#still relatively scrawny but like i look like i work out now

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

Important update:

I have become the douchebag who drinks protein shakes

[seramilla]

What are the main casts' reactions to Saint Vaggie? Im honestly imagining Alastor being mad jealous or sm like that

Charlie is over the moon for Vaggie. Ever since Vaggie opened up to her about it, she’s thought Vaggie was so selfless and brave for saving that OG cannibal kid during the Extermination when they met. She's so glad her girlfriend is finally getting the recognition she deserves, and that other people finally see how wonderful she is, the way Charlie does.

Angel Dust thought it was weird at first, and he teased Vaggie about it relentlessly, in a friendly, poking fun kind of way. Eventually his feelings start to mirror Charlie's -- proud of Vaggie and happy for her, but obviously seeing the irony of how this one small act of kindness ballooned into an almost reverse-redemption for Vaggie. She was thrown out of Heaven for saving one kid and is now put on an even higher pedestal for her Order saving more.

Husker was like Angel Dust at first -- thinking what the fuck is going on, and why is this happening over one scrawny kid? He doesn't get it. But he's still proud of her. He will randomly ruffle her hair if she passes by and say something like, "You did good, kid," and Vaggie will get flustered and keep insisting, "How many times do I have to tell you people, I didn't DO ANYTHING!"

Lucifer is like Carmilla -- rubbing it in Heaven's face whenever he can. He will randomly call up angels that used to be in his circle and say things like, "Soooo...have you heard my future daughter-in-law is a saint? You haven't?! Well buddy, have I got a story for you!" Even though he's told the same story over and over, ad nauseam, until the other angels are blue in the face. Eventually they just stop answering his calls.

Alastor is frustrated and a bit intimidated. Since being a saint and accumulating worshiping souls has a direct effect on Vaggie's power, he's now got two powerful angels to deal with. Vaggie seems oblivious to her own strength and doesn't even seem to want to use it, which both perplexes and frustrates him to no end. He worked hard for all his souls, and she's accumulated so much power relatively overnight! He thought he only had the annoying Lucifer to deal with, but now he has to consider Vaggie as a potential threat in his quest for power. It will be better for him if she never realizes what she's capable of.

Niffty is...Niffty. Mostly oblivious. She's off killing bugs, as one does.

Sir Pentious is looking down at Vaggie from Heaven very proud. He's just...so happy. No thoughts, just happy!

[mvshortcut]

If this is a weird question, feel free to delete, but in the midst of trying to follow all the Maren/Milk Divorce/Marriage drama lore, I have to ask: why is your nemesis a turkey and how is he (or she or it, does the turkey even have a name? idk...) involved in this? Do you and this particular turkey have a deep complicated backstory of betrayal and hate that has been building to this fight or did you and the turkey just see each other one day and declare yourselves enemies?

I attempted to tell the abridged version of this tale. I really did.

The long and short of it is, despite going to college in a relatively urban environment, I have been haunted and stalked and vexed day and night by a gang of turkeys. Yes, a gang of wild turkeys that live in the city. No, I don't understand it either. They're like oversized pigeons at this point.

The turkeys have been a background presence in my college experience for some time. But, towards the end of last semester, I became aware that the turkeys appeared to be honing in on me specifically.

It started with one turkey, whom I have dubbed Victorian Maiden Turkey because the turkey looks very ill for some reason? very grey and scrawny and rumpled feathers and constantly seems confused about where she is and what is going on. She looks like a fainting waif of a Victorian maiden that needs to be sent to the seaside for her health, where she will magically be cured by the sun and fresh air. (No relation to the fact that she's been moved out of her city home, which is at least composed of 35% asbestos.)

ANYWAYS. so. Victorian Maiden Turkey seemed to like. follow me when I went to class? or at least wait for me? I had a long walk to class, and it was kind of through a residential area, and she'd just be like. hiding out in someone's driveway, staring at me as I walked past? On the way home from class I walked an entirely different route through a different part of town, and she was there too? (I know it's the same turkey because, again, none of the others resemble sickly waifs.) She was literally hiding in the bushes waiting for me to go past. I only noticed her, in fact, because I nearly tripped over her.

This continued for the next couple weeks. I kept running into this turkey, along with a few others, in different parts of town, going to class or the store or on my walks. I spoke to friends and my roommate and none of them reported being tailed by turkeys all over town. Only me. My roommate and my mom both agreed with me that there was only one possible explanation: someone had put out a hit from the turkey mafia on me, and this turkey was sent to scope out the scene and learn my routines, waiting for the best opportunity to strike.

Now, I’m getting nervous because the end of the semester is fast approaching. If these turkeys are gonna make a move, they’re gonna have to do it soon, right? Mentally I’m counting down the days until I can get the hell outta dodge. My days are numbered. And, on top of fearing for my life, I still have to study for finals, since I don’t believe any of my professors will accept “I’m being stalked by the turkey mafia” as an excuse.

Sunday. Last day before finals week begins. Trying to entice myself to push through the home stretch, I grab my picnic blanket, pick up some Chipotle, and bring my work to the park. First big mistake on my part - big open area. No shelter. No witnesses.

Second big mistake: I wear sneakers with laces. I remove my shoes and socks and spread out on my blanket under a tree to better enjoy the warm day. Chekhov is cocking his gun as we speak.

So. As an unsuspecting naive college student, I get straight to work enjoying my Chipotle and ignoring my studying. Then, just as the “ah shit, finals start tomorrow” reality begins to settle in and I finally buckle down on my work, I hear a rustling from over yonder.

Emerging from someone’s driveway and entering the park is—a turkey. Not Victorian Maiden Turkey—he looks entirely too well-fed. In fact he’s a rather hefty-looking fellow. The turkey slowly wends his way over to me; and, as I’ve seen turkeys several times around the city before, I assume we’re cool and proceed to ignore him.

Except—the turkey keeps approaching. We’re gonna call him Turkey Number One. (In the moment, I did not call him “Turkey Number One” for the same reasons that people in the early 1900’s didn’t call The Great War “World War I,” but we’ll get to that later.)

Turkey Number One continues to approach. As he approaches, he gradually becomes larger by puffing himself up. At some moments he simply seems interested in investigating me and my Chipotle and my water bottle. But at other times he begins to make a variety of unhappy turkey noises, but refrains from outright gobbling at me thus far. At this point he’s within 6-10 feet of me. Mildly annoyed—why is this turkey going to act all huffy at me if he’s the one choosing to invade my space? When he has a whole park’s worth of space in which to ignore me?—I stand up, grab my laptop, and make to step away from my blanket for a moment to let the turkey cool off for a moment.

Now, here's where Chekhov begins to chuckle ominously at me from the audience. Remember how I took my shoes off earlier? Well, as I now discover, the tree above me produces some rather sharp variety of seeds, which will easily stab the bottom of my feet if I attempt to step on them without shoes. The whole ground is covered in these seeds.

Not a problem, right? 

Think again, Milk. The turkey is impatient and unhappy with me bending down to tie my shoes. As soon as I stoop down, he begins to approach my blanket, gobbling furiously at full volume and fluffing up his feathers. He backs off when I stand up, but every time I attempt to bend to put my shoes on, he resumes his approach.

Okay. This is fine. It’s gonna be just fine. I mean, I’m actively texting good-byes to my friends and mother and roommate, but it’s gonna work out just fine.

And to be honest? It does. Turkey #1 and I go back and forth for a few minutes. He begins to calm down, seems unsure of whether to perform a mating dance at my water bottle or not. Eventually he decides against it and takes his leave and I, with a sigh of relief, resume studying, thinking that the ordeal is over.

The ordeal is not over.

About an hour later, Turkey Number 1 returns from a different angle of the park. And—he’s brought his girlfriend this time, Turkey Number 2! (She is also well-fed and bears no relation to Victorian Maiden Turkey.) I’m still unclear as to whether Turkey Number 1 wanted me to meet his girlfriend, or if he thought I was encroaching on his territory/relationship and was like, “See? I have a girlfriend, man! Back off!” yada yada.

All in all, the second wave goes rather smoothly. Turkey Number 1 is all puff and no bite. Turkey Number 2 is visibly embarrassed by the antics of her boyfriend’s posturing (I’m not a bird behavioral expert but I recognize The Expression. It is universal). She occupies herself with eating seeds for a few minutes, I have some more Chipotle, Turkey Number 1 gradually cools off—it’s nice. After a moment Turkeys Number 1 and 2 exit the park and I, once again, return to my studying.

Lulled into a false sense of security by the last turkey visit, I don’t bat an eye when Turkeys Number 1 and 2 return to the park an hour later. They were fine last time, right? No big deal.

Then, over the horizon, a challenger approaches.

At long last, my friends, allow me to introduce you to my nemesis. Turkey Number 3 is the largest turkey I’ve seen in my life, though I believe he’s at least 80% ruffled feathers and air. And he is mad.

To be perfectly honest I’m still not sure what he was mad at. I believe it was a combination of 1.) mad at Turkey 1 for having a girlfriend he wanted, 2.) mad at me for invading what I now realize is clearly His Park, or 3.) mad at me for being a potential challenger for Turkey 2, which. Isn’t actually his girlfriend. She’s Turkey 1’s girlfriend. But it’s whatever, yknow? 

(My mom has offered a potential fourth explanation, which is that Turkey 3 viewed ME as a potential turkey girlfriend, despite the fact that I am neither a girl nor a girlfriend nor a turkey nor a turkey girlfriend, or any combination of these. My mother believes he was attempting to woo me through impressive displays of force. I have henceforth refused to entertain my mother’s suggestion for my own sanity.)

So. Despite attempting to rationally and calmly explain to Turkey 3, my soon-to-be nemesis, that I am not interested in stealing anyone’s turkey girlfriend, he refuses to be placated. He puffs up larger than I thought possible for a turkey and charges directly at my blanket. Not only does he make deafening enraged gobbling noises that can certainly be heard halfway across the city, he also emits a variety of enraged puffing and huffing and squawking noises. Did you guys know that turkeys can extend all of their feathers at once, creating a “blast-off” sound effect that simultaneously propels them forwards? Neat, right? I didn’t know that either! 

Now I do.

Having failed on Potential Reason Turkey Is Mad Number 3, I move to Potential Reason Turkey is Mad Number Two. I attempt to explain, again calmly and rationally, that if the turkey will just allow me a moment to put on my shoes so I don’t stab my feet on the seeds and roll up my blanket, I will gladly vacate his park. 

Despite clearly wanting me to leave, Turkey 3 resists my each and every attempt to do so. He maintains a respectful 6-foot social distancing if I remain standing. The second I bend down and reach for my shoes, however, he puffs and gobbles and charges at me. And so I straighten up, my nemesis backs off, and the cycle repeats. 

Friends. My absolute bastard of a newfound nemesis holds me hostage there for thirty minutes like this. And he’s good at it, too. Sometimes he’ll give me false hope too, wander off to fight Turkey Number 1 for his girlfriend’s hand/wing (said girlfriend is still munching seeds off the ground, clearly disgusted with them both.) I’ll take advantage of his distraction, bend down and reach for my shoes—and my nemesis will come charging out from behind a tree or materialize out of thin air, squawking and gobbling and puffing with the force of a thousand suns. (I still have no idea how he knew when I was reaching for my shoes. He must’ve had some ingrained sort of nemesis-sense.)

Now, you might be asking, Milk, how on earth did you escape? Did you pull off some clever and daring maneuver? No. It was because someone else happened to be stupider than I was. 

We’ll call him Baseball Cap Guy. Baseball Cap Guy enters the park, sees the turkeys, and decides it’s a really smart idea to attempt to PET Turkey Number Two on the head.

That went about as well as you would expect. 

Turkey Numbers 1 and 3 immediately put aside their differences to tag team Baseball Cap Guy. Inspirational, really. Turkey Number 2 resumes eating berries and seeds, supremely unbothered and supremely disgusted.

And I, Milk, take advantage of the commotion to jam my shoes onto my feet, snatch up my blanket, and hightail it out of the park. I use the remaining 5% of my battery to inform my mother and friends and roommate that I have not, in fact, been murdered by the turkey mafia. Then I made straight for home, hoping against hope that Victorian Maiden Turkey wasn’t tailing me or hiding behind a bush waiting to trip me and suchlike.

Now, it would be easy to think that the Baseball Cap Guy was an absolute idiot for trying to pet a wild turkey. I’m not saying that’s an incorrect conclusion. However, there was a point during the first wave where Turkey Number One was approached by an older lady on her afternoon power walk. I was hoping against hope I wasn’t about to watch a sweet old lady get mauled by a turkey. She, delighted, whips open her phone and begins to coo—actually coo— at the bird like she’s his auntie, like ohh, what a handsome little man you are! Your feathers are so soft—and how puffy you are, mister! and all that.

And—Turkey Number 1 absolutely eats that up. He struts back and forth, posing for her and clucking at her and letting her take her fill of photos for a solid 5 minutes.

So. My current hypothesis is that there is a Continuum of Turkey Vibes, ranging from Old Lady (preen for photoshoot) to Milk (???) to Baseball Cap Guy (attack on sight).

And uh. That’s the story, folks. I survived finals, returned home unscathed, and have spent the summer anticipating a rematch. I’ve also spent some time reflecting—it’s strange, having a nemesis. I’ve always wanted a nemesis. I didn’t quite picture them as a turkey, per say, but for some reason it just feels right, yknow? I think we’re compatible. I both dread and oddly look forward to our next meeting.

You’ll be pleased to know that the first thing I did upon returning to school this fall was go back to the park, ya know, like a fool. The first trip was pretty quiet. I introduced Turkey Number Two and some of her besties to my mom. I went back once to study at the park. That time, I met no less than 12 turkeys, many of which were little turklings. I think I introduced them to my mom, so I get to meet the family now? Unsure. Anyways. 

I also witnessed a man, with a golden retriever and a turkey sitting side-by-side in front of him. The man tossed dog treats one after another to the golden retriever and to the turkey. (Spoiler alert: this one ended with a pack of five turkeys chasing the man and his dog down the street once he ran out of treats.)

Fun fact! Did you know turkeys can fly? No, really—not just “hold themselves aloft for short distances” but like “fly up into extremely tall trees, making a colossal ruckus as they beat their wings rapidly and gobble and yell?”

Anyways, once it was growing quite dark and impossible to make out anything other than the silhouettes of no less than five gigantic birds looming high in the branches above me, ready to launch themselves directly on top of my head at a moment’s notice, I decided it was time to exit the park for the evening.

I still haven’t run into my nemesis yet. That’s okay—I think I’m beginning to infiltrate the turkey ranks a bit. And I know he hasn’t forgotten about me. He’s just out there, biding his time.

Please admire these photographs of my nemesis as well as his magnificent ass. Thank you for your time.

[heedra]

Exalted Secret Santa Journal, 2023

Alright, its that time of year again! Going with an abyssal, a lunar, and a sidereal...my 3 favorite kinds of guy...

Harvester of Wasteland Chaff, Daybreak Abyssal Necrosurgeon, Ex-Deathknight of the Mask of Winters Former farmboy-turned brilliant necrosurgeon-turned paranoid renegade drifter, Harvester's death wounds are still relatively fresh, and the consequences of his grim deal with the Neverborn just now fully sinking in for him; he's a man torn between horrified buyers remorse and burning personal ambition. Battling with a crisis of conscious but a deep terror of facing the consequences of such a thing, he's a secretive figure on the hunt for somewhere to put down roots and practice his rather unorthodox brand of necromantic engineering without the prying eyes of his former masters. Perhaps unsurprisingly, luck has not been with him in this regard. He's my first ever Exalted character, i made him over a decade ago at this point :) Visual Refs: [1] Very very good ref courtesy of my friend @mechanicalriddle [2] Color ref (image is old and outfit is extremely noncanon lmao) [3] Image Gallery Appearance: 6ft8 (tall as hell!), bony, gangly and long-limbed. Greyish, clammy skin marked by supernatural disease and decay. Tips of his fingers are black with necrosis. Hardly any of his hair is left, only his big eyebrows and one small, scraggly patch remaining. His eyes are tired, underscored by heavy shadows, and often seem to have a pale, unhealthy yellow cast to them. He has several scars, most of them from his ‘trials’ as a new deathknight and one from the moment of his ‘death’, a giant scar across his stomach that still looks supernaturally raw and unhealed. The scar on his nose, however, is just from a time he got attacked by a chicken as a kid, a scar which got repeatedly reopened throughout incidents in his childhood and is kind of there to stay. Clothing: Harv wears an ever-shifting litany of ragged cloaks and bandages, prefering to conceal his body as much as possible while in Creation. Beneath, he wears an unadorned soulsteel breastplate, nabbed from the armory on his way out of dodge, which fits poorly on his scrawny frame, and beneath this a sleeveless high-necked shirt, also black. His one accessory is a pair of obsidian earrings, tokens that marked the passage to adulthood in his village, which he wears at all times. Artifacts and Paraphernalia: Famine's Mouth, an immense soulsteel warscythe of unadorned, brutal simplicity. It can be shifted from combat position (where the clade is positioned like that of scythes modified for use in peasant revolts in the real world) to a traditional scythe form that aids in necromantic undertakings. Additionally, Harvester is frequently seen in the company of one or more of his necromantic creations; skeletons and zombies very creatively (and horrifically) modified in all sorts of ways. Personality Details: Defeated and glum, prone to melodrama, cowardice, passive-aggression, and extremely dry humor. Within all that, though, there's a deeply caring individual with a gentle heart. Despite his grisly trade and his general lack of restraint when it comes to using the dead as construction parts, he's a relatively reluctant person when it comes to violence against the living; he avoids combat at all, if possible, and generally prefers to let his goons do his fighting for him, or to fight from the cockpit of a bonestrider if it comes to that. Extremely passionate about his trade (building necromachines) and has big dreams about how wider applications of necromancy might one day revolutionize Creation. Prompts and Ideas: Harv can often be found holed up in a makeshift bolt-hole working on a far-fetched necrosurgery project, nervously sharing a drink with a stranger in the corner of an inn, fleeing from trouble he probably had a hand in causing, or giving in to the temptation to pet a dog. He's not the kind of guy who gets a lot of opportunities to look cool on purpose, but when backed into a corner he can be downright scary if he has to be. His motifs are bones, agriculture, famine, and desperation to survive.

I Bite the Feet of Kings, Full Moon Lunar Trickster

Bitter cynic, iconoclast, hermit-by-choice more often than not, Bite generally shuns as many trappings of human society as she can get away with, up to and including naming conventions ('I Bite the Feet of Kings' isn't really her name, because she doesn't consider herself as having one of those; it's just what she introduces herself as for lack of anything better; she'd prefer you weren't referring to her at all). Until recently, she'd have told you she had no love left in her heart for humankind at all...but, well, she's met some folks who've changed that. Additional Visual Refs:

[1] Image Gallery [2] Bite in her stray dog form w/ Tell (by @moonstar-mush) [3] Rough sketch of possible warform [4] Species of ant that she is (warning: photo of real insect) [5] Style of crutches she uses

Appearance: Shaved head of prematurely grey hair. Dusty tan skin. Eye color is grey. Wiry build, 5ft6 but slouches. Her Tell is her blind left eye, but also often bears a nubby pair of ant antennae on her forehead, even while human. She bears marks of past injury from having endured a long-term stint with Hansen’s disease; her blind eye, a collapsed nose bridge, and several missing digits (most of her index and middle finger on her left hand, her index and the tip of her thumb on the right, and a few toes). She is also missing her right leg above the knee, from a near-fatal blow sustained in-game. These things are just normal aspects of her appearance, please avoid playing them up for in a way that treats them as lurid or horror-inducing.

She generally conceals her moonsilver tattoos, but when visible they evoke the joints and carapace of an insect. I have never settled on an exact reference for them, so feel free to get creative with them if you want to.

Clothing: Has an unadorned, practical fashion style. Earth tones, baggy pants and ‘athletic’ tops, and clothes that are comfortable to travel in. Generally goes barefoot. Signature artifacts: -An enormous artifact clay gourd that she carries around, Gaara-style, which is home to her hive of leafcutter ants (And which spends plenty of time in as an ant herself) - Pair of artifact starmetal forearm crutches made for her by her dearest friend, which she relies on as mobility aids. These also serve as her weapons in combat. Their design is up to interpretation.

