#the vulnerability ;____; the devotion. and then..... well

[dem0nteef]

Too scared to come off anon for this but YES, you sre so right 🙏🙏🙏

Like I don't think he'd be some evil mastermind typa manipulator,more like... The sweet kind. Like when an animal doesn’t know why it kills to eat, it just happens. He just does things, even if he's like kinda aware that it might be a little manipulative

And they dont have to be anything super complex either, just subtle word choices or a little gesture ☺️☺️

answering a bit late but yes darling darling darling you get it! so. here are some of my—

✨️ Papa V and clerical manipulation HCs ✨️

⛧ tw: basically what cirice is about lmao. religious manipulation, vague cult leader tactics??? but he's sweet, i promise! :)) ⛧

his manipulation, if we headcanon him as an ex-catholic clergyman, is systemic behaviour, curated. encouraged in his past.

and i am not talking out of my ass here, these things can be useful! people may interpret your patience as charisma, your ability to listen as empathy and nothing more, nothing selfish. the worst part? you might not even know you're implementing those tactics if all your life you've been raised to believe that these are just the way a good shepherd behaves.

don't get me wrong — i absolutely think he is as capable of genuine sweetness as he is of being Creechur. but some shit's just difficult to unlearn. especially if people expect you to woo crowds and lead congregations. so instead of giving up old skills, isn't it easier to just... hone them?

he's not really outwardly malicious, it's just that one cannot have been a skilled catholic priest and grown up in that doctrine without adopting at least some of their manipulation tactics. because that's what catholic shepherding is.

you guide them with guilt disguised as sincerity and tell them about hellfire, then smile like you'll shield them from it as long as they follow. <3

most of the time, at the beginning, he's probably not fully aware of what he's doing but then, as his papacy continues and as he begins to shed the old guilt... well, lucifer does reward selfishness as long as it causes no obvious harm, no?

1. guided confession

he knows which questions to ask in order to make someone tell on themselves. admission of guilt, of desire, of hidden motifs — sometimes realised by the one confessing only the second they say it out loud. prime sort catholic priest skills. or cult leader. if you squint, those two can overlap worryingly at times.

2. deliberate use of doctrine / interpreting it just right (a.k.a. to get what he wants)

after embracing and leaning more into luciferian doctrine and his role as papa, he will know the right metaphors and tenets to quote depending on situation. a matter of inner politics, comforting a sibling of sin he might be interested in, or even getting his twin to agree with him — v might lean on infernal scripture vaguely enough that the other person fills in the blanks with their own beliefs/convictions and in the end, they find themselves exactly where he wanted them. but they think they chose that path themselves.

3. rationing praise

more of a cult leader tactic but basically you make approval scarce and inconsistent (while still ensuring it feels attainable, just... something you need to work for a little harder). results? increased devotion, increased compliance.

4. offering freedom to obey

clerical; god wants you as you are but also would be very pleased if you, of course willingly, chose to do exactly as ordained :)) you would do that, no?? out of your own free will? <33 because you care?? <33 it's not manipulation if you choose it <33

tl;dr this is a way often used to make others feel powerful in their powerlessness, very encouraged within the catholic church.

it might be subtle with v in this case. luciferianism is, above all else, about servitude to oneself. but we're not talking about abiding the doctrine precisely here, yeah?

5. echoing / confession as leverage

he's a good listener and confessions breed vulnerability. let me tell you, there is few priests as dangerous as the ones that really listen. some can talk the talk but the spell is gone the moment you realise they don't even recall your name, let alone your troubles. the ones to look out for are the shepherds that remember what you told them in a moment of weakness and, worse still, echo it back to you a few weeks later in some warped way to put you exactly where they want you, or to reframe some situation to their advantage.

6. manipulation as tenderness

he hardly ever raises his voice. why would he? he'd rather just leave people scrambling to earn his smile again, or just his approval. would absolutely say shit like "you've always had such clarity" or "i had faith you'd understand :))" after you finally agree. and if you struggle to? "i see. that's alright. perhaps i hoped for too much."

7. making you feel singular

he can make the faithful feel listened to, noticed. leaning on some of y'all's headcanons, he might call you lamb, angel, and so on. soft-spoken, focused, understanding. oftentimes it's sincere. oftentimes it's for a reason.

