#this isn't a smooth occupation

[randomnameless]

Oh?

That's weird, because I remember I killed them (Flayn died after Caspar pummeled her to death!), and the even have voiced lines/cries when they die.

Maybe if you engaged them with Byleth at least once, even if he isn't the one to deal the "final blow" they retreat?

About Edel's paralogue :

Yep all around, the Alliance is either in shambles (even when she said she wouldn't touch the city! TFW you're invading a place, they try to resist, and then they don't have enough manpower to defend their place against Almyrans) or straights up refuse to work with the Empire, and would prefer to see Almyra invade than to let their lands to the Empire (I don't remember if people reacted to Almyran navy helping Claude in Derdriu, but apparently everyone loved him in the Alliance so, maybe they even warmed up to Almyrans?), but we will never know.

Given how much Holst is characterised by his love for his sister, it's a good possibility lol.

Edel thinks she can get along with Almyra because they don't believe in the Goddess, but they never raided Fodlan because Fodlan's beliefs in the Goddess bothered them, they raided for funsies. So... It's up to you to imagine what would happen in a post CF-Fodlan, but I'm pretty sure Almyra is going to knock at her door.

Thales recovers his shinies!

Hubert was, imo, the best part of CF. It seems only he knows what is going on or what is this route about, and we love him for that. Granted, the "TWISTD" name is his own invention, and the game brainfarted a big time when Rhea and Seteth calls them like that, instead of using their real name, the Agarthans. I know the devs said they don't have a continuity guy, but this felt like it should have been important! Imo, it's as grievous as a Kurthnaga who would call Skrimir a "subhuman"... In both cases, it doesn't make any sense.

But back to Hubert and the Agarthans, the games seems to try to tell us that Hubert is the one who tries to know more about their tech (maybe to appropriate it?) and ultimately tries to have more knowledge about them, to properly eliminate them once the war is over. Note how Hubert calls it House Vestra's war/task, aka the Empire and the Hresvelg can crush the geckos and their Church, but dealing with the genocidal maniacs with advanced tech falls on his shoulders. What would Adrestia do without Hubert?

As for the "Regent" stuff, I'd say it's another oversight of the devs, as sad as it sounds...

Riegan and Blaiddyd having bloodties isn't as strange as it sounds, maybe they're only talking about the Houses, and, idk, one Elite Blaiddyd's great grandkid maybe married one of Elite Riegan's great grandkid, and they shared a bloodline thanks to the resulting child? I always felt weird how Fodlan completely ignored bloodlines and marriage between families and the resulting crest lottery when it spends a lot of time talking about crests... but this isn't Jugdral.

I don't remember that thing about Zoltan's idol, but it's a nice detail!

Yep, Petra is in a difficult situation - Brigid is the vassal of the Empire, maybe if she proves herself useful Brigid won't be a vassal anymore? This paralogue is noteworthy for being different in CF and in the other routes - in the other routes, it's Hubert who acts as the boss, and he is here to "ask" Brigid to participate in the War iirc, when Petra is fighting against Adrestia.

Aah, the turtle paralogue!

Did you notice how this is the only map in the game where your units ask you not to bring the Lord and her retainer? Linhardt says it would make things difficult, but, well, you'll see by yourself, I think he was kind of right here, if Edel or Hubert saw Indech, they would have turned him in turtle soup - after all, he is a Nabatean !

In the story map, if you didn't recruit her, Shamir also dies here (she is accompanying Alois) and mentions in her death quote how she shouldn't have been too attached...

I think later on Lin wonders about it too, and the game never bothers giving an answer, but seriously, if Rhea was routing Randolf and Ladislava, why couldn't she transform in her draconic form and Hyperbeam our party, thus ending the War?

Istg, CF's plot armor is the sturdiest one out of all routes...

This awful nightmare month had FOUR paralogues. So tiring. And they don't even let me kill Flayn or Seteth! Or let me see Rhea murdering those two NPC imperial suckups. Disappointing all around.

To get my notes under the char limit, I'll put the part about the first paralogue here.

Immediately after Claude's death/deportation, we get invaded by Almyra. Holst "fell ill" but big doubt.jpg, since he does not show his face to either Hubert or Edelgard (Hubert can only comment that "it's said" that Holst looks and smells awful). The Alliance supposedly can't cooperate enough to muster forces to support the Locket, even though we just spent lots of time playing up how Claude maneuvered everything to go down with the least amount of damage possible and how the Alliance has been extremely peaceful and cooperative to our occupation and invasion. The Goneril soldiers book it immediately when we arrive, no green units for us. And at the end, Holst politely passes the duty of guarding the Locket to the Empire. Which is another way of saying he refused to do it anymore, possibly on account of the dead little sister. You know, just maybe.

This is hilarious in general, and you can read all kinds of funny things into it, especially since this is the route where the game lies to you all the time with a straight face, so you are free to interpret practically all things you're told as complete bullshit (and you'll be provably right at least half the time).

Personally, I think it's very funny to assume everyone who says the Alliance occupation is going oh so well is either wrong or lying. I mean, sure, Claude supposedly arranged it so things would go peacefully whether he won or lost, BUT he was wrong at least twice about his allies surrendering peaceably and his dying words are about how he misread the entire situation. Yeah, logically this is all structured to contrast how the Kingdom and the Church won't go down as peacefully, but it's funnier if the Alliance is also not peaceful about this at all.

Almyra certainly is not looking like a future friendly neighbor, despite Edie's optimistic outlook.

Live blogging:

Hubert reports that Thales has started collecting the Relics from the Alliance (cool! definitely not a problem! Hilda wasn't casually able to oneshot everyone with that awful axe!)

He also suggests that we have one of our Lions recruits pretend to be a hostage to force their family to betray the Kingdom. Lovely man, so practical.

Byleth: you're using too many Proper Nouns, I can't keep tracks :( Edelgard: don't worry about it, kitten

Nader's in good spirits, at least. The Almyran forces have a lot of wyverns, mounted archers and also giant birds.

Edelgard thinks we can befriend Almyra, she would even consider a treaty. It's not a land ruled by blind fealty to the goddess (lol), so as long as communicate openly and respect the differences between our cultures... OK. We're not gonna mention Claude at all, which is funny.

Next paralogue! Hubie is investigating Solon, Kronya and Arundel. He wants to know their identities, their origins, their numbers, their base of operations, their plans, and where they acquired their dark powers, how they disguise themselves. He calls them "those who slither in the dark."

Now, working backwards from this, it means that he doesn't know these things in early war phase (where we are now), unless we assume he got further in his investigations in other routes.

Also, as has been pointed out, although this is a descriptive name that Hubert came up with, it's also used by Rhea for some reason.

It's a shame that Arundel is just Thales, he has a pretty nice design.

Hubert calls Arundel "Regent" even now. Weird!

We're sent to help some Agarthans who were experimenting in the Sealed Forest but their demonic beast subjects ran wild. Hubert later suggests that this was all a setup to make Edie's faction feel powerless in the face of the Agarthans' experiment (because they are aware Hubert is investigating them), but it backfired because Hubie isn't intimidated at all. He's looking forward to when Edelgard finished uniting Fodlan, and then House Vestra will fight the Agarthans in the shadows. (Hilarious from a narrative standpoint.)

Incidentally, you only need to save more than half the mages to get Arrow of Indra. The "Mysterious Mages" that you save also do not have Agarthan Technology abilities unlike the shapeshifters. Ladislava is popular with the citizens of the empire. She doesn't put up airs, is talented and also beautiful. She's known as the Scarlet Warrior.

There isn't much unrest in the former Alliance territories, perhaps thanks to Caspar's dad's strength (aka keeping them in line by force).

Riegan was once a branch family of Blaiddyd, which is very mysterious given their different crests.

Ladislava's troops depart at the end of the month (February) to the western front. They have high mobility. iirc she's a wyvern rider.

It's a bit funny to get the quest for the Almyran merchant same month as the Almyra invasion paralogue.

Claude told Lysithea roughly that she shouldn't focus too much on whether they win. Unlike Judith and Hilda, she listened lol.

Hubert hanging out in the Deer classroom, thinking about Claude. Relatable. He says that Claude has a compassionate exterior, but underneath is cold and calculating. Harsh! Also, not really in line with Claude's behavior toward his allies.

Linhardt says that there's a passage from the Holy Mausoleum to the Holy Tomb, but he can't figure out the mechanism. It's not really clear where the Holy Tomb is, and I've seen the speculation that it's under the amiibo gazebo... but the Holy Mausoleum is in the cathedral, so the two being connected... it's possible both are true, but kinda weird if so.

Dorothea: They'll write operas about this... I'm sure a pretty actress will play you :) And Edie :)) Maybe they'll throw in a love story :)))) hahaha (extremely awkward laugh)

Just realized you steal Zoltan's idol from the advisory room in the cathedral. Nice.

Hubert and Edie A: He emphasizes again that he's devoted to her due to personal feelings but also that he's not loyal in the sense of following her orders. He does what he thinks is best and if Edie disagrees, or doesn't like it, or is kept in the dark for her own good, well, that's how it is. He also mentions that his devotion became personal after Edie returned from the Kingdom, which calls back to how he and Ionius treat it as some kind of malicious kidnapping.

Petra paralogue: Church is threatening Brigid :( Well, per the Empire's perspective. Catherine is here <3

Jokes aside, Petra's perspective is interesting. Brigid is trapped between the Empire and Dagda, and they don't have the ability to stand against either one. They were dragged into war with the Empire by Dagda, which they then lost, and Petra's father was even killed. So they became a vassal state of the Empire, but given the whole racism issue, they probably were not in a good position. So Petra is focused on basically proving that Brigid is a useful and valuable ally for the Empire. Which is a rather practical approach.

Leonie paralogue... Interesting details that you need recommendations to get into Officers Academy. In the Alliance this means paying nobles to get them. Raphael mentions that his family sold their business to pay for him, iirc, since he wasn't up to running it anyway. Ignatz's parents are more successful, so perhaps they could just afford it. Leonie's entire village had to chip in to buy her way in. Presumably Ashe was sent by Lonato directly (though interesting choice given that the uprising happens very early in the year, so he must have already been planning it). I think the only other commoner is Dorothea, who... well.

Linhardt brings up the crests perpetuate the nobility angle and says to take it up with the Goddess for handing them out like that. But given where Leicester crests actually came from... sigh

Linhardt read about the legend of Saint Indech, so it's free real estate for any other character to read in an AU. Very nice.

Lake Teutates... Indech is a giant turtle. Man, these "dragons" are all kinds of shapes lmao. He attacks with water spikes.

Leonie calls the Immovable One a "magic beast" which we haven't seen so far, only wild beasts and demonic beasts.

Linhardt immediately caught on that the Immovable One is Saint Indech.

Petra has been in Fodlan for 9 years as of the war phase, so she came 3 years before the Academy.

Garreg Mach can be entered from the north by following Aillel, the Valley of Torment.

The map this time is a modified version of the monastery defense map from end of Academy Phase and second battle of the other routes. Previously, I didn't realize that the right hand third is gone. Presumably, this is the gorge that Byleth fell into...

We're fighting an expeditionary force led by Alois, while Rhea and Catherine hold off the rest of our army at the Sealed Forest. Aaah, they're so cool <3 They're also set up an ambush.

OK, so the situation with Flayn and Seteth is that they just retreat when defeated, regardless of who fights them. I thought there would be some scene about specifically sparing them, but nah. They just leave on their own. You don't even have any unique dialogue with Seteth, and Flayn just talks about how she won't kill you since she owes you her life.

Rhea murdered the heck out of Ladislava and Randolph off-screen. Shame, I would have loved to see it.

We killed Alois tho! He felt that, since we betrayed Rhea, Jeralt would not have approved.

[cherryheairt]

Pearls

Cregan Stark x named!fem!reader no desc (gif just for vibes)

18+!

my first smut writing and it was an intrusive thought that hasn't left my mind all week I need to get it out NEOW. I don't know my audience for this but please let it not be too niche idk 😭

Lately, Cregan had been absent from their marital chambers until the darkest parts of the night. Work had been keeping him apart from his Lady wife for far too long in her eyes. One night was almost unbearable, let alone weeks of it. Sometimes, he fell asleep in his study after pouring over scrolls and plans for hours.

It was hard to sleep without her husband, she found. After their marriage less than a year ago, they had shared the same bed every night after. Their relationship was most likely the healthiest in all of Westeros. Always in sync and filling what the other lacked. Whereas Vanya was compassionate and kind, Cregan was stern and unyielding. Together, they led the North as any Stark Lord and Lady should: In harmony.

Vanya had taken care of her tasks well, managing what Cregan could not in his time of occupation. Winter was upon them, cold and unrelenting. Vanya's first as Lady Stark, and one she intended to run smoothly to set a precedent for her live's rule.

However, even though she kept herself busy til late evening, she found her needs growing by the day. Usually, her and Cregan found themselves enjoying many rounds of pleasure before they tucked in for the night. Now, since he'd been busy, they hadn't even kissed in weeks. Simple glances at him or the feel of his arm's warmth draping over her in the early hours of the morning made her almost feral with want for her husband.

But he was always gone when she awoke. She was left to get ready for her own day of duties completely alone, longing for her husband's company. An emptiness struck her heart—one that she was determined to fill.

She got to work after her day was through. Knowing Cregan wouldn't join her til long after she was finished, she enjoyed the secretive project in the privacy of the chambers.

Pearls.

Lace.

Thread.

The only three things she dained to need for her little excursion. She worked quickly and nimbly, a nervous fluttering feeling drifting in her belly and staying there until she had finished. Quickly, she put the garment on. Satisfied by the mirror's view, Vanya giddily got dressed into her sheer white night shift.

She settled into bed, only being able to fall into a light sleep in her excitement.

It was not too long before she heard the quiet creeking of the door open and close, Cregan always making a point to enter and exit their chambers considerately. With a heavy sigh, she heard him drop his clothes and boots to the floor.

Weight dropped onto his side of the bed, and a familiar arm draped itself around her waist. Cregan sighed once more into the back of her neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his wife.

Vanya reached up gingerly, lacing her fingers with his. "Husband," she whispered, gauging his mood.

"Wife," he muttered back, thumbing absentmindedly at the space below her belly button.

"How was your day? You've been kept busy, far from the warmth of our hearth." She brought his hand up to kiss gently, starting to wake herself fully.

Cregan hummed guiltily, nodding into her smooth skin. "Tiring. I promise, once Winter starts to come to a close, I will make up every minute I spent leaving my dear wife waiting." The words were muttered slowly into the shell of her ear.

