#there is a solution to this most pressing of problems at long last :)

[allzelemonz]

Bears: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘guy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: reader mentioned to be a bigger guy, honestly just two bears fucking, real simple, robbery, forced proximity, groping, oral sex, face sitting, anal sex Summary: After being split from the gang, you get lost between Bill’s legs.

It wasn’t the intention of Dutch to get the gang split by the tracks, but that’s what happened. He, Arthur, and Javier on one side while you and Bill ended up on the other. The train roars past after the failed attempt to stop it and law is already shouting over the hill. Whatever orders Dutch yells are drowned out by everything else. The horses were spooked, leaving you to push Bill along the hill to hide in the trees as the law scrambles to find whatever outlaws linger. They spit the others through the passing train cars and bolt around, forcing the others to run.

“Ah, shit.” Bill grumbles. “Ain’t no way ta catch up now.”

“Camp’s that way, can’t even risk running into trouble without Dutch finding out.” You glance around, looking for a solution. “There’s a cabin.”

“Spendin’ the night? All the damn whiskey’s in my saddlebag”

“Do you want to risk running into the law right now?”

Bill huffs, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and beginning the trudge into the trees. You look back towards the tracks and take note of the minuscule retreating figures. Your horses should find their way back here now that it’s not so loud and you’ll hopefully be back at camp by noon tomorrow at least.

Following after Bill, you find the cabin you spotted to be more of a small shack. Big enough for a single hunter out here alone, but certainly not for two grown men. Bill eyes the bed as you step through the doorway and falls onto it before you can even suggest an alternative.

“Think I’m entitled to a good nap.” Bill sighs, putting his arms behind his head.

Not even a second later, the weak legs give out under him and bed planks fall to the floor. Bill flails, ending up a pile of clothing and hair among the broken wood.

“Looks like no one gets good sleep, great job.”

Bill scoffs at you, rolling himself out of the mess of wood. “Ah, shut it, thing’s made like a cheap shelf.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped on it.”

Bill scowls up at you from the floor, his face already red from the situation. “I ain’t jumpin’! Damn thing just ain’t built right!”

“Just sleep on the floor, Williamson.” You sigh, kicking the wood against the wall to make room for both of you on the floor. “Ain’t like we don’t both sleep on the ground most nights anyway.”

Bill grumbles as he does when sober and grumpy, but he curls up on his side and tries to sleep all the same. You settle yourself next to him, not much room with all the broken bed taking space. Still, you both find sleep easily after the long day of failed robbery.

Sometime in the night your eyes open, moonlight blinding you for a moment as it streams through the cracks in the poorly built shack. There’s a weight on you, nothing that hasn’t happened before when bunking so close to another member of the gang. Bill has his arm slung over you and his body pressed to your back. Not as clingy as Arthur the last time you ended up sharing a tent with him, but still not easy to wiggle away from.

Nonetheless, you try. But after just the slightest movement, you feel that all telling hardness poking at your leg. And when you still, Bill cuddles closer, bringing the feeling of his whole length up against you. Even from sitting against his softer leg, you can guess how big it really is. Just the thought of it makes your own dick twitch to life in your pants. When bunking with other gang members, you had never been presented with this situation, but something about Bill getting hard and cuddling up to you makes you want to take care of two problems in one.

You twist on the floor, turning onto your back and shake Bill awake. He groans and grumbles before opening his eyes and staring up at you sleepily.

“Wha’ is it?” He slurs.

“You got a hard problem, Bill.”

Bill’s brow furrows for a moment before he feels it against his leg and his face instantly goes a little pink as he blinks rapidly. “I… that… that happens to every man at some point, i-it don’t mean nothin’!”

“Relax.” You say softly. “You have no idea how okay with it I am…”

“You…” Bill stares for a moment. “You’re…”

“Let me help you. Whatever you want.”

“…ain’t a trick?”

You shake your head. “Ain’t a trick.”

Bill shuffles a bit on his side. “So… so I could just… maybe, uh… get on ya an’…”

“Yeah.” You nod, settling onto your back and letting your legs part naturally. “I’m just as hard, don’t worry.”

Bill’s eyes trail past your gunbelt, his hand not hesitating to reach out and squeeze at the bulge like it had a mind all its own. You let your head rest back against the floor, grinding gently back against Bill’s squeezing hand. He seems transfixed by it, just watching the bulging fabric move as he plays with the hardness underneath.

His voice comes out like a croak, quiet and hoarse. “Can… Can I sit on yer face?”

The thought of getting lost between Bill’s thighs and drowning with his dick down your throat makes your voice shake. “Yeah…”

Bill looks up at you like he expected you to beat the shit out of him for giving the suggestion, but in the next few seconds he’s frantically tugging his pants off and throwing his gunbelt aside. You place gentle hands on his thighs as he climbs over you. The thick legs settle on either side of your head and his length dangles just above your face as he looks down with such lit up eyes you’d think he found a million dollars.

You give his thighs a gentle squeeze and Bill shutters as your fingers cling into the thick skin. He takes himself in hand, leaning down to press his tip to your lips. You open without question and press a soft kiss to it, bringing a choked moan from Bill. He leans forward, pressing himself into your mouth as he leans over you. It slides in like it’s home, his hips keeping it out of your throat for now but quivering in anticipation. His stomach presses against your head, giving you the perfect chance to inhale the deep scent of sweat and strong body odor from his groin.

The quivering gives way as he starts to move, letting all his weight onto you as he thrusts down your throat. You relax yourself, letting everything swallow you as Bill simply loses himself in fucking down into the wet hole between his legs. He loses it fast, frantically chasing the feeling building in his gut as he drowns you in thick skin and bushy hair, both topped with sweat and now messed with spit.

You grip onto his ass, stilling the jiggling skin in your hands and squeezing hard as you try to get him as far into your throat as possible before he finishes. Bill encloses thick thighs even tighter around your head, his balls settling down across your chin as he cums down your throat. Little thrusts and twitches escape from his hips as he tries to milk himself through whimpers muffled by his arm. Then he settles, spent and satisfied.

You rub gently at his ass, letting him recover before he picks himself up. He sits up, looking down at the sight of his dick slowly withdrawing from your mouth with hooded eyes. You take a breath through your nose and close your eyes, letting the taste of sweaty gunpowder linger while it can. Bill shifts above you, his weight moving down to your legs from your chest and you can feel his hands unfastening your pants.

Just as he’s pulling you out, you open your eyes. A string of spit falls from his mouth and lands perfectly on your tip. You shudder at the cold, but Bill's hand follows to spread it over you and the shudder is joined by a groan. Bill pumps you a few times with hard squeezes before he climbs over you again, this time settling himself over your legs. Words catch in your throat as he sinks down onto you, his ass so warm and tight it makes your vision white for just a second. You sink into him until he’s sat right on your legs, his hole so wet it must have been pre-prepared.

“Bill…” You groan as he lifts himself up. “You… you’re wet?”

He drops his hands to rest in your chest, squeezing your pecs through your shirt as he starts to bounce in earnest. “Yeah…” He groans as you hit that spot just right. “Stretch before a job… then find something big after…”

You watch, a bit in awe as Bill bounces on you. His body moves in turn, stomach and all jiggling in a way that makes your own stomach twist closer to release. “Damn, you’re so good, Bill… soft and— shit!”

He sinks down into you again, grinding down into your lap and squishing your balls against his ass. “Yeah, you like a big man, don’t ya?” He chuckles, a hand coming up to unbutton his shirt so you can see his hairy torso properly. “Knew you would… heavy guy like you just wants someone that can take him.”

He starts his pace again, the sight of his bare chest and stomach jiggling with each bounce makes your hands reach out on their own. You grip at his stomach and watch as your hands disappear into his chest hair on the way up. It takes only a few more bounces, just a handful of times to sink into Bill, before you’re cumming into him. He makes sure to put all of his weight into you, taking you as deep as possible while you coat his insides.

Your vision is blurry for a moment after, but you feel the loss of heat and know Bill has rolled off. Between rapid blinks, you can see him on his back beside you, a hand on his bare stomach as he pants but with a huge grin plastered on his face. You shuffle closer, tugging his arm until he’s rolled on his side and cuddling into your chest. He’s sweaty and overheated, but everything is too blurry and your brain is still buzzing. You just hurry your nose into his hair and press a kiss to the balding spot on his head before drifting to sleep.

[chocodile]

Good news, everyone! You can now get extremely accurate LED replicas of C7 Christmas lights.

[ronearoundblindly]

Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior. 

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.” 

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock. 

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?” 

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

[reverieblondie]

Could I request headcanons for Gale, Halsin, Wyll, and Astarion with touch starved gn s/o?

I ended up rewriting these a few times but I hope you enjoy reading it! Last Bullet point is NSFW!

Haarlep and Raphael with thouch starved S/O HERE

Halsin 

Halsin would never say you were obvious, but figuring out you were touched starved was relatively easy to tell. Especially with the game you were playing, it was clear after the nth time you asked for healing from him from a mere paper cut on your finger. Though, could anyone really blame you? After spending so much time on the road, with no friendly touch for weeks, then when Halsin came to your aid to heal you from a particularly nasty hit from a goblin, That was the start of it, the aching for him; you had been healed by others before but…nobody did healing like Halsin. Most healers hover their hands over you, but Halisn would hold you, pressing his large but tender hands to your skin, letting his healing magic flow through from him to you; the touch would send tingling shivers through you; some would argue that it was from the magic…But you knew it was from his touch. Halsin was more than willing to help heal you every time; in fact, the consent wanting his touch helped you two connect. Halsin hoped you would confess you wanted him to hold you one day. But you never did. So when you came for healing from your “terribly painful stomach ache,” he knew he would have to make the first move. “I think I know the perfect solution to your problem,” he whispered before he wrapped you in a tight hug; every ache and pain melted away from his touch. It is truly the perfect medicine anytime you feel touch starved.

Every party of Halsin is perfection in your eyes. Oak father really did a fantastic job when it came to making him. However, the one place you’re always grabbing onto the most is his arms. It’s not hard to see why; it’s nearly impossible to keep from clinging to his massive limbs, snuggling into them, running your hands over his thick forearms. Halsin, the sweetheart, doesn’t seem to mind your clinging, even if he is busy carving away. Now that Halsin has noticed your fondness for his arms, he may or may not start to flex them subtly when gesturing or wearing shirts that expose them so you can see every slight rippling of his muscles. Halsin will let you cling to him as long as he can nuzzle into his favorite part of you later tonight…

Now usually you’re the needy one in the relationship, pleading for hugs and beaming every time you get wrapped up in Halsins arms. Today has been different, however. It started when you woke up with Halsins hands creasing your sides and snuggling into your neck, of course you melted at the touch, thoroughly relishing in the attention, but it didn’t end there. Usually, Halsin would walk through the woods for some meditation and to gather herbs and materials for you two, but today, he didn’t leave your side. Of course, you loved it, but a part of you was starting to get worried. When you brought it up, he grabbed your hands and held them to his chest, “I just find myself wanting to be near you, my heart.” You squeeze his large hands back, “Well, let me help you, my love.” rising to your tiptoes, you begin to pepper kisses all over Halsins face. He grabs your waist and lifts you to meet his lips with yours quickly; the kiss only makes him needier. 

He loves every part of you, from your hair to your adorable toes. But his hands consistently linger on your curves. On those days when you are feeling extra needy. Halsin is more than willing to help…In some inventive ways. The contrast is maddening… The smooth honey slips on top of your heated skin, and then Halsins rough tongue licks up the sticky liquid off your stomach. His hands guide your back to an arch as he keeps his hazel eyes on your moaning face. Sucking and licking as his hands continue to run over your squirming body. Halsin doesn’t know what is sweeter, the honey or you; he will spend all night trying to figure it out. 

Zevlor

Zevlor has been around for a while but was never too familiar with the term ‘Touched starved.’ Sure, he had heard it back in his commander days from soldiers whispering about needing attention of the flesh but never truly gave it too much thought…until. The idea came to him when he noticed a particular trait of yours. You had no special awareness when it came to him. Consistently, you were leaning into him quite closely, and when you two walked around during perimeter checks, you would often bump into him or brush your hand against his. Of course, you would apologize for your clumsiness, but deep down, you knew what was happening…Your body was burning for him, his warmth, his touch, and it was seeking it out in any way possible. It didn’t click so quickly for Zevlor until he saw you sparing, and there was no inclination of any clumsiness in your movements; even with others, he never saw you bump or run into anything; your movements were precise and calculated…and that’s when he figured it out you were touching him purposely. Zevlors first thought was, why? Then his second was how can he tell you to only ask him for his touch. Finally, one day, as you two were doing your usual perimeter check, you slowly inched closer and closer to him, seeking the slight relief of his touch. Still, as you went to bump into him for only a moment, you found the ex-hellrider wrapped his arms quickly around you keeping you to his warm chest. Eyes wide, you go to apologize, but Zevlor is quick to quiet your worries, “If you need my warmth…please don’t hesitate to ask me…” After that day, you got a hug from him every chance you could…

Zevlor enjoys the sweet intimacy of your relationship. At first, he was not used to someone wanting to hold him so closely and shower him with affection, but slowly, he is getting used to it and enjoying it immensely. Though, you still find ways to surprise him…For example, when you start paying particular attention to his cheeks and horns, you can’t stop wanting to hold his face so tenderly and whisper soft praises to him. “I’ve never seen beauty like yours, Zevy…” he feels his heart melt at every whisper and every gentle touch to his skin. Then, if you happen to caress the base of his horns? Well…you have never heard such a deep pur.  

 It had been the first day in a long while that you and Zevlor spent most of the day apart. He had promised to speak to some recruits in the city, sharing his wisdom, and you had opted to stay at home. You were expecting him to come home at any minute, so you were working hard to prepare a surprise dinner for him. You missed him being home; usually, you would spend the day working in your small garden together and setting out laundry on the line together. It was lonely without him, so you planned to show him how much you missed him. As you were finishing your stew, you felt arms snaking around your waist. You gasped before his familiar voice eased you, “Be still, my dear, it’s only me…” Your body immediately relaxes as you turn to hug him back. “How was your trip?” Zevlor only hums as he buries his head into your neck. “I missed you…the road was lonely without you by my side…” you rub your hands up and down his arms as they hug you. Then you feel one of his arms part from you and hear the stove turn off; before you can ask anything else, you’re lifted and carried away toward your shared room. “Zev! What- What about Dinner?” “It can wait…I need to be close to you, just for a while…” The stew wasn’t eaten until much later… 

“So beautiful…” his breath is warm as he whispers the complement into your neck. Zevlor’s lips caress your tender skin as he moves to your ear. You cling to his broad shoulders tighten, and your legs squeeze his textured hips. “You’re taking me so well. I’m proud of you.” The moan is involuntary as you feel him push deeper, his lips catching and nipping on your ear, his sharp teeth threatening to pierce, but his tongue soothing you so softly. Moving from your ear, you almost let out a whine before he blows a teasing breath on your neck, causing you to squirm and keen at the tickleing sensation. Zevlor’s fiery eyes look down at you, and that soft smile never fails to melt your core. He leans in, lips hovering over yours, his hands softly gliding down your waist, “I love you…” The vow is then sealed with a kiss. 

Wyll

Wyll hadn’t thought of you as touched starved until you had to tell him flat-out. To his credit, you didn’t make it easy for him to figure out. When Wyll thinks of the term touched starved, he thinks of someone like him. Someone always willing to give out a hug or a friendly pat on the back; if you’re touched starved and in the proximity of Wyll, you were not touched starved for long. Hells, Wyll would risk the burns of hugging Karlach if she so requested. You, on the other hand, would never seem to be receptive to his friendly gestures, having grown up in a home with little affection and living on the brutal road for a while with a pleasant touch would always be a shock to your system. Especially from Wyll, it was like lightning shooting through your body with a new surge of energy you didn’t know what to do with, so you would tense up. After feeling you clamp up, Wyll simply thought you didn’t like to be touched, so ever the gentleman, he stopped. But that only made you begin to grave him…Finally, after days of seeing him touch and hug your other friends, you felt yourself going to pop. In a spur of the moment, you walked into his tent, staring at his confused features; timidness threatened to take you over, so with shaking limbs, you held your arms open with a shaky beg of “Please…” Wyll’s smile would grow so wide as he embraced you. “I thought you didn’t like to be touched?” “I…I like it when you do it…I crave your embrace…” Wyll will never make you ask please for a hug again…but other things, he might…    

You couldn’t explain exactly why you love it so much, but you find you’re running your hands up and down Wylls strong back every time you get the chance. Maybe it was from seeing all its glory when he returned from the river or in the early mornings when he woke up for training. There’s just something about his broad shoulders that lean down to his narrow waist that makes your hands twitch to touch him. Wyll, of course, isn’t oblivious to how you take him in; that might be why he walks around without a shirt more often. His favorite part about liking his back is when you rest your head between his shoulder blades and hold onto him tightly. It never fails to put a smile on both your faces.  

Between the two of you, you’re the one who is always slow to wake. On a typical day, you usually wake up to an empty left side of the bed, but this morning is different. You wake up to your body being held by what looks like a sleeping Wyll. Your first instinct is to worry and check him for a fever, but you find that he feels normal, and when he wakes, he greets you with a lazy smirk. “Are you okay, Wyll? You’re usually up by now?” Wyll hums softly as his eyes lazily roam over your form, “I woke up earlier but found that I couldn’t part from you…” His sweet words always make you blush, and you go to say you're sorry out of habit, but you’re silenced by him gently stroking your cheek. “Well, How about I make breakfast for us? We could eat together.” As you rise, you are quickly grabbed and trapped within his arms, his lips attacking your neck in a plethora of kisses, making you giggle. “You’re not going anywhere…I am not done with you yet…”   

It’s always so slow, his hands sliding up and down your spread legs while your sex grows more and more aroused. One part of you wants to beg him to stop teasing you, but you both know that the loving pass of his hands on your skin is what you crave. Wyll keeps his eyes on yours as his lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The attention he gives you makes your mind hazy and your sex quiver in a way that only he causes. A moment of weakness causes you to moan his name. He will look down at your flushed face and smile against your skin before finally sliding his tongue on the spot you need him the most. 