⛧ TLDR / cirice

in short, if you want my opinion on perpetua's possible manipulative tendencies just... listen to cirice lmfao. the way i see it, it's all about tender coercion; these religious narratives make you feel seen, chosen, special, beautiful, crafted in the old god's image. and they tell everybody else the exact same thing.

they need you for them to stay relevant and have someone to guide but you need to take the bait first. you need to rely on them. and then— can't you see that you're lost? <33

[lokiusmybeloveds]

I'm certainly not so emotionally attached to Stobotnik because of the idea that Stone could look at someone who deemed himself unlovable, someone deemed unlovable by the world, and love him not in spite of his flaws but because of them

[lemonyinks]

Because they are on my mind, please accept one of my favorite Wangxian moments of all time.

Chapter 87

In my opinion, this is one of the most important Wangxian scenes in the whole novel. It is very special to me. It made me tear up when I was doing my read through.

Time and time again, Wei Wuxian has fallen, he's gotten hurt, people have failed him. The people who were supposed to be there for him have either left, he's lost them tragically, or they've betrayed him at some point in his life. His life has been one of loneliness and loss.

He has never had someone who he could rely on so heavily. He has never had a solid safety net before, someone on equal footing to him that he could fall back on and rely on. If anything he has spent his entire life being a safety net for other people. He has spent his whole life being strong for others.

Now, however, Lan Wangji is that safety net for him.

For the first time in his life, he has someone to truly catch him when he falls. He can let himself fall and still be safe. That "thank you" isn't just about Lan Wangji catching him after he fell from the tree, its about everything.

[vaguely-concerned]

bunter keeping peter from being swallowed up by an evil bog with the kind of hysterical strength otherwise only known by mothers deadlifting cars to save their tender babes is something that can actually be so personal

[biblicalhorror]

Aroace Riz real but also Fabian is SO clearly in love with him and Riz has no idea

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[twodiamondhoes]

intrigued by Recency Bias (from the WIP tag game) :3

Delighted by the fact that I got two asks for Recency Bias :D Ty for the ask!!

(Referencing this ask meme)

The Elevator Pitch for Recency Bias is that it is a look at the s9 Ren The King arc, but make it cyberpunk! I'm having a lot of fun with some very experimental (for me) writing techniques.

I am (not-so-secretly) a huge sucker for dystopian fiction, but my favorite thought exercise is always what happens next? What happens after the Tyrannical Government is overthrown and the rebellion takes their place? What happens to the people on the streets, whose entire lives have been upended and now have to adapt to a different political structure or, sometimes even an entirely different way of life?

So Recency Bias is that thought exercise taken to the logical extreme, complete with a bunch of cyberpunk bells and whistles. It's a Gem-centric story, and the main pairing focus is going to be Gem/Etho, with a heavy dose of platonic soup group shenanigans. The original working title for it was "Campbell's Rebellion."

Hilariously, I had one of Gem's subplots being street racing for extra money long before Wild Life aired, but Wild Life is what convinced me to make Joel a bigger part of the plot. Originally he wasn't in it at all, having not been a Hermit in s9, but... I mean, come on, I had to have the Family, right?

Under the cut is the snippet I call my "history lesson," aka the rundown of the original rebellion from the aforementioned dystopia, that eventually became the King's Court. It's mostly to keep me on track and jog my memory when needed, but imo it's also just fun!

After a brutal, bloody civil war, the United States of America found itself shattered, with no hope of a democratic revival. Fear of foreign powers swooping in to lay claim to the Land of Opportunity was at an all-time high, but someone else beat them to it. No one should have been afraid of foreign aid, not when the call was coming from inside the house.

Five corporations with a vested interest in expansion and the sudden lack of governmental oversight put themselves in the forefront of aid campaigns. Before the citizenry knew what to fear, the nation was again divided not by war or differing politics, but by the pursuit of the Almighty Dollar.

For over two centuries, technological innovation and rampant cost-cutting initiatives have led to a landscape that is nigh unrecognizable. Cars flew, goggles halted any advertisement and community initiative not sanctioned by the Corporation in charge of that district, and people were not a collective, not a unit… they were units, no better than the machines that tracked their workflow.

