#surface pressure has such a good beat

[jacarandaaaas]

no because what did they put into the “waiting on a miracle” instrumental!?? Like that sounds so magical!? like when I think of magic and whimsy THAT is the exact sound I’m thinking of it’s so gorgeous!?? but somehow it manages to sound sad at the same time? like little elements add a melancholy undertone and it’s so good!!! Everytime I listen to that instrumental it’s an experience I am IMMERSED.

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

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

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[majeoeje]

Beating heart

Laios x reader

Just please don’t ever go away

Part 2

“Wake up, hey! Wake up!” Said Laios

You wondered why he was making such a ruckus before you looked down and noticed the ungodly amount of blood that came out from an open wound on your stomach. Out of instinct, you hand reached down to press on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, hissing in pain at the contact

That’s right! you were fighting a monster beforehand… what was it? It was shaped like a horse but it was definitely not a unicorn, let alone a kelpie.. now that you think about it, it looks more like a donkey with the elongated ears..

Before you could recall your memory, your attention finally drifts to Laios. There was a peculiar expression on his face, well it wasn’t something comical like how he usually has, it’s quite different. The slight widening of his eyes, the schrunched up brows and the slightly agape mouth wasn’t something you had ever seen Laios expressed in all your years of friendship.

“You’ll be alright.. just stay still.. Im sure Marcille is on her way!..” he muttered “you’ll be alright..”. He pushed aside some of the hair that sticked to your forehead, perhaps an effort to soothe your pain. Not knowing how long Marcille would take to get here after being separated from you and Laios.

Laios held your bloodied hand, squeezing it tightly that he should while your other stayed still on your wound.

By the tone of his voice you would’ve thought he was saying all these things to assure himself. Was Laios perhaps… Worried?..

You weren’t sure. Sometimes the dim litted candle light can be deceiving, you thought, especially in a dark cave like this. Though you know you needed to do something hearing his endless mutterings

“Calm down, Laios” you said, your voice rendering weaker than you assumed. As you tried to sit more comfortably on the rough surface of the cave

“Why don’t you try that healing spell that Marcille taught you?”

“I’m not sure.. i had healed a scratch sure, but this is something entirely different…”

You opened your mouth to say something encouraging, but the blood that you coughed up instead surely wasn’t helping the situation.

“Gah-Ahh!!” He yelled, you found it ironic how he was the one screaming.

“I’m fine dude you..can do it! No pressure..” You said, weakly pointing a thumbs up.

Your ass is far from fine. And Laios wasn’t stupid enough to not notice.

Despite the growing worry that seeps into his mind. But he was determined to help as always, knowing him.

“Okay.. i’ll try”

You let go of your wound, it seems that the blood that seeps out has slowed down faster than you think. With that thought in mind, you guided both his hand to your stomach, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“Alright, just recite the incantation. I can take it!” You said enthusiastically before gritting your teeth, prepared for a god awful amount of pain that comes in healing magic.

He nodded before he starts reciting the incantation that Marcille had worked so hard in teaching.

And painful the spell it was, as you screamed understandably loudly feeling as if you got stabbed once again with no adrenaline helping you in slightly easing your pain. You held onto Laios’ armor the whole time, not wanting to hurt him while he was trying so hard to focus.

After a while, the pain eventually subsided, being replaced by an unbearable itch.

“I need to sit down” said Laios, feeling a dreadful Mana sickness coming his way

You instinctively pat the spot next to you, an odd habit that didn’t take long for your party members to notice. You guessed you just liked to be seated next to him. Well Laios never complained, even now as he obediently sat himself next to you.

“You did well, Good job Laios” it was evident from the closed wound on your stomach that Laios was starting to get the hang out of magic, it would be a lie to say it didn’t fill you with a sort of pride.

Not long after that sense of pride washed away though was when you noticed how awfully quiet Laios had been. You were worried yes but the cling that he has on your arm was what convinced you he was alright. At least he will be once you gave him a moment. Mana sickness surely is a pain, you thought feeling him shift in his seat to lean against you, muttering something incoherent.

“I’m hearing footsteps coming, i’m sure it’s Marcille, we’ll be alright Laios” you said, before Marcille appeared as if on cue

“There they are!!” She yelled, senshi and chilchuck immediately rushed to help you, while Izutsumi scanned the area for monsters.

You were so relieved they had found you and Laios that you didn’t mind the earnest scolding Chil and Marcille was already spouting to you. Maybe it didn’t help the fact that you smiled through the whole thing, well you were just happy to see them!

The rest of the night went smoothly though, your party had found a spot to rest for the night, and a running water. Aside from that, Laios was recovering on his sleeping bag, trying to endure his headache. You didn’t miss the amount of increased staring on his part though, making you wonder what was going on inside his mind.

But you try not to pay attention, as you focused intently on your night watch.

Hours passed, your eyelids were getting heavier to stay open

“You can go to sleep, i can take over from here” said Laios, you could see him a little clearly now that his features were illuminated with Marcille’s light spell

“Laios, it’s not your turn yet” you yawned, noting how you still have an hour left to your night watch

You look around seeing your sound asleep party, the growing love for them that you gradually succumb to was undeniable.

“I know but you just got healed, you should rest more”

“Well YOU healed me and i know there’s still some remnants of mana sickness in your head” you playfully argued

“Just let me do this for you.”

he said, you were taken aback with how desperate he sounded, it was rather emotional. It was by then that you realized this wasn’t just about the night watch

“Laios..”

He looked away.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

You knew something was up, the growing silence that ensued was nothing but a sure evidence of his troubles.

“Tell me what’s wrong, i’m always here for you” you assured, running circles along his back.

He finally turned to face you. You never knew the golden hues of his eyes could glow in such a solemn way until now.

“What if one day, you’re not?”

The question seem to weigh less to you than it did to Laios.

“Huh?” You were confused, was it because of your accident just a moment ago? He knew that wounds and death didn’t have a severe of an impact as it did in the surface, yet the calm collected Laios could not be more worried in seeing you like that.

“What if by some chance i couldn’t heal you… or even worse you die-“ the sudden pick up of his breath was making you worry. It wasn’t long before he started to hyperventilate.

“Laios-“

“I can’t perform a resurrection spell!… i can barely heal your wound…”

“Laios!!” You whispered yell as you smacked him across the face, his hurt expression could be read clearly as ‘what was that for?’ Despite your burning desire to yell at him, you didn’t want to wake the other up with Laios sharing the intention

“You need to calm down..” you held him by the shoulder “i’m alright and i will continue to be”

He looked at you

His heart was filled with so much doubt. It’s not like he was unsure in your strength, rather… it was doubt that he could even bear that sight once more. The thought of you in so much pain was sure to haunt his soul than you would ever know.

You took his hand in yours, placing it on where your heart would be. He could feel the vivid heartbeat on the palm of his hand, the continuous beat of the pumping organ was steady, paired with the slow rise and fall of your ribcage, a concrete evidence that you were here, alive, and breathing.

“I’m here”

You didn’t know if it would work but the steady drums of your heart slowly brought him a peace of mind.

His breath eventually went back to normal, which brings you a sigh of relief

He lets go, opting to shift himself closer to place his ear on your chest, he wanted to hear it clearly, closer.. closer to you. The sudden contact startled you as your arm fell to a stiff not knowing where place it.

“Your heart rate is picking up” he stated as a matter of factly. As of this moment, you didn’t curse his density to took notice in your behaviour.

“Yeah” you coughed rather abruptly, trying to calm the flush on your cheeks. You were just relieved your party wasn’t awake to see you so embarassed.

You gulped down your hesitance, your hands eventually finding it’s way to rest on his back, before opting to play with Laios’ soft locks as an attempt to distract your mind. You reminiced on the times where he would pay no mind of his appearance thinking it was a hassle, those were definitely not a good phase he went through, but sometimes you did miss his long outgrown hair after he freshly washed it.

you smiled remembering how he lets you braid small parts of his blonde hair as a fragrant scent of mint shampoo would emit from his scalp.

Though you do like his more kept style now, Falin worked hard to learn how to trim his hair after all.

Your train of thoughts soon was cut short when you felt the hold Laios had on you tightening.

“Don’t go. Please don’t ever go away.” He said, repeating his swallowed words from earlier, his voice had found its way to be louder now that he’s calmed down, different from back when he healed you.

You felt guilty to say that your heart swelled in content hearing that. There’s something so incredibly precious to have someone care for you to so much extent that they would feel this way, you were lucky to know you wouldn’t forget that feeling as long as you were with Laios.

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

You hugged him,feeling the tightening grip that he has on your blouse, he groaned slightly feeling the warm embrace, though you kept it short, not wanting to suffocate him.

You and Laios weren’t always together . But even so, the unseperated bond that you had over the years was something that he treasure above all else.

Though sometimes he would dwell on the different path you could’ve chosen. What would happen if you were to accept your betrothal, and get married in that small village? What would happen if his father never kicked him out the house? What would happen if he stayed in the military? What if you never went into that ship alongside him?

Sometimes he could still pick up the smell of ocean in his nose when he recall that fated day. He never thought he could miss someone as much as he did you. A fated reunion, as Falin would say, before he would always brush it off and say it was just some coincidence.

He has only a vague idea of what the future will held once Falin is saved, but truly, he knew he couldn’t imagine a future where he wasn’t with you.

“What type of monster that doesn’t have a heart? Can you tell me about that?” You said, drawing incoherent shapes on his back with your fingers

Well, that surely he could do.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hiiiii🌻 if you haven’t already, will you do a headcanon for carmy? 🥺

Carmy Berzatto Headcanons.

warnings - sexual content.

ohh sweet carmy. I definitely romanticise him, because we've seen on the show he can be a nightmare in relationships. so, take these with a pinch of salt. <3

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

- Never gets tired of cooking for you. You feel bad, sometimes, when he offers to cook even after he's been at work all day. He reassures you one evening that he loves cooking for you, because it's different. There's no pressure. He can relax, and do what he loves most for the person he loves most.

- Terrible at DIY. The two of you always end up crying with laughter when you try and get a job done, because it always inevitably goes wrong. You're both determined to do it yourselves, though. You'll never call a guy.

- He's a commitmentphobe. Majorly. I think it'd be really hard work to get Carmy to ever really commit himself to you. It'd take time, and a hell of a lot of patience. But, once he does, he's fiercely loyal. He'd do anything for you, no hesitation.

- Carmy's awful at communicating. He's not good at processing his emotions, and ends up yelling. The first time you had an argument, you didn't yell once, which was a real turning point for him. You talked it out, and fixed the issue. From that moment on, he tries. He's not perfect, but he tries.

- Hates seeing you cry. It's his least favourite thing in the world. The minute you cry, his bottom lip is quivering, lump in his throat forming. You cry, he cries.

- Loves it when you pamper him. Happily sits with you while you apply your face mask, asks one day if you'll put some on him. You cuddle on the couch, wine in hand, terrible reality show on the TV. You do your skincare routine, and then do it on him too.

- Only trusts you to cut his hair. You don't have much experience, but you figure it out pretty quickly. He now refuses to go to a salon, begging you to do it instead. In the bathroom, stood between his legs, you trim his hair carefully, trying to ignore the way he's gazing up at you with those big blue eyes.

and now onto the sexy stuff...

- Doesn't stop talking during sex. He can't shut his mouth. He's got his lips pressed to your ear, murmuring the filthiest things you've ever heard.

- Lives to praise you. Sure, he'll degrade you if you want, but he loves getting to tell you how pretty you are, how perfect you look like this, how you're such a good girl for him.

- Loooves cowgirl. Loves getting to sit there all smug as you're on top of him. It's his favourite view. His favourite thing to do is sit up so you're chest to chest, his arms wrapped around you. Nothing beats it.

- Will fuck you anywhere. Kitchen counter, dining table, bathroom vanity, washing machine. Can and will bend you over the nearest surface. He's not a patient man.

- Gets off on eating you out. He's an expert in fine dining, after all. Loves when you grab his hair, tugging and pulling. He basically works himself to the edge as he laps at you. Has definitely made himself come by grinding his hips into the bed. He enjoys it just as much as you do.

as always, feel free to agree/disagree/expand on these!! <3

[cerastes]

What's your take on MumuDoc in Lonetrail?

Muelsyse in Lone Trail felt, in many ways, like seeing someone diving in a pool, and at first, you're not alarmed. They know how to swim. You don't really think much of it. But then a minute passes, and they are still underwater. Concern sinks in, and you make your way to the pool, and as you're about to jump in, their head surfaces, they are back up. They cough, they tough it out, and are a bit nervous about diving again, but you're going in the pool with them now, and they feel more at ease.

Take this, intensify it a hundredfold, stretch it a hundredfold, and scrutinize it a hundredfold, and you end up with Muelsyse, in her barest form, like a diamond born from a chunk of charcoal that had too much pressure put on it.

I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor being romantic. I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor not being romantic. Both are fine interpretations, if you ask me, I mean, her theme song is very much a love song, and at the same time, she feels desperate to find anyone who can just... Empathize in even the slightest of ways to her. Either read is fine, outright discounting either feels a tad disingenuous.

Alienation. Complete and utter alienation, an edge sharper and more injurious than isolation. This is, if you ask me, the main theme surrounding the Rhine Lab arc and cast.

Saria is alienated. She cannot find common ground with anyone else around her for the longest time. She used to have a shared dream with Kristen, but that bridge has burned and frozen and turned to ash all over. Kristen is alienated. She simply cannot see a point to anything except that obsessive doggedly persistent dream of hers, and it has been weighted more important than her humanity. Joyce is alienated. Forever a partial prisoner in her own head, there are few and far between that will ever put up with the unique intricacies of having to deal with someone that talks like her, has sudden Oripathy attacks like her, and falls asleep on the spot seemingly at random like her, fully cognizant of how high maintenance she can be on others. Ho'olheyak is alienated. On borrowed time, without kin or friend to call her own, living for a transcending mission far bigger than her and so, so small in the overarching beats of a world that can't be bothered to stop for her. Silence. Ifrit. Dorothy. Tin Man. I could go on. Alienated, all of them. Not isolated, because isolation would imply the lack of physical company. This is far colder, far darker. It's alienation. It's seeing the other side of the cliff, and no possibility of a bridge to connect it to your end of the cliff. Isolation stings, it's a pain you know is there. Alienation drowns, because you can see the surface, but you are convinced you'll never make it there, and it's a hundredfold worse.