Other Forms Her signature animal shape is a soldier-caste leafcutter ant. In her Hybrid form, her physique stays much the same, but terrible mandibles sprout from her jaw, jutting out past her lips, a second, insectoid pair of arms sprout from her torso, and her skin becomes patched with sections of red-brown carapace. Her antennae grow to their full size. In her Deadly Beastman form, she bursts forth fully insectile and covered in spiky red carapace, with a huge soldier-ant head, wicked curved mandibles, and powerful but sleek jointed limbs with strange proportions. Her warform isn’t the hugest around, but it doesn’t have to be to look completely terrifying. I have never nailed down exact designs for these, but feel welcome to play around in this space if that’s something that sounds fun. Besides her core forms, her most frequently used animal shape is that of a little basenji-esque pariah dog. Other notable shapes include raiton, goose, meerkat, and river dolphin. All of her animal shapes belong to social or eusocial species. Personality Details: Bite tends to walk with a laid back, confident swagger, and rarely smiles unless it’s to piss someone else off. She’s often seen chewing on something; sunflower seeds, candied sweets, stalks of grass, or betel nut are common contenders. While she’s quick to pick fights, she rarely does so to kill; preferring to humble or humiliate foes instead. She’s a Laughing Monster Stylist, focused on dodging her opponents’ blows and frustrating them with jabs, jibes and misdirection. Ideas and Prompts:

Bite can be found lounging in the shade chewing sunflower seeds and betel nuts, laying the beatdown on people she wants to knock down a few pegs with Laughing Monster Style, and engaging in anything that might be considered Diogenes-type behavior. She also spends a whole lot of time in her gourd as an ant. Her motifs include ants, pottery, social animals in general, stray dogs, and hermits and beggars who are more than they seem.

Daia Shan, Serenity Caste Sidereal Special Ops Agent

Once just a troublesome junior bureaucrat in the halls of Yu-Shan, Daia truly gained infamy upon her selection to accompany a strike team of Exalted heroes on a mission into the depths of the worldbody of the Yozi Oramus, and her subsequent escape and return from that impossible prison, nearly a thousand years later. The experience left her profoundly changed; even now, the spite of Oramus hangs like a mantle around Daia, ensuring that the waking world she fought so hard to return to will never feel like anything more than a dream. And then, of course, there is the matter of the power she took from the Sevenfold Peacock willingly… and how that power might be changing her still.

Additional Visual Refs: [1] Image Gallery

Appearance: Daia is a somewhat petite woman (5ft4), belying an athletic build. She is ethnically from the Blessed Isle, with dark grey hair that she prefers to wear up, usually in a bun or a knot. Her face, which she tries but fails to keep free of stress and worry lines, is usually found bearing a smirk or an expression of dangerous faux-politeness. Her eyes bear the iconic starry blue of the Serenity caste, but are also shot through with bands of a strange prismatic iridescence. She bears a large pair of bull horns atop her head, a mutation received during her time inside the Worldbody. The nature of the power bequeathed to her by Oramus is such, though, that her very nature is beginning to blur around the edges, and it is not unusual for her day-to-day appearance to fluctuate strangely as mutations come and go like glitches- please feel welcome to have fun with this if you want! Clothing: She is a bit of a fashionista, favoring blues, dramatic and sharp femme looks (she avoids ruffles and prefers sleeker outfits), and jewelry of all sorts (a lot of it). She rarely wears the same exact outfit twice, so do not feel obligated to stick to the reference- you can get creative! She wears makeup, preferring cool colors and a sharp but understated application.

Artifact: The Sevenfold Peacock's Tailfeather, an (extremely) cursed longfang forged from a piece of Oramus himself. The blade of the weapon is prismatic crystal that resembles a jagged bird’s beak, the pole is jet black starmetal shot through with an orichalcum starmap of constellations, and the orichalcum pommel is fashioned to look like seven golden peacock feathers woven together into a spear. Personality Details: While her exaltation may brand Daia a chosen of the Maidens, the elder Sid is a loose cannon, an agent of Heaven in only the most general of terms. She is mercurial, theatrical, fond of causing petty chaos, and utterly disinterested in the politics of the Bureau, unless there is way for her to stir up drama. She has tendency to get ahead of herself with her schemes, and the vast majority of her ‘downfalls’ can be traced back to her own hubris. Beneath all that, she is an extremely lonely woman who feels adrift in a world that no longer feels real to her. She’s a terrible flirt, a huge showoff, and has a weak spot for dangerous women. She’s Creation’s wildest and worst gay aunt.

Side Note: Daia is partially deaf, due to an old and potent supernatural injury. She employs the use of what magic/technology she can to aid her, but relies as well on sign language and interpreters. She’s very used to it at this point. Ideas and Prompts: Daia can be found enthusiastically demonstrating her martial arts knowledge, causing trouble around the Bureau of Heaven offices, being showy and irresponsible with large amounts of money on purpose, challenging Oramus to games of Gateway in her dreams, flirting with dangerous women, and doing tons of enigmatic and probably ill advised shit. Oramus is a big motif for her (the number 7, peacocks, prisms)

[waywardxrhea]

Part Twenty-Three: 27/16

[slow burn romance between Steve Rogers and SHIELD agent Emma Baker]

Warnings: 18+, contains humor, fluff, mental health, family trauma, romance, angst, language, violence, (potentially smut later on).

installment list

Word count: 1.9k

Emma doesn't celebrate her birthday, but Sam insists that this year be different.

One day in late November, Emma is curled up in a blanket sitting at the kitchen island doing research with Sam and Maria. The three of them are looking more into Ant-Man and what he ended up doing with the tech he stole from them.

"How did you tell Steve you knew about this Ant-Man guy again?" Maria asks Sam.

"I told him that we were doing research much like we are right now and found him," Sam replies.

"I still have the footage you know if you want to show him someday," Emma teases.

"If you show him that, you'll have to show him you getting your ass beat too," he tells her. "Oh, and shooting me out of the sky."

"Samuel, you told me to do that!"

"And I thank you for your effort in saving my ass, but it still happened."

Maria puts a hand up and says, "Will you two stop your bickering and look at what I found?"

The two of them peer over to her laptop as she turns it around. On the screen, they see a kid in a red hoodie and mask fighting criminals in Queens. Emma is the first to speak, asking, "Who is that?"

"He calls himself Spider-Man apparently," Maria replies, pointing at the title of the video.

"What's he do?"

"Well in the more popular videos he is stopping petty criminals from stealing bikes and food, sometimes from hurting or assaulting people on the streets, but mostly he seems to help old ladies cross the road and give directions around Queens."

"He sounds like a nice kid, why does he interest us though?" Emma asks.

Sam had turned his attention to his own laptop while they were talking and brought up a second video. After watching it, he turns the screen to them and says, "Because of this."

On the screen, the kid lifts a car with one hand like it was nothing so he could get someone's skateboard out from under it. Emma's jaw drops as she whispers, "Oh wow, that's why." She pauses for a second, watching the kid, and then she adds on, "That kid's gotta be stronger than Steve."

"No doubt," Maria agrees.

"There's no way, look how scrawny he is," Sam says while watching another video of the Spider-Man.

"Looks can be deceiving Sam, remember how tiny Lang was when he kicked your ass?"

"You know what Emma," he says while laughing.

"Why aren't we moving to get him on board for the Avengers?" Emma asks Maria.

"Well all of this is relatively new, he just surfaced a week or so ago, so we need more time to gather data on him. We don't want to spook the poor kid," Maria tells her. "I have told Tony though, so he'll keep an eye on him if we end up needing him."

Sam nods and turns his laptop to himself again. "Let's take a break for a bit, this seems like a good stopping point for now."

"You just want to figure out how that kid does that," Maria teases while closing her laptop and getting up to get a drink.

"And you would be absolutely right."

While they take a break, Emma takes the opportunity to check her emails and clear out the junk mail. As Maria comes back to the island, she tells her, "Emma, you really need to put a program on your laptop so you don't get all that junk."

"I do have one on my work account, just not my personal one," she replies while clicking through some emails and deleting them.

One of the emails she clicks on explodes confetti on her screen, and it catches Sam's eye, bringing his attention away from the Spider-Man videos. "What's that about?"

"Oh, nothing, just junk mail," Emma replies casually.

Sam leans closer and sees the words on the screen before shouting, "Emma that isn't junk, it says happy birthday! When was your birthday? Also, how do I not know your birthday?"

"It was yesterday, and you don't know because it isn't a big deal, okay?"

Sam's jaw drops and he looks at Maria, asking, "Did you know it was her birthday yesterday?"

"Yeah, why do you think the two of us went out for sushi?" she asks as casually as Emma did.

"I told you we didn't even have to do that, Maria," Emma tells her as she continues scrolling on her laptop.

Sam looks between them and asks "Why are you two so nonchalant about not celebrating Emma's birthday?"

Emma shrugs and replies, "It's just another trip around the sun. I never celebrated growing up. Even with my grandparents, I only had four birthdays with them before I moved out when I was 18. I haven't really celebrated since."

"You're telling me you haven't celebrated your birthday in like..." he pauses and does the math before exclaiming, "nine years!?"

"Sam, keep your voice down," Emma tells him, "it's not a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal," Sam says.

At that moment Steve pops his head into the kitchen to see what the commotion was about, asking, "What's a big deal? Did you guys find any leads?"

"That's not important right now, what's important is-" Sam tries to say, but Emma interrupts him.

"That we found another enhanced individual in New York!"

"That's not important right now!" Sam interjects. "Steve, yesterday was Emma's birthday and she refuses to celebrate."

"Because like I said it isn't a big deal," Emma says, jumping off the stool she was sitting on to grab a drink from the fridge.

She grabs a drink and starts to walk out of the kitchen area when Steve says, "Let us at least get you a cake."

Emma stops walking and sighs. She can't help but smile at Steve's gesture, so she replies, "Fine, but only because I like cake."

Steve smiles and the two of them head out to the garage before heading into town to get a cake. While driving there, Steve asks Emma, "So why don't you celebrate your birthday? I never even knew when it was until all of SHIELD's files were leaked. I never brought it up though because you never did."

"Oh, so you checked my SHIELD file?" Emma asks in a teasing tone.

Steve chuckles, replying, "Yes I did, but it was to protect you. I wanted to make sure if there was anything in there someone could use against you I would know about it. For your safety."

Emma smiles and replies, "My hero."

"I'll always have your back, Em," Steve tells her with a smile. "Now tell me about this enhanced individual you guys found out about." Emma nods and dives into the story about what they saw on Spider-Man while they drive to a nearby town to look for a cake.

When they get to the town with a cute little downtown area filled with shops, Steve parks the car and the two of them set out to find a bakery. After walking down the street a bit, Emma hugs her arms to her body. When they left she neglected to grab a jacket because she thought she could handle the cold. Steve sees this and takes his jacket off to wrap around Emma's shoulders. He smiles as he pretends not to see the blush on her cheeks at the gesture. "Steve, you don't have to, I can tough it out," Emma tells him after regaining her composure.

"It takes a bit for me to get cold, you need it more than I do, Em. Now let's get moving, I think I see a bakery sign up ahead."

Emma nods and tells him "Thank you" before they both continue their walk down the sidewalk. The smell of Steve's cologne on the jacket surrounds Emma and she pulls the fabric closer to her body to stay warm. She had never wanted to be in Steve's arms more than she did at that moment.

When they get to the shop, Steve holds open the door for Emma and they make their way into the small storefront. The smell of baked goods hangs in the air and Emma closes her eyes to fully enjoy the scent. When Emma reopens her eyes, they are met with a case filled with cakes of all sizes and colors. She crouches down and admires them like a kid. From behind the counter, a little old woman asks, "What can I do for you kids?"

"We're looking for a birthday cake," Steve tells the woman. "Preferably white chocolate raspberry if you have it."

Emma looks up at Steve and smiles. "You remembered my favorite cake flavor."

"How could I forget? You made it for me when I first got off the ice, it was fantastic."

Emma smiles even more, and the woman looks between the two and says, "I have just the thing. This one right here in the middle. Now, what do you two lovebirds want the frosting to say?"

Both of their cheeks become tinted red at the question and they both refuse to look at each other as Steve manages to get out the words, "Happy birthday Emma."

The woman nods and smiles at the two of them. "Here, try a sample of some of my other pastries. They're delicious."

"Thank you," Emma tells her as she takes the small tray.

They sit down at the two-person table in the corner of the store and try the pastries. "These are really good," Steve says, avoiding the subject of the two of them as a couple.

Emma nods as she pops a piece of croissant into her mouth. After she finishes it, she looks out the window and notices little flurries of snow start to fall. "Oh look!"

Steve is distracted for a second by the whimsy in her eyes before finally looking out the window at the snow falling. "The snow's really beautiful in a small town like this. Back home in Brooklyn it just isn't the same."

"I know what you mean," Emma replies with a nod. "Growing up we moved around to many small towns like this. The wintertime was my favorite because of the snow. When I moved to the city, like you said, it just wasn't the same."

After Emma says this, the little woman comes up to them with the cake, opening the box to show them the beautiful writing on top. "It's wonderful, thank you," Emma tells her.

"You're welcome. Happy birthday, sweetie." Emma smiles as Steve pays the woman and they head for the door. The little woman waves to them as she calls out, "You two be safe out there."

"Thank you, ma'am, we will," Steve tells her as he holds the door open for Emma who carries the cake.

The two carefully make their way to the car, making sure not to fall on the accumulating ice. They get back to the car and Emma buckles the cake box into the backseat before getting into the front. When she settles into the seat and cranks up the heater, she looks at Steve and says, "Thank you. For all of this."

"Anytime," he tells her as she puts the car into gear to head back to the compound to celebrate Emma's birthday with the rest of the team.

a/n: the fluff!! I cry lol

also the intention with the chapter title was inspired by 30/90 from Tick… Tick… Boom! so we’ll add that song here too!

link to the next part

[milkteamoon]

Full Moon

Round 3, Jon and Daisy this time! (and maybe some werewolves...maybe)

1.6k words, s4 spoilers (read on ao3)

—

Honestly, she probably should have expected the reaction.

Maybe she’d just assumed that the whole thing being her idea would lessen the blow. Make it more palatable. Sure, it wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the alternative options involving ropes and gags and a weekend vacation in artefact storage — Basira’s suggestion, of course. Melanie’s had been more along the lines of “drive him out to the middle of nowhere and hope he doesn’t find his way back,” but she’d said it with the kind of smirk that made Daisy think that she was joking. Probably. Possibly.

Jon’s first question when she showed him the chain had been a faint, emphatic, “Are you out of your mind?”

And Daisy had snorted at that, shifted the cuffs between her hands and said, “It’s just for the week, while Basira’s away. Something...something to keep an eye on you and your diet. Keep an eye on each other.”

“So what,” he’d answered, “if one of us snaps we just......hope we kill each other before someone else stumbles across us?”

“Melanie has the key, if anything goes south. Though I don’t think dragged along your scrawny corpse behind me would do much for slowing me down, if it comes to that.”

“So we kill each other,” Jon had grumbled, then muttered something under his breath about half-assed plans and liabilities, and then he’d agreed. She hadn’t expected him not to. That’s the difference between the Jon she’d dragged out to the forest with a knife last year and the Jon that had dragged her out of the coffin weeks ago — a difference she finds in herself, most days, with the fight still packed down under several layers of cloying dirt in her chest.

Of course, Jon’s next question had been how they would handle things like showering, and Daisy had grinned when she’d told him he wasn’t the first guy she’d seen without trousers (don’t flatter yourself, Jon). He hadn’t asked any more questions after that. He hadn’t been able to say much at all, all stuttering and flushed down to his t-shirt neckline — maybe Basira had been right about him being pretty funny. Maybe she just hadn’t been listening properly before she’d gone in the coffin.

But that’d been two days ago now. Two relatively normal days, if she’s being honest, save for the chain binding them at the wrists. Jon had his...routine of typical archiving work, and Daisy had her routine of following him around and trying to stay out of the way. They slept together in document storage. They ate together in the breakroom (or rather, Daisy ate and Jon sat there quietly with his too-sweet cup of tea, unless, of course, she tried to shove a forkful of something healthy down his gullet). They went for a walk twice a day so Daisy could stretch her legs — just up to the library though, given that handcuffs weren’t exactly appropriate for a trip down to the corner store. It’s normal. It’s routine. It’s enough to make Daisy wonder how she manages to make payroll without ever really doing anything, but perhaps rich assholes like the Lukas fellow simply don’t give a shit about that type of thing.

And honestly, it’d been......a calm change of pace, if she’s being honest. No worms or mannequins or flesh...things; just Jon at his desk doing whatever Jon did, and Daisy in her office chair across minding her business. Like now, as she attempts to battle the Institute’s twenty-year outdated wi-fi system to watch a football match on her phone.

Though she doesn’t need the buffering boredom to know when he’s staring at her.

“Sims.”

“Hm?”

“Spit it out.”

He blinks, wide-eyed over the top of his laptop. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re looking at me like you’ve got a question,” she clarifies, watching as the phone screen jolts to life momentarily before falling back into a blurry frame, “so. Out with it.”

He clears his throat, looking the slightest bit guilty — something she should probably find funny, given that this is apparently what triggers his mess of a moral compass. “R-right. I was just...ah, wondering if you had any allergies?”

Daisy gives him a look, and Jon, somehow, wilts even further into himself. Then she lays down her phone on the desk, and answers, “Shellfish.”

“Oh. Really?”

“No,” she retorts, “that was a joke. Why do you ask?”

“O-oh! I was just um......checking...some things.........” he mutters, shuffling through a random stack of papers from the side of the desk in a very poor attempt to mask whatever else he has on his mind. Typical Sims. Never one for subtlety. “So um...no, no plants, then?”

“...Plants?”

“Like, erm. Flowers?”

Daisy leans back in her chair — an old, creaky thing that houses a menagerie of stains smudged into the cheap fabric, which would probably disgust her if she wasn’t already used to the filth of cop car bucket seats. She rubs the soft fuzz of her chin and mutters, “Don’t think so.”

“Hm.” He clicks his pen, scribbles something down on his crumpled legal pad, then asks, “What about jewelry?”

“Do I look like someone who wears jewelry?”

“W-well, no, I was just......no silver, or anything?”

“Silver?” Daisy repeats, scrunching her face in thought. “What are you on about?”

Jon looks at her. Then he looks back to his notes. Then he pulls at a strand of hair that’s come loose from the tie and twists his mouth in a myriad of unreadable knots. Thinking. Never a good sign. “I just...y-you said you’d been, I don’t know, feeling......off, the past couple of days? And well...” he lets out a half-choked, humorless laugh, “tomorrow is a full moon.”

The match on her phone roars back into motion for one brilliant, blinding moment before shutting off. Dead battery. In the black screen, her muddied expression looks back at her.

“Sims.”

“Yes?”

“You...do know I’m not a werewolf, right?”

Jon winces as if he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Er, statement jar? Statement...filing cabinet. Whatever he ate from these days.

“I-I know that,” he answers quietly.

Daisy gives him a look down the bridge of her nose.

“I do!” he insists, hands tying tightly around the torso of his oversized sweater. “I was just...curious, as to how much, well, legend and reality overlapped.”

“So you did think I was a werewolf.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps, and Daisy can’t help but chuckle at his smoldering indignance as he folds in tighter on himself. It’s a Jon she hasn’t seen in a while — the kind that puts up a fight, even if he’s dead wrong — and it’s nice, in a way. Reminds her of old times. The proper bastard she’d come to dislike back when he couldn’t hurt her.

She wonders what that says about her, now that they’re something akin to friends.

Daisy pulls up a knee and folds her arms around it. “And besides,” she says, “wouldn’t that make you one too?”

Jon blinks. “W-what?”

She nods to his arm. He follows her gaze down to his unchained wrist where the soft skin around his veins is punctured by old teeth marks, barely noticeable amongst the rest of his scars, and he lets out a soft, “oh.” Like he’d forgotten about it. And hell, maybe he had — maybe the terror of getting his throat nearly cut out had eclipsed the part where she’d clamped down on his arm trying to pull him out of the car to do it. That was the old Jon though, the one that put up a fight. Not much of a fight, mind you, but...well. He’d tried.

“Huh.” Jon rubs his thumb idle over the marks. “I......I guess you’re right.”