Vanya only huffed a laugh, shaking her head though he couldn't see her face. "There is time now, isn't there?" She asked coyly.

When she recieved no answer, "Cregan?"

None again, but the soft breaths coming from his nose. Turning to face him, she was met with closed eyes and a content slight smile gracing her husband's handsome features. She lay her head back on her pillow, sighing in accepted defeat. Brushing a piece of hair back behind his ear, she kissed his forehead, "goodnight, my husband."

The next day was the same as the last ones. She woke up alone again, only this time Vanya was much more determined to stoke the fire she knew Cregan had. Keeping the garment on underneath her day dress, a light powder blue number with tapered sleeves, she made her way about the Great Keep conducting her business.

Her mind was heavy with thoughts of Cregan, hunched over his desk and stressfully raking his hands through his dusty brown threads. Vanya finished her duties early, freshening up in their chambers before she returned outside of them. Hurriedly, she changed into a light blue shift, similar in color to the one she had worn out. She dabbled some sandalwood perfume oil on her neck and wrists, fixing her hair quickly before making her way towards Cregan's solar. The windows she passed by showed the fresh night sky and the dotted stars along it, the perfect time for any stray servants or maids to be tucking away for their own leisure time before bed.

Vanya took a short breath in before opening his solar door, spotting the exact visage she had imagined the whole day. Dressed in only his grey tunic visible above the pine desk, he had clearly discarded his pelts and leathers for the day, seeing as he had not even left the room once. The hearth was dying, only embers remaining. Clearly, he had wished not to be disturbed by any servants throughout the day.

He was still engrossed in writing a scroll when Vanya approached his desk. A tap on the spot above his elbow had jerked his head up, a shocked look in his eyes as he looked up at his wife. "Vanya, you should be abed already—" he said quickly.

Vanya shook her head, sitting herself on the edge of his table stubbornly. "Couldn't sleep." She lied. "I missed by husband's warmth next to me."

His lips pursed as he glanced between her and his work. "I'm sorry, I will finish as fast as I can. Wait for me?" He offered, though they both knew if she left now, he would only be swallowed up by his duties once more.

Vanya placed a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over the dark undereyes that deepened his tired expression. "I wish to stay with my husband, if it please him."

Cregan's eyes softened, nodding his agreement. He scooted his chair outwards, leaving ample room for Vanya to sit between him and the desk. Instead of sitting across his lap, as she normally would when accompanying him in his seat, she lifted her skirts to her thighs and sat facing him.

He tilted his head slightly, instinctively placing his hands over her hips to adjust her. "Won't this be uncomfortable for you?" He asked, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks and ears at the position.

Vanya shook her head, choosing to sit herself closer and bury her face into his neck. "Go on, don't let me interrupt." She said innocently, earning a glance from her husband before he followed her instructions and started back on his writing.

After a few minutes, she felt enough time had passed to make him inconspicuous of her actions. Slowly, she pressed herself closer to his chest, squishing her breasts again his own thinly clothed skin. She felt him pause and take a deep breath in before continuing, and had to bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling into his tunic.

A few more minutes passed, though she grew more impaitient with every second his hands were not on her. Slowly, she pressed her pelvis into his, revealing the hardened texture of the garment to him.

This time, he paused fully, confused. Setting the quill down, he leaned back. "What is that?" He asked, placing a hand on her hip again.

Vanya only smiled, grabbing his other hand and guiding it ever so slowly down to nethermost regions. "Feel for yourself." She cooed as she led a finger to run over the string.

"What—Pearls?" He asked, brows knitting together curiously.

Vanya nodded at the question.

"Where did you find such a thing?" Cregan asked, though did not recind his hand.

"I made them myself. Don't worry, no loud-mouthed seamstress will know of Lady Stark vying for some promiscuous garments."

"And they are..." He trailed off, swallowing heavily at the indication. Indeed, he shared in his logging and need throughout these weeks apart.

"For you, dear husband." Vanya purred, nipping softly at his bottom lip and pulling away just as fast.

Immediately, he lifted her from his lap and onto the desk, tossing aside his papers to the floor. He lifted her skirts further, bunching them carelessly at her hips as he tugged her legs to wrap around his waist.

Pinching the strand of pearls between his index and thumb, his eyes stayed glued to the glistening white pearls lying between her lower folds. Vanya felt herself throb with need at the lustful glare he held, leaning back on her hands to watch only his face.

Softly, he lifted the string to make it press against her own sensitive pearl. At her slight gasp and squirm, Cregan knelt to his knees faster than he ever had before. Glancing up at his wife's face, he silently asked for permission.

After she nodded, he was quick to move. The pearls, covered in her own essence, were moved slightly to the side as Cregan pressed his face to her core. Vanya threw her head back at the sudden stimulation, Cregan's tongue wildly moving from place to place as if he couldn't find a favorite spot.

Up and down, a solid stripe from her hole to sensitive bud. Circling the pearl with an eager swipe of his tongue, he moved down just as quickly as he began. With desperate, shallow thrusts into her clenching hole, Cregan tried and failed to press himself closer, already having no air to breathe with the space between them being nonexistent. Not that he minded, of course.

With a firm tug at his loose hair, Cregan turned his head with a heaving chest to face his wife. Looking offended at the separation, his fingers clenched at the soft parts of her upper thighs, ready to dig his face back to its spot.

Vanya whined out for him, shaking her head. She closed her thighs over his head, urging him up to meet her lips. She tasted herself on his tongue, enjoying the bittersweet slick with a deep moan. Cregan pressed himself closer, moving her by her waist to seat her on the edge of the table.

"I need you, Cregan, please." She pleaded, hards still carding through his hair to ground herself. She was so empty, only able to be whole again with Cregan's help.

At her plea, Cregan couldn't help but oblige, he unlaced his breeches urgently, allowing Vanya to strip him of his tunic and run her hands over the lean muscle of his chest and back.

He stroked himself a few times, smearing himself at her entrance. They both groaned in unision as his tip hit the string of pearls. They pressed to her swollen bud, making her jerk her hips up closer to meet his own. He slid the string to the side to make room for his length, sinking into the wet heat with a soft groan.

Her head found his shoulder again as she clawed at his shoulders, mewling. He mimicked her action, hands gripping onto her hips as he bit at her neck and collarbone sharply to conceal his moans.

His thrusts were fast and desperate, both wasting no time with soft touches and sweet nothings. That could be done later, after they were both saited and content in their own bed.

She panted heavily, reaching down between them both to rub loose circles around her pearl. He groaned as she tightened, knowing what it meant.

"Where?" He grunted out, kissing at her shoulder as a wordless apology to the angry red bite lying there.

"Inside," she gasped, tightening her legs around his waist to keep him closer.

It was not long before they both reached their peaks. Cregan continued his ministrations, thrusts becoming slower and less powerful as he winded down from his high. He stayed inside her even after they both came down, the warmth too good to pass up in the cold solar. The embers had long disappeared, leaving only the cobble to block out Winterfell's chill.

Vanya couldn't mind, either, enjoying the fullness it brought even in the sensitive state.

"What brought this on?" Cregan asked after a few long moments passed. He soothed over the marks on her hips, sure that bruises would appear in the morrow.

She hummed, kissing the space connecting his ear and jawline affectionately. "Is it too obscure for a wife to want for her husband?"

Cregan raised a brow, "of course not. I have missed you, too." He said, bringing her lips to his to kiss.

She deepened it, dragging him back to her after he pulled away. Tilting her head, she shivered at the brush of his tongue over her own, the texture a familiar delight.

Cregan pulled back after a while, a heavy look in his steel eyes. "I don't think we'll get much sleep tonight if you keep doing that."

She laughed, "I am far from tired, my Lord."

He growled playfully, bringing her from the table and carrying her in his arms. Cregan chuckled at her gasp, starting his journey to their chambers.

"Someone might see us!" She squealed into his neck, hiding her face uselessly.

"Let them. The whole of Westeros will know how my wife is the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms." He said, pinching her bottom with a cheeky smirk.

His solar was left open behind them, work long forgotten for the next day. Tonight was for Lord Stark and his Lady Wife.

🗡

Get yourself a munch like Cregan Stark

[taylor-titmouse]

so we know that gender for dwarves is mainly divided between rock and jewel (for the sake of keeping it simple to explain. there are definitely genders outside that binary) and that rocks map closer to masculine, and that jewels map closer to feminine, but it has nothing at all to do with genitals and everything to do with presentation. in dwarven terms, tourmaline and angre are both crafters, in that they're capable of childbirth, but this is considered a sort of natural skill rather than tied to their value. outside of the aristocracy and royal lines and half-things, dwarves do not generally care about bloodlines. children are raised by the community. you keep track of your crafter and getter for the sake of good health, but outside of that, it's not a big deal what you have down there.

of course tourmaline and angre are both exceptions to the bloodline concern, given she's royalty and he's half human. but this post is for dissecting presentation, rather than social dynamics.

TOURMALINE AS A ROCK

so the richer you are, the more you want to show that off. we know that having smooth skin is indicative of free time/money to spend on achieving it. that doesn't change for rocks. the one difference is that rich rocks (and sometimes jewels!) may, instead of shaving their faces, engage in elaborate beard braiding and decoration. this is more common among the older generations, who by the time they reach those ages, are either too wrinkled or simply too tired of dealing with shaving and wax. tourmaline, being a strapping young stone, would shave completely. long hair would also still be considered the fashion for a young rock of his station. however, luxurious thickness is for jewels. a tight, sober braid is preferred for rocks for everyday wear. he also doesn't wear makeup. makeup is entirely the realm of jewels. foundation to hide blemishes at the very most, but otherwise it is not expected of him.

gemstones are incredibly important to dwarves, with a lot of coding regarding how much you can wear and what styles/stones you can wear. as a jewel, tourmaline would be expected to wear a Lot. earrings, hairpieces, bracelets, anklets, everything and anything. rocks are a bit more limited, because the presentation is about strength and steadfastness rather than beauty... but if you're rich, you still have to show it. so in practice, rich rocks and jewels can both be totally decked out, but rocks will favor chunkier, less delicate pieces. notably: rocks will also have more piercings than jewels, because it signals toughness against pain. thus, rock tourmaline has pierced his nipples and belly button. and of course he's not covering his chest to show that off (and wearing anything heavy would be uncomfortable)

the slitted trousers are of course to show off the hot smooth leg. it would be perfectly acceptable for him to wear a skirt or skirt-like piece, but for the sake of making him more readably masculine, he gets pants. his shoes would also have a slight heel or platform to them. there's a sweet spot of height that dwarves find attractive, and he's otherwise fairly average/short. angre would be just on the upper edge of it.

ANGRE AS A JEWEL

so while rock tourmaline is fairly unchanged, angre as a jewel would be a very different person with a very different life path. as a jewel, she cannot become a knight or soldier. she can be taught self defense and how to wield a weapon, but being employed in the defense of another is Not Done with jewels. remember: this has nothing to do with childcraft, entirely with presentation. if she wanted to become a knight, she would have to transition to rock, which isn't an uncommon occurrence. switching genders based on occupation is very normal. but then we'd just have original flavor angre. so this is an angre who took a different path.

this angre would be a lady in waiting, and, if we want to give her the equivalent job to captain of the guard, she would be tourmaline's royal barber. she would be in charge of the care and keeping of his body, a role that requires significant training and trust. she would have command over a team, but she would be the only one permitted to touch and tend to his neck, and would be a close confidante.

as for her presentation, she would be considered a very conservative jewel. nothing in her hair (which she wears long) and very few actual gemstones in her jewelry. this is partially about expectation--she is a commoner, and it would be very inappropriate for her to be ostentatious in the service of royals--but it would also be her own choice. she does not want to be attractive to the young prince [undecided on the actual term]. rock angre did not want to be perceived as a sexual threat to jewel tourmaline, and so jewel angre would not want to be perceived as a sexual option (but would be just as in love with him). so she wears simple patterns, little jewelry, and very light makeup. showing skin is something she can't really avoid, because it also represents her work. you wouldn't really trust a barber if they had a bad haircut.

phew. that's a lot.

[strwbi-laces]

Sirius always insists he has a terrible memory. "Really terrible," he'll laugh. "Actually, what was your name again?"

Remus doesn't see it though. Not when Sirius always knows exactly where James left his socks, or what obscure extracurricular Pete's packed into his schedule now. Especially not when he learnt the dates for every full moon in the next fifty years when researching lycanthropy.

"You know, I don't think your memory is as bad as you say Padfoot," he mentions while they're alone in the dorm. Remus doesn't have a clue where James and Pete are but Sirius wouldn't even have to check the map.

"What're you on about? It's literally rubbish."

Remus raises a brow. "You had every single possible quidditch infraction stuck in your brain - before James did!"

"Yeah well," Sirius shrugs. "That's quidditch. It's just for stuff I care about."

Reaching over and grabbing the nearest textbook, History of Magic: Year 3, Remus flips to a random chapter. "Really? You cannot convince be you care about, hmm," he clears his throat and in his poshest, most snooty voice, says "Changes in potion composition during the French occupation of England." No one could care about that. Not even he did and he actually liked History of Magic.

At least the voice made Sirius giggle. "Shut up. History is easy, it's just dates."

"Then what isn't?"

"Uhh, I don't know," Sirius goes quiet more a moment, then laughs again. Though this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "See, this is what I mean."

Remus waits while Sirius works his tongue into words.

"I can't really remember much from my childhood. Sometimes my mum will say something, like 'you were such a difficult child, remember when you did so-and-so' and I pull up a complete blank. Merlin that's bad of me, huh? Forgetting how I hurt people."

Sirius' fists ball up in his lap and Remus wants nothing more than to take them between his hands and smooth them out. He settles for shuffling closer and pressing their sides together.

"And I make things up. That feels like a memory thing too. It's not out of thin air but in my head I'll make something my mum said seem a lot worse than it was. Or I'll forget what prompted it so she seems like the bad guy. Usually I'd call her a lying cunt y'know, but even my dad and Reg agree that it's something I do a lot. Making myself the victim."

He's shaking now, Remus can feel his tremors ripping through him as well. "Sorry," Sirius sniffs. "I'm doing it right now-" he tries to say but Remus cuts him off.

"I think," he whispers, taking hold of Sirius' hand in his palm and tracing the heart line with his finger, "that you're a far better person than you give yourself credit for. And maybe your mum is a bit of a lying cunt."