Muelsyse is no different. Muelsyse is alienated, and goodness she has tried and tried and tried, she swims so, so hard to reach the surface, but she can't reach it. Being in Rhine Labs necessarily means you need to resort to some cutthroat cloak and dagger, it becomes routine, all for an ultimate goal, but is that ultimate goal even possible? With every step taken by Muelsyse, it seems two new steps materialized at the end of the staircase. Everyone she's met, for years now, has either been someone looking to use her, or someone she can use for her own advantage. Usually simultaneously. And it's in this context, when the 9 to 5 becomes tricking, blackmailing, snuffing and silencing that by chance, she comes across someone, possibly the sole person, that can actually understand the sheer weight on her shoulders: Doctor, someone who doesn't own their own past, but is shackled by it, someone who has no one to relate to, someone surrounded by sufficiently similar but ultimately infinitely different people to themselves, someone who by all means should be drowning in the same pool as her, but somehow, this person reached the surface. It's very easy to see why she'd become so utterly fascinated by this person, who shares many similarities with her, and yet, who seemingly has it so good, has it so sweet. It could have easily been jealousy, but end of the day, Muelsyse IS a sweet person. Yeah, she plays it up, always so cheerful and whimsical, but end of the day, Muelsyse is playing up something that is already there in the first place. Instead of jealousy, it brought her happiness, because maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy a bit of that je ne sais quoi that Doctor seems to have in spades and she is completely bankrupt of.

The first interactions between Muelsyse and Doctor are telling of this overwhelming rush of emotion: Muelsyse less talks with Doctor and more talks at them. She vomits words, emotion, whimsy, as if trying to put these emotions into words and actions after so long, emotions that was ready to never need to put into words in the first place. It eventually becomes a dialogue between two parties, but Muelsyse's interactions with Doctor are initially extremely one-sided, and they remain one-sided to some degree even moving forward. It was heartwrenching to me, honestly, to see the sheer joy Muelsyse radiated while around Doctor, because that is an almost manic amount of joy simply from possibly finding someone that gets it. Muelsyse has not had a bridge in so, so long, and suddenly, the finds someone that not only resembles her a lot, but also seems to have bridges in spades. Muelsyse and Doctor's dynamic should never be considered in a vacuum just between the two of them: One of the first things Muelsyse saw with her own eyes was that Doctor had a pretty friendly relationship, mutual respect included, with Saria. That, is immediately very telling of Doctor, given that Muelsyse understands exactly how difficult that is. We also know Muelsyse sneaks around Rhodes Island and chats with Ifrit now and then, and Ifrit also expressly has a very high opinion of Doctor. It simply makes sense that Muelsyse would feel as enthusiastic about her Dorothy's Vision brush with Doc, and all that Lone Trail entailed: It's terribly sad, because they don't even know each other, and even then, it's the shiniest ray of hope for herself that Muelsyse has had the chance to bask in: Doctor's essence, Doctor's existence, in and of itself, is a massive beacon of hope for Muelsyse.

And it's so damn sad, that this perfect stranger is the most familiar comrade she'll ever find.

Is this romantic love? Hell, the molotov cocktail of emotions involved might as well be, either now or in potentially in the future. Is it something unhealthily dependent? Yeah... Yeah. It might just be the euphoria of knowing that she can reach the surface, after all, that bridges, too, are possible for her to have, with not underlying motive, with no ulterior motive, without needing to offer something or to extract something. To put in the most basic of terms, Doctor, to Muelsyse, might as well represent the very first person in who knows how long that she can relate to at all. It is an immensely sad emotional starvation, and she finally found something to sink her teeth onto.

This is personal, but the way Muelsyse struck me, it felt to me that when she had even the barest of handles on Doctor, she related to someone for the first time in forever, and it shook her to her very core. It may have been the first time she saw, in someone else, a potentially happy Muelsyse.

It's extremely bittersweet. If you've ever dealt with alienation, think back on the first time you found someone who truly "got you". Add to that the fact that her routine of interacting with people had become to see others as tools, and to always be on the lookout for those wishing to use and expend you as a tool. Then, add to that that there are definitely more Elves, but Muelsyse is so fundamentally different to them that the sheer differences in temperament and culture make it so it's impossible for her to relate to them anyway. What could be lonelier than that? It's called Lone Trail for a reason, because alienation is a main theme for all of these people.

In finding the sole person that could possibly relate to her in circumstance and temperament, it's easy to see where Muelsyse's interest in Doctor comes from. Whether you interpret it as romantic or otherwise, it can't be denied that this immensely strong interest exists. It comes from finally seeing a way to reach the surface after the world told her for decades that she simply could only drown. Because Doctor is the only other person that could understand her in being the last of their race and in having no past and maybe even no future, and yet, Doctor having so many bridges, while she has none. I think Muelsyse craves companionship, not necessarily romantic, from Doctor, and, this is important, also wants to have what they have, and be part of it, of so many bridges built without ulterior motives.

[roseyreveries]

Hiiii it’s me again! 💕

I was wondering if I could send a request in for Draco finally conjuring a Patronus because of all his happy memories with a fem!reader?

Thank you my dear x

Omgggg this makes me so excited because there’s a big part in the Far Away series that has to do with a patronus in Year 3 (the entire series is practically already written and scheduled for Mondays and Fridays) so this made me instantly think of that and I got so excited for you to see it!

Expecto Patronum

Summary: in the ask <3

CW: nothing

Directory <- click!

Draco Malfoy stood in the center of the dimly lit Room of Requirement, his wand clenched tightly in his trembling hand. The light from the candles danced across his sharp features, and his silver-gray eyes reflected a mix of determination and doubt.

“You’re overthinking it, Draco,” you said softly, standing a few feet away. Your voice was warm, patient, the kind of steady reassurance he had never known until you came into his life. “The Patronus charm is about feeling, not logic.”

He scoffed lightly, though there was no bite behind it. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’re practically Gryffindor sunshine. My entire life has been a bloody raincloud.”

You crossed your arms, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re not as stormy as you think, Malfoy. I’ve seen that soft, mushy center you hide so well. Somewhere in there, you’ve got happy memories—good ones.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “I’ve tried, you know. I’ve tried for years. Nothing ever happens.”

“Well,” you said, stepping closer, “maybe this time, you’ve got the right reason.” You looked up at him with such quiet confidence that it nearly made him forget to breathe. “Close your eyes. Focus. And think of the happiest moment of your life.”

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “There’s nothing,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“That’s not true,” you said, unwavering. “You’ve got plenty of happy memories, Draco. Don’t think about the pressure or the Dark Mark or anyone’s expectations. Just think about you.”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know where to start.”

“I’ll help you,” you offered, your voice warm and steady. “Do you remember that day by the Black Lake? When you skipped stones and tried not to laugh when I beat you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, though his eyes remained closed. “You didn’t beat me. My stone got more skips.”

“Sure it did,” you teased lightly. “But you smiled that day. You laughed, Draco. Think of that. The way the sunlight felt on your face, the sound of the water, how free you felt for once.”

Draco hesitated. Happy memories? Could he even call them that? His past was a patchwork of pressure, fear, and duty. And yet…there was light. Small glimmers of it. You.

He closed his eyes, and the memories unfolded.

It was during the Triwizard Tournament, after that insufferable Yule Ball—an evening full of preening peacocks and pointless pomp. Draco Malfoy, wrapped in his customary cloak of sarcasm and disdain, had wandered out into the crisp night air to brood in peace. The Black Lake stretched before him, a dark mirror glinting under the moonlight, its surface as restless as his thoughts.

He had been muttering under his breath about incompetent dance partners and the general idiocy of life when his sharp gaze landed on you. There you were, sitting on the damp grass by the lake, tossing stones into the water like you didn’t have a care in the world. The faint glow of the moon caught in your hair, making you look almost otherworldly.

And then you turned. That smirk. That audacious, infuriating smirk.

“Are you going to sulk forever, Malfoy,” you called, your voice light and teasing, “or are you going to sit down and join me?”

He froze mid-step, his expression instantly hardening. “Excuse me?” he snapped, the familiar bite in his tone.

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized,” you said, waving a hand dismissively before patting the grass beside you. “Come on. Let’s see if that fancy pureblood pedigree of yours comes with decent stone-skipping skills. Or is that too Muggle for you?”

For a moment, Draco considered walking away—he really did. But something about the way you sat there, so utterly unbothered by his snobbish air, made him hesitate. With a dramatic sigh, he sauntered over, every bit the reluctant participant.

“Fine,” he drawled, sinking down beside you. “But don’t expect miracles.”

You handed him a smooth stone without a word, watching as he eyed it with an air of skepticism. He flicked it toward the lake with what he assumed was perfect technique, only to watch it sink after two pathetic skips.

You burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Pathetic!” you teased, clutching your stomach. “I thought you were supposed to be good at everything, Malfoy.”

His jaw clenched, his pale cheeks dusted with pink, but there was no real venom in his glare. “I don’t recall asking for your commentary.”

“Too bad,” you shot back, grinning. “Besides, I just proved I’m better than you at something. You’ll survive.”

He should have been irritated. He wanted to be irritated. But for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he wasn’t. Instead, he found himself stealing glances at you as you continued skipping stones, your laugh carrying softly over the quiet lapping of the lake.

Before he knew it, you were talking—about school, about your favorite books, about how utterly ridiculous Krum had looked while trying to waltz. And Draco…listened. Really listened.

The minutes turned into hours, and the moon began its descent, painting the lake in soft shades of dawn. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at ease. So human.

When you finally stood to leave, brushing grass from your robes, you turned back to him with that same cheeky smirk. “You’re not half-bad when you’re not brooding, Malfoy.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as he watched you walk away, the faint warmth of your laugh lingering in the air, Draco found himself wishing for another night just like this one.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his posture softening.

“Or think about the Astronomy Tower,” you continued gently. “That night I found you there. You didn’t have to say anything, but you let me stand there with you. You weren’t alone, Draco. You’re not alone now.”

His breathing steadied, the sharpness of his expression easing into something softer.

During his sixth year, Draco Malfoy felt as if the walls of Hogwarts were closing in on him. The Dark Mark burned on his arm like a brand of shame, a constant reminder of what he had been forced to become. The weight of his family’s expectations, their name, their survival—it was suffocating. Every step he took felt like a march toward an inevitable doom, and no matter how hard he tried to bury it, fear gnawed at his every thought.

That night, he had sought solace in the Astronomy Tower. The endless expanse of stars above seemed to mock him with their brilliance, so untouchable, so far removed from the darkness that consumed his life. He stood at the edge, gripping the cold stone of the railing, staring out at the infinite night.

He didn’t even notice the soft footsteps behind him until you spoke.

“Hey.”

Your voice was quiet, gentle, as though you understood that one wrong word might shatter him completely. He didn’t turn. He couldn’t. His mask of aloof confidence was cracked, and he couldn’t bear for anyone—least of all you—to see the broken pieces underneath.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply, his voice hoarse.

“Looking for you,” you said simply. No judgment, no questions. Just truth.

He scoffed, his fingers tightening on the railing. “Well, congratulations. You found me. Now go.”

But you didn’t leave. Instead, you stepped closer, standing just beside him, your shoulder brushing his. You didn’t speak, didn’t pry, didn’t demand an explanation for why he was here, staring at the stars like they held the answers to questions he couldn’t even ask.

And then, you did something he hadn’t expected. You held out your hand.

He stared at it, frozen, his mind racing. Why were you here? Why weren’t you running? He had pushed so many people away this year—snarling at friends, snapping at classmates, isolating himself because it was easier than admitting he was drowning. But you…you stayed.

The air was cold, but your hand was warm, steady, grounding. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he placed his hand in yours. The contact sent a strange, inexplicable warmth through him, as though your touch alone could tether him back to reality.

“I’m here,” you said softly, and your voice was so steady, so sure, that he almost believed you could take the weight off his shoulders with just those two words.

Draco turned his head slightly, finally meeting your gaze. There was no pity in your eyes, no fear, just quiet determination and an unwavering presence. Somehow, that was enough.

“And think of this moment,” you added, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Right here. Right now. I’m here. I believe in you. I know you can do this, Draco. Just trust yourself, and let it happen.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing, slow and deliberate. Then, with a deep inhale, he tightened his grip on his wand.

It was during a rare sunny afternoon at Hogwarts, the kind of day that begged everyone to abandon their books and enjoy the fleeting warmth of the Scottish sun. You had convinced Draco—after far too much whining on your part and far too many dramatic sighs on his—to take a walk with you down by the lake.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered as you pulled him along by the sleeve of his robe. “I have more important things to do than…frolic.”

“Frolic?” you repeated with a snort, turning to smirk at him. “You’re walking, Malfoy. Don’t make it sound like I’ve got you chasing butterflies.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away from your grip. “I’m just saying, I could be studying, or—”

“Sulking?” you interrupted, quirking an eyebrow.

“I don’t sulk,” he shot back, his tone indignant.

“Of course you don’t,” you teased, releasing his sleeve once you reached the edge of the lake.

The two of you stood in companionable silence for a moment, the gentle lapping of the water and the occasional chirp of birds filling the air. You tilted your head back, letting the sunlight kiss your skin, and Draco couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You looked…peaceful. Happy.

And that’s when you spotted it—a patch of wildflowers blooming just a few feet away. Without a word, you darted over, crouching down to pluck a particularly vibrant yellow one.

“What are you doing now?” Draco asked, crossing his arms but following after you all the same.

You straightened up and turned to him with a grin, the flower held out toward him. “Here. A little something to brighten your brooding.”

He stared at you, then at the flower, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “You’re giving me a flower?”

“Yes, Draco, it’s called a kind gesture. Try not to have a heart attack.”

He huffed, but there was no real annoyance in the sound. With a dramatic flourish, he plucked the flower from your hand and twirled it between his fingers. “You realize this is ridiculous, right?”

“You’re welcome,” you replied sweetly, ignoring his sarcasm as you turned back toward the lake.

For a moment, he just stood there, the soft petals brushing against his fingertips. Then, to your utter shock, he reached out and tucked the flower behind your ear.

“There,” he said smugly, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Much better. Now you look like the whimsical idiot you’re always pretending to be.”

You gaped at him, your hand flying up to touch the flower. “Did you just…give me a compliment and insult me in the same breath?”

“Obviously.” He smirked, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking far too pleased with himself.

But when you burst into laughter, the kind that had you clutching your sides, Draco felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest. Maybe this day wasn’t such a waste of time after all.

Draco opened his eyes, his grip on his wand steadier than it had ever been. The memories you had drawn out of him—moments filled with warmth, laughter, and you—coursed through him like a balm to every wound he’d ever carried.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice resolute. “Alright.”

You stepped back, giving him space but never taking your eyes off him. That unwavering faith you always had in him—it was maddening and comforting all at once.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The words left his lips with a strength he hadn’t realized he possessed. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence, the faint hum of magic hanging in the air. Then, from the tip of his wand, a silvery mist unfurled, swirling with purpose until it began to take shape.

Draco’s breath hitched as the form solidified—a sleek, shimmering weasel. It slithered through the air, its movements fluid and graceful, its eyes bright with mischief. The creature coiled protectively around him, its silvery light casting an ethereal glow.

