invitation at the bedside table, gaze lingering on yours as you gently comb your hair.

"Say, sweetheart. Remember the way you styled your hair the last time? I think it looks beautiful on you."

Your mind recalled the way you styled your hair to their wishes. Your hands went to part your locks, fingers remembering how that style frames your face and a gentle ponytail hung on your back.

Hange's eyes smiled at you, walking over to place a kiss on your head.

"You're beautiful, Y/N," Hange whispered. Their every adoration sounded like sweet music, serenading your heart. A mellow wind blowing any doubt that would linger in your heart. They're right. You're beautiful in this hairstyle, Hange always shows you with how whenever their slender hands slip under your hair to cup your face in a loving kiss. One that sends you out of oblivion and illuminates everything.

Hange spent the night with their arms wrapped around you, their every kiss and praise sending a jolt through your skin. They would occasionally Twirl your locks around their fingers, eyes in deep rapture just by gazing at you. Their tenderness washed your worries ashore. Perhaps tomorrow you'd tell your mother about your marriage, wishing for a positive response despite knowing that you'll only come to hear a skeptical one. After all, you've only known the Commander for a few months. Tracing back your memory, has it even been eight months? You wondered. But as Hange muttered a final good night against your cheek, you were slowly rocked into slumber, dreaming of all the flowers you could place on your hair for tomorrow's party.

-

There was a single box that Hange refused to sort out or throw away. It wasn't taking up much space but you've always wondered if you could place it elsewhere if they wouldn't sort it out. As you pry the box open for a peek, you half wish this doesn't contain anything poisonous or preserved animals in jars. When the flap opened, you were greeted with a stack of envelopes, papers with their familiar handwriting, and most of all the fragrance of scented papers. You couldn't help but flip through the letters. For sure, they weren't old Survey Corps reports so you decided to look more closely and read.

Words of adoration, of longing, of intense feelings in the neat curls of Hange's handwriting. Your heart would have throbbed in happiness if it weren't for the dedication that wasn't for you.

To my beloved Pieck,

Your eyes read through, traveling around the very few photographs attached to the letters. There was Hange, smiling with a happy glint in their eyes as they held a woman with a familiar face. Of course, you know her, you might not have known her fully but you've seen her face several times. You always remarked them to be soft ones that fit her face perfectly.

It has been more than a year since Pieck and Hange broke up. It was peaceful departing from each other, you never heard a terrible word about her from Hange or their friends. If not, you heard how much Hange loved her.

You felt terrible for the tears welling in your eyes, of the heaviness weighing your heart whenever you looked at Hange's delighted smile frozen in the photograph. You wondered if you've made Hange smile in such a way if their eyes ever sparkled with just the thought of you. Looking at it for longer only creates a crevice within your heart, one that is enough to let doubtful thoughts in. You were about to seal away this box of memories once more when your eyes caught upon something. You briefly gazed at your reflection and back to the photographs Hange and Pieck shared. For a brief moment, you tried to deny it but your eyes couldn't help but gaze at how Pieck's hair frames her face, a ponytail tied low on her back.  Her usual style ever since she met Hange, but the way it mirrors the way your hair currently looked pricked your heart where it doesn't feel right.

The way your hair was tied looked very similar to hers and it almost appeared like you copied her. You loosened a few strands, tucking or siding it differently in an attempt to rid of the image. However, your little fussing stopped abruptly as you heard Hange's footsteps near the room.

"You getting ready for the party, sweetheart?" they asked casually, opening their cabinet to choose from the suits they picked earlier. "D'you think a red tie would look good on me?"

Their lighthearted tone only indicated that they didn't notice you hastily shoving the box back to its original position.  "I think it looks good on you, Hans," you remarked before standing up to smoothen your clothes.

They turned to you with a smile, running a hand through your hair in a way that the strands fell over to their original style despite your attempts to change it. "Get ready now, Y/N. I'll be waiting outside the bedroom."

-

Momentarily, you were snatched away from the terrible thoughts plaguing your mind. Hange's eyes remained on yours, never failing to tell you how beautiful you looked in that party. You stand out in a way, they said. Maybe it was the quaint old-fashioned dress, or the soft flowers adorned in your hair. However, you couldn't help but feel like everyone looked a different shade of elegant, synchronised almost as you called it.

You shared drinks with Hange, found new acquaintances, and were congratulated by Hange's friends for the upcoming marriage. Those were enough distractions to stray your mind away from the hairstyle you kept to please Hange or the way your eyes caught Hange greeting Pieck who arrived at the party. Sure, it was just a friendly greeting, nothing should be sour between them since they parted ways on good terms. But for a brief moment, you remembered the glint in their eye from the photograph kept in their box. Their smiling eye that sparkles.

It didn't help that when you fully turned in Pieck's direction, her hair was styled the same as yours, except for the flowers adorned in your head. You nibbled on your lip as you tried to avert your gaze, focusing on the swirling drink at hand or how cold the room was. Realizing you were in no position to protest or feel bad only weighed the situation. This was her hairstyle first. Hange was hers first.

You set the drink down quite loudly as if the sound would scare your thoughts away. You tried to depart from your seat but decided against it. However, you knew you were bound to converse with people eventually. Otherwise, you wouldn't have found yourself facing Pieck at one point in the evening.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," she praised you. You only gave her a soft smile in return even if your mind protested and desperately wished she hadn't said a thing.

-

The terrible dam you tried your best to keep broke within a nudge, like wounds stitched healed being delicately sliced open once more. You've doubted yourself enough the moment Hange slipped that ring on your finger. It felt like a hasty marriage, an opportunity for things to go awry from one simple mistake. You never thought you deserved to be a part of this marriage but you shoved the many possible hindrances at the back of your head when you happily agreed to it.

And even if you think that you never deserved Hange's love, you vowed to spend more than half of your life trying to deserve it. If that's how it should be, then so be it.

In selfish terms, it had to be you. You had to be the one they chose to keep their heart. Their choice was very evident with the ring on your finger and yet... you couldn't help but trace back to the love they shared with Pieck more than a year ago. Haven't they lasted a few years together before breaking up?

Such love couldn't rot in over a year, such deep roots couldn't be unearthed by a new love shared just because you came.

The box was there for a reason. Hange could never throw out their memories, no. Not entirely.

This is one of the things your mind could understand but your heart wouldn't.

Hange didn't like how silent you were on the ride back home, always looking out the window and never facing them. Your silence and the heaviness within disturbed them, but Hange sensed your fragility in those minutes. That perhaps touching you would shatter you into a million pieces.

You excused yourself to the bathroom as soon as you stepped out of the vehicle, the hair on your face getting disheveled by the second. Your anger within had no place but yourself. You couldn't be angry with Pieck when she's been kind the whole time, and you couldn't find yourself angrily accusing Hange of purposely making you style your hair like their ex-lover would when you were never sure if they did.

Before you knew it, your hands found the scissors lying near the sink. Your hands snipped away the hair framing your face, silent tears pouring out of your eyes as your gaze fell down the uneven clippings and severed petals littered across the sink.

The clippings felt like a sinister offering traded for peace. Maybe cutting it off was the only way to get rid of the image prompting those terrible thoughts. 

She looks perfectly elegant, jeweled simply, and you're a woman with no rank in the military and flowers tucked in her hair. Pathetic.

Your fists clenched the sink once again, struggling to pull yourself from the deep pit being created beneath your feet. Vines seemed to grow below the ground, pulling and ushering you in wicked silence to give in. Give in.

“Y/N.”

You partly registered how the door opened and how Hange’s arm wrapped around you in protection, the phantom vines dying right at their touch. Hange held you as they knew it was the only way to keep you from falling apart. You were a dejected being, a mess of some kind in the mirror. All of a sudden, your hair doesn’t seem to be that soft or your dress to be that pretty. You sobbed on Hange’s chest, burying your face in their coat the way you did yesterday at their proposal.

Hange ran a finger on your hair trimmed haphazardly, brushing away the rest of the flowers strangled by the strands. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Their eyes fell on the clippings on the floor, and the abandoned scissors on the sink. “Why did you do this?”

I don’t want to feel like a replacement anymore, you wanted to sob out. I don’t want you to remember her when you look at me. 

“Do you want to marry me to forget her?” The question slipped from your mouth even before you could stop yourself. 

“What…?” Hange muttered, the realization only beginning to sink in when they ran a hand through your hair, provoking a sense of familiarity. Hange understood by now who you meant.