Until, that is, a group of folks from across districts discovered a glitch in their awareness–each other. Together, this disgruntled band of misfits: Cleo, Bdubs, Cub, Ren, and Etho realized how important community was, and how far they were willing to go to protect what they had discovered.

Together, they rallied the populace and set to work creating a new way of life, and, they hoped, a better one.

Unfortunately, change can be slow when you take care to ensure the safety of your subjects, and anti-competition software wasn't the only thing that the corporations were using to keep the populace in line.

Perhaps there was an underlying reason that there hadn't, in all that time, been another rebellion. And maybe it's too late now to start wondering.

[yetunsent]

judith thanking god that she had a cavalier who taught her “the limits of what they will be to each other for the rest of their lives” so early is soooooooo. ohhaug. she says she’s lucky she so lucky. sure yes sure she wants and wants and wants and joined her hand to marta’s with the “purest intentions.” she’s wanted coronabeth for 12 years. but she’s so lucky marta told she couldn’t be with her entirely. so she isn’t tempted! it isn’t an option. she’s so lucky and thank the emperor for it. i feel lightheaded

[too-much-boobus]

ou... how do i make friends with peple ....

globs ☆

[pastorhogg]

As the Day Begins

A Morning Meditation on 2 Samuel 1:26“I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother; you were very dear to me. Your love for me was wonderful, more wonderful than that of women.” —2 Samuel 1:26 (NIV) The dawn brings with it reflection, and in today’s passage, we step into one of the most intimate and heart-wrenching expressions of grief in the entire Bible. David’s lament over the death of Saul and…

[ubeb0nes]

Getting jealous as Sevika's girlfriend…

༇༇༇

༇༇༇

Look, we all know this lady gets around. Brothel or not, she's big and she's strong and she looks good. She's gonna be pretty experienced no matter when you meet her and get with her.

But once you two are together? Oh baby, there's nobody more devoted. Even if she doesn't say how much she cares, Sevika always shows you what type of person she is. And loyal, she definitely is.

Go ahead and try to ask her- pettily, childishly- if you're not the only pretty thing warming her bed. She'll shoot you a withering look as she tells you with all the unshakeable affection in her big, guarded heart, "I haven't even looked at any other woman since we got together, you ass."

A love confession as good as any!

In truth, you know you don't have to worry about Sevi's eyes straying. You know it in your heart. But you know that still doesn't stop others from looking, or even talking to her.

And sometimes all the present conditions just make it far too easy for your most unfounded insecurities to seem all too real. The way she can be so careful, so guarded about showing you affection in public has been a sensitive issue between you two for a while.

I HC that she's not the type to have you perched on her lap while she plays cards with the guys or anything like that. She's too protective, too possessive herself. Why should anybody get to see you all pretty like that?

But perhaps more importantly, she doesn't want to treat you the same way she treated her more… casual partners. Whether that may be right or wrong, it's how she makes a point of how different you are from her past flames. You're not just some pretty thing to prop up (although you are her pretty thing). You're the woman she's chosen, and that chose her back.

Obviously, it doesn't always translate that way. Sometimes, it just makes her seem cold. Again, whether it's right or wrong.

Maybe you were feeling extra sensitive that night, maybe she was being extra detached, but it was probably the most opportune time for outside forces to make it worse.

You're sitting at the bar chatting with Ran to try and take your mind off things when you see, out of the corner of your eye, some bitch sliding up next to your woman with a whiskey tumbler in hand.

Sevika doesn't even look up as she takes the offered drink. Your brain honestly shuts off then, ignorant to the way when a hand slides over her shoulders and she finally looks at the woman, Sevika jerks away like she'd been burned.

It happens so quickly, and you were already feeling like shit that particular night that you don't even go to confront. Ran had been ready to wrangle you back from killing someone, so she's surprised when you just… leave. You storm out of the bar, not hearing the "shit, doll, no…" that Sevika mutters under her breath as she stands to follow you.

The glare she gives the girl could win awards. "You better hope she tells me not to kill you," she growls, jutting a finger in the girl's face before leaving.

The guys she plays cards with every week swivel on the girl once Sevika leaves, throwing their cards up and bemoaning the "goddamn homewrecker!"

You hear her call your name almost immediately after you're out the door. "Baby, stop, you know that was-"

"I know that was what?" Sevika stops in her tracks when you swivel on her. Her eyes are wide, taken aback by how firm your voice is.