[multifandomfanatic02]

"You didn't know, pt.1"

Pairing: Alastor x fem!OC?? (pulled the name out of a hat honestly)

Warning: mentions of r*pe, detailed murder,

Summary: it was never mentioned as to why Alastor turned to murder. Maybe it could have been because he lost someone important to him? Who knows really?

a/n: I tried my best to stick to Alastor's character and respect his sexuality. If you think this needs any improvement or if you have some kind criticism, please let know! And if this liked enough I'll make a part two! (itsbeentwelveyearssinceihavewrittenanythingpleasebenice)

Spring of 1915

Alastor had been a victim of his mother's matchmaking since he was seventeen. Seven dates have been attempted in 5 years total.

No, he was more focused on his occupation as a writer. What Alastor was truly in love with, the smooth jazz that blessed his ears, to the dancing, the books. He was clearly an art enthusiast. And there was one artist's work he admired more than anything. Lillian Fletcher. She was a high position in a very popular magazine and newspaper. Decided what was trendy and what wasn't. While her job is more in the line of sales, Lillian's colleagues agree to let her put her own articles in them. They get hella cash flow.

Crazy as it is, no one has seen what she looked like. When conferences with celebrities happen, it's like she's there in spirit and the articles just show up in the papers one day. I guess you could say it's what Alastor admired about Lillian, she was obviously a humble woman. Someone who cared about her work as much as he did his. Even more so loved the same things he did.

A special night was approaching, Alastor was going to join the press as a journalist for a conference. Even get to do an interview with the famous guest. It was such a grand occasion, he wore his best suit. A black suit rimmed with red buttons and red seams around the collar and of course a red dress shirt underneath. Took the breath away from most of the women that glanced at him during the little shindig.

"Look at my handsome little man, I'm so proud of you, mon cœur." Alastor's mother beams at him with pride, rubbing her fingers against his cheek. He grabs her hand and guides her to the bar.

"Thanks mama, I'm really glad you get to be here with me tonight. Can't imagine anyone else to spend this night with, I mean that." Her eyes start to swell as tears spill out of them. He chuckles wiping them away with the back of his hand. The lights finally begin to dim and the guest comes out on stage. "It's time mama, I need to join the crowd." Alastor unpockets his pen and pad and walks to the chaos of the press unfolding before him.

2 hours gone by and he gets maybe 3 questions out of him. This guest isn't particularly nice. He's obviously rushing the journalist and being very um.. kind of an asshole with his replies. Then again it was to be expected from this one. It's why he's Alastor first real job after all.

"Can you please answer respectfully for once? Stop being an ass to the people who will write your story one day." Everything goes quiet and all heads turn to the back of the crowd. A woman.

"Who are you to speak to me that way, slut." He says giving her a disdainful expression.

"I apologize sir, I just want to know as to why you treat everyone like garbage."

"Miss.. does your husband know you are here." He scoffs, taken aback by the woman's comment.

"I am not married, sir." Her eyes are stoic, there's no signs of kidding on her face.

"That explains a lot. No one wants a woman with a mouth like that.. anyhow, ma'am I think you are done here. Guards! See to it that this.. woman.. leaves the building." He snaps his fingers calling the guards over.

Everyone in the crowd obviously disgusted by attitude. Who gave her the right to talk to HIM that way. Only one pair of eyes saw her differently than anyone else. Alastor. She was glorious. He has never seen someone so beautiful in AND out like this before. The woman wore a royal blue drop-waist dress made of silk and velvet with beads and tiers. Thick mid length hair pinned up in a bob, in attempt to keep it all in place. Pearls adorned her neck beautifully.

He walked out the building following loosely behind, his hand rubbing the back of his neck briefly.

"Are you alright, miss?" He speaks softly to her, trying to not speak the woman.

"Ah yes, thank you, I apologize for my behavior back there. You didn't have to come after me." She hugs her arms and paces back and forth, irritation clearly visible on her face.

"I believe it was very much needed. He certainly needed to be put in his place. Who better than you." Alastor's lips grew into a soft grin. She stopped pacing finally taking a really good look at him. Handsome, is all she thought. "May I ask for your name?" He bent down grabbing her hand kissing the back of it.

A blush flooded her face from her cheeks to the tips of the ears. "L-Lillian Fletcher... and you are?" He looked up in shock to her response, clearing his throat.

"My name is Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure indeed!" His smile turned into a starstruck expression. "So you are the Lillian Fletcher that works for the magazine?!" She nodded nervously as Alastor struggled to keep his cool. "I love your articles and sales pitches! It's what inspired me to shoot my shot with an actual job in journalism. I've been writing for as long as I can remember."

"I'm so glad to hear that, my job is my everything. I'm very passionate about it." Her hand hovers over her mouth to hide her giggle.

"Say, Ms. Fletcher, would you like to have dinner with me?" He holds out his arm for her to take as she gladly accepts, wrapping her hand around it with a smile.

"Call me Lili."

Summer of 1917

"How do I look, mama?" Lillian looked at her future mother in law, holding back her tears. Her knuckle grazed under her eyes to keep from ruining the makeup. The dress she wore was an ivory colored low v-neck dress full of lace and the sleeves were nothing but loose tassels. The most gorgeous wedding dress you'd have ever seen. Her hair was neatly curled and pinned up, feathered boa wrapped around her back and arms, elbow length silk gloves, a string of pearls around the neck, and finally a flower crown. Never has someone looked so elegant.

Alastors hands ran through his hair pacing around in the dressing room. No way was this perfect day about to happen for him. He never thought that one day he'd be married. Alastor has always kept to himself, never found anyone attractive enough. He believed the romance life wasn't for him. While it's partly true, he surely was in love deeply. However both agreed that they never wanted children. Never thought they needed to have intimacy to have love. It would be the perfect life with their work, passions and each other of course.

"Ooo honey, you are looking handsome. Can't wait for you to see Lillian. She's glowing." She says letting herself into his room. She walks towards and pulls him down by the collar to fix his bow tie. "My baby boy, finally getting married."

"Thank you mama, for everything. I'll be sure to pass on your jambalaya recipe to her." He snickers, getting a whack in the arm from her.

"Don't start with me now, boy, you're never to old for a whoopin. You hear me?"

-----

The wedding has started in the chapel and everyone takes their seats. Alastor already tearing up from the band playing music. His fingers fidgeting with eachother in front of him. His bride in all her glory walking down the aisle as if she was a star in the sky.

They took each other's hands holding their breaths as the priest gets through his speech. The wedding was very simple and short event. Due to both groom and bride's status, it was best to keep it a secret and only allow close family. Meaning Alastor's mom and their pet black cat.. Lucifer.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride." That moment lasted for what felt like forever.

Winter of 1928.

Eleven years have passed, both are 34 years of age and their relationship has nothing but flourished since they were married.

Lillian has retired from her life of writing for the public to devote herself to her husband. It's been peaceful and life has never felt better. Alastor on the other hand was promoted to radio host as soon as they were being sold to consumers. It's one thing to write it all out on paper but another to broadcast his interviews and music live to listeners with similar interests. It was... a thrill to him. He and his wife have became quite the team on radio. She often helps him figure out pitches to his audience to boost it.

"Al dear, don't you think it's time for bed?" Lillian's hands wrapped around his neck and ran down his chest, leaning down enough to place a kiss on his head. "You've been working on next week's interview all day. Time to rest, darling."

He sighs and squeezes her hand before nodding. "Alright mon amour." He stands up dragging his feet to their shared bed, tucking each other in. Lillian stroked his hair in hopes to bring him some comfort. He pulls her into his chest. "I will never love anyone other than you. You are mine for eternity."

-------

"Why haven't you told me about this before?!"

"I just didn't want you to worry about it.. you've got a big show coming up soon."

"Hate to break it to you, darling, but someone stalking you is a lot more important to me than a damn show!" Lillian silenced herself, looking away from Alastor's gaze. "I'm staying home."

"No! You can't! That show is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"YOU are my one opportunity! If something happened to you.. I would go Insane." He gripped her shoulders tightly.

"Fine.. Let's make a deal, Al dear. You stay at home all week, but on the day of your show, we take extra precautions to the house and you go. After that you can stay home as much as you want." Lillian says in a serious tone and holds out her hand.

"Deal."

⛧ ⛧ ⛧

The day had finally come and both were feeling nervous. In truth, neither of them wanted Alastor to leave. But with the extra precautions in the house, there was no point in staying home. She was right, this chance will never come again.

The stalker in question had done this sort of thing to several women in the past, many of which had simply gone missing. The ones that were found had been abused and stabbed in the spine causing paralysis, and yes, dead. What a horrific way to die, they both thought. So far there have been 6 victims.

"Are you ready, dear?" Lillian asks helping his coat on. Alastor's expression looking out of place. He was scared and couldn't look her in the eyes, fearing it could be the last time he sees them.

"Are you sure you can't come with me?" He grabs her hand and holds it to his chest. His heart beat a mile a minute.

"You know I'm not allowed there anymore. Or have you forgotten?" She chuckles in attempt to comfort her husband. Obviously not working. Alastor was heartbroken, the only thing he could think of now was to hurry up and get his show done and over with so he can come home. Almost like it wasn't important anymore.

"I've got you a gift." He pulled out a velvet box from his pocket. Lillian took the box and opened it, revealing a locket. 'Mon amour'. She opened it up to see a picture of them on their wedding day. Happy as can be. "No matter what happens know that you are the most important thing in my life." She smiled up at him and gave him a big hug before thanking him. It's beautiful.

"Time to go, my darling." She gives him one last passionate kiss before pushing his butt out the door and locking it. It was cruel to do that however, if it dwelled on it any longer he'd surely break his promise. In reality, she was panicking about being left alone. For good reason...

.

.

.

Alastor's body finally relaxed after 4 hours of his show, it was the most enjoyable one so far. Interviewing the mayor, he was a lot nicer than expected and obviously cared for his people. It wasn't until one of the new journalists came barging in that everything changed.

"Uh oh we've got some breaking news! A new victim of the killer. Our seventh victim is the magazine writer and trend-setter, Lillian Lili?!..." He held his breath as a lump formed in his throat. Immediately getting up, turning on his heels, and hurrying out of the building. His hands were shaking in hopes that she was at the very least still alive. Maybe this was a different situation.

Police and the press had already arrived hours before. Pushing through the crowd, a policeman placed a hand on his chest to keep him at bay.

"Are you Mrs. Lillian's husband?" The policeman asked. Alastor's glared down at the man keeping him away from his wife. "I'm afraid I have to tell you that she was killed. I cannot let you go on further for your own good."

"H-How did this happen.. the house was covered in as many locks as we could find! Wood bolted to the windows and-"

"It was not a break in, sir. He had been living in your cellar for what may have been... a week?." Alastor's color drained from his face. In the cellar? He had locked his wife in there with that criminal?

He pushed past the policeman and ducked under the police tape. No one stopped him in time before he saw the scene unfold in front of him. Just like the other women. She had been assaulted and puddles of blood ran from her back. Alastor drops to his knees and grips his hair, crying hysterically. Something snapped within him. His cries suddenly turned into insane laughter. It appalled everyone. He goes over and picks her up and cradles her lifeless body in his own. The blood staining his clothes.

"You can't do that! This is a crime scene! You can't mess with evidence. It belongs to the police department!" The police officer yelled at him. Alastor said nothing continuing to hold her. He knew what to do..

Winter of 1933

̷̍̇̄̐̂̏͊̒̈́ "Breaking News! We have an update on Paul Benjamin. You know the one serial killer who has had an open case for 20 years. Well.. HE'S DEAD HAHAHAHA!" Alastor beat on his desk laughing before clearing his throat. "I apologize for my outburst, it just about time it happened don't y'all agree?" He said calming down and wiping the tears from his eyes. "I wonder who's next on this antihero's list."

It had been 5 years since Lillian's death. While he is working through the pain, his methods to cope is questionable. Four years ago Alastor had decided he wanted to deal with his wife's murderer himself. A year of following his movements and actions eventually paid off. A new addiction emerged to the surface. How easy it was to pierce human skin, to the screams of misery and pain. It was such an amazing feeling. Why stop there? There are people who deserve the same. Nine monsters.. nine people killed by Alastor's hand. Each deeply researched and carefully chosen.

The walk back home from the studio was peaceful. Nothing could make this night better. Many horrors have been removed from the streets of New Orleans thanks to him. Thankfully he was never suspected in any of them. Alastor was very particularly careful how he handled them. Every single seeming to be an accident or su**ide. To the public, it was almost like a miracle. But to the criminals themselves, they knew. Who was next on this mastermind's list? Paranoia set in to them all.

"Ahh what a day my dear, wish you could be here to see what I've accomplished." His laugh was maniacal. He removed his jacket and put it on the hanger on the door. "You are safe now, my darling. We're getting closer to having a free city of monsters."

"I knew it was you.." a voice whispered to Alastor from behind him, holding a knife to his neck. "The only monster left in this town is you, Al." Alastor stayed quiet and slowly reached for the knife in his vest pocket. "I d-don't want to kill you. I understand why you did it but your wife would not like this. Just submit yourself to the police and I will let you go."

He belted the insane laughter, making the man steadily walk backwards in fear. "Understand? You could never understand." Alastor swiped his finger across the cut on his neck left by the knife, and licking it. "I just enjoy doing it." He swiftly shoved the knife into the man's chest.

"Hmmm.. where to put this one. Ah I got it." Unlike all the others, this one was a surprise bonus to the collection. The only possible place to deal with this one was the forest a few acres behind his home. No one went in due to the stories of crytids and it being haunted. It was perfect.

He grabs the shovel sitting against the treeafter placing the corpse in the hole, filling it up with dirt. Upon hearing voices creeping upon him, he looked over his shoulder briefly just for everything to go dark.

"Uh.. I don't think that was a deer, Bill."

"What?"

Present day in Hell

"Congratulations, your highness. Never doubted you for a second. The hotel is starting to gain attraction. " Alastor bowed to Charlie with his hand on his chest.

"You know damn well you're only here for the entertainment. You even said it was a ridiculous idea." Vaggie tapped her feet and crossing her arms.

"Ah yes well... I apologize. Regardless I'm glad everything worked out this way." He gripped his cane, his static-y voice glitching out a bit.

"Speaking of attraction, don't you think it'd be a good idea to put out more commercials and articles about the hotel. Maybe the sinners will take it seriously this time." Charlie paced back and forth before looking to Alastor.

"Good idea! And I know just the person." The one he referred was a commonly feared overlord. One that could potentially out matched Alastor himself. Maere. The dream demon. His shtick was that he can sneak into nightmares and manipulate humans and sinners to sign away their souls for something as simple as a piece of clothing. A soul for an easily attainable item. Despicable.