“It’s just that… I’m having my doubts, Hange,” you said slowly, trying not to break into a pitiful voice. “Our marriage, and the box you kept under the bed… I know I sound ridiculous but… I want to hear it from you.”

Your eyes finally dared to meet theirs as you spoke, “Why do you even want to marry me?”

It was Hange’s turn to trace back into a phantom calendar in their head. It has been several months since you went out together and for half of those months, Hange has always intended to give that ring to you. Always in their pocket even a month before they went for the trip, waiting for the right opportunity until it presented itself yesterday. Hange feared your rejection. After all, it has only been months but… Hange have their own reasons.

Hange began to stroke your hair, slipping their fingers now and then to smooth out the tangles as they spoke.

“I thought maybe we still got to spend a few more months, hell, even years to know each other but... Y/N, you know I'm getting older, and time, well... time has been getting rougher. It was never kind to me... to us. I barely see you when work demands it. And I... I didn't even expect you would be happy to marry me.” A soft smile etched their lips at the memory of yesterday that brought relief in their heart.

"Y/N, it would break my heart if you misunderstood my intentions so let me clear it up this time. I'm not marrying you to get over Pieck or to secure a marriage so you won't leave me... It's just... I've never been so sure about anything in my life but this... "

Hange pressed a kiss on your forehead, their own tears teetering at the edge of their eye.

"I don't know what the future holds for me. And part of me doesn't even want to know because it terrifies me sometimes.

"We live in such a dangerous world. From my line of work, it's easy to anger people and have them take me out instead of resorting to peace. You see, Y/N... I just want to make sure... Make sure that I did something from my heart. Something I would never regret. "

A smile lifted in their lips despite their tears, and inner sorrow by the reality you both live in. You wanted to curse yourself for thinking that you both have all the time in the world. It was a wishful dream that only hurt you in the end. Your chest throbbed from the strained sobs erupting within you but Hange managed to calm you little by little by rubbing your back.

"People think that I understand things enough to have everything under control but I'm... I'm also full of uncertainties. I don't even know if half of the decisions I've made in my life were right,” they continued.

Hange circled a thumb over your hand, the other grazing the beading tears in your cheeks.

"So I'm giving myself this chance to act upon one thing I'm certain about." Hange's lips met your forehead once more, the tears from their cheek brushing against yours as they held you tight. "And that decision is marrying you, Y/N..."

You wanted to thank them for many things, for driving away all the worries nestled in your heart, for being someone to cry on, and for all the trust they placed on you the moment they vowed their heart and life to you. 

"I love you, Hange…” 

I’m sorry.

They chuckled, a soft one coming from their chest as they kept holding you. It amused them that a month ago, they would only hear your i love you's in their head as they read them from the letters you exchanged with each other. It always sounded better coming from your mouth.

"I love you too, Y/N,” Hange smiled. “From that day I saw a few daisies tucked in your hair, I knew I'd give you a ring someday..."

"But that's our first date, isn't it?" you asked.

"Oh, I know," they laughed softly. "I remember that day like a photograph."

Often, living in a cruel world seemed like a life carved out of pain and infinite regrets, brought by never-ending doubts born from such a distrustful world. But with Hange’s every touch, and every word laced with love, the dreadful pit making a home through the atrocities within yourself gradually vanished, smothered by the affection Hange gives.

You sat by the garden where the heliotropes Hange knew you loved grew. They carefully trim your uneven hair the way one trims a plant during growing seasons. Your kiss of gratitude brought a smile to their lips as they ran a hand over your hair once more. They think of you whenever blossoming heliotropes face the sun.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

[nxtaliaistyping]

more pegging eddie? im going insane here

More of The Riddler getting pegged <3

Authors note: kinda part two to my first piece about Eddie getting pegged, man I just love him

18+ nsfw, fem reader, still reluctant sub!eddie (but this time more whorish)

Ever since you’d pegged Edward for the first time, it was all you could truly think about. Even when you both were in the throes of passion, your mind couldn’t help but wander to when you had him twitching and moaning on his back with your fake cock crammed inside his little hole. The way he seemed to let go of his inhibitions, if only for a few precious moments, and surrender himself to pleasure really was a sight to behold.

Little did you know Edward was thinking of the exact same thing…not that he’d tell you of course. Telling you would be admitting weakness (in his mind anyway), after all it’s not like he really cares or anything…it’s not like it’s the best and safest he’s ever felt with anyone…

For totally completely unrelated reasons, when you sneakily bring up the notion again after having climbed onto his lap when you sensed his stress levels at an all time high, he ‘reluctantly’ accepts your offer.

“Fine…only because I fear my brilliant mind is a tad bit overworked as of late, and I wouldn’t be able to give you the proper domination with the eloquent word play that you’re used to from a man of my calibre.”

This time you manage to get him on his hands and knees, and the pretty blush on his cheeks is worth the insults he hurls at you in his desperate embarrassment.

“Happy? God I’m getting you back for this, as if I’d allow myself to be utterly humiliated by the likes of a simpleton like you-“

The cold sensation of lube being poured onto his ass makes him gasp involuntarily, before you take a finger and circle his rim.

“You were saying Eddie?”

Reluctantly he closes his mouth as he relaxes his body, allowing you to sink a finger inside. He lets out a breathy sigh, and while you finger him open you see the lengths he goes to keep quiet.

“C’mon Eddie…let me hear you.”

Gritting his teeth, he looks over his shoulder to glare at you. “You’ll have to try a lot harder than that.”

Taking it as a challenge, you push a second one in and listen to him hiss. He bunches the blanket in his tight grip, but he keeps his mouth firmly pressed closed before you start to pump your fingers. In and out, in and out, before curling.

A breathy sigh escapes, but again he clamps his mouth closed. No matter how much you try and caress his prostate, he still maintains a choked silence.

Still, you know what you want, what you both want, so you roughly pull out your fingers, marvelling at his twitching hole. You lube up your fake cock, before tapping it against his entrance just to be a tease.

“Come on…” he says quietly, clearly trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably.

“Say please.”

He turns again to glare at you. “As if, now come on…fuck me.”

You grin, pushing the head of the dildo inside before pulling out, repeating the motion. “No Eddie, you’re gonna say please.”

He growls, closing his eyes for a moment to attempt to ignore the throbbing of his cock. But you never were one to give up, so you reach to tweak his nipples, eliciting a soft cry.

“Fuck…p-please? Did you hear me? Please…y-you bitc-“

A breathy whine escapes him as you push in, cutting off his insult successfully. The new angle means he feels every single inch sliding deep inside, his mouth hanging open.

Unlike last time, you waste no time in pulling out and pushing in over and over again, setting a steadily fast rhythm that has him gasping and growling into the sheets.

“Not…bad…fuck…”

You grin, tutting playfully. “Awe Eddie, I think you can do better.”

To punctuate your words, you deliver a particularly brutal thrust to his prostate, to which the most beautiful noise comes out of his throat.

“Fuck! It’s good…it’s good…more…”

Happy with his change in attitude, you keep going, even when you start to pant due to the exertion, his whines and moans help you power through.

Your hands settle on his slender hips, feeling the trembling flesh under your touch as you keep fucking him over and over again. You run them along to his waist, pulling him back into your thrusts for added intensity.

“t-too much…”

“Awe, can’t take it?” You say, the power getting to your head as you swear a bit of drool leaks from his lips.

“…n-no…I can.” He grits out, never one to back down from a challenge.

And you’re determined to test him, making sure to tweak his nipples again as you move inside of him, truly fucking his brains out.

Poor Eddie can’t think of anything at the moment. He was mentally calculating pi to a thousand digits earlier, doing his best to not focus on the blinding pleasure, but now he can just about remember that it starts with a 4.

And currently, his cock twitches with every thrust, begging for attention. He slinks his hand down, ready to pump his shaft until he spills, but you grab his wrist.

“Nuh uh Edward, you know you have to ask.”

He wants to bite at you, call you demeaning things and make you touch him, but all he can manage is a choked whimper in response. Annoyed, you slap his hip sharply and slow your thrusts, causing him to swallow his pride.

“Please…need…need you to touch my cock.” He manages to get out like the smart boy he is, and you delight in wrapping your fingers around him.

Jerking him in time with your thrusts succeeds in melting whatever brain he has left, as he almost wails at you to go faster, for more. You are slightly tempted to tease him more, but then he says with a high tone.

“Break me.”

