#sticky taffy

[kawaii-sugarii]

Day 14 - Love

People fall in love, people fall out of love, but what's important is that you cherish the memories you made with those you hold dear to your hearts.

I challenged myself to draw all of my ships (minus Calem and Prancy, these two are dense af), and the idea I came up with was a pile of photos highlighting their moments together. And I also messed around with some brushes to add a sunlight effect to it. Definitely the one I'm most proud of.

@dorkaarts

[maretriarch]

folykls trickster mode would have bubble tape headphones

[after-witch]

Points of No Return [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Points of No Return [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You run into someone from your old life and it shakes you into making a decision you might regret. Companion piece to Bait, Fever Pitch and Bus Stop.

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, Stockholm syndrome; mentions of physical and mental abuse, mentions of pregnancy

The town is hustling and bustling. It looks a little different every time you visit. New banners, new shops, an endless sea of revolving faces that you barely remember once you’re back home.

Here, in the outdoor market, there is a sense of thrumming aliveness that keeps your thoughts dancing from one step to the next. Should you go to this stall, or that one? Stop for a bite to eat? Check out new wares? A dress for yourself, bracelets for the girls, a book for him–or not? There’s too much. Too many people, too many choices. It makes it hard to concentrate. 

But then a squeeze to one your hands--Nanako and Mimiko on either side of you, the three of you making quite the trio on a trip--brings you back the ground.

“We’ll go look for our gifts,” the girls say, smiling. “You should look for something new to wear to the party.”

You smile and wave them off and turn towards the nearest stalls with fabrics and kimonos hanging up for sale. The outfit should be elegant, but understated. That’s what the girls told you, which means that’s probably what Geto told them.

An outfit appropriate for his birthday party.  

You’ll find something here, that’s certain. With this many stalls, and the amount of money allotted for the trip. 

The city was shocking, the first time you were allowed to visit again. You didn’t stay long–a panic attack took care of that. It was too much in a horribly overwhelming way, and you’d buried yourself against his chest and asked to leave. 

Of course, Geto had been with you then. It took a year for the girls to convince him to let you come only with them–a girls’ trip. And here, now, years down the line, you didn’t even need to beg and plead. It was a matter of fact: the girls were taking you shopping, and you’d go home to Geto, and that was that.

Sure, it’s still overwhelming; but not in a way that leaves you breathless. It does make you long to go home, to sweep into Geto’s private quarters, to relax in that space which has finally become warm and inviting to you. A sanctuary, away from his followers, away from any sense of the greater world out there.

It would be nice, to go home later today. To be with him. To have him hold you and kiss you, to simply sit quietly at his feet while he reads. He was kinder, now. In his own way. Long gone are the days of punishments, of scoldings, of that awful bitterness that kept you from truly feeling alive. 

And–just when did that happen? That sense of normalcy–happiness, even?--with him. With your life.

Your fingers fumble with the fabric you’re holding and there’s a few awful moments where the world wants to spin, but simply stands stationary instead and makes you feel its terrible crushing weight. You want to take it back, those thoughts; want to simply go about your day like everything was normal, and fine, and–

Someone calls your name. Someone close.

It’s not the girls. It’s a man. A man’s voice, but who, and why, and how long has it been since anyone has said your name that hasn’t been Geto or the twins or one of his followers? 

Your name, again. Spoken softer, but breathier. Like he’s shocked. Surprised. But pleased? 

You turn slowly, your brain whirring into action, putting forgotten puzzle pieces back together as it pulls from deep within the foggy recesses of your memories.

The voice. The mole on his cheek, the curve of his jaw. The color of his eyes. It’s yanked from deep within your mind, sticky taffy that barely wants to come up–but it does and he does and you know this man.

“Kenji?”

It tastes sour, this man’s name on your lips–a name that isn’t, for the first time in years, his.

The muted shock within you is like wet sand, being scooped and patted firm by a small hand. 

He says your name again, and takes your hand in his own–your heart begins to beat more rapidly, knowing that this is wrong, that Geto will know, somehow, that another man’s touch has been upon you.

He says more things. Things that barely register. That your family has missed you. Your friends have missed you. He’s missed you. 

It shouldn’t be surprising. He was–after all–your boyfriend. Was. Had been. Once upon a time, when the world was different. 

“What happened to you?” He asks, and you don’t answer. You can’t. Not fully.

“I…” How do you tell him, exactly? Where do you even start? And where would you end? By telling him that gosh, you were just thinking about how you’d like to get back home to the man who kidnapped you years ago. The man who’s held you hostage and hurt you, but the man who–who loves you, too? Who saved you, who is kind when he can be.

“Your parents are going to be so happy,” Kenji says, quietly, filling your silence. They hadn’t been on your mind in some time, and isn’t that awful of you? But it was too hard to think about them. It hurt too much. So you put them away, like old things in a drawer, to be avoided like a painful memory. 

But… they had been hurt, of course, by your disappearance. They missed you. Did others miss you? And had you been missing them, all along? Only for that pain to be glossed over to protect yourself. A selfish sort of trickery. 

Pangs in your heart begin to puncture that heavy shock. Your mother. Your father. Your best friend. Your dog. Neighbors, the friendly woman at the grocery store who always stuck a pack of gum in your bag before you left. And–Kenji. Kenji, too. 

Tears prick at your eyes and you know they’re threatening to spill. Just when had you forgotten all of them? Set them all in that dusty drawer, to avoid the pain, to indulge in the comfort of increasingly familiar days inside Geto’s compound. 

“Listen,” Kenji says, soft, slow. As if you were wrapped in a silver emergency blanket and perched on the end of an ambulance after fighting off a monster. And–have you been? 

Confusion blurs your thoughts, your memories. You haven’t been… unhappy in a long time. Haven’t thought about those unpleasant days, when you fought. When you ran. Instead, you’ve thought about how comfortable you are; how nice it feels when Geto puts aside his duties now and then, and spends more time with you.

When did you stop trying to get away?

Kenji seems to sense your thoughts, somehow; sense your inner turmoil which must surely be written on your face as clear as day. 

“I’ll help you,” he continues, as his words seem to grow louder and louder in your ear. Like a siren–like a wake up call. “Meet me at the park around the corner. Tonight. Whatever’s going on… whatever’s happened, I can help you.” 

I can help you. And you need it, don’t you? Help?

Your mouth opens stupidly, like a fish, but before you can say anything, two familiar presences are by your side. 

Kenji drops your hands, and you find yourself staring down at them. 

“Who is this?” Mimiko asks, a shopping bag tucked over her arm. She takes one of your hands in hers, gives it a firm squeeze.

“Do you know them?” Nanako’s hand is in yours just as swiftly as her sister’s, and this time, you recollect yourself–you give her hand a squeeze first.

“I don’t know,” you lie, the first time you’ve lied to the girls in what seems like forever. “He was just apologizing for running into me.”

The girls look at each other, leaning forward, with you in between. You feel the weight of their stares glancing by you, like they might just brush your cheek. 

But–

“Let’s go home,” is all they say together, and begin to lead you away. You don’t dare answer Kenji, but as they turn you away, you dare it–

You give the smallest of nods.

You’ll meet him.

–

“Did you behave?” Geto murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. Every muscle in your body seems to lock in at once, the thought pattering against your skull–He knows he knows he knows he knows–before he pulls away and laughs a little. A melodic sound that pulls you down from your tense height, though it feels like your feet skid the entire way.

“Only a tease,” he says, almost airily, before he looks at the girls. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Nanako and Mimiko exchange a look, and there, an awful thought–They’ll tell him–before they dutifully pull the sides of their shopping bags closer in near unison to hide their gifts. 

“You’ll find out at the party,” they say in unison, and you can’t help the cold wash of relief that runs through your stomach. They must have believed you, and they know mentioning the man to Geto will only spoil the party they’ve been planning for weeks. 

It will definitely spoil it, you think, once he finds out you’ve run away.

–

You’re not very poetic, as a general rule of thumb. Oh, sometimes you try. You take pen to paper and scribble out lines about your feelings, about the way the trees look in the garden you’re allowed to roam, the way Geto’s empty side of the bed feels in the morning. 

It never amounts to anything satisfying, you can’t quite seem to make the words stick. But here, now, in this moment, maybe you could write something worth remembering.

The moonlight brushes against Geto’s hair as daintily as your fingers, which skim the strands on the pillow, not daring to get anywhere close to his scalp, to the softness of his cheek. He might wake up. He might wake up and realize that he’s let you go in the night, his arms tired and slack, and you’ve slipped out of bed–

But you’re not gone yet, are you? No. Now, you’re leaning next to the bed, watching the way the moonlight through the window makes half his face glow in the darkness. He looks like a sculpture, with only a hint of his chest rising to tell you that he’s a living being, and not some piece of marble in the garden.

And oh, how lovely he looks. How serene. 

Maybe you should stay. Maybe this is an awful idea. Maybe it will simply lead to trouble and upset and you’ll topsy-turvy everything in your world again, and it won’t be worth it.

But then you remember Kenji’s hands squeezing yours and those thoughts, whirling and long repressed, of the world outside. The world you left behind. A world waiting to welcome you again, you’re sure, if you just make that first move to leave.