For a moment, he was awestruck. “I…I did it.”

“You did it!” you exclaimed, pride radiating in your voice. But then you tilted your head, squinting at the Patronus. A slow grin spread across your face.

“What?” Draco asked, still staring at the weasel, though his brow furrowed as if he was only just processing its form.

“It’s, um…” You bit your lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “It’s a weasel.”

Draco blinked, the awe in his expression quickly replaced by indignation. “A weasel?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s my Patronus? A weasel?”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, your shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter. “Well, it’s a very regal weasel, if that helps.”

“Regal?” he scoffed, glaring at the glowing creature as it darted playfully through the air. “Potter gets a bloody stag, and I get a weasel?”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into laughter, doubling over. “I mean, it’s kind of perfect, don’t you think? Quick, clever, slippery—definitely you, Malfoy.”

Draco glared at you, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, stepping closer. “It’s adorable. Look at it!” You gestured to the Patronus as it coiled around his shoulders like some shimmering, protective scarf. “It suits you.”

Draco crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, “I’ll never live this down.”

Sensing his bruised ego, you reached out and brushed your fingers against his arm, grounding him in the way you always did. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice pulling his eyes back to you. “You did it, Draco. That’s what matters. And don’t you dare start sulking, because it was bloody brilliant.”

His glare softened under your gaze, and his shoulders relaxed. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, though his tone was far from biting.

“And you’re incredible,” you shot back, grinning. “Now, come on. Let’s see if your majestic weasel can beat my otter in a duel.”

He huffed, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Majestic weasel, is it?”

“Absolutely,” you said with mock seriousness. “The most powerful weasel in all of magical history.”

Draco shook his head, but this time, when he laughed, it was warm and unrestrained—a sound so rare you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on you. “For…everything.”

“Anytime, Malfoy,” you replied, nudging him lightly. “Now let’s go. Your weasel’s got some serious competition, and I don’t plan on losing.”

He smirked, watching as your otter darted into the air, playful and daring, before turning to his Patronus with a grudging affection. Maybe a weasel wasn’t so bad after all.

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[pansy-picnics]

can ask that you spill everything about your Splatoon OCs? 😺

ABSOLUTELY i did not expect anyone to ask to be honest….goodness where do i even begin. Let’s see. I’ll start with my main little doomed love triangle thing i suppose

Cecilia Paek, she/her, 24 yrs old, aka: cece, celia, eight, whore, freak, slut, etc. My agent 8. born in the domes under the name Paek Seo-Mi, but renamed herself to cece post-memory loss. A freak both in the not-safe-for-work sense and just. In general. She says the most unhinged shit in such a passive formal manner. Marina has to consistently tell her she’s not allowed to eat the jelletons. She bites. A lot.

aside from being a freak cece is curious and observant, but incredibly blunt and fierce. In the past Seo-Mi was a much quieter and more repressed person, but hearing the Inkantation awakened a flame within her, so to speak. Cece is incredibly vocal about her thoughts and feelings, and she does not like to be pushed around. although shes always been a very nostalgic person, shes been trying to look forward more often than not. (she was on team future!)

cece has a very mature, almost sisterly presence, and is especially close with neo 3 (ikra) and her pseudo sister agent 4 (yottsu). she also has a daughter of her own, yumi! ikra and yottsu are my friends ocs so i cant say too much about them but ikra is like, basically her and kyle’s adopted kid

Kyle Lastname, (Actual surname to be determined Eventually) he/him, 25 yrs, aka three, cap, kyle, ceces silly rabbit /j. he’s my captain 3. has a stupid ass name bc he’s a stupid ass guy. Basically started as a joke oc but i put him through the Horrors. he’s the malewife of all time.

Grew up the only hearing person in a deaf/hard of hearing household so he’s fluent in sign language. He joined squidbeak when he was like 16 mostly bc he was a MASSIVE FUCKING LOSER with a huge ego who wanted the attention. Now he has Trauma and hates his teen self more than anything. (The egotistical little white kid phase is like, a rite of passage in his family. His little sister is still in that phase.) Now that he’s mellowed out hes just a sopping wet cat. Dating cece and is obsessed with her + will do literally whatever she wants.

Hes a lot more talkative than canon 3, hes the kind of guy who copes with humor all the time. he tries to be cool and mysterious but hes really awkward and gets flustered or worked up super easily. He’s overall a pretty boring guy and thats his charm. She’s barbie and he’s just ken. etc etc.

Hes SO dad coded btw. He and cece have a daughter together, Yumi. Since he was young he spent a lot of time looking after his little sister and he’s basically adopted his protege, neo3 (ikra). he makes me think of RTGame for reasons i could not describe to you, it’s just the energy somehow. He’s my babygirl. My little meow meow if you will (Cece voice)

Victoria Mendoza, she/her, 25 yrs, aka Tori. SHE is the fucked up one. Literally doomed by the narrative. Eye love her.

She comes from a long line of elite soldiers and was a child prodigy, but also the Problem Child. Got expelled from multiple schools for beating up other kids. from a young age she’s been incredibly critical of the octarian society and she was basically your average teen rebel. into alt music/fashion, incredibly vocal about her distaste for the system, fairly closed off with a cold exterior. the only person she truly cared for was Seo-Mi (Cece).

Seo-Mi was quiet and sweet and generally pretty average academically, so she didn’t have nearly as much pressure on her to succeed compared to Tori. the two were childhood friends and teenage lovers. The only ones who truly matched each others freak if you will. When they were little girls they used to dream of escaping to the surface together. this changed when they were about sixteen years old.

the most important thing to know about tori is that she is a pessimist and at her core a Coward. She’s all bark and no bite. She’ll scream her hatred of authority from the rooftops but immediately crumble at the sight of her leader. and as she got older and officially entered her career, she lost hope. she determined the surface wouldn’t have anything more for her than the domes did. she became complacent, while Seo-Mi, who had previously been more neutral, had heard the inkantation and only become more determined to leave the domes.

The two desperately tried to change each other’s minds but they were far too stubborn. both of them were crushed by the supposed “betrayal” of their beloved. Inevitably Seo-Mi left for the surface, eventually being taken in to Kamabo Co. while tori stayed behind to rot.

Since Seo-Mi left, tori became more bitter than ever before. she turns her focus to her career, and her family, but she never truly moves on from the loss. Unfortunately, Cece did. Cece met someone else, she’s started a family, she has a completely new name. she’s essentially a new person. and Tori is still the same.

Canonically i don’t think they would ever meet again and actually recognize each other, but i like to play with the idea sometimes bc if they did they would Hate each other. Tori is completely incapable of accepting that her Seo-Mi has moved on. She is clinging on to a version of someone that doesn’t exist anymore. tori is a deeply self destructive person and will never move on in any sense of the word. Sad!

Also this is Yumi. Age varies but shes like. Very young toddler as of the current timeline. She’s cece and kyle’s favorite surprise (Accident). They’re both freaks and shes the consequences of their actions. She and smollusk have playdates together. She’s obsessed with off the hook but doesn’t realize that her weird lesbian aunts pearl and marina are the same people. She’s baby

[freelancearsonist]

Some Fools Fool Themselves

➔ Javier Peña x fem!Reader - 2.7k

➔ You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨ [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

The bright, glaring yellow waves of sunlight reflect off the surface of lapping pool water and cast it in a nearly green light. Javi’s dark eyes are transfixed on it through his polarized sunglasses as he marinates in the beating hot Colombian summer sun.

Javier has never questioned his dutiful determination before. He’s never wondered if the ends actually do justify the means. He’s been in the palm of Uncle Sam’s hand for so long that the lines have become blurry—that the consideration of moral superiority doesn’t cross his mind anymore. Not that it ever really has; that’s why he’s so well-suited for the job he’s in. He follows his orders, no matter the cost.

And that’s why you pose such an issue to him. You make him question everything. Every move he’s made, every goal he’s been so set on accomplishing for so many years. If he sends this shiny-sinister iceberg of a drug hierarchy tumbling down the way he’s always believed it should, you’ll be buried in the debris. And maybe, at first, that knowledge didn’t bother him. Maybe he even believed that you deserved that—to be crushed by the weight of your own empire.

If he did, he certainly doesn’t anymore—and it’s killing him.

He’s never been so shaken and unsure. Maybe that’s why the water has caught his eyes—it’s a visual representation of how he feels. Rippling and indecisive, desperate to cling to you yet eager to let you go just like the droplets that part from your form as you lift yourself onto the concrete lip of the pool.

You stride toward him with slow movements, and the dilemma vanishes completely from his mind.

”You look stressed,” you murmur as you kneel beside the lounger he’s sprawled himself out on and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

”Just tired,” he hums in response. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the back of your hand in an unconscious effort to sooth your worry over him. “Long night at work.”

You don’t know what he actually does—as far as you’re concerned, he’s just a lowly janitor at the embassy. You can imagine that such menial labor is thoroughly exhausting, though, and you’re determined to help ease his sore muscles.

”Flip over,” you instruct—and like a good agent, he follows orders.

For fingers that he’s noted time and time again are so much daintier than his own, they work wonders on his sore muscles. They work with skill and intuition, magnetically drawn to the worst knots in his back. The pressure is perfect, and it has him practically drooling.

When those skilled fingers of yours hook into the waistband of his swim trunks and start tugging them down, he doesn’t even think of resisting.

You’ve learned to do something that no one and nothing else has managed to accomplish in all his lifetime—you quiet his swirling mind. There’s nothing beyond the bubble of you and him. Nothing to worry about, nothing to accomplish. No ulterior motives to his presence here, shirtless and lounging like he owns the place. Like this isn’t your husband’s house that he’s supposed to be searching for intel. 

You coax him to roll over again onto his back. He can’t miss the heat of your gaze—the way your eyes shamelessly skirt down the broad expanse of his torso to take in the softly swelling length of his cock. He knows you relish in these moments—when all you have to do is look at him to get him going. You’re proud of yourself for it, for the effect you have on him.

It’s easy to forget, when you have him completely at your mercy like this, that you’re just as weak for him as he is for you.

”Missed you,” you mumble into his lips as you straddle his lap. 

He takes your hips in his steady grip—guides the pace as you rock against him. “It’s only been a couple days.”

”I know,” you whisper. You grind down harder than he means to allow you, drawing a deep groan from his diaphragm. “Still missed you.”

And then, because he finds it nearly impossible to lie to you: “I missed you too.”

He licks eagerly into your mouth before you can say anything, and you accept his tongue without complaint. Your fingers now move to his face, practically clawing in desperation to pull him closer and deepen the already heated kiss.

It’s been nearly a year of him hanging around here, playing his role in the act of your affair. He has you figured out to the most minute details—he knows all your wants, all your needs. He knows the exact sounds that he can draw from you when he sucks over the pulse point on your neck: a squeal as you begrudgingly push him away and mumble something about not leaving marks. He smirks and moves on to the next spot, knowing that you can’t resist for long. Knowing that you don’t even want to in the first place.

He knows that you’re eager for him in the same way he is for you—to please, to take care of. He sees it in action when you reach down and wrap your fingers around his length; when you let out a little breath at the way your fingers can’t quite fit all the way around his girth. You act surprised every time, no matter how many times he finds you in his lap like this. And he loves it—loves the way you practically soak through your little bikini bottoms at just the feel of him in your hand. 

“That’s it, bebita,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum your appreciation at his words, a silent thank you in the twist of your wrist and the tightening of your grip. It makes his hips jump, cock throbbing under your touch as he tries to fight your slow pace in favor of more intense stimulation. But you aren’t having it—you pin his thighs down with your weight so you can languish in torturing him.

He actually growls as your pace slows—a deep, rumbling, animalistic sound that goes straight to your panties. His restraint is slipping second by second the longer you tease him. He’s throbbing, aching in your grip; he would be embarrassed over how quickly you’ve reduced him to such a primal state if he had any blood left in his brain.

”Dámelo.” There’s nothing pleading or polite about his tone. This is a command, an instruction; an order you don’t dare disobey.

You pull away quickly, but you’re back before he can even process your absence. You’ve shifted to the end of the lounger, face deliciously close to where he’s aching to feel you.

”Relax, Javi,” you hum pleasantly. “Déjame cuidar de ti.”

”Then don’t be a fucking tease.” There’s an evident smirk in his tone, and it makes you smile as you slowly trail your tongue along his length, from the seam of his balls up to swirl around the thick, leaking tip of him.

He grunts as your lips seal around him, one thick-fingered hand coming down to gently urge you deeper. He’s not shy of being greedy with you; he knows how much you love the authoritarianism of his dominance. To let go of your mind and let him take the reigns. As much as you love to play at a power struggle, this is what you want in the end. To be controlled, to be guided. To take exactly what he gives you, exactly the way he gives it to you.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans with a buck of his hips that pushes him against the back of your throat. “Take it all.”

And always eager to please, you try your best to do exactly that. You open your throat as much as possible to accommodate his girth and do your best to tamp down the gag reflex that he’s bullying awake. Your nails dig into the meat of his hips as you let him guide you deeper, further—he’ll admire the little crescent moon marks later, alone in his government-issue apartment.

His unoccupied hand slips down the back of your neck and tugs at the string of your bikini top. He doesn’t get quite the view he wants with you choking on his cock, but reaching down to gently pinch and tug at your nipples is enough for him—especially with the little moans and vibrations you let out around his cock.

He tugs your hair a little harshly to pull you off of him when the pleasure compounds. You whine at the loss of his taste, and he groans at the shiny spit that links your swollen lips to his cock.

His breathless moan goes straight to your neglected cunt and makes you squirm with arousal. “Shit, sweetheart. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You shake your head and muster every ounce of seduction your lust-addled brain can generate as you trail open-mouthed kisses over his clenched thighs. “I’m real, Javi. And I really want you.”

Normally, he would want to get his hands on you. He would want to press his fingers deep into your cunt and languish in the embarrassing squelch of your arousal as he works you open for him. He would want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until the pleasure is so blinding that you can do nothing but slump into his arms and take it. But you’re impatient today; it’s been more than a week since you last saw him, and that means it’s been more than a week since you felt anything remotely pleasurable. Your husband didn’t marry you for love, or even lust—he married you for convenience, for security. For cover to keep up appearances. 

Maybe Javi’s been taking advantage of that all this time—how deeply you crave the connection that you’re constantly deprived of. Maybe he should call this off now, before he takes anymore than he already has from you.

But he’s not selfless. He has his flaws, and his biggest one is that he’s irreversibly fallen in love with you. He craves that connection just as deeply as you do.

Your desperation bleeds into his veins and makes him dizzy with arousal. He nods as his throat bobs around a deep gulp. “Alright. Dealer’s choice.”

