#that the bad moments will eventually pass

[starcurtain]

Another Phaidei Fic I Want to Read

It's the political arranged marriage AU but make it (ooooo) complicated~

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos was born under a dark star, with a prophecy of abject despair uttered at the moment of his birth: Mydeimos will be the last king of Kremnos. The city-state will fall, her people will be lost, and the glory of Strife entirely will fade into nameless oblivion. Year after year, the prophets repeat the same warnings: Mydeimos is cursed, and he will bring the downfall of their kingdom and all its inhabitants.

But no one in Kremnos knew just how cursed their prince was until the day the regent's war council convinced their king to do the unthinkable: If Mydeimos was sacrificed, perhaps their prophecy of destruction could be averted and Kremnos saved...

Only Mydei couldn't even die like he was supposed to. No matter how many times he was mortally wounded, the boy just kept standing up--not even Thanatos would take him. That glorious death in battle that all Kremnoan warriors were expected to achieve--even this most central aspect of Mydei's own culture rejected him.

This life of betrayal and total loneliness, with the promise of eventually destroying everything he knew and cared for, seemed inescapable--until one day, when Mydeimos had already passed the age of majority (and would have long since been allowed to challenge his father for the crown if it weren't for the despair prophesied to be his reign), a new vision was shared among all of their people's seers: There was a way to avert their kingdom's impending destruction and save their people. "Only the son of Aedes Elysiae can deliver Castrum Kremnos from the dark tide and restore the true king to her throne."

Aedes Elysiae is a tiny city-state with nowhere near enough military might to defend against a full onslaught from the Kremnoans. But the risk that the Elysian prince could be harmed--and all of Kremnos' future lost in the process--is too high to engage in a traditional war of conquest. Although it runs contrary to the Kremnoans' very natures, if it means securing their kingdom's future and hiding the truth of their foreseen fate forever, they will engage in any manner of subterfuge and political maneuvering necessary.

Namely, by using the threat of war to force Aedes Elysiae to surrender their crown prince to a permanent and binding political alliance. If the Elysians want to avoid obliteration by the military might of the Kremnoans, they will tie the destiny of their crown prince to the Strifewalkers' through blood and oath--a marriage to Kremnos' own Prince Mydeimos. In this way, perhaps the curse can finally be outweighed by the glory of a savior.

Enter Phainon: the pride and joy of Aedes Elysiae, the golden sun to his people, loved by everyone who knows him. Although his heart has always been soft and romantic, rebelling fiercely at the idea of marrying someone he's never met and doesn't love, there is nothing Phainon won't do to protect his people and his kingdom--even if it means sacrificing himself.

So Phainon agrees to leave his family and homeland behind, and makes the miserable journey to Castrum Kremnos to meet his destiny... as well as his new husband.

Too bad Mydei wants absolutely nothing to do with him.

Disgusted by his father's willingness to forsake Kremnos' sacred principles of pride and integrity by using underhanded tactics and falsehoods to force Aedes Elysiae's prince into compliance, Mydei refuses to even acknowledge his marriage to Phainon, let alone look in his fellow prince's direction.

Which wouldn't be a problem, honestly, if it weren't for the fact that poor Phainon is smitten within days.

When the Kremnoans were strong-arming Aedes Elysiae's king into giving up his beloved son, why had no one thought to just tell Phainon that Prince Mydeimos was so... so... upright and honest and brave and powerful and gorgeous and straightforward and humorous and quick-witted and honorable and also gorgeous? (Phainon thinks perhaps this last point should be repeated a few more times for good measure.) Truly, Phainon might have gone willingly if anyone had just thought to show him a portrait of his husband-to-be in advance!

While Phainon struggles to catch his own husband's attention and soften Mydei's seemingly unbreakable stone heart, Mydei struggles with his father's demands to keep his curse hidden, to not reveal the omen of destruction lurking behind this sham of a marriage. Though having to lie shreds every last tatter of pride Mydei has, if this prince of Aedes Elysiae discovers the truth, that he's been brought here solely to counteract Mydei's prophesied inability to reign, Kremnos' enemies will know it within the hour. A single weakness will be all the world needs to turn on the Kremnoans, to bring Mydei's terrible destiny to pass.

And... And if Phainon learns the truth about Mydeimos, about his curse, about how he is an abomination that not even death will accept, about the misery he is destined to bring, about the failures that are sure to come, about how he is hated by his country, his people, his own family--then Mydei will lose the first person who has ever smiled freely at him, ever wanted to walk beside him, ever spoke kind words in his direction...

There is no way Phainon would ever look at him the same again.

There is no way Phainon would stay.

And that would be cruelest fate of all.

(What Mydei and Castrum Kremnos don't know is that Phainon has a secret of his own: He's not royalty by blood in the slightest. He was a penniless orphan who just got lucky enough to be taken in by the castle and end up, through twists in his own destiny, to be raised by the childless rulers of Elysiae from nothing but the kindness of their hearts.

There is no son of Aedes Elysiae to save Castrum Kremnos from its fate--and the dark tide comes for all.

But visions bestowed by the gods must not be doubted. Perhaps the combined efforts of two lonely people--the one who forsook his own land for love and the one who could only be loved by someone from another land--will see the sun of Aedes Elysiae delivered to Kremnos once more...

And put a true and honest king upon her throne at last.)

[theactualsunshinechild]

If Castorice is cursed to kill whoever she touches and Mydei is cursed to be immortal, do you think Mydei ever goes to Castorice on a really bad day and is like, hey can you put me down for a bit please? I'm having these phantom pains from fatal wounds and injuries that don't exist anymore and they're keeping me up, I want a nap.

And obviously at first Castorice is like "L-lord Mydei, please rethink this, death is not something to be trifled with! Even with your condition, I cannot guarantee your safe return..." and Mydei takes the time to reassure her that, no, he's sure about this, and yes he is willing to bear the risks, no he doesn't care if it will hurt, please euthanize him. It takes a bit of convincing but eventually she agrees to risk it, and, fear in her heart, gently places a hand on his shoulder.

Mydei wobbles and collapses dead on the spot. Castorice lets go and starts fretting internally, stepping back and circling around, frantically searching for any sign of life. How long does it usually take for Mydei to come back? Will he come back at all? Her own curse is clearly effective on him after all... To her relief, it only takes a few seconds for Mydei's eyes to flutter open again to find himself supine, with limbs bent at various awkward angles from the way he ragdolled.

It was a very peaceful few seconds, no pain, no blood, just an pleasant floating sensation as the familiar dark waves of the Styx rocked him side to side gently, before a bright guiding light forcibly pulled him right back. If not for the uncomfortable position he came to in, he'd even say the experience did some old aches a lot of good. The slight relieved smile that comes across her face as he explains this belies how many years of uncertainty and grief she's experienced over the many deaths she had enacted prior. She must have had no way of knowing for sure, until now, whether or not the deaths she delivered were as gentle as she hoped, Mydei realized.

It takes slightly less convincing to have Castorice try again. This time, they arrange more comfortably, Mydei sitting down against a wall, Castorice taking his offered hand in hers. As his hand goes limp in hers, his skin slowly cooling, she draws comforting circles on it with her thumb, more for herself than for his unfeeling body. After several minutes this time, each feeling longer than the last, she lets go and backs away once more, waiting with bated breath for the moment he shudders back to life, taking air back into empty lungs, eyes bright again, fierce, lively and visibly well-rested.

They agree to never exceed 15 minutes, Castorice explaining he would likely not enjoy coming back to the discomfort of gravity having caused all of his stilled blood to pool and settle inside of his body, let alone his body having cooled. Mydei agrees easily and assures her that he will keep his requests for deathly repose infrequent.

Castorice often passes the time Mydei spends dead trying to occupy her hands, the nerves never quite leaving her alone. Knowing logically that Mydei will come back and fearing that maybe he won't come back this time are two separate things after all. She tries many things, from bringing a scroll to read, to embroidery, shoulder pressed to his, trying to ignore how much bolder the red tattoos look against the pallor of a dead man. When Mydei wakes to Castorice's fingers pricked and bleeding for the third time, he frowns and offers for her to braid his hair next time if she wishes.