Your cunt throbs viscously at that, so you do, thrusting as much as you can while flicking your wrist up and down his dripping dick. He moans like a paid whore, knuckles turning white as he grips the sheets tightly. He barely is able to gasp out a warning before he’s cumming all over the duvet and the sheets below him, body twitching and convulsing.

You try and pull out, but his hole tightens around you so much it makes you moan airily. When you finally ease the dildo out, he doesn’t move, just slumps more against the mattress. With a smile you undo the harness and crawl to lay next to him, moving his head so it rests on your chest.

“You alright?” You ask him, gently petting his red hair, wet with sweat.

He doesn’t respond verbally, merely nods as you can see his brain kicking back into gear. A blush dusts his cheeks, no doubt embarrassed at how wanton you made him seem. But the dull ache between his legs means it’s almost worth it…almost.

“I am most certainly getting you back for that.”

[old-schoolgenz]

So, been thinking about Mystreet again. And I always assumed in the early days that everything that happened in MCD would eventually happen in Mystreet as well. That didn't end up happening but just... bare with me for a sec.

Imagine for a second, what finding Lilith would be like in Mystreet. I think about that so, so often. And how SO much could have been talked about had it happened along with cannon events.

Aaron, who had been driving for hours after coming back from somewhere, a concert, or something equally modern and kinda boring. Aphmau half falling asleep in the passenger seat, starting and stopping songs that she'd sing under her breath. And Laurance dead asleep in the back, laying on his back without a seat belt, lightly snoring.

Then. Aphmau looks up, nearly screams because at that moment Aaron had glanced away from the road to ask her something.

"CAR!"

Aaron pounds the fucking break like it owes him money and Laurance is thrown into the back of their chairs like a ragdoll, and he yelps from the backseat as Aphmau tries not to fly through the windshield by gripping the console. Aaron's arm in front of her like it would do anything instead of break at her weight hitting it at the speed they were going (because Aaron has a lead foot and speeds like he's going through a mid-life crisis.)

And there's this flipped car in front of them, right in the middle of the road and A and A just look at each other like "Well what do we do?" And Laurance has been half- knocked out from the speed his face met the back of the drivers seat and he's groaning from the back in pain.

So they get out, minus Laur, and do the classic, look around to see wtf happened here. And there's broken glass and oil everywhere but the car is cold and had been there seemingly awhile.

And then they hear crying, coming from the ditch just below them, and Aphmau's the first one down it because of course she would be. And Aaron hears her gasp but he doesn't want to face-plant because the ditch is soaked and the ground keeps moving beneath him.

And he gets there and Aph is holding a fucking baby, like it just appeared out of thin air. And she's trying to calm it down while looking just as flabbergasted as he does. And his brain doesn't want to work because truly, what the actual fuck?

He looks around and there's a carseat that had been upside-down, but there's still no sign of the adults that actually crashed the damn thing and all that's in his head is "They wouldn't leave a baby right?" while thinking about his parents and doubling back like "Well they might." All the while there's little golden salamanders everywhere, and they're just as distracting as the crying.

So he wraps the little one in his red jacket and A and A climb back up the side of the ditch and Laurance is crouched down by the driver's window looking like he is about to hurl. And they meet eyes and Aaron winces because it's the look of someone who just saw a mangled corpse.

You get it right? Like the "dragons found a baby and tried to capture a cow to feed it" is just WEIRD, and only fits within the weird lore of MCD. If you wanna do it in Mystreet it has to become way fucking darker, they'd have to call 911 and watch as corpses get dragged out of the car and follow them to the hospital.

And then the baby would have to get a checkup, and that trio is just there. At the hospital, and shit sucks because that's way more traumatic then just "finding a baby." It's "I found a gruesome accident and a baby that just lost it's parents." Furthermore. Aaron and Aphmau would be, at this point. Just freinds if we're following the MCD route. And they would struggle heavily with the whole orphanage/foster care system because they're unmarried and unrelated to the baby.

I don't know, I just kinda wish I could've seen that. So much character development, so much angst. I might write it properly some day just to get it out of my thought rotation.

[deeppenguinstudent]

OKAYY so this was supposed to be just a prompt but I got carried away. (Also it's kinda NSFW I'm so so sorry😭😭 I just love them so much)

I like to think that Jean buys a gun after Jeremy leaves. No one knows about it, he gets the gun through some discredited seller. He tells himself it's just a safety precaution, just in case he gets attacked.

He keeps his gun under his pillow, liking the feel of the ridges. He doesn't pull the trigger, he doesn't even take the safety off until one day it gets so bad. He takes out then gun, loads the bullets and presses it against his jaw. He's shaking, he wants to die he always has. Jeremy has left overseas for training, Laila has also left alongside Jeremy but Catalina is making their dinner downstairs.

Catalina is whistling some preppy song as she swivels her hips, excited to speak to Jean about some gossip in her computer science class. He can't leave her alone. He wouldn't let Catalina find her body; he'll die by the countryside with no one to remember his name. He'll just be a rumour within Exy; the famous backliner that killed himself. He wouldn't be as different as the other Ravens who did succeed the previous year.

Jeremy visits, of course he does because that's just how Jeremy is. Unrelenting Jeremy, who can see past Jean's faux mask. He finds the gun. it's the first time he ever sees Jeremy cry. He didn't cry when a Raven punched him in the nose, nor did he cry when bryson came down to the dorms demanding him to emancipate himself or leaving this foolish exy pipe dream.

Jeremy tries not to cry in front of Jean, but he fails this time. His tears shine in the moonlight as Jean tries to reason with him. He tries to reason that he's not going to pull the trigger. Jeremy looks him the eye, his hands ever so cruelly gentle and voice softer than a whisper. He asks silently: "Do you wish to live, Jean?"

Jean's voice catches in his throat. Of course he does. He wants to tell Jeremy how he yearns for their shared nights as he Jeremy enveloped him when he was still captain. He wants to tell him that he's happy at USC, much happier than he ever would be in evermore. He has so much here. Why wouldn't he be?

But then why would he keep a gun tucked away under his pillow, testing its weight? Why would he hover over his wrists with a kitchen knife, flexing his vein from time to time?

He chokes out, "I don't know."

And that was the most truthful lie he would ever tell Jeremy. Jeremy's face would be a nightmare to Jean forevermore. His eyes are filled with more tears, but his smile is so heartbreakingly sad. He is silent as he leans in to kiss Jean, it was lingering and has Jean clutching onto him - hands pulling Jeremy to him as they rest on the neckline of his shirt and Jeremy's fingers never moving from his cheeks.

They kiss and pull back, kiss and pull back. Jeremy looks like he'd be the one with a gun to his temple if they break away, even for a moment. He chases Jean's lips as he pulls back so Jean indulges him. He is always the one to finally close the gap in the end.

Jeremy now is laying on his chest, absentmindedly circling it - he has an animalistic grip on Jean's waist, and Jean's hands knead his hair.

"You shouldn't do this to yourself, Jeremy," Jean's words were barely there, more like he was voicing out his thoughts accidentally.

Jeremy whips his head up and searches for an answer. His tear stains are dried against his cheeks, and his eyes scrutinise him further.

"You can't tell me how to live my life, Jean." Jeremy is now sitting up, his hands shaking as he clutches against Jean's chest, thighs bracketing Jean and lips parted in...anger? Jeremy is never angry. This wasn't right. Jean was already ruining the perfect, kind, sweet Jeremy into something rotten and bitter. It was all he could do - he broke everything he touched.

"Look at you, Jeremy," Jean pushed himself off the bed frame, Jeremy was now on his lap. Jeremy's face didn't look right with a vexed expression. He was normally smooth and patient, but now he was an ugly beast with rage; he was already mirroring Jean's nasty ways.

"You're beautiful, kind, and deserve someone who can give you what you need," Jean licked his lips as Jeremy's gaze grew more heated with fury. "I'm not even classified as damaged goods because I was never worthy enough to be anything more than dirt buried in the ground. A pitiful corspe of who Jean Moreau once was. "

He waited for Jeremy's response, but all he got was his wrists at the side of his head, Jeremy pushing closer towards him - his body heat frustratingly intoxicating.

"Stop talking, Jean. You're completely wrong, once again." Jeremy tried to mask exasperation with a smile, but it turned to more of a grimace.

"I'm not doing this out of pity - or whatever you think. I'm doing this because you put a curse on me ever since you entered USC. A wretched curse that tormented my mind poisoned my thoughts. Even after I left USC, all I could even fathom to think about was you, you, you."