You only have to consider for a moment before you flip in his lap, bracing yourself forward on your arms in between his legs with your ass pressed snuggly against his cock. You grind lightly against him, and it’s almost enough to make him lose his head.

But just as quickly as his sensible thought leaves, it’s right back where it belongs. He grabs your hips harder than he should to drag you against his solid length and relishes in the deep moan you emit.

”Take what you need, baby,” is all the encouragement you need from him. You take him into your hand again and rise up onto your knees so you can tease his spit-soaked tip against your entrance. You look over your shoulder so you can see his reaction as you trace him around your slit; you relish in the hard set of his jaw, the clenched teeth that you can see through his parted lips as he fights the urge to slam you down hard onto him. He’d only be feeding into the bit—he knows your sole mission is to make him lose his composure. 

But it’s so hard not to when you’re looking at him like this—like he holds your very soul in the palm of his hand. The trust, the admiration, in your gaze is nearly enough to make him choke.

Thankfully, you choose this exact moment to sink down the length of him.

The sheer size of him is overwhelming on a normal day, and even more so today when you’ve not had your usual preparation. He bullies his way deep enough to fill your chest, stretching you to your very limit and maybe even past it.

But he’s prepared for it, for how staggering he can feel at first thrust. He grounds you to him with heavy hands on your hips and fits you snug against him. He whispers up at you, little encouragements and sweet nothings. His praise rings sweet and clear as he tells you how good you feel, how warm, how tight, how wet. He basks in the feeling of you soaking him all the way to the very base—in the feeling of your sweet juices dripping down him to soak the coarse patch of hair above his cock.

You pause when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, moaning in tandem with Javi at the way he twitches within your snug walls. It’s like the first time every single time you take him—you wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back for more. You’ve never heard him say he loves you, but you could believe it when you’re like this; when he starts rocking up into you with the sole intention of finding that one little spot that’ll have you shaking and sobbing in his arms.

”You’ve got this, baby,” he grunts in reassurance. “You’re takin’ it so well, honey. Tan perfecto.”

The praise runs up your spine from where you’re connected with him and lodges itself in your brain—it plays on repeat while you start bouncing your hips in an effort to match his pace. It draws a deep, heady grunt from him and pulls him into action. One hand grabs a harsh handful of your ass while you spear yourself on his length, and the other hand slides up the curve of your waist to find a nipple to roll between his expert fingers.

It baffles you, his ability to multitask. When you’re like this—filled to the very brim—all you can focus on is the delicious friction of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. But Javi has a precious ability to attend to as many erogenous zones as he can all at once—something you admire more than you can put into words. His ability to rip you apart is completely unrivaled.

There’s a desperate fury to his touch as his hand slides over your hip from your ass, wrapping around you to circle your clit. It’s harsh and fast—the exact pressure that makes you tremble and scream.

And you do; you come with a cry of his name, cunt clenching around him in a vice grip that almost makes it impossible to keep up the pace. But he tries anyway—anchors your hips in his large hands so he can thrust up into you through your high.

The lounger creaks dangerously beneath you, but the sound is lost to your ears when you’re so thoroughly blinded by your pleasure.

Within a few moments Javi follows you, growling deep in his diaphragm as he spills himself hot and thick into your soaked pussy. 

You don’t think it’s ever been this messy before. All you can focus on is the hot, sticky mess slipping down your thighs. Javi can tell that it’s uncomfortable for you, so he reaches down and grabs your discarded bikini top to wipe away as much as he can. You’ve got plenty of others—and even if you don’t, your husband will buy you a new one without question.

He discards it back on the burning concrete once he’s satisfied with his clean up job, then leans back on the lounger and grabs a cigarette from the open pack on the table next to him.

He tries not to smile too much when you stay in place and snuggle into his chest. He really wasn’t a cuddler before you—but now, all he wants is to feel your warmth and weight against him.

It’s not nearly long enough before you look up at him with your pretty eyes and say, ”He’ll be home soon.”

”I’d better beat it then.” He flicks the ash off of his cigarette and pushes himself slowly to his feet—finds his swim trunks discarded on the ground at the foot of the lounger.

”Hey?” He pauses, brow furrowing at how small and timid your voice sounds in just that one word. He’s never heard that quality to your tone before, and it worries him.

”Yeah?”

”Just… please come back sooner,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

Javier Peña is a weak, weak man within these walls. He smiles the softest smile he can muster and pulls you into his arms to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. For a moment, he forgets that you’re not really his. “Okay. I will, baby.”

And he means it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

THE END

➔ Translations: bebita - baby dámelo - give it to me déjame cuidar de ti - let me take care of you tan perfecto - so perfect

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 title is from “love hurts” by nazareth

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[meguwumibear]

wc 2.3k and contains: noncon, knotting, piv sex, alpha!megumi, human!reader, yandere themes, written with a female reader in mind, baby's like second time writing smut, i think that’s everything but always happy to add or tag new warnings if i missed anything

On a dark winter night, you come to him, lost and oh so terribly alone. The Japanese Alps are a common place for hikers to traipse. Always have been. Many come to make pilgrimage to the Buddhist temple that sits atop the holy Mount Tate. Others come to extract raw goods. They mine the minerals from the mountains and hunt the wildlife for sport and game. The discovery of a wolf pack nestled deep within its mountain ranges only served to alter common tourist paths, not deter travelers from them completely.

 You are not like the usual adventurers. You are a small and fragile thing, even if you seem to think otherwise. Even if you think you are big and tough and strong, you are not. He will prove this to you time and time again with his own muscles and teeth and claws.

Human flesh bruises so easily, tears at the slightest bit of pressure. He has to remind himself to mind his teeth when he sinks his incisors into the thin skin of your neck. You have not learned what it means to submit yet, so he presses your cheek to the grass for you. He grants himself the access he needs to bite.

He does not mean to claim you. There are betas back at the compound that he can fuck, omegas for him to mate. Seasoned and well trained wolves that understand their place and their role in a pack. Beasts that will drop to all fours and present themselves to him, head down, ass up, back arched.

You are not the first human he meets. You’re not even the first human he knots. His pack keeps several on reserve at the compound. They exist to help their alphas through their ruts and their omegas through their heats. And they expertly execute their assigned duties. Defiance has been taken from them. With a bit of punishment and reinforcement, they learn.

The assimilation of humans into packs was necessary. Because wolves can’t bond with humans. Not really. Not the way they can another wolf. Humans don’t have scent glands for wolves to puncture and no amount of chewing or gnawing or knotting would change that.

Which means that your sent will remain your own, even once it starts to mingle with his, no matter how many times he sinks his teeth into you. His mark and claim will never take completely. It will never be skin deep. You will never fully be his. His bond with you is surface level. All evidence of it will fade if he doesn’t consistently trap you beneath his jaws. And you are oh so very stubborn.

The first time he takes you is the hardest. He does what he can to prep you for him, but your submission does not come easily. You fight against him and your nature. You thrash and wiggle beneath him, beating your fists into the ground, clawing earnestly at the loose bits of dirt. All of your squirming nurtures his prey instinct, but he fights against it as best he can. Part of him wants to release you to revel in a true chase. Instead, he presses your writhing form to the ground with his chest as he rids you of your clothes.

He does what he can to sooth you. Cards his fingers through your hair, strokes gently down your arms. The humans back at the compound seem to enjoy when he tends to them this way. It helps them relax. With a few simple caresses and a bit of patience, a human will submit to their alpha. It’s only natural after all.

Pack humans understand what’s in their nature. You do not.

Megumi’s never had to break a human in before. He’s always just enjoyed the fruits of the other wolves’ labor. He thinks he’d like to train you, to teach you to bare your neck, to reward your obedience and punish your defiance. If you were an omega, he’d press your nose against his neck and let you breathe in his calming scent. His pheromones would make you soft and pliant, eager to take his knot.

Omegas may be easier, but Megumi knows how and where to touch a woman. He’s had plenty of practices with the humans back home. He ghosts his fingers gently between your folds, rubs tiny circles into your clit, and soon enough you’re dripping for him.

“It’s okay,” he coos. He can smell your fear. Ripe and rotten like spoiled fruit. You won’t be able to handle him in this state. He needs to placate you further. “It’s natural to like this. You’re wired to. All humans are. You can’t help it.”

When your protests don’t end, he continues.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks as he sinks a single finger inside your hot, slick core. It slips in easily, despite your thrashing. He has your belly pressed against the damp grass to limit your wriggling. His own bare chest is flush against your back. Weight, he’s learned can be comforting to an anxious human; they have a unconscious, unspoken need to be swaddled. “Don’t you want to be bred? Don’t you want to me mine?”

You have just enough strength left in you to whimper out a strained no. To curse him out. He lets you struggle beneath him, chuckling quietly to himself as you tire yourself out pushing against the forest floor, clawing away at the cold soil. The underbrush shifts around you as you stamp yourself into the foliage. Saplings will sprout here in a few weeks, their roots nurtured by your tears.

Patience is a virtue, and time is on his side. He can afford to wait out this tantrum of yours.

When your movements begin to slow, he lines himself up with your entrance. It isn’t ideal; he’d like to slip in another finger and test the give of your walls, but you aren’t making things easy for him, and his dick is so fucking swollen with blood and need if he doesn't fuck you soon he might knot from heavy petting.

“This is where you belong. Under an alpha. Under me.” His breath is hot against the shell of your ear. It’s what you try to focus on as he slowly sinks his tip inside you, stretching you open on the fattened head of his cock. You’re wet from his ministrations, but not enough to completely sooth the ache of taking an alpha’s cock.

Two juxtaposing groans fill the air. His satisfied and pleased. Yours distressed and pained.

He noses at your neck to take in your scent as he rocks his tip softly in and out of you, hoping his restraint will relax you. It was your scent that sealed your fate. Under the fading trace of your fragrant deodorant: you. Nicer than any of the humans he has back at the compound. Nicer than any of the omegas too. You don’t understand the importance of this, but he knows this means you’re compatible. This means you were created for him.

He wants to take his time with you. He really truly does. But he can’t help but think that the anticipation of taking his knot is partly, if not completely, responsible for your nervousness. Would it not be kinder then, to simply get the initial breech over with?

You scream as he buries himself inside of you. He does it quickly, presses his entire length into you all at once, cooing at you as he slides in. Your walls tighten in protest, doing what they can to force him out. Your scent is pungent and panicked, even when his movements cease. He’s never smelled anything like it before. The pack humans always smell so sweet like honey and sunshine and home. You are poison on his tongue.

Eventually, your pussy begins to adjust to his girth, loosening its hold on his cock. He resumes his thrusting then, slow and gentle like a human might. Salty tears streak down your cheeks as you sob so violently your entire body shakes. The humans at the compound enjoy when he talks them through this. He tries to do that for you now.

“Shh, shh, I know. It’s okay. You’re taking me so well.”

His placation is met with a grunt of protest. Nothing he can’t fuck out of you.

“Don’t fight it,” he says as his fingers find their way back to your clit. He strokes the swollen nub a few times encouragingly, reveling in the way your walls begin to clench around him. “I’m gonna take such good care of you. You’ll want for nothing. I’m-SHIT,” he can feel his resolve crumbling as your pussy milks him, “fuck-I’m gonna make you cum.”

The thought of him forcing and orgasm out of you spikes your adrenaline again. The arm he has wrapped firmly around your belly prevents you from crawling out from under him, but damn do you put up a fight.

He licks soothingly at your neck—where your scent glad would be if you were an omega. Your sweat is sour and bitter. The fact that he’s been unable to earn your submission makes his stomach drop. He is an alpha. He’s supposed to take care of his pack. That includes you now, even if you haven’t fully accepted it yet.

“M-UGH-my name’s Megumi,” he says. “You can call me that if you’d like. My packs not too far from here. I’ll take you there when we’re finished here. Help you build a nest.”

Humans are supposed to be introduced to pack concepts slowly, but there’s no sense in holding anything back from you now. Not while he can feel the beginnings of his knot catching on your entrance with each new stroke.

“Ever taken a knot before?” he asks. City wolves aren’t common, but they do exist. It’s possible you’ve met and fucked one.

He doesn’t expect a response but you’re shaking your head no. Your responsiveness is a good sign. It shows a willingness to please.

To reward you, he slows his movements and stops swiping at your clit. It stalls his own impending climax, but it’s worth it if he can get you to truly submit.

“You’ll like it,” he promises, burying his nose in the crook of your neck again; he can't get enough of your scent, bitter as it may be. “You’ll see. You’ll learn. You don’t belong with humans. You belong here, beneath me, naked and neck bared. Nothing will feel more right to you than your submission. I promise.”

He kisses what skin he can reach. Your right cheek, then the left, the tip of your forehead, each straining shoulder blade. It’s a human courting tradition, not a wolf one, but the familiarity of it seems to have a calming effect on you. He presses another kiss to your neck before biting gently at your ear with his teeth.

And, there it is. Quiet but audible to his wolf ears. A moan. Not in protest. But in pleasure.

“You like that?” he hums working your earlobe between his teeth again. Your pussy flutters sweetly around him as he licks a stripe up the shell of it. He wonders if any human has ever touched you like this before. They can be so prudish about spit and sweat.

While you’re distracted by his kisses, he picks up the pace of his thrusts, drilling into you with purpose, hips smacking loudly against your ass. It takes him a few strokes to hit the right spot inside you, but he feels your whole body tense once he does.

“That’s it,” he coos. You’re close. He can feel it. At the rate he’s going, it won’t take long for you to cum. He presses his thumb more firmly to your clit and rubs small, soothing circles into it. You’re overly sensitive, even without cumming, so he keeps the circles slow yet steady.

“M-Megumi,” you whine, the sound like honey, thick and sweet. There’s still some resistance in you. Some fear too. But he’s starting to sense something else, something close to genuine arousal.

He sniffs at your skin again, assessing, and is pleased to discover that your scent is changing. Still a bit sour but the sharpness of it is fading. You’re starting to smell like the woods around you. You’re starting to smell like him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so, so well for me. Taking me like you were made for me.”

He’s panting now, fighting tooth and nail to prevent himself from knotting until he’s gotten at least one orgasm out of you. As your fear ebbs, you become more responsive to his touch. You arch your back, allowing him to slip even deeper inside you. Your hips are moving now too, grinding against his fingers as he coaxes your orgasm out of you.

You cum with a harsh cry, spasming so intensely around him that his own release finds him before he’s able to completely fuck you through yours. His mind goes blank as he forces his knot into your tight, untrained hole. Hot, sticky cum floods your pussy and is held there by his swollen cockhead.

Alpha cum is laced with calming pheromones, but they seem to have little to no effect on you. His knot will be in you for at least the next half hour, so Megumi does what he can to calm your buzzing nerves.