So you do leave–swiftly and with dread and hope fighting for space in your stomach. 

–

Meeting Kenji in the park is surreal. Being truly alone in some outside place, away from attendants, away from the girls, away from Geto. It is only you and Kenji and the moon above, watching silently. 

You don’t tell him about this out of body feeling; there is an embarrassment that overtakes you all too suddenly at the thought of letting him know everything.

Instead, you tell him about the kidnapping. The training. The ups and downs with Geto, the highs and lows of what has become of your life. The escape attempts, the fights, the slow descent into accepting that you won’t be able to leave.

You don’t tell him what he doesn’t need to know. How it feels when Geto strokes your back on nights you feel lonely, how it makes your stomach flutter when he kisses you with a quiet warmness instead of hunger; how you no longer dread his presence, but normalize it, welcome it–invite it, even.

“We’ll go to the police,” he says, and you feel bad for the barking laugh that pushes its way out of your throat. He didn’t mean to say something stupid. Pointless. You know that.

“He would find me,” you say, quietly. “Find us. He’d kill anyone involved. He’d kill you.” Would he kill me? You wonder, and don’t ask aloud. This should make Kenji give up. Run away, and protect himself. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he grips your hand again, squeezing it like he’s been the one to hold you all these years. He waits until you turn to look at him, and you can see the glossy tears in his eyes, the way he looks so frazzled–but determined. Hopeful. Kind. 

“Please let me help you.”

These words hurt your chest. 

“Is there a day you can slip away like this again?”

You don’t answer right away. You chew on the words, heart pounding. 

How sick it feels that some part of you wants to say no. Wants to be Cinderella hiking up her ballgown and calling out that she has to get back to her kidnapper’s compound by midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.

But–

It’s not just Kenji that you left behind, is it? It’s your parents, your friends, your family, your neighbors. The world itself. 

And something small inside you, louder and louder, knows you want to get back to that world. 

“The party,” you murmur, almost without thinking. “Tomorrow night. Can you meet me at the gate of the compound?” 

Kenji’s smile breaks your heart and you feel tears slipping down your cheeks. He reaches up to brush them away and you almost flinch from the intimacy.

“Tomorrow night,” he repeats.

Tomorrow night indeed.

The giddiness of it all carries you all the way back to the compound, sneaking through the shadows, stumbling through the gaps in security that the girls taught you one evening so they could take you to see a movie in town. 

It even carries you through the hallways back to Geto’s bedroom, where he should still be sleeping–

Where he is, instead, sitting in his chair and staring right at you as you come through the doorway. He stands, when you enter, and you don’t move as he bridges the gap between you. 

"Where did you go off to?"

A lie passes your lips as easily as air. "I was just helping with the decorations for the party. S-Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.” 

He pauses, pulls you closer and leans in, kisses your neck. “Ah,” he hums, “And here I was worried you were trying to escape again.” He sighs into your skin, warm and tickling. “You’ve been so good. But I still wonder, now and then…”

It feels impossible for your muscles to lock in so tight, but they do, even as he pulls you back into the bedroom towards your shared bed. 

“No,” he says, almost a murmur. “You’ve been so good to me these past years, haven’t you?” He gestures towards the bed and you climb onto it, no need for instructions, and begin to disrobe. Your chest is tight–everything from your head to toe feels tight–and you’re waiting for something to snap. Him–or you? 

But he doesn’t. And you don’t. Instead, he lets his robe drop to his shoulders, then lower. 

“I think I’d like an early present,” he says, low. And the sound of his voice, the sight of him disrobing, brings a familiar heated flush–a familiar pride. A familiar feeling of usefulness that he has cultivated in you through careful training.

You don’t protest as he climbs onto the bed, as he hovers over you and begins to take what is his–but as your head hits the pillow, you wonder how much emptier the bed will be tomorrow night. –

It’s like you're not in your own body. Can Geto tell? Can the girls? You take another pretend sip of champagne so they think you’re just drunk, high on the alcohol and not the thought of freedom. What an elusive thing, freedom. Something you’d given up on grasping yet here it is, dangling in front of you, held by Kenji’s warm hands.

Geto is too busy for most of the night to stay near you. There are too many people, too many speeches, too many moving parts. It’s glorious, really, for the opportunity it gives you–

Because when he’s crowds-deep into the room, and the girls have run off to start gathering the gifts, you are able to slip away. It feels sickeningly easy. No one pays much attention to you anymore, not like they might have a few years ago, keeping you on a tight and perhaps literal leash.

It wasn’t practical to pack anything, so you try not to regret leaving a few treasured items behind as you shift through the shadows, keeping yourself in the darkness. Though it hardly matters. Most everyone is at the party, desperate for a glimpse of Geto; desperate to please him. Like you are, sometimes. Or were, you think. You’re going to leave all that behind. Aren’t you?

Kenji is standing at the gate like he isn’t seriously risking his life to help you. Like this is a game. He even smiles when you make it, as he pushes open the unlocked door and grips your hand to pull you through.

It makes your heart feel a bit strained–how stupid he is, how little he knows about Geto. How much more you know about him, how cruel he can be–How he looks when he sleeps contentedly by your side, how his smile gets a little higher when you do something he finds cute, how his fingers feel against your cheek.

Your feet skid against the ground. Oh, oh–

Kenji looks back when your gravity pulls against him. 

He says your name, and your chest tightens.  

“What’s wrong? Did you forget something?” A touch of annoyance in his voice. No wonder, he is afraid to get caught, after all. 

“No,” you say, voice cracking, throat dry. But haven’t you left something behind? No, not something. Someone. (Not just him–not just him, but the girls, too.) “It’s just–I just–I don’t know if I…” 

If I can leave him. 

You shouldn’t feel this way. You shouldn’t. But you do, and it keeps you rooted, keeps your shoes digging into the ground even as Kenji gives you a tug.

“Come on,” he says, more of a hiss. “We don’t have much time.” He gives another tug, and this time you actually pull against his grip. 

“I can’t!” 

The shock registers on his face as quickly as it registers in your heart, plucking hard like a taut string. 

Kenji’s surprise turns to something else, an emotion you haven’t seen for some time. Irritation–no. Stronger. Harder. Something meaner mixed with disbelief.

“What the hell–” He says your name in a way that makes it sound like an awful thing. “Don’t tell me–” His lip curls, his eyebrows furrow. “Don’t tell me you love that bastard. Think of what he’s done to you!”

Your tongue snakes out to lick your dry lips and you know what might be said here. What Kenji wants to hear. That you’re just confused, you’re scared, you don’t know what to do. 

But you do know what to do. And what you can’t say. What you don’t want to say to him. 

It doesn’t need to be said, anyway. It’s clear as day on your face, on the way your shoes are planted in the ground. Kenji’s expression turns awful and you can tell he understands that truth of yours; a truth that feels so much uglier when you’re outside the compound. 

You do love Geto. You do, and maybe it’s wrong and fucked up and–

Geto is here–somewhere. You can feel him, although there’s no sign of him anywhere, no sound of approaching footsteps. But it’s something innate in you now, this ability to sense his presence. 

“You have to leave,” you say, quickly, words hopping out of your mouth like a skipping stone. “Before it’s too late. He–he’ll kill you.” And despite the way Kenji looked at you, you don’t want him dead. You just want him gone and out of your life, back to his old world, even if he will no longer be ignorant–happily?--of your whereabouts.

For a moment he keeps a grip on your hand, and you wonder if he’ll plead with you to come with him. Convince you that your life here is terrible and you need to leave. He’ll try to convince you for so long that Geto will come and kill him, and you’ll sob over his dead body.

None of that happens. Instead, he lets go, abruptly, like your hand is electric. 

He says your name and when you look up at him, he merely shakes his head. 

“I don’t know who you are anymore. You’ve… changed.” Changed. Said awfully, like the word was spoiled milk in his mouth. 

“What do you mean?” And you ask this, despite perhaps not wanting the answer. 

It doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t give one.

Instead, he turns, without so much as a goodbye, and leaves you standing alone at the gate in the darkness. 

Alone–and clutching the string of your heart that kept you from leaving in the first place.

–

Everything is wrong. The compound should be lit up, all sound and music, the din of people inside the party. But instead, it’s like the world has been snuffed out–there is only darkness. Not even the familiar glow of candles in hallways or electric lights snug inside the maze of rooms.

There’s only one light and you follow it, moth to flame, all the while a knot in your stomach ties itself tighter and tighter. The world is quiet and dark and you’re going to the only thing you can see–the temple where Geto and his followers meet. 

A temple of light, now.

You don’t see anyone inside as you cross the threshold, but you’re not stupid enough to think that you’re alone.

And you aren’t–you aren’t, and when you sense Geto behind you, it is with the same familiarity as the feeling of someone presenting your winter coat to be put on at the long end of a weary evening.

Only instead of being enveloped in warmth, Geto stands behind you–and his hand shoots out to grip your neck.

It’s nostalgic, in its own way. The press of his fingers against your neck, the slight squeeze. A warning, but this time, you think it will be more than that. A blown last chance, perhaps. He’ll kill you. Or throw you out, and that might just be worse. 