All the souls he owns have been known to be abused within his possession. On top of it, he rents them out to customers for whatever they need. Because of his collection of talented souls, he has earned his spot in several companies from technology and fashion to restaurants and sinful services.

Now Alastor does not like dealing with demons like him. He was a murderer but only to those who deserve it or push his buttons. Being acquaintances with Maere was useful at times. In the past he has secretly helped free some of them from the contracts with him. This was not one of those times.

The square of pentagram city, where you will find all the fashion stores and new technology. Anything you may need really, including Maere's headquarters.

"Alastor! Our beloved radio demon. I figured your ass would show up around here at what point, old friend." He rubbed his cigarette between his fingers putting it in the ash tray before standing up to greet him.

"Ah ha ha.. don't call me that. I'm just here to do business." He swiped his dhoulder pad before putting both hands atop his cane. "I'm sure you've heard about princess Charlotte's hotel kicking up attention. I'm here to see if you have any souls that would be perfect in advertising the hotel. Someone who is persuasive and talented with writing."

"Hmmm I may have someone like that. Only if you promise to STOP RELEASING THEM FROM MY CONTRACTS!" He held out his hand in hopes of agreeing on a deal.

"I guess I could.. fine, you've got a deal." He grapped Maere's hand, shaking it. Maere grips his hand and leans closer to Alastor.

"I mean it. You're dead if you do." Alastor's expression stayed composed.

. . . . .

"Let me introduce you to my star saleswoman. She does a lot of the Vees advertisements in tv, newspaper, and magazine. Quite the talented one if I do say so myself. She's good for other things as well if you kbow what I mean." He was quite a cruel 'master'. Every single soul he owned was only allowed to do anything unless they are rented or if he decides to use them. And the way he made sure were restraints on both the face and arms. A metal mask was bolted to behind there heads covering their whole face with matching metal restraints that kept their forearms tight against their backs.

This woman was no different. On the other hand, her clothing was rather elegant. A beautiful evening gown that looked like it'd have been popular in the 1920s. It was a loose-fitting floor length dress that flared at the knees; low v-neck, flowy mesh sleeves. The base of it was red silk while the outside was full of fringe and black lace details. Her hair was black with curls that reached her shoulders, with long ears sticking out the top of her head. Little fluffy tail sticking out the back of her dress, and to top it off were her very long paws. I guess her feet were to big to find shoes for her. A rabbit demon?

"Does this one at the very least have a name?" Alastor questioned Maere. He thought about it before snapping his fingers.

"Ah yes! She is soul 19,281!" He pushed her into Alastor's chest, making her stumble and drop something off around her neck. Maere released her from the restraints letting her scramble for the necklace on the ground. He disappeared letting Alastor do his thing.

"I despise having to do dealings with that demon. Are you alright little lady." Alastor leaned down to grab the necklace for her. A locket? He opened it seeing the inside, having it suddenly be ripped from his hand. It was him and his wife. The two finally gazed up at each other in awe.

"...Lili?"

[shall-we-die]

Can I please request Moriarty brother and Sherlock crushing on a female detective reader? Reader has a special type of psychic power where she can read people's mind and also she can see dead people's souls and can interact with them. Because of those powers she quickly became one of the top detectives. One day she met the Moriartys and Sherlock and they started to develop feelings for her (individually) but she doesn't want to be with them cause she knows their true nature and that they kill people.

Thank you ❤️

╔‌‌‌‌═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚

{"Why not me?"}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Moriarty the patriot

↬[A/N]•⊰ Hello dear anonymous 🫂

Thanks for you patience. Hope you enjoy my writing and sorry if it's not good enough.

╚═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

As far as I can tell, y/n doesn't like Moriarty brothers, why should she like men who hurt others? Although she is not interested in Sherlock either, but spending time with Sherlock is definitely more enjoyable than Moriarty brothers. However, in this post, Sherlock is not the main character, but Moriarty brothers are. They think the y/n is interested in Sherlock... and now, they're jealous.

He is fascinated and attracted to them intellect and their occupation as a detective.

He knows that he should avoid them but still cannot help but find them attractive and wants to be closer to them.

He secretly admires y/n for their determination and their ability to solve cases, which he finds both impressive and admirable.

He struggles to balance his growing feelings for y/n with the knowledge that he is a criminal who must keep things from them.

His usual serious demeanor is shaken whenever he interacts with y/n, he sometimes ends up stuttering and becoming flustered.

He tries to control his reactions around them, but sometimes his heart skips a beat when she gives him a sharp glare.

He occasionally gets lost in thought while looking at y/n, only to snap back into reality when he remembers that he needs to keep his distance from them.

He starts to become more cautious and cautious when speaking to y/n, making sure not to say anything that could potentially reveal his true identity or actions.

He secretly wishes that y/n could see past his criminal life and see the person that he truly is beneath his mask.

William would be frustrated and jealous, feeling that Sherlock is stealing the attention and affection of his potential love interest.

He might feel annoyed and irritated at Sherlock's behavior, especially when Sherlock flirts with y/n or shows off his deduction skills in front of them.

He might try to undermine or sabotage Sherlock in some way, either by setting him up for failure or using his own intelligence to outshine Sherlock in some way.

William might also try to understand why y/n is attracted to Sherlock, trying to figure out what Sherlock has that he lacks. He might even start to doubt himself and feel insecure about his own abilities and qualities.

William might feel conflicted about his feelings for y/n. On one hand, he feels attracted to them and longs for their affection, but on the other hand, he feels frustration and annoyance at their preference for Sherlock.

He might try to analyze and understand the dynamics between them, perhaps even trying to manipulate the situation to his advantage.

Oh... it seems y/n has changed the whole story.

If Albert's love interest is a detective, who isn't attracted to him because they know he's a killer, he'd be a little frustrated to say the least.

He'd most likely try and swoon them, or at least get them interested in him, and would *definitely* tease them in an attempt to gain their attention.

He'd probably send them flowers often, and would be very confused as to why they are not attracted to him.

Obviously he'd also ask them why they aren't interested in him, and would probably be in denial if they actually told him the honest truth.

He'd also try and do "smooth" flirting, and would *definitely* be a lot more subtle with how he shows his attraction to them. He'd tease them every chance he could get, and would continue to give them gifts.

Y/n ends up slapped him on the face.

Sherlock is incredibly jealous of the amount of attention the Moriarty brothers are paying to his crush.

He has a habit of watching his crush like a hawk whenever they're within view of the brothers. He is constantly analyzing every interaction they have together.

He will try to make his intentions clearer and become more obvious in his affections. He will find any excuse to interact with his crush, in an effort to be close to them.

He becomes a little territorial and jealous. Especially if y/n gets close to either of them.

He will try to show his crush that he is better than the brothers in every way he can think of.

Sherlock will go out of his way to help them for whatever thing she's investigating, because he's a simp (secretly).

[thescarletnargacuga]

Hey there! I just wanna start by saying that I absolutely adore your work! You always know how to pull a reader right in, and I always get excited when you post something new (especially the Showtime stuff, but I'm biased on that front).

Anyway, to keep the train rolling, I've got a Harlequin request for you:

Pomni is out on patrol duty, with a plucky little Cade in tow. Suddenly, they encounter a group of rogue marionettes that somehow snuck their way into the occupied part of the city. Naturally, Pomni's protective instincts kick in, and she engages them.

Cade has never seen his mom in combat before, and he's pretty excited at first, but when he witnesses the level of brutality she displays, he becomes rather frightened…

(It's my first time making a request like this, so I'm really really nervous. I hope this prompt isn't too weird or anything)

A/N: Anon, Anon, come here. Come closer. I won't bite. THIS IS PERFECT! This situation gives a chance for mother/son bonding and growth. While the world they live in has improved, it's still very dangerous. Thank you for this!