The next time, a month later, they arrange slightly differently, Castorice sitting on a bench, Mydei lowering his head into her lap, his hair an offering she wills herself to accept. Having assisted with many a funeral rite, Castorice is able to lose herself in the process of carefully weaving the messy soft locks into shape. The texture is strangely soothing, despite how unnaturally still Mydei remains, and Castorice imagines that this must be similar to what it feels like to pet a lion's fluffy mane. When the sand stops flowing, Castorice moves Mydei's head out of her lap to walk five places away once more. He comes to, gasping for breath as usual, and reaches up to feel at the new braids he sensed in his hair. A ghost of a smile graces his face when he finds them to be satisfactory, and he wears them for the rest of the day as a sign of appreciation. Castorice fiddling with his hair while he is dead quickly becomes the standard for their little meetings. Sometimes he wakes up with no new braids, but he doesn't question it so long as Castorice doesn't appear to be in any distress.

The first time Phainon spotted Mydei with his head in Castorice's lap, Castorice gently running her fingers through his hair as if he were a very large cat, Phainon almost passed them by with how peaceful they looked...

Then did a double take and panicked.

Anyway, that's my headcanon at least for how Castorice can say that the death she brings with her touch is peaceful. I think discovering that killing Mydei with her touch grants him what is essentially a banger nap from his perspective, probably helped her find an amount of peace in those early years. Truly putting the rest in "putting to rest"with this one.

Obviously she'd still prefer to be able to touch people and creatures without having them die, but at least she has learned that it isn't painful when she kills this way.

Additionally I like to imagine that while being killed by Castorice feels soothing, getting killed normal ways feels like shit, painful the whole way through, and then you get dunked violently into the Styx. And for Mydei specifically, it's more like he gets dunked into the Styx only to get yoinked right out, soul still sopping wet and cold, and forced back into a body that is fully repaired but it's happened so fast to him that his nerves have him feeling the aftershocks of the injuries that are already gone.

[weralika]

suicidal Kevin pt 2

“You, fucker,” angry whisper makes Kevin wince, fists on his shirt are warm but not soothing or kind, another punishment he's deserved.

Andrew tries to save him, though — it's the first time Kevin sees them like that, Neil only goes quiet when Andrew catches his wrists behind his back.

“I'm gonna kill you,” Neil grits out and Kevin feels more shitty than when his bones were hurting him after the inevitable crush of his body against cold asphalt.

“I’d appreciate your help,” he tries to crack a sad joke, only getting a cold glare from Andrew.

“I'm literally gonna do this, Kevin,” Neil repeats his threats, “Believe me you're not gonna like my methods”.

Kevin looks up at him, he's so beautiful in his rage and the stupid reason behind that makes everything worse. Does he really want to kill him? It's not that unbelievable now, when he scowls at him as if he's a poorly behaving child.

“I'm gonna-” Neil starts again, but Andrew pulls him closer to push him into the wall. That's bad, really bad — never, not once in his life he's seen them throwing hands at each other, and now they're fighting because of him.

“Don't be stupid, Abram,” Andrew hisses at him, and Neil looks reasonably baffled, he doesn't answer, only nods after a moment. “Talk”.

Kevin doesn't know who he's addressing, but remains silent in case Neil wants to say something. He looks so broken with his hair tangled and eyes red rimmed, and Kevin wonders if he should feel bad about making them worry. Should he apologise for being on the verge of ending his own life?

“I'm sorry,” says Neil, eventually. “You should've called”.

“I know,” the only thing Kevin has to offer him. He knows he should've reached out, asked for help or just talked about nonsensical bullshit, waiting for Andrew to say ‘you are stupid’. That would definitely help, Andrew always picks up his phone, maybe it's just for Kevin or he's just curious enough to answer all his calls, but it doesn't even matter. Andrew always has time for him and Kevin feels too needy and capricious to use that opportunity too many times.

The telephone rings. And now Kevin knows that Andrew is reluctant to answer it when it's not Kevin, but he does nevertheless. He listens to the speaker for a couple of seconds and passes the phone to Kevin. ‘Aaron’ reads the name of the caller. Andrew's brother definitely has something to talk about.

[malk1ns]

january 17 @ sabres, 5-2 win

goalie goal and geno showing off the goods. hell yeah.

When Sid was a little boy, he remembers asking his dad if he’d ever scored a goal while he was still playing hockey.

Troy never made it to the NHL; he probably could have gotten some time in the A, but he was never going to be a big star. He was good enough to get drafted, though, and play in the Q, and when Sid was little all hockey was equally impressive.

He remembers his dad laughing and nudging at the new stick he’d gotten for Christmas, still too tall for him but something his parents promised he’d grow into soon. “Goalies don’t score goals, they stop them,” he’d said, and Sid had nodded before scampering down to the basement to hit pucks at the net his dad put up as a surprise.

Sid liked scoring goals when he was young. He likes it now, too. That’s probably why he didn’t ever seriously think about going the goalie route, when he was still young enough to switch what he was playing. Goalies don’t score goals, they stop them.

Sid’s goalies, it seems, have never heard that before.

It’s a little surreal to have it happen in consecutive seasons, but Sid can’t wipe the smile from his face as he circles down to the empty net to scoop up the puck before making his way to the bench where Ned’s getting absolutely mobbed.

It’s been a tough season. Sid’s wrist is acting up, the team isn’t very good right now, and the Jarry situation left a lot of them shocked even though Sid was warned it was coming months ago if things didn’t improve. It’s nice to have something like this to celebrate every now and then.

He catches Geno’s eye through the crowd. Geno’s face is split in half with his own smile, and he’s shouting something incomprehensible as he smacks Ned’s helmet hard enough that Ned stumbles. Geno winks at him before turning to bang his stick against the boards as everyone settles down and prepares for the next shift.

The locker room is a madhouse after the final buzzer. Sid feels bad for the reporters who are congregating outside the room; the players aren’t the only people who have to catch a flight to DC for a quick turnaround tomorrow. He thinks they’ll understand a little bit of a delay while they dump water on Ned and holler over the music PO has going on the speakers.

Eventually they calm down enough to pass the game helmet. Sid leans back in his stall and looks around, soaking in everyone’s happiness as they whistle and clap when Ned tries to give a speech.

He pauses when he gets to where Geno’s sitting.

Geno’s always ready to hit the showers quicker than everyone else when he isn’t tapped for media. He doesn’t like to dawdle; the faster they get back home, or the hotel, or the plane if they’re traveling, the better. Sid knows part of it is he doesn’t like sitting in his sweaty base layers, which is more unusual for a hockey player than it probably should be.

So it’s not entirely a surprise that Geno’s already shirtless and down to the ratty, semi-translucent gray leggings he wears during every game. What is a surprise is the semi he’s sporting without an ounce of shame, legs spread as he laughs at something Ricky’s leaned over to tell him.

He must feel Sid’s eyes on him, because he swivels his head and catches where Sid’s looking. This time, his wink feels a little less ‘hey, how about our team’ and a little more like he’s trying to start something.

Sid poses for the team picture on the other side from where Geno’s sitting. Not for any reason, really. He’s not a teenager; it’s not like he’d lose his head and start groping Geno in front of the cameras. He just doesn’t want to be distracted from what the moment is about, which is congratulating Ned.

The plane is a different story.

Geno only plays cards on long flights, so it’s not unusual that he takes the seat next to Sid’s instead of continuing back to where the tables are. He doesn’t say anything as he settles in, humming to himself as he pulls out his pillow and the giant fuzzy Penguins blanket he’s been traveling with for over a decade now, pretending he doesn’t notice Sid’s eyes on him like a laser.

Good hockey games, good hockey in general, gets Sid riled up, and nobody would know that better than Geno.

Geno settles back against his seat back, cranes his neck to make sure nobody else is still walking down the plain aisle, and in one move tosses his blanket over Sid’s lap and slides his hand into Sid’s sweatpants.

“Ffff—Geno,” Sid hisses, clenching his thighs and glaring. Geno doesn’t even look at him, just fiddles with his phone with his free hand. The hand in Sid’s pants doesn’t even move, just curls around Sid’s dick and squeezes.

Sid can’t really do anything about it. If he makes a fuss, they might get heard. And he can’t exactly shove Geno’s hand away, not when it’s where it is. All he can do is sit and stare holes into the back of the seat in front of him, trying not to make a sound as his dick fills in Geno’s palm.