“Did so well for me,” he mumbles into the top of your head. “Took my knot so well. It’ll be easier next time. Promise. Promise.”

It takes some time, but your shaking eventually subsides to brief, light tremors. He plays with your hair as you come down from your orgasm. At some point during the aftermath, he swears he feels you inch closer to him for comfort.

When he’s soft enough to pull out without hurting you, he does. Your cunt flutters around him as he slips out, almost as if it misses his thickness. You whimper a bit as he starts to rouse you, fight leaking from you like his spend does your pussy.

It doesn’t look like you can walk so he scoops you up into his arms. You curl instinctually into him, burying your face into his chest.

“Where we going?” you ask, voice muffled by his hulking form.

He smiles as he replies.

“Home.”

[littlespacereader]

hi!!!! i love love love love loved your matt & frank stuff, do you think you could do a sickfic with cg!matt? preferably for a quiet/semiverbal regressor. ty!! no pressure <3

Ahhhhhhhh!! This is such a cute idea!! You know I love a sickfic! I’m always down for a good Caregiver taking care of a Little sick reader! I hope you don’t mind, I made sure to have a lot of cute Matt moments but also some cute moments with Karen and especially Foggy! I really hope you enjoy! Thank you for the request @tiny-merkitty !💞💞

Wrapped In Your Arms🌡️❤️

Caregiver! Matt Murdock & Fem Little! Reader

Tags-sickfic, hurt/comfort, fainting, medicine, foggy is the cool uncle, cuddles, forehead kisses, Karen is the sweet aunt, surprise cameo at the end👀

The sun began to set on a long day in Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Matt, Foggy and Karen all talking in the conference room. It has been a long day for the four of you. In and out of court plus an evening spent working on more paperwork.

You sat in your office, head in your hands, staring down your computer screen. All day you’ve been dragging along, tiredness getting to you more than usual. Maybe you didn’t sleep enough or maybe you ate something wrong?

All you knew was that you feel horrible right about now. As the day is coming to a close you begin to feel worse and worse until now, where you’re at your wits end.

The computer screen is too bright, everything is too bright. Your head pounds like a heart beating way too fast. The room starts to spin and it feels as if you’re on the surface of the sun.

You look up through squinting eyes to see your Caregiver Matt still in the conference room with Uncle Foggy and Aunt Karen.

Usually you’re not one to interrupt them, after all they’re probably working on a tough case. Plus you didn’t want to burden them with something else on top of their case. You not one to make a fuss or sometimes even talk as much. And that’s okay because your CG Matt always understood.

But this was getting to the point of no return. Regression started to come naturally as the sickness starts to feel worse by the minute. Despite not wanting to interrupt, you knew you needed help right away. Meeting or no meeting you needed Matt and you needed him now.

Standing on wobbly legs, you made your way to the door of your office. Once out of your office, nausea starts to become more and more severe.

You pause walking from your office to the conference room. You stand in the middle of the office as everything starts to spin upside down. Your eyes roll back and you collapse, sending you into darkness……

“Y/N?! Y/N?!!”

“Call an ambulance!”

“No! No, she’s overheating. Foggy grab a cloth and soak it in cold water now! Hurry!”

The rest of the voices start to fade in and out until something cold and cooling brings you back to the surface. Your eyes slowly start to flutter open as you start to regain consciousness.

“Y/N…..Y/N…Y/N sweetheart? Can you hear me?” Matt is upside down in your vision. You realize he has your head in his lap as you lay on the floor.

“What…Why…floor?” You ask softly as you try to figure out what’s going on.

“You fainted on your way to getting us. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. When did you start to feel sick?” Matt asks.

You whine, moving your head to be pressed against his leg. Everything hurts and the room is still spinning. All you want is just to sleep some more.

You could hear Matt sigh above you, not one of disappointment but one of worry.

He looked to Foggy and Karen. Karen sat beside Matt, holding Y/N’s hand feeling her pulse for her heart rate while Foggy paced back and forth looking worried.

“I think she might’ve caught something while we were out today. I’m going to take her home so I can get started on getting this fever down.” Matt’s hand cards through your hair as he talks. The feeling is sooooooo soothing to your pounding headache.

“I’ll drive you. I know it’s not a long walk but I don’t want her to get any worse than she already is.” Karen says, standing to go grab her keys.

“I’ll head to the grocery story and get some things for her, medicine, food, ice cream…”Foggy goes on.

“You don’t have to Foggy.”

“Are you kidding? My favorite niece is sick! As her favorite Uncle it is my duty to help her as well.”

Everyone starts rushing around to help Matt and Y/N. Matt stay on the floor with her, carding her hair through his hands. “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here and I’m not leaving.”

Y/N nods her head slightly before closing her eyes again. Soon she starts to drift in and out of consciousness as the fever takes over.

Y/N opens her eyes again for a moment and realizes she was in the backseat of a car. She’s resting in Matt’s lap, her head against his shoulder. He was talking to Foggy and Karen but everything sounds under water. She snuggled closer to Matt and closed her eyes again.

~~~

As you sleep up dream of life when Matt first came into it. You’re younger than Matt by a couple of years but your age didn’t stop him from hiring you for his and Foggy’s law firm.

Soon Matt, Foggy and Karen became extremely close with you. They share things with you and you share things with them.

But one day, after a stressful day in court being yelled at by the opposing law firm, you break down and regress in their office.

Immediately you think the worst right? You think this is the end of your job and worst of all the end of three friendships you’ve made over the last few months.

But it’s the opposite.

Instead, Matt takes charge and takes care of you while regressed. He explains throughly to Foggy and Karen what’s going on and they understand as well.

After that day things set into place that changed your life forever. They become your chosen family. Matt takes the role of Caregiver to you as you’re the closest to him. Foggy becomes the fun uncle that lets you get away with anything and everything. And Karen becomes your Aunt. But she’s more like motherly figure to me.

I couldn’t ask for a better life, especially now feeling so sick…wait speaking of that….

~~~

Everything starts to come back to me as I start to wake up. My eyes flutter open as I begin to take in my surroundings.

The first and biggest thing I start to realize is how I’m feeling. The dizziness has stopped and I’m not so over heated like I was before. But now in its place I’m shivering. I guess the fever is still here.

I look around and realize I’m laying on the couch in the living room. Gone are my work clothes and in their place my soft Little pajamas. I guess Dada must’ve known I regressed.

Sir Charles the third or Charlie for short, my favorite stuffie, sits to my side as my loyal companion. I wrap my arms around him and whine in pain as my head start pounding again.

As soon as I do I hear soft footsteps making their way towards me from the kitchen. “Hey, looks who up. My poor sick little munchkin.”

Matt takes a seat next to me on the couch and leans forward placing a hand on my forehead. “Just getting the dad temperature first.” He smirked.

Taking his hand off my head he sighed, “That fever won’t quit huh?” I just sighed like him. He quickly realizes I’m not feeling very verbal at the moment.

He takes my hand in mine before asking “Do you feel nauseous? One squeeze for yes, two for no.” I squeeze his hand twice for no.

“Okay, I’m going to get you some medicine to get that fever of yours down.” He stands and goes back to the kitchen.

I know the medicine he’s planning on getting. It tastes the worst!! It’s like liquid poison. “Nooooowwwwwaaaa.” I whine breaking my silence for a moment to protect.

“I know I know it taste terrible but it’s what we have to do to get you better.” He walks back over with the small medicine cup filled with the liquid poison. I take his hand again, squeezing it twice to tell him no.

“I promise it will be fast and then you can drink some water to get the bad taste out of your mouth.” He tries to reason, but I squeeze his hand twice for no.

“Do you want to stay sick?” I pause for a moment beofre squeeze his hand twice again.

“Then you have to take your medicine.” He tried to explain. He leans forward and tries to bring the medicine cup to my lips but I turn my head away.

He retracts the cup and thinks for a moment before coming up with an idea. With an overly dramatic sigh he add, “Well if you don’t take your medicine then I guess you won’t be able to eat one of the cookies Aunt Karen brought for you. Oh well.” He goes to stand only for Y/N to grab his hand.

He knew this was terrible parenting. Bribing was not the way…but sometimes it did work, like it did right now.

“Okay it will be quick.” He held the cup for them, “Ready? 1…2…3..! There!” He tipped the cup till all the medicine was done.

I coughed and gaged at the taste of it all. But thankfully Dada was quick, giving me a sippy cup of water right away. Soon that terrible taste was gone for good.

“There you go. I’m so proud of you. Now with the medicine in you, you’ll be better in no time.” He smiled rubbing my back comfortably.

“Let me get you the cookie, it will help get that taste out of your mouth.” He lean over and hands the remote to me, “While I grab that why don’t you put some Bluey on?”

As he disappears into the kitchen I start to put on Bluey. Resting back against the cold couch. You know what I needed more than medicine and a cookie?

Cuddles.

As Matt comes back over with the cookie, I sit up on the couch and scoot back so he can sit. He could sense I needed comfort and who was he to refuse sick little me?

He sat on the end of the couch and pulled me to lay with him, snuggled against his side. “There we go,” He said with a sigh, “all nice and comfy.”