Daisy rubs at her cuffed wrist, leaning back into her chair with a creak. “Probably for the best,” she muses, “don’t think you’d make a very good one.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not......scary enough,” she explains with a long inhale. “Too skittish.”

Jon lets dry laugh. “I think you could contact literally anyone who’s ever given a statement here and they’d argue differently.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the right kind of scary. You’re more like......like an overdue water bill.”

Jon looks at her for a long time. Like he’s turning over the words in his head. Like he’s sizing her up. Calculating. Hunting. And then...

And then—

And then he raises a hand to cover his mouth as he cracks into a soft laugh. Something that Daisy isn’t sure she’s ever seen him do before — hell, she’d started to wonder if he was even capable of such. Mostly he just seemed to be annoyed or scared out of his wits.

“You know,” Jon says, pitch pulled by his smile, “that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Daisy can’t help herself from smiling back. “Sure. Now come on, we’re going up to watch the match in the lobby.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts.’ I’m tired of watching you work on a Friday night. Contrary to whatever your freaky boss thinks, you’re not as interesting as football.”

Jon gives her a look, grumbling a few things about “our freaky boss” and about work before a sharp tug on the chain gets him moving, and then he quits his grumbling. He’s obedient like that, Daisy will admit. Like a dog on a leash; not much of a fighter, not much of anything to be scared of, but well.

Well.

She holds out her arm, and he takes it, for whatever reason.

Perhaps she’d been a bit too presumptuous with her earlier assessments.

[suckitsurveys]

Do you own anything from Victoria’s Secret “Pink” line? Do you really think the clothes are worth the price? Nope and nope.

What does your last incoming text say, who was it from, and how do you feel about that person? It was from Ellen and it was about telling my niece we have Billie Eilish tickets. I love Ellen; she is one of my best friends. I get to see her in two weeks!

Did you have a New Year’s kiss? I did. I think we forgot to kiss at exactly midnight but we did eventually lol.

Are there any words that you cannot pronounce or that you pronounce incorrectly? I have a hard time with “peculiar” and “conscience.”

After a long day at work or of doing something physical what tends to hurt more? Your back or your feet? My back.

Do you have a smart phone? If so, what’s your favorite app? Yes. Right now I am a fan of the NTY app with all the games.

Who would you say is the overall best person you know, and why? Mark because he loves me.

If you had to choose between being a Nurse or an English teacher which would you choose and why? Both sound absolutely miserable.

Do you have a specific gas station you usually go to? Or do you stop wherever? No, I stop wherever. There are a couple I frequent though; one by my house and another by work, just because those are the most convenient. But I am not above stopping other places if I need gas.

How much older than you was the oldest person you have dated/had a relationship with? Mark is 5 years older than me.

Is anything stressing you out at the moment? Everything.

What is your opinion on dating someone who already had a child/children from a previous relationship? I wouldn’t be with someone who had a child.

Have you ever actually found a mascara that makes a huge difference for your lashes? Yeah, I have really light and short lashes, so on the rare occasion I wear mascara, it definitely makes them look darker/longer.

Would you rather have one or two great facial features that stand out, or have just an overall pretty face but have no special features? I’d rather have the special features.

Do you have any plans for Valentine’s Day? Did you do anything last Valentine’s Day? Probably just make dinner with Mark.

Do you check your horoscope daily? If so, did you relate to your horoscope at all today? I don’t check it daily but I am sucker for horoscope memes. I think I definitely have some virgo characteristics.

When you need to remember something, how do you usually go about doing so? I set a reminder on my phone.

Do you think you’re a confident person? In your opinion what makes someone “confident” anyways? I fucking hate myself right now so try again later.

How would you describe someone that is your type of guy/girl? I LOVE a sense of humor. Like, we need to laugh at stupid shit together and you gotta be a lil sarcastic or we won’t get along. I also like em tall and scrawny and brown eyes don’t hurt either hehehe.

Do you read books often? What is your all time favorite book and author? I don’t.

Have you recently accomplished anything that you are proud of yourself for? Actually going to New York.

Are you still friends with any of your exes? Do you still communicate with any of them at all? Nope and nope.

What is your opinion on people that shop at Sephora for makeup as opposed to buying makeup from the drugstore? I don’t care.

When you enter a store like Target or Walmart where is the first section you go? Depends on what I am there for, but I like checking the dollar spot in Target because they usually have cute seasonal stuff.

Are you the type of person to fight for someone or walk away? Depends on the person/relationship.

Is marijuana legal for “recreational use” where you live? Also what is your opinion on the recent legalization of marijuana in certain states? It is legal here and should be everywhere.

Do you live on your own or with your parents/a roommate? Do you think you’d like to live alone? I live with my husband.

How often would you say you use Microsoft Word? Relatively often at work.

What is the last online purchase you made? I just ordered some dry shampoo but just remembered I need to order my niece’s party decor soon!!!!!

Do you usually have bad symptoms around “that time of the month”? Yes.

Is there anyone you have to see on a daily/weekly basis that you really dislike? Yup, most of my coworkers.

Is your hair thick or thin? Would you say it’s easy to manage? It’s on the thicker side and it’s pretty manageable for me.

Have you ever had to deal with any type of long distance relationship, whether it be a romantic relationship or a friendship? Yeah, my husband and I were long distance the first few years of our relationship. I also have a few friends who live out of state.

Are you procrastinating doing anything right now? Yes.

How do you feel about being called sweetie/dear/honey/etc.? I don’t mind it if it’s from someone I know.

Have you ever had a thing for/relationship with a coworker? How did it end? Nope.

What would you say is your worst habit? Picking at my face. Its why I still have acne at 30 fucking 4 years old.

Do you have a place you go to a lot that you may be considered “a regular” at? Sure.

Do you ever read the articles posted on the home page of Xanga? Has there ever been one that has really stood out to you? Woah damn this is a THROWBACK.

What is the weather currently like where you live? It’s rainy and in the low 70Fs right now. I have the window opened in the office and it’s pretty nice.

Is there anyone that you text on a regular basis that you do not have saved in your phone? If so, why don’t you have their number saved? Nope.

Do you have any plans for Mardi Gras? Nah.

[miceysfandomcreations]

I wrote a part 2 to my denji fic. Big thanks again to @yinyuedijun for starting it all!

Another day, another evening, another scintillating episode of I Married a Fiend: Japan Edition. In it, a dashing suitor accused Identity Theft fiend of copying his mother’s fried rice recipe and claiming it as her own. The fiend, of course, denied and claimed that his mother’s recipes itself was copied from some foreign cookbook and another fuss was raised. Once again, your mind fell to Denji and Pochita, the duo you met a long while ago.

Upon your parents’ arrival home, they immediately whisked Denji and Pochita to the police station, with your mother calling a devil hunter relative about Pochita. To your relief, Denji and his companion escaped halfway to the station, after stiffing your parents with the bill at a Lawson’s. You, on the other hand, were under strict instructions to call the authorities immediately if you saw Denji again. It was only recently you were trusted to be home alone again. Well, technically, you were only home alone because the area was under lockdown thanks to a wandering scalpel devil, and your parents had to stay the night in a hotel.

And so it went for the past few months. Peeking around corners for Denji’s figure, wanting to feel Pochita’s velvet fur under your fingers again, forcing yourself to check the obituaries section of the newspaper for any news about a scrawny, yellow-haired school-aged boy and his best friend.

The episode cut to a subplot about prejudiced relatives threatening to ruin a dinner out. Your stomach grumbled. You wondered if you should order something, because there wasn’t a lot of food in the fridge. You searched for the remote; there were voices outside your door, and you wanted to hear what the softly spoken Pillow Fiend was about to say to her potential in-laws.

“I’m telling ya, this is the right place!”

A familiar voice, were you hearing things again?

“If you two run off and leave me to apologize again -“

“Just because Truck Fiend ran over your brother three months ago -“

“You’re taking too long. I demand sustenance!”

“Power no!”

Someone began to bang on your door in a manner reminiscent of a typhoon. You swore your furniture shook.

“Coming!” You yell.

You throw open the door to some long-haired girl with horns too realistic be be anyone but a fiend, a black-haired guy with a topknot, and a very welcome sight. “Denji!” You smile and launch yourself at the teen. He feels less scrawny than you remembered, his clothes more clean. You pull back and look around at his feet. “Where’s Pochita?”

Denji’s face fell. “He died to save me,” he placed his hand over his heart, “but he’s still in here.”

“Oh Denji,” You wished you had cuddled that chainsaw dog longer, “I’m sure he’s in all of our hearts.”

“No. He’s literally in here. He became my heart after we were sliced up by yakuza and tossed into a dumpster.”

“Oh.” Denji said all of that like he was recounting a trip to the supermarket. “Are you doing okay?” You ask.

“Good question! I think so - “

“Hungry!” Roared the long-haired girl. “Denji said your fried rice is the best in the world. It is dinner time, and I demand sustenance now!” She shoved past you and made a flying leap at the couch.

“That’s Power,” Denji said sheepishly, “and that’s Aki.” The man with the topknot gave you a polite nod. “I’m living with them now.” 

“Cool.” You wondered how Denji found these people. He seemed quite happy with them. Did he save any of them from a devil? “Are they feeding you alright?” You blurt out the first question that jumps up in your brain. 

Denji’s smile slid back to his face, “yeah, they are. I had porridge for breakfast and noodles for lunch. Sometimes Aki makes fried rice but it’s never as good as yours. You don’t have to make anything for us now, I just - “ he looked around at your apartment and the shoe stand full of mismatched shoes, “this is the right place.”

“If you’d like, I’d be interested in getting the recipe from you later.” Aki said, “now, if you’ll excuse me,” he moves past you and into the apartment “Power! Get out of her pantry!”

You and Denji stood silent in the hallway. “Er, my mom didn’t make stir-fry this week, so I can’t make fried rice today. It’s a mix from the freezer section of the supermarket, and then I pour other leftovers into the rice. It’s nothing special.”

“I don’t care.” Denji stated, “Pochita and I loved it.”

“Denji, I’m really sorry about Pochita.” You didn’t know what else to do than apologize. Whenever a classmate lost a loved one to a devil attack or some other common tragedy, you were more likely to stay away and ignore. Better to act like everything’s normal, no need to treat others like they were made of glass all of a sudden. But now, in front of only one half of a pair, you realize that coldness was more for your benefit than anything else.

An arm reaches out from you and pats Denji’s shoulder exactly three times. “I’m glad you got to hug him more than me.” You say.

Denji touches your opposite shoulder. “Yeah, I’m glad too.”

“You want to come it? You guys came all this way, I’ll make a snack.”

“Sure.”

-

Power had torn open your snacks cabinet and was wrestling an irate Aki in front of the TV. I Married a Fiend had been interrupted by another emergency broadcast about the scalpel devil. Denji looks at the TV and shrugs, “eh, it’s my day off,” he says. “She’s letting us stay over!” He tells his friends, “Power, finish your snacks when you open them!”

Power looked at Denji and shoved a shiny foil wrapper into her mouth.

Denji glared, “Power, if you get your stomach pumped from that again I’m not gonna help you.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” you say, “feel free to change the TV channel.”

-

Aki follows you into the kitchen. He doesn’t get in the way, he just stands and watches you search the fridge for any leftovers (nothing good), find the pan from the drying rack, and gather your ingredients. He only spoke to point out where your spatula was (also on the drying rack). He also offers to help, which you decline.

You spray the pan with nonstick cooking spray, turn on the stove, and get the eggs out of the carton. You’ll make over-easy eggs with the rest of your leftover oyster sauce, that was easy enough. Maybe you’ll dig an unexpected container of green onions out of the fridge too (pre-sliced, you didn’t trust yourself with kitchen knives).

You crack three eggs open on the side of the stove and put them in the pan in quick succession.

“You put the eggs in before the pan’s hot?” Aki said, bewildered.

“Yes.” You reply. What Aki said made a lot of sense, you will keep that in mind for later.

You wait at the stove, prodding the egg edges when they look solid enough. A sizzling sound fills the air, over the TV and Denji and Power’s arguing.

“So how did you two meet?” Aki asks.

You prod at an edge. Should you flip now or later? “He and Pochita saved me from a devil when I was walking home from school. I invited him over for dinner, and he left the next day.”

“Hm. He talks about you a lot. Not just about your cooking.”

“He does?” Denji? Thinking about you? You flip you egg conglomeration over in one go. “Cool.”

You look at Aki and his ramrod straight back. “Are you devil hunters? Do you work for public safety?”

“Yes.”

Public devil hunters. That was the more dangerous sector. “Is Denji strong? Can he heal fast?”

A small smile crept across Aki’s face. “You have no idea.”

You turn the stove off and deposit the eggs onto a plate. You open the fridge yet again in your search for green onions. Your eyes land on a wad of sliced ginger the  exact same shade of Pochita’s pink fur. “Have you ever met Pochita, Aki?”

“No, he was already fused with Denji when I first met him.”

“Did you know what he looked like before?” You ask.

“If I recall correctly, he was in the form of a small, pink dog with a chainsaw sticking out of his head.”

“Yeah.” You remember you have dried black seaweed flakes in one of the cabinets. “I was scared of him at first, can you believe that?”

“Well, he didn’t look like a normal dog. It’s natural for people to fear anything that doesn’t look typical.” Aki pauses, “no matter how benign or conscious they may be.”

“I saw that Pochita was a devil or devil adjacent, but then I felt his fur and it was so soft, like a normal dog. I saw how he and Denji loved each other and it made me feel happy for them.” Denji’s sharp-toothed smile flashes through your mind. “Aki, this is an odd question, but is it shallow to get really attached to someone after spending a super short time together?” You take the container of ginger out.

More silence. “No, it’s not shallow at all,” Aki finally says.

You grab chopsticks from the drying rack and begin to rearrange the ginger.

-

You and Aki arrive back to Pillow Fiend and his girlfriend’s semi-legal winter wedding in Hokkaido, about to be interrupted by protesters. Power was giving commentary from a fiend’s perspective, Denji was glued to the screen.

“Pillow fiend, even though my parents may never see me again -“

“They are fools, why must they insist on abiding by these human standards of love? If I were Truck fiend, I’d steal my human away immediately!”

“Power! Shhhhhh. They’re about to kiss.”

“Food’s done!” You say.

“Wash your hands first!” Aki continues.

While Denji and Power were busy drying their hands on their shirts, you carried what you made to the living room table. Denji took one look at it, and fell silent.

Atop three lovingly over-easy eggs with non-broken yolk, was a rough, cylindrical shape made of pink ginger. Along the four corners of the shape were smaller ginger slices rolled into little spheres. Covering everything was a layer of black seaweed flakes.

You wanted to draw facial features on the ginger with oyster sauce and a toothpick. Realizing that was impractical and you had no artistic ability whatsoever, you opted to write words on the plate with the sauce instead. But then Aki pointed out that any words would be hard to see considering you had just covered the plate with seaweed flakes. You decide to let the image speak for itself and hope Denji notices.

Denji picks up one of the forks you brought and pointed it at the ginger amalgamation. He tosses a wrapped snack at Power who occupies herself with opening it.

“Is that…Pochita?” Denji said.

You nod. “I’m sorry for your loss,” another platitude came out of your mouth. You were really going to miss that little guy. “It’s ginger and I’m not sure how it’ll taste with eggs -“

Denji picks up the main blob with his fork and plopped it into his mouth. You hear it crunch beneath his teeth. Aki makes a weird noise behind you.

You study his face for the wince inherent in biting straight into an ingredient known for killing bloodborne parasites in sushi. That, or tears.

You watch Denji swallow with not a twitch in his face. You still expect him to cry. Or scream. Or ask for something more, like a glass of soy sauce to chug, or a shovelful of pure wasabi.

“The real Pochita may be in my heart, but this one is in my stomach.” Denji said.

You laugh. You laugh harder than expected. Many months of worry slough off your back. Denji laughs with you and you smell the ginger on his breath (were his tastebuds able to regenerate or something?). Power joins in; Aki watches on with mild bewilderment. You think things may be fine. Denji can still smile, you can still laugh. Pochita may be gone, but there’s Power, Aki, and you.

You lean on Denji’s for the rest of the reality TV marathon. He ran very warm. At some point he lopped an arm around you. Pillow Fiend’s wedding goes off with only a few minor hiccups, leaving on a message for tolerance and love. The eggs are eaten and the yolk is mopped up from the plate. Still, eggs were no substitute for a full dinner, so you disentangle yourself from Denji and head to the phone. “Guys, do you want dinner -“

The scalpel devil crashes through your living room wall.

Denji, Power, and Aki leap into action. You back into the kitchen. There was a window exit nearby, you could escape through that.

Denji yells, “Short Chick! I thought you had everything handled!” to a panicked female figure outside. He turns toward you, already halfway outside, with the sounds of emergency responder vehicles waiting. You shoot him a thumbs-up. He nods and joins his friends in trying to drive the devil out of the apartment. You crawl down the window exit.

On the ground, blanket thrown over your shoulder despite not needing it, you hear a chainsaw rev up, and you are escorted to a nearby shoulder with the rest of the apartment residents.

You hope Denji really is a fast healer, and that Aki and Power stay with him as long as they can. You certainly plan to.

[squids-comics]

Hey remember when I said I'd post writing yesterday? I forgot about Full Comic Friday. So here it is now!! Here's Dual Identity Dysphoria!

Lewis was an average man on a good day. On an average day, he was slightly below average. He was weak looking and rather scrawny. He was the kind of guy who never put any care into his appearance. He had tangled, greasy hair and wore nothing but graphic t-shirts underneath oversized hoodies. He was the kind of guy who stayed up late in the night and slept till noon. He had very few friends, very solitary hobbies, and didn't know how to talk to women to save his life. He also had a deep secret he kept closely guarded. 

Each afternoon, he'd crawl out of bed, directly into the bathroom. He'd shower and shave and moisturize, all while trying to avoid looking in the mirror. He didn't like the thing that looked back at him. He didn't like the shape of its cheekbones, or how sharp its jaw was, or the lump in its throat. They didn't look right to him. They didn't fee right. He'd walk away looking rather patchy and spotty, as it's hard to shave without a mirror.

After that, he'd move back to his room to get dressed. He'd pull a shirt and a pair of jogging pants out of his clean-ish pile in the center of the floor. He'd grab one of his two black hoodies from the closet and throw it over top. The whole outfit probably needed a wash, but he wasn't going to leave the house today so it was fine. He made sure not to open his closet too wide when doing this. He didn't want to see what was inside. It wasn't time yet.

Lewis worked a nice remote job, meaning he'd get to lounge around on the couch while typing out some writeups or filing some digital paperwork or whatever else his boss emailed him to do. It was easy, it paid well, and he didn't have to talk to anyone. It wasn't very fulfilling, but he liked it. 

On his lunch break, he'd throw open the pantry and pull whatever he could find out. Macaroni, instant ramen, canned soup. Nothing was too high class for him (unless it took more than fifteen minutes to make)!

When his half hour lunch was over, he'd come back to find a new email from his boss with a new menial task for him to do. Which he would, without fail. He was a star employee, just as long as he didn't have to send any emails of his own. 

When he finally clocked out, he'd crack open his freezer and find something to have for dinner. His favourites included frozen pizza, frozen lasagna, and dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly adventurous, he'd try to make something more complex, like scrambled eggs. It didn't work out well most times, as he struggled with cracking eggs. They were so small and delicate, requiring the perfect application of force to crack the shell. Without enough force, their shell remains unharmed, leaving the egg relatively unchanged. Too much force would shatter the shell, destroying the egg and the nice comfortable life it had worked so hard to achieve. He didn't like when he tried too much force. It scared him. 

After dinner, he would jump back on the couch and flick on Supernova, his favourite sci-fi show. He liked seeing all the colourful alien worlds, and all the equally colourful people living on them. He'd typically watch for at least three hours, catching the newest episodes or watching reruns if there weren't any new ones out yet. Lewis had seen the reruns a thousand times already. But there was nothing wrong with watching them again. They made him feel comfortable. And he loved staying in his comfort zone, at least until his show was done anyways.

After he had his sci-fi fix for the day, Lewis would go back to his room and open his closet. It was time. The closet was originally designed to be a reach in closet, and still looked like one from the outside, but Lewis had refurbished it to be a walk in. Just behind the door was a rack of shirts and sweaters, hiding the deeper reaches of the closet. Lewis would brush them too the side and walk in. He'd quickly and quietly close the door behind him. He lived alone, but he still felt weird going in a secret closet with an open door. 