“Good game, yeah?” Geno says lowly, leaning close to Sid under the pretext of showing him something on his phone. Sid tears his eyes away from the seat back and stares blankly at Geno’s broken phone screen, gritting his teeth as Geno finally starts to move his hand, agonizingly slow. “You like when we get special goal, like, makes you excite.”

“I wasn’t the one with a stiffy in the locker room, buddy,” Sid mutters, clenching his thighs and choking back a groan when Geno presses his thumb into his slit. 

“No?” Geno says, sounding amused. And, well. 

“At least I still had my cup on,” Sid retorts.

Geno shrugs and slides his hand down Sid’s shaft, taking his balls in hand and squeezing them. Sid squeaks. “Boys get a show, like, it’s reward,” he says, tone as casual as though he’s talking to Sid about tomorrow’s weather. “And you like.”

“I’d like it more if you waited until we got to the hotel,” Sid says, slouching down and spreading his legs to give Geno more room. “We could do a little more if we had room, you know.”

“Yes, Sidney Crosby always wants to be on his knees when we win, I know,” Geno says, and Sid flushes hot. “You want to do here? Have time.”

Sid swallows, picturing it. If he slid to his knees under Geno’s blanket right here on the plane, peeling his pants down and letting Geno feed him his dick and hold his head down as he fucked Sid’s face. Would anyone notice? Would they stop to watch?

“Shit,” he breathes, grinding his hips up as his dick twitches. “Damnit, fuck you, we can’t do that.”

“You think about, let me get you off,” Geno orders, and Sid gives in, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as Geno works him over.

He bites down hard on his lip when he comes, hard enough that he thinks he broke skin. Worth it.

Geno wipes his hand off on Sid’s thigh, which is disgusting, but at least Sid has on boxers, so he’s able to mop up the mess without staining through his sweats. And once Sid’s caught his breath enough to look around, nobody’s looking at them. They got away with it.

The adrenaline catches up to him then, and he laughs a little, sprawling back in his chair and kicking Geno’s ankle. Geno just smirks at him, heaving himself up and back to the bathroom, presumably to wash his hands.

Sid floats for the rest of the plane ride, luxuriating in the unexpected orgasm and the thought of what he’s going to do to get Geno back once they’re in their room and safely behind a door.

Tanger eyes them both suspiciously when they finally touch down and are waiting to file off the plane, but Sid smiles blandly at him as he shoulders his bag. Kris can’t prove a damn thing.

[killfortune]

𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 🌸

Takashi Mitsuya x Reader

As a storm rages outside, Mitsuya works on a handmade gift to keep you warm, filling the rainy evening with quiet love and care.

౨ৎ The rain had started earlier that afternoon, a steady drizzle at first that quickly turned into a downpour. By the time evening rolled around, the apartment was surrounded by the sound of raindrops pounding against the windows and the occasional whistle of the wind. Inside, the world felt small, quiet, and warm—a stark contrast to the storm outside.

Mitsuya was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by spools of thread and small fabric scraps, his sewing machine humming softly in the background. His lavender eyes were focused, the glow of the desk lamp casting a halo of light over his concentrated expression. The sight of him working always had a calming effect on you.

You, on the other hand, were cocooned in a blanket on the couch, a steaming mug of tea nestled in your hands. The heat seeped through your fingers, and you sighed contentedly as you watched him work.

“I swear you haven’t moved from that spot all day,” you teased, breaking the comfortable silence.

Mitsuya glanced up, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I could say the same about you,” he replied, his voice light. “At least I’m being productive.”

You gasped, feigning offense as you tightened the blanket around your shoulders. “I’m keeping you company. That’s productive.”

His laugh was soft, barely louder than the rain outside, but it filled the room with warmth. “Fair enough,” he conceded, leaning back to stretch. As he did, you caught a glimpse of the project he’d been working on—a sweater in a soft, earthy tone, the yarn thick and warm-looking.

“Is that… for me?” you asked, setting your mug down and leaning forward.

Mitsuya shrugged, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “Maybe. You’ve been complaining about how cold it’s been, so I figured I’d make something that suits you. No big deal.”

Your heart swelled, and you slid off the couch to sit beside him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just like taking care of you.”

You leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder as he picked up the sweater again, his hands moving deftly as he threaded the fabric through the machine. The steady hum of the sewing machine mixed with the rain, creating a soothing backdrop to your quiet moment together.

“What about you?” he asked after a while, his voice breaking the silence. “Are you warm enough?”

You nodded, but the small shiver that passed through you betrayed the truth. Mitsuya noticed immediately, pausing his work to drape the unfinished sweater over your shoulders. The fabric was soft and warm, smelling faintly of him.

“Better?” he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded again, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Much.”

Mitsuya leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he watched you. The corners of his mouth lifted into a fond smile, and his gaze softened in that way that always made your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and thoughtful, “I never really liked rainy days. They always felt… heavy. But with you here, they’re kind of nice.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you turned to face him fully, wrapping the blanket around the both of you. “Rainy days aren’t so bad when you’re with someone who makes you feel warm,” you said softly.

His hand found yours beneath the blanket, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Exactly,” he murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The storm outside raged on, but inside, the world was soft and still. Mitsuya eventually picked up his sewing again, working with one hand while the other remained laced with yours.

By the time the sweater was finished, the rain had lessened to a gentle drizzle, and the clock had crept well past midnight. Mitsuya helped you slip the sweater on, his hands brushing against your skin as he adjusted the fabric.

“Perfect,” he said, stepping back to admire his work.

You laughed, spinning slowly to show off the sweater. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice full of affection. “I’m never taking this off.”

“Good,” he replied, pulling you close again. “That was the point.”

As the rain continued to fall softly outside, you nestled into Mitsuya’s arms, the weight of the world melting away in the warmth of his quiet love.

Thank you 🌸...

No because it's literally snowing in Northern FL and freezing in the south... I hate cold weather.

[42ap]

Mm, mm, I’d love to see the Pines twins with a very active sex life 🤤. Maybe it’s still that AU where Stanford inexplicably turned into an alpha, but instead of spending every day driving away all the tourists and monsters in the area and tormenting his family, it’s Stanley stepping up to “sacrifice himself” and bring peace and quiet to everyone else.

They go all out—rolling from the basement to the office, from the attic to the study. A passionate Stanford? During sex, he’s actually super clingy, with plenty of kisses and cuddles. He loves kissing Stanley’s face and telling him how amazing he is, holding him close and sighing contentedly. The sessions are drawn out and gentle; Stanford seems genuinely happy, acting like an overexcited teenager. Meanwhile, Stanley’s all, “Fine, you got your lay. Now can you leave me alone?” He’s like this during the act: biting his hand and blushing cutely, but as soon as it’s over, he kicks Stanford off the bed without hesitation. No post-sex cuddles, no lingering, ignoring Stanford’s attempts to stay or invite him to stay. Sometimes he even complains that Stanford’s wasting his bookkeeping time (he even once tried to work during the act). Pulls his pants up and acts like nothing happened—totally ruthless and contradictory. It’s baffling.

In reality, Stanley feels so PTSD-like from Stanford’s sincerity that it always makes him think it’s all a scam. He keeps telling himself that this is just a trick. As someone who’s been in this “line of work,” he knows the golden rule: Don’t get emotionally involved with your clients! So he convinces himself it’s all fake—just sweet talk to get in his pants. He can’t let himself think too much about it.

Over time, though, after a lot of sex, Stanford eventually calms down. Outside of those moments, he becomes much more composed and mellow whenever Stanley is around, far from the manic energy he had in the beginning. But during the day, Stanford still seems totally smitten with Stanley, casually initiating physical touches and even trailing him around the house. Meanwhile, Stanley is cranking up the number of times he reminds himself to keep a clear head, thinking, You’re using the same tricks you’d use on outsiders on me, your own brother? Do you not even see me as family? As a result, the gentler Stanford becomes, the angrier Stanley gets.

Stanford, on the other hand, is utterly perplexed by Stanley’s cold attitude and feels deeply troubled, having no idea what he’s done wrong. He briefly wonders if maybe he’s just bad at it, but that doesn’t seem to be the issue. Is it because he’s too weird to be a “normal person”? Either way, he’s completely at a loss, hopelessly caught up in his feelings and looking incredibly pitiful.