With an arm wrapped around me, cookie in hand, I snuggled close to Matt and watched Bluey on the tv.

~~~

Bluey played softly on the tv. The soft sounds and the dimmed light illuminating the adorable scene. Somewhere in the middle of watching, both Y/N and Matt fell asleep.

Y/N was out by the end of the first episode, but Matt kept it playing, hoping the soft background noise would keep her asleep.

He checked on her consistently. Feeling if her head for a fever, and listening closely to her lungs and the way her heart beat. He was never more thankful for his incredible hearing that he was today.

But when evening turning to night, Matt couldn’t fight the sleepy feeling himself. Arms wrapped around his little one, he drifted off to sleep himself, resting his head on top of hers.

And there they laid, on the comfy couch, both in a light peaceful sleep.

Until Foggy almost busted down the door…

“Guess who’s back from the store?!” Foggy announced happily as he walk into the apartment. Matt and Y/N both jumped out of their sleep, Y/N whinny against Matt from the sound.

Matt rubbed her head, placing a small kiss to the top, “I know, I know, your Uncle needs to be a little more quiet.” He said with a pointed look to Foggy.

“Oh! Sorry!” He said, grabbing a seat across from the couch. “But I’ll make it up to you! I’ve got some goodies from the store.”

He started placing all the items on the end table: more medicine, some ice packs for her head, ice pops and…

“Ice Cream!!” My eyes widened. Not one but three separate flavors of ice cream!

“I didn’t know which one was your absolute favorite so I grabbed all three.” Foggy smiled.

“I hope you bought actual food too.” Matt chimed in.

“Yeah, yeah, there’s some canned soups in here too but I couldn’t leave the store without ice cream!”

“Thank you Uncle Foggy!!” I grab a whole container of ice cream and hug it close.

“Anything for my favorite niece. I’ll grab you a spoon.”

“And a bowl,” Matt calls after him, “don’t want to get more sick eating a whole thing of ice cream now do you?” He raises an eye brow.

I whine but reluctantly squeezed his hand for no.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirked, leaning forward to place a kiss to my forehead. Instantly it takes my pouty expression away.

The rest of the night goes on calmly. All three of us have a bowl of ice cream. Then Uncle Foggy grabs some of my books and reads to me using all kinds of silly voices while Dada cleans up. Uncle Foggy is so silly! He had me giggling the whole story.

Uncle Foggy leaves later on and Matt and I go to sleep for the night. I toss and turn early in the morning, unable to get comfortable again.

Suddenly I hear a knock at the door, Matt stirs, starting to wake up but I’m already up and out of bed.

I run over to the door and check the peephole to see who it is. I freeze, shocked and surprised.

I quickly open the door to see Uncle Frank standing there, small teddy bear in his hand and a balloon attached that says: Get Well Soon.

He lights up seeing me, “I heard someone wasn’t feeling good.” He opens his arms, “Come here kiddo.” I run into his arms and practically melt, so happy he came to visit too.

Matt smiles from the doorway of the bedroom. With all the Uncles and Aunts Y/N has, she was going to be getting a lot of extra comfort in these next couple of days.

[thehypnone]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 7

WC: 2,8k

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Pregnancy, Fluff, SPA Treatment, Bubble Bath, Massage, Non-Sexual Nudity/Intimacy

“We are stealing you, Swiss Ghoul,” Cirrus says, “for a mandatory SPA day.”

Notes: This chapter was co-written by @jimothybarnes!!!

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 7 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss wakes up. Stretches with a purr. Bends down to kiss still sleeping Mountain’s nose. Checks his phone. Sees the notification.

Three months.

He is three months pregnant.

The multi ghoul grins—filled with happiness and pride—and puts his phone away before hopping out of bed to go to the bathroom. Well, hopping might not be too fitting of a word considering Swiss’ back still has no mercy in store for him.

And Mountain’s enthusiasm about trying to put even more kits into him two days ago most certainly didn’t help the situation.

Anyways, Swiss gets out of bed to relieve the pressure on his bladder. He’s been having to do that quite a lot lately—the kits are barely fig-sized, but relentlessly kneading on his insides already.

When he comes back to the nest Mountain is still asleep, but beginning to stir—probably having sensed Swiss leaving his arms, so he goes right back in, snuggling against the earth ghoul’s side.

He lays his head on Mountain’s chest, right above his heart to listen to its steady beat, and takes the sleeping giant’s hand to intertwine their fingers and put their hands over his stomach. Over their kits.

They’ve been doing that a lot lately, too. Just touching; holding.

Proud of themselves.

“Hmph…good mornin’,” Mountain rumbles after a few minutes, still so very sleepy.

“You know what day it is today?” the multi ghoul jumps straight to it, barely able to contain his excitement.

“‘S too early to know the year, m’darlin’,” Mountain replies and it’s a…fair point. Instead of explaining, Swiss chooses to show him his phone and the pregnancy milestone notification—after turning the brightness all the way down—and his mate lights up. “Fuck, already? I’m so proud of you, my heart. I love you so much.”

Swiss attempts to reply in a similar fashion, but Mountain doesn’t let him—he rises up on his arms and all but crashes his lips into the multi ghoul’s. They both giggle into the kiss and both their eyes might be a little damp.

When they’ve had enough, they decide to update the pack, too. Swiss pulls up their group chat and hums.

“Okay, what about…” he starts, reading out loud for Mountain as he types, “Hi, everyone! Me and Mountain are pleased to announce that our kits have been cooking for 3 months already and that it’s no longer a secret. I know some of you (*cough* Aurora *cough*) have been waiting for an opportunity to gossip with some of the Siblings, so here’s your cue.”

“Sounds perfect,” the earth ghoul chuckles and Swiss hits send. He puts the phone away, but it’s no longer than a few seconds before a series of pings sounds from it; surely congratulations. And maybe one offended ‘hey!’.

Mountain and Swiss snuggle for a little bit longer before the multi ghoul’s stomach begins to loudly rumble and the pair decides it’s time to go feed their kits. They’re alone in the commons for the most part and only stumble upon the ghoulettes a few hours later—closer to lunchtime—when they go out for more food. Swiss has to eat for four, after all; although now his appetite is more like of…fifteen.

“That was unnecessary!” Aurora points out, referring to Swiss’ morning message. “I am not that much of a gossip monger, thank you very much.”

It prompts a series of chuckles and raised eyebrows from ghouls and ghoulettes alike, and Aurora gives up. “You’re the worst.”

“We love you, too.” The multi ghoul blows her a kiss before turning—or rather attempting to turn and getting stopped by a sharp pain in his lower back and wincing. Mountain immediately puts a gentle hand on his waist.

“Hey, are you alright?” Cumulus is the first to ask with worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah, it’s just the kits are starting to get heavy,” Swiss chuckles as he gets on his tiptoes to kiss Mountain’s cheek, “and my beloved mate got too excited about calling me mommy and blew out my back on Friday.”

“Mountain, you brute!” Aurora gasps, hitting the earth ghoul on the arm. “How could you treat him like that!? He’s pregnant!”

“Ow!” he whines. “It’s not my fault! You should’ve heard him teasing me!”

“Unbelievable,” Sunshine shakes her head dramatically. “Unbelievable!”

Swiss laughs, “It’s not that bad, honestly, I just–”

“Nope,” Cirrus interrupts him. “We are stealing you.”

“What?”

“We are stealing you, Swiss Ghoul,” she repeats, “for a mandatory SPA day.”

“Yeah,” Cumulus adds, “cause apparently someone has forgotten to take proper care of his pregnant mate!”

“Look at his hair, too!” Sunshine exclaims, grabbing one of the multi ghoul’s locks for an even more dramatic effect.

It’s all jokes, of course. They all know how much Mountain is doing for Swiss, how much he worries and how good he is for him. Still, a day with the ghoulettes most certainly can—and will—benefit the multi ghoul.

He turns his back to the girls for a second to whisper into Mountain’s ear, “I don’t care what they say, you take the best care of me, my love. Always.”

When Swiss pulls away, the earth ghoul is blushing lightly. He leans down in a request for a proper kiss before his mate actually does get stolen away. It is granted, and the ghoulettes all roll their eyes at the pair.

“My hair does need some attention, though,” Swiss giggles, looking up at Mountain apologetically. He pouts and whines dramatically, slumping over—Swiss knows it's an act but his heart still aches a little. He’ll definitely make it up to him later.

“Fine,” the earth ghoul grumbles. “Are you gonna come back for the night?”

“I will, my love,” he smiles, “I will.”

With that Swiss’ arms get grabbed and then he’s being quite literally dragged away into the ghoulette’s room. The girls are giggling and it's contagious—the multi ghoul joins in soon enough.

“Bubble bath first,” Cumulus orders, “then hair and…the rest, and the massage at the end.”

“Hey, I’m not that neglected,” Swiss grumbles with faux offense as the ghoulettes look him up and down; planning.

“I’m gonna run that bath,” Aurora giggles and disappears into the bathroom, with Sunshine following closely behind.

“Can you still lay on your stomach or are you too far along for that, spark?” Cirrus asks the multi ghoul and he blushes when he realizes he doesn’t know the answer. He’ll have to ask Omega about the acceptable sleeping positions. “Okay, we’ll play it safe. Give us a second.”

Swiss nods and moves back to give some space to the bustling about ghoulettes. They’re preparing cosmetics and clothes and bedding and–Swiss doesn’t know what half of these things are.

“The bath is ready!” Sunshine calls out and it makes Cumulus pause whatever she’s doing to herd the pregnant ghoul into the bathroom. His eyes widen when he gets in; first of all it’s huge—the ghouls are allowed to visit the girls there rarely enough that Swiss has forgotten just how spoiled they are—but second of all, it smells divine.

“Damn,” he sighs, “I don’t know what y’all put in there, but I might just start drooling.”

The girls giggle, proud of themselves, and urge Swiss to undress and get into the bath. He just about melts when he does get in—it’s so hot and comfortable and smells so good. He moans dramatically as a big portion of the tension in his muscles evaporates, making the ghoulettes giggle.

“Relax for a moment,” Aurora tells him, “we’ll come get you soon.”

“Uh–huh,” Swiss nods, already well past relaxed. He might as well doze off for a little bit as he waits for…whatever it is that he’s waiting for. He sighs and slides down deeper under the water.

Swiss moans as he feels Sunshine’s fire magic swirl around him. He smiles as it mixes with a gentle air current, Cirrus’, if he’s not mistaken. It spins and curls, gently pushing on his tired muscles and wrapping around sore joints. It feels like molten honey, a soft wave of almost-too-hot lava getting into all the tender spots in his body and melting every ache away. Swiss lets out a deep, contented sigh and lets his mind drift to the soft music playing in the background.

The bathroom door opens quietly and Swiss hums in acknowledgment of whoever is poking their head in.

“How is it going in here? You feeling up for some company and haircare?” Cumulus asks softly.

“So good,” Swiss moans, “and yeah.”

Cumulus chuckles and opens the door wider. Sunshine follows, closing the door again before they both come over to settle on the edge of the tub where Swiss is resting his head on the most comfortable bath pillow imaginable. 

He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the ghoulettes getting ready to take care of his hair. He hasn’t been exactly neglecting it—far from it—but he hasn’t been really prioritizing his hair care routine, either, the last few months. He thinks that it’s fair, all things considered. 

“I’ve been tinkering with some hair and body products since I retired. I want to make personalized products for everyone, and when you told us you were pregnant I decided to focus on perfecting yours first,” Sunshine says, on his right.

She taps his shoulder lightly and Swiss cracks an eye open as she pulls up what looks like a bar of soap the color of a late august sunset. Swiss takes a deep breath and can’t help but let out a deep groan. It smells fantastic; like oak barrels washed with pine and orange blossom. There’s even a hint of jasmine in there.

“This is a shampoo bar I’ve made specifically for your hair and your locks. The scent should complement your natural one, bring out the whiskey and musk. What do you think?” 

“You’re absolutely incredible, Sunny,” he gasps. “Don’t be surprised if Mountain sends you a gift basket, because this smells amazing.”

The ghoulette’s trilling laugh makes him smile as his eye falls shut again. His hair gets soaked, and he hears the girls lather the shampoo on their hands and then he’s on the receiving end of a truly spectacular scalp massage as Cumulus and Sunshine wash his hair. He’s in bliss as they wash, rinse, condition, rinse again, and then go over retwisting his locks at the roots, so they are nice and neat. He feels truly pampered.

“Are you okay with me trimming that bush you managed to grow between your legs?” Sunshine asks with a raised eyebrow—a clearly judgemental look—at some point, when he’s about to get out of the bath.

“That’s one way to put it,” Swiss giggles, “but yes.”

“Listen, I have no idea how Mountain isn’t spitting out hairballs after every time he eats your pussy, dude,” she throws her arms up with a laugh. “You’re hairier than Aether!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Cirrus throws in, “but I am curious…how does this not work like velcro with Mountain’s pubes when you fuck?”

Swiss can’t hold it together anymore. He bursts out laughing so hard the muscles of his stomach start to hurt and the ghoulettes aren’t looking much better. None of them can calm down for a good while.

Sunshine does take care of Swiss’ bush—and his body and facial hair in general—when they do calm down, though, and the multi ghoul appreciates how casual it is. He loves his family so much.

Lucifer really couldn’t have chosen a better pack for these kits to be born into.

The girls get him into the bedroom again and move onto his nails, next. Swiss feels a little silly with four ghoulettes sitting at four of his limbs and taking care of his hands and feet. His nails get trimmed and cleaned and his cuticles get pushed back and they put some kind of slime on it…Swiss doesn’t ask, but it all feels nice.

He also doesn’t ask when his whole body and face get covered in different textured cosmetics. The multi ghoul feels as if he has been dipped in oil, but thankfully it absorbs into his skin soon enough, leaving it incredibly moisturized.

Soon enough Swiss gets covered in actual oil, though. The ghoulettes put him down on his front on something that is, essentially, a big donut made of their bedding, so his baby bump is safe and not squished. When he’s settled, they pour a warm massage oil onto his lower back and get to the massage part of their SPA day.

Two sets of hands cup his ankles, moving slowly up his calves to the backs of his knees. The warm, gentle pressure feels amazing as the oil is spread out. The hands move back down again, thumbs digging in slightly as the smooth movement forces his muscles to relax. They rub slow, gentle circles into the back and side of his calves, dipping carefully into the divot behind his knees when they’re at the top and then pinching softly at his ankles when they go down again. Swiss’ calves feel like they’re made of butter and the girls move down to his slightly swollen feet.

There are two sets of hands on his shoulders, too. They move slowly down his arms, firm and steady pressure going all the way from his broad shoulders down to his wrists. Just like with his calves, there are thumbs digging into his muscles, going in gentle circular movements on the way back up. 

He can’t help but moan as deft fingers press into the arch of his feet and the center of his palms, moving in patterns he can’t possibly follow with his mind right now. He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Mountain that this might actually feel better than sex, but right now Swiss is certain he has never felt better. 

When he’s sure he couldn’t possibly move his limbs, the hands on him do move. The ghoulettes at his feet slide their hands up to his thighs, and the two up by his head move onto his shoulders and back. The back of his thighs, and even his ass, get the same treatment as his calves. Gentle, big movements going up, and strong clever fingers working out knots—he didn’t even know about—going down. 

His soul leaves his body when the hands on his back start their magic. As incredible as everything has been up to now, this is way beyond any bliss he has ever experienced. Four strong hands that must belong to Cirrus and Cumulus, he now realizes, rub firmly up and down to warm him up before they start to gently knead every sore part on him so good that his whole body is vibrating with the strength of his involuntary purrs.

Thumbs and knuckles move in circles and arches, they twist and drag over his muscles with perfect pressure. The ghoulettes must have a lot of experience doing this because with perfectly synchronized movements they use their knuckles to move up along his spine from his tail to his shoulders where they spread out and dig into his shoulder blades. This must be what it is like to have wings and fly, Swiss thinks.

Cumulus and Cirrus keep up this movement while Sunshine and Aurora mimic them with the pads of their thumbs up and down Swiss’ tail and across his lower back.

A solid six hours after Swiss has been snatched, he is nothing but a pile of purring goo. He still insists on returning to his mate for the night, though. The ghoulettes shrug—when they deem him pampered enough—and let him go, pleased with the outcome of the kidnapping.

Mountain seems to have attempted a nap, which didn’t quite work out, because when Swiss slips into their bedroom the earth ghoul is drowsy, but perks up immediately. His mate joins him in their nest.

“How was your SPA day?” Mountain asks before breaking out into a yawn.

“Oh, dear Lucifer, my love,” Swiss sighs dreamily, “I think when the kits are born we need to figure out a way to get you knocked up, so you can experience the utterly unreal and soul-shattering bliss of a SPA day with a four ghoulette full-body massage obliterating all the aches and pains pregnancy causes.”

“Good to hear,” the earth ghoul chuckles and nuzzles his nose into the dip in Swiss’ neck. “You smell so good, darling. I missed you.”

“Oh, come on,” the multi ghoul giggles, “it’s only been a couple hours.”

Mountain doesn’t confirm, nor deny—he grumbles under his breath and latches onto his mate with no intention of letting him go. And he will not; at least not until the morning.

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Look me in the eyes. Look at them. Now come closer. Closer. Right there.

Never. And I repeat, N E V E R. Tone down the amount of antlers in your fanfics. It's my favorite thing. I found myself looking at the tag antlerplay desperately searching for more. I love them.