Inside the closet sat a mannequin torso and a separate mannequin head beneath a bright spot light. It proudly displayed what appeared to be a padded leotard made of rugged leather. The pads were especially thick in the hips and the chest, making them look particularly round. It was a maroon colour, with very bright red lace around the edges. In the center was a bright red spider web, stitched elegantly into the outfit. Even though it had been hand made and hand stitched, the leotard looked professionally done. On the head was a wig with shoulder length hair, a pretty bubblegum pink colour. The mannequins sat atop a chest of drawers and across from a rather large mirror. The spotlight showered the whole scene in a golden light, amplified by the mirror. 

Lewis ripped off his greasy clothes, throwing them in a heap on the floor. He couldn't get them off fast enough. He hated them. He avoided the mirror at all costs. He couldn't look in it yet. The reflected light from the mirror cast Lewis' shadow against the wall. He didn't like it's outline. 

He walked over to the chest of drawers and opened the top drawer. Inside were an assortment of medical supplies. A first aid kit sat open next to rolls of gauze, an alcohol based disinfectant, and way more rolls of medical tape than any normal person would need. Lewis grabbed one of the rolls and shut the drawer. Slowly and carefully, Lewis reached down to what was between his legs, tucking it back and taping it in place. When he was done, he returned the tape to the first drawer, before opening the second and retrieving a pair of pink leggings. Lewis slowly put them on, one leg after the other, ensuring they were on tight and flat. He put on a thin and breathable tank top shirt, made of nylon. He slowly lifted the leotard off the mannequin before slipping it over his shirt. It felt nice. Tight in all the right spots, with just the right amount of padding to sit on his frame.

The shadow on the wall was no longer as harsh. It seemed much rounder, with wider hips and a thinner waist. Lewis liked it, but they still wouldn't look in the mirror. They still weren't ready. 

Lewis opened the second drawer again. They pulled out a pair of fingerless red fishnet arm sleeves and slid their arms inside. Finally, they placed the wig on their head and turned to look in the mirror.

This was her favourite part. She loved the big reveal every time she saw it. Her hair was stunning, flowing down the sides of her head and resting softly on her bare shoulders. Her suit looked wonderful, giving her the hips and chest she desperately wished she was born with. Lewis was no longer in the room. He was gone. He had been replaced with The Seamstress. And it was time for her to go out on patrol.

There it is! I hope you liked it! Today's comic strip will be moved to tomorrow and Science Sunday will be swapped with a poll about writing. Hopefully next week will be back to normal schedule!

[saltrose]

well uhhhh I totally underestimated how sensitive to the sun accutane would make me and now I’m putting ice packs on my cheeks….. not a nice feeling I was only out for an hour and a half and with sunsceen on but I defo should’ve worn a cap too. It didn’t help to cleanse and re-apply my products either… in fact I think it made everything worse…

Now that I’ve said that I’d like to share that I went to the Gym this morning earlier than usual and trained like a beast!!! so I’m also trying to eat like one… especially after my little 4 mile outdoor walk that did a number on my skin…

Now onto some intrusive thoughts: I’ve been thinking of getting a sleeveless hoodie that’s a little pricey even pre-owned but… I’ll use it to work out so doesn’t that fit my “I’m high maintenance so I can be low maintenance” thing I’ve got going? is this NOT investing in myself or have I taken fitness too far?… will I get too bulky one day? I saw some elder relatives recently and they told me I don’t look “scrawny” anymore (not their words but my translation) which made me happy? I still have more training to do though I’m only 2.5 months in. It’d be fun to have more than a few outfits on rotation but I don’t want to be financially irresponsible either

[blackberrydeer]

It has come to my attention that if I want people to give me requests for writing, I should first post my own writings here so

If you want to read them in a more solid form, I have a AO3 account... that, by the way, is pretty much empty right now because I wrote all my histories in a notebook and now I'm too lazy to decipher my own calligraphy to put it on the web.

Anyway, the history

Prompt: different first meeting inside Boston's QZ.

21 days to find you

Chapter 1/?

The day had been relatively good.

Or as good as a apocalyptic world inside a fucking facist Q.Z can be, at the very least. Joel was able to find easy work, a small favor asked from Tess: Lay low for, at least, one week.

He had been reluctant to follow said favor.

Sure, he was healing after being shoot, his ankle still hurt like hell from the small marathon they had done during their last job (which should have been goddamn easy peasy, Tess, you fucking said so) inside a Fedra’s facility, even more considering he had a sprained ankle earlier (from tripping in the damn stairs), but they were low on food, and supplies, and their ammo was no more than some kind of sweet dream at this point.

They weren’t open to take a rest, he had said, in very meaner words, when they started to discuss what to do next.

At least he won part of the argument. Joel was working, still, bad ankle and shoot and all. Unfortunately it was a Fedra’s work, and Tess was only-god-knows-where, doing a trade he’d been planning for months.

Despite the cold making his teeth chatter as an nonstop background sound, and despite the worries of not knowing where Tess was, (of course Joel trusted her, but she had been gone for two days, the 3° already ending) it was a good day, Joel thought to himself, bending in half to pick up more debris. The Fireflies had just bombarded a dozen Fedra’s supply deposits, what matched perfectly with the “Go fuck off to at least one easy job, Texas, you’re limping like a damn newborn” request.

Despite the cold, making all of his joints creak like boiling oil, it was a good day, he thought, carrying a piece of broken window, using his non-shoot shoulder to carry the heavier stuff.

Despite the cold, the day would have been good. Unfortunately Joel lived inside a goddamn apocalyptic world, and that world deemed acceptable to leave kids rotting in the rain, and despite everything, his only thought at the moment was a simple, instinctive:

She’s gonna catch a cold

Most of the people in the area had retreated at that point, scared away by the heavy rain, looking for refuge in their shit homes. Of course, the best decision he could make would be doing the same, but the prospect of doing absolutely nothing except stare at the walls of his shitty home was simply asking the universe to make his head think, and thinking was synonym for remembering, and he was not in the mood to do that.

His pills were all but used, no escape to sweet no-dreams sleep, so he stayed to finish the rest of the work. They were low on supplies, he’d be paid twice if he worked double.

The prospect of working till his body was ready to give out was a very attractive one.

Point is, Joel wasn’t alone, and while that was generally for the better in most cases, right now he was the only witness to the kid collecting pieces of what used to be a door, despite the heavy rain and despite every piece of wood being half of her size (what, honestly, wasn’t a very difficult size to reach, scrawny and small as she was). Young enough to have kid fatness (not that she had a lot of that, he concluded, going by what he saw in his side glances).

Joel also concluded that he should have went right back home after the first drops of rain, memories be damned. Now he was soaking wet, cold, tired, and remembering a small girl in the rain, running and playing and carrying all the light of the universe plus his heart in her eyes, not like the one currently carrying fucking debris with stick-like arms.

She’s gonna catch a cold, his currently not working mind repeated, and he took that as his clue to get out and lie in his bed until sleep came from sheer force of will.

He’d done his part of the work, anyway, certainly enough to get the damned ration card.

Despite the cold, making his lungs burn with the effort of breathing, it would have been a good day, if Joel had dragged his sore ass right back to his shitty home, and not to the kid carrying debris and the certainty of a fucking cold.

“Ki-“ like a deer caught in the headlights, she bolted, quicker than the blink of an eye, and the day would have been good if her memory had left with her.

Now he was alone, soaked wet, cold, tired, and doing nothing in the jobsite, and remembering fucking memories.

Without giving the universe another thought, he left.

[hitman-two]

from the anon who asked for a GK ship.. Thank you!! Okay, here’s a description; pronouns she/her, slim, 5’2. Hair dark gold, med-length and puffy. Dark eyebrows. Boxy, dark, feminine,1920s style. Fiery, observant, relaxed, low-voiced, humorous, direct, dirty-minded, kinda quiet but flirty. Have a multicultural, alternative upbringing so people being different doesn’t faze me, nor do “imperfections”. Love decorating, hairdressing, desserts... Thank you! I really really appreciate it :)

I ship you with...

Corporal Ray Person!

Is it any surprise that you and Ray hit it off? You both share the same sense of humor and finding that compatibility is hard. Especially when you both toe the boundary of being extremely inappropriate. Something you both pride yourselves on.

When you both are together, it's a mixed feeling of 'Oh not these two' and 'thank god' because you both encourage each other badly but you're also a distraction to each other, thus keeping Ray from annoying other people XD

Dropping the crude humor, you both make a gorgeous couple. Even Brad wonders how a whiskey-tango inbred trailer skunk managed to look decent standing next to you. Hell, he's still processing how someone fell in love with this brown-eyed scrawny-ass boy.

Your 1920s style has a slight effect on Ray. He, very subtly, starts dressing just a little better. It seems he's actively making the effort to look presentable. He's dropped the baggy gangster look and wears a bit more form-fitting clothing (mostly when out on dates, around the house is a different story).

It always surprises him with how small your frame is. Not just height, but your build. He might be a little concerned that you ought to eat a little more but for now... you're the perfect size that he can still lift you up against the wall or up on the bench. (He's strong-ish but still scrawny himself).

God if your fiery attitude doesn't turn him on... If you're both arguing, that's a different story... but if you're going off at someone (who may have said a remark against Ray. He may not be the most Brad Pitt handsome kinda guy but he's still relatively handsome... and someone said you could do better...) He loves watching you go off at them. Only interfering when he's worried it'll escalate beyond words of insult.

Watching you get angry over things he agrees with, such as when he's reiterating the bullshit command they had to deal with. You're both running your mouths over it. It's the best kind of vent.

He enjoys listening to you vent over stupid things that have happened to you at work, or regarding studies or whatever the case may be.

You both have your quieter moments, and that's okay. It's not always a bad thing. Ray isn't always major buzzing energy.

Especially at home. Just quiet little "Hey's" as you pass each other by. But those 'Hey's' are said with a lot of feelings in the tone.

You both flirt. Heavily. Openly. Without shame. At home..and in public. You're both deeply and madly in love with each other. And just because you guys have been together for years, why should the flirting stop? It doesn't. You both still flirt like you're trying to impress one another for the first time.

It's also relationship goal-setting for others. Just because you're married, doesn't give you the right to stop putting in the effort. Treat your love like it's the first time. Never forget that honeymoon phase. Despite the jokes of Ray being trailer-trash... he really does set the example. You just...gotta squint between the inappropriate humour and dirty flirting XD

Ray never getting tired of always saying "Morning beautiful." Every. Single. Morning. (He's just happy in love. Happy to have someone love him and he's not taking any chances in ruining that).

You're both very observant of each other. Despite you both sharing the same personality traits, you can always tell when the other one is feeling down or uncomfortable.

Ray will always do his best to pick up on these things. He can be joking and shit with the other Marines over a beer but would look at you, see you not vibing for whatever reason, and will excuse himself from the group.

He'll sit next to you, ask you what's wrong, and won't take 'Nothing' for an answer.

If you're not feeling well and only chose to go out for Ray's sake, he'll take you home. If you're just not up for company regardless and basically don't want to be there (though, knowing you, there's always a valid reason), he'll take you home.

"Later fuckers!", "Whoo! Ray! Get some! Yeah!" the group of friends will yell as Ray exits it with an arm around you. Rays other hand flips them off and continues to flip them off until you're both out of sight.

Like I said, he's very observant. So once you're both home, he'll set you up with whatever makes you comfortable. If you're feeling sick... straight to bed (you both have a television in the bedroom so he'll sit with you and watch your comfort shows/movies). He'll bring snacks, make sure you're keeping up your fluids and will make sure you eat a proper meal. Even if it's just soup.

And if it's that time of the month... he'll do you a hot water bottle.

If it's simply you're just feeling down and not great company, he'll wrap you up with your favorite blankie, your favorite stuffed teddy and snuggle up to you. If your head is resting on his lap, he'll run his fingers through your dark golden locks.

The thing Ray loves most about you? You don't try to change him.

The thing the Marines love about you dating Ray? You've accepted him for who he is and not looking to change him. They're grateful for that.

Ray can be who he is without worrying about saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing and upsetting you and being given that cold shoulder or silent treatment. He loves that you're not the type of woman to do that.

But if he does say something out of line, pull him up on it. But he'd be quick to realise because he'd see your face drop and immediately know he pushed the boundary or said something that made you uncomfortable. Those big brown eyes of his immediately look like a lost puppy dog. The last thing he ever wants to do to you is make you uncomfortable.

He'd apologise. Straight away. "I'm sorry. I know I say stupid shit but that was...pretty fucking stupid. I'm sorry." He genuinely meant it. You can't stay mad at him. He knows he's hurt and upset you. Whether you feel this intensely or mildly, he's still preparing for a soft afternoon in to make it up to you.

He will pull you in for a hug and press a kiss to your temple as he does so, murmuring another small "I'm sorry."

You mentioned you loved hairdressing.... Not sure whether that means going to the hairdressers or actually doing the hairdressing yourself... but... he'd support any hair decision you make (Don't come to him asking 'Will this suit me?' because the answer will always be 'Yes'. He's biased. He loves and adores you. You can pull off anything because you're so stunning, beautiful, and sexy to him).

If you do hairdressing... Ray will always get his hair trimmed down by you. Especially if it's grown too long and 'Ray, you need a haircut.', 'You're the hairdresser.'

When it comes to decorating, either with baking, interior designing or interior designing, Ray does not mess with it. You know what you're doing. He's just here to support your many trips to Target and back. He loves it though. When asked about what you're up to if you're not catching up with friends with Ray, he's just "I don't know. Y/N takes care of it." or "I don't know. She's swapped the colors out from white to another white." (you went from cream to off-white).

He acts like he's a typical male who doesn't know what the fuck is going on (because he is) but he's very proud and supportive and enjoys talking about you and your latest decorating endeavors around the house.

There's always desserts at your house. And if you've been invited to a dinner, you're the one who brings the desserts. Ray does the cooking (He's not the greatest but he can cook simple meals and a basic roast but nothing too fancy). You do the dessert.

Sometimes you'll both bake together - if Ray isn't distracting you or dipping his finger into the batter mix.

He's obsessed about you and never shuts up about you.

═════════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═════════════════

BONUS: Almost shipped you with....

Anthony 'Manimal' Jacks

Hear me out...

The boy is disgusting but that's Marine Manimal we see. Think about the man outside of the uniform.... Once he had enough money, he'd get his teeth fixed. He's just as dirty-minded as you so...things, intimately, would be wild. A lot of exploring, adventure, and all within consent, of course. He'd worship the ground you walked on. Wouldn't care about your 1920s style. You do you. He might be a little embarrassed at first. but he gets over himself. He's just not used to seeing people embrace out-of-fashion things. It becomes one of the things he's grown to love about you. If he goes on another tour, he'd lowkey have a little insecurity regarding you leaving him while he's overseas. You can't even promise marriage because he was married when his wife decided to divorce him. But you do what you can to promise him and try to keep his insecurities away. Plus he's genuinely quiet when he's not hanging out with the boys. Both your relaxed and quiet demeanors complement each other. He's been hurt and he needs a chance at love again. You're enough woman for him to the point where he wouldn't look at another woman (*ahem* female soldier *ahem*). He loves when Mail Call comes because you always draft the longest and meaningful letters. It gives him something to look forward to, knowing he's coming home to you.

═════════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═════════════════

NSFW under the cut...

═════════════════ ⋆★⋆ ═════════════════

Ray loves going down on you. He's openly admitted that while overseas. And as stated, it's the first thing he does when he gets home. He's had nothing but MREs... he's dying for a proper meal if you catch my drift.

Your hair is the perfect length to thread his fingers through and grip. Especially with you on your knees, returning the favour of him going down on you...

He's so horny for you. You'll need to swat him away. Because any chance he'll get, he's pulling you against him as his hands wander down your hips and squeeze your ass.

Baking in the kitchen never goes according to plan. When I said Ray was a distraction... I also meant he was a distraction. Either end up on the floor with him eating you out or wasting the cake batter of you and licking it off. Or you're up against the fridge with your moans drowning out the soft hum of the fridge... or he has you bent over the kitchen counter, slamming into you with his flour-covered hand gripping your hair.

[skiller0dani]

Old Prison Blues | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut | dom!spencer x bau!reader requests info w.c | 7.2k summary | when your husband Spencer gets released from Prison, he's much different then you remember.

I have it so bad for this man, enjoy! Also guys this piece made butterflies squirm in my belly lmao this one is so HOT it made me blush. Guys, it made me B L U S H. I need to go dunk myself in holy water to atone for this SIN. (just kidding lmao I'm agnostic).

you can see his bulge in this gif and I can't stop admiring looking at it.

When you were in college you'd been an undergraduate in Criminal Justice, so you were familiar with the effects Prison has on the psyche. In other words, you knew Spencer would come back different. No person could pass through Prison unscathed and frankly you'd be more concerned if he came back and nothing had changed at all. At home, he seemed to be relatively okay, and those 6 mandatory weeks of break had allowed him the rest he deserved. Nothing exciting had happened during those weeks, the only thing you did was curl up on the couch next to him and watch movies. You'd made up for all those weeks in Prison during the evenings when you would cling to him and cry out his name in ecstasy.

Spencer really did seem to be fine, until you returned to work. That's when you started to see all the ways Prison had hardened him.

At first, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. If you were someone who knew Spencer well then you knew that he wasn't a man who was confident in his looks. When you and Spencer first got married he was insecure, and would be discouraged when you hung out with other guys. You wouldn't say he was jealous because jealously in itself requires a certain amount of anger. But when Spencer saw you around other men he wasn't angry, he was sad. Absolutely convinced you were going to leave him any second, despite you telling him you married him because you love him. Deep down, he always thought somebody would steal you from him even though you consistently reminded him how much you love him. That's just the kind of guy Spencer is.

Or, was.

The darkness that brews in Prison, the violent hatred, the anger seems to have followed Spencer to freedom. It has made a home in his chest, and while you're not worried about Spencer flying off the deep end and shooting an innocent, the anger reveals itself in much more subtle ways. It's in the way he clenches his jaw when he can't figure something out, or the blanching of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel with a crushing force, it's the agitation in his eyes when he watches Alvez's knuckles brush against your lower back for the 3rd time since you two had arrived at the office this morning. The anger has adapted to civilian life like Spencer has, it's learned. It's subtle. Unfortunately you know Spencer almost better then he knows himself, you can tell when something is bothering him.

You slide your hands over his shoulders, and much to your surprise you feel him tense.

"You okay?" You know it's a stupid question, but you have to ask.

"Yeah, fine." Spencer's tone is clipped, shoulders rigid, back straight. Something is definitely bothering him. You squeeze his shoulders and begin to work at the tightened muscles, slowly easing them to relax. The tension flows out of him as he relaxes back in his desk chair, the frustration ebbing away slightly when his eyes catch your wedding ring. The object that binds you to him.

"Don't shut me out." You whisper, a soft plea in your voice. Spencer's heart wretches when he hears the fear in your tone, and one of his hands comes up to catch yours. He presses a chaste kiss to one of your knuckles before swiveling around to face you. You always find a way to soothe the violent, raging beast inside of him. Spencer's hands find your hips as he turns his gaze up to look at you.

"You're right I'm sorry. Just tense today." He says softly, and while there is a little lie to his words, his statement remains mostly the truth. He just leaves out the part where he pictures enacting varying forms of violence on Luke Alvez. The man who keeps unnecessarily touching his wife. You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, your head snapping up when Garcia calls from the conference room.

"Got a case folks, and it's an ugly one." Her nose scrunches up into a frown before she turns into the room. You pull away from Spencer, yanking him to his feet by his hand. Luke sends you a playful wink as he trots up the stairs, and while you don't necessarily react to it, it still puts Spencer on edge. Deep down Spencer always knew you were way out of his league, but that never became clearer then when you came to visit him in Prison.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

You were trembling as you lowered yourself into the chair. Dried tears were on your cheeks, and you haven't even seen Spencer yet. The last time you saw him was a few weeks prior after he first got back from Mexico. Seeing his wrists bound in those metal handcuffs had broken your heart in a way you never anticipated. You wrung your hands together, luckily when Penelope had made the visitation Chart she scheduled you as the first person to come see him. The plastic chair was uncomfortable, but what was worse was the plastic guard separating you from Spencer. The clock ticked loudly, it was clearly mocking you. Reminding you of the seconds you were losing with Spencer, reminding you of all the seconds he was spending in Prison.