“It was quite stupid of you,” he says, slowly, as if you need time to process his words, “to think that I wouldn’t find out what you were planning.”

How awfully nostalgic, too, when he pushes you against the hard stone of one of the statues in the temple. It connects with your side in a flash of pain, and Geto turns you around with ease. If he notices the way your body has begun to tremble, he doesn’t show it. 

“Humor me,” he murmurs, curling his hand around the front of your neck. “Why didn’t you leave with him?” 

His expression is cold, you think. You’ve gotten so much better at reading him, and yet, you haven’t done anything particularly displeasing in so long that it feels like wading into unfamiliar territory. 

“Not that you would have gotten far,” he adds, a slight sneer in his tone. “Not with that fool.”

A sneer in his tone, yes, but also–is it jealousy? How could Geto be jealous of someone like Kenji? Geto, who is smarter, and stronger; Geto, who always seems to know what you need, even when you don’t. Geto–the man you can’t imagine being without, despite it all.

The thoughts come like dominos, clicking together with precision.

“I didn’t leave because… because…”

Despite his grip on your neck, despite your trembling, despite the fear that he might kill you–

“I love you.”

You reach out and caress his cheek with one hand, and reach forward, his fingers pressing into the soft tissue of your neck, to kiss him softly on the lips. 

The surprise that registers on his face does not meld into disgust like Kenji; instead, it seems to freeze, and you’re keenly aware of the fact that you know he prefers to initiate any intimate contact himself. You forgot, in your haze, in the blurry anxiety of this evening. 

“I’m–” 

Sorry, you were going to say, but you don’t say; because his lips are suddenly on yours, hungry and warm and unrelenting. The hand on your throat grips the back of your hair and keeps you in place as he presses himself closer against you.

And what trembling you had from before is replaced with anew, but from warmth this time, from the buzzing that begins low in your bellybutton and spreads as Geto’s kisses travel from your mouth to your neck; as his fingers begin to work at your clothes.

“I want to hear you say that again–” He bites your neck, lapping at the mark. “And again–” His fingers undo the last belt holding your outfit together, and the fabric drops to the ground. “And again.”

You whimper as he guides you further into the temple, onto the space where he might normally greet his followers. The tatami presses against your bare skin as he begins to undo his own clothes, not bothering to order you to do it for him in his need.

“Until you’re screaming it,” he murmurs, his hair tickling your face as he looms over you. 

And you know his words are nothing short of a promise. 

–

You are sometimes a stupid thing, he thinks. Yet you are undoubtedly still his–stupid, yes, on occasion. But his. 

You proved that to him, on the night you chose not to run away. You wouldn’t have been able to, of course. That moronic monkey that called himself your “boyfriend” had neither the intelligence nor stamina to get you farther than the gate. He didn’t even sense the guards watching him the entire time.

He didn’t sense Geto, either, early the next morning, when he came to kill the fool who thought he’d steal something from a far superior being. 

If he hadn’t been still basking in the bliss of the night before, it might have been more excruciating. Oh, it hurt. Kenji’s eyes had gone wide and he’d choked on blood and tried desperately to get some final words out. But it might have been more entertaining to drag it out for hours–days–perhaps longer.

Ah, the things you make him do, without even realizing it. Unintentional mercy was just another thing to add to the list of things you’ve placed on his shoulders. 

He’d come here to tell you just that; to tell you how Kenji died, and why he died, and how he’s glad you’ll never have to worry about him bothering you again.

Only you’d surprised him. Something you don’t often do, even when you try.

Surprised him with a shy smile and your hands behind your back, holding something apparently quite precious.

It was–it is. 

A positive pregnancy test. No doubt procured by one of the girls. 

The full weight of it doesn’t hit him yet, won’t hit him, he thinks, until much later on. A child–with you. There is much to consider. Legacies and heirs and all that.

But for now, he focuses on you. You, not leaping for joy but smiling at him, an almost nervous sort of expectation on your face. He can see the thoughts dancing inside your head–Is this okay? Is he angry? Will he be happy? And he can never quite describe how it feels, this knowledge that he has so much power over you.

That he can make you smile shyly and look down with a nervous little glance and ask if he’s happy.

It’s endearing, truly. You’re endearing. 

And ah, that unintentional mercy strikes again. It is enough to make him slip Kenji’s bloodied watch into a fold of his robe.

For now–he’ll let you plan on how you’ll share the news with the twins. 

You can learn about the fool’s death another time.

[pomefioredove]

Don’t mind me sliding in so soon after you posted your Christmas event teehee

can I have a sugar cookie, #3, with frosting and sprinkles please?

order #3; sugar with frosting and sprinkles

HIII mutual hi!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ with him

tropes: only one bed and hurt/comfort characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu word count: 700

The days following the incident at S.T.Y.X. were long.

What was only two weeks between the return of the overblot victims and the repair of Ramshackle felt like years, stretched between the fingers of Vil Schoenheit like taffy, sticky and sickeningly sweet.

After all you had done for him, keeping you at Pomefiore while the broken ribs in your own inelegant dorm were mended felt more than right; it felt natural.

There was, of course, the problem with the rooms.

Something- dust, perhaps, or a certain perfume, or a pollen from one of the many flowers that filled Pomefiore's colorful interior- set off the worst sneezing fits in Grim, and even if you were not so worried, Vil could not have let him get his snot all over the furniture.

Resolved, ever so quietly, by the discovery that whatever mysterious allergen Grim reacted to was not present in Vil's bedroom, and so there you stayed.

In his room.

In his bed.

With him.

Under different circumstances, Vil would not have minded such a thing. He's not fussy, and the housewarden's bed is spacious enough for two, three, even four people to sleep comfortably, especially you, whom he would have space for even if he slept on a cot or in a hammock.

Under kinder circumstances, he would be most worried about your sleep-kicking and Grim's shedding.

That was not the problem.

The problem was that, since returning from S.T.Y.X., Vil had woken up from the same dream every night, teary-eyed and panicked, his eyes burning and breath stolen.

He was afraid the noise of his pounding heart would wake you.

The first night, he didn't sleep at all. He couldn't find it within himself to close his eyes, the fear of his nightmare and the thought of the look on your face if you saw him panicked and sobbing, kept him awake.

The next, he got a few hours.

And then none after that.

It was affecting his beauty and his confidence, then, this pervasive fear, this lack of sleep. And yet, he would not bring himself to talk to you. He would rather go tired than admit he was afraid.

On the fourth night, Vil wakes again, tears burning down his cheeks and pooling on the pillow beneath him, gathering in his perfect hair and crusting it with its salt. He can't breathe, and so he stumbles out of bed, completely inelegantly (though he's hardly thinking of that now), and to his vanity, gripping the sides of it and thoroughly, neurotically making sure the reflection in the mirror is still him.

His mouth is dry, lips chapped. He'll deal with that in a moment, he thinks. He needs to get ahold of himself.

In the dark of the room, with his blood pumping in his ears and his vision focused only on the mirror, on the reflection that he's not quite convinced is his, he doesn't hear you getting out of bed.

Vil is unaware you're even awake, until he feels your arms around his waist and your cheek against his back.

He stills. You can surely feel the wild beating of his heart, but you say nothing of it.

Finally, after Vil has regained the ability to breathe, after his heart has calmed, after the world becomes more than just him and the mirror and the beautiful person in it, you whisper.

"We don't have to talk about it,"

He says nothing.

"I just want you to be okay."

His mind is full of thoughts but none make it to his tongue. After a moment of breathing, of trying to breathe after hearing you say a thing like that, you pull him back to the bed, and let him lie on top of you, his arms around your waist and his head on your shoulder. It's an unfamiliar position for Vil Schoenheit, but a good one.

He breathes against your neck. You gently wipe his tears away with the pad of your thumb.

And he falls asleep, undisturbed by direbeast snores and nightmares alike. You keep him there, close to you, that night and the next.

Vil has no trouble sleeping after that.

[ofallthingsnasty]

I need to... Sit down... Aeough...

An Education [NSFW/18+] Dracule Mihawk x afab!reader x Roronoa Zoro

cw: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; implied D/s relationship between reader/Mihawk; mention of Shanks x reader; vaginal fingering; oral sex [reader receiving] wc: 2.1k // Read on AO3

The afternoon sun filters through the tall windows, long columns of light stretching across the cool, stone floor. Zoro stands in the middle of the room, a sword held tightly in his large hands, and he repeats the same motions with it again and again like a meditation, a mantra with a rhythm and cadence that only your master could have taught him. You stand in the doorway, observing his movements, almost grateful that he is so deeply focused that he doesn’t seem to notice you. Beads of sweat trail down his temples, thin rivulets running down his neck and dampening his shirt so it clings to him like a second skin. His biceps strain against the fabric with every swing of the blade, and he grunts softly with each movement, a noise that registers as almost lewd when hits your ears; your legs press together almost on their own as you continue to observe him from the shadows, and a slow, aching heat begins to build.