When the misunderstanding is finally cleared up, Stanford is still as affectionate as ever in bed. But this time, even before they start, knowing that Stanford’s words are genuine, Stanley completely melts just from being petted and praised. His whole body goes weak. Flustered and unsure of what to do, the blush on his face spreads all the way down to his chest, and he’s so shy he can’t even make eye contact. After they’re done, he tells Ford to go close the curtains and turn off the lights, and when they sleep together, he lets Ford hold him, completely at ease.

From then on, there are no more 6 a.m. doomsday drills led by their great-uncle, no more passive-aggressive messages passed through the kids between one grumpy uncle and another. The whole family finally finds peace.

Well, except for the occasional noise at night.

[scrollonso]

Eventually — Lawhan Mixed Media AU

Twitch Streamer AU — 1.5k words — @ellearts

Off-screen, Jack and Liam’s casual messages turned into long, late-night conversations that stretched on for hours. They started small — Jack tentatively recommending cozy games like Animal Crossing and Spiritfarer to Liam, who would laugh and promise to “give them a shot” (though Jack wasn’t entirely convinced he ever would). In return, Liam tried to coax Jack into trying more action-packed games like Warzone or Apex Legends, teasing him relentlessly about his reluctance — he didn't realize it wasn't because Jack didn't like the games but because he knew he was bad at them.

“C’mon, mate,” Liam said one night, voice teasing in their Discord call. “It’s not all about guns and screaming. There’s strategy too! You might actually like it.”

Jack laughed softly, fiddling with a pen at his desk. “I don’t think you’d want me on your team. I’d probably just end up hiding in a corner and waiting for the match to end.”

“See, that’s where you’d be wrong,” Liam replied, the grin audible in his voice. “You could be my secret weapon. No one expects the farmer to come out guns blazing.”

“I’ll stick to my crops, thanks,” Jack shot back, a smile creeping into his voice.

As the days passed, their conversations deepened. They began talking about things beyond games — favorite movies, childhood stories, and even what they loved (and hated) about streaming.

“Okay, serious question,” Liam said one evening, leaning back in his chair. “What’s your go-to comfort movie? Like, the one you’ll rewatch a million times and never get sick of.”

Jack hesitated for a moment, then admitted, “Probably The Lion King. It’s just… nostalgic, you know?”

“No way,” Liam said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Same here! Well, that and Cars. But only the first one. The sequels don’t hit the same.”

Jack chuckled. “I should’ve guessed you’d pick Cars. It suits you.”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” Liam shot back, mock-offended.

“It’s a compliment,” Jack replied, his smile audible. “Cars is a great movie.”

Jack was hesitant at first, keeping his replies short and guarded. He’d never been the type to open up easily, and his tendency to overthink made him second-guess everything he said. But Liam’s easygoing nature and genuine interest in getting to know him slowly wore him down.

Liam didn’t just ask questions — he really listened. If Jack mentioned something offhand, like a childhood memory of helping his mom in the garden, Liam would bring it up days later with a casual, “So, were you always into farming games because of that garden story? Or is it just the pixelated veggies that won you over?”

Jack found himself laughing more often, his nerves easing with every conversation. Liam had a knack for making him feel comfortable, slipping in jokes to diffuse any awkwardness and never pushing for more than Jack was ready to share.

“Y’know,” Liam said during one particularly late night, his voice softer than usual, “I think it’s cool how different we are. Like, you’re all about the chill vibes, and I’m… well, I’m me. But it works, yeah?”

Jack smiled, even though Liam couldn’t see it. “Yeah. It does.”

Over time, Jack started looking forward to their nightly calls. They became a constant in his routine, a bright spot in his otherwise quiet life. He’d never expected someone like Liam — so loud and confident, so opposite to him — to want to talk to him so much. But somehow, it just… worked.

One night, as they both sat on a private Discord call, Jack was fiddling with a game controller, nervously biting his lip. Liam’s voice came through his headset, warm and relaxed.

“So,” Liam said, his accent drawing out the word in a way that made Jack smile, “do I just keep calling you Outback forever, or do I get to know the mystery farmer’s real name someday?”

Jack froze, his grip tightening on the controller. He knew Liam was joking — kind of — but the question hit a nerve. “I, uh…” He swallowed hard. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Li, it’s just… I don’t usually tell people. Like, anyone besides Lance or Este and I've known them for ages.”

Liam didn’t miss a beat. “That’s fair, mate. I get it. I mean, if you don’t want to, no worries. Outback’s a pretty cool name, anyway. I'll just call you O.B. like everyone else does."

The casual response put Jack at ease, but it also made him feel guilty. Liam had been nothing but kind and patient, and deep down, Jack did trust him.

“I…” Jack hesitated, his voice quieter now. “I think I want to tell you. It’s just— it makes me nervous, you know? Like, what if it changes how you see me?”

Liam chuckled softly. “Mate, you’re talking to the guy who screams at pixels and somehow still gets called ‘effortlessly cool.’ I promise, knowing your name isn’t gonna make me think anything less of you.”

Jack smiled faintly, his heart pounding. “Okay. Um… it’s Jack. My name’s Jack.”

There was a beat of silence before Liam replied, his tone soft but teasing. “Jack, huh? Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, Jack.”

Jack let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him. “You’re… not disappointed?”

“Disappointed?” Liam scoffed, grinning. “Mate, you’ve got one of the most normal names I’ve ever heard. What was I supposed to expect? Sprout McPumpkin or something?”

Jack laughed for real this time, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Thanks, Liam. For, you know… not making it weird.”

“Jack,” Liam said, his voice warm, “you could’ve told me your name really was Sprout McPumpkin, and I’d still think you’re sick. No pressure, no expectations. Just… be you, yeah?”

From that moment on, Jack felt a little lighter. Liam called him “Jack” occasionally, like a secret just between the two of them, and every time he heard it, Jack smiled.

(a few weeks later)

outbacksprout

liked by maplemarauder, kkofficial, and 18,127 others

outbacksprout lance left me alone so i got married and cut all my hair off >-<

view all 841 comments

maplemarauder outback... sweetie, why.

outbacksprout bc u hate me :(

maplemarauder i told u i was with my other babies </3

outbacksprout didn't even invite me!!

kkofficial oh shit mate!!!!

outbacksprout 😼😼😼

user O.B. UR DUCKING BALD???

user now outback... ur beautiful hair 😭

user hating like he doesn't look SEXY? liked by kkofficial

kkofficial✅️

liked by outbacksprout, jessica.b.lawson, and 47,809 others

kkofficial✅️ uncle duties

jessica.b.lawson thanks again for watching poppy 💞

kkofficial i always will!! she's killer at league 💪

outbacksprout woah u play guitar?? ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

kkofficial yea,, i'll have to teach u!

outbacksprout 🤗

maplemarauder

liked by lucamarini, outbacksprout, and 10,018 others

maplemarauder family obligations @lucamarini

outbacksprout BABY DELILAH! :3

maplemarauder she misses her o.b.

outbacksprout if u didnt steal her from me we'd be bonding rn >:(

lucamarini you can take her, bud

lucamarini loved our time together amore 💚

maplemarauder acting like you won't see me tonight 🙄

user I KEEP FORGETTING LANCE GOT MARRIED.

user HELPPP ME TOO 😭

Jack hesitated before hitting “Post.” The picture wasn’t anything special—just him from the back, showing off his newly shaved and bleached head with little pastel pink hearts dyed onto it. His hands felt clammy as he stared at the screen. The caption was simple: “Made some changes. Hope it’s not too much.”

He’d never shown his face, and even now, he hadn’t revealed much—just a close-up of his hair. But it still felt monumental. Vulnerable. What if people hated it? What if Liam thought it was stupid?

He set his phone down and tried to distract himself with a game, but it wasn’t long before his Discord pinged with an incoming call. Of course it was Liam.

Jack sighed, answering reluctantly. “Hey.”

“Hey? That’s all I get after you drop that?” Liam’s voice came through, a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Mate, why didn’t you warn me you were gonna go full rockstar?”

Jack’s cheeks burned. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he muttered, spinning his chair away from his desk.

“Not a big deal? Jack, you’ve got pink hearts on your head. Pink hearts. You’re basically an indie band’s dream frontman now. Where’s my ‘thanks for the inspo’ credit, huh?”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh at Liam’s over-the-top enthusiasm. “Inspo? Since when are you an expert on pastel hearts?”