~

THE WAY OF THE COMBAT HARLEQUIN

A HARLEQUIN AU ONESHOT

Harlequin AU credit: @tadc-harlequin-au @iamespecter

WARNING: intense violence, mechanical gore, trauma, hurt/comfort

~~~

Cade had accompanied his mother on her patrols before but they've always been in the inner city. The worst thing she usually dealt with was a neighborly dispute. It was mostly an excuse to get her son out of the house and have him run his energy out.

Now that he was ten, Pomni figured he was ready for a more outer patrol. While not leaving the bounds of the occupation, they were further out from the main population and therefore there was a higher risk of seeing something that wasn't a puppet.

"Do you think we'll see a seeker!?" Cade asked as he swung an old piece of pipe like a sword. He hadn't received any combat training yet, but it's been promised to him. It's a necessary skill to survive. He's heard the stories of his mother's exploits and he's no stranger to dangerous situations himself. "I'd like another chance to take down one of those mechanical mutts!"

Pomni smiled at her son's enthusiasm, seeing so much of herself in him, but her motherly instinct overrides her combat harlequin pride. "I doubt it. The border patrols can handle more than a single seeker, and besides, you're not ready for-"

A group of panicked puppets ran towards them. Pomni grabbed Cade out of the way of the stampeding crowd. Cade dropped what he was holding out of surprise and held to his mother.

Before Pomni could ask what was happening, a tall humanoid marionette vaulted itself over a pile of crates and landed on a puppet. It stabbed the puppet in the chest with it's right hand, sharp digits pierced the puppet's heart and pulled out the core in one swift motion. The puppet's body immediately went limp on the ground as the D.I.E was encapsulated in the marionette's grasp and stored in the forearm.

Pomni's body geared for battle, this was worse than any seeker. She drew her sword. "Extractor!! Cade, run!" She pushed him away from her, motioning him to go with the fleeing puppets. She didn't take her eyes off the marionette, these things were fast and looking away for even a second could be deadly.

Cade hesitated to leave, completely overwhelmed by what was happening. "But mo-"

"GO!!" Pomni rushed the extractor as it made a move to chase another puppet. She deflected it's attacking reach, stopping the extractor in it's tracks. She stood between it and the innocent lives that depended on her for protection.

Cade took a few steps away but instead of fleeing, he hid. He's never seen his mother in full combat mode. He shrank further into his hiding spot as he took in the imposing form of the extractor. It had no face, only a smooth yet rusted mannequin like appearance. It was much taller than his mother, with long limbs that flexed in unnatural directions.

"I don't know how you got this far, but this is where it ends for you!" Pomni lashed out at the extractor. It dodged and counter attacked, reaching for Pomni's heart.

Pomni spun out of the way and brought her sword down on the extractor's arm, right in the elbow joint. She twisted her sword, breaking the joint, and kicked the marionette away from her. She continued her assault with a lunge at the extractor's power source.

The extractor caught it's balance and side stepped Pomni's attack. It grabbed her by the neck and slammed her to the side of a building. It would have gone for her heart, but it's broken arm hung uselessly. The marionette recalculated it's strategy. It threw Pomni into a stack of barrels, making them collapse on her and knocking her off her feet.

Cade gasped. His mother was unbeatable in his eyes, but her being on the ground for more than half a second was enough for him to run out from his hiding spot and get between his mother and the extractor. "Leave her alone!!" He stood bravely but seeing the extractor up close made his whole body feel cold with fear.

The extractor moved its head down to look at the small puppet. Detecting a D.I.E within reach, it's remaining good hand rushed to extract it. It's pointed fingers didn't get close.

Pomni exploded from the barrel pile. Sword and eye blazing with bright yellow energy. She speared the extractor in the gut, pushing it away from Cade. It's feet dug into the earth but the strength of the smaller harlequin forced it back.

"DON'T!" Pomni carved her glowing sword up the extractor's torso.

"TOUCH!" She tore her sword out it's side.

"MY!" She jumped and brought her sword down with both hands.

"SON!" She stabbed the extractor in the top of its chest, driving her sword down through the power source.

The extractor fell to its knees. A mechanical whirring screech emanated from it. Sparks showered the ground as it struggled to move. As it's systems we're failing, it sent out a call for reinforcements.

Pomni ripped out her sword and decapitated the extractor. The head rolled as the body collapsed. She breathed heavily through her teeth, out of both anger and fear. Before she could address Cade, more fast approaching danger made her flare up more with energy.

Two more extractors and an even larger, tank like marionette rushed Pomni's position. Now she knew how they got past the border patrols. Pulverizers were huge, heavily armored, and had arms that touched the ground, making their movement more akin to gorillas than anything human.

Pomni transformed her mechanical arm and sprinted towards the incoming attackers. She shot at one extractor, it leapt onto a wall and climbed to the roof. She shot at the other extractor, it was hit in the leg and it tumbled before getting back to it's feet. She aimed everything she had left at the charging pulverizer. Rusted armor flew off the marionette but it didn't slow down.

Cade covered his head from the percussive shots, it was louder than he ever thought it would be. The noise scared him back into hiding. He stayed out of sight as his mother warcried.

When all five shots were spent, Pomni focused her energy in her sword and waited until the pulverizer raised its arms to attack. When it did, she slid under it and hacked off one of its back feet. The pulverizer stumbled and crashed into a building, momentarily stalling it.

Cade flinched when the pulverizer hit the wall. It's face and shoulder were torn open, it's old frame falling apart from ages of lack of upkeep. He looked back to his mom as she roared at the marionettes.

"PREPARE TO DIE, MOTHERFUCKERS!!" Pomni was confronted and flanked by the two extractors, who attacked simultaneously. The one on the roof tried to come down on her head, but she rolled away and slashed the second. The extractors collided, giving her a chance to charge her sword and cast a flying razor light wave at them both.

The light cut through the marionettes as though they were paper, cleaving them both in two as the pulverizer came charging back. Pomni gritted her teeth and focused energy into her gun. Yellow light gathered at the end of the barrel as she aimed it at the pulverizer's head.

"DIE!!!!!!" A harsh beam of light blasted from her gun, vaporizing the pulverizer's head and most of it's chest. It fell, sliding to Pomni's feet. She continued to yell as she stabbed and slashed at the remnants of all the marionettes until they were nothing but magled scrap.

Cade was horrified. His mother had never spoken like this in front of him, even at her most angry. He didn't recognize her as she angrily tore apart the remains. He stayed where he chose to hide long after she finally calmed down.

Pomni punted the head of one of the extractors into the distance. "AND STAY DEAD!!!" She huffed, her eyes still glowing with mother bear fury. How dare these things choose today of all days to break through to what is supposed to be a safe zone. Cade could've been killed!!

Her mind slowly cleared from the combat hyperfocus. "Cade!?" She looked around for him, hoping he was still safe. She didn't see anymore enemies, but what if he had been hit by debris? She spotted him peeking out at her, but he quickly ducked away.

"Cade?? Are you hurt!?" She rushed over, kneeling next to his hiding spot. What greeted her wasn't relief or gratitude....but fear in her son's eyes. "Cade?" The light in her eye faded, she appeared as herself again, despite the fact that she was covered in marionette oil splatter. "It's okay, they're gone. You're not in danger anymore." She reached for him, but he flinched away from her.

A flash of blue light announced Caine's arrival. "Pomni!? I just heard- oh, you already took care of it." He looked over the carnage, taking how overkilled the marionettes looked.

"DAD!!" Cade bolted from his hiding spot, and hid behind Caine.

Caine kneeled down to his son's level. "Hey champ, you okay? I'm sorry you had to see those things up close, but it's a good thing mom was here. She took care of the bad guys."

Cade fearfully side-eyed Pomni and hid in Caine's arms. "I want to go home." He mumbled.

Caine protectively held Cade close and lifted him up. "We can go home."

Pomni felt hurt that Cade didn't want comfort from her. She tried to get close to Caine but Cade whimpered when she did. She could see him shaking and kept back. "I...I need to search the extractors for D.I.Es and check the outer patrols. Make sure there aren't more of those things lurking around. I'll catch up with you later." Pomni sheathed her sword and held a stoic expression as she passed Caine.

"Alright...?" Caine watched Pomni walk away. She was never this stiff after battle. "Stay safe." He wished her before blinking away with Cade.

~

Pomni couldn't get Cade's fearful expression out of her mind. Did seeing those things really frighten him that much..? No, he tried to face one, despite being defenseless. Then what was he so afraid-......oh.

Pomni stopped what she was doing, feeling like an extractor's claw was around her heart. Her own son saw her fight with all her strength against enemies that didn't warrant it. She's handled far worse with less. She tore them apart to protect her son. That didn't make her a bad person, right?

She reflected on every battle. Every boss. Every rat that ever had the misfortune of crossing her path. She killed...for fun. Her bloodlust was never satisfied. When she couldn't find something to fight, Caine would take up the mantle of spar partner to curb her hunger, but she always craved more.

Pomni looked at herself in the reflection of a rain barrel, really looked at herself. Her soul felt warm in it's chamber, like it was trying to comfort her. "Am I a monster...?"

~

Cade stayed in his room the rest of the day, not telling Caine much about what happened. He hid in his favorite box in the closet. He felt safest there outside of his father's arms. His room door quietly opened and shut. Someone walked across the room and sat outside his open closet. He stayed quiet.

"Cade..." Pomni gently called to him.

Cade didn't respond. While he didn't truly believe his mother would hurt him, but now that he knew what she was capable of, he stayed in his box.

"Cade, I hope...I hope you know that what I did today was for your sake. Those marionettes are very dangerous. They could have killed you and so many others. I had to..." Pomni trailed off, her voice failed her as she wanted nothing more than to hold her son. "I only ever want to keep you safe, but the world we live in is stupidly not safe." She gave a sad chuckle, fighting tears. "I'm sorry today was so much...you weren't ready...maybe you never will be. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of..."

Cade peeked out from his box. "You're...afraid?"

Pomni quickly wiped her eyes. "Yes, I'm terrified. That one day, I won't be there...when it really matters... Please...don't be afraid of me...I would never...I could never..." Tears forced their way out, streaming down her face.

Cade's never seen his mother this vulnerable either. All of this was so new for him. She was always so strong. Unbreakable. Unshakable. Today he thought she was too strong and now...she pleaded with him as though he held her heart in his hand. "Dad said you kill bad guys. They were pretty bad."

"They were. Very bad. I'm sorry I got carried away in front of you, I just...needed to make sure they would never hurt you or anyone else again. It's what I was made for, Cade."

"To protect?"

"To protect this city. And you are part of my directive too, have been since the day you were born. I would fight the world for you, Cade, because I love you."

Cade climbed out of his box and hugged his mother. Pomni pulled him into her lap and nearly broke down with relief. Cade felt safe so close to his mother's heart again. Their soul energy greeted each other so warmly. "...it was kinda cool how you cut those two extractors in half without actually touching them with your sword. How did you do that?"

Pomni took a steadying breath. "It's very advanced soul magic. It'll be awhile before you learn how to use it. A long while. For now, I just need you to do something for me." She adjusted him in her lap so she could look him square in the eyes. She needed to make sure she had his full attention. "When something like this happens, and it will likely happen again, when I say run, you run. Understand?"

Cade nodded. "Yes, momma. I don't want to stick around those things again, not until I know how to swing a sword like you. Then I can help you fight the bad guys."

"I'm hoping one day you get to live in a world without them, but...you are a harlequin. We're specialized puppets, and you have the greatest advantage over all who came before you."

"What's that, momma?"

"You can write your own directive. No human will ever do it for you. You can choose your own path from day one. I know you'll figure life out because you're smart, like your father..."

"And strong like you, momma. I'll be the bestest harlequin ever!"

Pomni smiled. "Yes, you will be, and I'm already so proud of you."

Cade and Pomni sat together in the young puppet's room for hours talking about what the future could hold, and the plan for his future training. He needed to be ready. The world wasn't going to wait for him to grow up before it threw it's worst.

[sugar-omi]

a request for baxter x cove ship from *this anonie  i didn't think i'd get this one done in time. i had like.. 2-3 different ideas on this one... but it ended up like this, and now you have to wait until next year for part 2 🙊

DAY FOURTEEN — Camshow [ baxter + cove ]

tags : NSFW, no reader, camboy baxter, dom/bottom baxter, sub/top cove, caught in the act, masturbation,

synposis : cove didn't know exactly what baxter did for work, he just knew that he had a specific chest in his room he was banned from touching, steaming equipment and sound proofing in his room, and a simple request for cove to avoid his room after midnight.

which isn't a problem, cove isn't a night owl and he sleeps like a rock. but tonight.. he just can't get to sleep, maybe jerking off once or twice will knock him out. he didn't plan to stubble upon his roommates camboy account. and he definitely didn't mean to get off to it..

[ kinktober '24 masterlist | ao3 ]

this has to be against some kind of law, or against some moral code about watching your roommate get off in front of an audience, talking dirty to them and enjoying every plea for more or degrading comment about how filthy baxter is for showing his ass to the camera, slowly working himself open as he prepares to take a dildo.

but cove just can't look away.

he had every intention not to click on it, he really did. but cove knows those deep brown eyes from anywhere, that pale skin and inky black hair and the mask does nothing to hide the fact that cove knows that face.

his heart is beating against his chest, every inch of common sense screaming at him to stop thinking about baxter, to stop insinuating that this guy could possibly be baxter.

it's rude, it's disrespectful right? it's.. it's him.

cove feels something crash on him, he can't tell if it's embarrassment or something akin to it for finding out his roommates.. occupation. or if it's something else, but he has a feeling it's a little bit of both..

"you guys are so demanding." baxter laughs, the sound cutting through cove's headphones and straight into his ears. it's almost chilling how clear he can hear baxter's voice.

it's a bit muffled through the mask, but he knows. he knows what baxter sounds like.

cove squirms up his bed, propping more of his body against his pillows. even though he's heavy with shame, he can't deny he's turned on...

and it must be the lack of sleep these past few nights that's clouding his judgment, because cove tugs on his pants down just enough to pull his hardening cock out, taking himself in his fist and watching baxter's fingers slowly and hypnotically spread his hole open, scissoring and pumping them in and out, letting a few quiet moans fall from his lips that the mic just barely picks up..

cove looks over at the wall he and baxter share like he's trying to see past his fish tank, poster, and through the wall.

on the other side... baxter is bent over his bed with a camera pointed towards his flushed milky skin, capturing how his fingers stretch himself open, showing baxter's thousand and some viewers how lube runs down his thigh and how his legs quiver.

cove sees someone saying how they'd love to bite baxter where the mole on the back of his thigh is, and he can't help but think "fuck.. i want that too.." already imagining baxter with his legs propped up on cove's shoulders, cove's lips magnetizing towards every beauty mark on baxter's body and leaving hickeys there like he's drawing lines to constellations.

"okay.. that's enough." baxter announces in his smooth voice, a bit breathy, the sound flowing like honey through the audience's headphones and igniting a fire in them if the "i could listen to your voice all day" and the filthy comments about making baxter moan is anything to go by.

baxter leans back against the pillows, hitting a button on his computer to switch camera to the one facing his bed.

"now.. lets try this monster you guys begged me to use." baxter teases his audience, reaching over to grab the toy and starts lubing it up.

cove swallows, slowing down the pace of his fist around his cock, watching with bated breath as baxter prepared to take the toy.

the toy is certainly different from a basic dildo, curved with a girthy knot at the base with thick ridges thinning out the closer it gets to the head, and a comically thick vein going up the side of the shaft.

cove flushes. he didn't know baxter was into those type of things.. well, how could he, because he definitely didn't know or even consider that he was a camboy.

"mmng.." baxter moans, his fist curling into the pillow by his head as he sinks the head of the toy past his wet, puffy rim..

cove bites his lip to hold back the groan building at the base of his throat, slowly stroking his cock head, tightening his grip around his length. god, what he wouldn’t give to be in the place of that toy.

he wonders what sounds baxter would make, what he’d look like when cove sank his cock in to the base. he’d feel better than that toy, right? paired with his lips on baxter’s long neck, his hands pulling baxter against his body..

“god..” baxter gasps, his back arching and forcing a moan from him when the toy sinks deeper because of his movement. “this.. this toy is really thick..” baxter pushes the dildo deeper, the knot just a couple inches away from pushing back his rim..

cove pumps his fist around his cock faster, panting, trying to keep a moan or grunt from slipping past his lips.