You’d watched him for months, day after day, sometimes forgoing your afternoon chores just to observe him; gardening and doing laundry seemed far less interesting in comparison. Zoro barely acknowledged you when he wasn’t training, merely grunting in appreciation when you served dinner and took your place beside Mihawk, curtly nodding at you as he passed in the halls, not even raising his head to look at you when you left clean clothes in his quarters. He even ignored your occasional intrusions during his weekly bath, avoiding your gaze entirely as you muttered some flimsy excuse that you were dropping off fresh towels, never even looking your way no matter how long you lingered.

There was something odd about the way he elected to ignore you; he had no qualms about engaging with Perona, spending his free time quarrelling with her as if they were siblings separated at birth, but with you, it was different. It would almost seem as though he was avoiding you, perhaps denying his own passing fascination with you, just as you did with him.

“You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?”

You stiffen at the sudden low, quiet rumble of Mihawk’s voice; you had been so captivated watching the moss-haired swordsman that you hadn’t even heard Mihawk approach, a mistake for which you silently scolded yourself. His large hand comes to rest upon your shoulder, fingers sinking into the fabric of your shirt, and your heart drums guiltily in your chest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you mutter, barely above a whisper, as you turn towards him. You drop your gaze to the floor—he hasn’t yet required it of you, but you suspect this is not a time that you should try to meet him as an equal.

“It’s alright, darling, you needn’t worry.” He places a thumb and forefinger under your chin and tilts your head up towards him, golden eyes quickly darting over your face to understand the apprehension etched into your expression. “As I’ve told you before, your eyes may wander so long as your heart belong to me.”

“Then yes,” you finally admit after a moment—quietly, shakily, despite knowing that there were no consequences for honesty. “I have… taken something of a liking to him.”

“I see.” He trails his fingers down your neck, and the beginnings of a smile form at the corners of his mouth. “Then perhaps I shall have to see about accommodating your desires.”

Your pulse races at his suggestion, a detail you’re certain Mihawk would quickly pick up on. “…Oh?”

“I had been thinking that it would be wise for young Roronoa to have a more, shall we say, well-rounded education. A life worth living involves more than more than wielding a sword.” Mihawk’s hand moves to the back of your neck, and he leans down, pressing his lips softly to yours for a moment far too brief. “Wouldn’t you agree, mi amor?”

You run your tongue over your lips, tasting him still, and allow yourself a grin. “I couldn’t agree more.”

**********

This wouldn’t be the first time that you’d entertained another man since becoming Mihawk’s close companion. But that red-haired pirate who unabashedly calls you his lover when he comes to visit, whose tongue tastes like ale and sweetness, whose hands learned your body with a startling swiftness, is nothing like the young swordsman who now stands at the end of your bed. No, that man who Mihawk begrudgingly calls his friend knows exactly how to please you and spoil you, gives into all the desires and whims that Mihawk insists you earn with patience, undoes all the hard work that Mihawk puts into your own education with just a few nights of debauchery.

Zoro, who stands nervously before you, shifting from foot to foot as a blush settles on his tanned cheeks, will be nothing like that—not yet, anyway.

Mihawk presents you to Zoro like you’re a prized possession, a bottle of fine wine he pulls out only for special occasions or an antique piece of furniture that requires careful handling. He leans down now and again to kiss you tenderly as his hands roam your body and he points out all your most sensitive spots, elucidating on just how you like to be touched, how responsive you can be, what sweet little sounds to listen for to know that he’s hit the right spot. He runs his fingers down your neck to demonstrate and you shiver, your nipples hardening, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Despite the guest in your bedchambers, your focus is on the way Mihawk handles you, and how all this slow, drawn-out teasing is only making you more ravenous.

“Look, I’m not that inexperienced,” Zoro interrupts as Mihawk’s long fingers begin to spread your pussy lips open, showing off how drenched you’ve become from his long, slow tease. “I know what to do.”

“Perhaps that’s true, Roronoa,” Mihawk responds coolly, sliding a finger inside you as he speaks. “But you ought to understand that you must learn about every lover individually—they aren’t all equal. Some like to be touched softly, and others roughly, and everything in between. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“That’s ri-ight,” you stammer through a moan as Mihawk adds another finger, and Zoro’s expression of discomfort slowly becomes one of fascination, his eyes drawn to how yours body responds to Mihawk’s measured touch. You look up at Zoro, whose gaze is too fixed on the fingers dipping inside you to notice your stare, and bite your lip as your gaze drifts downwards; despite any protests he had lodged about this private learning session, the way his cock strains against his trousers seems to suggest he’s a willing student after all.

It’s almost unfair how Mihawk so expertly manipulates your body, his fingers crooking up to stroke your walls while his thumb circles your clit. Your hips buck up into his hand almost involuntarily and you grasp for him, gripping his shirt in your fist as a familiar warmth builds in your core, your body tensing. As your eyes clench shut, your mind wanders and you wonder if Zoro is enjoying the way you thrash about under Mihawk’s touch—if his cock throbs at the sight of your wet cunt being toyed with, if he’ll go back to his quarters tonight and fuck his fist thinking of you, shooting hot ropes of spend onto his toned stomach imagining just how good it would feel to be inside you.

The tension inside you snaps at the thought and you let you a sharp cry as you’re seized by an intense rush of sensation. He slows his movements, letting you ride out your waves on his hand as he languidly pumps his fingers in and out of you, not letting you overstimulate yourself. As the last warm waves of your climax move through you, Mihawk withdraws from inside you, leaving you with a sudden feeling of emptiness. Before you have a chance to whine and plead for more, he maneuvers himself behind you on the bed, and lays your limp body back against his chest, propping you up like a doll on display.

“Now, Roronoa—why don’t you give it a try?”

Zoro’s nervousness is surpassed by his curiosity, and the mattress quickly shifts as he sits beside you on the bed. His touch is rough, hands calloused and scarred, fingers wandering over your body hesitantly, as though you might shatter with too firm a touch. His thumb grazes your nipple and he looks at you expectantly, a smile creeping up his mouth when you sigh at the sensation. Mihawk softly strokes the side of your face, always keeping a hand on you as Zoro explores the expanse of your form. You are yours for Zoro to play with, to pleasure, to enjoy, but only for now, and only with permission—it is abundantly clear you will always belong to Mihawk.

Zoro moves down your body at an achingly slow pace, as if he’s trying to restrain himself from reaching for your needy cunt too quickly, trying to savor the feeling of your softness under his palms. When he finally reaches the heat between your thighs, he tries his best to mimic Mihawk’s earlier ministrations, and his thick fingers glide over your slick pussy lips. He lets out a shivering sigh as your wetness coats his fingertips; his touch isn’t one of experience, but he certainly is a quick and eager learner. The pad of his middle finger lands on your aching clit and starts to move slowly over it, Zoro’s teeth sinking into his lower lip as he watches the way you start to squirm under his touch.

“Why don’t you use your mouth, Roronoa?” Mihawk says, voice tinged with lust. “See what kind of response that garners you.”

Zoro looks to you, as if to ask for permission despite Mihawk’s suggestion; you hastily nod, wondering if he’ll be as apt a pupil when it comes to using his mouth. He lays on his stomach and settles between your thighs, wasting no time in devouring you like a man starved, his tongue darting in and out of your cunt, lavishing your swollen lips, He’s enthusiastic, and his technique lacks the refinement you’ve come to anticipate from a skilled lover like Mihawk, but Zoro demonstrates that he has the potential to become quite accomplished—and you are certainly willing to let him practice all he pleases.

Your thighs begin to quiver as you feel that tension beginning to coil inside you again, and you move your hips against Zoro, grinding into his tongue as he moans into your drenched cunt. Mihawk’s steely arm suddenly wraps around your midsection, pinning you to his torso, and he growls into your ear: “Hold still, mi amor—he won’t learn if you do all the work for him.”

You hold back a defeated whine do as you’re told, holding yourself still and resisting the urge to press against Zoro’s mouth as he greedily laps at your swollen clit, a puddle of his spit and your juices starting to form underneath you.

Mihawk’s clothed cock presses against the small of your back, pulsing every time you moan and whimper, groans rumbling in his chest with every little sigh; it always gratifies him to see you receiving such pleasure, nearly as much as if he were the one providing it. While his restraint is admirable, you feel yourself growing even more heated and ever closer to your climax at the thought of just how he’ll ruin you as soon as Zoro leaves—thoughts of just how he’ll pin you to the bed like prey, your face pressed into the mattress as he mounts you from behind, caging you in with muscled arms, stretching you with his thick column of a cock until he spills himself inside you, claiming you as his.

A strangled moan creeps up your throat, and that strong sensation begins to claim you again as you convulse into a chain of spasms. Zoro licks and sucks at your clit with more fervor as you shudder and cry out for him, almost pushing you to the brink of painful overstimulation. With a low, guttural groan of satisfaction, Zoro finally pulls his mouth away and looks up at you, seeming almost feral as he grins, his face covered in your slick. “How’d I do?”

“You did well,” you manage to mutter after a moment, offering him a teasing smirk as you lean back against Mihawk and catch your breath. “But master Mihawk and I still have so very, very much to teach you.”

[the-californicationist]

he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to. 

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting. 

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking. 

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled, 

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him. 

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly. 

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop. 

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained. 

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin. 

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull. 

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning. 

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke, 

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear, 

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely. 