Okay thank you for coming to my tedtalk

Thanks anon, have some antlers as a treat.

Sleep is the brother of death, and in death there is still sleep. In your sleep there are dreams, the muddled melange of images and memories, disturbed like the surface of the bayou waters under heavy rain. In your dreams you see the streets of your city at night, lit by dirty neon and sallow sodium, revelers spilling from clubs and bars onto sidewalks and into the thick summer air. Smoke spills heavy over asphalt stained yellow in the night and the whole scene thrums to a swing beat, the people and the smoke, even the light. Even you.

The beat is in you, through you. You can feel it through the heels of your shoes, through your shins and your femurs to your hips, a beat at your core that leaves you dizzy and swaying. You are aroused, an ache that clutches at your guts and leaves your throat parched. There’s nothing to drink, no touch on your body save for the beat that seems to enslave you, even your pulse matching the slow, captivating swing of it. Fuck. It feels good, and you can’t help but move, save your body feels heavy, heavy with the smoke. You’re lying on your back, a body on top of you, its weight the weight of the air around you. You reach up, eyes closed, feeling legs straddling your waist, the narrow hips of the man on top of you.

His lips are on your antlers, suckling, teasing. His hands are on your antlers, his touch coaxing and sensual.

“Alastor.” Fuzzily, you recall the name of the man who shares your bed, opening your eyes and squinting up at him. It’s not uncommon for you to wake up to his embrace, or even the slow, sensual grind of his morning tumescence against your ass, but not this. This feels like your body is on fire, your antlers branching to a creaking, aching width under Alastor’s touch. You swallow down your arousal for half a second. “What’s going on?”

Alastor licks a burning line up a tine of your left antler before his mouth is free, but his hands remain in your branches. He smiles down at you. “You don’t know~” he hums, fingers reaching the base of your right antler, and stroking the point at which the bone emerges from your hair. You can feel his touch all through your skull and through your spine, the same swing beat you felt in your dream. “Oh, darling,” he purrs, his eyes half closing, his face drawing close to yours. His antlers have branched, too, but nowhere near as wide as yours.

“Please tell me,” you say, biting back a moan as Alastor’s fingers stroke a perfect resonance over your tines. It makes you shiver, an aching heat between your legs, and you know you’ll have to launder your pajama pants after this, your sex producing embarrassing amounts of slick. Alastor’s smile is cruel as his fingers squeeze, a pressure that seems to run through your body like electricity, and you whimper, out loud this time, your hips bucking against his weight.

“Dear me,” Alastor murmurs, smile widening, and he dips his face to your neck, breathing in deeply. “You’re in quite a state, aren’t you? The smell of you,” he says, and you feel him shiver as he breathes in again.

Alastor runs his fingers up the length of your antlers, and you make an embarrassing, mewling sound in response. He’s right; you are in a state, so aroused it almost hurts, and even Alastor’s gentle ministrations on your antlers are coming close to edging you, his slow strokes thrumming through your bones. “What state?” you push, as Alastor kisses his way from your neck to your jaw.

Alastor draws back with a smile, enjoying the power he has over you for a moment longer before he takes pity. “Why, you’re in heat, darling,” he tells you, and your heart drops to your stomach.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Speaking of smut, opinion on writing something involving handcuffs?

“I mean, that’s a little slutty, don’t you think?” the villain asked as they looked down at the handcuffs which connected them to the hero way too literally. But all the hero did was sigh and drag them through the building the heroes called their headquarters.

“That’s what you get for breaking into our facility, I suppose,” the hero answered dryly. They ignored the stares of civilians and other heroes who were — rightfully — wondering why their nemesis was cuffed to them. Right here.

“I’m listening. Attentively.” The villain pulled their wrist back which made the hero stumble back and almost crash against their chest. When they turned around, they spotted the dreamy gaze the villain offered, alongside with their playful smirk.

“Stop it or this will get a lot nastier than it has to be,” the hero warned. It was a weak threat (the villain’s smirk only widened) and the hero felt a little powerless in their own backyard for the very first time.

“Oh, I’m sure it will. You have me already cuffed to your own wrist. Can get a lot dirtier than that in my opinion.” Catching the villain had been pure luck. The hero was about to get coffee and there they were standing in the hallway with their stupid deep eyes and their dumb wavy hair and their ludicrous outfit that basically screamed “I’m here to steal.”

Without thinking, the hero had chased after them, pushed them against a wall and then cuffed them to the hero themselves. It was…stupid, considering that the villain had a lot more muscles. But it was also the only solution that had come to their mind.

Now they were standing in the hallway between the laboratories and the cafeteria, the villain tugging at the handcuffs to get the hero’s attention every now and then, pulling them towards them whenever they wanted. Like a puppet they were playing with.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” the villain said.

“Liar.”

“Only sometimes.” They bit their lip and let their eyes fall to the hero’s mouth. “You look stressed.”

“My nemesis just broke into my workplace. Sorry for being slightly overwhelmed.”

“I’m sure I could help you relax,” the villain offered and it was oh so tempting, wasn’t it? Oh so tempting with a flirty nemesis. Oh so tempting with someone who had called the hero my darling before.

The villain tilted their head.

“Right now, you’re the source of all my problems.”

It came out a lot harsher than they wanted it to be and judging by the villain’s face, both of them hadn’t expected that.

“Okay, fine. Fuck it.” The hero didn’t even have time to frown, for the villain pushed them into a tiny storeroom and locked the door. “I want to apologise.”

“I don’t…I don’t need your apology.” Once again, it came out wrong. But this time, it was a lot weaker than what the hero intended. Truth be told, the room was small and the villain was extremely close.

“Our relationship is complicated, I know that,” the villain whispered. “But ever since you beat my ass for the first time, I wanted to push you against the next best surface and show you a good time.”

The hero let out a breathless chuckle. Their head spun. Their face burnt.

“Degradation kink?” they joked but when the villain answered with “maybe,” the hero’s heartbeat skyrocketed. They didn’t know what to do with this flirting, with this…honesty? They didn’t know what this was, what this could be. What the villain was aiming at.

“You know…” The villain dragged a finger up the hero’s thigh carefully. “Rumour has it that you have a crush on me.”

“I— what?!” An involuntary squeak escaped the hero’s throat when the villain stopped and drew circles into the hero’s thigh with a pleasurable pressure. “That’s not…that’s—”

The villain leaned in, lips brushing the shell of the hero’s ear.

“You’re not very good at hiding it. I mean, the photos the press takes of us…the way people look at us…when even the dumbest people in the city start to write stories in their silly little magazines, you have to wonder what is going on…”

Not really processing what was happening, the hero put a flat hand on the villain’s chest. They took in a deep breath, trying to gather their thoughts. It was true. But the hero thought they were good at hiding it.

Their boss hadn’t said anything and they’d barely seen any serious newspaper mentioning it. God, what a stupid conundrum. Eventually, they grabbed the villain’s shoulder when they couldn’t bear it anymore.

“…can you move your fingers, please?”

“Up or down?”

“Up,” the hero said, begged even. Their mind clouded when the villain actually did move them up. But as if they were hesitating, they stopped yet again.

“I’ll move if you uncuff us.”

“I thought you’re into this…?” the hero asked, gasping when the villain’s teasing got worse.

“I am. But I also like control. I like showing you what feels good.”

“Whatever,” the hero mumbled. They uncuffed them but, hell, the villain was quick. Once again, completely unable to act, the hero watched as the villain put the handcuffs around the hero’s wrists.

“Fuck, you’re pretty.” The villain pinned the hero’s wrists above their head with one hand and started kissing down their throat. “Such a pretty thing.”

They kept their promise but that didn’t make the villain any less cruel. Their fingers went up but their pace stayed the same, not speeding up in the slightest when the hero begged for it.

The hero was exhausted by the time they finished and the villain kissed them sloppily, whispered some praises into their hair. And even though the villain’s true intention was to distract the hero while their team organised a huge heist in the building, they took their sweet time to make it incredible for their nemesis.

[adhdnursegoat]

Reformed! Arkhamverse

cw: fluffy angsty goodness 😊, comfort

note: took a page from @caesariawritesstuff's Cat & Mouse because this Eddie is reformed and is more like Origins Eddie :) also, this was supposed to be for Friday 10/12 but this apparently wants to be posted. So enjoy a day early!!

“I’m going to kill him.”

word count: 2.1k

And you know he’s serious.

Edward stands before you, an embodiment of barely restrained fury, his clear blue eyes blazing with a fire so fierce you almost have to look away. His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms bulging against the fabric of his rolled shirt sleeves, straining as though they’re moments away from snapping. You can see the twitch in his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, you can hear the shudder in his breath—he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.

It’s a testament to his self-control that he hasn’t already lunged at the man who dared lay a hand on you. His body trembles slightly, vibrating with tension, each breath a calculated attempt to rein in the storm brewing inside him. The air between you is thick with his rage, a palpable force that both grounds you and sends a ripple of unease through your stomach.

And yet, instinctively, you step closer.

You don’t know whether it’s to shield him or keep him from unleashing the tempest stampeding through his veins, but you place yourself between him and the man now wisely retreating, his face pale with terror. You could see it in the man’s eyes—the dawning realization of who he’s offended. He had no idea whose partner he was touching, whose wrath he had summoned. Now he knows. Now he sees. He’s an idiot.

“Edward, stop,” you say, your voice firm yet soft as you press a hand against his chest. Beneath your fingers, you can feel the wild, erratic beat of his heart—each pulse heavy with the weight of his restraint. It’s a force of nature contained only by sheer willpower.

But his eyes remain locked on the man, unblinking, his focus so laser-sharp it sends a shiver down your spine. The man is retreating, inch by inch, but Edward’s gaze is fixed, dangerous, a predator sizing up its prey. You’re not sure if he’s listening to you at all. The world has narrowed to one point, and all he sees is the insult, the violation, the audacity.

You take a breath and push harder against his chest, leaning into the pressure, hoping to anchor him, to bring him back from the brink. “Edward, look at me,” you plead, voice lower, softer, the kind of tone you know reaches him when nothing else can. “Please.”

“I’m not letting him get away with that,” Edward grits out, his voice low and seething. It’s a guttural sound, a primal instinct clawing its way to the surface. You can hear the squeak and grind of his molars, his jaw clenched so tight you worry he might crack a tooth. There’s a dangerous edge to his demeanor, a violent energy that radiates out. He tries to push past you, but you hold your ground, splaying both hands against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Yes, you are,” you reply, your tone unwavering as you meet his furious gaze with calm determination. You try to find his eyes, to anchor him to the moment, to you. “Look at me, Ed… Please, just look at me.”

After a beat, his lips remain pulled into a dangerous sneer. Then Edward ’s frozen flame eyes flicker down to you, their usual bright intensity now stormy, darkened by rage. For a fleeting moment, you think you’ve lost him to his old impulses, to the Riddler who took what he wanted and punished those who crossed him. There is a glint of something wild and predatory in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. You grimace, not enjoying having this energy now focused on you.

But then he blinks, seeing you through the red mist encroaching his mind, and you notice a glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. Finally. It’s the crack you need to reach him, a momentary opening in the armor of fury that surrounds him. You hold his gaze, feeling the intensity of his anger crackling, popping, and slowly fizzling to a smolder between your eyes, much like a fuse burning out seconds from an explosive ignition.

“That’s it, my love,” you coo, your voice soothing as you stroke his chest gently. Your fingertips brush against the fabric of his vest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing beneath it. Each breath is a tumultuous wave, the tension in his muscles beginning to ease just a fraction under your touch. “Just breathe, okay?”

He lets out a ragged breath, the sound escaping his lips like the release of a pressure valve. The tension in his shoulders sags slightly, and for a moment, you both stand in a fragile silence, the world around you fading into the background. “He touched you…,” he grits out, his voice husky with anger, each word tinged with a raw, protective instinct. It churns within him, a wildfire ignited every time he thinks of someone disrespecting you, of someone daring to encroach upon what he sees as rightfully his. But when he sees the steady look in your eyes, something shifts; a tremor of doubt flits across his features.

Edward closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, as if trying to anchor himself in the storm. When he opens them again, the tempest begins to subside. His blue irises are bright once more, though his brows remain furrowed in concern, a cloud of worry hanging over him like a shadow. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing when someone thinks they can treat you like that. Thinking they can touch what’s mine.”

The intensity of his possessiveness washes over you, wrapping around your heart like a tight embrace, both exhilarating and unsettling. You can feel the heat of his anger morphing into something deeper—an unwavering desire to protect, to claim, to own. And while you understand the danger embedded in his rage, the way it ignites his passion is undeniably intoxicating. The knowledge of how far he’s willing to go for you sends both a thrill of apprehension and arousal dancing down your spine.

Yet, your heart twists at the sight of him struggling, wrestling with his old instincts. Edward is trying so hard to change, to leave the darkness behind, but moments like this threaten to pull him back into the shadows. You lift a hand to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb gently across his skin, grounding him in the present.

“I know,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know you want to protect what’s yours. But you promised yourself you’d do better, remember? And you’re doing so well, Edward. You’ve come so far.” Your other hand finds his face as well, ensuring his attention is fixed on you when you say, “I’m so, so proud of you…”

You smile up at him, your eyes shining with sincerity, trying to mirror the warmth of your words. You continue to pet his cheek, showering him with the tender love and care he needs—no, deserves. “Don’t throw that all away because of one jerk. He’s not worth it.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to steady his breathing, the rhythm still uneven. “I can’t do this. I need to break his fingers. I need to-”

“Shh,” you interrupt gently, pulling his face towards yours with a delicate touch. You lean in, resting your forehead against his, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. You can sense his rapid breaths, his body still coiled like a spring, ready to snap at any moment. “You need to use that big, sexy brain of yours and reason with yourself. You can. I believe in you. You are the smartest, most resilient man I know. World’s Greatest Everything—right? You can do this.”

You feel him exhale shakily, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans into your touch. “You’re right…” His hands, which had been hanging limply at his sides, now come up to hold your hips. His grip is tight, almost desperate, as if he’s afraid you might slip away. “I hate this.”

“I know you do,” you say softly, nuzzling his nose with your own. Then you let you hands push back into his hair, fingers threading into the dark strands. “What matters is how you handle it, and you’re handling it right now. You stopped. You listened to me. That’s progress.”

He opens his eyes, looking at you with frustration but vulnerability. The dark shadows beneath his blue irises betray the tumult swirling in his mind. “You make it sound so easy,” he murmurs bitterly, his voice laced with a heaviness that echoes the struggle within him. “But it’s not. I want to hurt him.”

You sigh, your fingers instinctively playing with the dark hair at the nape of his neck, seeking to ground both him and yourself. “I know. And it’s okay to want that. It’s okay to feel angry, to want to protect me. But both of us—even he knows—you could yeet his ass from this mortal coil.”

Edward chuckles at your silly encouragement, the sound breaking through the storm of his fury. It’s a crack of amusement in his dissipating rage, and it makes your soul sing, a warm note of relief coursing through you.

“But you don’t have to act on every impulse,” you continue, your voice softer now, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. “You’re more than your anger.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the truth reflected back. His brow furrows as he sifts through everything you’ve said. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, letting the gentle tide of your voice roll a wave of calm through his body. He sighs, pressing his forehead more firmly against yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you both in this fragile moment.

Then, finally, he exhales a slow, shuddering breath, a release of tension that seems to echo in the air around you. He wraps his arms around you completely, pulling you into a tight embrace— a recognition of your unwavering support. You can feel the tension in his body slowly easing, replaced by a weary sort of resignation, as if the weight of his burdens is shared in this closeness.

“Okay,” he murmurs into your hair, the sound softening the edges of his earlier anger.