baxter takes a moment to adjust to the girth and shape of the toy, exhaling out in a breathy laugh that the ridges of the toy are pressing against his good spots. “‘push it in already, pretty boy.’” baxter reads a comment and he looks at the camera through hooded eyes. “you really wanna see me take this knot, huh?”

he tightens his grip on the base of the toy, and he starts thrusting the toy in and out of his hole slowly, then slammed it in down to the knot, producing a loud, feminine moan from baxter’s throat. cove stiffens, realizing he could hear baxter’s moan through the wall.. clearly baxter’s new soundproofing wasn’t good enough.

he throws his head back against the pillows, letting baxter’s little moans and snarky comments to his chat fill his ears.

“-so good..” baxter groans, pumping the toy in and out at a quick pace, angled it up so it hits his g-spot when he thrusts the toy back in. “it-” baxter swallows thickly, gasping. “it’s rubbing against all my sensitive spots.” he cries, giving shallow thrusts of the toy into his wet insides, the slick sound from all the lube echoing through the audience's headphones, comments about baxter’s “filthy cunt” filling the chat.

baxter's hand falls to his cock, quickly stroking his length as he pushes the toy in, moaning loudly. "god-damn!" baxter cries, and cove can hear the bump when baxter's jolting makes the headboard hit the wall. "the tip- it's, mngh! it's pressing against my prostate..!" he whimpers, and you can just barely see tears pulling at the bottom of baxter's eyelashes from the pleasure..

"take that knot in your slutty hole" cove reads the comment as it pops up with a donation. baxter reads it too.

"nng.. thank- thank you for the donation." baxter forces out, not pausing or slowing down his movements as he reads the comment, the toy bullying his insides, the thick knot at the base pushing against baxter's butt but not quite pushing in.

baxter cries out loudly sometimes from it, the knot of the toy trying to push its way into baxter's pliant hole occasionally from his tough thrusts. he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing with the movement. "fuck- well, with such a generous donation.." baxter whines in the middle of his sentence, trying to pull himself together to look presentable but he just looks like a desperate mess.

"lets try to fit this knot inside me.." he sits up, stopping his movements so he can try to get comfortable before taking the toy. his lips press together, trying to hold back a moan as he pulls the toy out, shuffling and squirming before he finally settles on presenting his ass to the camera, laying his upper half against the pillows.

baxter spreads his legs, trying to calm his trembling thighs as he starts to push the head of the toy past his rim, his body easily accepting the toy, his pretty insides enveloping every ridge and bump on the dildo, his moans trembling as he takes it to the base.

cove gives his cock a long strong, his cock throbbing as he feels himself getting closer and closer to coming.. he doesn't want to finish yet, but fuck he's pretty sure he could come just from seeing baxter work the knot of this toy into his perfect insides.

cove licks his lips. he knows he can't look baxter in the eyes normally after this, he's ruined. and he knows the shame and guilt will hit him after he comes, he's sure of it.

but fuck if he isn't drowning in fantasies of his lips on baxter's thighs and his bigger hands pulling baxter's ass apart as he eats him out or watches the way baxter takes his cock.

and the way his cock throbs and a groan rolls past his lips because the image of baxter's pale skin turning red from the force of cove's thrust is too great.

baxter's thighs shake as he starts to push the toy against his hole, the knot slowly pushing against his insides.

the chat encourages him, not that he could see it from his position, but it's the thought that counts. he knows such gentleness won't get the knot in, and baxter all but forces the knot into his hole, his handle on it immediately falling.

he whines loudly, his thighs trembling as he adjusts to the new girth.

the chat floods with comments about how pretty baxter looks stuffed full with the dildo, cooing about how pretty his whines are and how they wish they were there to give his pretty ass a few spanks, that he'd be prettier with a bruised ass to go with his stuffed hole and leaking cock.

cove's eyes are locked in on the scenery too, and he hates that he shares the sentiment with baxter's chat because he wishes this scene was for his eyes only, no one elses..

it's a selfish desire, he knows that. but fuck if he doesn't wish he could take the place of baxter's chat and devour every inch of porcelain skin and full lips.

baxter gathers himself, finally being able to bring himself to take the toy in his shaky hand and he starts moving it, pulling the knot out until only the tapered tip is inside him..

baxter slams the toy back in, knot included this time, forcing a loud moan from him. he doesn't know it, but cove heard that one for sure, the sound whorish and pathetic.

he keeps thrusting the toy, in and out, pushing it against all his good spots and whining at how the knot stretches him open. baxter doesn't even need to give his cock any attention because of all the pleasure he's feeling from the toy, his flushed cock hanging between his legs and leaking pre.

cove glances at the chat, and he sees a few people coo about how sweet his leaking cock is, or how they wish they could suck him off while he gets fucked.

"fuck! i'm gonna-" baxter whimpers, his face buried in the pillows and his ass arched in the air as he keeps slamming the toy in and out of his ass, pressing the head against his g-spot. "i'm cumming! fuck, i'm cumming!"

cove strokes his cock faster, pre running over his fists as he gets closer and closer to the edge, trying to time his orgasm with baxter's.

baxter's cock drools on the sheets, a pool of pre connected by a steady river from his straining cock. his cock twitches as the knot pushes past his rim, baxter gives shallow thrusts of the toy in and out of his hole, and his last thrust must've hit that magic spot because he blows his load all over his fresh bed sheets, his thighs trembling and a series of whiny moans falling from his lips and hardly being muffled by the pillow.

baxter's body trembles as he cums, his hole tightening around the length and knot of the toy, trying to stifle his sounds when he finally gathers the strength to pull the toy out of his tender insides..

cove slaps his palm over his mouth, muffling his moan as he spills his cum all over his fist, thick ropes of cum painting his fingers and making an increasingly slick sound with every stroke of his cock as he works through his orgasm.

"that.. fuck." baxter laughs, his back facing the camera as he takes some tissues from the box off screen. he turns around to face the camera, revealing his flushed face, the mask clinging to his cheeks from the sweat.

baxter starts to talk to his chat, but cove leaves the browser after baxter ends the stream.

cove drops his phone, his earbuds still in his ears so all he can hear is the hard beating of his heart and blood rushing through his ears. he.. he really did that.. he.. got off to his friend and roommates camshow…

cove knows he should feel more shame for such debauchery on his part, baxter doesn’t know after all, and he clearly didn’t want cove to know. but.. he definitely doesn’t have enough shame because he’s still fucking hard, and the only thing on his mind is baxter.

he can’t sleep in the end because all cove can see if baxter’s pale, blushing skin, the way he spread his legs and exposed his pliant body, his cock hanging so fucking prettily between his legs..

and he can almost hear baxter’s moans in his ears again, the memory of seeing baxter split open on that dildo is at the front of cove’s mind and he curses himself for it…how the hell is he going to face baxter, now?

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 8

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Someone's excited and someone isn't in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Trigger warning: There is a mention of miscarriage. Reminder that there will be no miscarriages in this story. I apologize to anyone who has suffered that grief and please know that while times may be tough in this story, they will get better.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. leapt into the air. With a swivel of his torso that would have been impossible with mammalian spinal columns, he rotated all the way around to snatch a Frisbee. He then landed with the brunt of his weight denting dead grasses. Doing the same spine breaking spin, he whipped the plastic disc away from him. It shot with lethal accuracy at your mate who caught it without wasting a bit of movement.

The Frisbee was launched again and the game continued on as it had.

It had been going on for some time now.

It seemed like everything had.

This family picnic.

The last few weeks.

The persistent chill in the air.

It was why you were able to be out like this in the first place. For weeks, clouds took root in the sky. They darkened the doors of NYC and filtered out vibrancy. What was left was the usual humdrum of the city’s occupants and the only other entity that marked winter: cold.

Those who braved the elements bundled up, but there was little to see. All color was sucked from the concrete and buildings leaving everything a similar grey casing as the cumulus constellations above. Even a bright colored coat amongst the sea of neutrals seemed a pale comparison to how it appeared on a store rack.

It sent hoards of people indoors where golden tones were meant to encourage circadian rhythm. Bars were packed until condensation clung to the windows and hid them away from the chill. Restaurants buzzed with patrons looking for bowls of comfort and rooftop parties were dotted with the glowing embers of heat lamps instead of fairy lights.

They glowed like fireflies overtop the city, you imagined.

In reality, you hadn’t seen them.

You hadn’t seen much as of late.

Your husband had become a husk.

You had played out the rest of your Valentine’s trip in quiet contemplation. Waking for the multi-course breakfast should have been a treat and to an extent it was. It helped mop up the bitter feelings of the night before and there was love baked into every bite. The couple and other bed and breakfast tenants made for lively conversation and you heard life stories.

Ones that included family.

Ones that turned Donnie further inward.

He had yet to emerge in the time that followed.

When S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. phoned about the parks being empty, Donnie hadn’t challenged him. He agreed to an outing regardless of the conditions. Your son then immediately texted you with complaints of Donnie’s pliancy since he’d had a whole presentation planned to convince him. You offered to listen, but you certainly weren’t going to turn down the offer. In the end, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gave up and you instead ironed out the necessary details that brought you now to the park.

Only a few joggers happened by at an irregular pace and they were so bundled up they didn’t blink an eye at the giant purple humanoid automaton.

To a side glance, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was nothing more than a colorfully dressed being braving the cold in layers. In reality, your son generated his own warmth and the cold meant his processors were firing at some kind of top optimization. He could finally walk around in his humanoid form without being gawked at and having the park to yourselves was an added bonus. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was living out his dreams of playing catch with his dad, even if said man was less part of the game and currently acting like an automated machine that fired discs.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nabbed the plastic out of the air in another momentous leap before he ran over to you. “See that one? Did I get higher that time?”

“I think so…” You pondered to play up his excitement.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s legs folded up so he could more closely match your height. “Well!?”

You rolled your eyes over the darkened sky before landing on him. “I bet you can do better.”

“I can!!” He revved to his feet and launched the Frisbee at Donnie. “Throw it high!!”

Your husband complained and the disc then cleared S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s leap by several leagues. “Shoot!”

It disappeared into some dead brush.

Heavy metal footsteps clabbered after it. “I got it!”

You watched the lights on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s chassis disappear and turned back to Donnie. Your husband’s eyes were both fixed and unfocused after where his son had gone. It had been weeks since you’d seen life shine off his gaze. He fully moved through motions and had never verbally accepted that you were no longer trying. Instead, he let his actions speak louder as you’d gone through your next ovulation cycle without having sex at all.

General intimacy might also have been absent had you not pushed for it. Your mate didn’t deter you, but was a lackluster partner in that regard. You often curled up against him on the couch for the sake of it and it was only after you continued to root stubbornly did he relent with an arm around you. You’d settle as thanks for it, but he no longer churred.

You hadn’t heard the sound since that accursed morning.

There was no helping it.

As Donnie had hypothesized, you became his strength where he lost will. He could easily be led, but he lost the desire to plan. This was his version of burnt out, you thought, as you took over making meal plans and keeping track of household stock. You often left him notes of what needed to be done that day and he always had them complete by the time you got home. It was a little more on your mental load, but his despondency didn’t make the extra work a chore. You wanted to care for him. The only exhaustion you had faced in the last few weeks was the one that struck you every time you opened your calendar. 

The ovulation schedule was still overlaid amongst your daily tasks.

Since Donnie was no longer updating it live, it now ran on the last approximate data. You saw the time when your body supposedly released an egg, but if Donnie’s nose picked up on it, he didn’t betray that information. He was a shell that currently did what he was told, ate what was put in front of him, drank until a glass was empty, and slept when he laid down. You cared for him without a single question as you imagined this was all very new for him.

He had never spoken of burnout before though you imagined that was probably the stemming factor for his big 30s change. Years of scraping by took its toll on him and had manifested in him giving up the will to fight. He carried on for the sake of it after that and history seemed to align with what was happening now. It made you wonder how or if Donnie had ever learned to process grief. 

It didn’t seem like it since his reaction to such was to shut down. While he rarely treated himself like a computer these days, it seemed like an instinct to fall back on those old habits. The moment the chip in his brain couldn’t process one thing, the system kicked in with a failsafe. It robbed him of all other emotions during the reboot. He was in safety mode which glided by on the barest instruction. Sex, to that extent, was out of the question for a multitude of reasons, but the largest reason had to be it was inadvertently the cause of his crash. Doing it again led to that ultimate are you or are you not pregnant scenario that had caused his malfunction in the first place. Until he could handle that exact computation, you would be in stand by with your pocket warmers close, not that you were troubled by the actual cold.

It had been S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. who created the electric blanket you were currently perched on. He was becoming acutely aware that his parents’ flesh bodies were negatively impacted by the cold. You weren’t exactly sure, but you had a feeling he had downloaded data on babies and it had scared him to find out how fragile they were. That was presumably connected to the dangers of motherhood which was why it made sense when your son demanded to take you out shopping for a downier winter coat. You’d picked him out a cute beanie for his worries which he’d clipped onto his head. It flopped around as he jumped which was exactly what it did when he burst from the bushes. “Found it!”

“Where was it?!” You called out to him.

“Tree!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. threw his arms out to mimic branches. “I didn’t cut it down!”

“That’s my boy!” You cheered him on.

He wriggled happily before coming over. “Soup time? I’ve been keeping it toasty!”

“Sure.” You moved to give him room on the blanket if he wanted it and looked toward Donnie. “Come back in!”

Your husband didn’t jostle and walked forward as if a command prompt had been entered.

You pulled up a secondary blanket that was tucked around your legs.

Donnie knelt down on a far edge of the ground cover and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s chest compartment opened up.

Right next to his facsimile of a heart was a large thermos which he extracted and set down. “Don’t touch it yet. Outside temperature reads 93°C.” 

“That’s not toasty; that’s boiling.” You chastised him.

“Nah, it’s totally food safety holding temp!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. scoffed.

“When’d you get your license?”

“I got a part time job!”

“And you didn’t tell me!?” You pinched up the fabric on Donnie’s pants to tug him.

Your mate shuffled only an inch closer.

“I don’t tell you everything, mom.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. took a bitter tone, but his digital eyes wrinkled at the improv.

“My baby, I remember when you were just a microchip…” You feigned sobbing and pulled a seam on Donnie’s pants harder.

He finally came close enough that you could toss some of the blanket over his lap.

There was still a modest distance between you.

“So embarrassing!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. whined.

“Bring someone home so I can show them your baby pictures.” You grinned and grabbed the handle of a soft-sided cooler.

From inside you produced a nice crusty bread you had gotten that morning with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. as a pre-game outing.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tugged the cooler to him to get bowls ready and dolled out steaming cups of soup.

“Mom…?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. watched on as you relished tearing into the loaf.

He sounded nervous so you addressed him seriously. “Yes?”

“I… don’t have a job.” His eyes were pricked with pixel tears.

“I know, dear.” You patted his hand.

“And I’m ace!” He burst into a phony sob.

“But your dating profile!” You feigned a gasp.

“I just love a free meal and ice breakers!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. supposed agony had him falling over onto you.

He was metering his weight and you wrapped an arm around him. “We’ll figure this out. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?” He looked up at you and his display blinked away tears.

“Of course. I’m always here for you.”

“And… scene!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shot upright and you were barely able to get out of the way.

You tittered along with him as he passed you a spoon.

You took it and gave it to Donnie along with a bowl and some bread.