…Where'd you been hiding that lower register?

"It was a mistake, I thought it was you-" "You didn't even bother to look!" "Yeah, 'cause I thought you were bringing me a drink like you always do!"

She doesn't push back against you too hard because she knows it's her mistake, dumb and unintentional as the harm may be. She lets you yell, picks out the deeper hurt from your words and the why.

And when you're done, and the tears start to well up, that's when she closes the distance. She wraps her human arm around your shoulders, hiding your vulnerability with a subtle shrug of her cape halfway over you.

"Listen to me, woman." She cups your face with her human hand, smirking slightly at the surprised laugh you let out.

"You're the only fuckin' thing I see. Okay? The only damn one. That won't happen again."

Sevika didn't ever apologize, not really. But she did make promises that she never broke.

"…So do you want her dead?"

"Nah. I can't even blame her, I'd homewreck too if I didn't already have you."

"Ha! Your call, doll."

[coffee-and-geto]

“you sure it’s not ugly?”

a low, soft and light chuckles escapes your lips. “never. they’re the most beautiful thing i have ever seen in my life.” you press an umpteenth trail of kisses onto one of the long silver scars on satoru’s pale body.

you’ve tackled his back, and now his hip. since his victory over the king of curses, satoru has recovered well, more relaxed than ever in the peace that surrounds him. one element remains, however. or rather...

a complex.

satoru gojo, the holder of six eyes, with his unshakeable charisma and breathtaking beauty that he has never doubted, has developed a certain anxiety about the traces of his fearsome battle: the scars that mark every inch of his body.

in the dark night lit only by the moon’s rays, you, his devoted wife for whom he had only eyes, never ceased to kiss every inch of his body, cherishing and worshipping the evidence of his courage and a testament to the fire he survived.

“you’re even more beautiful, satoru,” you whisper in a breath, your warm, steady breathing tickling his back to the point of giving him goosebumps. “don’t look at them like they’re a burden or another curse. but rather as a blessing.”

he turns his head slightly towards you, his cerulean eyes finding yours in this moment of vulnerability. “a blessing?”

you nod. “exactly. the same as your birth. a blessing.”

he repeats the word in a whisper, hinting at something new, like a touching new perspective he’d never thought of before.

for the first time, someone said it. in the eyes of the one person in the world he loved most, he wasn’t seen as a weapon.

but as a blessing.

he simply nods and rests his cheek back against his cold pillow, which warms by the second. something happens in his body.

his heart, startled by gentleness, stammers like wings remembering how to fly.

a/n: definitely gonna write for more scarjo :)))

[itsnesss]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐝 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you watch max become the sweetest, most devoted girl dad

warnings | pure fluff, extreme dad!max softness, baby talk, domestic overload

box | in honor of max already being a dad and will surely be very happy with little lily

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

You wake up before the sun fully rises, as has become the norm since the little one entered your lives. At first, you thought you’d collapse from exhaustion, but now… now it’s different.

You get up with a smile on your lips, even when your eyes sting and your muscles ache. Because you know that in the room next door, a piece of heaven is waiting for you.

But you're not the first to get there this time.

When you open the nursery door, you see him. Max. Sitting in the rocking chair with your baby in his arms, gently swaying her while whispering softly, like he’s sharing a secret only she can hear. He doesn’t notice you at first, too focused on the tiny being he’s holding like she’s made of glass.

“Shhh, prinsesje… papa’s here, always.”

His voice is raspy with sleep, every word soaked in devotion. Something in your chest tightens.

You never imagined Max could be like this. Sweet. Tender. Vulnerable.

He was always intensity, speed, competition. But now, with that baby in his arms, Max is all calm. He’s shelter. He’s home.

You linger in the doorway for a few more seconds, just watching. The way he strokes her cheek with the tip of his finger, how he murmurs in Dutch, saying things only she seems to understand. The tiny pink hat with little ears —the one you knitted yourself— covers her head, and the white onesie with tiny race cars —clearly his choice— is still slightly too big.

Max looks up and sees you.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he whispers, as if any louder sound might break the magic of this moment.

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, stepping in quietly. “I love catching you two like this.”

The smile he gives you is tired but full of joy. Max looks at you like you’re his favorite person in the world, and you realize you’re now part of something much bigger: a family.