When you hear the buzzer scream loudly, you nearly come out of your seat you're so excited to see him. You and Spencer got married back in 2005, and you've never been separated from him for longer then a week. It's been over a month now, and each day he's not with you leaves a bigger hole in your chest. You watch him follow the other prisoners out, and the handcuffs around his wrists breaks your heart. His eyes light up the second he sees you, he nearly shoves the other guy over to get to you faster. There are tears in your eyes as Spencer's wrists are released from the cuffs from the guard standing nearby.

"Hey baby." Spencer says softly as he takes his seat across from you. All you want is to reach across the stupid barrier and touch him, hold his hand, anything. But you know the guards will punish him if he does, but being this close to him without being able to hold him is absolutely killing you. You try to blink the tears out of your eyes so that Spencer won't see, but it's all too much. Seeing him in a jumpsuit, with cuff bruises around his wrists, having to sleep in the same building as murderers. The first tear falls and you immediately look away from him.

"Please don't cry." Spencer begs softly. "I'm okay, really."

You wipe your tears before you look back up at him, digging around in your bag for a gift from Henry. You smile when you see the happiness cross onto his face as you pull the piece of paper out.

"Henry drew this for you, it's from when you guys went to the park." You hold it up for him to see and you try to fight another onslaught of tears when you see his eyes misting.

"You know, when I get out of here we should have one." Spencer says it so casually, you almost miss it. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as you carefully lower the drawing.

"You want to try for a baby?" You can't hide the smile, and you see Spencer's eyes shine for the first time since he's been in here.

"Yeah, I want to have a baby with you." You and Spencer had a brief conversation about kids a few years ago, and you knew Spencer wasn't ready for it back then. His Father ran out on him and Diana when Spencer was just a kid, it made Spencer insecure about the type of Father he would end up being. In Spencer's mind, a fatherless man would never make a good Father. But it seems he's changed his mind. You had no issues agreeing to wait before you had kids until he was ready, you always knew Spencer would be a fantastic Father.

Suddenly from Spencer's right you hear a low wolf whistle. The tenderness that was on Spencer's face is instantly wiped away. His expression tenses, his jaw clenching as he turns his gaze to a large burly looking man covered in tattoos. The man sitting across from him, the one who was visiting, looked similar. Both of the biker looking men were eyeing me hungrily, it made my skin crawl.

"Something I can help you with?" Spencer asks, his voice tense. The tension in the room grows tenfold, and you fight the instinct to try and scoot closer to Spencer. The Biker looks Spencer in the eyes, a taunting smile on his face.

"That your sister?"

"Wife." Spencer snaps instantly.

"Your wife?" The Biker says incrediously, Spencer raises a brow, daring him to continue. "There's no way a woman with an ass that tight would marry a man as scrawny as you."

You expected to see insecurity flash in Spencer's eyes, instead all you saw was rage. Unbridled, violent rage.

"Choose your next words carefully." Spencer's voice was low, and as sharp as the edge of a blade. You almost didn't recognize him. The Biker leaned forward, fueled only by the knowledge that he was getting under Spencer's skin.

"She as tight as she looks? If I wasn't locked up, I'd fuck her so good she wouldn't even remember what your little pecker feels like."

Spencer's jaw clenches, and his fists curl tightly. The Biker is about 2 words away from a broken nose.

"Baby just let it go." You plead, and normally you don't really use pet names in public but right now you needed to show him that you're his.

"I'll tell you what Klein, I'll fuck her for you and tell you how it felt." The other man says, the man visiting. Upon hearing the words come out of his mouth, Spencer is shoving up from the chair but almost instantly a guard is tightly gripping Spencer's shirt and shoving him back into the chair. Spencer is fuming, and there's nothing you can do to calm him down.

"If you so much as lay a finger on her, your friend here will be dead before you can have another visit." Spencer hisses, and the two large men chuckle.

Spencer instantly took you off the visitors list, and while that felt like a blow to your heart you understood why. You didn't want to stress him out by visiting him.

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So, yeah, Spencer knew you were out of his league and when Luke pulled your chair out for you at the table before he had the chance to, it made his blood boil. Why is Luke trying to take care of you? Doesn't he know that Spencer has been released from Prison? You don't need anybody else to take care of you, your husband is more than capable of doing it himself. When Spencer sat down in the chair next to you, he rested one hand on your thigh. You're only slightly surprised, normally Spencer isn't this 'handsy' in public, but in recent weeks he's been more assertive around other men.

"The body of 23 year old Cassandra Richardson was found 2 weeks ago in Lincoln, Nebraska. Her body was mutilated and showed signs of sexual assault. Yesterday another body, 20 year old Francesca Williams was found around the same warehouse district with similar wounds to the first victim." Penelope rushes the words out, almost as though saying them pains her. Various images show on the screen of the two victims, both bloodied and battered.

"Other than similar injuries, what makes the local police think it's the same unsub?" Luke asks, his eyes flickering towards you for the briefest second. While Spencer was locked away, Luke became a shoulder to cry on. Normally when you were upset and Spencer wasn't around, you'd talk to Derek. But since he's been gone you've felt more isolated then you normally do. Luke had found you crying one morning before you had taken off, and ever since he's had an "older brother" protection over you.

"A tattoo on both of the victims thighs, the words 'temerata virginem' which is Latin for 'desecrated virgin'." With the click of a button on her remote, Penelope pulls up a photo of the tattoos. The lines are shaky, although they stay mostly straight.

"It almost looks professional, except the lines aren't perfectly straight. A professional would make the line work perfect." JJ says, examining the photo closer in the folder each of you received. You turn your gaze to Spencer when you feel his hand leave your thigh to examine the photo closer. You could practically see the gears turning in that beautiful mind of his.

"It's possible an outside source is causing a tremble in the unsubs hands, if he is a professional tattoo artist." Spencer mumbles, almost to himself. Sometimes when he's in deep concentration, he nearly forgets other people are in the room with him.

"Could be drugs-" Luke starts but is sharply cut off.

"Actually it's more likely to be alcohol, withdraw from other drugs would be too severe to operate the tattoo machine." Spencer snaps, causing a few heads to turn and look at him. Maybe under other circumstances someone would say something to him, but since Spencer got released from Prison only a few weeks ago, nobody says anything. Luke's eyebrows furrow together as he shoots Spencer a confused look, one Spencer chooses to ignore as his hand returns to your thigh. Spencer knows he's acting like a jerk but he can't help it, Luke needs to know who you belong to. Spencer had everything taken from him in Prison, he won't let anyone take you from him too.

"We've been personally asked by the local police to assist, so wheels up in 30." Emily concludes, shooting one more look at Spencer before everybody rises.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

The tension on the jet is thick, you're absolutely sure everybody can feel it. Hardly anyone has interacted with Spencer, except to ask him a question about the case. You sit back against the couch, Luke sitting in one of the chairs at the table, and Spencer sitting on the arm of the chair next to you. In your hand was a nearly empty cup of coffee, and just as you move to refill, Luke rises with his own empty cup.

"Need a refill?" He asks, offering you a friendly smile.

"Yeah actually-"

"I got it." Spencer says abruptly, standing from where he was sitting. His eyes meet Luke's, silently challenging him. You try to be understanding, but you can't help but feel annoyed at Spencer. If he was acting like this to some random guy then that's one thing, but this is Luke. He's your friend, he's Spencer's friend. Luke, and the rest of the team, put everything on the line to free Spencer from Prison.

"It's cool man, I can do it-" Luke offers again, but Spencer isn't having it.

"I said I got it." Spencer reaches his hand out for your mug, which you instantly give to him. His eyes don't leave Luke's until he turns around and heads to the back of the jet to refill your coffee. Luke pauses for a few seconds, his eyes meeting yours and mirroring the same look of concern before he heads for the coffee pot as well. Luke isn't even upset by how Spencer is treating him, he- like everyone else, is worried about Spencer's psyche.

"What is going on with Spencer?" JJ whispers once she's sure Spencer is out of earshot. You shrug, your worried eyes landing on your husband. His posture is tense, almost defensive.

"Well can you blame him? In Prison, everything that's yours can and will be stolen by the other male inmates. Now that he's free, Spencer is being protective of his wife, someone that is his and can be taken by other men." Rossi says, always naturally a tad protective of Spencer.

"There isn't a man on this planet that would make me leave Spencer." You say defensively, although you know Rossi didn't mean anything by what he said.

"That might be obvious to you, but not to Spencer." JJ says, eyeing Spencer standing back near the coffee machine.

"Doing okay man?" Luke asks hesitantly as he moves to stand next to Spencer.

"Yep." Spencer says shortly, waiting for the pot to brew. Luke feels the tension rolling off Spencer in waves, and it's all being directed at him and he's not sure why.

"Look, if I've done something to upset you, just talk to me about it Reid." Luke's voice is gentle, understanding. Spencer's jaw clenches again as the pot finishes brewing and he refreshes your cup before reaching for the creamer.

"I'm fine Alvez. Really." Spencer says again, but Luke isn't willing to let this go yet.

"No Reid, you're not-"

"Stop flirting with my wife." Spencer's tone is firm, and the look in his eyes tells Luke just how on edge Spencer is.

"You got it." Luke agrees instantly, even though he was never flirting with you. But he knows that right now arguing with Spencer will only make things worse. Seemingly satisfied with Luke's answer, Spencer carries your cup back you, slinging an arm around you.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Spencer twists his wedding ring around his ring finger, something he does when he's stressed out or tense. You're currently sat in the interrogation room with the male suspect, a tattoo artist attending AA meetings, the tattoo on the first victim was the shakiest because he had just quit drinking. The other, more recent, victims tattoo's were more steady. The longer he stayed sober, the more his trembling faded. In Spencer's other palm is your wedding ring, you fit the physical preference of this killer perfectly, but he only went after single women. Emily thought sending somebody in fitting his victimology would throw him off enough to say something incriminating. In order for the rouse to work, you needed to appear single- meaning the wedding ring had to come off. The thought didn't settle well in Spencer's gut.

"You have to relax." JJ said suddenly from Spencer's right. He nearly ignored her but his frayed nerves were beginning to eat at him.

"I can't. Do you see the way he's looking at her?" Spencer was pacing back and forth in front of the one way glass like a caged animal, unable to take his eyes off of the train wreck happening in front of him.

"She can handle herself Spence." JJ insists gently, almost using a motherly tone to talk to him.

"She's mine!" And suddenly the crux of the issue comes to light, and Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a heavy breath. JJ thinks about her words carefully, trying to find something to say that will calm him at least a little.

"Yeah, and nothing is going to change that Spencer. You need to relax, and you have to trust her. You're not in Prison anymore, nobody is going to take her from you." JJ says, looking him in the eyes. Suddenly the sound of metal screeching across a concrete floor sounds from behind Spencer and when he turns around, his blood boils hot in his veins. The suspect, Alan Baker, has shoved out of his chair and has started towards you.

"Spencer-" JJ's voice is distant, and comes too late. Spencer isn't listening to her anymore when his fist curls around the door handle and he nearly rips it off its hinges.

"You need to step back." Spencer snaps, reaching for his gun as Alan Baker backs you into the corner of the interrogation room. You weren't ever truly afraid, you could have handled Alan. Slowly, Alan backs away from you and Spencer instantly reaches for you. He leads you out of the room with a gentle but firm hand on your back. Once you're out of the interrogation room you turn to Spencer.

"What the hell? I could have dealt with him!" You insist, frustration laced in your tone. At this point JJ silently slips out of the room, giving you and Spencer some much needed privacy. Spencer crosses his arms as he leans back against the one way mirror.

"You didn't need to, I did." Spencer huffs and you seriously resist the urge to throw something at him.

"What is your problem today? You could have compromised my entire interrogation, he's never going to tell me anything now!" You snap, anger pinching at your features.

"Good! Now you have no reason to talk to him again." Spencer snaps back, can't you see that he's just protecting what's his?

"Spencer we're trying to save somebody! You're being selfish!" You say to him angrily, trying your best not to start yelling at him. Spencer's selfish possessiveness over you could have just ruined your entire investigation.

"This is why the Bureau was hesitant to reinstate you. They were scared you wouldn't be able to control yourself." You snap at him, crossing your arms.

"Are you saying they made a mistake?" Spencer asks incrediously, suddenly becoming defensive.

"Maybe they did. Because you're acting like an asshole right now. You've been a jerk to Luke the entire day when he busted his ass to help get you out of Prison and back to me! Since when have you not trusted me during an interrogation? What did you think was going to happen? That I was going to let him touch me? I thought you trusted me." You cry out, tears filling your eyes now. Spencer didn't say anything as you turned for the door, anger still laced in his features.

"This has nothing to do with me not trusting you-"

"If you don't trust me, then maybe you should just hold onto my wedding ring for a while. I don't want it." You snap quietly, and you regret the words the second they leave your lips. No matter how mad he makes you, you'd never leave Spencer. You watch Spencer's expression shift from anger to...hurt. He watches silently as you slam the door behind you. Prison has turned him into somebody he isn't, and Spencer doesn't know how to turn off this part of his brain. The part telling him that you belong to him, and that he needs to protect what's his.

Rossi catches the sight of your tear stained cheeks as you move back towards the kitchen in the precinct. You wipe your tears as he comes to stand beside you, and the look on his face tells you that he overheard your fight with Spencer. Rossi bumps you with his elbow gently, a small smile on his face.

"You don't look okay." He says softly and you let out a self-depreciating laugh.

"I'm not. I don't know how to help Spencer, he doesn't trust me." You say sadly, your heart breaking in your chest.

"It's not you he doesn't trust, it's other men." Rossi clarifies, although it does little to ease the pain. You reach up to brush your hair behind your ear when Rossi catches your hand, examining your ring finger.

"Where's your wedding ring?"

"Told Spencer I didn't want it." The words are laced with heavy regret, and when you remember the look on his face when you said it you almost start to cry again. Rossi wraps an arm around you, and you lean your head on his shoulder.

"Deep down, he knows you didn't mean it." He tries to reassure you.

"That's the problem, he probably thinks I meant it."

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Normally it only takes you and Spencer a few hours to smooth things over after a fight. But this time, it's been nearly 3 hours and you haven't spoken a word to each other. You're both working on searching through Alan Baker's financial records without speaking at all. Neither of you have said anything, and Spencer still has your wedding ring. You desperately want it back, but you don't know how to start that conversation. You're angry about how he's been treating everybody, and you feel like asking for your ring is accepting defeat. You're not ready to accept defeat. When Emily comes into the room, her eyes settle on the two of you.

"Okay, what's going on with you guys?" Her arms are crossed.

"Nothing." The word comes from both yours and Spencer's mouths at the same time, and you say it far too quickly. Emily raises one brow at the two of you before closing the door behind her.

"Alright I'm going to have to be a boss now. We are not going to lock this guy away if the two of you are fighting. We need everybody on their A-game. Fix it. Now, and I mean right now." She says, leaving the room but closing the door behind her. There's a suffocating silence that fills the room, both you and Spencer too stubborn to speak first. But you can't take it, you hate it when he's mad at you. You hate it when you guys fight, which isn't often but it does happen occasionally.

"I didn't mean it." You whisper, leaning on the table, facing away from him. Spencer doesn't say anything but you know he's listening.

"I didn't mean it Spencer, I want my ring." He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to hear you say that, his entire world crashed down around him the second you told him to keep the ring. The irrational part of his brain told him you were going to divorce him.

"Can I please have it back?" You ask, barely turning your head to look at him. With a huff Spencer pushes away from the table to move in front of you. His eyes are focused on your hand, he has yet to look at you. Spencer fishes around in his pocket before he finds your ring and gently slides it onto your ring finger.

"You have to stop glaring at any man that gets to close to me, especially Luke." You tell him, but he continues to look away from you. Spencer pushes past you to stand near the windows, his back facing you. The thing about Spencer is that he's stubborn, really stubborn. You take a few steps towards him, nibbling on your lower lip.

"I love you Spencer, I'm sorry. I was an ass, but you acted like an ass too." You tell him, but Spencer only turns his head further away from you. You move to stand in front of him, but his eyes turn to the ground and his arms are crossed tightly. Seriously?

"Please talk to me Spencer, tell me what's going on." You can see the frustration laced in his features, there's something on the tip of his tongue that he needs to say.

"Spencer."

"After you left from your visit, do you know why I didn't let you come back?" Spencer snaps, his hands finding your shoulders to yank your body against his. Your chest collides with his and suddenly you feel a dampness building between your legs. You instantly turn to putty in his hands.

"I didn't let you come back because that asshole told everybody about you. Told everybody what a tight little body you have. Soon the entire cell block was fantasizing about my 'sexy wife'. Do you have any idea what it's like to listen to men constantly talk about fucking your wife?" Spencer's voice is tense, but you can see it. The lust building behind his eyes, the frustration, and the fear of losing you simmering underneath it all.

"N-No." Your voice is breathy, and your eyes are lidded as Spencer's hands slide up your arms to your shoulders.

"It's fucking hell Y/N. Every time I see any man look at you I want to rip his eyes out, and I can't turn it off. I've tried, and the way that Alvez looks at you- it drives me fucking crazy." Spencer snaps, the anger building by the second. Your entire body begins to hum with an intense need, and Spencer can see it in your eyes. Spencer releases you then and he turns for the door, at first you're afraid he's going to leave but instead he locks the door. Luckily it's late, so the police station is more deserted then it is during the day. Turning back to you, Spencer reaches for the blinds next and you can't help but follow his every movement with your eyes.

"Get on your knees." Spencer says suddenly, and you freeze in shock. Did he just say...?

"Get. On. Your. Knees." Spencer says again through clenched teeth, leaning back against the table, heat simmering in his eyes. His hands grip the edge of the table and you feel a throb from between your legs. Quickly you scramble onto your knees in front of him, your hands reaching up to undo his belt. Once the belt is unfastened, you're quickly unbuttoning his dress slacks, your eagerness making your hands a bit clumsy. Spencer has never been this dominant during sex, but you have no complaints. He has your knees weak and he hasn't even touched you. You quickly dip your hand into his boxers to pull his hardening cock out. As soon as his cock is freed, your lips are wrapping around the head. Spencer's head tosses back in ecstasy.

"Your lips look so pretty stretched around my cock. Those bastards could only imagine having you on your knees for them." Spencer snaps, his hand weaving into the hair at the back of your head. You moan softly around him at his crude words, slowly sliding down his cock. Spencer groans when he feels your tongue laving the underside of his cock, along the vein that runs from base to tip. Apparently feeling impatient, Spencer pushes your head further down his cock. He feels his tip right at the entrance of your throat, and with one gentle thrust he breaches your throat and his cock slides all the way into your mouth.

"Fuck," Spencer hisses, and Spencer does not curse often. So the fact that you have been able to draw curses from his mouth is nothing short of a miracle. Spencer's chest heaves slightly as you gag lightly around him, drawing another deep groan from his chest. You feel nearly desperate to please him, you need to make him cum. You want him to fucking pound you, you want him to use your body for his pleasure. You want him to release all of his frustration out on you, you want to be sore when he's done.

"You're mine. This is my body to touch and admire, my tight pussy to stretch open, mine." Spencer growls, thrusting gently to meet your hasty movements. You whimper around his cock, gagging slightly again as spit dribbles down your chin. Your eyes are wide and watery as you look up at him, and the sight of you nearly causes him to blow his load. You just look so fucking beautiful on your knees in front of him, drool on your chin and your mouth full of cock. It's a sight he will never forget. You move your head faster, keeping your eyes locked on his. Spencer squeezes the edge of the table, his head tossing back when his orgasm hits him. You feel his cum shooting in spurts to the back of your throat and you swallow every drop. Once you pull off him, Spencer is grabbing your elbows to pull you to stand.

Spencer's hands are reaching for the button of your dress slacks as his mouth presses messily to yours. Spencer's tongue pushes into your mouth, his hands pushing your pants down and you kick them off. Instantly, Spencer's fingers are sliding into your panties and through your slick folds. You whine loudly against his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as his palm roughly cradles the back of your head.

"Need to make sure you know who you belong to." Spencer snaps as he pulls away from you, quickly pushing two long fingers into your dripping hole. You cry out before Spencer is slapping a hand over your mouth, your back pressed against the wall. Spencer's slender frame is leaning against you, effectively trapping you against the wall and his body. Your eyes are rolling when Spencer's finger crook inside of you while roughly thrusting into you.