Rolan

Rolan is very familiar with the term being touched starved, and from being accused of it by Cal and Lia relentlessly, he was aware of the traits. Not that he thought he ever showed these. Then came you, and it was the end of him being touched starved. Rolan, at first, didn’t understand why every time you were near, your hand would absentmindedly rub in between his shoulder blades or how when you would go out to the tavern, you would sit so close to him, and it wasn’t as if you were unaware of this. No, from how you would look at his curious gaze with a smirk and a sparkle in your eyes, he knew you were messing with him. Though despite this…you two kept hanging out. If anyone would ask you if you longed for touch, you would say you only wanted Rolans and you had no shame about it; you just wished one day he would indicate the touch for once. Finally, one night, Rolan invited you to the tower to do some reading, something you could do at home, but you wouldn’t dream of passing up a moment to be around him. You two had found yourselves on the chaste, sitting very closely, exchanging blushing looks over the edges of your books, and with every passing page, you two would find yourselves inching closer and closer. Then, as your thighs are pressed together, you feel a warmth wrapping around your ankle. Looking down, you see his tail wrapped around you loosely, unsurely. Rolan had finally taken the initiative, and you were beaming. “If it bothers you, I can-” But before he could finish his sentence, you wrapped his arm around you as you curled into him more. You could hear the rapid rushing of his heart, and you could feel how it matched your own. “It doesn’t bother me; I’ve just been wondering what’s been taking you so long…” The teasing only rewards you with a tighter hold. 

You find every part of Rolan to be utterly perfect, from his beautiful horns to his freckled cheeks to his toes. But the one part of him you constantly find yourself playing with is his tail, swaying and twitching like it has a mind of its own. You love to sneak behind him and run your fingers over the ridged base. The shiver and low growl he gives out every time makes you want to tease and touch him more, your hands becoming clammy for it. Today, you’re reading and mindlessly playing with the sharp tip till, finally, he’s curling the tail around your forearm and pulling you closer for a hungry kiss. He says he is being driven mad by your relentless teasing; you can only smile back before whispering, “Then you shouldn’t keep rewarding me…” 

Rolan tries not to let his neediness get the better of him…but some days, he can’t resist your pull on him. Every time he saw you today, his hands roamed over every curve, his nose in the crook of your neck, and he muttered things you couldn’t catch. The attention was well received as you loved his every touch, but when you parted from him to wash up for the night, the look on his face was utter devastation. “I will be quick, then all night I am yours.” Rolan tsked as he let you go, sitting down in his chair where he would wait for your return. You tried your best to hurry into the bath but were not quick enough. As you wet your hair to be ready for washing, you heard the door open and were greeted by the magnificent sight of Rolan in a small cloth wrapped around his waist. He motions for you to make room. He removes his towel and joins you in the bath. You are happy but utterly confused, and Rolan is quick to defend his actions as he gathers soap into his palm, “You took too long, so now I am here to help; now turn so I can wash your hair.” Without any protest, you turn and relish in the feeling of his clawed hands, washing and lathering the soap in your hair, taking the time to scratch your scalp as he cleans you gently. Maybe you should have him wash your hair every time? If you asked, Rolan would be happy, too.  

It started as a pleasant surprise; while you two were working at Sundries, his tail kept brushing against your butt, and when you two would be out of view from prying eyes, his hand would gently caress your ass. These are simple hints of his wants; you are always eager for his touch. Now here you are, pressed against the back wall with Rolan's needy hands grabbing tight handfuls of your butt. Pants are quickly discarded, and he gives you a quick slap to the soft exposed flesh for being such a naughty distraction. You keen and arch, grinding your ass against his burning erection. A deep moan when his nails dig into your flesh as he starts to rut into you deeply. Panting breaths, intertwined limbs, sweaty bodies desperately rocking against each other. It’s the night you learned that the Great Master Rolan is an ass man.  

Gale 

You never thought of yourself as touched starved; sure, you had points when you thought of being held or holding someone, but it was never something you would say you were starving for; well, that was until Gale. It was an accident when it happened; you two had offered to go to the morning market to gather supplies for dinner. The morning market was incredibly crowded, and you two kept getting separated. Gale, always the quick thinker, came up with the best solution. As he walked in front of you like a shield, he grabbed your hand and led you through. The gesture immediately stirred something within you, and as you walked hand in hand, looking at the back of him, you found yourself tightening your grip. During the rest of your time at the market, you two held each other’s hands. It wasn’t until you two returned to camp that you realized you held hands the whole way back. After that day, you reached out for his hand more often. Gale, of course, didn’t seem to mind. He liked the extra company, but getting you to let go so he could cut vegetables was challenging. After a while, you will find yourself craving more touches from Gale. So late one night, you crawled into his tent; when you woke him, he was initially surprised, asking you what you needed. “I…I think I’m touched starved…could…you hold me for a bit?” Gale’s heart nearly burst out of his chest, but he eagerly invites you into his arms, delighted to share in cuddles and maybe a few kisses.    

It should be no surprise your favorite place to touch Gale is his hands. They are perfectly soft and fit perfectly within yours. You find that your hands are interlocked together if you’re by him. Gale finds your need to hold him in some way lovely and ultimately endearing. Gale’s favorite times when you hold his hands is when you are fast asleep curled up with him in his bedroll, your hands interlaced with his. He doesn’t dare move them because he knows you will only start seeking them again in your sleep.   

You’re used to holding Gale’s hand, but on days he’s feeling needy, you find that his hands tend to roam. Today had been one of those days; his hands had started lazily, moving up and down your arms, gently grazing you all morning so tenderly. By the afternoon, his hands had found their way to run up and down your back, moving so slowly to send shivers through your body successfully. Then, in the Evening, they moved to trace your sides as his lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck. Finally, you asked if he was well, his lips smiling against your skin. “Perfectly fine…just being needy for you…does it bother you?” you feel your skin flush, and your lips curl to an excited smile. “No, I like the attention from you…” Gale is always ready to shower you with attention; you just need to ask…   

The man didn’t lie when he told you he had a practiced tongue, and tonight, you are finding that out firsthand. You felt needy when you crawled into his tent; it was late, and he was surprisingly awake. At first, it was innocent, simple hand holding a kiss or two like other nights before to satisfy your need, but tonight, you’re finding your aching for more, and Gale knows this. All you need to do is ask…Your hands grip tightly to the blankets as his tongue works against you. Gales focuses as his hands grip your thighs, and he sucks and licks more. He’s desperate to taste your release all over his tongue, and with him always being so good to you, who are you to deny him? 

Astarion

With all he had been through, the feeling of being touched had become unstimulating. Astartion had felt every kind of touch possible. Well, at least that’s what he thought, until you. The energy between you two had been electric from the first moment; you were brilliant, and his usual charms didn’t make you bend like they did others. In fact, for all his teasing, you would give back your own. It was like a game between you two, and it only made you crave each other more. Then it hit its peak…You were admittedly getting lost in his words as he spoke to you, but it was different; it was genuine, and you had never felt so close to others. So when you gently brushed back his hair as he talked, you both found yourself looking at each other in surprise. Your weakness shocked you, and Astarion was surprised by someone touching him so gently, as if he were made of glass. Going to take back your hand, it’s quickly caught by his, and gentle lips pressing to your palm sets your skin ablaze. The kiss was as soft as your touch, but Astarion can never pass up an opportunity… “Couldn’t help yourself anymore, hm?” You would accept defeat this once…

Astarion has never been a fan of cuddling…well, not until he met you. And what did you do to make him change his mind on the slow and intimate activity? Astarion loves the way your fingers brush slowly and carefully through his hair. He finds he has gradually become needy for that soft, gentle touch. On the other hand, you love the feeling of his soft locks slipping through your fingers; actually, there are many things you can adore about Astarion; you find the soft touch of brushing through his hair always seems to relax you. You could spend all night with him in your arms like this…and you do. 

You didn’t know if it was your imagination, but Astarion seemed grumpy today. You had tried to joke around with him and even participate in some teasing and flirting, but he wasn’t receptive. Thinking it best to just drop it, you left him alone for the rest of the day, going about your usual task. Then Evening rolled around; you were getting ready for bed when you heard a throat clearing outside your tent. Poking your head out, you saw Astarion looking…bashful? “Do you mind…if I slept here…with you…I’ve…been feeling off…” One part of you wanted him to explain; he had ignored you, and now he wants to sleep in your tent with you? And wait, elves don’t sleep? But something about the look in his red eyes…he seemed…lonely…Gently, you reach your hand out to grab the sleeve of his shirt and pull him in softly. The rest of the night was spent with you sleeping with your head in his lap as he read to your sleeping form. Being around you made him feel so much better; it was as he thought…he was starting to rely on you, and for once, the thought of depending on another didn’t scare him. 

Sometimes, you can not decide who is needer between the two of you. Of course, you two tease each other about it, but Astarion is always the better tease. You’re rolling your eyes in both pleasure and annoyance as he moves his tongue across your chest, your nipples peaked and sensitive to every feathery touch. You try to keep your moans in, but it’s useless; “You make such pretty sounds, darling, keep it up.” His cold hands move between caressing your chest and your skin to find your sensitive nipples. Red eyes look up at you, filled with mischief. Is he satisfied with just a taste? Or will he bite…

[elaofarc]

I'D LIKE TO MEAN IT WHEN I SAY I'M OVER YOU | 𝑔. 𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑢

๋࣭ ⭑⚝⭒— 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝⭒ 𝑎/𝑛 planned this to be something soft and sweet and short. turned out to be a cheesy, slightly angsty one but then kind of hot and messy. and long, ofc. i'm exhausted so please excuse any mistakes. rbs and comments are appreciated!

childhood friends & marriage of convenience + hurt/comfort(maybe?idk) + desperate satoru + mentions of fucked up family relationships + dare i say childhood friends to somewhat strangers-but-not-exactly-strangers to lovers + car sēx + f!orgasm + breedīng + pūssy slāpping + unprotected sēx + overstim

The reason for your distress is either the unbearable heat of summer or the young man sprawled on the armchair in your living room with his legs stretched out on the coffee table—you are not sure which. The only thing you are sure of is that you feel unbearably suffocated. It is as if a pair of hands is greedily squeezing your throat more and more, their fingers burning your delicate skin, pressing on your throat until they steal your last breath. You want to close and open your eyes and wake up, but this is not a dream; it never was a dream. Your life has never been like a dream, even though it might seem that way to outsiders. The most vivid proof of this is the man in your living room, watching you with his chin resting on his hand. Despite the sunset and the orange and pink hues of the sky overshadowing him, his bright blue eyes never lose their brightness as they fix on you; you are not sure if you are restless or upset. You are not even sure which book you are holding in this moment; the only thing you know is that you are drowning in a sea of thoughts that drive you into almost madness.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, his gaze so intense that it makes you want to run and hide. Of course, that's not the main reason; you can easily see the mocking look in his eyes. The corners of his lips curl up in an almost arrogant smirk, as if he is watching a movie he has seen countless times. He has an indifferent yet knowing attitude, which makes you squirm uncomfortably in your seat for some reason. You are torn between throwing the book in your hand at his head and quietly leaving the room, but you know that neither is a suitable solution for the problem at hand.

“Like what?” he responds, the faint pink and orange hues of the sky reflecting off his white hair, making his pale skin seem to glow slightly. Dressed in all black, he is still the brightest thing in your living room; Gojo Satoru. You are not sure how his presence makes you feel; he is real enough to slap you with how pathetic you are and arrogant enough to mock the situation you have fallen into.

“Like that,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You know how you're looking. Stop looking at me like that.” You hurriedly avert your eyes from him and turn your gaze to the book, deciding it’s a good idea to sit as far away from him as possible. Perched on the other end of the large and comfortable couch, with your legs pulled up to your chest, you feel your hair sticking to your neck and forehead with sweat, even though the weather isn’t that hot.

“You’re holding the book upside down,” Gojo finally says. “I didn’t know you could read an upside-down book, you must be quite the bookworm.”

The room temperature suddenly rises, or maybe your face starts burning—you feel tears welling up from embarrassment and sink further into the couch. Without turning the upside-down book, which would only embarrass you more, you barely manage to direct your gaze at him. There are those intense eyes that overwhelm you again, mocking and arrogant and perhaps a bit haughty but definitely over-confident… causing your stomach to churn and your head to spin. You close the book and slowly place it on the coffee table—responding to him would only entertain him more, but you can't help yourself, and with a furrowed brow, you part your lips.

“There are many things you don’t know about me,” you respond to him annoyingly. “So maybe it’s best if you don’t comment. What do you think?”

Knowing this is just one of his games, that he enjoys making you angry, and that your expressions entertain him, you get mad at yourself for not being able to stay silent—but it’s clear that Satoru has this effect on you. If you are Pandora’s box, he is the only one who thinks opening you is fun. Everything about you fascinates him more than he understands; when he’s with you, he acts on impulse rather than calculated responses and behaviors.

“That’s why I’m here,” he says, stretching where he sits and running his fingers through his hair. His shirt rides up a bit, and you immediately look away to another part of your house as if he isn't there. “To get to know my fiancée better, right? You know, nobody stays a child. I’m sure you’ve changed a lot after all these years.”

“Of course,” you say with a clearly insincere smile. “You can be sure that the only thing that’s changed about me is not being an asshole like you, Satoru.”

“Thank you,” Satoru replies; his voice this time is low and husky, as if he stumbles over a few words and manages to say only these. “As kind as always.”

“I don’t like you,” you say in one breath. The house is quiet, so quiet that you can easily hear each other's breathing. Neither you nor Satoru comments for a while after your words; you sit in a pitiful silence for a while. You can’t help but think how bearable he is when he keeps his mouth shut.

“Is that why the necklace is still around your neck?” Satoru asks, but this time without a mocking tone; instead, he seems to need a few words to fall from your lips.

“Yours is still around your neck too,” you quickly, almost panicked, reply.

“I never told you I didn’t like you,” Satoru says calmly. His calmness makes you feel more restless and suffocated; how can he be so calm? Why is he so calm? Just like you have no say over your own life, you have no say here either; you are getting married because of decisions made without considering your feelings and private lives. You knew it would happen sooner or later, but you always wanted to believe in that rebellious part of you that refused to accept it—but now the ring shining on your finger, your childhood friend sprawled in your living room, and the necklaces hidden under your shirts around your necks drag you into a whirlpool of complicated emotions. “I never said such a thing to you.”

You open your lips to respond, to say something, but you have no idea what to say—you have dozens of questions you want to ask, dozens of questions you need answers to… yet you betray yourself and swallow all the words, biting your tongue and staying silent.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Satoru asks this time. You feel like you’re about to cry; not because you hate him, no, definitely not. You don’t hate him, you never hated him… you just envy and resent him for being able to adapt to your parents’ lives built on money and business so easily. It should be easy for you too; it’s unfair, you should also be able to stand up to your family with a careless attitude. But you were always the girl who voiced injustice, who became aggressive like an unclaimed dog when it was necessary to protect her boundaries; the first person to make you feel a sense of belonging now sits before you, and in your eyes, he is no different from the family that never taught you what belonging means.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” Satoru pauses a bit. “Like you’re about to cry. Do you hate me that much?”

“It’s not about you,” you reply with a mocking laugh. “Why do you think everything revolves around you?”

“Am I wrong to think it has something to do with me? You’re going to marry me,” Satoru says, lowering his legs from the table and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching you carefully. His eyes roaming over you make you feel caged; does he look at you so carefully because he has forgotten everything about you?

“I can’t believe you’re staying silent about this,” you finally say, standing up and looking at Satoru with wide eyes. You can’t help but feel betrayed; why didn’t he speak up? Why did he agree to everything that was told to you? Is he that cowardly? That despicable? Is he…is he like them? You realize at that moment, standing against Satoru, what really scares you. That he is like them. The possibility that he has become as despicable an adult as your parents, who would do anything to gain a little more profit, a little more money, to control the media, terrifies you to death.

“Come on,” Satoru says, leaning back in the armchair, folding his hands in his lap, and tilting his head back, watching you carefully. “Did you ever believe you’d marry for love? Really?”

Feeling the warm sunset sunlight, you feel completely detached from the situation. Since the moment you met him, he's integrated into your life as if he is an essential piece for your being. No matter how many times you try to escape him, you always find yourself returning for some sense of comfort. "I mean, yeah," you say, feeling both disappointed and surprised by how easily he accepts everything. It is almost paralyzing; he believes you never wanted to marry for love, thinking you two are destined to be mere pawns for your parents' companies, soon to be merged. "And you didn't? I mean, you really haven't thought like that?"

"Love?" Satoru echoes, reverting to that annoying-asshole version of himself. "You think I ever believed I would marry for love? Please." His tone hints at something else, something familiar yet elusive. "Love is a made-up concept, and you should know that too. Life isn't like your little books, you know."

It feels like glass shattering in your ears—almost deafening as you stand before him, disappointment evident in your eyes. Is that it? Is that all he has to say for himself or this entire situation? With red cheeks and glossy eyes, you straighten your posture. Feeling threatened, you stand upright, shoulders tensing even though you want to curl into a ball and disappear.