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching them. The baby yawns, stretches slightly, and curls back up against Max’s chest as if she knows there’s no safer place.

“She looks like you,” you say.

He shakes his head, eyes still on her.

“She has your lips. And your lashes. But yeah… I see a bit of myself in her eyes. That determined look. Like she already knows what she wants.”

You chuckle softly. Because it’s true. That baby already has a personality.

“She smiled in her sleep earlier,” Max says with a tenderness you’ve never heard in his voice. “Do you think she was dreaming?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “Probably dreaming you were taking her for a ride in a giant plush Red Bull car or something.”

Max laughs. That deep laugh you love so much. The one that comes from his chest and lights up his whole face.

“Can you imagine when she says her first word? What if it’s ‘dad’?”

“What if it’s ‘mom’?” you tease, pretending to be offended.

“Well, I can live with that. But ‘pole position’ wouldn’t be bad either…”

“Max.”

“I’m kidding! Kind of.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, the kind that only exists when two people understand each other without needing words. Max keeps rocking her, and you rest your head on his shoulder. Your hand brushes against his, and for a moment, the world stops spinning so fast.

“I never thought this… would feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice stripped bare with honesty.

You did. You always knew. From the moment his eyes lit up when he found out he was going to be a dad. From every ultrasound, every little kick, every over-the-top shopping trip filled with pacifiers covered in flags and onesies with the number 1.

Max Verstappen was born to be a girl dad.

And an amazing one at that.

Later, the sunlight spills through the window like a warm caress, and Max is lying on the rug in the unfinished playroom. The baby is on her back, staring at him in fascination while he makes silly noises with a stuffed tire plush.

“Who’s the prettiest princess? You are, yes you. With those little podium cheeks. That tiny champion nose.”

You walk in slowly, your phone camera ready.

“Are you commentating an imaginary Grand Prix for her?”

“She’s the driver, and she just won,” he says, puffing out his chest like it’s his greatest achievement. “Right, sweetheart?”

She kicks her feet excitedly, as if she understands.

“Please don’t nickname her ‘Little Verstappen’ like the media.”

“But it’s adorable!”

“She’s going to be a meme…”

He shrugs.

“If that means the world gets to see how perfect she is, I don’t care.”

You snap a photo just as he kisses her forehead. Max doesn’t notice. He’s too busy holding her tiny hands and telling her that one day, he’ll take her to Monaco and she’ll have her own pink helmet with stars.

And even though it sounds like a fantasy, you know he would do it in a heartbeat.

In the afternoon, while the baby naps against your chest, Max walks in holding a new bottle and looking slightly guilty.

“Another one?”

“I couldn’t resist,” he says sheepishly. “It has little ducks… and says ‘Daddy’s Champion’.”

You raise your eyebrows gently.

“Max…”

“What? They’re cute! Look” he sits beside you "I also got her a onesie with my number on the back. And one with yours, just in case you ever want to race too.”

You laugh. You can’t help it.

“You do realize she has more clothes than I do, right?”

“And I’d do it all again. Ten times over. She deserves the best.”

He looks at you that way that makes the world slow down for a moment.

“You two are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You want to thank him. For being the dad you never expected. For having the patience when you were at your limit. For holding her tight enough to keep the world at bay. For talking to her about engines and speed as if she’s already part of Team Verstappen.

But you don’t need to say it.

Because he already knows.

And in that moment, you do too.

Night falls, and with it, exhaustion. The baby cries and won’t settle. You try rocking, feeding, singing — everything. But she stays restless. Right when you’re about to break down, Max appears with a glass of water and determination in his eyes.

“Give her to me. You need to rest.”

“But”

“Give her to me,” he repeats softly.

He takes her so gently it’s like he’s holding a trophy. You follow him as he walks to the living room, turns on soft music, and starts dancing with her in his arms. Step by slow step. Movements so tender they almost make you cry.

“My mom used to do this with me,” he murmurs. “When nothing else worked.”

And like magic, she quiets down. She rests her head on his shoulder and sighs.

From the hallway, you press a hand to your heart. Because this? This is everything.

Max sways with her, not to show off or to calm her down but simply because in his world, nothing matters more than this moment.

“I’ve never loved like this before,” he says when he sees you there.

“Loved how?”