“Oi, I’m versatile,” Liam said, mock-offended. “But seriously, it looks sick. You’ve got taste, I’ll give you that.”

Jack bit his lip, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “You really think it’s okay? I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”

“Too much? Mate, no. It’s you, and it’s brilliant,” Liam said, his tone softening. “You’re allowed to have fun with stuff like this. And honestly, it suits you. Even if I’ve only got this tiny sneak peek.”

The reassurance made Jack’s chest warm, and he smiled despite himself. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure how people would react.”

“People are gonna love it,” Liam said confidently. “But more importantly, I love it. And when are you gonna let me see the full thing, huh?”

Jack froze, his nerves kicking in again. “Liam…”

“I’m joking,” Liam said quickly, his voice light. “No pressure. I know you’ve got your whole ‘mysterious streamer’ thing going on, and it works for you. But just know that if you ever want to show me, I’m here. No judgment.”

Jack felt his heart squeeze at Liam’s words. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “That… that means a lot.”

“Anytime, mate,” Liam replied, his grin audible. “Now, next question: when are you gonna let me dye your hair? I’ve got ideas.”

Jack laughed, the tension melting away. “Not a chance.”

“Aw, come on! I’d do hearts too. Or maybe flames. Or stars! Something cool.”

“Absolutely not.”

The rest of their call was spent with Liam throwing out increasingly ridiculous hair dye ideas, and Jack laughing so hard his sides hurt. For the first time since posting the picture, he didn’t feel nervous anymore.

[quadrantadvisor]

Multiverse, Reverse Robins au, 2,514 words

-

Jason (Red Hood)

The imposters are good, Jason will give them that.

They need to work on their looks, unfortunately, because each one of them is a little off. Their Nightwing is too bulky, and his costume isn't made with Dick's flexibility in mind. Besides that, he's got an undercut that doesn't match the shaggy way Dick has his hair now, and his blue is too dark. And the swords. Those are different.

Their little Robin looks more like Dick, actually, Dick as he was before Jason's time, with his happy grin and his bright yellow cape. He doesn't match Damian's style at all, and Jason wonders if their intel was out of date. He tucks away his anger (the way he's used to doing, now) at these bastards roping some little kid into whatever con they're trying to pull. They can help the kid after they subdue him, and he stops trying to flip-kick people in the face.

The Red Robin outfit isn't bad, but the guy playing him is way too tall to be Tim. He doesn't use a bo staff, either, clearly preferring the armory of sharp little implements he keeps tucked away in his utility belt, including a wicked looking combat knife.

Which brings Jason to the current pain in his ass, the idiot trying to pass himself off as the Red Hood.

Yeah, they'd split off into pairs to fight. First off, for practicality's sake. Less risk of friendly fire if the only guy you're trying to punch is the one who isn't you. And secondly, it's just what you do, isn't it? Somebody gives you a set up like this, you go along with the poetic justice. No bat is immune to drama.

Jason is regretting that a bit, now. Fake Hood had taken him for a ride, leading him, he now realizes, far away from the warehouse where Nightwing and Robin had initially called in the disturbance. This other guy isn't the powerhouse that Jason is, but that doesn’t matter if Jason can't ever get in a hit. His movements are precise, deadly, and familiar in a way that makes Jason suspect League training. Jason is keeping up, but barely, and that's with the advantage of his guns. The other guy hasn't touched his, still gleaming red in his holsters, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that they aren't filled with rubber bullets.

They're at a bit of a stalemate, standing on opposite sides of a dark rooftop, and Jason's trying to catch his breath but he can't relax, not when his gaze is locked onto his opponent, waiting for the minute twitch of muscle that will indicate his next move. He's wondering if he could get a shot off, wondering where to aim, when his comm crackles to life.

“Stand down!” Tim snaps in his ear. “Hood, Wing, the alternates aren't currently a threat. Deescalate however you can, and get back to the warehouse. We can explain this whole mess there.”

“Really?” Nightwing asks. He goes on to say something else, something about his doppleganger being incredibly threatening, thank you very much, but Jason stops listening, because there's something going on across the roof.

A mechanically distorted voice says, “What? No, I'd be able to tell. This guy isn't-” The imposter(?) cuts off suddenly, presumably listening to a response.

And then he… giggles.

“That isn't funny, Red,” he says, in contrast to the little peals of laughter making him subtly shake. “You- you get how fucked up that would be, don't you?”

Jason can't figure out what to do. Tim's intel is almost always good, but he can't get himself to stand down, not when, for some reason, that laughter is setting his teeth on fucking edge.

(He knows the reason. He'd know that cadence anywhere, he hears it in his fucking nightmares, but it isnt possible. He's in Arkham, right now, because Batman won't kill him and Jason isn't allowed to kill him and that uncomfortable truce is what got him his family back. Jason would know if he'd broken out, they wouldn't have kept that from him. They wouldn't.)

“Oh shit,” Tim says, and it makes Jason wonder how he knows, “Hood, is your alternate having some kind of fit right now?”

The sound escalates, from breathy little giggles to screeching laughter, and even with the hood's distortion, it's unmistakable.

It's the Joker's laugh.

It's the Joker.

And isn't this exactly some shit that Joker would pull, making a mockery of Jason's family, a twisted parody that fucks with his head? Tim's lying, he's trying to get Jason out of this situation, and Jason gets why, he does, but obviously the rest of them can't (won't) protect him from this, so if he has to take fate into his own hands, he will.

The green is creeping up, but Jason doesn't let it haze over his vision because he has to be in his right mind while he does this, not for them, for himself. As he stalks across the roof, he empties the clip from one of his guns and pulls out the live rounds, loads them into place.

He thinks Tim is calling for him, maybe the others, too, but the chatter over the comm is getting further away the closer he gets to his target. He should be smart, should take the shot, but maybe he's got more pit in his head than he wants to admit, because Joker, still laughing, pulls a knife, and Jason steps into his range to disarm him.

The strike is fast, but compared to the careful movements of before, he's practically telegraphing his actions. Jason sidesteps, and if the blade knicks him when he twists Joker's arm, he doesn't feel it. He's got the clown in a hold, now, and forces him to his knees with the gun against his temple.

If the hood is anything like his own, the bullet won't do it, not even at point blank range. Jason would like to get it off him, would like to see the life leave his eyes, but he doesn't have to. Jason moves the barrel beneath his chin, right where the armor ends. The pit rages inside of him, says this is too easy, says to make him suffer. Jason pushes it down. This is the compromise he'll make, this is what he'll do to try to maintain both his humanity and his peace of mind. The bullet will ricochet off the hood from the inside, will tear through Joker's brain at least twice, and he'll never come back from that, and Jason will finally be free.

It'll be easy.

This is too easy.

“Nothing to fucking say?” Jason growls, jostling the clown in his grip, because there's always some joke, some shitty twist.

The Joker just laughs.

“Unhand him this instant!” someone snaps, and Jason's finger twitches but somehow the trigger stays still. And now what's he supposed to do, because of course fucking Nightwing- but wait, that isn't- but it is, he's right there- it's both of them, two Nightwings. Fucking fantastic. Twice the guilt trip.

“Come on, Jay,” the Nightwing who's actually Dick pleads, and hey, what the fuck, codenames? In front of the fucking Joker, Dick? “Let him go, we can explain everything.”

“I'm not doing this again!” rips itself from Jason's throat, and he'll think later about just how wrecked he sounds. “I'm not just standing here and letting him go, Wing, not when one bullet can put a stop to all this, not when I can end him.”

“Jason,” Dick says, slow with forced calm, “that's not the Joker.”

“Don't you fucking lie to me!” Jason seethes.

His hand is wrenched to the side, the barrel facing open air, and before he can make a move the unfortunately familiar feeling of a high voltage shock courses through him.

By the time he's stopped seizing, Dick is at his back, supporting him with his own body and with arms under his pits and around his chest in a weird reverse hug. Technically, Jason's hands are free, but they're empty, the gun skidded to somewhere else across the roof.