Jeremy took a deep breath before leaning in again, kissing him bruisingly before letting his forehead rest against Jean's.

"I think about how you love to tease your friends with monikers, how you hide your face in abashedness when someone reciprocates. How you complain about the Trojans getting sweet treats after they win a competition yet eyes sparkle with want seeing cupcakes with pink frosting. How you laugh at my stupidest jokes, how you make fun of me when ever I try to cook, how your eyes linger when I wear shorts around the house. How you listen to me rambling about my favourite literature books, how you enjoy to comment such moronic remarks whenever Laila turns on her reality TV shows."

Jeremy kissed his way from Jean's mouth to his ears, biting Jean's earlobe and smiling silently when Jean's fingers scratched lightly at his back.

His voice was dripping with desire, "I can't go back to a life without you Jean. I don't think I'll ever forget today, your lips will be seared indefinitely into the crevasses of my mind. You've ruined me, truly; in the best way possible," Jeremy's voice was mellow and like an aria against Jean's ear, "I need you so badly, a single smile of yours is able to incinerate my heart into flames. I want to see every side of you, ugly and beauteous."

With a open mouthed kiss to the skin below Jean's earlobe, Jean's breath wavered and his heartbeat stuttered, "If you want to die Jean, please call me. Make sure there's two bullets in this gun when you pull the trigger, one for me and one for you."

Jean reeled Jeremy backwards so hard, it almost gave him whiplash, "Jeremy - what are you saying?"

Jeremy gave a lazy smile, his eyes taking in Jean at leisurely pace as he hiked up Jean's shorts higher and higher. Jean let out an inquisitive sound and eyes widened in realisation.

"Are you okay with this?" He paused his ministrations and it was like time stopped. Of course, Jeremy wasn't like those heathens at the Nest yet that singular question broke the last of his composure. Crushing their lips together, he straddled Jeremy on his lap - he gave an appreciative grunt as he felt Jeremy's thighs below him. Jeremy raised an eyebrow whimsically and Jean kissed that expression off his face.

"Show me the root of your desires, Jeremy." Jean puffed his breath against Jeremy's mouth, biting his lower lip down. Jeremy enveloped his waist and pulled him in impossibly closer.

"With pleasure."

[luckyashes-art]

Today, Splatoon 3 will host its final Splatfest! So I made a lil comic-ish thing for it !

Let's make this one count!! And have fun, everyone :D

But ah, I see you've opened the read more...

So I shall tell you my reasoning/thoughts on each of these panels !! Cuz I like explaining things

"As we learn from the past," - Set in Splatoon 1, using my Splatsona design during that time (plus the 1st set of gear I mained). Being a young teen back then was an awkward time- I was just starting to make friends on the internet, and it was a whole new experience being online. Looking at it now, there were many weird things I've said and done. I may resent it, having mixed feelings, but the time has gone by. What's done is done, and it's not like I can do anything to change it. Plus, all that time has made me who I am.

"we must focus on the present" - Set in Splatoon 2, using my Splatsona design during that time. Honestly, this could also be seen as past but what am I gonna do about it-- Anyway, growing older and even moving to an entirely new place was also an experience. In some parts of my older teen years, admittedly my mental health did take a toll- And it wasn't very pretty in ways I didn't expect. But I've bounced back, even though sometimes it's still a struggle. This era saddens me in a different way, since I had dropped Splatoon for a while since Nintendo Switch Online rolled out (causing me to miss Splatoon 2 finalfest). But at least throughout that time, I've gotten myself to grow and attempt to focus my goals (kinda).

"so we can look forward to the future." - Set in Splatoon 3, using my current Splatsona design. Finally coming back when I've acquired the newest game, I was ecstatic. And right now as I sit here, looking to how much time has passed- I can certainly say I've grown a lot since I was a lil teen. I'm content with that, but I can tell I still have more room for improvement. So even if I'm not entirely happy with where I'm at right now in my life, I'm slowly progressing with growing confidence to get a grip and forge the way forward. I hope to look more forward to what lies ahead.

And on an unrelated note, I find it funny that this whole comic can also symbolize all the moving I've done- Which maybe compared to some other people isn't a lot but, man have I been to different places

Anyway have a good one guys !!

[devilslamb]

work is killing me but i Am now alone with my thoughts... so that means dale is chewing on My brain... not proofread cuz no one has time for that

kinda nsfw, emphasis on spit pls forgive mehdjsn. my kiss hc for him/drabble kinda :3

thinking about his kisses today. if they'd be soft, loving or just quick pecks, but i think neither really fit him. he's a filthy animal. he's probably all tongue and spit. maybe some teeth.

hes so handsy. one hand fondling whatever part of your body he fixates on the most. loves to have his other hand gripping your jaw so you have no choice but to stay still for him, giving you a kiss you ached for and much more. he's breathing so heavy until its muffled by his lips pressing to yours, moving without rhythm. hes so sloppy, careless, uncoordinated. doesnt care about your pace or the way you move your lips to try and match him. teeth scraping against your lip. sometimes he bites down on it, hard. enthralled by the way your flesh gives way to him so easily.

he pries open your jaw with his fingers clawing into your mandible, almost painfully so that you have no choice but to let ur mouth go slack. submitting to his unrelenting grip on you.

he doesnt even try to kiss you anymore. instead he tilts his head, letting his white wirey hair fall over the both of you, and slimes his fat tongue right against yours, leaving a thick trail of his saliva. its disgusting. he grunts and softens his grip on you for a moment before pressing your tongue back in ur mouth along with his. you almost wished you hadnt seeked him out for a bit of affection.

he absolutely takes his time. rolling and slithering his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. memorizing how the inside of you feels. its incredibly invasive, him licking into your mouth, fat tongue pressing to your inner cheek and forcing your spit to mingle together. forcing you to swallow his spit and purposefully slipping globs of it into ur mouth until ur lips are webbed together by saliva.

i imagine most ppl are a lot smaller than him, so hes literally towering over you all the while. his neck is craned and he has you cornered, caging you between the dingey basement wall and his broad shoulders. his hips rolling into yours bc you know hes hard as a rock (idc how old he is!!!!).

hes taking his sweet time. at some points his mouth is so tightly pressed to yours, it hurts. like hes trying to shove his tongue down your throat. saliva is dripping from the corners of your mouth, and just as he relents, hes quick to lick it off your face and wherever else it slipped to.

i think hes so gross and perverse. he enjoys shoving his tongue in ur mouth, reading every ridge and every tooth with his tongue like its his favorite thing in the world. his chest is heaving, nearly completely intertwined with you. hes drooling into your mouth and u cant move away to stop it.

he does this almost everytime u ask for a kiss. it shouldnt shock you as much anymore, but it does with how he does it with so much fervor and excitement. he pants like a dog when hes finished, still rutting against your thigh or your stomach, in complete rapture with how his spit clings to your swollen lips.

edited to add this visual . stole from crimsonxcloverr on here. :3

[sherwees]

ten times – lee ten

cw : dubcon and literal bickering at some point + this was rushed

extra note : this has been in the drafts since June/July...yeah..

“We might have to get used to this—” Ten says whilst forcefully locking your hands behind your back, causing a slight strain on your forearms with that weird friction against your hipbone. Not even caring on the also fact that your cheek may have a bruise from the intense impact from the desk..

“Ten—”

“So now you know my name so suddenly?”

He snaps back before you could even get to the fact that you're about to fuck in some random vacant classroom right before your lecture starts.

Presumably..

10 minutes.

COINCIDENTALLY TEN FUCKING MINUTES?

“ WE'RE IN A FUCKING CLASS—” He sighed and you even felt him weigh you down more, your breasts became tender at the contact. You can imagine him just rolling his eyes at your comment. Non chalantly, he continues slowly grinding against your bunched up skirt; his tip bobbing slightly against your thigh with accompanied shallow breaths with every slight rock of the desk just ignoring your alarming comment.. Hoping that somebody won't eventually be snoopy like yangyang and just barge in.

This only started because you kept on calling him, “Fifteen” “Nine” “Ten½” “5 times 2” and whatsoever but he took it seriously. It wasn't even that serious.. The fear of somebody walking in rushes to you again—but actually it could be anybody.

And that anybody could tell everybody.

“I don’ care.” Ten says with an unfazed tone, he hassles your body around finally seeing his blown out eyes; lips parted as slight drool slips through his parted lips.

“I really don't give a fuck.. Like actually.” He only chews the gum (that you now notice) slightly faster.