"I say you're as materialistic and soulless as our parents. This career, wealth, and company success have colored you blind," you say, sitting back on the couch, as far from him as possible. Everything you believed crumbles before you, slipping through your fingers—you feel too tired, too consumed to hold onto them. "And it upsets me because I thought you were different. I truly believed we could break this cycle."

"What cycle, for God's sake?" His voice is not low this time; it sounds like he is on the brink of madness. What other choice does he have, really? After spending nearly ten years with you, holding your hand while sleeping, going to school with you, loving you so desperately that he stood up to his parents countless times—how can he not accept this? Isn't this his only chance to be with you, even though you are clearly upset? Satoru cannot find the strength to explain what he has been going through all these years, he does not have the heart to—but he wishes he could. If only he could, you would understand him. You truly would. But he fears your reaction, especially now that you are being forced to marry him. If he had acted on his feelings earlier, if he had opened up to you sooner, maybe this would be a marriage for love. But he is too late, and he knows it all too well. Despite his nonchalant and carefree facade, everything stops for Satoru when it concerns you.

Your words hit him like a ton of bricks, pinning him down where he stands. Satoru feels his head spinning. It is clear you are awaiting a response, holding onto the smallest hope you have left about him—but he just doesn't know any better.

"Okay, you may be right. But I still have more personality than those old geezers," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, almost forming a twisted smirk. Your eyebrows furrow, pupils dilate, and eyes widen, lips parted in utter disappointment beyond the point of return. "Don't be a dick, Satoru," your voice drips with disappointment as you speak. You shake your head and reach for your book, feeling lost about what you should do—or can do—in this situation. Opening your book to signal that you want to end the conversation, you hope to cut off any form of communication with him, though you know it is impossible. "At least I can blame them for not having a personality, but you go on boasting about yourself and still end up as soulless as them. I think that says something about you."

As you flip open your book, Satoru lets the room fall silent. He lets you read, pretending he isn't planning to restart the conversation after giving you a little break. After only a few moments, he speaks again.

"You're pretty sassy today, huh?" he muses, watching you read. "Did I ruin your day of self-care? I'm sorry. Maybe I should make it up to you—like you said, we have the whole rest of our lives together, hmm?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," you say, clearly annoyed but aware that you're doing what he loves: talking back, giving him the attention he craves from you. You reopen your book, trying to read, but thoughts about the marriage consume you, keeping you awake at night as you toss and turn in bed. You can't believe you'll be sharing a house with him in a week. Maybe you can suggest living separately; you wonder what his reaction would be.

Unable to focus, you put your book down and get up, walking to the kitchen. After a minute or two, you return with another cup in your hand and hand it to Satoru without looking at him. "This will keep your mouth shut. Drink, and don't talk."

After actually doing as you say and taking the coffee mug from your hand, Satoru manages to keep silent, while you sink into the corner of the couch, lifelessly staring at your book. There are so many things you want to tell and ask him, but it feels like everything would fall apart, so you absentmindedly look at the first page of the book—not a single word sticks in your mind, you just try to cope with the horror of realizing how wrong you were about him all this time. But you are not going to be the winning side; knowing you never will be, you don’t want to fight against anything anymore. Maybe staying silent and accepting is the right thing to do; after all, Satoru is your childhood friend, you could have been forced to marry someone else, right? That would be worse, but this doesn’t feel like the best option either. Several times you open your lips as if to say something, but no words come out, and you sit there on the couch with an expression Satoru can’t name; your back against the corner of the couch, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him carefully. You have no idea when or where you put down the book. You can’t take your eyes off the chain of the necklace around his neck, why is he still wearing it? Why are you still wearing it?

“You’re lying,” you finally say, and at that moment, Satoru involuntarily straightens up in his seat and coughs nervously.

“What?”

“You’re lying, Satoru. I’m not stupid, I know you’re lying.”

“About what?” he says, with no trace of the indifference that has become the most important part of his personality; his bright blue eyes are a bit darker, his lips slightly parted, and his full attention is on you.

“You believe in love,” you say slowly and quietly, and Satoru realizes that your gaze makes him feel even weaker. “If you didn’t believe…”

Your fingers find the necklace hidden under your shirt, playing with the flower petal pendant, while your eyes are fixed on the necklace you know is hidden under Satoru’s shirt. After a few minutes of silence, your fingers grasp the necklace a bit more firmly, and just then, Satoru quickly gets up from his seat, kneels beside your couch, and gently removes your hand from the necklace.

“Don’t.”

“If you didn’t believe, you’d stay silent,” you say, your voice now completely a whisper, and you realize this feels safer. You remember the times you always whispered out of fear as a child; how some things stay the same regardless of age. Your hand slowly moves toward the side of Satoru’s neck, and when your fingertips touch his skin, both of you shudder as if struck by electricity. Your fingers slowly slide down his skin, finally reaching the necklace and pulling it out from under his shirt; it’s still as bright as the first day, making you want to cry. You slowly tug on the necklace, knowing it could break at any moment; Satoru, worried, takes your hand in his large hands again and gently moves it away from the necklace.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Don’t.”

“You’re a liar,” you say, but your voice lacks an accusatory tone; instead, there’s a sense of relief from finally discovering the feelings Satoru couldn’t name. “Gojo Satoru, you’re a terrible liar. And also a coward.”

His soft lips touch the knuckles of your hand, placing feather-light kisses on the back of your hand—as if he needs this to reveal everything he’s tried to hide from you, to feel you.

“You could have been honest with me,” you whisper, gently playing with Satoru’s hair with your other hand, while he continues to kiss your hand and wrist. He stays silent, kneeling there, and you remember his childhood self; how he always sought refuge with you despite being older. The times he knelt in front of you like this, resting his head in your lap, desperately seeking your warmth. “You could have been brave,” you gently tug on his hair to lift his head, making him look at you. “You should have known that I would support you. I would always, against everyone, support you.”

“It’s not that easy,” Satoru says, his lips still placing kisses along your wrist and even up your arm, and you realize both of you are breathless. Your eyes watch him carefully; you can see how Satoru seems torn between needing to touch you and being gentle enough not to scare you away. His butterfly kisses trail along your arm, and your body feels like it melts into the large, comfortable couch—as if it’s fused with it. At some point, he’s leaned slightly over you, one of his large hands gently caressing the exposed side of your waist where your thin shirt rides up.

“What’s not easy?” you ask.

“Seeing your reaction,” Satoru murmurs against your arm. “You’ve always opposed everything just for the sake of opposing. If I had opened up to you… if I had told you about my feelings, I couldn’t have married you.”

“Fool,” you say, making him lift his head and look at you as you offer a barely-there smile. “You couldn’t have known without saying it.”

So that's how even before your marriage, you've proven him that love exists—and it's not only present in your silly little books.

Perhaps if it were truly a marriage of convenience, there could have been an insurmountable barrier between you—a situation where you'd sleep in separate rooms, living like strangers under one roof. Perhaps the only thing that would bind you together would be the comfort of being childhood friends, who knows…

But now, as Satoru's large, warm hands roam over your skin left bare by the deep back neckline of the outfit you wore to the opening ceremony that you didn't even know it's purpose, you realize that this was never possible from the start. Satoru worships you; what you're wearing, whether you've put on makeup or not, or anything else doesn't matter. Somehow touching you, feeling the softness and warmth of your skin against his palms brings Satoru peace.

The flashes of cameras continue behind you as Satoru places one hand on your bare back, accompanying you, and leaning in to whisper something absurd yet amusing about how all these paparazzi are already the lapdogs of your combined family businesses; you straighten his slightly askew tie as you listen to him. If there were an award for the youngest couple at the event, it would likely have been presented to you, so slipping away from the scene quickly wouldn't seem strange to anyone.

"We shouldn't have left so early," you say, but Satoru, as if not hearing you at all, takes your hand and guides you towards the car. His steps are firm and hurried, and he can feel his hands tingling and his heart pounding in his chest like a determined sparrow wanting to escape.

"As if it's so important," says Satoru as he opens the car door, almost throwing your body into the car. Although you appear calm and indifferent, his urgent and eager attitude further indulges you; as you fasten your seatbelt, Satoru presses the gas pedal with all his might, and the car leaves the parking lot with a deafening roar. You're not sure where you're going, the only thing you know is that one of your spouse's big hands is exploring your legs as if they've never had this chance before.

"Satoru, are you hearing me? I'm talking to you.'"

"Believe me," he says, taking off his tie with one hand while the other is on the steering wheel, throwing it onto the back seat. "The only thing I can think of right now is getting rid of these excesses."

That's how after minutes, he has your trembling legs spread apart and thrown over his broad shoulders on the backseat of the car—your silk dress pushed up and, curled around your waist as his tongue desperately lap against your pussy; he's way too impatient to get rid of your clothing, your panties are pushed to the side as he experimentally pushes a finger inside your cunt. "Fuck—Satoru," you whine, body jolting forward as your hips buck against his mouth even more. Satoru hums, clearly enjoying the way you grind against him as he eats you out on the backseat.

"Couldn't think of anything else all night," he murmurs, completely drunk on your pussy—your juices drip down from his chin to his expensive shirt, lips glistening as he hooks his hands around your inner thighs and pulls you even closer to his mouth; the bridge of his nose rubbing against your sensitive clit as he runs his tongue along your folds over and over again, driving you to the brink of madness. "So fucking gorgeous, my pretty girl."

You cry out, his husky voice shakes you to your core as you press your legs together—caging his head in between your trembling thighs. You have no idea if hours or minutes passed—all you know is that he'll try to rip one after another from you. You tug on his hair desperately, whimpers and moans fill the car as Satoru lets out a guttural sound; making you grind against his mouth more and more desperately. When he pulls back breathlessly, you see how wet and messy he is—it's embarassing, but he look so good. “You’re making it hard for me to hold back, pretty girl...” He lowly murmurs, sucking a hickey onto that sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

A soft yet loud yelp falls from your parted lips, hands quickly and weakly try to push Satoru's head away—yet, he does not yield. "Shh, it's okay baby," he cooes, as if making fun of how messy and needy you are underneath him. "Just gotta taste you on my tongue, don't be impatient now."

"Fuck you," you breathlessly reply back. "You're the impatient one here."

Instead of replying, you hear Satoru spitting on your pussy as if you're not wet enough already—and before wasting any second, he lands a slap. Not too rough, but it's enough to rip the sweetest moan from you. As he pushed two fingers into your clenching walls, both of you groan—the feeling of being wrapped so tightly gets Satoru dizzy. As his fingers plunge in and out of your cunt, his other hand lands another slap. It makes you sob this time, body jerking and squirming under his steel-like hold as his fingers lazily fuck your pussy.

"Satoru—," you whine, hips moving in circles, grinding against his hand as you cry and moan from the intense feeling. "Don't—"

"What? Can't handle that? This sweet pussy of yours, too sensitive to be used like this? Huh? Answer me, baby."

You want to say something, anything, to match his cockiness—yet the way his thick fingers are able to reach places that you can't is enough to make your head spin. He adds the third finger before landing another smack on your pussy, his hardened cock twitching painfully in his pants as he absentmindedly grinds against the backseat; it doesn't take him long to rip the first orgasm of the night from you, your back arches off from the backseat as your nails dig into his hair—his deep groans become faint noises in the background as his fingers keep fucking you through your orgasm—without giving you a break, he makes out with your pussy, getting lost and high on your taste.

"Fuck, fuck—fuck, Satoru, stop, give me a min—," your pleas fall on deaf ears as he makes you lay on your back completely, one knee resting on the backseat as he swiftly undoes his belt; pushing his briefs and pants down before he gives a few strokes to his painfully hard cock. Your eyes hang heavily on the sight before you, pre-cum oozing from the tip as he lets it drip in your pussy, it makes both of you moan—the windows getting steamy, the car shaking with how much you're shuffling inside.

"Too sensitive," you whine, wet eyelashes feel heavy with mascara as the blackness of it stains your red cheeks—Satoru adores this sight of you; all ruined and pliant for him, ready for him to fuck you again and again until your walls greedily clench around his cock. "Hmm?" Satoru hums, probably unaware of what you're saying, so focused on your glistening fold that he can't help but push the tip of his cock, sliding up and down painfully slowly as your body tries to escape underneath his strong body.

His hand comes up to your mouth, thumb forcing your lips open as he presses on your tongue—almost making you gag, he loves watching the way your eyes get glossier and your mouth hangs open, saliva dripping down to your chin. "Spit," he orders, his voice low and deep as he watches you with his full attention, his gaze follows the way you immediately spit in his hand. Satoru doesn't waste too much time, using your spit as a lube—as if he needs it, you're dripping wet all over the backseat—, his now wet hand giving his cock a few pumps before he slowly presses the tip of his cock to your entrance.

A low and deep moan coming from you fills the car, your back arching and your eyes rolling back—you need to escape from his hold, yet you realize that even though he's ripped an intense orgasm from you and you're still sensitive, your walls clench around nothing, begging to wrap around your husband's dick. "Shit—hey, hey, babe, calm down a bit—fuck," he breathlessly whispers, pulling back to playfully slap your pussy, his eyes burning with desire and desperation. At this point, you're unable to utter a word; all you can do is to look at Satoru through your heavy eyelashes with your glassy eyes as he finally sinks deep—the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix as he stays still for a moment.

"Shit, you're gonna make me cum," his voice feels like it's coming from afar—a distant groan as you feel him moving. Filling you up, making you shake and cry and push yourself down on him as your hands helplessly hold onto Satoru's thick biceps. Once he starts thrusting into your weeping cunt, you're a mess; Satoru has to push a finger inside your mouth to get your voice a little bit lower. Don't get him wrong, he loves hearing your voice—but he loves being the only one who hears your voice. You suck on his finger as he mercilessly pounds into you, hips rutting against you as if he's been holding it back for so long—it has been a few hours since the night has started, actually. "Such a greedy pussy," he murmurs, those blue eyes resting heavily on you as he fucks you with an almost brutal pace. "Sucking me in—fuck, you're gonna make me cum."

Something between 'please' and 'yeah' falls from your lips as Satoru's thumb presses against your tongue—he leans down, and you're ready to kiss him, but all he does is to spit in your mouth before he smears it with his thumb. God, he's filthy—he loves watching you messily lay underneath him, all wet and stuffed.

"Satoru," you whine, your whimper slowly dying down as your nails dig into his thick biceps. "Gonna cum again, hah—fuck," your desperate voice combined with your pussy all slick and greedy for him does it for Satoru, really. He leans down after pulling his hand back from your mouth, his wet thumb drawing circles on your abused clit as he mindlessly fucks your sensitive cunt. "Yeah?" He says in one breath, feeling his cock twitch while being wrapped by your warm and velvety walls. "Give me one more, sweet girl—go on, you can do that."

You can't even hear him when you cum all around his cock, your second orgasm leaving you out of breath and jelly as Satoru's big hands grab you by your sides—moving your spent body in sync with his thrusts. "That's it, that's it, pretty," he says even though you just can't comprehend what he's saying, all your senses are clouded as his thrusts become sloppy—deep and slow, hitting your sweet spot, making you cry and tremble in his big hands. You try to push him back mindlessly, the feeling of his thick cock brushing against your walls, the tip brushing against your cervix—getting ready to pump you full of his cum.

"Satoru, wait, I can't take it—," he is quick to shush you, face immediately buried in your chest as his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipples, teeth teasingly catching the perked up nub.

"Shh, you can, love, you can—just let me, fuck, let me fill you up, yeah? Gonna cum in this pretty pussy, fill you up as you deserve," your desperate cries push him over the edge as he speaks, his body jerks forward, hips pressed against you as he just slowly rocks, hot and thick stripes of his seeds filling your abused cunt as he handles your body as if you're just a doll; making you grind on him by holding your waist, not letting a drip of his cum go to waste. He pulls back only when he catches his breath, two fingers gathering the cum dripping from your cunt and pushing it back again, fucking that back into you even though you're just sobbing, overly sensitive as your husband's thick fingers do the job just right. "You're gonna keep it for me, huh? Such a good girl you are, maybe I should cum inside you until we're sure that you're filled to the brim—until all you can think of is me breeding you, over and over and over again." You can't even protest at this point, already too dumb on Satoru's cock, still feeling full and stuffed even though he's just using two fingers.

None of you talk as you two try to somewhat regain your consciousness; all Satoru does is bring those two fingers up to your lips, soaked with his cum mixed with yours. You clean his fingers, and he helps you, too! Kissing you, licking into your mouth as your tongue laps against the pads of his fingers, tasting yourself mixed with him—practically, he does the same.

"I'll take a hot bath once we get home," you breathlessly murmur as Satoru fixes your dress, knowing his cum dripping down from you as he pulls your panties up gets him all hard and twitching again, yet he has to keep it cool until you two get home. "You're not allowed anywhere near me tonight."

All Satoru does in return is to give you a slight smirk; a knowing look, too—because he'll be even more insufferable once you two get home.

[battymommastuff]

The Accident (Pt. 2)

Batmom x Batfamily Prompt: At least you did something...

TW: VERY DARK!!!!

Part 1

"She isn't making any progress. We've tried everything from electroshock therapy to simply giving her a journal to write her feelings." 

You could hear your personal therapist talking to your husband...well ex husband by now. Your marriage died the day he put you in this damn place. What place? None other than Arkham Asylum. At first he could live with what you did, he understood what you did. Everyone understood why you did it, but what happened after...he couldn't live with it. 