He stared down at the mixture before ladling some up and eating it since it was there.

You gave him a forlorn look before S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. passed you some soup of your own.

“Which parts were true?” You took a knowing bite.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. clammed up and picked up some bread for the sake of it.

“Shelly.” You didn’t need to press heat to know your son would crumble.

“The dating profiles and ace part.” He tore a bit of the bread flesh out and worked it between his metal digits into little tight balls.

“You’re… dating!? Like actually?!” You perked up before you got a bite in your mouth.

“Yeah…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gave way to despondent embarrassment and balled up more bread.

“I feel like I want to congratulate you, but you’re acting weird…”

“I kinda sorta… Uh… keep ghosting them…?”

“Oh…” You finally took a bite and found the temperature warmed your throat pleasantly.

“Yeah… I love the first date. Ugh, I could do it a million times over! The talk! The first look where they get that feeling! Each person is totally new and figuring out how to make them laugh that first time! Unf!! That’s what I bet it feels like when you take a good bite of food! Has to be!”

“Sounds like it, but…”

“I know…” He ground out and wilted. “Some of them get real mean when I turn them down after. There’s like expectations. That stuff sucks. Can’t we just hit it off and end it there?”

“Not really how it works… It sounds like these people are looking for a real connection. How much are you telling them beforehand?”

“Mostly the synthetic body stuff as a test. If they can deal with that then it’s all picking a place.”

“I meant about you being ace or that you don’t want anything long term.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was getting close to hollowing out his slice of bread.

“You’re not.” You ventured a guess.

“I’m not.” He agreed with a pout written in his body language instead of on his display.

“You’re feeling guilty about it.”

“The last guy got so sad…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. set the empty crust aside and started building up his bread pellets into a pyramid.

“It hurts. It sucks to think you met someone only for them to just want to stop after one date. Can’t you set the apps so it’s not romantic?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. knocked over his growing tower.

You waited.

“You can do that?!” Your son’s eyes shot to yours.

“Depends on the app, I think.”

“Show me your profile!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. made an immediate grab for the pocket of your jacket that had your phone.

“Hey! Just because you can hear where it is, doesn’t mean you get to take it before I say yes!”

“Kid rules!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. protested and snagged the flap on your jacket anyway.

You were unable to swat your son away as he got your phone and plugged it into a port in his hand.

“Kids learn certain boundaries.” You grouched and gave up to eat.

“Nah, kids break the rulez. That’s with a ‘z’ by the way.” His eyes blinked at the display. “There’s nothing here!”

“It’s almost like I’ve been in a committed marriage for years!” You dunked your bread into the soup and watched it sop the liquid up.

“But you said you could make friends on it.”

“I have friends.” You chuckled.

“More friends.”

“I’m pretty good with the friends I’ve got.”

“So you just stop!?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked at you like the odd one.

“I’m not against it.” You reached out to take your phone back.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes rolled over into binary.

“What are you doing?” You turned wary.

“Found it!” In a blink, he projected a display of a dating profile you had made in your 20s.

You screeched straight through setting your soup safely aside and waved through the pixels to destroy it. “What is that?! Where did you find that?!?”

“Nothing on the internet dies!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. cackled pure malevolence to the cloudy sky.

“Is that active?!” You hissed and started grabbing at S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s form in an attempt to stop the display.

“Nah! It’s an archived page!” He giggled.

“Who archives that!?” You asked rhetorically before switching gears. “Turn it off now, mister.”

He laughed louder and the image dissipated.

You sank back into the blanket with a scowl.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. held out for a few seconds fiddling with his bread again.

“Want advice?” You sighed.

“Yes please.”

“Apologize to whoever will listen. Be honest about how much you feel comfortable with sharing. It’ll help. People can usually sense when someone isn’t honest.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nodded.

“And ask that last guy to be your friend. He might be up for that. He might not be. It’ll all depend. Just stay safe.”

“Are you warning me about stranger danger?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s eyes sparkled.

“Yes.”

“Will you give me a curfew?!” He cheered.

“You live on your own!”

“Aw!” He whined long. “Can I move back in and get one?”

“Back in?” You got hold of your bowl. “How long has it been since you were living with Don?”

“What was it, dad? Like nine-ish years?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. turned to Donnie as if he hadn’t been silent all this time.

Donnie didn’t look or respond.

“Nine years, 142 days, and six hours.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. told you.

You gave him a sympatric look for trying to include Donnie.

He took it with an understanding bob. “It’s not like there’ll be room for me soon anyway.”

“Shelly…” You had always had a feeling that S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was insecure about his place since you’d told him you were trying for a baby, but this was the first time he’d voiced it.

He waved his hands to dispel your worries. “Not like that! I want a little dude or dudette sibby!”

You tried to stifle a laugh.

“I do!”

“No, no.” You reached out to take one of his hands. “Not that! ‘Sibby?’”

“I’m gonna teach them all the cool slang!”

“Sure…” You teased.

“I am! I’m gonna be so cool! The coolest bro ever! I’ve been downloading books and everything!”

You softened. “You are.”

“Can I babysit?”

“Only lame big brothers don’t.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gasped, horrified.

You squeezed his hand, not that he could feel it.

He did notice though and looked up to you. “How’s that going? The data hasn’t been updating like before…”

The way Donnie’s spoon scraped the bottom of his bowl was palpable.

You sent him a nervous look, but he didn’t return it.

When you got back to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., you saw your son had done the same.

“Clean.” Donnie spoke his second or third word of the day.

You slurped down the rest of your soup and held the last bit of bread in your mouth before passing him your bowl and utensils.

He got his own and walked off.

“I mean it’s obvious something happened.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spoke as soon as Donnie trended out of eye line.

You chewed quietly before you spoke. “It really seemed like I was pregnant for a minute…”

“Did something bad…?” He searched you with growing anxiety. 

You shook your head. “No miscarriage, just a late period.”

“Could be late from stress.”

You bobbed your shoulders both agreeing with the possibility, but also not knowing for sure.

“What happened?”

“The emotional toll is… getting to us. It finally caught up with Donnie… I don’t know, Shelly. I asked if we could stop trying for now.”

 S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s red eyes widened.

“He’s not getting back on his birth control or anything, we’re just… I don’t know! We didn’t talk about it. I guess we won’t be obsessed with the schedule? I guess it just happens if it does…?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nodded.

“He’s hurting and I can’t help.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tipped over until he could rest his head on your shoulder.

You set your cheek atop him. “I was hurting and he was there for me, but now it’s reversed and I think I’m doing everything I can, but maybe there’s something more.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shook his head under the guise of snuggling closer.

His body radiated warmth and you leaned into it. “I know… Part of this is him coming to terms with what will or won’t happen.”

“I don’t really get it.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spoke softly after you hadn’t for a while. “The urge to reproduce or whatever, but I get family. I love family. I want more to love.”

An arm snuck around to hug you.

You wriggled until you could sling one around him.

He rumbled with what you identified as a digital version of a churr. “When’d you get that?”

“Used a mixing board and messed with the levels a few weeks ago.”

“That’s fun.”

“Makes me feel closer to dad.”

“You’re just like your dad.” You pecked just above the point of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s triangle.

“Thanks.” He rumbled louder.

You chuckled and rubbed his arm.

He adjusted a bit so he could lay in your lap.

You made sure he was whatever version of comfortable that worked for him before you followed lines in his body with your fingers.

He relaxed there for a while and his eyes closed. “You’ll make good parents.”

“I hope so.”

“You will. Dad’s come a long way. You’ve always been great. Fun to make yell.”

“Goodie.” The corner of your lip quirked sarcastically.

“It could take years.”

“I know…” You murmured.

For a long moment you both existed as parent and child.

“I think… we need to accept that. I think that despite hearing those low odds, we thought we could beat it like we have everything else. I think all this… shit, all these shitty thoughts, this misery, is a weird warning.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. watched you.

You looked down at him. “You can’t strong arm a baby. A baby takes time.” You rubbed the area where his cheek would be. “A baby takes understanding and you can’t force it. You can’t force any kid. Knowing every logical science fact in the universe isn’t going to convince a baby to stop crying. Kids are little nonsensical storms. Maybe all this was showing us that. The sooner we accept it, the better.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. reached up and took your hand.

“Do you think Donnie will ever make up for how he treated you?”

“No.”

“But you still want him to?”

He thought for a long moment. “No.”

“Are you waiting for something…?”

“Nothing.”

“Why… did you stay? Why do you still bother? You became independent, why didn’t you leave?”

The line of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s smile was so genuine you felt your very being soothed. “He’s my dad.”

You had to look away.

You looked up at the cloudy sky.

It sat the same way it had for weeks.

Unmoving.

You lost focus as you stared at the diffused light.

You didn’t see anything until a sharp zap of cold nipped your nose.

It almost felt wet, but from what you saw of the sky there was nothing there. 

You had to bring your head lower to see the tiny tufts of snow. 

You patted S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s chest to get his attention.

The flakes weren’t heavy enough to come straight down and instead flittered off with weak will to gravity.

“It’s snowing…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. mooned.

He was soon up from your lap and catching your hand.

You were on your feet in moments and he threw his head back. You watched as his digital tongue appeared from the line on his beak and a snowflake hit him only for it to melt instantly. He cheered for it and you threw out your frame to do the same. The snow tasted sour on your tongue and you gagged a little. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. fussed about acid levels and you returned the concerns by wondering why he hadn’t warned you. He started to respond before he ran for the sake of it and you chased after.

He purposely kept within reach so you could catch him and when you did you caught his wrists. You then threw your weight to one side which spun him, but didn’t knock him over. You kept up momentum, soon running. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. caught your hands right back and you were twirling until the flurries made for white blurs around you. Increased speed eventually broke you apart and you both fell onto crunching grass with giggles.

Donnie appeared over your head and you looked up at him with warmed cheeks. “It’s snowing, Don!”

He nodded and offered you a hand.

You let him help you up and tried not to look too owlishly as he initiated a secondary action by dusting grass clippings from you.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was still on his back and watching with glowing eyes.

“Where’s the stuff you rinsed?”

Donnie looked over to the blanket.

You followed his sight and assumed by the open cooler that he had stuffed the tableware in there. “I might have eaten some acid snow.”

Your husband’s face didn’t betray much, but his chin dipped a little to check.

You stuck your tongue out for him to see.  

A snowflake immediately landed on it and you choked as you stumbled away. “Ack!!”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hooted with laughter.

“That was dumb!” You coughed and returned to find Donnie with the faintest light in his eyes.

Yours tripled in size.

He did nothing more and only continued to watch you.

You thought about double taking, but instead chewed your lip.

It took some heavy debate before you gave it all up to chance, “Did… you trick me?”

His gaze softened the smallest amount.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You meant to say something, but a flake then touched down on the tip of Donnie’s nose.

His eyes crossed to look at it and you reached up in a great show.

He lowered his head for you thinking you’d wipe it.

You were going to and fisted up your fingers so your thumb was free.

Just before you made contact, you switched grip so your forefinger was extended and used it to swipe down the melting droplet straight into your mate’s mouth.

The acidity hit his heightened taste buds and he reared away from you with the most movement he’d made in almost a month.

Both you and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. couldn’t contain your giggles.

You both felt the moment Donnie recovered more than saw it.

“RUN! DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shrieked before kicking up lawn to take off.

You pivoted as quickly as you could to run the other way.

You heard S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. scream out something about Donnie not being able to catch you both before there was an explosion of sod. You turned back, having run a good many feet away to find debris falling with the snow and Donnie hunched over the jangling arms of his son’s body in a crater. You peeped a single time as his head shot toward your direction. You made it exactly three more leg lengths before your husband dropped down in front of you.

You tried to keep from running into him, but your backpedal tripped you.

In a perfect tango maneuver, his hand caught your waist and you were tugged flush with him.

You hadn’t been this close of his violation in a while and butterfly wings beat against your insides as you looked up at him.

His gaze poured over you, still partially withheld, but opening up further by the second.

“You were listening to me and Shelly.” You told him.

“Yes.”  

“Did Shelly know?” You tilted your head.

“One can assume.”

“Did you two set me up?”

“No.” Donnie almost smiled, but caught himself.

“Shelly!” You called out. “Did you!?” 

“No!” You heard some earth shift and assumed he was pulling himself up. 

“You okay?” 

“Yup! Can we do that again?!” He cheered. 

“Later.” Donnie rolled his eyes and didn’t bother raising his pitch.

“You seem to like what I thought. About not rushing kids?”

Donnie evaluated you for a while before he looked off to the side. “Sound rationale.”

You reached up and placed your palm flat to his cheek.

He leaned into you. “I’ve been distant.”

“You needed to be. I always told you. It’s fine as long as you know I’m waiting.”

“Always…?” He turned up the end of his sentence with a raw tear to his chilled gaze.

“Always.” You agreed and tucked your fingers into his mask.

He gave a faint exhale and leaned down.

“You don’t have to force yourself to be okay. Even now.”

Again, his lips twitched like he might smile, but didn’t.

You thought that was enough.

He came closer until he was just shy of kissing you.

His reluctance to marry your lips meant something so you only watched him up close and let your hand slide down to his shoulder.

He liked the maneuver and felt comfortable enough for his eyes to shut as he took in your closeness.

You nosed into his airspace and commingled just like that.

The snow didn’t pick up and stayed little wayward flurries that would sometimes brush your skin.

Long after they dotted and melted against your coat did Donnie’s forehead brush yours and he gave the barest churr.

Your fingers spread out against his collar and you sighed contentedly.

“I’d like to continue our exercise in spontaneity.”

“Oh?” You breathed out and felt the warmth of it bounce back from his skin.

He nuzzled you amongst a slight nod.

“I’d like that. I like being close to you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t stay away.”

“You needed me.”

“I did.” He pulled so there was the pressure of your body against his. “Needed you close. Need you.”

“I’m here.”

This time when he nodded it was to lift his head.

“What’s left from your list? Double penetration?”

That finally got him to smile, but he squashed it.

You chewed on your grin.

“An entire mechanism for such, my present at the lab, and something new I’ve added as punishment.”

“Edging…” You hissed at your kryptonite.

Donnie only sent you a confirming look before he released you.

You took a few steps to give him space.

“Now?!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. chirped as he waited the same distance away.

“Run!” Donnie snarled once before taking off.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. squealed delight as he thumped away on bulky limbs. “Wait! This body sucks for this!”

“Too bad!” You heard a clunk of metal before you saw Donnie reach him. “I believe this is called: tag!”

“Tag…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s mouth line warbled and Donnie turned to run. 

“Tag! Mom! It’s tag!”

“There’s no tag-backs so…” You saw Donnie signal you for which way to go and you ran that direction.

“Tag!!!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. cheered before his plodding footsteps were sent in your direction.

💜 NEXT 💜

@tmntxthings is busy with life changing stuff and @thepinkpanther83 is sick as a dog! Much love to my precious betas in these trying times!

[hiskillingjar]

Objectification (Lawrence/MC)

it’s my last night in my current flat and i’m feeling weird about it. enjoy something weird!

day 14: objectification  third person, law’s pov. it/its pronouns for MC.

Dyed hair fell to the floor in messy chunks.

Hastily snipped clumps of platinum, almost yellow, softer than spun wool and lighter than their own, shone in the moon's pale glow, beams streaming through the wide, open windows on a hot, summer night, plants casting shadows over the mold dotted walls.