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish. 

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy. 

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior. 

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes. 

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail. 

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked. 

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming. 

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat. 

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony. 

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

[jesuistrestriste]

Imagine puppy art going through his ‘teething’ phase and just chewing on everything maybe even other.. things. It’s not just the oral fixation he swears!!!! 😞

ohh gosh poor babe:( he’s not trying to be a nuisance, but he just keeps getting the urge to gnaw on things around the apartment !

he chews on your tee shirts absentmindedly when you leave him at home alone and can’t correct his misbehavior. and he chews on your little trinkets laying around too; your brightly colored gel pens, your sonny angel figurines, your jewelry.

your panties.

normally, as soon as you’re out the door for the day, he’ll sneak one pair of your briefly worn panties from the laundry basket and shove his nose into it. inhaling deeply, breathing in the smell of your core from the evening before, while he scampers up onto the bed and sits down. he pulls it from his face and then flips the piece of fabric until the crotch section of it is face-up. he’ll curl over it all guiltily, knowing you’d be tugging on his collar and telling him to stop if you were here. and then he licks a fat stripe up the center, rolling the faint taste of you—still lingering there— around on his tongue. drool fills his palate quickly, and he swallows that down too.

it usually doesn’t take much longer for him to ball the piece of lingerie up and then shove it into his mouth as if he’s gagging himself (like you sometimes do when he gets bitey or loud). he chews on it like it’s a piece of the world’s finest and rarest fruit, or the most deliciously sweet taffy— soaking it with his sticky spit while he moans and pushes his hand down into his tented boxers. your name is repeatedly whimpered out as he humps his flushed cock into his grasp, but its muffled through all of the fabric.

once’s he’s finished with it, cum-covered palm and all, he’ll toss it back into the hamper and pretend like nothing ever happened.

one thing’s for sure: he won’t ever tell you. he’d hate to hear you say the words he knows you would spit at him if you found out.

‘bad boy.’

[luveline]

what about Steve finding out he’s gonna be a dad for the first time??? or him doting on you while you’re pregnant 🥹

You’re asleep when Steve’s starts kissing you. “Love you,” he’s saying between presses of his lips, the words bouncing off of the side of your nose. 

You blink, eyelashes sticky with sleep. Your back aches and couch springs groan as you try to stretch, Steve’s arms locked around you to hold you in place. “What time is it?” you ask. Your voice barely comes out. You try again, “How long have I been sleeping?” 

You tip your face back. He’s laid down beside you, smiling, his hair crushed by the cushion under his cheek. You brush it out of his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding happy and affectionate at once. “I’ve been home for an hour. We napped.” 

You can tell. You feel distinctly relaxed. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nauseous.” 

“Oh no,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest. His hand slides down to your stomach. “What’s she doing to you?” 

For a moment, he talks so gently, with so much love, you assume he’s talking to the baby. But then you realise he’s talking to you, and you melt like soft taffy under a hot sun. “Nothing, really.” 

“No?” he asks, hand on the topmost curve of your bump. 

“I think I didn’t like lunch. My taste buds are changing or something.” 

“I can make you something. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“Maybe…” You curl into him as much as you can in the limited space. “In a minute.” 

“In a minute,” he repeats, half teasing, half something warmer. He’s turned on his side to give you and your bump enough room, an arm curled underneath you surely dead and the other still resting gently on your stomach. The air between you is warm, almost damp, too hot from napping together but neither of you willing to move away yet. 

You get lost in thought. The nice shape of his smile is distracting, especially still lax with the after effect of a good sleep. 

“What was your day like?” he asks eventually. 

“Just quiet.” You close your eyes and let them sting, tears collecting under your eyelids that you blink away. “I think the baby is making me really tired.” 

“Well, you’re making a baby. It’s hard,” he says. “Much easier to begin with.” 

You smile rather than laugh, too tired. “Way too easy. How was,” —you yawn wide, eyes watering yet again— “your day?” 

“A little less tiring than yours, obviously.” 

You rub your nose into his polo shirt. “Every shift is another pair of socks.” 

“This one’s worth more than that. A box of diapers for sure. And a couple of days of groceries, I guess.” He kisses your nose messily. “Got your vitamins on the way home.” 

“Thank you… Actually, my day was agitating. I have this itch between my shoulders I can’t reach.”

“Yeah?” he’s immediately interested. 

“Yeah, would you– yeah, to your– little more…” You drift off as his hand sneaks under your shirt and his nails find the awful evil itch that’s irking you. He knows exactly where to go from the slightest hitch on your breath, and he isn’t cute about it. He likely leaves scratch marks behind. It’s exactly what you needed. “Thank you so much.” 

He rubs the scratches with the side of his thumb to cover the pain until it’s faded. “You’re welcome, honey. I’m your guy. Itches, rashes, headaches, weird moles. I’m always gonna be your guy.” 

“Until the baby comes along ‘n then you're their guy.” 

“I guess so. I think you kind of…” You’re both so tired your conversation comes out slowly, but it comes. “…make that promise when you decide to have one. I’ll be her guy, but that’s not– I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m still gonna be your guy. You’ll have to share me, that’s all.” His nose crinkles with his smile. “I’m not gonna give you half, though. I’ll just have to double my efforts.” 

“Really?” you ask. You hadn’t realised you were worried until he mentioned it. 

“Duh, babe. Not gonna punish you for something I did to you.”

“This isn’t a punishment.” 

His fingers spread over your shoulder, skin on skin. “For sure not. I’m not talking about the baby, I mean me. The way I am. I’m not gonna choose her over you, I’m going to take care of you both.” 

His polo is easy to collect and squeeze in your hand as you tip into his chest. “You’ll have to choose her sometimes.” 

“So you admit it’s a her?” 

“I admit nothing, H.” 

“I’m on your side forever,” he promises, noses inclined together, your bump pressed to his abdomen. He’s hugging you like there’s nowhere else in the world to be. “I’m always gonna look after you.” He scratches your skin in emphasis, much kinder and longer strokes of his hand. “Always.” 

[p0orbaby]

For All I’m Worth

summary: pent up aggression and adrenaline has alessia wanting to try something new

warnings: SMUT 18+, (r receiving) oral, strap use, dom!alessia, swearing probably, I think that’s it but who knows

a/n: I got insprired, don’t judge

word count: 1.2k

-

Alessia never got like this.

She was all melted taffy on a hot day and freshly baked cookies. She was soft and gentle and considerate. With her doe eyes and gentle touches and sugar coated words.

But everyone has their limit.

An away game in a place so familiar. Relentless fans. One too many missed goal opportunities. With several triggers stacked on top of eachother in such a short space of time, it wasn’t really a surprise when she decided she wanted to go in a different direction.

You felt it in the first kiss. Something that is normally slow and sticky, was now rushed and impatient as she used her hands to pin your own over your head. Her perfectly manicured nails pinching deliciously into your skin.

It was a stark contrast to her usual performance. In charge, sure, but guiding your movements rather than forcing you along with hers. Hands splayed gently across hips and lips dancing over whatever skin they could reach.

Now, she rolled her hips cardinally into yours, then pushed her tongue past your teeth and licked at the roof of your mouth. You moaned at the fiction against your core as her shorts rubbed against your bare skin.

You sucked in a breath when she licked a long line between the valley of your breasts, before letting go of your wrists. A commanding look on her face that told you if you move them, you’ll pay for it. Maybe at some point you’d try your luck. But for now you just grabbed the sheets between your fists, turning your knuckles white.

A few thrusts later and she was sat back on her haunches, looking down on you with a frown. The crease between her brow telling you she was deciding on what she wanted, and you silently hoped she wouldn’t go easy on you.

You watch her from under hooded lids at the way her head tilted sideways as she watches you rub your legs together for reprieve. Maybe it was the lust driven blush that covered your chest, or the way you huffed impatiently while she eyed you, whatever it was, it caused her to pounce.

Stretching out beside you, her teeth closed over a pert nipple. It dragged another moan from you, long and languid as she sucked then soothed then sucked again. Her lips next find their way back up your neck to then attach themselves to yours, offering you a hot wet kiss that has your fingers finding her hair, and hers making their own journey down your body.

You were just about ready to combust. Your skin alight with each stroke of her fingertips, each nip of your bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re soaked” she muttered when she reached where you needed her most. Pushing your legs up and out, fingers circling your clit once she’d gathered your slick for little resistance. “Be a good girl and keep your legs there for me”. Then she was gone.

“Less” you breathed pathetically. Eyes slamming shut whilst tension and anticipation gathered in your stomach as you prepared yourself. Mind reeling with each second that passed that she didn’t put her hands on you.

Blindly, you felt the mattress shift. Heard the rustling of fabric. Felt a mouth close over you.

You cried out as her tongue swirled over you, your hips pushing up into her mouth. All you heard was static in your ears at the pressure she was building with her wet, eager tongue lapping over your folds.

Alessia is a great lover. Attentive, compassionate, thorough. But this? This version of her is very different and you vowed to end everything if you ever complained.

Her attentions were expert and precise, her intentions obvious. She wanted to ruin you. And you’d happily let her.