Bruce watched as his wife shut down. You became a shell of what you once were. The warm, welcoming mother that everyone knew you to be died. Something cold, and sinister was left in her place. The Gotham criminals began to fear you more than Batman himself. Batman held back...he pulled his punches. You...you didn't. You couldn't. This life, the scum of Gotham took your son away from you. How could Bruce just sit there and be okay with it? 

Everything came to a boiling point when he walked into the manor with his newest sidekick, Tim Drake...

"Y/N, this is Tim Drake. He will be assisting us in our...work." Bruce said and rested a hand on the young man's shoulder. Instead of a warm greeting or a smile that one usually got when meeting Y/N Wayne, Tim got a stone cold glare. 

"Jason's grave isn't even covered in grass, and you're already replacing him?" You growled as you stood from your seat on the couch. Tim flinched at your tone, and moved back a bit. He heard such good things about you. This wasn't how he was expecting things to go. 

"Good job Bruce, get another kid...let's see how long he lasts before he's in the grave too." You spat before storming off. That night, you chose to go on patrol alone. While Bruce and Tim were doing their own thing, you were spending your night alone. As you sat perched on a ledge, watching the city that you've grown to hate, all you could think of was Tim. How could Bruce just move on so quickly? You weren't surprised. He spent most of that night scolding you and lecturing you for nearly killing the Joker. Now the bastard was in a coma, and you wished he was dead. 

The sound of a woman screaming knocked you from your thoughts, and you looked down seeing the said woman blocking her young child from an attacker. You don't know what happened at that moment, but something snapped. You weren't going to let another mother's heart be broken, or the child's. No more families were going to be broken because of scum like this. You blacked out again, and this time you came to be pinned to the brick wall by Batman. Robin was hovering over the man you'd just beaten. He pressed two fingers to his neck then looked at Batman. Robin shook his head, and then looked at you. Instead of horror, or remorse...you smirked, "At least I did something." You whispered to your husband. 

Now here you were, wasting away in the cells of Arkham. Eating food that was stale, and cold. It made you miss Alfred's cooking. Several inmates tried to gang up on you, and quickly learned why that was a bad idea. 

"The doctors are beginning to fear her. She's got a rage inside of her that can't be tamed. Whatever set her off...doesn't seem to want to fade away." Your therapist looked over at you, chained to the table that you were forced to sit at. Bruce clenched his jaw as he looked at you. You'd lost weight, and your face was sunken in. You looked half dead. 

"Then we'll find something new. I'm not giving up on her. If you can't help her, then I'll have to find someone who can." Bruce snapped. He knew that keeping you here would kill you in the end. You weren't made for a place like this. He wanted you home with him and Alfred. It was where you belonged. 

Little did he know that the solution to his problem was going to be solved...

It would be several weeks later, close to when visiting hours would end. You were sitting in your cell with your back facing the door when you heard it open. 

"Mom?"

That voice made your entire body go cold. Yes the tone was deeper, and a little gravely, but you knew that voice. The Gotham accent...it couldn't be anyone else. Slowly your head turned, and you nearly fainted when your eyes met the ones staring back at you...

To be continued...

(I know most wanted a pt.2 with Jason's reaction, but I got a little carried away lol. I promise I will make a pt.3 with his reaction!)

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Could you write something about Darry finding out that the reader is pregnant/how he would be as a dad. I feel like it would be really cute.

Summary: Darry finding our the reader is pregnant

Warnings: mentions of intimacy, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of almost unstable household, mentions of abortions and putting kids up for adoption.

Author's Note: none

The first emotion that bubbled up into your heart was true fear. The pregnancy test showed the 2 clear lines and you'd be damned if you didn't think it was a prank at first. But who would prank you? You scrubbed at the test with your finger, trying to rub the line away but to no avail.

You'd always wanted to be a mother, to cling tightly to a child, coo at them and be reminded that you have someone you can care and hold on to. But the situation you were in...it wad less than ideal.

Darry made sure to use protection every time you two had intimacy. He knew he'd risk a lot by bringing a kid into this world, and you thought about every possible situation. Darry was already working two jobs, and you worked one to keep the house chugging and an amount to live comfortably. You'd have to leave your job to care for the baby, and the medical expenses would dent your earnings. The baby would grow up in a house where people with drug problems, addictions, and switches could step in whenever they wanted. Darry already had to fight for his brothers. He might have to get the whole situation reassed because of your new baby. And lastly, but probably the most important, Darry. You had promised yourself that once Ponyboy and Soda are both of age to take care of themselves you'd liberate Darry of some of his work and let him feel relaxed again. Having a kid on the way might make everything too much.

You bit your lip nervously as you handed Darry the positive test. He looked at it for a long while, actually. Before handing it back with tears in his eyes. Immediately you rushed to comfort him.

"No, baby, please don't be sad. If you want, I can terminate it quickly, or I can put it up for adoption," your voice grew softer, "or I could leave." You didn't know why you were scrambling to save this relationship, this man for maybe your one chance at finally being a mother, but you couldn't help but jump to every possible solution, Darry was quite literally your everything.

"No. No, don't say that. Please, we'll figure this out. It'll be hard at first, but..God, I'm gonna be a father.." he sobbed at the last bit, he'd always dreamed of being a father, filling his dad's shoes and playing catch with a kid in the yard. Sure, he had Pony and Soda, but that was different, they were brothers. This was his. His and yours.

He took your hand, pressing two kissed to your knuckles.

"'Think, first order of business is to put a ring on this pretty little finger," he said, smiling up at you and holding your ring finger.

[octuscle]

A matter of honor

After splitting up with his girlfriend, Angus' financial situation became increasingly precarious. The hotel he had moved into when he was kicked out of the apartment they shared was far too expensive for his means. And after a short time, he realized that his standard of living did not match his income, but hers. Every use of a credit card was a gamble. And Angus was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

He realized that the situation was critical when he went to his fashionable gym after a short and not very lucrative day at work. His membership card wasn't working. So he went to the counter to ask why. And his jaw dropped: Nicolas, who worked at the front desk, was usually the epitome of a crossfitter. A handsome young man, well-built, well-groomed, a feast for the eyes! But the fellow who was now standing opposite Angus was, firstly, almost a head taller and at least twice as heavy as Angus. A beefcake! His right arm was inked all over with the kind of images you'd expect to see on a hooligan. A greasy mullet on his head and a horseshoe moustache on his face. And a huge cock that was squeezed into his tight trousers.

"Hi Angus, are you having any problems?" asked Nicolas. "I don't know, Nicolas" replied Angus, "you tell me!" "Name's Nick, let me have a look". Nick explained to Angus that the last two contributions could not be debited. And that letters to his address had been returned as undeliverable. No wonder, Angus had of course given his girlfriend's address. Angus took a deep breath and explained his problem to Nick. It felt good to finally tell the truth. Somehow he felt like he could tell his fellow anything. "Angus, my buddy, I think I have a solution," Nick said and pulled out his cell phone. "I'm easily making a thousand pounds a day with this app here at the moment. Sometimes even 2,000 if things are going well. He looked at Angus almost lustfully, grabbed his crotch and said that he could easily make just as much money.

"Hell," Angus thought to himself. As long as my cell phone isn't blocked, I'll give it a try. Nick let Angus into the gym and Angus installed the app. If he understood correctly, this was basically something like OnlyFans. People paid for voyeurism. He could only hope that none of his friends joined in. Angus took a deep breath, put on his most dazzling smile and posted the selfie with the caption "Guys, I'm new here. Looking forward to interacting with you!"

Angus had just finished warming up when he received his first message. "Would love to see you with a nipple piercing. Offer 20 pounds." Angus wondered what he should do now. He could select "Accept", "Decline" or "Counter-proposal". He pressed "Accept" once. The account balance display jumped to 20 pounds. Apart from that, he didn't notice anything. Very strange, he thought as he played with his right nipple, lost in thought. Maybe it would be a good idea to pierce the other one at some point. When he was financially liquid again. The feeling of the piercing was simply hot!

Angus had almost finished training when he got the next message. "What do you think about a new job? Offer you 100 pounds." This was getting stranger and stranger. He pressed "counter-proposal" and jokingly entered 5,000 pounds. What could happen? The display read "Crowdfunding active" and the account balance rose slowly but steadily. Angus finished his training, posted a quick selfie with a sweaty torso and went to take a shower. Back at his locker, he glanced at his cell phone. The account balance was 4,975.89 pounds. And then it jumped to 5,020.00 pounds. Nick had been right, it was a piece of cake. He got into his not-so-clean overalls, put on his work boots, grabbed the toolbox and set off. He had the late shift at the emergency plumbing service today, he had to hurry. He said goodbye to Nick with a fist bump. He liked the fellow. The bald head and the full beard looked great on the guy. Okay, at just 5'6" he looked a bit like a garden gnome. But at least he looked like a damn muscular one.

Angus' boss didn't like it when he played with his personal cell phone during work. So he could only read through the new messages after he had finished work at around 10 pm. There were a lot of offers. Some were strange at best, really sick or perverted at worst. He couldn't even put up that much money as a counteroffer that he would agree to a one-inch cock or six fingers per hand. With others, he didn't have to think twice. Someone had offered him a new apartment for 500 pounds, for example. Another had offered to adjust Angus' hairstyle. For 200 fucking pounds. Angus really had to grin. As he sat around the corner of his basement apartment in his favorite pub, drinking an after-work beer, he scratched his bald head. He still didn't understand what this app was for and what it did… But he already had almost 7,000.00 pounds in his account.

It had been a tough day. Angus was tired. He was glad to be in bed. The last message he accepted before falling asleep was the offer that he was now called Liam. For 50.00 pounds, after all.

Liam knew what he owed his fans. Still lying in bed, he posted a selfie with the caption "Out of bed, off to the gym. And then back to cleaning clogged pipes".

While sitting on the loo, Liam accepted a few more tattoos and a septum piercing. It brought him almost another 400 pounds. But if he wanted the muscles to burn, he had to hurry now.

Nick greeted Liam and told him what work still needed to be done in the men's shower. By taking on these small janitorial tasks, Liam saved himself the horrendous club fees. He could only hope that he had understood Nick correctly. The ascetic Indian's accent was really hard to understand.

"300 pounds if you become a weightlifter". Accepted. "50 pounds if you work out in a basement gym in a backyard in Newham" Accepted. Bloody hell, he was here to work out, not to chat. Liam simply accepted a series of requests without thinking. He hadn't fucked an ass for over ten hours now. And his shift as a sewer worker was about to start. He had to let off some pressure first. One of the fellows working out with him had been watching him the whole time. Liam stood up in front of him.

"Ever sucked a proper ma'e's cock?" Liam asked with his booming bass in his deepest cockney accent. The young man immediately and willingly got down on his knees. Yes, Liam had a mountain of debts to work off. But a man's got to do what a man's got to do.

Pics found @hellishin and @sarge555

[morverenmaybewrites]

Hi babes, long time no see....? (Not realy, not truly. But i'm bored and in need of the weight your words press evenly onto my lungs. And i also want to poke you, maybe)

What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with? To you, with our delivery girl. Because anything phisical feels dependent on the day, how Aware and squeezy it'll make him. (Like how you suddenly remember that there's clothes on your skin and that your organs move inside of you. That you're Breathing and that it pulls at your muscles, the tissue that's marbled in tapestried along his ribs.)

What would Not do that? (Less so atleast. See: Like skin growing over a splinter istead of rejecting it.)

Also!

This. Made me feel the sudden ache of my heart durring that time in my life. 'S cool. Thanks. 👍

Always so good to hear from you, @thebluespacecow. First off, The Shape of Water is one of my comfort watches/reads. The book, in particular, encapsulates the feeling of isolation from society and the suffocating loneliness that comes from it so well. The quote (said to the Asset by the scientist studying him) so perfectly portrays their relationship and the tragedy of what could have been. The text often refers to (and eventually confirms) that the Asset is a god. It often calls him beautiful and magical and wondrous. Can you imagine finding god, in all his grace and savage beauty, and being told that you must study him like an insect pinned to a corkboard? Can you imagine finding proof of the divine, only to be told to burn it down so that the charcoal of its bones can help fuel a war? It's so tragic. One day that Bucky Barnes Shape of Water!AU WILL come into existence. ONE DAY. Anyway. Your question. What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with?

I actually think that Jason would be fairly receptive to praise, actually! It doesn't immediately put him on the defensive the way physical forms of affection would. And for most of his life, Jason didn't get much of either. He craves it, however unknowingly, like a man dying of thirst would crave rainwater.

I think the first time you praise him, however small, however innocuous, would always come as a surprise. He's just not that used to it. Maybe he opens a jar for you or point out, where, exactly you had put the spices. (He is, at least, somewhat aware of how much he pays attention to you.). "Thanks, Jason, you're always so helpful." The words scatter from you like birdseed, there and gone again. It barely disturbs the still air of the kitchen. But Jason freezes, and slowly turns to look at you. You're not even looking at him anymore. Instead, you are focused on the recipe you're reading, mumbling to yourself. (In his experience, praise does not come so easily. It comes from long hours of training to perfect his aim, from endless nights of study, it comes from a grueling patrol, done perfectly, to Batman's exacting standards.) (In his experience, he barely does anything praise-worthy at all. He is, after all, the Robin who failed.) The moment passes, and he is able to brush it off. But your words linger in his mind like a thorn, only the sensation is not so unpleasant. The next time you do it, Jason is a little more prepared. Maybe he comes up with a clever solution to a problem, taken down a villain in an unconventional way. And you say it in between fits of laughter (and even the sound of that warms him like a fire in winter). "That was smart. I never would have thought of that." Jason pauses, has to catch his breath. And he mumbles out an answer so low that it's unlikely that you heard it. "Thanks." After that, it gets easier. After that, he seeks it out like a cat seeking out a beam of sunlight (or perhaps, more accurately: like a starved dog seeks out scraps). "You never told me you were such a good cook." "It's nice having you around. You make me feel safe." "You look good today." The last one though, hits like a punch to the gut. It knocks the wind out of Jason, and he has to take several seconds before he can answer.

"What?" You look up from the book you are reading. (It is raining the way it always is in Gotham, and you had chosen to spend the afternoon inside. Curled up with a thick blanket on your lap, in a sweater that is big enough for you to drown in—he would not question it if the compliment had been directed at you. He would have taken it as your due.) "Hm? I said you look good today." Again, he does not answer. Instead, he looks down, as if expecting to find himself wearing someone else's skin. But he is wearing his outfit, it is the Red Hood's helmet in his hands. For the first time, you seem to have realized the effect your words have on him. "Well, don't get a stroke," you say with a grin. "I don't want you coming back here and saying you're leaving me for a supermodel or something." He lets out a strangled laugh, and tries to brush it off the way he did in the kitchen, all those months ago. He turns away and tries to pretend like your words don't haunt him like a ghost. You said he looked good. You said he looked good. (And after all, what reason would he have to doubt you? He trusts you more than he trusts himself.) He finds that he has to put on his helmet to hide his grin.

[tired-biscuit]

cw: slightly manipulative kiri, subtle size kink // 18+ mdni, fem!reader

thinking about slightly manipulative best friend!kirishima, who coaxes you into sleeping with him under the pretense of 'learning'.

only having sex once or twice in your life, you lack the experience that eijirou surprisingly offers to give you as soon as he hears of your little dilemma. with his cheeks blooming a ferocious red, he tells you it's only meant as a solution to wipe out any insecurities you might have when you start officially dating the new boy you've been texting with for a long while now.

so after mulling it over for weeks, you give in. admitting your doubts and expressing your worries - which he both immediately soothes, of course - you meet up at his place on the night you've planned to partake in your 'lesson', and hope for the best.

and eijirou, well, he finds it hard to hide his smile as soon as that lesson begins. the stupid fucking grin that shows nearly all of his sharp teeth grows bigger and bigger as your clothes start coming off one by one. as the narrow gap between your bodies closes the moment he pushes you onto the mattress, and the proximity becomes nearly non-existent because of the smooth movement. as you angle your head to the side and let him kiss your neck before he inches upwards to claim your mouth instead, even if he doesn't have to do that to teach you what you want to know.

but he wants to. wants you entirely, that is. you just don't know that.

so by the time you're left completely bare for his eyes to devour, and your lips are swollen from all the kisses he's placed upon them for what he calls a warm up, eijirou looks outright ecstatic. even tells you how pretty you are like this, despite that you doubt if he can actually see you from how heavy his eyelids have become - weighed down by full-blown lust and something else you can't quite pinpoint yet.

being the naive girl you are, you suppose he's just being nice to make you feel better - he's always been like that. constantly so thoughtful and giving, eijirou kirishima is the epitome of selfless generosity.

or so you think.

after all, how can he be considered selfless, when he now starts to whisper the dirtiest, most possessive shit into your mouth as he at long last slips between your legs and pins your body underneath his bigger one? how can he be considered generous, when all he thinks about is himself and the horny greed he holds for you?

perhaps it's the warmth in his eyes. or the way he coos at you with a voice so syrupy sweet that every word might just rot your teeth down to their core. the way he presses his sweat-riddled forehead to your own and starts stretching you out; pushing your velvety walls apart inch by inch to make room for the entirety of his cock, whilst never breaking eye contact once.

or maybe it's the way he swallows down the little moans that you start to let out the moment he sinks into you fully, and lingers right next to your cervix because of his outrageous size. how he tells you what an incredibly smart girl you are for doing this - for taking his dick like a fucking champ that he knew you'd be. how you'll be able to woo every single boy that gets lucky enough to score you after he's finished with you, because, goddamn; if you can take on a cock as big as his own, it surely won't be a problem to handle anyone else's, right?

but you won't do that, won't you? you'll stay right where you are - drooling and squirming on his dick, getting ready to be put into a mating press by his big, scarred hands that just know how to pet you so well... right?

when you start nodding in dazed agreement - head tipping back into the pillow that smells just like him - his sharp teeth nip at you slowly just so that he can hide the selfish smile that's pushing forward again. you're clenching, belly overflowing with heat as he paves a trail of warm saliva along the column on your neck that hides your pulse and that has long since become coated with sticky sweat. he makes sure to place a mark upon it, so that he can feel your erratic heartbeat dance on his tongue as he lures it out to play.

and eventually, it does come out to play, and it plays hard. minutes pass, the headboard of his bed starts slamming against the wall as he loses his cool. he's everywhere all at once; pushing your limits, filling you up, pulling you taut. and fuck, speaking of being pulled taut - your poor pussy is about to be murdered because of his monster of a cock and the way it stretches you.

eyes crossing from the mind-shattering orgasm to hit you all of a sudden, you have no clue what he's so worried about as you cream on his dick. i mean, how in the hell are you going to fuck someone else, when he's literally torn you apart?

lesson learned, you suppose.