“I wish that you could stop chewing that same watermel–”

“Or FUCKING WHAT, Y/N?” You flinched at his sudden outburst only leaving silence around. You take this moment to slide away once more from his unrelenting grasp.

His grip slight loosen as you attempt to wriggle away until you realized it's completely useless so you just huff and lay there, accepting defeat. Your breathing starts to sync together, you're starting to notice the little sweat beads forming on the start of his hairline. You could obviously tell he's trying to avoid kissing you with the hesitation scrunch in his eyebrows with a clench to his jaw–it's kinda sad but you get the fact that he doesn't want nothing serious..

Sometimes you'll take a glance or two at his crescent lips every once in a while unconsciously. You've always wondered how they felt anywhere and everywhere.

He's noticed once actually.

“y/n, you're sure interested to what I'm saying hm?” He said teasingly; swishing his drink around, toying with the straw with his tongue.

Fuck.

Or his little perked nose—

“Are you seriously not embarrassed?” He lazily smirks and you look down to your skirt at your ankles with widened, fucked out eyes. His fingers are rubbing your bud through your panties, your stomach swirls as your slick evolves under his skilled strokes. Your brain immediately fogs at the contact, your vision growing smaller and dim by the second from the forming tears and growing tension in your clamped hands. You feel the patch of wetness slowly evolving within every stroke of his index and middle.

“I noticed your stares— maybe I truly know everything about you. This week, you've probably only made me mad just for attention.. That's obviously what you want princess..” His fingers curving a little more just enough for you to feel slight buzzes striking through your whole body with every short movement.

“Just a little fucking attention whore you are— aren't you?” He scoffs at his own comment before continuing.

“You now have my attention and you're acting just as shy as always. What a fucking loser.” He concludes with a playful slap of your cheek, emitting a whine from you.

“Just hear me out.” You said desperately, already sweating. You could imagine how pathetic you look only sweating from fingering and subtle grinding.

You hoped in your mind in the time of silence Ten held to finally answer your question, making teasing guessing faces and all. Time was running fast like a hamster on a pinwheel and y'all maybe only had 5 minutes, the only thing fading the sensuality was the eyebrow raise he gave; which immediately made you snap.

“When could you NOT answer a yes or no?!”

“I'd rather think it through personally.” His tongue rolls on the “personally” with a teasing bob to his head.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘‘PERSONALLY’’—” You say ‘personally’ mockingly with a dramatic bob of your head also, shaking a startle in Ten enough to immediately ‘shh’ you; moving his index in your face with a peek of his tongue from his lips.

“How about no to both questions, it's really a ‘my decision’ time now.” He ends with a strict slap with the band of your panties whilst sliding them down; feeling a burning sensation slowly form into a mark on your waistline.

“Maybe I should shove my fingers inside of you to tune out that little tone you have.” You felt his fingertip slowly circle your entrance. The sounds of your wetness infiltrating the silence of the room and you could only rut against his nail for a bit of tension.

“Ten, please..” You blubber, drool falling through your plush lips. You could only blink and Ten's lips were tough and tense with content anger against your own with a grunt emitting from him. You winced as he bit your bottom lip, sucking on it lightly to soothe the pain.

“Fuck babe, I can't fucking do this anymore.” His fingers rushed to fiddle with his belt loops. Your eyes widened as you realized what he was actually trying to do, there wasn't ANY time.

You could barely protest before you felt a sudden sharp stretch along with Ten using your shoulders as support, causing you to wince.

“S’ fucking tight.” His face completely a flushed red, eyes low and unfocused. His throbbing cock stretched your struggling walls, you sworn you felt his tip kiss your cervix slightly. His neck craned to kiss and nip at your lobe, keeping a low rhythm, taking his sweet time with you.

“Babe we have all the time in the fucking world, nobody even comes over here so there's no need to struggle.” He reassured,lifting your shirt as his flimsy fingers unhinge your bra. His eyes only stuck on your blissed look as his lips wrap around your right bud, swirling it with his tongue. Your pussy clenched around his length causing him to nip at your nipple once more.

His hips start to pick up an animalistic pace to keep up with the pulsations of your hole around his girthy length. He grabbed a ball of your hair to lock your lips in a restless kiss; swallowing your moans.

“S’ fucking good, jus’ keep sucking me in like that.” Ten rolls his eyes shut to intake the blissful moment. He hated this fake little hatred you showed off to your little friend group, he just wanted you for himself.

“M’ gonna make you regret ever fucking with me.” He whispered and your nails dug into his jacket as you felt his length twitch, letting out a small of precum. The pressure in your abdomen became unbearable at every sloppy thrust along with the friction of your clit against his own abdomen.

The desk starting to wobble on its supports; the only sounds in the room was skin to skin, your moans and sometimes screams, his constant snarky remarks usually interrupted with a moan along withthe squeaks and scraping of the desk against the wooden floor.

“I'm gonna cum– fuck.” You could only murmur with an arch, reaching your timely climax with tears springing from your eyes. Ten could only hush you and cover your mouth; your moans only bounced off the walls, louder than needed.

“Maybe you could do that nine times more and you'll learn your lesson once and for all.”

[hunting4fluff]

Business as Usual

asjdfhlkashdf okok so it's been a hot minute since I've written fanfiction, but I saw the best idea on @tickles-tea 's page and I wanted to give it a go! :) (Also I blanked on a title so I just kinda wrote the first thing in my mind lol) It was irritating, to say the least. For the first time in months, it felt like Miguel had finally been able to sit down and relax for at least 15 minutes. Of course, the moment after the clock struck 8:46 p.m Lyla had notified him of another anomaly wreaking havoc within the holding center. Business as usual.

"So, what you're saying is that they had him *in the room* and he still got loose?" Miguel grumbled, hastily making his way to the location with his wrist held above his chest. Lyla's avatar projected above Miguel's wrist, her hand resting on her bicep as she swiped through a couple screens to bring up a profile and appearance. 

"They were very frugal about the exacts, but they said, and I quote 'he was a very slippery criminal'. He's from Earth-57780 with dark hair, a-"

"What, so another 'Slyde' anomaly?" Miguel introjected, his brows furrowing with frustration. Before he could further his musing on the difficulty, Lyla provided further detail as he entered an empty containment sect.

"No, not a Slyde. His name is 'The Tickler'." She corrected, her demeanor lax and unbothered. Miguel paused for a moment, slowing his speed as he attempted to remain perceptive and gather more information.

"You're kidding." He huffed, already knowing the answer was 'no'. "They seriously couldn't grab him? That's gotta easily be one of the easier anomalies all year."

Miguel's irritation was rising as he marched through the room, glancing at empty containment pods and stacks of boxes. 

"I wouldn't say that, exactly. Tickling triggers a panic response in your body that makes it hard to focus and can cause a falter in judgment." Lyla stated matter of factly. Miguel snorted dryly, grateful his mask was on to hide the flush rising to his cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with. Has there been any sighting of-" Miguel cut himself off as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, readying himself to pounce. Lyla took this as a sign to cut her avatar, lowering the light as Miguel crept further. His slow steps made him inaudible before lurching towards where the movement was and-

nothing.

In Miguel's confusion something grabbed him from behind another box, its grip firm as Miguel twisted himself back to throw a punch. The anomaly clung tight, one hand slipping under Miguel's arm and the other wrapped and clutching to his hip for dear life. The Tickler anomaly wrapped his legs around Miguel, situating himself like a backpack before wiggling his fingers.

Miguel's left arm came crashing down to his side as a strangled grunt caught in his throat, coming forth from his crouch to his knees and attempting to use his other hand to grab the man off of his back. Fingers dug into his hips causing Miguel to curl in on himself and unfortunately trap his captor's hands with him.

"Ticklish, big guy?" The anomaly taunted with a pleased chuckle, pressing his fingers in and vibrating as Miguel desperately attempted to contain his reactions. 

"Shut up." Miguel growled out, once more trying to push through and lift his left arm to grab the other man's collar while using his other hand to tug at the hand on his hip. He realized his mistake once fingers trailed their way under his arm completely, his body curling in on himself once more and trapping the unrelenting fingers in their movements. Miguel's shoulders shook with the threat of laughter, trying to focus on a way to capture the anomaly. Alas, the task proved itself difficult. The Tickler laughed triumphantly, using the hand on Miguel's hip to scribble over the textured suit material.