"Gotta be quiet, wouldn't want Luke to catch us now would we?" Spencer breathes in the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps spreading over your skin. You are completely at Spencer's mercy and you wouldn't have it any other way. The pleasure shooting through you goes rocketing up your spine when Spencer scissors his fingers inside of you. You're mumbling incoherently against his palm, desperate pleas not to stop, to please let you cum. Your entire body is flushed, and you feel sweat on your skin like a sheen layer over you. Spencer feels you begin to squeeze around his fingers and he replaces his palm with his mouth, swallowing all of your moans and desperate cries.

Your back is arching as your high approaches, and you climb higher and higher to meet it. Spencer never lets up, his fingers steadily pumping into you and his lips muffling all of your cries of pleasure. The sounds you make are music to his ears, they tell him that you will always be his, no matter what childish fears he has. Your hands come up to unbutton the buttons on Spencer's dress shirt, you need to feel more of him. Before you can finish undressing your husband, his fingers nudge your cervix and you instantly clamp around his fingers, your body convulsing.

"You look so beautiful when you cum." Spencer praises, his cock rock hard again. He needs to be inside of you as soon as humanely possible. Spencer pulls away from you to grasp the base of his cock, no need to bother with protection. The two of you already agreed that you want to try for a baby anyway.

"Please baby, please get inside me. How could you think I'd ever leave you? I love you, and nobody could make me cum like you can." You moan desperately, turning to bend over the table. Spencer's hand runs up your spine, enjoying the way you wriggle your hips in search of his cock. There are butterflies squirming in your stomach as you spread your legs apart wider for him, but he still doesn't bring his cock closer to you.

"Oh c'mon Spence don't do this please. Baby, fuck me." You plead, nearly sobbing as you shamlessly beg. He presses his tip against your soaked entrance and you whine. You hear fabric rustling around and you turn your head just in time to see him pull his tie from around his neck.

"I needed to hear you beg for me, and this is to keep you quiet. As much as I love the sounds you make when I'm inside you, I can't let anyone else hear you." Spencer says, his voice low and rumbling from his chest. You open your mouth to let him tie the silk fabric in your mouth. You try to whimper but you gag around the tie in your mouth, and you see a pleased smile cross onto Spencer's face. Your fingers grasp at the edge of the table as you impatiently wait for Spencer to push into you. You feel his glorious cock nestled at your entrance, the tip barely nudging in. You feel another wave of slick gush out of you and Spencer is running his tip through your already drenched folds. Such a tease.

You whine softly, trying to push back against him. Spencer chuckles darkly before his hands grasp your hips to hold you steady. With one firm thrust, Spencer is breaching your folds and sliding deep inside you. You feel heat searing through you, your head dropping to the table as you whimper through the burn. The stretch burns more then you anticipated, and you hear Spencer groaning softly, which sends another wave of liquid heat rushing through you.

"God you feel so good baby, you take my cock so fucking well." Spencer praises, gently pulling out to slowly thrust back in. His eyes are locked on the place where you two connect, watching with hooded eyes as his cock disappears inside you.

"I wish you could see this baby, I love watching you take my cock." He praises through a soft moan, and you drink up every sound he makes. Spencer needed this so bad and you love the fact that you can give him a type of relief nobody else on the planet can give him. Spencer steadily thrusts into you when you both hear footsteps slowly passing outside the room. You expect Spencer to stop, to pull out of you and start redressing but he doesn't. He slows his pace considerably, but he still slowly thrusts into you.

"Shh, I would hate for whoever that is to see my cock buried in your pretty pussy." Spencer whispers as he leans forward to whisper in your ear. You struggle to contain the whimpers, but somehow you remain completely silent as Spencer gently thrusts into you. Once whoever it is passes by, Spencer resumes his quicker thrusts. His pelvis hits your ass with enough force to send you lurching across the table and your fingers scramble to find purchase against the smooth surface.

"This is my pussy, you're my wife, you're mine. Not Luke's, not that dick from the Prison. Mine." Spencer says, punctuating the words with a sharp thrust into you. You wished you could answer him, that you could cry to the heavens that you belong to Spencer Reid- that you never want to belong to anybody else. You settle for squeezing his cock whenever it returns to your velvety warmth, chanting the same word in your head over and over.

Yours yours yours yours yours.

Your forehead presses against the table, muffled and strangled cries escaping your lips every time Spencer hits deep inside you. His cock stretches you perfectly, and always hits places deep inside you. Places you didn't know existed. Soon you feel your orgasm creeping up on you, and you feel lightheaded so you reach up to yank the tie away from your mouth.

"Please make me cum Spence, I'm so close baby please don't stop." You beg, muffling your moans with your palm as he drives his cock into you. You feel sweat covering your entire body and Spencer holds your hips with a bruising force. You feel that coil winding tighter and tighter, and you release a high pitched whine when Spencer's hand snakes around your body to thumb your clit.

"Oh Spencer your cock feels so good, soo good baby. Always feels so good, fuck baby I love you," You're not sure what you're saying at this point, an incoherent mess of praises for the man above you. Spencer loves when he reduces you to this, speaking in a jumble of words and disconnected statements because you can't think with his cock inside you.

"I, shit, I love you-" Spencer gasps, slamming his cock inside you and rolling your clit before you're squeezing around him tightly, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. You cum in hot gushes around him and Spencer can only offer a few more stuttering thrusts before he's cumming with a loud growl, coating your walls in his hot cum. Spencer keeps his cock inside you, ensuring his cum stays inside you. He wants to get you pregnant. His palms gently hold your hips, and all the frustration he's felt all day has completely disappeared. His chest is heaving from the exertion but he feels more relaxed then he has all day. There's a smile on your face and your eyes are closed as your legs finally give out and you collapse against the table.

"You okay?" You hear Spencer's voice, and you can't help but smile when you hear that he's panting slightly. You hum with a smile on your face.

"I'm amazing." You mumble back, feeling Spencer begin to gently massage your back. You love enjoying the afterglow with him, even if you're laying on a table. Slowly Spencer pulls out, but he groans softly when he sees his cum inside your pussy. He reaches to the floor to pull your panties and dress slacks back up your legs and he quickly tucks himself back into his pants. He buttons the 4 buttons you managed to open on his shirt before he's gently pulling you to stand.

"You sure you're alright?" Spencer asks, concern in his eyes. You nod with a smile, but when he releases his hold on your shoulders, you feel your legs tremble and give out underneath you. Spencer immediately catches you and sets you down on the table. You laugh softly.

"Guess you fucked me good."

"Sorry." Spencer says sheepishly, but you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

"Don't be, that had to have been the best sex we've had in a long time." You mumble against his lips and Spencer hums in agreement. Reaching for his tie, Spencer shoves it in his pocket before he pokes his head out of the room you guys just defiled.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry about what I said. I love you so much, I didn't mean what I said about my ring-" You blubber suddenly, drawing Spencer's attention to you. He cradles your head against his chest, pressing kisses to your forehead.

"I know baby, it's okay. I love you." Spencer answers quietly, holding you to him tightly.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk today. I'm just so protective of you. I can't let anything steal you from me." Spencer admits softly and you cup his cheeks to make him look at you. There is a sadness in his eyes that you want to obliterate, you can't stand it when he's sad. It breaks your heart.

"Nothing could steal me from you. I only want you Spencer." You say quietly and you see tears misting his eyes. He presses his lips desperately against yours, and you feel tears cascading down yours and his cheeks. The kiss is wet, but it's passionate and you throw every ounce of love you have for this man into it. When you and Spencer part, your foreheads are pressed together.

"Hey Spence? How am I gonna get to the hotel. I can't walk." You say softly with a giggle and Spencer smiles mischievously.

"I guess I'll have to carry you." He scoops you bridal style into his arms then and you blush deeply when he carries you out of the room and towards the front entrance.

"Spencer! Everybody is going to know!" You whisper into his ear and he chuckles.

"Good."

[uk-myface-yourchair]

NOT MY STORY JUST SOMETHING I LOVE THE IDEA OF:

John was sitting at his armchair in his living room, thinking for a long while. Would it work well? He thought it would. He looked up at the clock and saw the time. It was a quarter to 3. If the guy who emailed him was serious about this, he would be getting off the train at 3:15. John got up, grabbed his coat, and left his house.

The train pulled into the station. People got out. John sat in his car, waiting for the guy who had reached out to him. He stepped off the train, just as he said he would. He was short, a scrawny nerdy looking guy with blond hair and glasses, not too shabby an outfit. Sweater over a shirt and khakis. He was probably a tech guy. He was scanning the parking lot for John’s car, and when he saw it, he paused. Maybe he was second guessing? Whatever nerves had caused him to pause, he dropped them and walked toward John’s car, a slight tremble in his steps. In that moment, John felt the urge to fart. He held it in. John’s cock was hard in his pants.

“Ben?” He rolled down the window.

“Yeah, John?” He gulped.

“Come in.”

He got into the car and buckled his seatbelt, “Thanks for picking me up,”

“Yeah of course. Besides, no offense, but I don’t give my address out to people who might flake.” He turned out of the parking lot, “You still want to do this?”

“Yeah,” Ben was smiling wide. He thought John looked even hotter in person; rugged black hair and scruff, a strong physique...he had seen naked pictures and knew he was hairy under those clothes.

“Good. Do you want lunch or anything?” John gave out a little laugh, “Will probably be your last good meal for a while,”

“No it’s ok, I ate before I got on the train,” Ben was shaking now. John grimaced. He didn’t want to bring this stranger to his house if he started having doubts and backing out. But there was not much he could do. In the email, he was clear that Ben was allowed to say no at any point before they start. After they started, Ben would have no choice. That part turned Ben on, he’d said.

They reached his house. It was an ordinary single story house. It didn’t stand out from the others in the neighborhood. It had a chimney, but John didn’t use the fireplace for years.

“You know, I’m still surprised that you found my ad,” John said as they got out of the car. “I thought that site would have taken it down by now.”

“Nope, it’s, uh, still up.” Ben had gone quiet in the car. John could tell he was nervous. Once they got into the house, Ben asked “Ok so, where is it?”

John smiled again. Maybe the nerves were because of excitement. “Follow me.”

He brought him into the living room. It was relatively small. His armchair was against one wall. The couch was against the other. Three large windows looked into the back yard. Across from the armchair was the TV. John gestured toward the armchair, “Here it is, just like I told you.”

Ben was trembling a lot now, and he looked at the chair, his eyes glued to the seat. “It really works the way you said, in the email?” His voice was faint.

“Yep. I’ll go over just to be clear,” With a grunt, he pulled the chair away from the wall. Ben couldn’t believe what he was looking at. It was exactly as it was in the pictures. The same pictures he had been jerking off to for the past week.

It was a large square hole in the wall. John had explained that it was where the fireplace used to be, but he didn’t want to pay extra for gas so he had it removed. Instead of patching up the wall, he left the hole. He’d also done a lot of DIY. He expanded the back of the wall, which took some space out of his bedroom closet but he didn’t mind that. He built a small drain that went down into the house’s sewage pipes. Just above that was a long board with wheels, what resembles a hospital gurnee. There were straps around it. There was also a hole in the middle of the board.

“Alright,” John sighed, his arms on his waist, “So...to recap. You’ll lay down here. I’ll strap your arms, ankles, legs, and chest in so you can’t move. You’ll be naked and your ass will go in that hole. I’ll put a funnel system around your dick and under your ass. That way, you don’t have to come out for the restroom or anything, you can just go into that hole. Kind of gross but it takes care of that problem at least.”

Ben gulped, “Ok,”

“You’ll be completely strapped and so, won’t move around. Then, I”ll put the chair over you. As I showed you,” He gestured toward the back of the chair, the bottom of it was hollowed out, “I fixed this old armchair up so that the cushion has a rim-chair built into it. When I put the chair back in place, I will turn the knobs on the gurnee and it will lift you up so that your face is at the seat level. See?” He unveiled the top of the seat, which looked like a normal cushion at first but turned out to be a thin fabric hiding the rim-chair. “Your face will be in that hole. And...uh, yeah that’s it. I’ll sit on your face as long as I want.”

Ben’s heart was pounding. John continued, “This fabric is in case I have friends over. Which I will, tomorrow night. I invited some buddies to come watch the game. Don’t worry, none of them will be sitting in this seat. Your face belongs to my ass only,” He smiled wide, “Just as I said in my emails, when you are my chair, you have no rights. You cannot say you want out at any time. If I need to fart, I’m farting up your nose. If I want my hole licked, I’ll sit on you naked and that will be your only cue. The only time you matter is when I ask if you are hungry or thirsty, and I’ll give you food and water. Otherwise, you don’t give me instructions. I’m not interested in conversation, because I don’t talk to chairs. If you are uncomfortable and want me to loosen the straps, too bad. If you’re sick of my farts, too bad. As we agreed, you belong to me for the next 48 hours. There are no safe words. If you want out now, I’ll take you back home. But the minute I put you in the wall is the minute you belong to me. If at any point in the next 48 hours you want to stop, and go home...too bad. My ass is your home until the weekend’s over. Do you understand?”

Ben’s face was white. He’d been jerking off to this kind of fantasy for so long, and when he found John’s ad online, he couldn’t contain his excitement. But now that he was in the house, he was terrified. It was too real for him. What if he hated it? What if in the very first minute he hates it after all? He’d never done something like this before. He’d never actually been smothered under a man’s ass, he’d never sniffed farts, never done anything kinky like this. If it turns out he doesn’t like it...he’ll be stuck as a human chair for two days.

“Do you understand?” John was deliberate.

“Yes sir,” Ben gulped, “I...I’m sorry this is just so hardcore...I’ve heard of people doing these things but I haven’t really done BDSM stuff with anyone,”

“Do you want to call it quits?” John asked again. “I won’t be mad.” That wasn’t entirely true. He would be annoyed and disappointed if the only person who responded to his ad decided to say no at the literal last minute. He’d been dying to try out his new toy for months. But he was still a good guy. He wouldn’t pressure anyone into doing it. In the emails, Ben seemed very excited. Maybe he was more in love with the idea of being a human chair than actually doing it. John would cut him slack since he has never dipped into bondage play before.

And Ben was nervous. He stared at the hole for a long time. The silence was more awkward with each passing second. Finally he took a deep breath, “No, I...I’m ready.”

“Ok. Take off your clothes.”

Ben stripped. As he undressed, his face was flushed. John seemed like a nice guy over their email conversation. But how could he put so much trust in a stranger on the internet? The only solace that Ben had was knowing that in these last few moments before they started, he was in complete control. At any second he could say “Nope” and go back home. But that window of time was getting smaller and smaller. John had pulled the gurnee out from the hole in the wall. There were seven straps. Two for each ankle, two for each wrist, one for his thighs, one for his chest, and one for the neck. There was a little padded indent at the front where his head would rest, two little rounded poles came up on either side. He didn’t know what they were for.

“Alright, if you are ready, lay down on your back.”

Ben stood in the living room naked. His cock had gone hard and was throbbing. He knew that once he was strapped in, he wouldn’t be able to touch himself at all for the whole weekend. That was part of the fun.

“And I’ll take your glasses for you,” He said. Ben took them off and handed them over. John asked, “can you see at all without these?”

“A little,” he shrugged, blinking, “I can’t see far away.”

“Ok. Not that it matters, you won’t be looking at anything but my asshole.” He picked up Ben’s clothes and put them on the table.

Ben sat down on the gurnee and got into position. Laying down, his ass was over the hole. When he had to go, he would just relieve himself into the tube that John would set up. That was the worst part, to him in the moment, thinking how disgusting and unhygienic it was. But he wouldn't have another choice. John had suggested wearing an adult diaper, but that sounded even worse.

Ben tightened the straps around his ankles. Then he tightened the strap over his thighs. Then, around his wrists. Ben’s heart was beating too fast. He tried to control his breathing. John tightened the strap over his chest. Almost as a reflex, Ben jerked his body a bit but he couldn’t move at all. Delicately, John guided Ben’s head down on the padding, and carefully wrapped the strap around his neck and tightened it just enough to keep him from moving his head up. Ben gulped, he felt the strap. He could still breathe fine at least. John moved over to fit a large tube over Ben’s dick, and pointed the other end of it down the hole in the gurnee between Ben’s legs. He set up a similar tube under Ben’s ass. Then, John turned some knob near Ben’s head, and the two poles on either side came together and pressed into his temples just above his ears. They weren’t tight, but they were set in place so Ben couldn’t turn his face to the side. He was completely immobile.

“Alright. This is your last chance,” John stood over him, his crotch was at the level of Ben’s face. From here, Ben saw John at a glorious angle. He looked so tall, buff, powerful, a dominant man. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?”

Ben nodded as much as the poles and straps allowed him to, “Yes sir. I...I need to be your chair. It’s my destiny” Ben’s cock was throbbing against his belly.

John smiled widely. His crotch was bulging. He had been horny since they started talking online. “You have no idea how much I’m going to love this. This has been my fantasy for years but I couldn’t find guys who were into it. You’ll be my first chair. You should be honored.”

Ben gulped, his face was burning red, “I...I’m very honored sir. I hope I serve you well.”

“You only have three jobs once you’re in there,” John said, “First, sniff all of my farts. I don’t want to smell a single one. Second, eat out my asshole whenever I’m naked. Third, don’t talk unless you are asking for food and water.”

“...ok,” Ben’s voice had gone weak. He was starting to feel dread now. Excited and horny, but also dreading if he’d made the wrong choice. But it was too late to say anything. He had to go through with it. As he said, this weekend is his destiny now.

It was settled. John slowly pushed the gurnee into the old fireplace, lining it up right. He had sealed off the chimney long ago, so it wouldn’t be cold in there. Ben’s body was completely hidden in the wall. Only his head and shoulders were sticking out, held down on the gurnee. Using his feet, John kicked down the wheel stops so that the gurnee couldn’t move if Ben shook around. John then pushed the chair back in place against the wall. Then, he got on his knees and stuck his hand under the chair. He found another knob and twisted it a few times to lift the gurnee up. As promised, Ben’s nose peaked through the hole in the seat. John stood up, and saw through the built-in rim seat, Ben’s face was the only part of him exposed. John grabbed the fabric from earlier and reminded him, “This is only to cover you for when my friends are here tomorrow. Don’t worry, they won’t see you. But it is thin enough that my ass will mold over your face and you will still get to smell everything.”

“Um, John,” Ben was shivering, “can we...or, ok, wait, pause, can we just do this for maybe half an hour at first, just to test it so I can see what it’s like before we do the full two days,”

John burst out laughing. It sounded evil in the moment. Ben’s face went white this time, the same dread creeped back. John said “I just told you minutes ago that don’t have conversations with chairs. No normal person speaks to a chair. But since you’re new to this I’ll let it slide. Your time for negotiation is over. If you wanted to only do half an hour, you should have said so in the email. But nooo...you’re pathetic little dick was throbbing when I said 48 hours. Remember you told me that? Throbbing. You loved the time we picked. So I’m sticking with it. It is,” he looked at the clock, “4pm Friday. Meaning that you will be here until 4pm Sunday afternoon. And now I’m done talking to you.” He sighed. Ben was whimpering. He was afraid he’d made a terrible mistake.

“I have been holding this fart in since I picked you up from the train,” John smiled again, “And you’re going to vacuum suck it out of my jeans.” he turned around. His ass looked huge from this angle, and he slowly lowered it over Ben’s face. The cushion supported his butt cheeks, and lightly spread them in his pants. They molded over Ben’s face. John shifted around until he felt the tip of Ben’s nose wedge up against his asshole. Now John was shaking. His cock was hard. He gripped the armrests of the chair and pushed.

PPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRR

The fart came out much louder than he thought it would be. It vibrated deep into the chair. He burst out laughing. He felt Ben cry out into his ass, and he heard the gurnee wheels squeak. He was buckling around down there, making the gurnee shake a bit, but John knew it wouldn’t move. And he knew that there was nothing Ben could do to get his face out from his ass. The straps and post made it so he had no choice but to keep his head up, and if John wanted to fart directly into his nostrils, he could. And definitely would.

“Again, I’ll be nice since you’re new to this,” John cleared his throat, “You can’t be making any noise down there. The next 24 hours will be great practice for you to suck in my farts without freaking out and screaming.”