Though just as you were getting close to the edge, she was gone again. The air cold against your wet puffy skin. You growled frustratedly and your eyes snap open at the sensation to find Alessia’s naked form leaning over you, rummaging through the bedside drawer.

You turned your head to watch. The muscles of her stomach tensed as she balanced herself on her knees, her face red and damp from where she was nestled between your legs just moments ago.

The coil in your belly was close to snapping when you saw what she was reaching for. Your mouth watering as she put it together and buckled it to her waist without missing a beat.

It’s large, hanging heavy between her legs. It’s not one you use often but when you do the burn you feel the next day is never unwelcome. And the knowing smirk she shoots you when she sees you wincing as you walk is all part of the fun.

When she deems herself ready, she leans over you again, lips sliding over yours before she pulls back again and says “you taste so good”

The push and pull has your head spinning. And her instructions to keep your hands to yourself now completely out the window as you grapple for her while the cock nudged against you.

Hooking her arms under your legs, she pulls you towards her, your head now in the middle of the mattress and your thighs wrapped snugly around her hips. She guides herself in, slow at first, giving you a moment to get used to it, then one fast push and she’s breached you fully.

It knocks the wind from you, striking the flint in your stomach and setting you on fire. The drag of each thrust making your legs shake as pleasure rolls over you in waves. Your nails digging into her back as she ducks down to bite the strained chords where your neck meets your shoulder.

You were falling. Tumbling over the precipice with no intention of looking back.

You felt weightless and dense all at once. Limbs heavy from strain to floating on a cloud above the sky as electricity pulsed through you.

She closed her mouth over yours again. Slower this time, her efforts noticeable as she exhaled heavily through her nose, her tongue swiping lazily against yours. You came down with your fingers squeezing the hard muscle of the arms that were keeping herself up.

Pulling away you sucked in a shaky breath. Hissing as she kept moving inside you. Chest heaving with each long drag between your walls. Resisting the urge to whimper.

There was a brief moment when all was quiet. Though your heart was still thumping in your ears, the room was still. Alessia had collapsed on top of you, her arms seemingly giving way. Then like a break in the dawn, she spoke, “you okay?”

You were still boneless when she lolled to the side, the silicone slipping out of you before she removed it from where it sat on her waist.

“Just about” you managed to squawk out, reaching a hand out for her, not liking that she was so far away. The chuckle she let out made you fuzzy all over again. “I think you’ve thoroughly wrecked me”

“Sorry” she said, bashful as if she hadn’t just fucked you into next Friday.

You shake your head in reassurance. “Don’t be, I enjoyed it”

“Yeah?” she asked, a little surprised. Her hand coming up to keep her head propped upright and her other one traces patterns on the tacky skin of your arm.

“Mhm” you hum, your body tired all of a sudden. “I think you should get angry more often”

[flo-zoinks]

Could you please do headcanons for what candies the gang likes?

Of course!!! Thanks for asking me!!❤❤

I'm not very educated on different types of sweets soo bare with me plsss😭🙏

WHAT TYPE OF SWEETS I IMAGINE EACH RDR2 GANG MEMBER LIKES

Dutch - Liquorice. Nobody else likes it at all but he thinks his taste is more sophisticated

Arthur - dark chocolate

Pearson - purposely eats cough-medicine type sweets in public to rant it was all he had when he was back in the navy

Hosea - hard boiled sweets. Hands them out even though nobody else really likes them but nobody says anything

Strauss - humbugs to suck on whilst doing his work

Kieran - sugary lollipops and when asked why said it's like his own horse sugar lick thingy

Sadie - Jake used to love taffy and got her into it, whilst she doesn't normally have a sweet tooth it's an exception

Mary-Beth - jellybeans, falsely thinks Arthur likes the orange beans so always gives him those ones (they are her favourite)

Tilly - bonbons, especially the strawberry ones and used to eat alcoholic filled ones with Karen until around chapter 4

Karen - insanely sour sweets. Anything that's sour and complains theres nothing actually sour anymore

John - Javier once bought a load of imported mexican sweets and made John try some so now he likes Betamex. Jack and Abi HATE it but once John saves them in 1911 the house has so many from when he went to mexico

Abigail - Fudge. Would buy it as a treat once a month during her working girl days

Jack - Javier also gave Jack a paleta payaso to try and he loves it it's his favourite

Javier - duros (do they count?)

Bill - Candied roasted nuts

Grimshaw - keeps werthers in her bra to give out or have to herself (me too girl me too)

Reverend - whiskey chocolate

Trelawny - makes a whole story out of his favourite sweet being DELICIOUSLY rich, though really locally made somewhere in mainland Europe, yet generally just likes a good lollipop

Sean - hosea used to give him sticky toffee so he would shut up when he was younger so now it's his favourite

Lenny - mints. Is the one people go to if their breath smells real bad urgently and always has the most mintiest breath because of it (sean thinks its nasty)

Charles - chocolate covered raisins. Never really gets it though, just if he had to

Uncle - anything but coconut candy. Literally ANYTHING but goes on rants for ages if he finds anything coconut flavoured in there

Micah - says liquorice but its rock (stick candy in the usa?)

Molly - huge truffle and chocolate addict

Are these okay??? Thanks for asking me so much ily❤❤❤🙏🙏🙏!!!!

U know the drill tell me who I forgot again pls😭

[kawaii-sugarii]

Sugar Rush - Next Gen

Incoming: my Next Gen kiddos!

Note: This is going to be a long one, because there's a total of 9 kids to talk about, and only now I'm developing their personalities.

Anyway, I hope that it's all worth it, so...

Here we go!

↓

Starting off with the trio of Von Schweetz kids. Vanellope and Gloyd's chaos loving children.

• Gabrielle Von Schweetz is the eldest daughter of the Von Schweetz family. She's cheeky and mischiuevous, though at the same time sweet and caring towards her friends, especially her siblings, and quite a capable leader. Always up for tricks and pranks, her preference being to do this with style. She's also very sassy, and likes to say snarky comments on occasions.

• Ven Orangeboar Von Schweetz is the middle child, and only son of the Von Schweetz family. A cunning yet laid-back boy who absolutely can't say "no" to an offer of pulling a prank. He inherits his mother's glitch, which helps him anytime he's up for mishief, since as some say, his glitch gives him a speed boost and jump boost. He also has a habit of sticking his tongue out a lot.

• Valerie Von Schweetz is the youngest daughter of the Von Schweetz family. She's in a way the opposite of her siblings, being more quiet and reserved, often seen fidgeting with her long ponytail, but she does sometimes join in on her siblings' chaos. She also inherits her mother's glitch, but unlike Ven, hers is weaker, and only occurs when she expresses extreme emotions.

Next comes a duet of Malarkey kids. Children of the sporty duet, Minty and Swizzle.

• Kentroy Malarkey is the eldest son of the Malarkey family. He's a smart and stubborn kid, and at the same time cool-headed and daring. He likes performing acrobatics and reading a good book, and also enjoys sarcastic humor. He usually knows how to keep a cool head, but there are times when he can get a bit hot-headed. Interestingly, he was the result of unplanned pregnancy, though was fortunately loved from when he was born.

• Zinnia Malarkey is the youngest daughter of the Malarkey family. Often referred to as "Zinn", she's as energetic and bubbly as a little girl can get, in addition to being a sporty daredevil with a lot of adrenaline. Always upbeat and bouncy, she strikes to bring out the good in everyone, even if some of the people she meets are the worst of the worst. She's more trusting than her brother, which makes her rather naive despite her intelligence.

Now for the girl with a 'tude, making it clear that she's Taffyta and Rancis' child.

• Abby Fluggerbutter is the only daughter of the Fluggerbutter family. She's quite a friendly and tomboyish girl, and although she's trying to be different from her parents and doesn't want to become like them, she still retains their loud and cocky attitude. She likes to style her hair and try on new accessories, but in terms of outfits, no matter what the others tell her, she'll always pick comfy hoodies, especially if they're oversized.

Up next, the ever mysterious girl, as well as Adorabeezle's ever mysterious child.

• Eclaire Winterpop is, as far as people know, the only daughter of the Winterpop family. She's a quiet girl, much like her mother, but unlike her, she's less athletic and more lady-like, enoying spending a quiet time with nature, and sometimes play with animals, too. She is shrouded in mysteries, some of which she's aware of. She sometimes wonders about who her father is, though her mother doesn't talk much about him.

Almost there! Now comes the demi-boy, and Sticky and Nougetsia's adopted child.

• Alucard Fruitpunch is the only son of the Wipplesnit family. He's bubbly and relaxed, and incredibly easy-going. He's also an air-head with a creative and imaginative mind, liking to come up with new ideas whenever they can and want. Despite their easy-going nature, Alucard can get nervous rather easily, bumbling over his own words whenever he feels uneasy.

And last but not least, the first OC x Canon kid revealed. Torvald and Cinnaren's tomboy child.

• Toffifee Batterbutter is the only daughter of the Batterbutter family. On one hand, she's a sweet and energetic girl with a smile bright as the sun. On the other hand, she's a brash and boisterous girl with a voice loud as a hawk. She's rather impulsie, and is quick to take action in any situation, sometimes answering with her fists. Very adventurous and playful, always aims for the top, and more often than not refuses to quit.