Dick is murmuring into his ear, “Sorry, Little Wing, I'm so sorry,” and, “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” mantras meant to soothe his brother as much as himself. Jason wants to be angry, wants to snap at him to let go and fucking cut it out, but he's feeling strangely disoriented. He only has enough brainspace to pay attention to one thing, and that's the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick had clearly hauled them back a few steps, but Jason is still uncomfortably close to the bastard version of Nightwing (who, Jason realizes in hindsight, had tazed him while he'd been distracted by his brother, not cool) and the laughing maniac he should've killed. Nightwing is holding onto Joker's shoulders, his hands bouncing as the gasping, shrieking laughter continues.

“I'm going to remove your helmet now,” Nightwing says. He has a slight accent that Jason knows he's heard before, and his tone is professional, almost clipped. And yet, somehow, Jason can tell that this is a gentled version of the man's voice, the sharpest edges sanded away. His hands move from Joker's shoulders to the back of his head, carefully inputting whatever sequence allows for safe removal of the hood. Jason hears a hydraulic hiss when some sort of catch releases, and as Nightwing starts pulling the red metal up and away Jason can't help holding his breath.

At first, he sees what he expected to see. It's the Joker's expression, after all, his laughing face pulled into a rictus grin.

But the grin isn't right, somehow. The man is pale, but his face is unpainted, and the smile stretches wide, too wide, wider than even the Joker ever managed, and after a moment Jason recognizes the red, raised scar tissue on either side of his mouth for what it is.

Then, Jason takes in the actual features of the person in front of him. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, the cheeks, the jaw, the nose.

It doesn't make any fucking sense.

The Red Hood, collapsed on his knees in front of him, scarred face bare with no hood or domino to protect him as he struggles under the weight of his own laughter, is Tim Drake.

He's crying.

Jason is suddenly glad that Dick's holding him, because he's certain that he'd be on the ground, otherwise. Then, he realizes that he can't breathe.

Jason knows, logically, that his hood has sensors and filters that keep him safer than he could ever be without it. It is only every once in a while, when something stupid happens, that he regrets that he, a man with claustrophobia, decided to stick his head into a metal bucket.

Dick can probably tell that he's hyperventilating, and doesn't fight him as Jason gets his hands on the back of his neck and pulls off his hood.

Jason gasps in polluted Gotham air, and Tim's eyes snap onto him. Nightwing says, “I'm administering the emergency dose of your medication,” and then stalls, like he's waiting for a response, but all Tim does is laugh and stare. Jason stares back. He can't look away.

Nightwing retrieves a small tubular device, almost like an epipen, and presses it against Tim's leg. That shouldn't work. Tim's wearing body armor, same as the rest of them, and there's no way a needle could pierce it, but Jason looks as Nightwing draws the device away and there's a small raised circle of hard plastic on Tim's thigh that the head of the device fits into perfectly, like it was designed for that purpose. An injection spot, built into Tim's clothing, specifically for whatever drugs fake Nightwing just pumped into him.

Immediately, there's a difference. He doesn't stop laughing, or smiling that horrible fucking smile, but the manic tension is gone. He doesn't look like he'll shatter at a touch anymore, too brittle to be handled. The curve of his spine gentles, muscles no longer pulling it to the point of snapping. Jason watches as slowly, oh so slowly, Tim gets quieter, leans more into Nightwing's hold on him, starts gasping more than laughing.

Dick is talking behind him, into his comm, it sounds like. If it's important, someone will get his attention.

Finally, Tim breaks eye contact. “T- tell him,” he says to Nightwing, struggling between gasps and giggles, “tell him what you, gave me. Jay doesn't, he doesn't like, needles.”

The strange Nightwing turns his head, and Jason gets the impression of a sharp, searching gaze behind his domino. He's nothing like Dick, not at all, but something niggles the back of Jason's mind, some sense of familiarity regardless. He tosses something, and Jason automatically reaches up to catch it.

It's the empty tube of medication, which does seem a lot like an epipen, up close. “It's a combination,” the man says. “The antidote for Joker venom, an antipsychotic, and a mild sedative.”

“What the fuck?” Jason hears from his own mouth as he looks down at the innocuous little tube.

“It's only used in emergencies,” Nightwing adds, and does not clarify any further.

Jason doesn't know what to say to that. He shakes himself out of Dick's hold and grabs an evidence bag out of his jacket. He watches Nightwing, to see if he'll object, but he doesn't. Jason slips the medicine tube inside the bag and tucks it away.

“There you are!” Dick says in a bright tone, one meant to cover his anxiety and relief.

Jason turns, and finds that their roof has gotten a little crowded. All four Robins have arrived, his brothers mingled in with their copies, copies who don't quite match in ways that are now sticking in his brain. Tim, Jason's Tim, is standing right there, pressing his mask against his face like he'd broken the seal on the adhesive, and it isn't sticking quite right. Other than that, he's normal. He's fine.

The Robin, the one in the classic colors who Jason had thought looked a bit like Dick (oh God, could that be-?) gives a little whistle. “Trust Red Hood to cause drama!” he says in a bright tone that is too too familiar (fuck, fuck he is). “Must be a universal constant.” He grins, cheeky, looking past Jason.

Jason isn't processing fast enough to be offended for his own sake, but he turns and checks on Tim, other Tim, the Tim who apparently also has a claim to the Red Hood name. Tim is propped up on Nightwing's shoulder, looking drowsy and relaxed. He's looking back at Robin, and his lips are pressed tightly closed, but he's smiling, and it reaches his eyes.

Alright, then. This is probably fine.

Jason snorts, to get the kid's attention, and rolls his eyes. “Comes with the job description,” he snarks.

The kid lights up. Jason feels distinctly weird, having that smile directed at him, but it's not… bad.

Yeah. This is fine.

-

I'm planning to add a reblog with more information on this au/fic idea, so if you're interested, watch this space.

[mqonlighting]

real talk in the tags for a second because i have a crush on a girl and i. a hehe. ahehehe.

will be burying this in reblogs and never touching on it again

[moreaugriffins]

Me: it's late in the night and im really tired. i should sleep

-as soon as my head hits the pillow-

My brain: Wasn't there a calendar in the background in The Green Death? If so, what does the calendar show? Would it add to the Unit Dating Controversy? we must go check now!

[malachitezmeyka]

I know it's useless to get mad at the dog, she's just a hyperactive little thing who doesn't know how to behave yet. She's left home alone for at least 6 hours every day and she's bored, I can't blame her for tearing apart her training pads or shitting all over the place. Even if I did, she must have done it hours ago, dogs don't get that actions that happened so long ago have consequences and all me yelling at her will result in is her being scared of me. I know all that, I do

So WHY am I still so angry at her?? Why does it feel satisfying to lash out and see her scurry away??? She doesn't deserve to be treated like that, she doesn't know any better. And I don't know how to teach her to know better, I don't have the patience for it. She deserves better than me

[phagodyke]

not really relevant to anything but sometimes I just rly wish I had something core that made everything else feel real and worth it. ykwim

[amaranthinespirit]

kidnapper!simon riley when you warm up to him. cw: kidnapping and stockholm syndrome

simon was a selfish man, a pure debauched and corrupt soul with immoral fantasies. none of which he had acted out, because no one had satisfied that one itch he couldn't scratch, until he caught eye of a sweet thing like you.

met purely in passing, not sparing him a second glance as you ushered by. he wasn't surprised, a pretty thing like you wouldn't dare pay mind to a sickening man such as himself, even if you hadn't known it in the moment.

but he knew he had to have you, oh, you were such an enigma, one he wanted to pry apart himself, crack you rib by rib until your heart laid unprotected to him. such a pretty thing he wanted to have.

oh, and even prettier you are when you cried, thrashing and writhing against him. you fought hard, harder than he expected for a little darling he painted you to be. his dark voice cooed in your ear, asking, almost sweetly, for you to calm down.

how could you, though, as he took you far from the city, a little cabin in the woods with smoke billowing out of the brick chimney. homey, almost, if it weren't for the fact he dragged you through the forest, hauling you roughly over his shoulder the more you struggled.

he kept you in the dark, dingy depths of the cellar, your soft sobs causing his skin to crawl. sure, he felt bad at your broken cries, but he wasn't plagued with guilt, or remorse, it didn't keep him up at night.

he was a poor man, a social reject, and the fact you treated him as such is what kept him up. he was gruff, blunt, unwanted and cryptic. it didn't stop him from fucking his fist, rough palm tightly wound around his aching, meaty cock drooling with pre. head thrown back and pupils blown as he imagined your tear-stained face before he came on his soft stomach, cleaned himself up, and rolled over in bed.