“With fear. With hope. With everything.”

And you know exactly what he means.

Because since she arrived, your lives flipped upside down. The races, the trophies, the interviews — none of it matters anymore. Only her first steps, her giggles in the bath, the lazy Sundays in pajamas. What matters is watching her grow, safe and happy, knowing she has two people who would give her the world.

Max sits on the couch, her tiny body asleep on his chest. You curl up beside him. The three of you together. And in that warm, quiet silence, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

In a home built of arms, of gentleness… and love.

Max kisses your forehead, careful not to move too much.

“Thank you for giving me this.”

You squeeze his hand. You don’t need to say anything else.

[dmitriene]

Bear price part 3 with how he acts with his pregnant wife and then later the cubs? Please 🙏 I actually love your stufff so much 🦅

cw: hybrids, pregnancy, motherhood, giving birth, nothing here is really accurate.

despite the fact that there is no greater joy for john price than knowing that you are pregnant with his cubs, he knows very little about what it is like to carry a child, and even more so he does not know much about the process of childbirth, all his actions are only instinctive, driven by the churning pull of a gnawing need to protect you and make your every will come out real, should you ask for anything at all.

a devoted mate, he is always concerned about your comfort, especially now, knowing how sensitive and vulnerable you are during this period, when all your energy is spent on growing the one who is in your belly, making the child healthy, stronger, so you have to rest more often, take care of your well being and eat as much as possible, which john takes upon himself, walking restlessly around the house every day, from dawn to dusk, assisting you at any given moment.

the bear inside of him, innate, animalistic habit, teases his senses with a growl of a need to keep you hidden, tangled in his arms for till the birthing comes, trapped, having to go through your pregnancy in this same cabin you live in together, in this same furs you sleep beneath every night, in john's pawing, possessive hold, but the nature can be unforgiving, the pregnancy a process he has no say in, and he won't risk your health, no matter how hard the animal in him claws.

john makes sure to find you a gynecologist, the one that would visit you, without needing for you to step outside, let other predators sniff out a pretty thing with her baby bump for anyone to try and court, even though you're long mated, thus, he makes sure that the person that steps through the doorway of your house is a woman, and one that not even close to being a hybrid, to make sure that your pregnancy proceeds smoothly and without possible health problems, once every few weeks.

what bothers you both, is that your baby bump is really, really huge and heavy, you sway around the cabin with breathy grunts and little steps, in which, john has to assist you later, large, calloused warm palms cupping underneath your tummy and lifting, thumbs stroking over the stretched skin and dark line that runs through and down your belly button, easing the tension and the strain you feel all over your body, slumping back against the full, brawny expanse of his chest, sighing in immediate relief, while your husband wonders just how many there are.

the other issue, is how horny you are, and john as well, but your tummy ain't giving much choices on how to treat this problem, so while he can pleasure you, his jaw open wide to drink the slick from between your quivering, parted thighs, suffocatingly plush around his head as you squeeze, too sensitive to the sensation of his curling, thrusting tongue and rasping beard, hiccuping and moaning each time his swollen, glistening lips close around your twitching clit, all while he's bought to hump his hips into the air.

the birth day comes with your hand clawing at john's with a force that leaves bleeding scratches at his hair dappled skin, and yet, he stays close, holds your curling fingers in his own, kissing over your sharp knuckles, whispering sweet, soothing reassurances while you gasp and push to get command of doctor's voice, sobbing in pain and exhaustion, skin all clammy with sweat, and even the loose nightie you wear feels too much on your overstimulated, itching body, but you make your best to keep pushing, legs feeling numb.

when the fog of pain clears, there's a light weight at either side of your armpits, cradled by the intuitive curl of your arms, two babies, a sweet girl and a boy, looking so similar, bodies swaddled and tiny as they sleep against you, john is here, talking with the doctor, glancing over when you manage some quiet, weak murmur, and he reaches out to smooth over your disheveled, damp hair, leaning down with a lingering kiss against your still warm forehead, before whispering at you to sleep, tone low and rumbling, your eyelids growing heavy, knowing that he has everything under control.

your body does needs time to recover, and so, john fusses over you, making sure you sleep and eat enough, feed babies from time to time and hold them close when you feel rested enough, all the rest is on his shoulders, to watch over your little boy and girl, make sure there's no any issues, he rocks them in his massive hands and hums some silly, old melody he knows, baby blues watching how they babble up at him and twist their little fingers in the hairs on his chest or beard.