[kiame-sama]

hi :D i'm a new follower, I just finished reading your story of twin eclipses- (Yandere! Illumi x reader) and i'm left with the intrigue to know more 😢

Could it be that you can do part 2 or mini series of this? The plot is very interesting and leaves you wondering what will happen next.

Only if you want :), GREETINGS FROM ARGENTINA!!🇦🇷

Twin Eclipses- (Yandere!Illumi x Reader) pt. 2

Warnings; yandere, mention of abuse, coercion, threats, mention of being threatened, unfair situations, female bodied reader, mention of past noncon, mention of birthing troubles, going MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE stalker/creep here, item theft, irrational behavior, irrational thinking, obsessive behavior, obsessive thinking, extreme invasion of privacy, breeding kink,

A blazing sun sat in the middle of the sky, burning rays only slightly broken up by the occasional cloud. The only solace from the intense heat was the dappled shade cast beneath the tree canopy. Most animals were laying low during the height of the day's warmth, spare for two small figures that walked up the dusty road. They had been told of the family that lived upon the looming mountain and they were told to avoid it at all costs, but the cost now was just too great for the pair.

The looming gates of the estate stood before them, a small sentry checkpoint waiting not far from the large doors. Even so, the pair knew well enough to not approach as speaking to the attendant would only waste time. Time was not something they had in generous supply, so they were left with the only option they had; a phone. This phone belonged to the very person the pair aimed to save, the most recently dialed number displayed on the screen.

When they pressed the call button, the other line immediately answered and hung up, leaving the two to glance at one another in confusion. Their confusion didn't last long as the giant gate began to move and slowly creak open from some powerful force. The pair watched in awe and surprise as the huge gates swung open and revealed the group of adults on the other side. Four adults walked forwards to meet the pair, all of them familiar from when they last visited the pair at their home not long ago. Despite the intimidated feeling the pair got from the adult group, they knew that these adults were the only chance they had.

"Okay, we're here. All we have to do is call, right?"

"Right."

"I see the two of you have arrived, as agreed. It surprises me to see your mother isn't with you."

The first of the group- the eldest and shortest- spoke with a calm tone, clearly not giving anything away even to the frightened pair. Though the two were young and much smaller than the adults in the group, they were no less determined to get what they needed.

There was a slight waver to the young voice, the pair were only children barely out of their toddler years, after all. They had not known the world outside of the village they lived in with their mother and though the distance to the mountain was relatively short, it was the furthest they've been from home. Certainly farther than their mother had ever taken them, especially on foot. The boys were desperate though, and they saw no other solution to the problem that threatened their peaceful existence.

"She... She's why we came."

"Oh? Did she tell you to?"

"No... Mama..." The boys glanced at one another, "Mama's sick. She hasn't woken up in days and the elders say there are only a few places that have the things she needs to get better. They said that you all have the medicine and machines she needs to get better and she'll die without them..."

"Mama said we shouldn't talk to any of you, or ever go near the mountain. She said that you all are our family, but want us to do what you want and not let us choose what we want. But... We don't want to lose mama... So, we will do what you want, just save mama first."

It was a surprise to the group to hear the mature thought process of the two children in front of them. The pair had sought them out to save their mother, which took planning most children twice their age wouldn't be able to do without help. If ever there were a sign that the two were of the lineage their pedigree suggested, it would be their adult approach to the problem they had.

"So, you two sought us out in the hopes that you could use yourselves as bargaining chips to save your mother's life, right?"