but he took care of you, or at least he tried. you didn't eat the food he beared, in fear of poison, or wear the clothes he provided, because maybe that would be acceptance. it caused a frown to watch you grow thinner.

he watched the way you recoiled from his dirty hands, stained and tainted, even he was hesitant to touch your pure skin, but after a while, he realised you might never come around, and he couldn't let you starve. not after all his effort.

sure, you were squirming under his muscly arms, nails digging into his flesh as he gently spooned food to your lips, holding you against his broad chest. it was a slow process, but the more he managed through to your throat, the more you relaxed.

your body remained tense and poised, but at least you were no longer fighting him and now eating. admittedly, it tasted good, and maybe that's where everything turned around, he thought.

because now the house was free-reign, no longer did he keep you in that musty cellar, but he did proof the house of any escape. with this new space, unbound, it was like you had reverted to your old behavior, until eventually, your old habits began to die.

you didn't know why or how it had developed, but now you had such a deep yearning, an insatiable want, for domesticity that you'd start lingering by his side, like a rough shadow, but you'd still stumble back if he turned too sharply, or took a step too quick.

he didn't mind, though, he just hadn't expected it, not after you'd put up such a fight when he first took you, but he remained cautious. maybe you'd become a fawn, appeasing him until he had given you enough freedom to slip from his grasp.

but you looked to him with doting eyes as you slipped under his arm, face nuzzled into his broad chest, hearing the way his heart thumped. it made you feel warm, and fuzzy. you couldn't help but feel bad for simon, depraved and socially excluded, a truly sick man. maybe it was best to give him what he wanted.

the wooden floors creaked barely under your weight as you carried yourself from the uncomfortable couch in the living room, the flames in the fireplace burning out as night began to settle. simon lay in the haunting dark of his bedroom, blankets lazily thrown over him as he laid in his cold, lonely bed.

his ears perked at the sound of movement, hairs raised on the back of his neck, and he held slight fear that maybe you'd come to stab him in his sleep, but all worries dissipated as the bed dipped, sheets ruffling as you tucked yourself into his chest, leeching his warmth as he held you through the night. pressing a kiss to your temple at your acceptance, that you were now his.

[cathnospam]

“I didn’t shave—“

“I do not…give a fuck. Open your legs.”

You and Bakugo have this argument at least once a month. You only need to wax your little lady once a month after your period , and it’s about that time to do so but you have 2 problems;

Your appointment isn’t until 2 more days, and you have a boyfriend that has been waiting a full week to eat you out.

“‘Suki I told you I hate—-“

“Why do you give a fuck about that? It’s HAIR.”

“I FEEL DIRTY.”

“You just took an everything shower.”

Bakugo NEVER understood the point of shaving your pussy anyway. He genuinely does not care whether there is hair or not on it, and after having an irritating crave to eat your pussy he definitely couldn’t care less.

“It’s a bush.”

“I don’t—- y/n the area I wanna suck—“

“Don’t be a pervert.”

He deadpanned at you, the Blondie also never cared for how blunt he was with his dirty words. Just two weeks ago you and him were eating cereal when he just casually spoke, “When I get home tonight I wanna eat your pussy against the door like I did last night.” As he gets up to clean his bowl.

No emotion

And no care.

He’s a damn savage.

“Your clit don’t have hair on it it’s just the lips.”

“OMY fucking—“

“Please.”

You blink, “what…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Bakugo groans loudly and lays his head on your shoulder. And bites it, “OW!” The main reason why Bakugo haven’t let up is because you and him established a strict safe word rule. He knows he can be pushy with things he wants but he’d never want to make you uncomfortable about it. If you GENUINELY don’t want him to all you have to say is “TNT” and he’ll drop it no questions asked. And never bring it up again.

But here you are, contemplating.

Your thoughts get broken by a soft kiss on your jaw, his scarred warm palms lifting your his shirt , playfully tapping his fingers on your clothed panties, “I heard you playing with yourself in the shower.”

You freeze, feeling his devious smirk against your cheek, his natural scent and musk clouding your mind as he keeps kissing you, rubbing on your body, “You want it as bad as I do. I fucking know you do.”

“Remember last time?”

He had your knees to your ears last time, ass hanging off the edge of the bed as he spit, licked, and sucked all inside and on your pussy. His fluffy hair tickling your inner thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin so deep you could just barely grind against his mouth. Bakugo was always a nasty ass eater to the point you were embarrassed just watching him.

His ring and middle finger swirling circles on your clit as his tongue filled your aching tight hole, the way he stops for a moment to kiss the soft little nub , nearly making out with it making you roll your eyes because his pillowy wet lips felt soooooo good against you.

You remembered how he’d slap your ass a few times when you looked away for too long or covered your mouth, you swore he’d heat up his hands slightly just to do so.

You remembered how he’d hold your ankles up and he licked stripes against your pussy and his tongue teasing your other hole.

You remembered how he’d swished his head back and fourth while his lips captured your clit and tugged on it. Sending you over the edge while he sucked and groaned. Two fingers pumping inside you.

“You remember, huh.” His raspy voice against your ear, already teasing his fingers inside you panties, “You came so much you passed out right after.”

The more he spoke to distract you the further he got, eventually laying you down on his huge couch, to pulling off your panties, to opening you legs, to kissing each thigh, and down to repeating his exact actions from last time.

And no he did NOT care about the hair.

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 bad habit ¡

pairing nicholas chavez x fem¡reader

summary Nicholas grows a habit of biting you, using every given chance to do it. It starts off platonically, the action playful and teasing, until things eventually took a not so platonic turn, leading to a heated moment between the two of you.

contains nsfw content ! making out, biting, hickeys, and uhh interruptions.

a/n heavily inspired by bad habit!!! likes and reblogs are v much appreciated 🫶

word count 2.2k

It started off on set, when you accidentally made a mistake while filming. You chuckled, apologizing to the director, unaware of the man hovering behind you.

Nicholas’ teeth grazed over your shoulder, the sensation like feathers on your skin. The gesture was so subtle, yet so there, sending shivers down your spine. His breath fanned over your exposed flesh, almost as if he was searching for a reaction out of you.

You brushed it off, thinking Nicholas was being playful; did it for the sake of laughs and giggles, but oh boy, were you wrong. After the incident, it only got worse, with him biting you every chance he gets.

Whether it was your arm, legs, neck, shoulders, stomach, everything he laid his touch on, it was getting marked.

He wasn't afraid to do it, growing amused to the flustered reaction he always got in return. You were guilty for taking an odd liking into it, turning into a mess under his touch whenever he’d bite you.

You didn't dare put an end to it, enjoying it as much as he did. It sparked butterflies in your stomach, mind going blank with every slight touch from him.

Sometimes he would linger, merely to see if it gets a reaction out of you, while other times, it was a passing through, type of thing. Everyone on set knew that by now, smiling and nodding whenever Nicholas did it.

It didn't hurt, in fact, it felt good. The reactions you gave were a mere cover up of your attraction towards it. You felt weak for the ones where he’d kiss the spot afterwards, rubbing a comforting thumb to your skin.

You never knew when to expect it. At times, it would be while you guys were filming, he’d do it because he was embarrassed for messing up his line. While sometimes, it would be in private, when it’s only the two of you.

However, it was strictly platonic. Nicholas made himself clear; sure, he’d flirt with you every now and then, but that was only to mess with you, knowing how easily flustered you were.

That swiftly took a turn, though.

You were currently in Nicholas’ van, practicing your lines for the next scene. The boy made himself comfortable on the couch, admiring as you walked back and forth.

Nick’s giggles erupted through your ears, causing you to perk up. You glimpsed over in his direction, puzzlement washing over your face.

“What?” You questioned, inching closer to the brunet.

“Nothing.” He shook his head, glancing up at you now that you were towering over him.

“Oh.” Your lips formed into a pout, grumbling before returning your attention back to the script. “Okay.”

You moved away, yelping when you got yanked back to your position, impossibly closer now. Your gaze shifted to Nicholas’ arms, observing as he sneaked them around your waist, embracing you in a hug.

“What’s gotten into you?” You snickered, feeling his breath fan over the sliver of skin around your stomach.

“You’re so warm.” He whispered, one of his hands trailing down to your hip.