talking with them while he goes around the house on chores, making sure they play with some sensory toys, and not only his round, beary ears and furred features, john takes on all the responsibilities of raising children until your body is recovered enough, and when you finally join him, parenting swallows the two of you into a flurry of endless worries, practically missing the moment of growth of your adorable cubs, already walking around the house with tapping feet's and shrieking giggles, running from their dad's catching hands as you watch them wide grinning from the couch.

john learns quick how being a dad feels and what requires, and he's never been happier, every early morning starting with your supple body tucked against his side, and your babies peeking politely through the door before rushing in and jumping on the bed to greet you in another day with too much enthusiasm, as he ushers them to go and brush their teeth, stealing a moment to feel you a little bit more, squeeze greedily at your curves and peck your pouty lips, before he'd need to raise up and cook a big breakfast.

and if he get's too pussy drunk in recent months, it's not because of how much he missed feeling the pulsing tightness of your gummy cunt around his engorged, dripping cock, but because he's forever grateful for the gift you gave him in the face of your precious babies, and the primal need to be surrounded by more of them, if he's succeeded to be a father, then he can build a big, big family as well, and you can't object, not with the way your hips roll to meet the rutting of his girth, not with john's enraptured gaze on you, so more it is, then.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[crimsonspring]

"What do you think our wedding will be like?" She asks, and Rafayel feels his heart still immediately. He gives it a second, letting the two opposing sides of his heart battle it out.

A part of him feels giddy - she wants to be his bride again. It will happen again, because they are fated mates! All of the worrying was for nothing because look - she wants to get married, bonded to him again! Sure, the "sanctity" of marriage amongst humans on this earth is laughable and ludicrous compared to the solemn oath he literally has embedded on his chest... but he'll take it nonetheless. He'll take anything she has to offer, honestly.

Albeit, the other part of him wants to sulk and throw a tantrum. Because this question is simply yet another reminder of what was left forgotten. The fact that she had already been his bride, but that fact to be so horridly and devastatingly taken away from him. Ripped away from his clutching fingers. Sea of God he may be, but the strength of fate has no competition. What a painful reminder that question is, to be reminded that... Oh yeah you were my bride... until?..

Rafayel doesn't realise that dancing between the two emotions has taken some time. Purple eyes swirling with mixed emotions as his lips pursed to the side in silence. This reaction causes her to shift nervously, afraid that she's made him uncomfortable with the question.

She clears her throat soon after, sitting up after spending hours on the couch with him, slouching against the backrest as his purple hair splays out against her chest. The movement shakes him out of his trance, a brief moment of confusion (and a dramatic look of "how could you!”) plastered on his face as he turns around, sitting up for the first time in 2 hours as well. He faces his blushing partner who is clearly flustered at his lack of response.

"Um.. I mean - I'm not saying we will definitely get married or like whatever, it was just a question! I don't even know if you wanna marry me. again, it was just a question, you don't have to answer it if you-"

He gasps dramatically, brows furrowed deeply as he scoots away from her in bewilderment. "Did you say you don't even know if I want to marry you?" He scoffs, standing up and begins to pace around the room. "Is my devotion - and quite frankly - obvious and constant yearning for you not enough? For you to even question that?"

"Rafayel, I-" "Maybe the hunter's association should put you on bed rest if your brain's not functioning properly. Oh perhaps, it's not the brain, it's your heart and its inability to feel the love I have for you. Is that right, hm?"

"Rafayel," she repeats louder this time, sighing. "That was not what i meant - I just.. You went completely silent on me when I asked the question, so I thought you felt uncomfortable with the topic of marriage." shrugging, the red on her cheeks deepens as a replay of the scene comes to mind. she shrivels into herself, crossing her legs as she begins to play with the loose threads of her sweater. "And I know we’ve never talked about it either, so I shouldn't have just sprung it on you like that."

His face softens immediately, guilt pricking his chest as he watches the vulnerability she was expressing. While she isn't exactly wrong - the topic of marriage does make him uncomfortable. As much as he wants her to be his bride, it’ll undoubtedly open new doors for pain all over again. But as uncomfortable it is, Rafayel knows that she is someone he'd carve his own heart out for (well....).