There was a small beat of silence as the adults looked at one another, passing along silent meaning to their glances. It had been their intent all along to find some way to convince the wayward mother to allow her sons to be trained in the way of the assassins, but that didn't mean the group was thrilled to hear of her declining health. The group intended to assist regardless as they owed more than they cared to admit to the woman that birthed the pair of boys, however that didn't mean they would pass up the opportunity presented to them.

~~~~~~~~

"Very well, we will send for her and have her treatment begin here immediately. For now, though, introductions are in order. Your mother was not very forthcoming with information, especially information regarding the two of you. So, what are your names?"

"... Gesshoku and Nisshoku Zoldyck."

The slow and steady beep of machines brought you into awareness, feeling your dry throat crackle as you breathed. Each inhalation feeling forced and annoying as oxygen poured into the mask on your face. Your thoughts came slowly and sluggishly as if dampened by some chemical or drug fed into your system. It was difficult to even keep your eyes open as you tried to think about where you were and even who you were. Everything was jumbled in your brain and the ever present temptation to keep sleeping sat stubbornly in your mind.

"(Y/n)?"

A familiar voice managed to reach through the confusion and drag you back to the surface of clarity. Your attention snapped over to the source of the voice and you were vaguely lost as to why your father sat next to you. More so than just your father being present, you wanted to know where you were and where your sons were. If your father was with you in this mysterious place, where could your boys possibly be?

Your voice was harsh even to your own ears as if you had not spoken in a very long amount of time. The fact that your mouth felt so dry didn't help either as it only served to make your voice scratchier. It didn't really matter what your voice sounded like, though. What mattered to you was making sure your sons were alright and as far from their father as possible.

"(Y/n), I'm sure this is confusing for you-"

"Where are they?"

"..."

"Where are my sons?"

You left little room for argument and it was clear your father understood you would not be resting or wasting any time on questions until you could ensure your sons were safe. Gotoh silently thanked the fact that Illumi was out on a job and was not likely to return any time soon. At least the absence of the eldest Zoldyck son would give you some time to adjust to the new reality you found yourself living.

"They're with Master Silva-"

"Take me to them."

"(Y/n), you just awoke after spending two weeks unconscious. You should rest-"

"Take me to my sons. Now."

When your sons arrived at the proverbial doorstep of the Zoldyck estate, Gotoh was stunned to find out you were in poor health. The fact that the boys had traveled alone to meet their family and ask for their help told him just how unwell you were. Last time Gotoh saw you, you stood strong despite the way the world had worn you down and you were ready to fight the very people you served so you could protect your sons. He certainly was not prepared to see what had become of you thanks to your sudden illness.

Arriving at your home in the small village burned a permanent etching into Gotoh's mind. You looked so frail and sickly, bed bound and unable to respond to the world around you as your body fought as hard as it could to keep you alive. He had only just learned you were still alive and already had to face the potential reality of losing you again. In some ways, helping you during your illness soothed the ragged ache in your father's heart as he lamented the fact that he had been unable to protect you when you needed him most. Constant wondering of how he had ignored the signs of your mistreatment plagued him, filling his head and heart with shame at not seeing sooner.

Learning the real reason you had run from the family and from him weighed heavily on his mind. If he had just noticed sooner, or kept a better eye on you, perhaps Illumi wouldn't have gotten away with his sick affection towards you for as long as he did. Even now it was hard to think of the stoic eldest Zoldyck son doing anything so perverse and twisted towards you- someone he grew up with- but the evidence you had gathered was supposedly very damning. Either out of respect for you or for Gotoh himself, the Zoldycks did not share the compiled videos with him. Not that he wanted to see the things Illumi had done to you or hear you cry for help only to be ignored. The reality of what had been done to you was a heavy one and one that Gotoh struggled to come to terms with.

"Alright. I brought your clothes so you can change into something and then we can go see them."

The things they found... Were truly enlightening to just how depraved the eldest had become.

You wordlessly snatched up the clothing that he bought for you, pulling yourself out of bed and behind the curtains to change your clothes. The confident strides you had once walked with were now broken and eternally limping, a constant reminder that Illumi had tried everything to keep you with him permanently.

After he and the three Zoldycks left your home that first time, they did digging into Illumi and what exactly he was capable of doing and threatened to do to you. Milluki- the second eldest son- kept extensive back-logs of any kind of security feed footage and even had cameras previously unknown of around the estate.

It began with video of Illumi stalking you well before the abuse began. He would follow you throughout the estate and ensure any schedule you were on passed by his room at least once, if not multiple times throughout the day. There were countless evenings where he would silently enter your room while you slept and did who knows what with your unconscious body. Beyond the stalking he began to steal things that belonged to you, squirreling them away in his room.

Approximately when he began his perverse abuse, his behavior around you erratically shifted. He would openly corner you in halls, dragging you- sometimes literally- to the nearest closet or even his room. Neither of you would leave for hours on end and usually he was the one who emerged first, looking no worse for wear. Several minutes after he leaves, you would emerge, clothing torn in places revealing dark marks adorning your soft body. Sometimes you would walk out, other times you would practically crawl out of those rooms, disheveled and limping with clear distress on your face. It didn't take a genius- or sound from the video feed- to know what Illumi was doing to you. If anyone saw or heard you, they would quickly retreat the other way and speak not a word of it to anyone.

None of this was news to the Zoldycks, or to Gotoh. You had gathered enough evidence and said as much to make the suffering you felt clear. What really took them by surprise was what they found when they went poking around Illumi's room.

There was a secondary room that was hidden away from the common eye, looking like just another panel in his wall. Behind that panel lay the true depth of the depravity Illumi had been consumed by. What was akin to a room of worship or even some kind of elaborate shrine lay within. Things he had taken from you on display like trophies; from underwear, to locks of hair, even to a fridge full of marked vials of your blood, saliva, and vaginal lubricant. Aligned along one wall were countless pregnancy tests- all negative- and a clear empty spot marked and reserved for a positive test. Pictures of you papered the walls, some candid shots taken from a distance, some of you asleep in bed, others where you were clearly posed, bound, and gagged.

Several notebooks filled with dates and observations taken on you were in the far corner of the room. The earlier contents dated back to years before Illumi acted on his dark desires. Countless pages filled with line after line of his growing obsession filled every book, certain things highlighted and marked to be remembered. Some of the passages detailed exactly what he wished to do to you and how he imagined you would sound as he did them. One book was exclusively notes on how you reacted to certain sexual situations he put you through; what you responded to best, and what made you scream the loudest.

Calendars were marked with your monthly cycle, peak ovulation days specifically labeled 'breeding days'. Each week had a date marked for when he planned for you to take a pregnancy test.

He clearly had a place for his more 'prized' items in the center of the room. Upon a pedestal sat a torn uniform in your size. It was neatly folded and stacked together, a pair of bloodied underwear sitting on top with the label 'our first' placed along side it. There was little doubt that this uniform was what you were wearing when the sexual abuse began.

The most disturbing- by far- was the unnaturally life-like doll that looked near identical to you. It had clearly been 'used' many times and looked like you as if you were simply sleeping. This doll had your exact measurements, from bust size to hips, and wore clothing that they recognized as yours. The fake you was blindfolded and cuffed to a raised metal bar, hanging by the wrists. There were obvious features intended to be used for sexual gratification, from the openable mouth with a moveable tongue, to the two holes that were made to be stuffed. The most recent entry in the notebooks were Illumi lamenting the fact that the doll simply was not you and didn't feel the same, though it felt real enough for him to use consistently when he was not on a job.

Gotoh was disgusted and would never tell you what he and the three Zoldyck men had discovered in Illumi's room. All the secret room did was make Illumi's insatiable and insane obsession with you clear. They truly did not know how to keep Illumi from you when he learns you are at the Zoldyck estate and within his reach once more. There was little wonder now as to why Illumi had mangled your ankle, as he clearly was willing to do whatever it took to keep you in his grasp.

As you returned in the clothing Gotoh had given you, he stood up and silently led you through the twisting halls and corridors. Any fellow workers the two of you passed reacted to you the way they would react to a member of the family passing by; bowing their heads and moving to the far sides of the hall to let you pass. Where it was surreal to have others treat you with the same respect as they did the family, you knew it was likely because of your sons. You two came to a large door you were familiar with as it was the door to Silva's 'office' and you began to worry what you would find inside.

Gotoh knocked and the deep voice of the head of the family called out for you two to enter. As the door swung open and you stepped inside, two small figures practically flew into your arms. Your two sons clung to you and held tightly to wherever they could as they enthusiastically greeted you. Both boys were practically on the verge of tears as they rejoiced your return, talking over each other.

You couldn't keep up with the overlapping conversations and simply returned the hug in kind to the two boys who quickly went quiet, just enjoying your loving behavior. It was clear the boys had missed you to an extreme and they wanted to share everything they had learned while you were bed-ridden from your illness. Silva had a single brow raised at the boys, no doubt having only known them to be relatively quiet and withdrawn. Compared to how they interacted with you, it was more than obvious that the two favored you in every way. Your boys were clearly mama's boys and they had no issue letting everyone know that.

"We knew we had to help-!"

"Even though you said not to-"

"They really helped-"

"I've learned how to stab people-!"

"Did you know a human body dies without-?"

"But then we were really good at-"

"Grandpa has killed so many-"

"And Great-Grandpa hasn't killed anyone he wasn't hired to-"

"But Great^(3)Grandpa is super strong and-"

"When did you teach your boys how to use Nen?"

You glanced up at Silva, who was observing the exchange between you and your boys with a calm yet watchful gaze. It hadn't ever occurred to you to tell anyone the boys could use nen because you didn't want them around their family anyway given the emphasis on being assassins.

It was then the eldest of your boys, Gesshoku, seemed to perk up. Despite the young ages of your twin boys, they were unusually aware of what adults said and the things adults murmured when nearby.

"I didn't."

"I can see they have use of their nen, there is no point in trying to cover it up."

"I'm not covering anything up. I never taught them to use nen. From the moment they were born they have had access to their nen. Perhaps it was the respective eclipses that took place during their birth that caused it, I don't really know, but I never taught them how to use it."

This came as surprise to you, not only for the fact that Illumi had belittled you at every turn and called you replaceable, but for the fact that Silva seemed to think he was obsessed. You looked up at the white-haired assassin curiously, wondering what your boys were going on about. Truthfully, you would rather your sons never meet their father, but that decision was not up to you to make. It was a choice only they could make regarding their father and they seemed uniquely interested in meeting the man.

"Mama! Grandpa said our father isn't here right now, but might come back in a few days. You said he was not nice to you, so we asked Grandpa why Father wasn't nice to you and Grandpa said that Father is assessed with you-!"

"Obsessed."

"Right, like I said, assessed."

You felt a shiver of dread run down your spine upon hearing just how twisted and unhinged Illumi had become. It was surprising to know the assassin had such intense feelings for you, but it did not soothe you in the slightest. If anything, you wanted to grab your boys and run before Illumi ever caught wind of you being back, but it was likely too late for that.

"What are they talking about?"

"Gotoh did not tell you, I see."

"Tell me what?"

"We did more investigation into Illumi after our first conversation at your home. He has been keeping a kind of shrine to you in his room. He has many things of yours in this room, as well as written documentation about his thoughts on you. I believe he tried to make you believe he didn't care for you as a coping mechanism for himself, as he has been obsessed with you since the two of you were children. There are... revealing... photos of you and a life-sized doll he made of you. I am sure you can guess as to what he uses it for."

"I will be honest with you, (y/n). We don't know how to keep Illumi from pursuing you once he learns you are here. Anything short of you being by an elder Zoldyck's side 24/7 would be unable to deter him. I have no right to ask you to remain here, but the boys must remain. I would think you would stay with your sons, but I must warn you that the price to remain here with them will be Illumi having access to you once more."

The truth weigh heavily on you as you had suspected as much. Illumi was a skilled assassin and had been trained to be able to bypass any and all security in his way to get to his target. Simply thinking of Illumi being near you made your heart flutter and panic. You could leave before he found out about you, but that meant you would have to leave your sons, both of whom were still clinging to you and affectionately snuggling into you. There was simply no way you would abandon your boys, so a heavy resignation thudded like a hollow drum in your chest. If you stayed, Illumi would get to you regardless of any attempts to stop him.

You knew Silva was right and you would have to start thinking about these conditions. It was clear you would need the rest of the family backing you if you were to make any kind of rules to limit his behavior. Beyond that, you worried if he would try to hold your sons' lives in jeopardy for your obedience, but he can't get to them now that the family is protecting them.

"I don't really have a choice, do I? I won't leave my boys. I can't. ... I will have to let it happen, because it will regardless of if I fight or not."

"Perhaps you can make conditions to his access to you? If he is given the choice to follow them or lose you, perhaps he will take them seriously."

There were so many things to consider that you almost missed the sound of the door opening following a single knock. Turning to face the newcomer, your heart seized when you saw a pair of familiar looking doll eyes set in white alabaster skin. Clearly he had not expected to see you standing there when he opened the door and his excitement crackled like static around him. His eyes trailed from you to the two white-haired children that clung to your legs, narrowing slightly as he considered what he was seeing. When his gaze returned to you, there was a kind of recognition in them that was quickly replaced with hunger the longer he stared at you.

"..."

[ddarker-dreams]

Loves Me, Loves Me Not.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, and implied stalking. Word count: 3.5k.

There are only so many times you can discreetly check your phone without worry presenting itself on your face.

You’d like to consider yourself a reasonable person, yet it’s natural for the mind to wander in circumstances such as this. The waitress went from stopping by in intervals of five minutes to ten, then twenty, and now, you haven’t seen her in half an hour. Your second cocktail sits in a watered-down version of itself, the ice having melted what feels like ages ago. The clinking of silverware, murmurs of conversations from other patrons, and live jazz performance fade into meaningless stimulation your brain opts out of processing. Perhaps the relaxed ambiance could serve as a welcome distraction if you were able to focus. You can’t, however, not when you haven’t heard from him in hours.

You think to take another sip of your drink but decide against it. You reapplied your lipstick not long ago, you’d rather not necessitate the action’s repeat so soon.

Your waitress walks by, a bill in hand for another table. She momentarily makes eye contact and then offers an apologetic smile upon seeing your situation has yet to change. Your phone abruptly buzzing distracts you from this, momentarily lifting your spirits. Hurriedly, you pull it back out, your eyes scanning the screen for the one name that’d make all your concerns disappear. This hope is short-lived. The notification turns out to be some breaking news that you don’t bother reading past the first few words. Sighing, you unlock your phone, going straight to messages for the umpteenth time, as if that’d magically make an explanation appear at your fingertips.

Reopening your text history with your fiancé unsurprisingly reveals nothing new. It’s only your unread texts on the right side of the screen, inquiring over his whereabouts, jokingly at first. Then not so jokingly as the night progressed. The logical side of your psyche offers plausible and soothing solutions. He could be held up late at work, his phone could’ve died; there are so many perfectly rational explanations. His job is an unusual one that demands more than a standard nine to five. You know that well by now. Still, he’d try and make it a point to tell you when to expect delays. No such forewarning was made the last time you saw him.

It’s for this reason that a dark premonition hangs over your head, like rain clouds threatening to burst.

The question pressing on you the most currently is what to do next.

Should you order an Uber and head back to your apartment, ditching this dinner reserved weeks in advance? Or should you keep waiting just in case he’s due to show up any second, apologies likely on his lips? If you go with the latter suggestion, then comes the problem of deciding how much longer to wait. You’ve already invested a decent chunk of the evening doing just that. Since this restaurant requires a formal dress code, you’re not in the most comfortable clothes either. Lounging on your couch in comfortable pajamas is sounding more and more inviting by the second. Knowing his temperament, you doubt he’d hold it against you. He’s been sweet on you as far back as you can remember.

With this in mind, you grab your purse. You’ll wave down your waiter the next time she happens by. In the meantime, you peruse your phone, trying to decide if you’re feeling a horror or romance movie tonight. You’re so preoccupied with this issue that you fail to notice your bubbly waiter’s return until she clears her throat, earning your attention.

You feel as if your heart and stomach are plummeting into hell upon seeing the figure that stands so nonchalantly by her side.

The devil himself would’ve been a more welcome sight.

“Look who finally showed up,” the waitress beams, likely in an attempt to ease what she mistakenly believes to be relationship-based tension in the air. She clears her throat and clasps her hands together at the miserable silence that follows. “Well, I’ll be right back after you familiarize yourself with the menu, sir.”

The aforementioned sir shakes his head. “There’s no need for that. I’ll go ahead and order for us both. You’ve been made to wait long enough… Am I right, [First]?”

You have so much to say yet your tongue is like dead weight in your mouth.

He straightens the lapels of his jacket, sits in the booth across from you, and relays an order in that calm and self-assured tone of his. He sticks true to his word; the appetizer, entrée, and accompanying drink he orders are all your favorites. He even makes a point of asking them to leave off that one ingredient you could never stand. Once that is over and done with, the waitress knows better than to linger and you’re left on your lonesome.

Knowing gray eyes shift from where she once stood to your flabbergasted form.

“Why,” your voice comes out like a dry croak, “Why are you here, Chrollo?”

He leans forward, folds his hands together, and rests his chin atop them. “My heart aches at the sight of a lovely lady such as yourself getting stood up on a date. I thought my company might do you some good.”

Indignant, you rise to your feet. Your legs feel a touch wobbly beneath your weight, a consequence of the alcohol intake and dip in blood pressure from standing so quickly. Tears sting your lower lash line. You open and close your lips, unsure if you want to shriek, throw insults, or break down entirely at this invasive species’ insistence on never leaving you alone. Chrollo takes in every depraved emotion that passes over your countenance with greedy delight befitting a thief such as himself, malignity at its finest. From what you can recall, he’d go to lengths to hide the extent of his enjoyment from your distress, but he must not see the point in bothering now. If anything, he probably wants you to know how pleased this is making him.

As covertly as you can, you eye the exit standing just a few feet away. You must not have disguised your intent well enough, for he sighs in something akin to disappointment.

“Normally, I wouldn’t mind playing such games with you,” he murmurs, almost more to himself than to you, “But tonight, consider my patience tried.”

You never make it further than one step toward freedom.

“Sit.”

At this single utterance, your legs buckle at the knee.

The world around you is a blur as you’re made to sit back down, as if a wave had crashed over your head and forced you downward. Your body’s betrayal of your own wishes momentarily stupefies you. It isn’t until you spot that damnable grimoire of his out and at the ready that you’re able to put the pieces together. The subsequent picture you form is an alarming one. This is a display, no, a flaunting of total power. The wielding of forces you could barely fathom, much less fight against. Chrollo makes a point of keeping Bandit’s Secret out, his usual art of subtly tossed by the wayside.

“I see you’re slowly coming to terms with reality,” Chrollo begins. His lips curve into a smile that serves to unnerve you further. “That’s good. While I’m sure you have plenty to say, do be a dear and keep your mouth shut for just a while longer. Now then. I’ll present you with two options. We can either remain seated and speak things over like adults, or…”

Sweat trickles down your brow at the taunting gleam in his eyes.

“I can continue manipulating your body to my heart’s content. You’ll be conscious throughout whatever it is I see fit to make you do, of course. I’ll even allow you to maintain control over your eyes. I’ll warn you, though; I’m not in a very gracious mood tonight. Choose carefully.”

Your lips go from feeling as if they’ve been sewn shut to abiding by your command once again. Other than that, you cannot move a muscle. You wonder if your body’s involuntary functions are at his mercy as well. For while your heart is pounding away, you know how much faster the organ is capable of going when in Chrollo’s presence. He must want you somewhat legible if he’s willing to bother with such a small detail.

In theory, you could scream and beg for help. His hold on your vocal cords has loosened up enough for you to determine this.

However, when you consider the laughter of a table by your side, you hesitate. There are families celebrating birthdays. An elderly couple in the booth behind you who just ordered dessert. Best friends enjoying workplace gossip by the bar. In acting out so brazenly, you’d be condemning all of them to death. If not a fate worse than that. To Chrollo, the act of killing was a means to an end. He regarded it in the same way one would a chore, such as taking out the trash. It didn’t matter if it was one or one hundred lives.

He’d drown this entire city in its own blood if that’s what it took to get to you.

Curious at your prolonged silence, he tilts his head. “Well?”

He really meant what he said about his patience being tried.

“Okay,” is the single word you manage to squeeze out.

He eyes you for another moment, likely searching for any potential deception on your part. When he finds nothing dissatisfactory, he closes his book.