You nod in appreciation, your arms encircling his neck, anchoring him further. “You’re doing your best, Ed... That’s enough for me.” You offer a small smile, one filled with warmth and understanding. “Now, how about we get out of here? Go home? We can sit down, relax, and forget about that asshat. I can massage your neck and shoulders. That always makes you feel better, yeah?” Making your point, one of your hands strokes and squeezes the tight muscles at the back of his neck, feeling the tension begin to dissipate beneath your touch.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he groans, leaning into your caress, and he nods. “Yeah. A massage sounds wonderful,” he purrs, his voice still hoarse but no longer filled with fury. In a sudden surge of affection, he reaches forward, cupping your cheeks in both hands and drawing your face closer to his. “You’re never leaving me,” he declares, his tone possessive yet tender, as he presses in an affirming kiss on your lips. It’s firm, grounding, a period instead of a question mark.

You break the kiss, whispering “promise” against his lips, before kissing him once more, and then his nose, a playful gesture that earns you another soft chuckle from him. You pat his cheek, then take his hands from your face, your fingers interlacing with his. Feeling a warm glow well up in your chest, you give him a soft smile, a gesture filled with tenderness, and then you tug him gently. “Let’s go home.”

As you pull him through the bar, the atmosphere around you shifts, the noise of the crowd fading into a comforting background hum. You glance back at him, giving a warm, knowing smile. “You know, the new season of Love Is Blind is out now. We can watch that when we get home too.”

Edward’s blue eyes widen behind his glasses, and a spark of excitement ignites in his gaze. He starts walking faster, now tugging you along with newfound energy. “Darling, why didn’t you say that sooner? You know I love watching those idiots torture themselves in that sorry excuse for an experiment.”

[yandere-yearnings]

HEAVENCALL (??? x Fem!Reader)

feat. Cecilia Romano

♡ oneshot, approx. 1k words

♡ post-specific warnings: NSFW, sub + bottom afab reader, fingering (reader receiving), 'good girl' used on reader, depictions of gore and violence, masochism & sadism, Stockholm syndrome, abuse, collaring, blood play, (extreme) knife play, implied mind break, implied imprisonment, vaguely implied reference to cannibalism, extreme toxicity, DDDNE

♡ a/n: most important thing to anyone reading this is to pls be mindful of the content warnings above and to not read if you think it could be triggering for you. this is vv dark fiction and i legit cannot stress that enough. a lighter christmas fic will be posted soon, which can be viewed alternatively.

this is @unhappy-last-resort's gift for our secret santa fic exchange!! unhappy i'm gonna need you to forgive me for how shitty this turned out lmao. i lied when i said it would be my last rewrite and got wasted so i could churn smth out before today. i'm burnt out to all fuck and too tired to fix the medical inaccuracies drunk me did not consider so pls pretend that the femoral artery does not exist and the bleeding is venous otherwise our reader is technically dead and not just passed out💀 this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. proofread, unedited.

♡♡♡

It was because you hadn’t seen light in days. Chained up to this wall, waiting like a dog for your angel to come down to you — sensitive eyes, slithers of blinding white around her silhouette looking like a luminous halo. Deaf to her footsteps, blind to the blood on her dress or the stench of it, all you knew was her when she put her hands on you. Learning to treasure it, since it would only be you here grieving every touch you were deprived of when she left.  

“Miserable thing,” fingers smoothing out in your hair turn violent, she tugs, “feel special yet?”

When she chokes you, you do. You think the collar might just cut into your flesh from the force as Cecilia pulls on it. Lips meeting hers, you are whole again with the way her nails dig into your cheek, like she wants to rip the skin right off. Bringing the claim she has on each corner of your soul right to the surface, the sole thing that has become easy for you to understand is that you are ruined for this world.

“Please…” you beg, and you remain unaware of what for. There is something pulsating inside of you, blood beating bones from depths in which a consuming rot grows ugly. Cecilia’s scalpel shows an animal starved, and you recognise that it’s you. The spit and drool come like magic, she wets your dry throat easy with just a few fingers in your mouth — you are hungry. Her knees hit the ground for you, in turn your heart wants to come right up as penance for your unworthiness.

Thin gown bunched up into the crease of your groin, too light to feel any warmth from it — and you are too taken by the coldness of the blade on your thigh to care. Aching for the push, so your body could give way and you could feel the sharpness nestle inside of you, to wrap around something, to bury it in the grave of an open wound. Cecilia keeps a distance your cuffed wrists cannot close, and your desire drips from you with nothing to hide, nor cling to.

Spine lined with explosives, the first graze has the pleasure spark seriatim; the release of pressure you had been neck-deep in brutalises you, and you are delirious on the feel of being ripped apart without the motions. Each score burns. New layers of you are uncovered and exposed to this world and Cecilia wrenches your head down to watch. 

Mouth agape, your drool parts a translucent line over the pooling sangria. “More,” pleading for it, despite how muffled it came out. You want her to rip this chunk of you right off. You want to be between her teeth and down her throat. You want, and it’s butchering. “Deeper,” the tears come with your chest squeezing, come with the choked up moan when her digits bear down on your tongue harder. Your mistake is clear to you the moment you see the wash of those baby blues lock on you, the reverie of bringing the sky down to your prison and the vastness as you lost your mind to it has your breath hitching.

Ringing in your ears dulled to the scattering greys when Cecilia hits you, cheekbone smashing against the wall, sending the vibrations all throughout your skull. Ecstasy takes on the taste of metal. Sure enough, the savage inside of you is unsettled, is not yet satisfied.

“When have I ever let you command me?” Her knife edge twists, makes ribbons of your tissues — makes you writhe deliciously. “Do you think you have a will?”

“No.” The answer needs no contemplation, it has been ingrained in you. “‘M sorry,” your vision spots when you crane your neck, you’ve been putting more and more of your weight into the bricks, your shackles sting. “Was so good I went dumb, ‘m sorry. I won’t do it again,” you sniffle, “p-please…”

Acutely aware of the moment the surgical steel leaves you; biting your lip to suppress your whimper when the air hits. “That’s better,” and you are sure this is a punishment until Cecilia takes your face, “see, you know how to be a good girl, don’t you?”

Something hot floods your guts, you’re nodding before you even have a chance to rub your thighs together — not that you’d be allowed to. Her palm is pressing right to the laceration, she keeps you splayed apart like that, and her nails are mere millimetres away from showing you a supernova. Red tracks streak a trail all the way to your core, the fabric in contact with it is damp, is threading clear strings to a place that’s throbbing with need to be desecrated.

All your nerves fray when she sinks in, and just like that, the ability to latch onto her human caress is wasted on you. Only remembering how to stay agape, how to curl your toes and tear from your bottom lip to hold back your moans. Your walls are sopping for her, they slobber just as much as you do for the euphoria Cecilia imposes into you. Gasping her name, flashes of a world outside you no longer want to return to, legs trembling when her thumb comes up. She plays you so well, makes a mess — makes a masterpiece out of all your misery and mortality alike.

Whispering, “you were my best decision,” — and like a blessing, your undoing lays rest to you. Pink slick and pain, everything becomes sweet in this swarming black. Angels. Her laughter, a hymn. Singing. Heavencall.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

—

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Jason stays largely impassive as Alfred checks him out. The only “wounds” he actually managed to obtain were two long surface level cuts from a buff guy with a lucky knife, the mildest limp known to man, and some bruises. He’s got bigger stuff to worry about than what little damage he took.

Somehow Mask had gotten wind that Hood had set his eyes on his most recent purchase and had responded by borrowing some of Penguin's men while the man was in court, catching Jason off guard. That either meant that Jason was getting sloppy or his collective had a mole.

A goddamn mole. Whoever it was must’ve been stupid or crazy to think they could get this over his head. Now he’ll have to deal with them, and soon, before he starts on any more plans.

There’s a pat on his arm that has Jason turning his head.

“There you go, Master Jason. Hardly a scratch and everything is treated.”

“Didn’t pay all this money on armor to get a scratch from a whole buncha pocket knives and baseball bats, Alfred.”

The old butler only raises a brow.

“Yes well, a particularly nasty bullet wound in Master Dick’s leg says anything is possible on a given day. Armor or no,” Alfred points to the two raised lines on either side of his forearms where he’d blocked that buff guy's slash for his face. “And clearly some fellow with a pocket knife did get a knick or two in.”

Jason shrugs. The guy had been aiming for his face. His face that had only been a target because he’d blown up the old helmet to catch Batman’s attention and his forearms and following Bruce’s rules were a small price to pay for those kids' safety.

“Still beat him though, so I think I’m good,” he spares the man a small fleeting smile.

Alfred worried too much over Bruce. Jason didn’t want him doing the same and stressing overtime about him as well.

“Of course,” Alfred says softly, patting him on the arm once more before turning to check up on whether Dick’s gotten enough food in him to get another dose of the good stuff.

Why the man had decided to fly off to help Jason when he was already injured was anybody's guess. Jason certainly wasn’t going to think about it too hard. His feelings around Dick were enough of a nightmare to detangle.

Jason’s ready to take that as his leave, wanting out before Nightfall and Batman - or godforbid, his replacement - throw his entire mood away, when a lone figure comes ambling into the Cave on foot and sends everyone on alert.

Dick hobbles rather gracefully for someone with a hole in his calf over to the Batcomputer to check the entrance cameras. Alfred admonishes him for putting too much pressure on his leg so soon after he’s reopened his stitches but follows after him nonetheless.

Jason closes in not far behind the two, hand hovering over his gun as he eyes the lone figure. They’re not in a rush or anything, that’s for sure. He’s never seen someone who wanted to kill him have such low gumption.

It hits him and he relaxes his hand a second before you call out.

“It’s me, guys! I just needed a break from Bruce so I walked!”

Your voice is different, he notes. Hoarse, fraying at the edges. Jason is intimately familiar with the feeling of falling apart. At Bruce’s hand too no less, which is undoubtedly why you're walking instead of pulling up with him. He can’t find it in him to feel too bad though. You might’ve taken a bullet for him but you were still a dick. And an unplanned for variable that he’d have to search more into.

Later.

Alfred takes to guiding you towards the med bay, talking to you like you’re old friends, but Jason’s never seen you before outside of tonight. As far as he knew the only female vigilante operating out of Gotham had been Batgirl before that fucking clown got to her too, and the only other woman of the house didn’t live here anymore.

Which is yet another thing Jason really doesn’t want to think about. He had felt pretty damn vindicated to learn about Y/n’s separation from Bruce until he pieced together the timeline and that the most likely cause for the split had been himself. He can admit to feeling bad about that for her sake. When he was a boy her and Bruce had seemed happy, he didn't want to be the cause of that ending for the woman.

Something harsh strikes through his chest and he forces his gaze off Nightfall and Alfred.

He needed to tell Y/n. She deserved to know - he wanted her to know! - he just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable. With Bruce the uncertainty pissed him off. He had needed the truth so bad it burned through him harsher than the pit snapping his mind back together ever could.

Problem was that in the end the answer had actually hurt. For all his speculations and phantom conversations with the man he once happily called “dad” none had been enough to prepare him for the reality of watching his father choose The Mission over him in real time.

Maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment of the situation but to that Jason says: “So what?”

Maybe Bruce did love him, and maybe what made him throw that batarang wasn’t resentment or disappointment, but he still threw it. Through everything Jason still came second and Bruce still didn’t love him enough to fight for him.

He can’t keep ignoring that it wasn’t him that drew Bruce to Ethiopia that April; it was the Joker that drew Batman. Bruce hadn’t even been looking for him, and he could understand why, but that didn’t mean he had to be okay with it.

Either way, the little boy Jason used to be had stupidly expected to be proven wrong in that dilapidated apartment building.

Jason hasn’t listened to that particular ghost since having to hold his throat together.

“Red!”

He blinks back into himself to find the rest of him already in a defensive position at Dick Nightwing’s proximity.

“I’ve got some files for you if you’re interested. We haven’t been able to figure out what all Mask’s recent moves have meant, but if you cross reference it with whatever info you’ve got maybe…” the look he sends Jason feels pointed so he huffs and moves closer.

“I’ll be able to catch him up. Yeah, Wing, thanks.” He crosses his arms and raises a brow. “Whatdya want for it?”

Nightwing turns to him slowly. “Nothing. I don’t want a damn thing, Red,” he shrugs. “Consider it a favor.”

“Right. A favor.”

Jason doesn’t buy that that’s all he wants for a second. The more plausible reason is that the harddrive he’ll be given is bugged. So far they haven’t been able to find any of his operation and he knows Bruce has been chomping at the bit to find out what hole in the wall he crawls into at night.

His line of speculation gets cut off by Nightwing starting to prattle along about the contents of every file he’s giving him.

“I figure I could give you an update on Penguin’s case while you’re here too,” he glances back for Jason’s stiff nod before doing just that.

Jason half pays attention to flashes of Cobblepot taking the stand while largely doing his best to remember which of his guys ever worked closely with the man who’s nice and calm being held under public scrutiny.

It was City Hall’s worst kept secret that they were bought out by some big boss or the other. Cobblepot wouldn’t be convicted and they all knew it. Gotham’s politicians couldn’t ever leave well enough alone though and just had to go the extra mile of broadcasting their cities inner failings to the rest of the country.

“Hey.”

At the sound of his voice Jason immediately snaps his gaze to Nightwing. He doesn’t look back this time, eyes continuing to stay focused on the batcomputer’s giant screen.

“I just wanna say the offer still stands. Jay,” his name comes off rough from the other’s mouth. “I might not…agree with what you’re doing, but call me and I’ll be there, okay? My number’s still the same. If you remember it?”

The not-glance Nightwing sends him makes his throat constrict suspiciously. This was exactly why he was avoiding the acrobat. He’s all the more glad he decided to get a replacement instead of toughing this encounter out sans helmet.

“Yeah, I remember it,” he forces out.

“Good.” Nightwing continues, voice still oddly pinched while he drops another file into the harddrive’s folder. “That’s good.”

The trial tapers off after that and Grayson stops drawing out their conversation, closing out the tabs he’d opened and leaning over to snatch out the drive.

When he turns to him the older’s face is noticeably paler than before and his hands are clammy when he gives Jason his lackluster reward for putting up with the night’s bullshit.

He forces his arms down to his sides when Grayson stumbles into the table, no doubt bruising his hip, before stabilizing himself again with a tiny laugh. Jason will never admit that as much as it irritates him, he still admires the way Grayson manages to keep the sound from cracking at the edges.

Ever the fucking paragon.

“Thanks,” he nods to the medbay where Alfred and Nightfall are talking as she’s bandaged up. “And go lay down already before you collapse. I will laugh at you if you fall.”

“Heh, yeah, I’d better,” he runs his hand through his hair. “If I pass out again mom’ll kill me.”

Dick’s hand pauses midway through his hair and Jason can tell from the way he goes rigid that his eyes have snapped to where he’s standing.

He huffs, shoves the drive in his pocket and gives the older a mock salute before turning on his heels. On another day he’d probably harp on Grayson for the carelessness, make him squirm just for the hell of it, but he’s reached his people index for the day and he’s got work to do.

His second mother - not counting Sheila and her shitty cigarettes; he hopes she rots - is also someone he does not want to keep being reminded of and staying here will clearly be nothing but that.

She’s a subject he unfortunately can’t stop thinking about now though and he’s so over it his head’s starting to pound.

‘mom’ll kill me.’

Mom.

Y/n.

Jason counts his way through a deep breath. He’s got Nightwing’s information, now he can leave to start sorting his own mess with his people the Bat-Refuted way.

With Y/n he wasn’t going to let himself exist with a child's placations that maybe she’d prove him wrong. He already made that mistake with Bruce. She was his mom. In the same way Bruce was once his dad, but he’s not fifteen anymore and he no longer believes wholeheartedly in the second chance they’d provided. He can’t.

But still, for whatever bastardized mockery of life is in him, he doesn’t want the truth from Y/n as well. So no matter how much he craves to hear her voice again and feel her arms around him, the chances that she’ll reject the son Bruce forced upon her this time round were too high and he was tired of gambling.

He should rip the bandaid off sooner rather than later though, for his sake if nothing else. He wasn’t finished with Gotham yet and all the ‘what ifs’ stampeding over his train of thought could get him killed too early.

Again.

And nobody wants to read about another dead gutter rat who thought he could fly.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! This chapter is supposed to be a brief slow down before I get back into the emotional gutter with part five.

I’m like 50/50 on this. I was trying to make everything connect but I don’t really think I succeeded. And what I mean by that is that some of Jason’s thought processes don’t flow smoothly into one another the way I want, but I’m tired of poking at it so this is what y’all get.

Regardless, I’m not mad at it and if you’d like to leave a comment that’d be appreciated, but I won’t respond cause this is a sideblog. I read everything though. 🫶🏾

Edited (cause I forgot what I wrote) on 3/18/23