Aaaaand that's all of them!

(Phew, that took a while.)

[alkali1]

Fantasy Maternity Ward

It had been a relatively quiet day at the maternity ward, but all of Dr. Ixia's hope of going home on time vanished when she heard the anguished screams of the petite elven woman being carried into the delivery room by her hulking orc husband. Half-orc deliveries were almost always a drawn-out, tortuous affair, and with the three-year length of elven pregnancies, the mother would surely need a lot of time and assistance to squeeze out the 60-70 pound toddler currently cramming its way through her overdilated cervix.

The nurse briefed the goblin OBGYN on the patient's status: "She's carrying a singleton, half-orc 163 weeks pregnant, and nearly fully dilated." The doctor's eyes widened at hearing how long the pregnancy had been. Elves usually couldn't handle bearing interspecies babies the full three years, but this woman had gone severely overdue. She shuddered thinking about the sheer size of the baby, and whether her body could even stretch enough to accommodate it.

The patient was helped into the birthing bed, her feet strapped up into the stirrups. Her breasts, sagging low with milk, were pushed up into her face by the enormity of her womb, which dominated the rest of her body. From Ixia's low angle it looked like it could be the size of the rest of her combined. The elf's straining, barrel-sized belly shifted back and forth as the strong, overdeveloped child confined within writhed, desperate to be born.

The doctor reached into the patient's swollen pussy to examine her cervix. She found her to be fully dilated, with the baby's watermelon-sized and colored head battering against the elf's hopelessly tiny pelvic inlet with each desperate push.

"Huff...huff...stuUUUUUUUUUCK!" was all the poor elf could say as another contraction made her strain desperately to squeeze the colossal head through her unyielding hips. "We're going to give you a little something to help you stretch", said Dr. Ixia, loading up a syringe with a clear potion.

Ixia made three careful injections into the ligaments holding her pelvis together, one in the front and one on either side of her delicate tailbone. She wrenched the strirrups back, bringing the elven woman's feet almost parallel to her head. The patient let out a desperate scream as she reacted to the burning sensation of her pelvic ligaments stretching like taffy.

With her hips finally widened enough for her pushes to slowly start squeezing the overdue toddler downwards, the patient writhed underneath the suffocating boulder of her belly, clinging desperately to her orc husband's burly arm. Each push brought a few agonizingly slow millimeters of progress, and with it an unimaginable searing pain that made her scream and wail that her hips would split. Though this was one of the most disproportionate births she'd attended, it was nothing the veteran doctor hadn't seen before. Ixia squirted some lubricating oil into the now bulging cunt of her patient, working it in around the brow of the child to hopefully ease its passage somewhat.

After a few hours the head was just barely starting to approach the elf's bulging lips. With a sliver of green skin visible, each push made her swollen flower distend just a bit more, until it formed a sickening bulge several inches wide. Her perineum was pulled so tight that it dragged her anus open with into a teardrop shape.

Ixia sighed, realizing that the elf's hole was just too small and tight to stretch around the colossal toddler head. She gently ran her fingers around the taut rim, testing its pliability and trying to stretch it around a little more of the huge skull. There was just no way it was going to fit without splitting the poor elf wide open.

"Ready the traction forceps," Ixia said to her assistant. As the device was being assembled, she rubbed a sticky potion into the elf's vaginal lips and perineum. "This will help you stretch wide enough to deliver." she explained.

With the ointment taking effect Ixia was just barely able to wiggle the curved metal faces of the forceps into the patient's birth canal and secure them into place around either side of the head. She locked them together and hooked the apparatus up to a chain, then turned a crank to create constant pressure against her patient's stubborn cunt.

"IT'S RIPPING MEeeeeeee!" screams the poor elf, struggling to stay calm with the burning sensation in her overstretched cunt suddenly multiplying tenfold. "Calm down, you're not tearing. Just breathe and push when you feel a contraction." Privately, Ixia had her doubts. The doctor prided herself on rarely having to cut her patients, but the sheer size of the grossly overdeveloped half-breed could easily prove too large for the extra capacity provided by the stretching ointment.

Over the next three hours the elf's grotesquely stretched pussy gradually stretched around the baby's boulder-like, fused skull. The doctor periodically ratcheted up the tension, and reapplied more ointment to the patient's vulva and perineum. But just before it reached its widest point, it stopped progressing.

The red-faced elf gasped as Ixia explained that the shoulders had become stuck on her tailbone. "Brace yourself, this will be quite uncomfortable." said the doctor as she pulled on an elbow-length surgical glove.

Ixia carefully squeezed her hand into the gaping maw of the elf's rectum. She faced severe resistance from the stretching and squeezing being exerted on the hole by the massive obstruction lodged in the birth canal. Every square inch of space in the moaning patient's pelvic cavity seemed to be taken up by the baby, but finally the doctor was able to get some leverage on the shoulders.

With the next push she attempted to rotate the anterior shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely wedged against the unusually prominent bone. With a sickening pop, the fragile spur gave way. Ixia quickly withdrew her arm from the patient and provided counterpressure as the unstuck baby surged forward.

"Try to pant through the urge to push. If it comes too quickly you're going to tear yourself badly." But the agonized elven woman was far too deep into the throes of labor to resist her body's desperate signals. With the next contraction the head finally popped free from her gaping cunt with a gush of fluid. Ixia disengaged the forceps and gently guided the shoulders and torso out. With one more quick push the gigantic toddler fully emerged from the elf's blown-out birthing hole.

Ixia needed help from her assistant to lift the child onto the mother's chest. As the new parents cooed over their firstborn and the nurses cleaned him up and did their examinations, she supervised the delivery of the placenta and stitched up the shockingly minor tears in the elf's loose, swollen-purple hole.

"76 pounds 15 ounces!" announced one of the nurses after weighing the chubby newborn boy. "One of the largest I've ever delivered" thought Ixia to herself. With the ordeal largely over, the doctor advised the patient to stay on bedrest for at least six weeks while her tailbone healed and alchemically stretched body parts slowly returned to normal. Finally, hours after she expected, she could go home.

[thegnomelord]

I totally wasn’t reading Hound going through rehab I swear

But like what if TF141 decided, “hey the man has metal fucking teeth, let’s find out how strong his bites are to make Makorov think that this was a good idea to get his dock hard” (/hj) and some of the others test just for sillies too because of it

(this is also like my first time yapping on tumblr to people so uh idk pls don’t flame me and if I was also wondering if 🥟 or 🍨 was taken they look so good on iPhone rrrhrharh)

LMAOOO that soooo sounds like something Johnny would fucking do and say. It probably happens when he's gotten used to Hound enough to no longer see him as an extension of Makarov, maybe even learning of who Hound was before the torture.

Plus Soap is just a dumbass when curious. He's the type to bring you weird shit and see if you can bite through it. It's never anything dangerous — maybe a stick of wood or some extremely old jerky that's hard as rock. And he has this giddy look when you bite right through it, metal teeth making it easier to break.

But also would probably get you some sticky candy like taffy, watching you try them for the first time and just the utter confusion on your face when your metal teeth stick together from the candy, drool running down your chin. And maybe if he wants to be a total shit about it he'll lean in to lick up the sweet candy flavored drool, giving you a teasing look before scampering away cause he knows you can't exactly chase after him in the state you're in

[toxictigertonic]

Happy Halloween!! I was going to post this earlier today, but the past two weeks have been wack so I'm writing this the day of lol.

COYLE

- Hates Halloween bc crime increases Halloween night and he's sick of dealing with property damage calls. Though, he does like enforcing the law, so he does get a little enjoyment out if it.

- He'd walk into a Halloween party for a noise complaint and get mistaken for a male stripper 😔

- Finds people dressing up as a cop insulting. Little kids could get away with it, but adults? That's impersonating an officer, bucko!

- If someone asked if he was dressed as a cop he'd actually lose his shit and get into a screaming match with them. The disrespect!

- Not the biggest fan of candy, but he'd be the guy that actually enjoys candy corn. The monster /j

- A little old lady would offer him candy and he'd accept it with a smile, then immediately try to pass it off to someone else.

- He would NOT pass out candy. Fucker hands out apples and shit bc he likes to see the disappointment in children's eyes.

- Says some absolutely WILD shit to anyone in a sexy costume. Man or woman, doesn't matter, he's pointing out how you look in a very uncomfortable way.

- Kids would manage to prank his ass and handcuff him to something for the rest of the night. Good luck responding to calls, jackass.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- She loves Halloween, Futterman hates it with a passion for obvious reasons.

- She's cooing over the children's costumes. She'd give extra cute outfits extra candy (if Futterman let her hand out candy)

- Futterman makes her hand out apples and floss and toothbrushes and she feels a little bad seeing the children get sad. The babies deserve a little treat :(

- She'd secretly hide a piece of candy under the apple and dump it into the kid's hand with a not so secret wink.

- Futterman lectures small children who have big bags of candy and makes them cry. You're gonna get cavities!!

- In particular, if he sees taffy or candy corn or anything that's pure sticky sugar he loses his fucking mind. Screaming about plaque and tartar while the kids run away.