"What's wrong? Did I find something?" The villain teased as Miguel choked back giggles. If he could just stop moving his fingers for one moment Miguel could easily flip this guy onto his back and trap him in one of those pods. He felt himself start to lose a bit of control as both hands continued their assault, never once pausing for even a second. Miguel barked out a laugh as a finger pressed under his arm, breaking the dam as he squirmed under the touch.

"Quit it!" Miguel demanded, the hand on his hip migrating to his bottom ribs and clawing lightly. Laughter flooded out of him as he swung his head back to try and at least get one hit in but missing onto the anomaly's shoulder. The move assisted him no further as the hand on his ribs slipped from under his left elbow and held his jaw in place. A surprised yelp jolted from him as he felt the fingers drag over his neck and cause his laughter to raise in volume. Miguel tried bunching up his shoulders in a last attempt to protect himself before he felt something soft flutter behind his ear. The movement was all it took before Miguel curled into a pile of giggles, his face flushed as The Tickler brought out the tool from his gloves. He couldn't focus on *how* the anomaly even got past his suit as he grabbed for any sort of leverage. Between the fingers under his arms and the feather fluttering behind his ear, he was a mess.

"¡Basta, bastardo!" Miguel barked through his laughter. He wasn't very intimidating though, and to his dismay the anomaly pushed him to the ground and managed to pin him on his stomach. 

"Sorry pal, I don't speak spanish." The Tickler stated, growing cockier with every growing second. Miguel finally managed to flip over and push him off with his foot, sending him back tumbling into some boxes. He managed to catch his breath a hint before entangling him with a laser web, keeping him still as Miguel continued to draw in heavy breaths.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Miguel growled, standing up and leaning against an empty containment pod before opening it and sliding the disk under the anomaly. His face was flushed and to his relief, his mask was still intact, leaving him to wonder how The Tickler got past his technology in the first place. He left, grumbling to himself before Lyla popped up again with a cocky smirk.

"How was that for 'the easiest anomaly all year'?" She teased. Miguel glared at her avatar, avoiding entertaining the playful jab.

"What happened to my suit earlier." The question came out as more of a demand, the AI shrugging her shoulders with a knowing grin.

"Well, I figured I couldn't let it be *too* easy on you. Not to mention you've been talking about how you've been needing to find a reason to relax for a bi-"

"Relax? That was relaxing?" Miguel interrupted, sounding slightly exasperated. However, he couldn't deny that under certain circumstances it could be nice...

"Laughing replaces cortisol with dopamine, oxytocin and endorphins which, in other words, is an excellent stress reliever." Lyla remarked smartly, leaving Miguel to shake his head and scoff.

"Yeah, well... maybe don't have an anomaly do that next time." He huffed. 

"I can see if Peter B. Parker would be willing to, he's been begging me to send him any information to get you to 'loosen up'." Lyla offered. Miguel's silence spoke volumes as Lyla already began sending a message. "I'll let him know you're interested." She winked, leaving Miguel as he began to sputter out protests.

"Wait- I didn't..." Miguel trailed off, pausing once he returned to his workspace. Maybe, he thought. Maybe he could accept that.

[teainthesnow]

My brain has been consumed by 2al lately and so the writing part of my brain took over and this little fic was created.

@intotheelliwoods

.

.

“Are you serious!?”

Leo startles, looking up from his work to see Donnie stood in front of him, eyes wide and with a finger pointed directly at him.

“I’m serious about getting this plan sorted.” He replies, narrowing his eyes as he does.

Donnie scowls at him, and lowers his hand, but the look of surprise and slight annoyance doesn’t disappear from his face.

“That’s not what I meant, Nardo, and you know it.”

As confused, and slightly disgruntled – because he really does need to finish his work – as he is, he cannot help the smirk that crosses his face at the rise he got out of his brother.

“Just, what is that on your face?”

Leo blinks in surprise, putting down his pen and reaching up to press his fingers against his face. He touches scales, having removed his mask earlier when he was about to sleep. He had ended up getting distracted by his current work, and hadn’t actually gone to sleep in the end, but he had never actually put his mask back on.

“There’s nothing on my face.”

Donnie sighs and moves to stand directly next to him. He squints at him, mumbling under his breath, before he leans forward and grabs Leo’s face in his hands.

Leo tries to escape his brother’s grasp but Donnie’s grip is firm and unrelenting. He moves Leo’s head around, his fingers brushing and pressing against his brow ridge.

“How long have you had these? And why have I never noticed them?”

He scowls, moving his face even closer.

“How did you not notice them?”

Leo finally manages to push Donnie away from him. He brings his hand back up to rub at the spot that Donnie had been poking at.

“Donnie, what are you talking about?”

Donnie is back to pointing dramatically.

“You! Those eye brows! Those little bean shaped eye brows. Why do you have them?!”

Now this is where Leo’s brain stalls for a second because what on earth is his brother talking about. Has Casey stolen Donnie’s eyebrow pens again or something.

At his look of confusion Donnie half sighs, half grows, and brings out his tablet. He presses something and hands the tablet out to him. Slightly reluctantly Leo takes hold of the tablet and brings it up to his face.

The image that greats him is not one that he expected. He had thought that maybe Casey had drawn on his face again, or perhaps Donnie was just seeing things, or was even trying to mess with him. But he hadn’t even considered what he comes face to face with.

He has...

...eyebrows.

“Huh...”

He takes a moment to process that, and reaches up to run a hand over them. They’re the same texture as the rest of his skin and don’t smudge when his fingers rub against them.

He actually seriously hasn’t noticed.

He’d been so busy lately, as the war continued to rage on, that he found himself utterly exhausted, and with very little time to himself. He had mostly just been falling straight to sleep after finishing his work.

He suddenly can’t remember the last time he looked in a mirror.

“I have eyebrows now.”

He continues to look at himself and this unexpected development. He thinks he kinda likes them.

Donnie, meanwhile, makes a little offended noise.

“You look like a soggy little golden retriever puppy. Not at all fitting for the leader of the resistance, and the greatest ninja who ever blah, blah, blah. Just absolutely ridiculous.”

He cannot help the smirk that slowly creeps across his face.

“Are you jealous, Dee?”

The look that crosses Donnie’s face makes the confusion of the last few minutes absolutely worth it. His face rapidly shifts between surprise, realisation, horror, anger, and then an expression that could only mean ‘oh no I’ve been found out and now must try and hide that.’

Leo tries not to laugh.

“How dare you, my own brother, accuse me of being jealous of you!”

Donnie tries to hide his expression but he has never been good at doing that and Leo gets the joy of watching him flounder.

“I just think it’s rude that you stole my look! How dare you, Nardo! Eyebrows are my thing.”

He huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Betrayed by my own brother! I can’t even look at you.”

With that he snatches the tablet back and marches out of the room.

Leo watches him go with a smile on his face, he hears muttering as Donnie walks away.

“Betrayed!” He faintly hears. “And jealous? Me? Of Stupid Nardo and his stupid adorable bean-”

.

.

.

“-brows!”

Leo startles awake at the unexpected shout next to his ear.

Oh... He’d been dreaming.

That’s... That’s fine. He’s fine.

He pushes back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him, and tries desperately to not let the memories overwhelm him.

He takes a deep breath and releases it.

He’s fine.

Finally shoving his thoughts back under control, he very quickly realises that four faces are staring down at him.

He blinks.

The faces blink back.

“What’s going on?” He asks, voice still slightly slurred with sleep. Although wakefulness is hitting him quickly with his suddenly bizarre situation.

He sits up and the little versions of him and his brothers all take a step back.

It is Donnie who speaks first.

“You have eyebrows!” He half yells, his voice full of accusation. “Why do you have eyebrows!?”

The sentence takes him off guard, a strong sense of daja vu washing over him.

“I’ve always had eyebrows.” Is the sentence that leaves his mouth.

Donnie makes a noise of frustration and throws his arms up in the air.

“What are you- you never-” He leans over and snatches little Leo’s mask off, who shouts an annoyed sounding “Hey!” In response.

Donnie gestures towards Little Leo’s now bare face.

“You clearly have no eyebrows at his age. Why do you have them now?”

He throws the blue mask away – Little Leo dives after it, snatching it out of the air just before it hits the ground – and reaches out to grab Leo’s face.

A ghost of a sensation grabs hold of his face at the same time. A phantom sensation of much larger hands overlapping against the present.

His heart clenches.

Donnie’s hands are so small.

“Answer me!”

Leo forces out a laughs that he hopes doesn’t sound strained.