“Smart girl,” he croons. His praise does little besides make you want to hurl.

You greedily take in deep breaths upon regaining your autonomy. Your physiological state has gone from being forcibly subdued to pure, unadulterated chaos in a matter of seconds, matching your disoriented mind. Shamefully, you almost miss the calm being under his thrall offered. Chrollo affords you no further time to collect yourself, getting right down to business.

“Show it to me.”

You gnaw on your trembling lower lip, exasperation lacing your voice. “Show you what?”

He raises his left hand into the air. You blink, narrowing your eyes in confusion, before chilling realization pricks at you like needles stabbing your entire body. Compelled by your own self-preservation, you raise your left arm from your side and hover it over the table. The diamond atop the gold band on your ring finger glistens beneath the restaurant’s moody lighting. Chrollo’s faux smile dissipates the second he spots the ring, regarding it with what you can only describe as mild revulsion. You don’t miss the way his eye twitches. Swallowing thickly, you dread to discover what might come next.

Cold hands envelop your own as he forces your near-constant trembling to still, allowing him a better look. His physiognomy is entirely blank; he’s a statue whose facial features have yet to be carved into place. While navigating whatever tempest is brewing in his mind, he begins to apply pressure to your hand, causing you to visibly wince and let out a pained yelp.

This seems to bring him back to reality. His bruising grip relaxes, yet he refuses to let you go. He rubs the pad of his thumb over your aching skin that’ll inevitably bruise from his force, in what must be a quiet apology. What you witnessed just now was the closest you’ve ever seen to his otherwise impeccable composure slipping. He regains control as fast as he lost it, not a single vestige of the quiet intensity he boasted seconds prior remaining.

Chrollo slides the ring off your finger without asking for your consent. The loss shatters something deep and personal inside you. He’s doing it again — demolishing what little you’ve painstakingly built for yourself — uncaring of how it hurts you so long as he’s gratified in the end. Your vision goes blurry while he lifts the pilfered ring up to the light, inspecting it closer. Tears mix with your mascara and drip down your cheek, then your chin, and finally, fall onto your lap.

He lets out a breathless chortle. “A cubic zirconia, hm?”

Apparently pleased with this discovery, he loses interest in studying the object any longer. He takes it into the palm of his hand and crushes it before you can think to protest. In a futile display, you reach out to take it back, your eyes wide and desperate. He frowns at the value you’ve assigned to what must be an insult in his eyes. You’re prepared to claw at his hand if that’s what it takes for him to open it, but he acquiesces to your unspoken demand. Stunned, you watch with anguish as a cascade of powder falls into a pitiful pile on the table. He uses your frozen state to his advantage and wipes it aside, as if he were haphazardly dusting off an old book. What little remains of your engagement ring is lost forever.

Your teeth chatter from the rage boiling your blood and you swear you see red. “I hate you, did you know that? Huh? Since you’re so fucking smart, you should be able to tell that much, shouldn’t you? Or are you too demented to realize it?” 

“That’s not very mature of you, [First].”

“You—!” Taking a labored breath, you force your volume down, your body feeling as if it’s burdened with a fever. It’s hot. Everything is so hot. You think you might melt from the inside out.

Just before you can continue tearing into him, your phone vibrates. It isn’t until the third persistent buzz that you realize it must be a phone call. Knowing how inhumanly sharp Chrollo’s ears must be, you think to ignore it, not wanting to risk making a move that’d condemn everyone around you to death. You knew what lines could be crossed and which couldn't. His eyes meet yours, the skin beneath them wrinkling. You recognize the emotion that communicates without issue. Amusement.

“Go on,” he urges, a playful lilt present in his tone. “Answer it.”

When you look down, you see your fiancé’s name sprawled across the screen. Edgar.

You don’t want to know, you don’t want to know, you don’t want to know—

But you have to find out. If not for yourself, then for him.

You press the green accept button and hold your phone to your ear, your other hand going to cover your mouth so that you don’t scream.

At first, nothing but agonizing silence awaits you. You struggle to breathe. There’s a slight commotion on the other end, a shuffling of fabric. Had it been left at that, your mind may have been able to write it off. It’s commendable what excuses the human brain arrives at to explain away what phenomena it doesn’t want to acknowledge. That’s when you hear raspy breathing coming out in an unsteady rhythm. It’s a low, barely perceptible sound, so quiet that it’s a miracle you even picked up on it in the first place. A groan comes next. There’s no doubt in your mind who this voice belongs to and what this must mean.

Chrollo rests his cheek on his fist while observing you through dark eyelashes, content and relaxed. He’s studying you. Drinking up every little twitch and shiver as if it were a fine wine. There’s a glaze over his eyes, twisted fondness mixing with sadistic pleasure. The smile on his full lips is genuine. He looks like he wants to ravish you right then and there. You wish you were stronger, capable of hiding your heart instead of wearing it on your sleeve for his viewing pleasure.

Your name is weakly rasped on the other line, setting ablaze your rapidly fraying nerves. Is this really happening to you? Were you ever as safe as you hoped? Is there safety to be found when someone like Chrollo Lucilfer has set his sights on you?

“I wish,” each syllable takes a great deal of effort for your Edgar to enunciate. There’s a pause, for talking must take a great deal of strength. “I wish… I never met you.”

The line goes dead.

Sluggishly, you move your head in the phone’s direction. You don’t want to believe what you just heard. Or the fate that will inevitably befall the one person in this world you were able to trust. What a plague you must be, a harbinger of ill fortune to all who encounter you. You craved life, yet it wilts at your fingertips, sensing the consequences that’d come if you so much as brush against it. They cower into faraway corners like you aren’t also a victim who longs for safety.

You might not be the grim reaper they fear, but where you walk, he’s bound to follow.

Chrollo clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “That’s who you intended to wed, dear? A small-time Hunter who denounces you after a little pain? My, my… that must sting. Still, I doubt it comes close to how hurt I was upon hearing news of your dalliances.”

Dalliances. Is that all he considers your betrothal to be?

He presses his advantage at your silence — you don’t think you could form a coherent sentence if your life depended on it. Unlike him, you haven’t been dutifully preparing for this moment for god knows how long. His words wreak of premeditation and long hours spent ruminating over how to cut the deepest. He should consider himself successful if that is the case.

“I suppose I’m somewhat at fault for lacking proper foresight,” Chrollo sighs, his nonchalance in discussing the matter borderline commendable. “I thought some well-placed Nen would keep you nice and docile for me until my business came to an end. Never did I imagine you’d run into a Nen Exorcist of all people. Much less welcome his advances when you so adamantly refused mine.”

He places a hand to his chin, musing aloud to himself, “What is it about him that won you over so fast, I wonder? He’s weak, too destitute to afford a proper ring despite being a Hunter, and above all else, more than happy to give you up if it meant his life being spared. Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things he said about you darling. He said he never would’ve intervened had he known it was I you belonged to. That this was all your fault for deceiving him. Not a very good look, I must say.”

“Stop it,” you beg, covering your ears with your hands and squeezing your eyes shut, “Please, just stop—”

Your pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. His selective hearing sure hasn’t changed.

“Had I known you were so eager to marry, I would’ve made you my bride ages ago,” Chrollo continues, acting as if this were a spur-of-the-moment revelation and not a monologue practiced in advance. “How about it, [First]? I think that might just be the thing this relationship needs. I know I’m committed, but you… hm. Your loyalty leaves much to be desired. Ah. Here comes our appetizer.”

Using a gentleness you didn’t think him to be capable of, he peels your hand off the side of your face, then places a handkerchief into your outstretched palm. You stare at it, barely registering anything aside from the soft fabric brushing against your skin. No other sensory inputs make an impression on your brain, in what must be its last-ditch effort to preserve your sanity. You blink. Once, twice. Red? Is that red? You tunnel your attention into the seemingly insignificant detail. This handkerchief is black as midnight, and yet, there’s something off about the upper right corner. A hint of an iron scent permeates the air. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

Your paroxysm almost begins anew when you realize what the foreign substance must be: blood.

Considering the details of what you’ve been made to endure these past few minutes…

“Try not to think about it too much, dear.”

You drop the cloth like it was acid that’d burn your flesh should it be held any longer, a reaction that makes him chuckle.

“You’ve always been squeamish, haven’t you?” he muses. He folds the handkerchief and then tucks it into his blazer’s inner pocket. You’re digging your nails into the palm of your hand hard enough almost to break skin, the pain anchoring you. This is the life you’ll have to live again. The mind games, the quips, the humiliation, and the frustration. You don’t know if you can handle it again. Worse of all, you don’t know if you have a choice.

It’s doubtful that you do.

Chrollo leans forward, invading what little personal privacy you have left, his lips brushing suggestively against your ear.

“One more suggestion. You might want to excuse yourself and get cleaned up, you look a mess. Just be sure to keep an eye on the time. We wouldn’t want to ruin everyone else’s evening, now would we?”

[fairyniceyeah]

💎 I love my team, I love my crew (Part 6/7)

Title from Super (SEVENTEEN)

ILMTILMC Part I ILMTILMC Part II ILMTILMC Part III ILMTILMC Part IV ILMTILMC Part V

Summary: Jeonghan and Jun are faced with deciding which member receives the last medication.

CW: emeto, diarrhea in the context of illness, fevers, IVs

Sickies: Woozi/Jihoon + Minghao + Seungkwan + Vernon + S.Coups/Seungcheol + Wonwoo Caretakers: Jeonghan + Jun + Wonwoo + Hoshi/Soonyoung + Mingyu + Dino/Chan

💎😇

Something was eating Jun up from the inside and Jeonghan needed to know yesterday what was wrong. Considering that all cabins seemed to be okay at the moment, they unanimously decided to walk up to the deck, hoping for a bit of fresh air now that they had been inside for so long.

The night air was a bit cold and Jeonghan shivered a bit. Stars were shining brightly over them and the moon, along with a few lamps illuminated the lounge area where they sat down side by side. 

Jeonghan wouldn’t press Jun to speak even despite feeling like he would vibrate out of his skin with worry. Jun would speak when he had gathered himself.

“We have a problem”, Jun whispered, despite it just being the two of them. Jeonghan hummed and pulled the younger into his side. Jun was part of the hyung line, yes, but with two 95-liners out of commission Jun had basically been promoted to primary carer. He did well, but it was not his job, not what he was used to. Between eomma-hyung Jeonghan and caring leader Seungcheol there seldom was need for any other member to step up.

“There is no more medication left.”

Icy shock went through Jeonghan’s body. No, that couldn’t be, was his first thought. But Jun would not come to him with such information without not having fact-checked it. Besides, he had been with the medic, so he would know.

“Joshua-hyung got an IV. But most is expired and can’t be given. Well, we literally only have one antiemetic left. Sure, some pills but honestly, none of them will be able to keep them down.”

“Okay.” Jeonghan didn’t know what else to reply. He was scared too. So he just wrapped his arms tighter around Jun and let the younger calm down, ignoring the patches of tear and snot on his shoulder.

“We can decide who to give the last one to. Or maybe we should keep it in case somebody else might need it in the future”, Jun sniffed. “The medic texted and said that nobody from the staff currently is in need of it.”

They were both silent for a moment. Jeonghan tried to push back his own tears and focus on a solution. This was not his area of expertise. He didn’t want to be responsible for such a heavy-weight decision. But he couldn’t ask that of the younger members to decide either. He would have to step up as the healthy mat-hyung. 

“Hao and Shua already have IVs. Jihoon managed to take some meds and eat just now”, Jeonghan reported. “What about Cheollie and Kwan-ah?”

“And Vernonie.” 

Another sick dongsaeng. It didn’t make the choice easier.

“I’m mostly worried about Cheollie-hyung”, Jun continued, “he threw up multiple times and when Dino took his temperature about fifteen minutes ago he was pushing 40°C. He’s barely conscious. Seungkwan and Vernon are both vomiting and feverish too, but not as badly. Yet, maybe. Kwan-ah is at 38.6°C and Vernon at 38.4°C.”

Jeonghan took a deep breath, knowing if he didn’t he’d just start crying instead of speaking.

“Cheollie can’t take any oral medication?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We could try, I guess, but he started throwing up when Dino-yah just tried to take his temperature.”

Jeonghan hummed. “He would need to eat first. Jihoonie got a really bad stomach ache from taking the meds on an empty stomach. We can’t risk that again.”

Another moment of silence.

“Han-ah? Jun-ah?”, the lead manager said quietly from behind them, causing both of them to jump. The man apologized and walked around them to sit with them in the lounge area. 

“How are you holding up?”, he asked gently. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be of much help. A lot of staff members are not well either, though none are as bad off as the members.”

“We’re okay”, Jun whispered, wiping one last stray tear from his face. Jeonghan just nodded, despite feeling the opposite. He knew they both were lying. The manager seemed to know too.

“I just finished speaking with the CEO. We can’t move the boat, we don’t have enough healthy people able to sail. But the good news is that they are sending medical evacuation our way. The boat should be here by morning with enough medications and doctors to help.”

It was meant to be reassuring. But all Jeonghan wanted to do was cry. Morning seemed so far. They would have to last the night first.

💎🐈‍⬛

Wonwoo didn’t know what he expected when he entered the cabin. It certainly was more peaceful than this. 

Soonyoung and Jihoon were sitting side by side on Jihoon’s bed, Soonyoung holding the younger up as Jihoon violently threw up all over himself, the dance leader, the bedding and the floor. The smell would have been overwhelming if it hadn’t been stuck in Wonwoo’s nose for hours. 

Jihoon was crying again, coughing up mouthfuls of what Wonwoo suspected was Mingyu’s juk. This really wasn’t good - no matter how Jihoon seemed to feel better between overwhelming bouts of nausea he just wasn’t able to keep anything down. 

Wonwoo rushed over, trying not to step into the puddle and grabbed the trash can that was standing uselessly on the side of the bed. It must have happened too quickly for Soonoyung to grab it. He held it under Jihoon’s chin and gently caressed the younger’s hair that had fallen out of his braid and was now in the line of danger.

“Oh, Jihoonie”, he whispered, feeling so helpless in face of his friend’s illness. 

At least Minghao was still asleep.

“Sorry”, the producer whimpered as his body gave him a short break, “I thought…” He had to break off to retch again. 

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Breathe”, Soonyoung said but his voice was wobbly. Wonwoo shot him a look but Soonyoung shook his head. They could talk about whatever Soonyoung was dealing with later.

It took another few minutes for Jihoon to be able to lean back a bit, looking so young and scared. Wonwoo carefully placed the bucket down and as he looked up, Soonyoung was already wiping the producer’s tears away. 

“Guess eating wasn’t a good idea, huh?”, the dancer remarked. “I’m so sorry, I really thought it might help.”

So that was what was bothering the dancer. Before Wonwoo could even reassure him, Jihoon mumbled: “Not your fault. I should have told you I was feeling so sick. Mingyu was so proud. I’m sorry.”

Soonyoung seemed like he wanted to retort to that but Wonwoo interrupted them this time. “Let’s play the blame game another time. How do you feel now?”

Jihoon smiled sheepishly, then his expression went hard and he clutched his stomach. “Stomach still hurts. Badly.” He buried his face in Soonyoung’s shoulder, trying to breathe through the pain.

“Hm, okay. I’ll see what we can do about that. First: Do you two wanna get cleaned up in the bathroom? I’ll take care of everything here.”

“Sorry.”

“Nope, all out of accepting stupid apologies”, Wonwoo replied and ushered the two into the tiny bathroom. “Try to take a shower if you can.”

Wonwoo emptied the bucket into the toilet and then placed it by the door to the hallway. Normally he’d washed it out in the shower but that seemed a bit disgusting considering that Jihoon and Soonyoung were about to shower. So instead he gathered the soiled blankets, grabbed the dirty clothes from the bathroom floor and walked to the laundry room again. It was becoming oddly familiar to him. 

On his way back to the room, having found a mop and a cleaning bucket, he stumbled into Mingyu, who grimaced when he saw what he was holding. 

“Jihoon”, Wonwoo explained and sighed. “He’s really not doing well. Can you see if you find Jun or Jeonghan? I think Jihoon needs an IV even if he really doesn’t want it.”

“Yeah.”

“How are the others, Gyu?”, Wonwoo asked, realizing he had no idea how the other sick members were doing.

“Jun and I managed to get some juk into Vernon and Seungkwan”, Mingyu reported. Wonwoo sighed. He hadn’t even known that Vernon was sick too. His best friend sniffled a bit before adding: “I don’t think Cheollie-hyung is doing well. He’s really feverish.”

Wonwoo just squeezed his shoulder in silent support and they took different paths.

Once he had everything cleaned up and had taken the last clean bedding from the second bunk bed just in time for Jihoon and Soonyoung to stumble out of the shower, Minghao woke up. 

“Gege?”, he asked in Mandarin, clearly still half-asleep. 

Seeing that Soonyoung had no issues supporting a wobbly and seemingly dizzy Jihoon, Wonwoo went over to him and sat down beside him on the bed. “Hyung is here, hm? Jun isn’t here at the moment.”

Minghao grumbled a bit in unhappiness but wiggled closer to Wonwoo anyhow and lifted his head to lay it on Wonwoo’s thigh. He sighed contentedly and Wonwoo thought he would just fall back asleep again when Minghao rolled onto his back and blinked up at Wonwoo.

“Wonwoo-hyung?”, he asked sleepily.

“Hi, baby”, he greeted softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Hm. Better I think”, Minghao said. “My stomach doesn’t seem angry anymore. Just tired.”

“I’m glad”, Wonwoo replied honestly. At least one dongsaeng was feeling less bad. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Hm, yeah.”

Within seconds Minghao was asleep again. 

Peace didn’t last long.

“Jihoonie?”, Soonyoung called in a panic and Wonwoo jerked his head up to see what was going on. His heart dropped to his knees as he saw Soonyoung struggle to keep a limp and obviously unconscious Jihoon from falling to the floor.

💎😇

The moment Mingyu approached them, they quickly stopped their conversation with the lead manager. There was no need for Mingyu to get even more worried and he had likely sought them out for a reason. Jeonghan closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will his headache away.

“Gyu? What’s wrong?”, Jun asked, already halfway upright before he finished his own question. 

“Wonwoo-hyung asked me to find you. Jihoon-hyung wasn’t able to keep the juk down. I think he’s really unwell.” Mingyu fidgeted a bit, wringing his hands. He seemed incredibly nervous to deliver the bad news. Jeonghan suppressed his urge to groan.

“I’ll go. Will you check on Cheollie-hyung?”, Jun said, turning his attention to Jeonghan. Jun smiled a bit, probably offering because he knew that Jeonghan was worried about his best friend and hadn’t seen him in some time. And he was worried. But he didn’t know if he wanted to see Seungcheol if he truly was this bad off. He just wanted to run.

“Yeah”, he agreed nevertheless. He couldn’t just refuse and worry his dongsaengs. “We need to check on Shua too. I don’t like that Seokmin’s alone with him.”

“Do you want me to go check on Shua-hyung?”, Mingyu asked, looking like he was surprising himself with the offer as well. While they didn’t want to worry their dongsaengs, Jeonghan couldn’t deny that the help would be very much needed and appreciated.

“That would be really nice, actually”, Jun replied, “thank you, Minguy-ah. But if Shua-hyung and Seokmin are fine, please try to just rest.” As he walked past he ruffled Mingyu’s hair in appreciation. It was a good solution. Maybe one room where the members could peacefully sleep was a good idea.

Jeonghan pushed himself to his feet and the three headed downstairs and into the three rooms.

The cabin was more relaxed than Jeonghan had imagined. Seungkwan and Vernon were asleep on one bed, cuddled up to each other. Seungkwan was laying on his back with Vernon passed out on his chest, arms holding the younger in a soft embrace. It was cute. Homely.

The only light came from the bathroom; it was bright enough to not stumble into things when walking but low enough to not disturb the sleeping members.

Dino was perched on the bed next to Seungcheol, pressing a cool compress to the leader’s forehead. He looked relieved the moment Jeonghan entered, shoulders slumping down and a tiny smile replacing the worried frown.

“Hyung”, he whispered, mindful of the sleeping members, “I am so glad you are here.”

“Hi, Dino-yah”, Jeonghan replied as he came to stand next to the maknae, pulling him into a half-embrace against his stomach, “I’m sorry it took hyung so long. A lot is going on. How is he?”

“His fever barely went down. He couldn’t eat anything of the juk. He’s … bad.”

They only had one antiemetic left. Something that Jihoon really needed, considering he couldn’t stop throwing up everything in his stomach. But Seungcheol needed something to get his fever down and for that he needed to be able to keep the medication down long enough for it to work. 

As if knowing they were talking about him, Seungcheol shifted. He was so incredibly pale, everything around him - hair, clothes, sheets - all sweat-soaked. He was shivering badly but there was a bright flush on his face. He seemed to be deeply asleep but not peacefully.

“I was thinking a cool shower might help? My eomma always made me take lukewarm baths when I was sick as a kid”, Dino continued. “I just can’t do it on my own.”

It was not a bad idea. Actually it was a pretty pretty good one. Jeonghan told the maknae as much, praising him. Together they decided that taking off Seungcheol’s shirt and pants would be easier when the leader was still in bed so they went to work. 

Seungcheol was not a short guy, anything but. While Jeonghan was as tall as him, Seungcheol was a lot more muscular and therefore heavier. And Dino was tiny. Carrying their leader was difficult, considering there was no help from him. 

Luckily the shower door was open and Jeonghan slid inside, leaning Seungcheol against his chest. There was no way he would be able to hold himself up. 

“Careful, water”, Dino said and aimed the shower head at them. The water wasn’t cold, lukewarm really, but immediately Seungcheol reacted as if he had been dosed in ice. A full body shiver ran through him, nearly making Jeonghan lose his grip on him. Then he woke up with a cry.

Weakly he kicked out, struggling against the hold Jeonghan had on him. “Stop”, he begged, his voice full of scared desperation. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Cheollie”, Jeonghan whispered into his ear, “we need to get you cooled down.” 

The leader whimpered and he seemed not to understand Jeonghan’s words. He still fought, twisting his body and … oh, he was crying.

“Please”, Seungcheol whimpered. “It hurts.”

Jeonghan understood that the cold water must have felt painful on his hot skin but they really needed that fever to get lower. He tightened his grip and looked up at the maknae, who was staring at them with a mix of grim determination and fear. 

“Don’t stop, Dino”, Jeonghan ordered shakily. It was horrible to watch Seungcheol cry and fight like this and he was scared too. But they had no choice. 

“I got you, ddadu, it’s going to be alright.” Jeonghan hoped his words were right.

Seungcheol continued sobbing and moving uncoordinatedly. He didn’t recognize where he was, with whom he was, so much was clear. Seeing their headstrong, smart leader helpless and crying like this … Jeonghan wanted to cry with him. 

Instead he mumbled comforting whispers over Seungcheol’s pained whimpers.