- Gooseberry is dressed up as a big friendly witch! Her pointy hat and heeled boots make her even taller and the children are in awe of this big friend. Futterman is her familiar. He's not impressed.

- If Futterman had a choice he'd be a weregoose. He's frightening children in more ways than one.

- I can guarantee she didn't get to go trick or treating as a kid. She should be allowed to trick or treat as an adult without Futterman giving her shit.

FRANCO

- Another child who didn't get to go trick or treating. Got to see other children receive candy but his dad 1. Didn't care enough to take him trick or treating, and 2. Knew it was far too dangerous to be out and about with his status as mob boss.

- This translates to a desperate need for him to go trick or treating. But, he'd be really iffy on wearing a costume. On one hand, he wants to really experience what he missed out on! On the other hand, he feels like he'd be mocked and that he doesn't need a costume, he just deserves candy.

- A little old lady would pinch his cheek and call his costume cute and he wouldn't be sure if he should cry or get pissed off.

- The amount of candy this man would devour would be terrifying for anyone to witness. Candy after candy, chocolate after chocolate, his tummy would hurt so bad by the end.

- He's NOT picky, either. Have a candy you don't like? Pass it to him, he'll scarf it down without even thinking about it. A couple of the sticky ones make his teeth hurt, though.

- The sugar crash afterwards would be legendary. He's face down on the carpet, half dead, shaking from the low blood sugar, with a puddle of drool under him. Someone clean him up and put him to bed.

- Costume wise, I can either see him going as an imp (the poster and bc he's my evil little guy) OR a unicorn bc of the line he has with Coyle. Pacifier comes with both outfits whether you like it or not.

- If you offer him some shit like popcorn balls or non candy when he comes to your door (or point out that he's an adult), he's pulling out Lupara. Don't test him, he's rabid.

- He'd be so excited if he could go trick or treating with Gooseberry. He'd hold her hand and feel like the most special little guy. One hand in hers, one hand on his pumpkin pail, paci in his mouth, he's happy as can be.

I love Halloween so much, everyone have a great night and enjoy some candy and the Geister event!

@thehalloweenspooks @millie-milkshake (thank you both for asking teehee)

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

True Weakness

Thank you to @laffy-taffy-creations for helping me come up with the title!

“Darling,” Whumper called, opening the door to Whumpee’s room, “breakfast’s ready.”

The little lump under the blankets didn’t move. Whumper tutted, then spoke again.

“Whumpee, my love,” they said, “if you weren’t awake before, my voice should’ve roused you now. Come along.”

As they spoke, Whumper crossed the room to their darling’s bedside. When Whumpee still didn’t respond, a frown crept into Whumper’s features.

“Whumpee, you know how I feel about being ignored-”

Whumper pulled back the covers and nearly recoiled at what they saw. Whumpee’s eyes were shut in restless sleep, their breathing was labored, and their beautiful face contorted in discomfort as red splotches stained their usually flawless skin. Whumper put a hand to their forehead; the heat radiating there was all the confirmation they needed.

“My dearest, how long have you been like this?” they whispered to themselves.

Whumpee whimpered in their sleep, unconsciously leaning into their captor’s cool touch. Whumper crouched down at their side and cupped their too-warm face.

“Whumpee, please wake up for me,” they whispered.

Slowly, Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open, revealing glassy irises beneath half-closed lids. Whumper breathed a sigh of relief, at least they were able to rouse them.

“You’re burning up, my darling,” they said, “how are you feeling?”

Whumpee whimpered in response, their eyes screwing shut as they nuzzled further into Whumper’s hands.

“Talk to me, what hurts?”

Whumpee looked up at them with the most pitiful expression.

“Everything,” they croaked hoarsely.

There was an unnatural gravel to their voice, and it looked like just speaking was causing them pain.

“I’m afraid I might have to take you to a doctor,” Whumper decided, “are you going to behave for me?”

Whumper didn’t wait for their response; they hoisted Whumpee up into a bridal carry. At this point, Whumpee would usually protest, but their current state had made them miserably docile. Whumper brought them to the car and laid them in the passenger’s seat. They buckled their seatbelt for them and closed their door. Once in the driver’s seat, Whumper sped off to the nearest town. The benefit of living in a large cabin in a private forest was no one would bother them and their darling, but the privacy did have its downsides, especially in situations like this.

…

Whumpee had fallen asleep on the way home. Whumper gently carried them inside and tucked them back into bed. Strep throat, the doctor had said, and a pretty bad case of it, too. Whumper had no idea how Whumpee had gotten it, they had always been so careful to keep them as healthy as possible. Whumper felt utterly ashamed of themselves for letting this happen, and as they opened the bag of medicine Whumpee had been prescribed, they fought the urge to cry. Gently, they shook their shoulder.

“Mmm,” Whumpee groaned.

“I’m sorry my love, but I need you to take some of this.”

Whumper poured some medicine onto a spoon. Whumpee looked down at the thick, sticky liquid, then back up at Whumper pleadingly.

“I know, I know,” Whumper said, “but you have to take it. It’s going to help you feel better. You do want to feel better, don’t you?”

Whumper slipped a hand behind Whumpee’s back and lifted them into a sitting position. Whumpee’s mouth fell open, allowing them to feed them the medicine.

With great difficulty, and quite the grimace, Whumpee swallowed. Whumper quickly offered them a glass of water, which they drained in a matter of seconds. Whumper then lowered them back into bed.

“I’ll let you get your rest,” they said, “you’re going to need it.”

Whumper turned to leave, but a weak hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed their sleeve. Whumper turned, their brows going up in surprise. Whumpee looked just as shocked as them.

“What is it, darling?”

“…S-Stay?”

Whumper melted on the spot. They crawled in bed next to their little Whumpee, holding them close. The germs could go fly a kite. This was the first time Whumpee had actually wanted Whumper to be with them. Maybe Whumper should let them get sick more often…

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[steddieas-shegoes]

"so you're telling me that you helped them find all the eggs on the bus?" steve asked, arms folded across his chest.

"yes! they couldn't even reach a few of them. you hid them too high," eddie unwrapped another chocolate egg and shoved it in his mouth.

"yeah, the goal was to keep some hidden so we wouldn't have them bouncing off the walls while we're stuck on here for another six hours."

eddie stopped chewing his candy, looking over at their two daughters who were currently arguing over who got to keep the $1 bill and who got to keep the four quarters from one of the eggs.

"i thought the goal was to find them all?"

"yeah, eventually. all the obvious ones were for today and then tomorrow one of us would 'find' the last handful of them and give out the candy over the course of the day." steve snapped his fingers at the girls and gave them his 'you better chill out' look. "now they're all in a mood and probably want to run around, but can't."

"oh."

"yeah, oh." steve sighed. he gestured to their son, who was too young to care about money, but definitely not too young to care about candy, shoving a handful of jelly beans in his mouth. "how do you plan on entertaining him?"

"he can play my guitar or something."

"and what do you suggest we do with the girls?"

"pawn them off on jeff and his wife on the next stop? they need practice anyways."

steve snorted. it wasn't a bad idea necessarily. but there was no way they'd be on their best behavior and steve wouldn't put anyone else through that.

"how about we stop for some food to help soak up some of that sugar?" steve suggested, knowing they still had about two hours before they were scheduled for a stop. bribing the driver would be pretty easy, especially if they let him pick where they went. "one of us can hide the rest of the candy while they're off the bus."

"fine, but they'll be mad when they get back."

"and they can stay mad," steve laughed. "but they can stay mad at you for it. i was the bad guy yesterday when i said no to ice cream. it's your turn."

eddie's jaw dropped. "but i'm never the bad guy!"

"yes, my point exactly." steve turned to grab bottles of water for the kids. maybe flushing it all out of their system would help. "i'm taking the title of cool dad for the day."

"robin would be so disappointed in you," eddie grumbled.

"robin's been trying to get me to loosen up for years. she'll be proud of me."

eddie wrapped his arms around steve, ignoring the sudden screech from their oldest daughter for another moment.

"i'm proud of you too. i can be the bad guy more often if you want."

"nah. i kinda like what we have." steve leaned in to kiss him quickly. "but i'm gonna soak it in today. might get a little worked up seeing you be the guy doling out discipline today, though."

"you're ridiculous. i discipline you plenty."

"dad! she took both of the dollars!"

"i found both of them!"

"actually, i found both of them," eddie said as he turned to the girls. "and if there's arguing, i get to keep them both."

the girls looked back at him with wide eyes, chocolate around their mouths, and sticky fingers from whatever taffy they'd gotten into first.

"but you already have all the money! you're an adult!"

steve covered his mouth to hide his laughter, turning to their son, who was a little too quiet for the amount of peeps he'd eaten an hour ago.

he wasn't at the table anymore.

"alright, maybe we'll both have to be the bad guys today," steve sighed. "luke! where'd you go?"

"how does he disappear on a moving bus?" eddie asked as he made his way to the couch to figure out the money situation with the girls.

it was their first, and probably last, easter on the tour bus. they normally spent all holidays at home.

but as steve tugged luke's legs from under steve and eddie's bed, giggling along with his three year old son, he couldn't help smiling at the chaos.