“I grew into them.” He explains. “Just like the extra markings on my arm and legs.”

Donnie splutters at that, releasing his face and stepping backwards.

“You copycat. Stealing my thing.”

There’s a small laugh from behind Donnie and both him and Leo turn to look at the source.

Little Leo is stood there with a smirk on his face and glee in his eyes.

“Are you jealous, Dee?” He taunts.

Donnie splutters again and a range of emotions cross his face.

“How dare you accuse me of being jealous. Of those little bean brows? Pfft. Of course I’m not jealous.”

“Sure.” Little Leo draws the words out and it is very clear that he doesn’t believe a word out of Donnie’s mouth. “Anyway, I’m going to check to see if my own completely natural eyebrows are growing in. Uh Bye-Bye.”

He waves and practically skips out of the room.

Donnie is stood silently watching for a second before he abruptly seems to come back to himself.

“Hey!” He yells, marching out of the room in the direction that Leo pranced off in. “Get back here. And I’m not jealous of you, Nardo. Just appalled at the betrayal from my own brother.”

He pauses, just as he’s about to leave the room, and turns to glare back at Leo.

“You will be explaining yourself more later.”

Leo nods, not keeping the grin from his own face.

Donnie scowls but continues following after his brother. Leo can hear them both yelling in the distance.

Raph and Mikey follow after, probably to try and prevent or stop the almost inevitable fight.

As soon as they both leave the grin slips from his face.

The nostalgia is a bittersweet taste in his mouth. The whole interaction a reminder of what he had lost and what he would never get back again.

“Hey.” He speaks quietly into the empty room. “If you’re watching me then I’m sorry about stealing your look, Dee. Hope you forgive me...” He pauses, blinking back the stinging sensation in his eyes. “...When I rub it in your face again whenever we meet next.”

He can almost imagine his own brother’s enraged response and he can’t help but smile to himself.

He isn’t sorry. Not really.

Not anymore, at least.

He looks down at his prosthetic arm and brings it up to rub against his brows.

Why would he be sorry when it’s allowed him to have a reminder, or a memento, of a long lost brother who he would probably never actually see again.

[author-chan06]

Can you make one about 049 adopting *you*il’and taking care of you. Please and thank you :)

Hello, creepyalienghost! Apologies that it took so long for this to be done, but it is finally here! Pairing: SCP 049 & Child OC Character Wordcount: 2,458 A/N: I do hope this meets your expectations, sorry if he’s a bit off at the moment in this story, this is actually the first time I’ve really written 049, and so I was kinda trying to find my footing, and I hope you like the child character, even though they’re not complex here. The child is kinda supposed to be a self insert anyway, I just wrote it in third person, I hope you don’t mind that. Anyway, I’m rambling now, onto the story! Tws: Sickness, Implied Bigotry (Minor), Parental Neglect or Abandonment, Crying

I’ll Make It Better

Summary: After hearing about a town that has been racked with a sickness, SCP 049 goes over to see if there are any survivors he might be able to assist, and there is. He finds a child that seems to have caught the affliction but is working through it alone.

The old town seems to be deserted.

The buildings are dilapidated and empty, a silence that carries across the area and feels heavy enough to drive away any who would want to near hangs in the air. It smells of decay and death and fear, potent enough to choke any normal person.

The Doctor knows the sensations well though, and easily makes his way through the town, carefully searching through the houses for any survivors, meticulous and sure hands pulling up pieces of walls and picking the locks to check the rooms. He makes sure that no place is left out of his search.

It may seem strange, but he heard from a patron of a bar he’d gone through a couple days ago, about two towns over, about the outbreak that occurred and how it had decimated this town. They had explained in quite vivid detail how the disease has gripped people and turned them a sickly yellow, how it has given them boils that burn as hot as hellfire, and how they deserved it for what they did in that town. For how they were allowed to live there.

His sudden departure from the area had been hardly noted, and he had been glad. If he stayed any longer he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his oath to do no harm to living creatures. And moreover, he knew where he was needed.

No matter, the Doctor banishes the thought of the uncouth man and continues his search, his senses detecting some signs of life farther away. He follows it, ducking under a broken door frame and opening the door to a much smaller room that seems to be some type of bedroom. The scent of life is much stronger here, he notes, hopefully closing the door behind him and aiming to search the room as thoroughly as possible until he finds whoever or whatever it might be that had survived this scourge. It should be fairly easy with such a small space to search through, and then he can get back to his main goal of curing the wretched Pestilence from humanity.

It doesn’t take long— in truth he doesn’t even need to look, for as soon as he closes the door a cough rattles out from beneath a pile of blankets on the bed, ragged and painful sounding in a way that suggests the throat is scratched and rough, and a small hand peeks out, fingers curling around the cover and pushing it weakly to the side as if fighting against the unrelenting hand of the gods themselves; there’s another cough, and the covers slip, falling from the bed and leaving the person below completely exposed, shivering and hot. 

A child, the Doctor immediately realizes, something almost like panic pressing in his chest as he stares.

It’s not the Pestilence, or at least, it’s not the one he’s spent his entire existence fighting, but he can still feel the sickness radiating from the child. The Pestilence is present as well, but only dormant, and he knows that if the child stays like this for any longer then they will not live long enough for it to develop any farther. Usually that would betoken a job done, once the Pestilence has been infected into someone— and there are so very few without it— the only way to end it is through his cure, or death of the mortal flesh. And his cure is not perfect, it is barely satisfactory at the moment, meaning that the child would likely not survive that either. Their death would cause the exact same outcome at the moment. He should move on and find another survivor, there is surely at least one more that has less Pestilence in their system. And yet. And yet.

Dark eyes peek up at him, barely lucid but just bright enough, just there enough, that he knows they see him, and he finds himself paralyzed. Their hands curl around themselves, seeking warmth of any kind as if they can feel the chill of death breathing down their neck, and when they try to move closer, to take a closer look at him, their arms tremble and they fall backwards, a horribly painful sounding cough racking their small frame and making them whine.

He should just leave, or even try to cure them; he’s never hesitated before, and he should not allow himself such a liberty now, and yet.

He’s never wanted to harm anyone. His goal has always been to save, to help, to make better.

This child could be helped. This child could be cured. If not of the Pestilence, then of this horrible sickness that has taken hold of them now.

The Doctor inches closer, reaching out a hand to the child, who blinks blearily and tries to reach back, muscles trembling and sweat sticking their small amount of hair to their head, their fingers splayed apart as if in pain or for more reach. And he quickly grabs their hand just before it falls— he assumes it would have pitched them forward, and something about that thought makes his chest lurch— and he leans the child back, watching the way they move with him carefully, supporting their back with a hand, while keeping their hand in his, his deadly touch deactivated, as their breathing that had pitched higher at the strain calms a bit and their eyes start to clear a bit more, as if his mere presence cures them a bit, as if his mere presence helps them feel better.

He isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but he makes sure to keep his voice as kind as he can when he finally speaks, “Child, what ails you? Did the grown folk speak of the plague harming your town?,” He pauses, and then adds, “I am a physician, and I am here to help you.”, hoping to assuage any worry the child might have of his appearance. 

Plague Doctors such as himself are common, though they were not called that by any but himself as far as he has knowledge, but most children were unfamiliar with the medical field unless something disastrous has occurred. He hopes he is the first this child has had to meet, but, from his looking around, it seems unlikely, despite how miserable that thought is. 

But he is still certainly different from others in his field— he has been told as such by many— and he would not want to scare this child with his unconventional methods and his strange looks.

“Phy…” They whisper, their voice broken and feeble. Their hand shivers in his and he moves just that much closer, pressing a hand to their forehead to measure their temperature as they try to continue, “Physic’an? Momma sai’ they only c’m ‘round in the bad,” And it’s like they remember this as they say it, because their chest jerks, eyes going wide as their body swings, trying to get away or go do something, but they cannot, their mind obviously spinning as their breathing labors in their chest and makes their lungs seize, and the Doctor helps, catching them and trying to calm the way his own heart has jumped. They are quite hot to the touch, he notes down with worry.

He settles them back on the bed, and leans back, just far enough that they have space to move without his hovering. “That is,” He hesitates. What is appropriate to tell a child in this circumstance? If their mother and father haven’t left already, then they are very likely dead, and if they did leave… The Doctor has seen that enough to be sure that they are very unlikely to come back. “The town has been struck with a nasty plague, I’m afraid.” He settles on, keeping his hand on their shoulder so they don’t jerk too hard again, and keeping an eye on their face. It does no one any good to deny them information.