It seemed like hours later when Seungcheol stopped fighting and just slumped back into Jeonghan, exhausted. His head lolled against Jeonghan’s shoulder and to Jeonghan’s surprise he opened his eyes. There was a clarity in them that had been deeply missed. 

“Hannie?”, he whispered, voice hoarse probably from the vomiting earlier.

Hearing his voice made tears shoot to Jeonghan’s eyes and this time he couldn’t suppress them. At least he could pass them off as water from the shower.

“Hi, Cheollie. How are you feeling?”

“Weird. My stomach hurts. My head too.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“A bit. I’m really cold too.”

They had been under the shower for nearly fifteen minutes, it would have to be enough. “Dino-yah, please turn off the water.”

The maknae did as bid and held Seungcheol steady while Jeonghan got up and stripped out of his wet clothes. He didn’t particularly care for himself but Dino threw him a pointed look until he dried himself off and wrapped a towel around his shivering upper body. His wet boxers clung to his skin but this was really not Jeonghan’s priority. 

They managed to get Seungcheol wrapped in a towel and sitting on the closed toilet seat soon enough. Dino procured some underwear and a tank top for the leader, and a set of clothes for Jeonghan from Seungcheol’s suitcase as well. He scurried off to strip the bed off the disgusting, sweat-soaked sheets. Seungcheol was already falling asleep again, but with gently shaking him awake every minute or so, Jeonghan managed to get first himself and then his best friend dressed. Maybe the light clothes would help him feel better. 

“I wanna sleep”, Seungcheol whispered, “I am so tired.”

“I know, baby”, Jeonghan replied and grabbed the thermometer gun from where it was laying on the sink, “I know you’re exhausted. Let me take your temperature and dry your hair. Do you think you could eat a bit and take some medicine?”

“I’m tired.”

Jeonghan sighed. The thermometer still beeped loudly, suggesting a temperature of 39.2°C. At least the shower had helped a bit. If Seungcheol couldn’t keep the medicine down, he would need the antiemetic so he could finally take fever reducers. The temperature was too high to stay like this the whole night.

He rubbed Seungcheol’s hair dry as much as he could without a hair dryer - he didn’t want to use it in case it woke up Seungkwan and/or Vernon. Even if they had slept through the shower he wanted them to rest as much as possible.

When Dino returned to the bathroom, they lifted Seungcheol between them and helped the sleepy leader take the few steps to his bed. The moment he sat down, Seungcheol tried to lay down but Jeonghan stopped him as much as he didn’t want to.

“Just a few minutes, Cheollie, then you can go back to sleep”, he assured. “Try to eat a bit, okay?” He gestured at Dino to bring over the thermos of juk, hoping the porridge was at least a bit warm still. Dino poured some of the contents into a bowl and grabbed a spoon before carefully kneeling down in front of Seungcheol. 

“You just need to cuddle Hannie-hyung, hyung”, Dino encouraged, “I’ll feed you, okay?”

Seungcheol turned his face to hide in Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Too tired. Sick. Don’t wanna throw up.”

“Please try, Cheollie. It’s important.”

But Seungcheol refused, still clearly too unwell to do anything as strenuous as eat. The shower had taken all his remaining energy and more. Jeonghan’s voice shook as he decided: “Dino, go get the medic. He needs the IV if he refuses to eat.”

“IV?”, Seungcheol asked, suddenly a bit more alert. “I don’t want an IV.”

“I know, but we need to get your fever down and if you can’t eat now, we need to stop your nausea somehow so you can take them orally”, Jeonghan explained patiently. 

“Okay.”

💎🍚

“I’m sorry, Jihoonie”, Jun said resolutely, “I know you don’t want an IV but you’ve thrown up everything you have eaten since this morning. You fainted after the shower because you are really out of strength.”

Jihoon wanted to cry, scream, yell. Truth was, he was too exhausted. He knew Jun had a point. He had managed the shower just fine with Soonyoung holding him up. But the few steps back to bed had been too much for his abused circulatory system. His vision had gone black just after a step and Soonyoung had managed to catch him just barely. He had woken up on the floor to the dancer elevating his legs and Wonwoo tapping his cheeks, trying to get him to drink something. 

But even recovering for a few moments sitting against Wonwoo on the floor, hadn’t done much. The three sips of water he had managed to swallow had come back up nearly directly into the plastic bag Soonyoung had managed to shove to his lips just in time. 

Was enduring a stranger poking him with needles while his stomach was still throwing a fit really worth it? Jihoon wasn’t sure. 

Jun was sure enough for both of them apparently. So were Wonwoo and Soonyoung.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”, Jihoon asked. 

“No”, Soonyoung replied, taking both of Jihoon’s hands in his and squeezed. “I promise I’ll stay here and the medic is kicked out the moment the IV is done. But you need medication and you need fluids. If you can’t keep anything down you’ll just feel worse.”

“Okay.”

“Wonwoo-yah, why don’t you go and find the … Wonwoo-yah?”, Jun said and as he faltered all attention was turned to the tall rapper, who was leaning against the bunk bed, using one hand to hold himself up against the railing and was clutching his stomach with the other.

“Are you alright?”, Jun asked worriedly and stepped closer to him.

Wonwoo lifted his head and groaned in pain. His eyes darted to the hallway door, then to the bathroom door. “Don’t follow me.”

With more speed than any of them had anticipated he stumbled to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Fuck. Another one down. Jihoon felt bad, he had been with Wonwoo nearly all day. It was likely him who had infected him.

“Hold on”, Jun mumbled and stepped to knock on the door. “Wonwoo, can I come in?”

There was silence for a minute before Wonwoo, voice muffled but clearly full of pain, answered: “Please don’t. I, uhm, I’m not throwing up.”

They all shuddered when they realized what was happening. 

“Maybe he should have the IV if he is sick from both ends”, Jihoon said, knowing he sounded a bit too gleeful for it to be polite. He wished he felt bad about it but he was worried for Wonwoo and scared of needles and strangers, all while sick. Maybe that gave him a bit of grace.

“I’m … God, this is embarrassing, I’m not nauseous”, Wonwoo called. 

“Not at all?”, Jun questioned.

“No. Just you know … everything turned liquid in the other direction.” Jihoon did feel really bad now. He was sure that Wonwoo was likely even more embarrassed now than Jihoon had been all day and he had thrown up on another member - twice. 

“I’ve been cleaning up puke all day, why am I getting the opposite?”, Wonwoo added and groaned. 

“Can we do anything for you?”, Jun asked at the same time Soonyoung mumbled: “Isn’t the opposite of throwing up eating?”

“Leave me to die in humiliating peace”, Wonwoo answered. “Soonyoung, I love you but shut the fuck up.”

“I think he has been wanting to say this to you for years”, Jihoon stage-whispered.  Soonyoung pouted.

Jihoon grinned a bit, though it turned into a grimace when his stomach cramped anew and he pressed his lips tightly shut. 

Jun sighed and broke the light hearted affair with his next words. “Well, Jihoonie, I’m sorry, but I guess you’re up after all. I’ll go find the medic.”

ILMTILMC Part VII

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN

[sunnynwanda]

A solution

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favourite nemesis.” Villain smirks, turning on the balls of their feet. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Hero shakes their head, leaning against the door frame. “To yourself, obviously. What’s up with the hypnotized mayor?”

“Hm? How would I know?” Villain shrugs nonchalantly, struggling to keep their hands straight at their sides. “You always assume it’s me that’s wreaking havoc. Why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” They take a step towards Villain, their smile making the hair on the back of Villain’s neck stand. “Maybe 'cause it always is. Not to mention you’re the master of mind control here.”

“I can’t believe our Hero turned out to be so biased!” Villain exclaims, bringing their hands to their heart, ever so dramatic. “What about the presumption of innocence?”

Hero huffs, shaking their head yet again. “I stopped presuming you innocent after our fifteenth encounter in one week.”

“Huh. That was my best week.” Villain smiles fondly at the memories. “I was challenging myself, you see? To avoid the mundane.”

“Of course.” Hero shakes their head but can’t help a smirk that finds its way onto their face. “Who would think criminal life could be so boring.”

“It’s not boring!” Their voice is too high to be comfortable. Villain coughs, turning away. “And I’m not a criminal.”

Hero nods, watching the back of Villain’s head for a moment as their nemesis drinks water, swallowing a whole ice cube in the process. They gulp, watching it go down their throat when Villain turns to face them again.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t done anything with the mayor yet... how did you figure it out?” That would be a valid question if only Hero didn’t know both Villain and the mayor so well.

“That’s exactly how. The asshole can’t live a day without causing major problems.” They say matter-of-factly. Villain presses their fingers to their temples. Hero suspects it's an attempt to hide the blush creeping up their neck. “Figures it’s you.”

Villain hums in agitated agreement. They aren’t quite sure if they are annoyed or excited. Most likely both. “What is your mission then?”  

“You.” Villain’s eyebrows rise, challenging every last boundary of their enemy’s restraint. “You are my mission.” With that, Hero pulls them forward, planting a starved kiss on their mouth once they open it in a gasp. Villain all but melts in their arms, not even registering how they end up sitting on a table.

“Told ya I’d deal with him,” is all they manage to squeeze out when Hero lets go of their mouth, dragging their lips to the side. Villain moves to meet them again.  

“Mhm.” Hero keeps kissing along their jaw, prompting Villain to tilt their head for better access. They break away to take in the starstruck expression on Villain’s face with the most smug grin ever. "How long can you keep him that way?”

“You name it.” Villain can feel Hero’s smile against their throat. They shift, leaning back and searching for some support in the back but the wall is too far.  

“Forever?” Hero thinks out loud, the word escaping against their better judgement. Their brain is preoccupied with Villain’s sensitive skin under their tongue. That is, until Villain stiffens and they regret bringing up the subject. They could have discussed this the next morning. At this point, Hero couldn’t care less about the mayor. They knew the city was safe as long as the man was under control.

“You want me to keep the mayor under my control forever?” Villain shuffles away from them and Hero wants to disintegrate into thin air. They opt to avoid eye contact, but Villain grabs the sides of their face, ever so gentle as they guide their eyes to meet. “Do you?”

“Does it exhaust you?” They ask in a small voice. Villain shakes their head no. They know for a fact that wasn’t their first concern. Is that too much to ask? or Would you do that for me? was what Hero dared not ask. Villain smiles softly, caressing Hero’s cheeks with their thumbs as they watch their shoulders relax. Hero lets out a relieved sigh, pulling Villain back into their embrace with a quiet growl. “Then yes. You could make him think he’s a potato for all I care, as long as he’s no longer running rampant in the city.”

“Anything for you, love.” Villain’s voice is barely a whisper against Hero’s lips. They feel a hand wrapping around their waist and the other running fingers through their hair to tilt their head to the side. Hero leaves a rough kiss on their throat, where they watched the ice cube going down. Villain gasps, their gaze dazed as they stare into Hero’s eyes. “Anything.”

Masterlist

[jesterofcringe]

"She's an Angel"

GuardianAngel!Laura lee x Reader

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

★"Dude, I can't keep doing this. If you're gonna keep giving me these stupid challenges, send reinforcements at least."

★You had never prayed before, and you were certain that whatever you were doing didn't count as praying. But you were certain that you were trying to talk to god. Trying to spite them at least, for giving you their "toughest battles". And so, you slumped to your knees, clasped your hands together, and mock prayed.

★"Send me an angel maybe. The nicest one you have."

★What a load of bullshit. You were never the religious type so you didn't really believe in that stuff, but the idea of some god hearing you and fulfilling your request was kind of funny in your mind. You kind of chuckled to yourself as you got up from your knees and forgot all about it.

★A few days later you met Laura Lee.

★When you first met her, you felt as if you were reuniting with an old friend. She had this certain comforting glow about her that made you feel safe in her presence alone. You had been talking for a few minutes but it really had felt like years. You almost wanted to spill your guts about every little thing that was bothering you, but you couldn't do that to someone you just met. It did take some considerable amount of restraint though.

★You guys shared many classes together, which you shrugged off as a funny coincidence. It was perfect too, as you honestly wanted to spend as much time as you could with her. You didn't really know why. It felt like a magnetic force was pulling you together, and you sure as hell weren't going to fight it.

★She was also real damn good at soccer.

★You used to consider skipping practice- despite your love of the sport the school day always left you feeling exhausted and the last thing you wanted was to kick a ball around while praying for death. But practicing with Laura Lee was different somehow. You always felt refreshed and ready for more. Anytime you got knocked down she would pick you back up. Whenever you had a good play or scored a goal she made sure you knew she was proud, whether it be by cheering you on or quick pat on your shoulder. Most of the time your efforts went un acknowledged, so it made you feel really good having someone congratulate you.

★You loved chatting with her on bus rides to games, and on long rides home she let you fall asleep on her shoulder. Though on a particularly long ride, you curled up into her lap while she played with your hair. It was dark out when you got home, but you woke up feeling amazing.

★She could also read you like an absolute book. She knew your tells and could tell when something was wrong before you could.

★"Too loud in here for you? Why don't we step outside for a bit? Get some fresh air."

★It always surprised you as you were usually trying to figure out the problem yourself. Whether you were overstimulated or your social battery was dead, Laura Lee usually came to that conclusion before you did, and always offered up a solution before you could have a second thought about it.

★You liked to fidget. That wasn't news. Usually whenever you were sitting idly you liked to have something in your hands to mess about with. On one of these occasions you had gotten your hands on a pair of scissors and was messing with them without thinking about it. Despite Laura Lee telling you to put them down you didn't listen until it was too late and you slipped up, leaving a nasty cut on your finger.

★You yelped and dropped the scissors, flailing your hand wildly to nullify the pain. As you did, she took your hand in her own, rubbing her thumb over your wound. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to focus on the warmth of Laura Lee's hand instead of the stinging of your own. As she held your hand, you noticed the pain slowly vanished, until all you could feel was her thumb pressing against where the pain should have been.

★"Did you just like, magically heal my hand?"

★"You could say that."

★She had said it with a smile, so you assumed she was also joking, and as such you started to laugh.

★"Why is that so funny?"

★Through fits of laughter you managed, "Because I also happen to be seven feet tall."

★"Y/N I'm being serious," She pulled her hand away and your mouth fell open as you saw that your cut was completely gone, as if it was never there in the first place, "It's literally my whole job to keep you safe."

★"Wait... What?"

★"Why is that so shocking? You literally prayed for me to appear-"

★"-Wait WHAT"

[jonahfagnus]

Jon re-ends the world. Destroys most of it, really, after he consumes the entities/becomes them/Becomes. Then he rebuilds. He intends to make the people he cares for happy, which includes himself, so he does not bring Peter Lukas back. Martin's mother does not get sick, and she is good enough. Mary Keay unexpectedly dies during the birth of her son, and Eric Delano raises him. Michael Shelley and Helen Richardson remain themselves, untwisted. He makes many changes, but mostly keeps things the same.

As for himself, he creates a hidden place. Hidden from ordinary eyes, anyways; he can See everything now.

This place he creates is a field, and a forest, with a river in it. It's nice. He relaxes, Knowing nothing will sneak up on him, Knowing nothing unexpected will ever happen again. He Knows everything, and everything is as it should be.

Well.

There is one problem, he thinks, curled up on his 'bed', a mostly flat area of the cave he deigns as his home, covered in created furs and blankets and long scrawls of paper that he summons when he sleeps and cannot suppress the instinct to write down everything.

He has no anchors. This has rendered him some sort of beast-thing, solid to the touch but rendered out of infinitely dark ink, all fur, antlers, strong paws and sharp claws and fangs, and Eyes like storms and fires and death and webs, on him and around him. One night (one of the 3.675 hours of sleep he has gotten since he reincarnated himself), he was startled awake by a sudden sound, and had opened every Eye he had, giving himself a painful migraine for what was just a branch falling from a tree during high winds.

There are very few solutions to this problem. Martin is not the Martin he knew, and besides he does not want to drag him into this. Nobody on this Earth has been touched by the Fears, and if he can help it, nobody ever will be. Passive fear of being watched and spiders and death is more than enough for him. He would love a statement, but nobody alive remembers enough to give him one.

Of course, there is always Jonah.

Jon has Known since he began reshaping the world that Jonah would not be bested by his efforts to remove the memories of the apocalypse. Besides, he much prefers a world without Jonah in it (and when the parts of himself that are very firmly Beholding and Archives tell him this is a Lie, he vehemently refuses it.)

Although, for all he'd done to Jon, he also Knows that Jonah would be the only one who could truly understand him.

Those are his second and third problems with finding someone he used to know and asking them to help him. They would never understand; and they would not be Jonah. They wouldn't be the Pupil, the Heart - arguably Jon's Heart now that he's also the Eye. That thought in particular both calms him and furthers the storm in his mind.

He Knows he needs an anchor, much as he tries to deny it. He doesn't know how to handle this much power, and every day he grows more unstable, his internal Archive growing disorganised and himself unstable. Jonah - even if Jon only talks to him once, to gain this information, even if Jon kills him again after - Jonah is the only one who can tell him. Jonah made him, even if he didn't make him this. Jonah is the only one.

Ultimately he/the Eye/the Archive lasts a month and a half without him.

On the edges of the forest he situates a cabin. He doesn't care about how there is electricity or running water or heating; he orders it to be so, and it is.

Then he presses into his/the Eye's memory and Looks for Jonah. Every single scrap he can find, coalescing it into a concept, and turning this concept into a mindscape, and he/the Flesh creates a body for this mindscape, and he puts the concept/mindscape/body/Jonah in the living room, lying on the sofa, and he waits. Observes.

Jonah (and it is Jonah, Jon made sure to give him his original body) is asleep, at first. This is fine. Jon can tell the body he/the Flesh made is alive. Heart beats. Breathing, rhythmic, calm. Muscle twitch, reflexive. Neuron fires once, twice, millions, as the concept/mindscape/Jonah settles into his new body, becomes familiar. Chemical flickers, transports. Anxious, confused, groggy. Awake. Hands, arms, tense, sitting up. Jonah blinks, and rubs his eyes, and says "Jon?"

Jon doesn't stop Looking, because he doesn't see a reason to, but he stands and begins to make his way towards the cottage before remembering that he can simply Lie to the world, tell it he is already there, and make that True. He stands on his hind legs, uncomfortable, pushes open the front door, pun in that.

Jonah startles. Confused, curious at his Archive's new form, anxious, did he die, did Jon kill him?

"Yes." Jon says from a tape recorder on the table. There is no point clarifying Jonah's question; they both Know.

Jonah attempts to push into his mind. Jon stops him, effortless. He does not explain that there is far too much information for him to handle, far too much information for Jon, does not explain that he needs Jonah's help. Jonah doesn't ask. Jon approaches him.

Chemical fire. Sympathetic nervous system activates, fight or flight, as Jonah notices Jon's teeth. Jon smiles, although it mostly looks like he/the Hunt is baring his teeth, ready for a fight. Muscles tense. Heartrate increases. Breathing speeds up. Jon does not stop approaching. Jonah does not ask him to; he wants to, Jon Knows this without even trying, but he does not.

Jon climbs onto the sofa and carefully places his head on Jonah's lap. Mostly soft fabric against his cheek. The Heart blinks a little, surprise, confusion. Chemical response; endorphin release, feels like fondness. Likens Jon to a cat. Jon laughs; Jonah is "privately" amused. Jonah moves his hand down to pet him.

The moment they make skin on skin contact Jon's mind goes completely silent. He doesn't know how Jonah's done that, and isn't sure he needs to right now.

"Oh," he says, from the tape recorder still. And then "oh," again, quieter, now that he has the space to feel relief, feel the migraine he didn't realise he had fading.

There is no more rapid information intake, no more constant attempts to discard useless information and primarily failing due to his purpose/existence as the Archive/the Beholding. Jon does not Notice the way he begins purring, the way his tail begins flicking in a happy way, the way Jonah is even more fond of him for all of these things. He observes them, independent from his nature as the Archive, and catalogues them easily. He sighs, relaxes. Jonah kisses him on the forehead and it's so soft, so affectionate, that Jon doesn't even notice that that's what he did, simply cataloguing it away with everything else until a couple seconds after the fact. He frowns, a little.

"You need to relax, Jon. It's okay. You've done very well for us."

It is so nice to be told that. Jon whines in the back of his throat. Something feels painful. His stomach? He briefly checks but no, his body is fine. Jonah laughs, and wipes away Jon's unnoticed tears, not necessarily joy or sadness, just emotion. Then, almost polite in the way he sticks to the edges of Jon's frayed and tired mind/Archive, informs him that his tears look like streams of stars.

Jon shifts so that he can bury his face into Jonah's chest. He catalogues it all; the way the fabric feels against his face, the way that Jonah smells, the way his hands run through Jon's fur, the way Jonah smiles, the way that Jonah presses their foreheads together so that he can give full clarity to the Knowledge that Jonah is so, so proud of him. Jon sobs.

"I killed you," he whispers. His voice is hoarse with tears and static.

"I know." Jonah says, and there is fear in that, and Jon takes it without really thinking. Jonah seems happy about it, though. "But you brought me back."

"I-" Jon doesn't want to admit it. He really doesn't. Jonah doesn't make him say it, either, doesn't Look in Jon's internal Archive for it. He just waits. "I needed you."

"Why?" Jonah says, quiet and gentle. It's not cruel, not asked to push Jon, and it soothes Jon's tears. Jonah genuinely doesn't understand why Jon would need him, now that Jon is Truly all powerful. It is a rare moment, and Jon takes a moment to Archive it properly.

"You're the only one who understands me. The-" Jon takes a deep breath, not wanting to start crying again. "Nobody I knew, before, would've wanted me, like this. But, you…"

Jonah doesn't say anything. He just keeps petting Jon, and it is quiet, a cool balm to his exhausted mind after the storm that was Knowing everything. Jon closes his eyes, and his Eyes, and finally, finally falls asleep.

(When Jon wakes up, he is in bed. He opens some Eyes and finds Jonah in the kitchen, making breakfast, humming a song Jon could identify but doesn't. When he checks his Archives for any pertinent information from his dreams, he instead finds some well filed Information, detailing how, exactly, he should get used to Seeing everything, and some hypotheses on how, if he intends to, to return to his human form.

"Thank you." he says from a tape recorder spawned onto the kitchen side. Jonah smiles.

"I love you too, Jon," all gentle and fond. Jon doesn't bother examining what it means that Jonah has responded with that, as though there's any need, as though they don't both already Know, as though Jon won't keep ignoring it and Jonah won't keep making him confront it. He just closes his Eyes and goes back to sleep.)