You tensed, sensing a change in his tone. It was extremely rare for Nicholas to get this clingy, unless he was tired. From what you’ve seen thus far, that was totally not the case.

Nicholas nuzzled into your stomach, a satisfied hum escaping his throat. You snorted, reading over your lines while you let him do his thing.

His fingers toyed with the hem of your top, causing you to freeze in your spot. That was… new. You don't recall him ever doing that, not even when you’re both messing around.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear.

He stuck to humming, letting his fingers trail further underneath your shirt. You almost gasped at the sensation, lips parting to exhale instead. The script in your hand was long forgotten now, as you tossed it on the couch next to Nicholas.

“Nick.” You whispered, hesitating before your hands found their way around his shoulder.

“You know…” he trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head back, merely to catch sight of you. “You’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” You replied, teasing visible in your voice. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, his nails digging into your side.

You audibly gasped at the action, the idea of your hips bruising due to Nicholas’ touch driving you over the edge. One of your hands trailed to the back of his neck, the tip of your fingers toying with his hair.

He inched his face closer to your stomach, all that while maintaining eye contact with you. He mouthed at your skin, touch lingering as he waited for a reaction out of you.

Your lips parted with pleasure, jolting when you felt his teeth grazing over your stomach, biting you before you knew it.

There it was, the tingling sensation it striked through your body. You shuddered under his touch, feeling your knees grow weak. A moan escaped your throat when he repeated the action, accidentally tugging his hair in the process.

Nick groaned in response, eyes forcing shut at the sensation. Pleasure fell upon his face, squeezing anything he could lay his hands on.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, littering kisses to your stomach. “Has anyone ever told you how breathtaking you are?”

You moaned at the statement, arching your back into the touch. Nick’s hand trailed down to your ass, giving it a squeeze through the fabric of your shorts.

You forced your eyes shut at the action, unable to control the moan escaping your throat. You were a flustered mess under his touch, wincing whenever he nibbled too hard on your skin.

The thought of getting marked by Nicholas drove you mental, it has your mind hazing up, leaving you wanting more.

“I–” you stammed, hushed words filling the air. “What about filmin’?”

“We have time.” He muttered, pulling you down by your sides.

Your body collided with Nick’s as you fell into his lap. He adjusted your position, making sure you were comfortable in the process. Nicholas groaned in your ear, throwing his head back when you accidently brushed over his crotch.

Your face heated, feeling his hardon through the thin fabric of clothes. You awkwardly hovered over his lap, unaware of your next move.

Fuck, Nicholas was hard, and it was because of you. Your mind went fuzzy all over, head filling with a million questions, yet none at the same time.

Nicholas pushed you down, not hesitating to collide your lips in a kiss. He captured your bottom lip between his teeth, the action seeping tension through the air.

He leisurely pulled back, pulling at your lip with his teeth, nibbling on it before he moved away. Your mouth remained parted, letting your forehead rest against his.

“You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?” He whispered, stealing a kiss from the corner of your lips. “Fuck, you're so…”

You couldn't control your hips as you grinded down, a hiss erupting through your ears in the process. You felt Nicholas twitch through his pants, the gesture a great impact on him.

He looked out of it. His eyes hazed up, barely able to hold contact with yours as he fluttered them shut.

“You’re so fucking pretty, doll.” He praised, voice muffled as he peppered kisses along your jaw. “I'm obsessed with you, everythin’ about you drives me mental.”

“Nick.” You said through a breath, voice slightly shaky.

An audible gasp escaped your throat as he slipped a hand underneath your shirt, fingers instantly finding your chest. He gave your boob a squeeze, while he traced open mouthed kisses to the other one through the fabric of your shirt.

You leaned your head back, grinding down as a whine muffled its way out of your mouth. Nick was incredible with his mouth, he knew exactly how to please a woman, and how to make her feral in all the right places.

You felt heat release from your body, the room growing hot with every move you committed to. This was all you’ve ever wanted. You wanted to get a taste of Nicholas so bad, so fucking bad it was starting to get a bit concerning.

And with the whole biting thing? Yeah, that was your last straw.

You yelped when his teeth grazed over your nipple, the action causing goosebumps to breakout across your chest. You attempted to pull away from the touch, quickly interrupted by the hand on your back as it brought you closer, if that was even possible.

The distance between you guys was extinct now, the only thing blocking you being the thin layers of clothes.

“I need you…” Nick groaned, nipping at your skin.

He buried his face in your neck, his heavy breaths the only thing seeping through the silent void. His tone was so suggestive, needy, keen and in need of you. How’s one able to resist when someone as desperate as Nicholas exists?

“I’m all yours.” You licked your lips, cupping Nicholas’ face.

You withdrew his face from your neck, breath hitching when you caught sight of how much of a mess he was. In fact, he might’ve been more affected than you were.

You connected your lips in another kiss, tilting your head to get a better angle of his mouth. A satisfied hum erupted through your ears, causing you to smile through the kiss.

Nicholas toyed with the strap of your top, pushing it down your arm, followed with the other one eventually after. The action peaked interest through your chest, causing you to pull back with amusement.

“Here?”

“Mhm.” He hummed, “I’ll be quick.”

He nipped and sucked at your neck, finger tugging down your top, exposing your chest to the air. You shivered, hissing when Nicholas grazed his teeth over the flesh, trailing his mouth all the way down to your breasts.

His mouth salivated at the sight, pausing to admire how perfect your boobs were. His gaze shifted back to you, as you stared at him with a shy smile across your lips.

“I didn't think you could get any perfect.” He pecked your mouth, a smirk forming on his lips.

“You’ve seen nothing.” You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You applied pressure around the back of his head, pushing him down on your chest. Nicholas accepted with content, gliding his tongue over your now hard nipple.

You nipped at his hair, arching into the touch. It felt amazing, hot spit coating your cold skin. It was absolutely heavenly, no words could describe it.

He kneaded your other boob with his hand, the sensation spiraling you over the edge.

He traced open mouth kisses to your collarbones, sucking on the bony flesh around your shoulder.

“Nick…” you muttered through a gasp, “That will leave a mark.”

“Good.” He exhaled through his mouth, tone cocky. “Let everyone know you’re mine.”

“My god.” You mumbled, voice barely audible.

You pushed him back on the couch, already missing the warmth of his tongue on your body. He chased after your touch, earning a chuckle out of you as your hand covered his mouth.

“Stay.” You ordered, voice seductive.

You teasingly toyed with the hem of your shirt, leisurely tucking it up to reveal the whole of your stomach. The fabric pooled just beneath your chest, creating a thick material.

However, that was long forgotten as you tugged it over your head, getting it off your body. And Nicholas couldn't help but groan as he moved forward, laying his touch wherever his hands landed.

Your fingers found their way around his shirt, delicately unbuttoning it until it revealed his whole chest. Your mouth watered at the sight, removing the shirt with a bit of help from the boy.

Your digits traced over the lines of his abs, gulping when you noticed how muscular he was beneath all the clothes he wore. His eyes followed your hand as it came to a halt around his pants, fingers teasingly fidgeting with the button.

“Get it off of me already.” He hissed, thrusting up into you.

The collision made you gasp, his hardon brushing against your ass. Your fingers dug into his skin, grinding down on him to chase after your pleasure.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed under his breath, mouth gaping with desire.

You clumsily unbuttoned his pants, freezing in your spot when you heard a knock on the door. Your eyes widened in shock, attention shifting back to Nicholas, who was just as shocked as you were.

The crew member called out your name, causing you to perk up. “You’re up in five minutes, make sure you’re ready.”

Right, you guys were on set.

You were swift to get up, throwing your shirt over your head. You stole a glimpse at Nicholas, who hopelessly stared at you, disappointment visible on his face.

You smiled, endeared by how sulky he was, as he looked adorable while doing it. You moved over, ruffling your hair into place before you connected your lips with his.

Although he was upset, he happily returned the gesture, chasing after your lips when you moved away.

“Sorry about that.” Your gaze shifted down to his lap, noticing the hardon in his pants. “I’ll help you out later.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, no longer sulky. “I’ll look forward to that.”

“Mhm, you definitely should.”

[paralien]

what if I just kill myself in the most fucked up way possible at work. giving the guests at the hotel trauma for life when they find me in some hannibal-eque grotesque state in the lobby. would that be fucked up or what hahaha