He felt Ben settle down, and felt him sniff and cough into his ass cheeks. John said, “Ok and also you really need to not cough or gag or anything. Anyway, now we can start for real.”

And with that, John stopped talking. Because why would he talk to a chair? He flipped on the TV and watched an old sitcom rerun. He felt a silent but deadly fart seep out and warm his butt. He shivered in delight, feeling extra comfortable in his new chair. If anyone else lived in the house with him, walking by they would just see John sitting in his favorite chair watching TV, and not think twice.

…

The next couple hours were uneventful. The sun set and it got dark in the house quick. John had some lights on and was still watching the show. At one point he got up to grab a bag of chips. As he stood up, he heard his chair coughing and sucking in fresh air. John laughed. In the kitchen he poured some chips into a bowl. Then he walked right back to the living room and sat down. Obedient so far. He didn’t have that much gas. Just a few short, quiet farts whispered out of his ass. They must have stunk pretty badly because each time, he felt muffled coughing against his butt cheeks, and heard the gurnee shake a bit. John had a huge smile on his face, and he was hard the whole time.

At around 7pm he turned off the TV, got up, and went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Nothing special. Leftover beef tacos. Even though it wasn’t healthy for him, he heated it up with a heaping handful of pre-shredded cheese. His grin was so wide. He’d mentioned in earlier emails that he was lactose intolerant, and that he would purposefully eat dairy so that he had more frequent and more foul smelling gas. In Ben’s reply, he said “my cock is drooling at the thought”. So, why not stick to his word? He’ll feel gross for the rest of the night, but at least John wouldn’t have to smell any of his own farts. He quietly ate his tacos in the kitchen, texting his friends about what beer he should get for the party tomorrow.

Closer to 8pm, he came back to the living room. He wanted so badly to look down at his chair again, but part of the fun was not acknowledging Ben as a person. He had to treat the chair like he would treat any other chair; with apathy, and disinterest. He sat back down, shifting a bit and feeling his cheeks separate so that Ben’s face wedged into his ass again. He puckered his hole to make sure that it was right over his nose.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have put cheese in those tacos” he pretended he was talking to himself, “My ass is gonna be ripping up a storm tonight.”

He sat back and turned the TV on again. This time he watched the next episode of his favorite cop drama.

His guts gurgled. His dick got hard. He knew that his chair had heard the gurgling too. John could feel his face scrunch up, embracing for impact. He grunted,

PRPRRRRRT

A wet sounding fart sputtered out of his ass. John sighed. He felt the chair sniff, and then it made a violent gagging noise. Again, he felt the chair shake a little as Ben’s body jerked as a reflex. John held back laughter. His own lactose farts made him feel queasy. He couldn’t imagine how unbearable they had to be injected right up the nose. He looked at the clock. Only 45 more hours to go.

At 9pm he got up, and to his surprise, the chair spoke,

“John can we do a time out,”

“Huh?” He looked around, pretending that he was alone, “That’s funny, I could have sworn I heard someone speak even though there’s no other human in the house,”

“John I’m serious,” the chair pleaded, “Your farts stink really fucking bad, I need a break,”

John grit his teeth, and said, “Ok, quicktime out. Yeah, of course they stink. They’re farts. Not rose perfume. Second, you don’t get breaks, remember? You are my chair.”

“Yeah,” Ben’s voice was faint, defeated. They’d already talked about this at length over email, but it wasn’t until that moment that Ben had internalized the reality of it.

“Now, I’ve been way too nice to you so far,” John continued, “So if you speak without permission again, I’m not going to be nice. Ok?”

The chair didn’t say anything.

“Good chair.” John nodded. “You hungry?”

“Yes sir.”

John went into the kitchen to make food. Ben stared up at the ceiling, his whole body trembling. This was really happening. He couldn’t stand John’s noxious farts. Each one made him feel sick to his stomach. But he had no choice. Just as he promised, he was completely at the mercy of John’s ass. In the dark hole in the wall, a pearl of precum dripped out of Ben’s cock.

John came back with bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. The smell of tacos when John got up earlier had made his stomach growl, and he wished he would have gotten more food than this. But he couldn’t complain. John had to spoon feed him the soup, and he tore the sandwich into small bites to drop into his mouth. Didn’t want to get the rest of the chair dirty. He then let Ben gulp down a glass of water.

Without asking if he was satisfied, John sat right back down in the chair. He had a devilish smile on his face, because he had been holding in more gas since he got up.

PRRPTRTTTTTTTTT

The fart sounded like it came from deep in his bowls. Again, he felt the chair jerking around under him. He continued to watch TV.

Close to 10pm, John turned the TV off and got up. He went into the bathroom, got undressed, and turned on the shower. He stood outside, waiting for the water to get hot. His body was covered in black hair, especially on his arms, legs, and ass cheeks. He got into the shower and started to shampoo his hair. He rinsed, put in some conditioner, and lathered his hands in body wash. He kept his ass sticking out of the shower curtain. He didn’t want a single drop of water to touch it. Why wash your ass in the shower when you had a chair with a built in asshole cleaner? Out of curiosity, he did two things. First, he brought his ass back into the shower, still away from the water, and ripped a fart. It echoed off the tiles. He sniffed the air. It was like old cheese in rotting egg salad. The stink actually made him gag. He started laughing. That was what he would be feeding his chair for the next few days. His cock was hard, but he decided to wait to take care of it.

The second thing he did, after he dried himself off, was to rub his index finger in his ass crack, then bring it up to his nose to smell. Not atrocious, but not...good. It’s a man’s ass at the end of the day, of course it wouldn’t smell good. Again he shivered. He washed his hands, then he brushed his teeth. He went into his room, still naked, and grabbed a blanket. Then he walked back to the living room.

His cock had gone down a bit, but it was at half mast when he reached the chair. Briefly, he looked into Ben’s eyes, before turning around and sitting down. Now he felt the skin of his face wedge into his ass crack. Luckily he didn’t have to repeat the rule about nudity, because the chair remembered to start licking. John draped the blanket over himself, and opened a book he had left on the table.

For the next few hours, John was in ecstasy. It was so warm and comfortable. He loved the feeling of being fresh out of the shower, comfy and naked in a blanket, curled up with a good book, and feeling a hot moist tongue work his asshole. It was hard for him to focus on the book, because, despite how much he wanted to dehumanize and ignore him, Ben was the only thing on John’s mind. He thought that at any moment, he could easily fart into his mouth. But it was still day one, John thought he’d give him a bit more time to get used to these arrangements before he pushed the boundaries. The devil on his shoulder was excited. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow, when he would get to hear his chair gagging on the fart he’ll rip down its throat.

As the hours passed, the tongue was moving slower and slower. There were a few minutes where it stopped completely. John would clear his throat, and a moment later it would start back up again. He looked at the clock. It was nearing 1am.

8 hours had passed. Another 40 to go. John wished he could just fall asleep in his chair, and force Ben to endure his night farts. His dick was hard at the idea of him being fast asleep, and his unconscious body letting out a disgusting fart right up Ben’s nose. So badly, he wanted to sleep on top of Ben, keeping Ben from sleeping and forcing him to be conscious with his putrid asshole over his nose. But unfortunately, John couldn’t fall asleep in a chair. He had to lay down. So, he put the bookmark in his book, set it aside, tossed the blanket off of him, and got up to go to bed. He stood up a bit, his ass hovering just over the chair. Instead of saying goodnight, he grabbed his ass cheeks, spread them, and pushed,

PPRRPRPRPRRRRRR

Yet another obnoxiously disgusting fart burst out of his ass. This time, he got to hear the chair’s coughing and gagging without being muffled. He didn’t turn to look. He turned off the light and left the room.

In bed, John had lotioned his cock and was masturbating to the memories of the day. He was kicking himself for not modifying the couch instead. If he’d modified the couch, then he could have the option to sleep with his ass over Ben’s face. Ribbons of cum draped his body. He wiped it off with a rag and fell asleep.

…

At 7am, John’s alarm went off. He yawned, stretched, refreshed for a new day. He got out of bed and threw on tight athletic underwear that helped him breathe down there, grey jogging shorts, and a tight purple running shirt. He put on black socks, and his running shoes.

Walking through the house, he passed the living room on the way to the kitchen. His chair was silent. He grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, grabbed his iPod, and left his house.

Even though it was a cool morning, he sweat a lot during his run. He jogged three miles every morning. His stomach wasn’t feeling good. Still upset from the cheese the night before. But that was a problem for his chair to deal with.

It was closer to 8am when he got back to the house, his back, armpits, crotch, feet, and ass were all sweating. He finished his water and came into the house, where he took off his shoes, and, with a smirk, dropped his jogging shorts. His underwear had dark patches of sweat around his ass crack and crotch. He walked straight to the living room, ready to relax in his chair.

Briefly looking at the face in the hole, he noticed bags under his eyes. He thought about asking Ben if he slept well, but remembered that it would be weird for a guy to talk to a chair. Ben hadn’t slept well at all. He never was able to sleep on his back, and hours of the straps digging into his skin made him itchy, and the inability to move made him claustrophobic. He briefly slept for a few minutes at a time, dozing off then waking up again, unable to fall into a deep sleep.

John twisted around and sat on the chair. His tight underwear held in the moisture of his ass crack sweat up against the nose. John leaned forward, scrolling through social media on his phone. He slowly let out a thick and silent fart. It made his swamp ass heat up, and again he heard and felt retching under him. John’s cock tightened.

After a half an hour of aimlessly looking at sensationalized news, John got up and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. He scrambled some eggs and put them in an english muffin sandwich, each with a slice of ham and muenster cheese. He figured the combination of eggs and cheese would make a wonderful cocktail of gas for his chair to enjoy later.

He went to the living room and asked, “Hungry?”

“Yes sir,” the chair’s voice croaked, sounding depressed.

John went back to the kitchen. A few moments later, he came back with some buttered toast, a cup of greek yogurt, and a banana cut in slices. Feeding was the only time he treated Ben like a person. John looked down at him with a kind smile.

After giving him a glass of water to drink, the chair said, “...I’m sorry John but I feel so stiff. Can you let me out?”

John’s smile disappeared.

“Just five minutes and I’ll get right back in,” the voice was shrill, “Please, I gotta stretch man, this hurts,”

John didn’t say anything. He set the glass down, stood up, and left the room. Ben’s eyes frantically shifted, but he shouldn’t move his head to see anything beyond the ceiling. He heard John’s footsteps come back, and then, to Ben’s surprise, he felt the gurnee lower. He was going to let him out!

“Thank you so much sir,” he smiled, “I promise I won’t complain again for the rest of the weekend,”

John moved the chair out of the way. But instead of pulling the gurnee out of the wall, he stood over Ben and twisted his ear. Ben cried out in pain, his face scrunching up and his mouth wide open. Just what John wanted. John quickly shoved something into Ben’s mouth, and quickly wrapped a strap around the back of his head, keeping it secure around his mouth. Ben couldn’t see it, but he could feel it prying his lips open. He couldn’t close his mouth if he wanted to. He moaned out, frantic. What was going on?

John ignored his cries, and he brought the chair back over him. Then, he reset the gurnee to lift him back up to seat level. Just like before, except this time his mouth was being held open with a spider gag.

The chair continued to moan in fear as John went into the kitchen and pulled out a half pint of chocolate milk. He chugged half of it, then carried it into the living room. He stood over the chair so it could see clearly what he was holding. It’s eyes were wide with fear. It moaned out, unable to make words but the pattern was clear, “No, no, no, no,”

“I told you I would stop being nice if you didn’t keep silent,” John closed his eyes, setting the milk jug down. “Now, you must be punished.”

He turned around, peeled his underwear off his sweaty ass cheeks, pulled them apart, and sat down on the chair.

PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

The chair screamed up John’s ass. John smirked. That had to taste bad. It would take another hour for the milk to do havoc on his system, so he would just have to wait until the real punishment started. John turned on the TV and relaxed.

…

At 11:30, John finally stood up. He looked down at Ben’s face, which was wet with tears, and his eyes were burning red. Despite how horrible the past three hours had been for him, he at least managed to swallow every single fart.

Without speaking, John lowered the gurnee, moved the chair, and then removed the spider gag. The chair didn’t speak. Just like a good chair should act. He then put everything back in place.

John hoped that Ben finally understood what ‘you have no rights” means, and "you belong to me for the next 48 hours”. He looked at the clock and did a quick calculation. 20 hours in, only 28 more to go.

He went into his bedroom and changed into jeans and a plain sweater. Grabbed his coat, wallet, and keys, then left the house. He drove to the grocery store. It was busy around lunch time. He picked up snacks for tonight’s game. Buffalo chicken wings with blue cheese dipping sauce. Nachos. Mozzarella sticks. John grimaced. The milk he drank earlier was making him feel bloated and queasy. As bad as he felt, at least he didn’t have to experience dozens of his lactose farts directly on his tongue. He shuddered at the thought. Even so, he felt reluctant to get all of these cheese products. He shrugged. He always took one for the team. If his friends were over, he’d treat them to all kinds of unhealthy cheese covered snacks. And again, it isn’t as if any of them would have to smell his farts. That was the chair’s job.

He bought a case of generic beer. Then, he decided for himself to grab a six pack of stouts. These heavy dark beers made his ass bloated at night. Since it’s day two, he should bring out the big guns and make full use of his fart-vacuuming chair.

When he got back home, it was a little after 1pm. While he was gone, Ben managed to doze off a bit, only from exhaustion. And boredom. The worst part of this weekend so far was the incredible boredom he felt.

John put everything away, and he left the wings in the oven on low heat. He came back with lunch for the chair. Just a ham sandwich. As he fed the chair, he said out loud, “My friends will be coming around four. I’ve been feeling so bloated and gassy today. Thankfully my new chair will take care of that. I’ll let them out silently, and it will silently vacuum up my farts so no one has to smell them.

The chair let out a whimper.

…

By the time his friends came, John had changed into sweatpants and a loose comfortable sweatshirt. Matt and Hugo gave him bro hugs, and they all walked toward the living room. From their view, the chair was plain as ever, a normal looking seat, unremarkable and not worth looking at twice. John had already set up the nachos. They all grabbed beers, John opted for his bottle of stout. He sat down in his chair and relaxed, taking a deep swig of the bottle. The three of them chatted about work, Hugo vented about his girlfriend, they watched the game and talked about stats, they munched on nachos, they made dirty jokes. John felt his stomach cramp a bit, and so he carefully let out a silent stream of gas. It felt very hot, and it warmed up his butt and the seat of the chair. The heat went away quickly at least. The chair was working. John smiled.

Later, he got up to bring in the wings. As he got up, he smoothed out the sides of the chair to fix any suspicious indentations. For a split second, the seat seemed to be in the shape of a human face. But neither of the friends noticed, because, well, why would anyone pay attention to a chair? In the kitchen, John pulled the wings out of the oven. His stomach still felt sick. The milk from earlier was still bothering him, plus the new addition of nacho cheese. The beer wasn’t helping, and if he dipped fried chicken wings into a cheese sauce...He closed his eyes. It would be very hard for him to hide his gas. But he had to be a good host.

The night went on, and the more drunk they got, the louder they got. They laughed, they cheered. John was so comfortable in his seat. He slowly let out what felt like the hundreth fart of the night. Again, he felt his ass warm up. And again, he felt the slightest nudge underneath him.

“Dude should you be eating all this cheese?” Hugo asked.

Matt laughed, “Oh yeah, doesn’t this shit give you like mad farts and stuff,”

“Hah, yeah,” John shrugged, “To be honest I’ve been farting into my chair ever since I sat down.”

They all started laughing. He went on, “Seriously, it isn’t even like a bunch of farts, for the past hour it’s been one long stream of gas. I’m still letting it out.”

Hugo was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t worry, my chair’s been absorbing it all,”

…

After the game ended, they sat in the living room, chatting some more. Finally, it was nearing 10pm, and they decided to head out. “You wanna come out to Nico’s with us?” Their favorite bar.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve been exhausted I think I’ll just watch some TV then head to bed.” And he genuinely was feeling sick to his stomach.

He saw them out. Then he returned to the living room and stretched. He saw that he forgot to adjust the fabric the last time he got up, and so the indentation of a face was clear on the seat. John was surprised that none of them had noticed. His dick was getting hard. He walked over to the chair and took the fabric off. Ben took a gasp of air.

“Thirsty?”

“Yes sir,” he coughed.

He went to get a glass of water. He wanted to congratulate Ben on a job well done. Five hours worth of farts went completely unnoticed because of him. But it would be strange to thank a chair for doing something it’s supposed to do anyway. And it isn’t as if a chair would feel something like pride in being a fart absorber.

After giving Ben some water, John sat back down. His eyelids were heavy. He watched the TV some more. He realized he was falling asleep. He got up, went to the fridge, and pulled out the fourth bottle of the night. Not a whole lot, but enough to make his body feel heavy. He got an idea. He was trembling with excitement, but he couldn’t think about it too much or the plan wouldn’t work. He opened a drawer and took out a roll of duct tape. Back in the living room, he set the bottle on the table next to his chair. Then he pulled out a strip of duct tape, and used it to cover the mouth in the chair. Then, he turned around, and slowly lowered the back of his sweatpants. His hairy ass hung out of his pants, and he slowly sat down on the chair, adjusting so that his hole was over the nose as usual. He yawned. He drank the beer and watched the TV, lowering the volume. After another hour, without trying he fell asleep.

…

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Ben realized, with horror, what had happened. That John had fallen asleep with his disgusting unwashed asshole against his nose. Without being able to open his mouth, he had to breathe through his nose, which meant he had to take in his stink with each breath. The weight over him made it difficult to breath as it was.

When he first farted, Ben thought that John was awake. The fart made his eyes burn, and he gagged against the duct tape. Then he realized that John was completely asleep, and that he just farted in his sleep. They were soft, but thick and hot and swampy. The combination of lactose, beer, and deep fried foods, made the stink beyond atrocious. Another fart seeped out of John’s ass. Ben gripped the sides of the board, and wiggled his feet, and tried shifting his body around. There had to be some way to turn his head to the side so he didn’t have to suffer it. But everything had been planned out too well. There was no escape. The asshole was providing him his only air, and so it was the only thing keeping him alive through the night.

…

At 7am the next morning, the alarm in John’s room went off. He could hear it from the living room. He had a bit of a headache, and his mouth was dry. He saw the TV was still on, low volume. The morning news. He drifted in and out of sleep for a bit.

Almost half an hour later, he opened his eyes again. He felt sweaty. Uncomfortably sweaty. It was warm in this room, and the sweat clothes were really making him sweat. He knew his hairy ass was coated in sweat, and the face pressed up in his ass crack also felt uncomfortably hot. John smiled. He couldn’t imagine how horrible the night had to have been for his chair. He grunted and let out a beastly morning fart.

PPPPTPRPTRPTRPTRPTRPTPPSSSS

Yep. Definitely a beer fart. He felt shifting underneath him. Good, his chair survived the night. He stayed there for a bit so the chair could absorb the gas.

He stood up, peeling his cheeks off the face, and yanked the duct tape off. The chair cried out in pain, and then started gasping. John ignored the noise and walked to his room, his ass still hanging out, red marks from where it had been rubbing skin all night.

He took off his clothes, went into the bathroom, and took another shower. Again, he kept his ass out of the curtain. He thought it must have looked funny from an outsider perspective; a man taking a shower with his ass sticking out.

Usually he went for a run, but he wasn’t feeling good. His stomach was still a wreck from the night before. Only 7 more hours of fun. He didn’t put on a shirt, but he did put on a pair of basketball shorts.

He went back to the kitchen and made a bowl of oatmeal. He fed the chair without speaking to it. The chair didn’t say anything, it greedily ate the oatmeal off the spoon. Even though John knew it would make him feel worse, he poured himself a bowl of cereal with milk. He brought his cereal into the living room and ate it while watching the news from his chair. His stomach hurt in the next half hour.

SSSPPPPPPPRPRPRRPRPRPRR

The fart was painful, and sounded ugly. John cringed and held his stomach. He wanted to take one of his emergency gas pain relief pills, but that would probably stop his gas for the rest of the day. He only had 6.5 hours of fun left with his chair, and he wanted to make it happy. So he bore the pain, and pushed out the next fart.