"You have nothing to apologise for.," He reassures her gently, the tone contrasting the loud rant he performed earlier, and he's back on the couch, crawling onto the space next to her. His fingers are careful, he reminds himself he's holding onto his reason of being, his kryptonite, the atoms of sunlight itself. He feels his stomach flip, and the soft warmth that begins to exude from the side of his chest tells him that if she peeked underneath his shirt, she'd bear witness to the physical embodiment of his sacred vow. "It threw me off guard, yes. But only because i've been keeping it myself for far too long, cutie," he smiles, still ever so gentle as his thumb caresses the smooth of her cheek.

"I’ve known that i have wanted to marry you for years now," and while she'll take that as a mere dramatisation (Rafayel being Rafayel), he means that as literally as it gets. Only he is well versed with the pain, humiliation and fear that comes with the wait and longing, and for a moment, he's almost grateful that she doesn't know. He doesn't want her to be burdened with such hardship-filled emotions, so he'll carry it for the both of them.

"You won't be in white - maybe a light shade of blue. I'll obviously wear the best suit ever to be worn. We'll have a ceremony by the beach," he's speaking straight from the vision he's replayed in his mind countless of times, the smile on his face unconsciously growing as he mindlessly twirls a piece of her hair. "You'll have your hair down, and it'll probably get caught in the sea breeze - but it just makes sense to me."

"and," he pauses for a moment, hesitating before he continues. "We'll say our vows twice. One for everyone to bear witness to, and one just for you and me." A vow so sacred and intimate, Rafayel refuses to share with the world. He refuses to taint it even a little bit, it should simply be meant only for his lover and him, and his pure everlasting love for her.

"Oh," he has rendered her speechless, and now it's Rafayel's turn to be nervous, fearing he has made her uncomfortable. Hiding the embarrassment behind a scoff, he pulls away with a pout. "Y-You were the one who brought it up first!" Immediately, she shakes her head and pulls him back into her chest and Rafayel doesn't fight his body when it relaxes immediately. "I was just a little surprised, Raf - in a good way. Didn't think you would've had all these little details in mind already." Her voice mirrors his previously gentle one, and Rafayel feels his eyes flutter shut, coaxed by her fingers running through his hair.

She hesitates, but braves herself to say it. time and again, once peeling off his layers, she's beared witness to his endless courage so why not walk in his footsteps? "I do hope we get married." Her voice is quieter, but it speaks volumes to him. He feels a lump form in his throat at the emotions that begin to overflow within him. He reaches out to catch onto her hand that's combing through his hair and brings it to his chest in attempts to quell the tears that threaten to form behind his closed lids.

Shakily, his lips whisper against her knuckles, "In my mind, we already are."

In his world, they already were. How lucky is he to get married to her, again and again, and again.

God, he'd do it a million times over.

[suksatoru]

the morning after ⋆˚୨♡୧˚⋆ dabi x you

his nights used to be restless, tossing and turning and never quite allowing himself to be vulnerable even as he slept. tonight was the first night he slept soundly—his first night with you.

turning over in his bed and seeing you laying beside him feels like he's still dreaming. with the sunlight filtering through the curtains and outlining your form against him, he can't help but watch as your eyes flutter open and catch his gaze��a sleepy smile forming on your lips.

he knows you're sore from last night, he can tell by the way you whimper when he shifts your body so you're laying on top of him. it's too early—barely six am. but dabi's never felt more well rested.

his voice is hoarse with sleep as he mumbles a quiet good morning, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his hand finds the curve of your back, running his palm up and down as a way to soothe you

he knows he can be rough sometimes. knows sometimes he goes a little too far. last night was no different—but you're not like the other things in his life that deserve his roughness. so that's why he lets you kiss the scarred skin on his face. it's why he lets himself sleep almost completely bare with you because he knows you love him, no matter how revolting he found his body to be, you seemed to find the beauty in dabi he never knew existed.

he's never done this before—has never had someone to call his. but the way you give him that sweet smile before lifting yourself to sit on his lap, your legs bare besides the black lace around your hips as you gently squeeze his thighs, he knows he's yours. by the way you devote yourself to him, and by the way he knows he'll never look at another person the way he looks at you.