They turn ashen as they swallow, and their eyes flicker back and forth, like they’re looking for something and it takes a moment for him to realize that—

This poor child is going to be heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, “I could not seem to get here in time, and the sir and madam of this house… They do not seem to be around anymore.” He doesn’t specify for what reason, mainly he keeps it as such because he does not know for certain, but seeing the crumble of the child’s face… that might have influenced his words, he must admit. He thinks the child knows anyway— there is an intelligence about them— but he won’t say it unless they ask.

The child’s trembles intensify and they press their hands to their face, their legs pulling up to their chest slowly, and he can hear their breathing go rough, a ragged sob that has been building for he is unsure how long falls from them, and, as if a dam has been broken, they start to fall in earnest, small hands try to rub them away, to push the feelings away and make it stop, but they just continue to fall, and their lips tremble, the redness of the fever giving way to a despair that strikes the Doctor in the heart.

The Doctor does not even think before he moves closer this time, drawing the child into his side and letting them be covered by his robes as they cry, and, despite their apprehension before, they latch on immediately, stronger and more trusting than he would have ever expected making him jolt, staring down at the child, though he does not push them away, only moving to make it a bit more comfortable and to be able to have his hand on their shoulder to comfort them if need be. And they seem to appreciate it, as their hands dig into his robes and they dig their face into his chest, their tears pressing into his skin and dampening the fabric like covering. 

Not that he minds the dirtying of his clothes itself– he is a Doctor, that happens often enough— but he does wish they weren’t so sad; the tears harm his heart, and he is not used to that.

It is not something he would particularly like to get used to.

But this goes on for quite some time, and he does not rid of the child, nor does he try to cure them— no matter how much his hands itch to— and instead he just continues to hold them, eventually hesitantly shifting so that the child is on his lap, curled up and small but protected, his robes fanned out more than usual and arms settled on their back. If anyone or anything enters, it means he can turn his wrist and catch them with his deadly touch before they can harm either of them, and it means that he can rub the child’s back.

“Why would mama leave me?” The child eventually mumbles, tears still falling but starting to slow to a sluggish pace. Their face is shiny and red, eyes blurry and dark, and the Doctor is overwhelmed by a feeling he’s never had before, one that he cannot quite classify the way he would like to, and it makes him wish for a more expressive face, a more human build so that he could calm this child more effectively, so that he could show his emotions.

But he did say that he would tell them if they asked, and they are asking.

The Doctor hums, rubbing a hand down their back, listening in the silence as everything pauses, “I can not say for certain she left, child, but if she did…” The child tenses and looks up at him, and he once again wishes for a human face, anything more expressive than his beak when he admits, “It is likely she thought you would spread the plague to her and her other loved ones. She made the decision to stop the spread, because she knew it would take them as well, if she didn’t stop it.”

Their chest hitches but they don’t start crying again. They rub at their eyes roughly, but the Doctor stops that, running a gloved finger under them, and letting his beak curl into the closest he can get to a smile as his voice warms, “It could also mean, she thought you could survive on your own, that she trusted in your ability to persevere and live, and well,” The child blinks and leans into his hand, and something about that makes him feel warm. If only for a moment he worries about contracting what the child has, but he knows that’s impossible and so he continues, “She would have been right. As though you are sick now, I have gotten here on time, and by the time I leave, I promise that you will be better.”

“Better?” The child asks, hopeful and small, hands coming to clutch at his own and at his robes.

The Doctor nods, and keeps his voice warm, just as warm as he feels, as he agrees, “Better.”

It’s strange, the Doctor will readily admit that, to be curing someone of something other than the Pestilence, or even to have to comfort someone through the process, someone who can still be scared of the items and methods he is using. But he wouldn’t call it anything other than that. It isn’t painful, or bad, or awkward, or anything of the sort, and maybe that’s because it’s this special child— though he doesn’t quite understand why the child is special yet, these instincts have never driven him wrong before, they’re the same ones that pushed him onto the path of the Cure over and over again, they’re the ones that assured him that traveling through Europa was the right choice— or maybe it’s easy to comfort them for some reason that is just something that he cannot pick out.

But no matter what it is, it makes him care about this child, and since he cares he will cure them.

And when it’s time to leave—

Well, the Doctor has always needed an assistant.

Never mind the fact the child rarely remembers what he teaches, often gets the wrong ingredients and tools for him, and can cause all sorts of trouble. That’s his assistant and they go wherever he goes, and they learn, slowly but surely. And he learns with and of them, of humans and their customs, of family and friendship, of hope and laughter and excitement, and silly fun.

And he finds that he doesn’t just make the child better. No— they make him better too.

[kabie-whump]

Magic User Whump - Part 2

Part 1

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"He's exquisite."

The bandit chief, a hulking man named Vorstag, took Ventis's chin roughly in his hand, tilting his face up. Ventis flinched away from the unexpected touch but Vorstag's grip was unrelenting as he turned his face to make the iridescent crystalline scales embedded in his skin flash in the dim firelight.

"Never seen a genasi with horns before, I reckon," their original captor said proudly. "Boy wasn't easy to grab, either. There's some powerful storm magic in that blood."

"Draconic, I imagine." Vorstag turned to adresses Onthyes and Shayah for the first time since the three of them had been thrown, bound, into the dirt at his feet. "Is that right? Is your little friend here carrying dragon blood?"

Onthyes glared at the chief, not even attempting to speak through the gag in his mouth. Shayah, although she wasn't gagged, stayed silent as well.

Vorstag turned his attention away from them with a shrug at the lack of response. "Can't decide if I'd rather sell him or keep him to myself. The other two will make fine slaves, but this one... You brought me something real special tonight, Mugg."

Their captor, Mugg, grinned with satisfaction.

"Put them away. I'll decide what to do with the mage in the morning."

Minutes later, Onthyes, Shayah, and Ventis were locked in an iron-barred cell deep in the underground tunnels of the bandit's hideout. Onthyes's and Shayah's bindings had been removed and Onthyes's mouth was freed from the gag, but Ventis remained gagged, blindfolded, and tightly bound with chains that pulsed with glowing red runes.

Onthyes and Shayah made quick work of removing Ventis's gag and blindfold.

"You okay?" Onthyes asked softly as he peeled the damp cloth away from his friend's eyes.

Ventis blinked slowly, squinting in the torchlight after being blinded for so many hours.

"I-" the sorcerer's words were cut off with rough coughs. Onthyes wished he'd been allowed to keep his waterskin. "I'm fine."

He clearly wasn't. He was pale and trembling, and his lilac colored eyes were red rimmed from crying. Onthyes could see him biting the inside of his cheek the way he always did when he was trying not to show how much pain he was in.

"Do the chains still hurt?" Shayah asked, moving around behind Ventis to examine them. She cursed in orcish as she answered her own question. "Your wrists are burnt."

"Trust me, it feels worse than it looks," Ventis muttered with a hollow laugh. "My very essence is being siphoned out of me."

"I'll get them off of you. Just hold on, breezy."

Ventis sat still, letting Shayah work behind his back, but she barely managed to pull on the chains before he was stifling cries of pain and twisting away from her.

"That's hurting him!" Onthyes said quickly, reaching out to steady Ventis. The genasi pressed his head to Onthyes's shoudler, hiding his face.

Shayah stopped, holding her hands up in surrender. "I barely touched them."

"Don't bother," Ventis panted. "They must be enchanted. They're not coming off without magic, and I'm fresh out it seems."

Shayah sat back with a huff. Onthyes knew how cagy she got in situations like this, and he was starting to feel the same way.

They settled in, getting as comfortable as they could in the cold cell. Ventis succombed to exhaustion quickly with his head in Onthyes's lap and Onthyes's fingers carding through his hair.

Onthyes and Shayah found it harder to fall asleep, each on high alert. 

“We have to protect him,” Onthyes said into the quiet of the night. “We can’t let them separate us.”

Shayah hummed. “We’re warriors, you and I. We can take this kinda shit. He’s putting on a brave face but I don’t think our little freak of nature can take much more of this. This is pretty far off from the silver spoon he grew up with.”

“He won’t last a second without us.”

Onthyes hated admitting that. He was always telling Ventis how much stronger he has gotten in the past months, how valuable he was to their little party, but the reality was that he was somewhat naive and didn’t necessarily have the strongest tolerance for pain. 

It was just their luck that they would be dragged away from Ventis by morning.

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Part 3