PPRRTTRTRTRTRPTPRTPRTPRTPRTPRPTRPTPRTP

The chair was working overtime to suck in these farts. John was surprised he still felt and heard gagging underneath him. You’d think after so much time, the chair would get used to it by then.

A wicked thought came to John’s mind. He’d had it before when he first messaged Ben, but he didn’t take it seriously. But he thought, what if he just decided to keep his new chair, and ignore any previous arrangements. Of course the thought was just a fantasy, he couldn’t actually do that to Ben. But it made his balls tighten.

…

He didn’t do much the next couple hours. As usual, he watched TV, and unleashed his upset-stomach farts into the seat of the chair. He couldn’t imagined what they must have smelt like. And thanks to the chair, he would have no idea.

At lunch, he just had a sandwich. He fed the same type of sandwich to the chair, and gave it water. Then, he sat back down. He watched reruns. He yawned. It was pretty boring to just sit in a chair all day, but he wanted the chair’s last hours to be full of farts and ass stink.

The clock eventually struck 3:30pm. Only 30 more minutes. The chair had done a fantastic job today. Unlike yesterday with all of its shaking around and moaning and speaking, the chair was completely quiet, and barely moved. It didn’t matter how loud or long or rank the farts were, the chair silently took them in. Again, as John’s heart was pounding, he pulled his pants down and sat back on the chair with his bare ass. He felt the tongue wiggle up his hole immediately. He started to jerk off, his throbbing cock large in his hand. His balls felt swollen. He knew he was going to cum soon, so he had to make it count.

He tried imagining what it was like for his chair the past two days. How endless the assault of farts must have been for its nose. How uncomfortable its body had to be in the straps. How it had no way of knowing the passage of time, and could only see, feel, and smell the ass that was resting on it. How bad his ass stunk from the farts and from not washing. And how the chair licked his asshole without protest.

He felt a fart and ripped it onto the tongue and into its mouth.

PRRRR

The tongue recoiled for a moment, then kept going.

John came. His asshole clenched over the tongue that was rimming him.

He settled down, his heart beating, and feeling light headed, as the tongue kept probing his asshole. The clock read 4pm, but he spent a few minutes relaxing in the afterglow.

“Alright then,” John sighed in disappointment, “Time’s up.”

He stood up. Ben let out a sigh of relief. John lowered the gurnee, and moved the chair out of the way. Then, he pulled the gurnee halfway out. He undid the hoses and tubes around Ben’s privates. Then he pulled the gurnee out. Ben looked pale, limp, and miserable. Especially in his eyes, there was such misery and exhaustion. His cock was rock hard.

“I don’t normally do this to guys,” John said, “But you deserve a reward for being such a good chair,”

He dropped his pants, and straddled Ben, lowering his asshole over his face, smothering him. As he sat on Ben, he watched as his body buckled around. John grabbed Ben’s rock hard cock, bent over, and took it into his mouth.

Ben had been rock hard for so long, that he felt his dick was sensitive enough to go off at the slightest friction. At least, that’s what he thought would happen, if he had any physical stimulation while he was down there. It only took him a minute to erupt cum into John’s mouth. He moaned into John’s ass.

Then, John stood up and undid the straps. Slowly, Ben moved his joints around. When John got to the headboard and undid the strap and posts, Ben cracked his neck loudly. Like a sloth, he tried sitting up, his full body was fatigued. Red lines from where the straps were raced across his skin.

“Well...how was it?” John smiled.

“That was fucking horrible,” Ben muttered.

“Oh,” John frowned, “I’m sorry it wasn’t what you hoped it would be.”

“Fuck off, where’s your bathroom, I need to shower.”

…

John drove him to the train station that evening. In the car, just before Ben left, he said “Well, even though you didn’t like it, thanks for helping me live out this fantasy.”

“Whatever,” Ben’s voice was low. He got out of the car and headed for the train.

…

On the train ride, Ben looked depressed. He thought through everything he’d experienced. How badly John’s farts stink. How uncomfortable it was to be strapped down. How humiliating and disgusting it was to relieve himself in a hole in the wall. His full body was exhausted and stiff with pain from laying on the board for so long. And John didn’t even have the decency to let him stretch once. He remembered how boring it was to just lay there quietly, passively taking farts to the face, and then staring up at the ceiling when he was away. He had constant headaches from exhaustion and the pressure of John’s body. He felt underfed and cranky from the small bland meals John made for him. And worst of all, he was constantly nauseous when John farted into his nose. His throat hurt from so much coughing and gagging. And when the farts were very bad, he would jerk around and the straps dug more into his skin, making it burn.

He’d turned down going with his friends to a bar that weekend for this. He’d chosen to spend two days of his life like this. He felt so dirty and pathetic. And embarrassed. He had been so excited to try out bondage, and his fart fetish, only to hate both in the end.

That night, he was laying in bed, and he thought about John’s ass, how bad it stunk, how gross it felt sweating on his face, how the hairs clung to his nose and made it itch.

Despite how much he’d hated the experience, his cock was rock hard. And cocks usually don’t lie.

He called John.

“Hello?”

“Hey John, it’s me. Ben.”

“Oh...hey. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I loved it so much.”

“Really? You sounded so mad after I let you out,”

“Yeah but…” Ben couldn’t explain, “I can’t stop thinking about your asshole.”

“Oh well I’m flattered, haha,”

“Are you doing anything this weekend?”

On the other end of the line, Ben heard John laughing.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 1: "bound"

Essek cannot, in honesty, say that he is paying attentiong to anything being said right now. He should be—this is his trial, after all, his death sentence, the axe finally starting to fall—but he isn’t. He’s made his confession, did all he could to exonerate anyone who might be caught in the crossfire, offered the names of his co-conspirators. There is no defense to offer that the Bright Queen would consider worth hearing.

Indeed, laying it all out again has reminded Essek that I am a selfish and overcurious man, and thought nothing of it is not exactly an exculpatory defense, even if she did hear it.

So, Essek feels that his involvement here is complete, is the truth. All he has left to do at this trial is still be sitting bound and compliant in the accused’s seat when they sentence him to die, and he can do that without listening.

On a strictly professional level, he finds that he’s impressed with the efficiency of his arrest. He estimates that it’s probably no later than five hours past noon. He was called to an emergency meeting at the palace perhaps six hours ago. In that time, he has been accused of treason, thoroughly countered in an escape attempt, stripped of all spell components or possible weapons, and brought to the throne room to face the Bright Queen’s justice. Quana Kryn, the Dusk Captain of so many lifetimes, is no fool—she did all her work in secret, and only arranged for his arrest when she was sure that her case was beyond reproach.

She did her work well, Essek is obliged to admit, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts. And anything that she didn’t already know, he told them himself, under the strongest truth magic the clerics of the Luxon could muster. He had worked alone, after all. His confession meant that Verin, that the Nein, could walk free, and he freely admitted as much when his willingness to talk became the subject of question.

The Bright Queen had given him a look of cool, weary disappointment, and remarked that it was a shame he had come to loyalty so late. He had said frankly that he agreed, and that was the last they had asked of him.

And since then, he hasn’t been listening.

Instead, he is thinking. Not about magic, nor even really about saving himself. Essek has been living on borrowed time since the moment he walked out with a Beacon in hand, and he’s known it. He wants to live, but this feels—inevitable. This feels like it’s already over, and Essek is only dreaming this trial, these chains, and this sentence. So his mind wanders, and he’s surprised to find that there are more fond places in his memory than others, these days.

He’s thinking about the new cat that Caleb recently adopted, a scrawny gray-and-black kitten that Caleb coaxed with scraps for a week until it trusted him enough to be touched and taken inside off the street.

He’s thinking about how Caleb promised Luc that he could name it, next time the Brenattos visited Rexxentrum.

He’s thinking about Fjord and Jester making port in Nicodranas in a month, and Beau breaking into their study to sit on Caleb’s desk with Urana, the dainty black cat Essek brought Caleb two years ago, in her lap, just to tell them that they were going to teleport everyone to the Chateau for dinner.

He’s thinking about sunlight, strangely, and the way it glows on Caleb’s hair, makes the freckles on his eternally windburned cheeks bright on his skin, turns his blue eyes piercing and warm. Sunlight speaks with a Zemnian accent, in Essek’s life, and he might be the first drow in a long time to wish he was going to see it again before he dies.

Essek is so absorbed in his own thoughts, in refusing to listen to the voices deciding on the method of his death in favor of the memories of other voices, full of joy and exasperation and playful outrage and affection, that at first he assumes he’s imagining the words in his ear.

“Heeeeeeey, Essek, it’s me,” Jester chirps, and he can picture her sitting on the rail of the ship, kicking her feet and making Fjord count for her. “Just wanted to say hi, ummmm, we saw a whale yesterday that could have swallowed us whole! Let me know how—”

Essek almost curses himself aloud for not having thought of this.

Jester doesn’t Send to him every day, not all the time. Maybe one in three, on average. Sometimes she’ll go a week without Sending at all, and other times—usually when they’re becalmed somewhere and she’s bored—he’ll get three messages a day. She’s charmingly blasé about relative times, between the Lucidian and their landbound homes, or at least, Essek reminds himself that it’s charming when she wakes him up from a deep sleep. He had no way of knowing that she would Send to him here, now, and now she has, and he has no idea what to do.

Essek needs to answer her, though.

The reality of his situation—it doesn’t set in, all at once, abruptly. He’s been well aware of the reality of his situation for some time now. But the reality of this aspect, this unforeseen complication, comes home immediately.

If Essek doesn’t answer her, Jester will assume something is wrong. If she assumes something is wrong, she will either hammer him with Sendings until he responds, or, more likely, go directly to Caleb and demand his help in reaching Essek. He loves his friends desperately, but they have never encountered the idea of a half-measure, and he doubts the feeble protection offered by his confession will keep them from being apprehended as traitors if they actually come and try to rescue him.

If Essek had more time to think, he might take a moment to bask in the warmth of being a person whose friends might try to rescue him. But he doesn’t have time, and he doesn’t have the luxury of letting this slide.

He can’t risk them.

Essek raises both his bound hands and scratches at his brow, hiding his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Jester, I’m in a meeting,” he murmurs, so quietly he can barely hear himself. He keeps his voice as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, just like the times when she really has interrupted a council meeting or the like. “I may be quite busy for a week or so. I will Send to you when I can.”

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes back, dramatically forlorn.

“But Essek, we miss youuuuu,” she whines, and then bursts into giggles. “We really do! Send when you have time, and stay out of trouble! Love you!” She pauses again, and then hums tunelessly until the spell runs out.

“Essek Thelyss,” the Bright Queen says, her voice ringing across the throne room like struck crystal. “Rise, and receive your judgement.”

“I will,” Essek whispers, and then lowers his hands, and stands to face his sentence.

[storiesforallfandoms]

nothing left ~ 10k;z nation

word count: 2229

request?: no

description: he accompanies her back to her childhood home to find nothing left besides the memories of times before the zombies, and they decide to leave some new memories there

pairing: 10k x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist

(Y/N) kept a straight face as they drove past the sig with her hometown’s name displayed in bold, black letters against the stark white background. It was the first time she had been there since she and her parents had escaped during the initial Z outbreak. Since then, she had lost everything, but managed to find a new family within the small group that took her in.

They came to a stop at an empty parking lot of an abandoned supermarket. Everyone got out, weapons in tow.

“This place is a ghost town,” Doc commented.

“Almost everyone vacated when the infection started,” (Y/N) explained. “I don’t even think there would be any Zs here. It’s probably only been ransacked lately.”

“It’s the only town for miles, it’s our best bet for resources,” Warren said. “We search the place where we can and see what we can find.” She turned to (Y/N) to add, “Do you want to go home? Just to see the place if nothing else?”

(Y/N) was dying to get home, but she didn’t want anyone on the team to see her as weak or fragile. Although she knew they wouldn’t think any different of her if she did show some weakness, in this day and age, your biggest threat was to be perceived as weak to anyone.

Before she could respond, 10k spoke up. “I think you should. It’ll give you a break from everything, and you can be closer to your parents for even just a moment.”

(Y/N) had a hard time saying no to 10k, especially when parents were involved. She knew he wanted nothing more than to be close to his own father again, but, like (Y/N), 10k hadn’t been home in nearly a year. He didn’t even know if his own home was still standing. If she turned down this opportunity that she knew 10k wanted so bad in front of him, she’d never forgive herself.

“It would be nice,” she admitted.

“You go then honey,” Warren said, her voice soft and kind. “10k, you go with her for protection. Meet us back here before sundown. We’ll wait a little while, but not too long.”

The two youngest members left in the opposite direction of the group. (Y/N) led 10k down the still familiar roads. They weren’t too far from the house and, before she knew it, (Y/N) was stood in front of her childhood home. Her eyes widened at the sight of it.

All the windows were smashed and the door was practically ripped off of the hinges. They entered with weapons raised in case of a Z attack. (Y/N)’s heart broke to see the place ransacked and destroyed. Every picture her parents had hung were smashed to pieces. Only one remained partially in tact, one of (Y/N) and her parents when she was barley a year old. They were on their first vacation as a family to visit someone in another state. The picture was of the three of them on the beach together. Baby (Y/N) was in her mother’s arms, taken by the sand in her tiny hands while her parents were smiling brightly at the camera.

10k looked over her shoulder as her eyes began to water. “You look a lot like your mom.”

“I got that a lot,” she said. “We were basically twins. Dad said I got lucky with mom’s genes.”

She held the picture close to her chest as she moved up the stairs to where the bedrooms and main bathroom was. Whoever had broken in must’ve found what they wanted on the first floor because the bedrooms were relatively untouched. Every poster and picture (Y/N) had on her walls were still there. Her old laptop was even still there, although she doubted that it worked anymore.

“It’s weird,” she said. “It feels like I’ve been gone for years, but this room looks exactly the way I left it, like not a day has past.”

“Anything here you want to take with you?” 10k asked.

(Y/N) shook her head. “I took most of the important stuff when we left first. There’s nothing but memories here now.”

She was so lost in her own thoughts - memories of when things were good - that she didn’t hear 10k leave the room to walk into the bathroom until he spoke again. “The water still runs.”

She walked into the bathroom to find clean water running from the tap. She put a hand under the water, feeling it go from freezing cold to comfortably warm in seconds.

“The power and stuff must still be running,” she said. “Good news for us. I haven’t showered in ages.”

“You think it’s safe?” 10k asked, but (Y/N) was already placing her weapons on the bathroom counter and shedding herself of her top layers.

“I’m willing to take one for the team if it means I’ll be clean when I die,” she joked. “You can watch the door and make sure no Zs or no more looters come in. I’ll leave my gun close enough that I can use it if need be.”

10k nodded. Before he could get the chance to turn back on, (Y/N) grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. For a split second, 10k saw the black bra she was wearing. It was old and worn, probably one of the only ones she had left. Due to this, it was basically falling apart, so when he got a brief glance of the bra, he also got a glance of one of her breasts.

10k’s eyes widened as he quickly turned his back so that (Y/N) didn’t know. He stood in the doorway, listening over the sound of the shower running for any indication of someone, or something, breaking into the house.

The warm water running over (Y/N) caused her to let out a moan of relief. It had been so long since she had properly bathed. The warm water of the familiar shower felt like heaven to her.

Outside the shower, 10k was shuffling awkwardly. He and (Y/N) had been close since they had first met, but they had only ever viewed each other as friends and Z fighting colleagues. He didn’t understand why he was starting to have this feeling about her. Maybe it was just boy hormones and the fact that she was a naked girl just a few feet away from him. But it felt like more than that. Maybe it had always been more than that but he was just afraid to admit it.

Before he could stop himself, 10k silently placed his gun next to hers on the toilet cover. He began to shed himself of his own clothes, working quickly and quietly as to not disturb her. (Y/N) had her head back with the water running over her hair and body when 10k pulled the curtain back and stepped in. She opened her eyes to look at him, shocked by his sudden appearance. She looked him up and down for a moment, her face giving away nothing.

“Gotta save water,” 10k said, trying to lighten the mood.

A smile broke out across (Y/N)’s face as a small giggle came from her lips. “Come here, 10k.”

She put a hand on the back of his neck at the same time that his hands found her waist. Their lips collided and it felt like the most right thing in the terrible, fucked up world around them. 10k’s lips moved against (Y/N)’s perfectly, as if they were supposed to be there, to be kissing her so deeply. His hands wandered over her dripping body, touching every inch of her soft skin with his calloused hands.

(Y/N) let out a sudden squeal as 10k lifted her effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist. She was shocked at his strength. Sure, he wasn’t as scrawny and wimpy as he may have looked, but he certainly wasn’t the strongest person in the world. He’s just full of surprises, (Y/N) noted as his lips connected with hers again.

His hard boner was against her aching core, teasing her ever so slightly with every gently brush against her. She whimpered against his lips when she felt him brush against her opening, trying to ground her hips against his to feel her inside of him. Knowing that she wanted this as much as he did made him even more turned on. He was almost afraid that he wouldn’t be able to make this moment last long enough.

He helped to guide her down onto his hard length, causing (Y/N) to gasp as he filled her entirely.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked her, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what (Y/N)’s sexual past was like.

“No,” she responded, her voice breathless and airy. “I just haven’t had sex in a very long time. I forgot how good it felt.”

10k smiled at her and pressed his lips against hers again. He pressed her back against the nearest wall and slowly began to thrust himself into her. (Y/N)’s back arched against the wall, trying to get as close to 10k as she possibly could.

He was slow and gentle, which drove (Y/N) even more wild. She held on around his neck as if her life depended on it, moaning and gasping against his lips with every thrust he pushed into her. She could barley even think straight, her mind focusing only on the pleasure that 10k was providing her.

“Is this alright?” he asked, his voice soft.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile. Sweet 10k, always thinking of the comfort of others, even when he was in the middle of the most intense shower sex (Y/N) had ever had.

“It’s more than alright,” she responded. “God, it feels so fucking good.”

10k had heard (Y/N) swearing many times, but hearing the expletive word slip from her breathless voice in that moment drove him wild. He rested his head against her shoulder, groaning as he pushed his hips against hers again, filling her completely.

“You feel so good,” he told her. “You’re so soft and warm, fuck.”

“Who would’ve thought that sweet 10k had a dirty side?” (Y/N) giggled.

“You must not know me well enough, then.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

Her thought was cut short as 10k pulled almost completely out of her then filled her again. Her mind was clouded with lust as she tried to rock her hips against his, begging for the release she wanted.

Noticing her desperation, 10k wrapped one arm around her lower back and slipped his free hand between them. (Y/N) gasped as his fingers connected with her swollen nerves and began to rub circles in them. She could feel a familiar pressure building inside of her. She clung to 10k’s shoulders, curses falling from her mouth in between moans of pleasure. Her legs began to shake as she felt herself hitting her climax. She threw her head back and called 10k’s name - his real name - in pleasure.

Feeling her walls contracting around him caused 10k to feel his own climax approaching. He held on to her hips as his thrusts became a little faster. Before he knew it, his eyes were nearly rolling back into his head as he felt himself filling her with his warm cum. The feeling of the warmth inside of her was enough to almost turn (Y/N) on again.

They stayed tangled together for a moment, completely forgetting about the running water cascading down onto them. It wasn’t until the warm water started to turn cold that they realized it was probably time for the two of them to get out.

Luckily for them, whoever looted the house also didn’t think to take any of the towels in the upstairs linen closet, so they had a way to dry themselves off. Before she started pulling her clothes on, 10k wrapped his arms around (Y/N) again and kissed her exposed shoulders and neck before placing one last sweet kiss against her lips.

“We should tell the others about the running water,” he said as he pulled his clothes back on. “If this place is relatively Z-less, we could probably get away with staying here for a while.”

“We’ve stayed in worst looking places,” (Y/N) agreed. “I’m sure everyone else is dying to clean themselves, too. There’s enough room for everyone to sleep with all the bedrooms and the couch downstairs.”

The reminder of the wreckage when they first entered caused a melancholy mood to wash over (Y/N) again. Noticing this, 10k brought her into his arms and held her tightly.

“I’m sorry about your house,” he said. “I’m sorry someone did this to you, that they took all the memories of this place.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “They didn’t take the memories. No one could ever take that from this place. Besides, I’d like to make some new memories here...with you.”

10k smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I think we’ve already started with that.”

(Y/N) giggled and pulled away from him. “Let’s go find everyone to tell them before they leave us abandoned.”