Dyed hair, the bulk of it that yellow blonde, with dark, muddy roots, like a streak of shit on a pristine canvas.

Doll-like, they thought. 

An artificial version of themself, a version that the could have been (that they wanted to be, deep down), fake, hollow, empty and devoid of anything that made it human. 

Emptier than they already were.

Blue eyes, filled with tears, stared up at Lawrence as they hacked through the hair with garden shears, the rusty metal snagging and painful as it pulled at its scalp. 

Fake emotions, like its fake hair.

"You know that crying won't do you any good," Lawrence murmured, their typical monotone low and intimidating, their gaze giving away nothing close to empathy. "Do you think I'm going to stop, just because you're crying?"

It sniffled weakly, murmuring wordless pleas for mercy (a mercy it was never going to find from them) into the thick layer of duct tape wrapped around its jaw (it had to be shut up, somehow), tears continuing to fall down its flushed face.

Struggling had stopped long ago.

Eventually, the pleading would stop too.

Once the bulk of dyed hair had been cut away, matting on the floor like clouds of gold, Lawrence set the shears aside and took its chin in hand, tilting it up to get a better look.

"You look better this way, I think," They said quietly, leaning in, their dead, grey eyes boring into tearful blue. "Maybe it was for the best that I got rid of all those…fake colours, you know...and revealed something honest about you. Something real." Their lips quirked slightly. "But I'm not done yet."

It whimpered again as Lawrence let go of its chin and reached back to their desk, producing a disposable razor, caked with rust.

"See, I like to keep things clean, neat and tidy." Their head tilted to the side. "Mm, for the most part anyway. But, ah, I want you to be clean, neat and tidy too." Their quirked lips shifted into an odd sort of smile, gentle and eerie. "I think you'll like how it feels...and I know I'll like how you look."

Despite the rust, the razor was still pretty sharp. It cut through a short patch of brown hair with barely any effort, revealing the smooth skin of their scalp, now dotted with near-black stubble (like clogged pores, clogged with dirt and grime and mess, and perfect).

It continued to cry and whimper throughout the long process, as more and more hair tumbled down its trembling shoulders and to the ground, and more and more skin was revealed.

They would be good materials for an art piece, Lawrence thought, or maybe stuffing for a pillow or bed set.

It felt like such a waste not to use everything, after all.

Once the last of the hair was cut away, the only sounds in the apartment were a faint ringing in their ears (a typical arousal response that they hadn't managed to suppress just yet) and the quiet sniffling that came from the occupant of the chair.

"Now now, look at you..." 

Lawrence's voice had lost its harshness, replaced with a gentle and almost sympathetic tone.

"Isn't that better? I think it is, at least. You certainly look a lot more honest this way, mm?" 

They placed their hand on its cheek, feeling the warm tears on their skin as it continued to cry.

"You're still crying...why is that?" They ran a knuckle down its cheek, feeling the beads of tears. "Mm, it probably didn't feel good, did it? You'd gone through all the effort of dying your hair just for someone to...cut it all off. How do you feel, hm?

It couldn't make a sound, trying to swallow back its sobs as its body sank down, shying away from their touch, no matter how gentle it was.

"Do you feel scared? Humiliated, maybe?" They leaned over its shoulder, putting both hands on either side of the chair to box it in, keep it still and pinned, like a dead butterfly or a frog about to be dissected. "Is your personhood that fragile that I could...get rid of it, just like that? Hm?"

It whimpered again, blue eyes flitting to the side, trying to avoid eye contact.

Trying to avoid the difficult truth of their observation.

Lawrence moved in even closer, leaning in so that their dry lips were softly grazing the side of its neck, taking a slow and quiet inhale, the sweet smell of its hair still lingering, even when it was gone.

"Maybe you were never even a person to begin with. Maybe you were always just…an object, fake and hollow, and all it took was someone else, some...other object," They huffed out a sardonic laugh, letting their lips gently brush against the bare skin of its neck. "To see you, to recognise that your act is all bullshit, and actually understand you for what you are. Is that why you're scared?” They tilted their head again. “Because that idea is just so...crushing to you?"

It was silent again.

They could relate to that, at least.

That crushing expectation to behave like others do.

Pretending to be a person was exhausting, even for someone like them who made every excuse not to, who worked unsociable hours and moved away from everyone they cared about at the drop of a hat, just so it would stop.

They couldn't imagine how tiring it must have been for someone like it, doing it day after day after day, with not even a suggestion of respite.

Lawrence felt another huff of sardonic laughter slip out, wheezing, like they were being choked, followed by a sigh.

"All that effort, trying to play at being a person. Hah, what a waste..." They raised their hand back, running their fingers along the nape of its neck, their touch gentle, almost affectionate. "What a waste for it to all mean nothing now."

Its head sank lower with another defeated whimper, wrists twisting in their thick binds, struggling again.

They couldn’t have that.

Lawrence took its head in both hands then, forcing it upwards in a firm grip, so they could look into eyes that had lost almost all of their fight and spirit.

"You're a pretty object, I'll give you that," They murmured, leaning in again. "You have pretty eyes...and a pretty mouth...pretty skin...all fake, empty and soulless though. Just like me."

It gave them a forlorn expression, silently pleading; 

"What else could you possibly do with me now?"

Lawrence's lips curled into an odd sort of smirk, something like excitement appearing at the edges.

"Oh, I'm not nearly done with you yet," They responded, their hands moving down to its shoulders, restless fingers idly tracing its skin before pressing down, making sure that it didn't move from the seat.

"We're just getting started, doll."

[corpsebasil]

Nikolai Lantsov and his crew had sailed and plotted for days now.

The island in the distance was gigantic—more than huge—and it was terrifying, if anything.

"Well, that's not foreboding." He chuckled, leaning his arm against the side of the ship.

It was the Sea Whip that they tracked—had tracked—for days. Days in which the daily meals of eggs and pickles were beginning to make him want to tear his own hair out. The prince stared out at the island with intense curiosity, eyeing the steep mountains covered in greenery and as is any sailor's biggest annoyance, cloaked in a thunderstorm.

"Look," Tolya, his close friend and crewmember said, pointing out into the distance. There, docked at the edge of the island, was a ship. A ship grander than anything Nikolai had ever seen, and its flag, red, white, and blue, bore a symbol he had never seen before in his entire life. "where do you suppose that's from? Is it wrecked?"

"No." Mal, the tracker boy that followed the Sun Summoner around like a puppy, argued. "It's docked. Sails are lowered and it looks to be in perfect condition."

"I'm not really in the fighting mood today." Nikolai mused, casting those brilliant blue eyes over to Alina. "But hey. If whoever these fools are have already gotten your beloved amplifier, it saves us a lot of trouble, don't you think?"

Alina grimaced, her dark eyes locked onto the ship in the distance. She gave Nikolai a weighted glance that could mean anything before whispering something indistinct into her tracker friend's ear. Mal nodded, dark eyes morose, before looking back to Nikolai.

"We're willing to fight for it, if that's what you're suggesting." Mal offered, shrugging one broad shoulder before letting it fall.

A grin pulled at Nikolai's gorgeous mouth, and he slapped the boy on the shoulder.

"That's what I'm talking about." He said, looking back to the island. "Steal it, kill for it, it doesn't matter to me. But we're going to be the ones with the amplifier, not whoever these.... pirates are."

Alina snorted, eyeing the prince with an amused look on her face.

"Says you."

"I am a privateer, Miss Starkov. A privateer."

"Tomato, tomato." She beamed, and the mocking 'ah' in the second word made him roll his eyes.

After confirmation from Mal that it seemed safe enough to land, the prince instructed them to land upon the island, and they sailed closer to the beach. When his boots touched the shore, Nikolai stared up at the ship they had docked next to, admiring its smooth wooden sides and huge, white sails. It seemed to be abandoned, no sign of any occupants in sight. But Mal insisted he could sense the prescence of the amplifier and, with grim determination, they strode away, promising to commandeer the vessel once night fell.

"No use in sleeping outside." Nikolai said, eyeing Mal with distaste when he noticed the boy attempting to start gathering kindling for a fire. What was he, an idiot? "This isn't Wendy and the lost boys."

"Shouldn't we just...ask them for it?" Alina suggested, pointing at the ship. "Maybe they're nice."

"Or," Nikolai countered, smiling sweetly. "maybe they'll cut our heads off and sell you to the highest bidder." He rolled his eyes at her. "I'd like to keep my head, if you don't mind. It's a rather lovely one."

Alina grumbled something under her breath but the prince was already headed back to his ship, considering the dinner options for that evening. Pickles, eggs...and rum. A whole lot of rum.

***

When a loud peal of laughter echoed in through the open window of his cabin, Nikolai sat up from where he'd been resting in bed, reading a novel suggested to him by a girl he'd met weeks before. It involved a cowboy, a young maiden, and lots and lots of—

"STOP!" A voice came again, unmistakably Alina, and Nikolai shot out of his bed. He pulled a white shirt over his head quickly, his compass clacking against his chest, and headed out the door.

The sight on his deck made him almost lose his mind.

Alina and Mal, Tolya,Tamar, and two strangers he'd never seen before sat in a circle on the deck of his ship—his ship—drinking and laughing as the stranger on the right mimed along to some ridiculous story. His friends were drinking and storytelling and no one had bothered to come get him?

"Who in the hell are you?" He demanded, glaring hard at Alina, who's smile was so wide and lazy he was sure she had to have been on something.

"Sturm—" She let out a wheezing cough before passing the pipe—the pipe—in her hand across the circle to Tolya. "This is umm...Harry and..Wesley?"

"Winston." The man who had been telling the story corrected lightly, and all Nikolai could do was stare because...because... "The captain, are you? Lovely piece of wood, this is."

"I'm Harry." The other man said, smiling widely. Smiling drunkenly, and by his behavior, his appearance seemed not to be anything out of the ordinary for him.

He and Winston, both clad in finely tailored suits and coats, wore giant, white wigs, and the oddest makeup Nikolai had ever seen before in his life. White makeup, their faces painted so pale as to be almost clownish, spots of rouge on their cheeks, and a strangely bright lip color...they looked insane.

"You—" Nikolai exchanged a horrified glance with Mal, who seemed to be the only one not partaking in the revelry. He sat next to Winston but a bit back, as if scared the man was going to bite him. "What are you wearing? Where are you from?"

"England." Harry said, as if it was obvious.

"Glorious country." Winston added.

"God save the queen."

"England?" Nikolai's head was spinning with confusion. "Where is..."

"Oh, come on Sturmhond." Alina whined, picking up the bottle closest to her and extending it to him. He took a few careful steps forward and snatched it from her, taking a swig. Then he gagged.

"What is this?" He demanded, staring at the two men.

"Gin." Winston informed him.

"Very good with lemon." Harry added.

"And star anise."

"And what—" he pointed at the pipe Tamar inhaled from. The smoke that she exhaled was definitely not tobacco. "—is that?"

"Don't be a party pooper." Alina sighed, reaching out to tug childishly on his pant leg. Saints she was high as a cloud. "I thought you were the fun one?"

"I am the fun one, damn you."

He moved to turn away, likely to go brood in his room with the new bottle of gin he'd acquired and read his filthy novel, but the figure behind him made him freeze in place. His fingers almost sent the bottle crashing to the deck. He could only stare as the woman, clad in one of tightest, most scandalous dresses he'd ever viewed, reached out and took the gin from him.

"Thanks." She said, holding his stare when she took a long, unflinching sip from the bottle. Her eyes were green as emeralds and her face bore the same makeup as her companions, but on her...on her it seemed somehow dignified. "I'm Victoria. I see you've met my brothers."

Her accent. Her voice was...

"Hello?" She asked, snapping two fingers an inch from his nose. "Lights on up there? Too much opium, huh?"

"I'm uh—" he glanced behind him, making eye contact with an amused looking Tolya. "Sturmhond. Captain of this very fine ship."

"Weird name." She commented, taking another sip. "I like you. See you later." Those beautiful eyes held his for another beat before she pushed the gin back into his grip and sauntered to his crew.

He felt very, very weird, and couldn't remember the last time he'd been truly flustered by a woman.

Do to the severe lack of Nikolai content I've been forced to take matters into my own hands

Preview of my newest fanfiction on wattpad!! Go read Tea and Spices by miashcaluke

[generic-whumperz]

Benny (Character Sheet)

*Updated 12/22/2024

(Picrew)

Playlist | Moodboards | Masterlist | Character Info | Lexicon

Overview: In a post-apocalyptic world where an outbreak of debated origin has transformed people into flesh-eating monsters, Benny, a fisherman from Cajun-country Southern Louisiana, is just an ordinary man trying to support his family during difficult times. But his fate is forever changed after he catches the attention of Arcadian Baron Xavier LeBlanc after winning a brutal fight against a horde of afflicted in the fighting pits. His victory leads to an offered position as one of Xavier's concubines, but he soon discovers that this position involves more than just hedonistic sex parties. Benny discovers Xavier's corruption and nefarious activities, including the Baron's connection to the mysterious disappearances of several local women. Outraged, Benny decides to take matters into his own hands. After risking it all and exposing Xavier's wrongdoings to the town, the ensuing revolt claims the lives of Arcadian envoys and vassals alike. Xavier, fed up with Benny’s insolence, retaliates by sentencing Benny to a life of slavery and selling him to a buyer on the West Coast.

Full name: Benôit Onésiphore Boudreaux (Benny)

Role: Second lead protagonist (Whumpee)

Date of Birth & sign: February 10, 2005 (27), Aquarius (story takes place in the year 2032)

Gender: cis-male

Sexuality: bi (and DTF)

Height: 6'

Weight/body type/build: working man's build—very fit and muscular. Unfairly ripped, is good googly moogly ridiculous. (How does it feel to be creator's favorite?)  

Hometown: Atchafalaya, Toussaint Parish, Louisiana (re-used name, fictional place in the southern boot of LA area)

Fav genre of music & anthem: blues rock; Born On The Bayou by: CCR

Family Members: Oldest child and only son. Both parents deceased. Younger sisters in order from oldest to youngest: Genevieve, Sabine, Estelle, Cordelia. Adopted children whose families died after the outbreak. Father & big brother figure 2-in-1. (All surviving Boudreaux family members + adopted kids are in the infographic below.) Family over everything mentality. Provider.

Surviving family tree:

Left/right handed: left

Occupation: fisherman, helps run family-owned bait & tackle shop

Ethnicity (+ American): Indigenous (predominantly  Choctaw), Cajun/Creole (mixed colonial French, Native American, and Haitian ancestry). Appearance-wise, looks unmistakably Native. 

Hair color & length: long, straight, thick black hair, hits mid-back. Usually tied in a low pony, braided, or thrown up in a messy bun. Facial hair: none to be had. Has little to no body hair and looks like a smooth baby dolphin. Has never used a razor in his life, plucks random hairs as they surface.

Hygiene: smells like swamp water and fishing boat gunk 90% of the time. Bathes daily and spends a lot of time taming his mane and doing hair masks. Decently hygienic (having four sisters), but isn't afraid to get dirty and wrestle in some mud.   

Eye color: russet brown. Deep-set, thin, almond-shaped eyes. Has "sly eyes."  

Skin tone: light brown, golden tan with warm undertones.

Facial features: oblong head with high cheekbones. Wide, full lips with heavy upper lip. Hooked nose. Flat, thick eyebrows. Round, slightly pointed ears (no, not like an elf) with free lobes.  

Mannerisms: very animated and talks with his hands, uses a lot of body language. Hums, whistles, and sings songs at random.   

Nervous ticks: shifts and wiggles around more. Rocks in a chair if sitting. Paces. Runs fingers through hair, plays with hair. Flexes hands and toes. Shrugs, rolls shoulders. Cracks neck and fingers, rolls head in a circle or a back/forth motion. Blinks a lot and shakes head. Bounces knee. Talks more and rambles, may repeat a question reworked in different ways, *disbelief*. Uses inappropriate humor to cope. Grimaces. Stretches, may start dancing/tapping feet. Drums fingers.

Posture: relaxed and casual. Slumps back in seat or leans forward, elbows on knees. Has an unfortunate tendency to manspread.

Style: "It fits? I gets." Nearly everything is stained and a hand-me-down. Usually in smelly fishing gear. When not, in a white tank or T-shirt with sleeves cut off, old ripped jeans, tattered old boots, or no shoes at all. All shorts are old jeans he cut (jorts go hard). Tribal print and lumberjack flannels, buttoned jackets, Carhart vests, old sweatshirts, wrinkled and faded T-shirts, beaded jewelry, and custom jackets made by his fashionista sister, Estelle. 

Health: initially very healthy with no conditions or allergies

Piercings/tattoos: piercings—2 holes (lobe and upper lobe), tragus on both ears and a Prince Albert (🍆). Tattoos (so many, all B&W): strand of 5 traditional-style flowers on upper chest, just below collar bones. Barbed wire in the shape of a heart on the left peck over the heart with a small cherub pulling back bow as if about to shoot an arrow at it on the right shoulder. Traditional Choctaw tribal pattern strip encircling right bicep. Beaded armband with two feathers tied in the middle—starts on upper-mid left arm and stops about 4" short from elbow. Mermaid with shell crown on top left forearm. Optical illusion crocodile swimming half-in, half-out of water on top of right arm. Optical illusion fishing hook stuck in skin on outer left wrist. Tomahawk with peace pipe end on left side over ribs. Scorpion around belly button, crawling down towards below waistline. Sun and moon kissing surrounded by clouds on mid left thigh. Shrimp above outer left ankle. (Tat sheet & references below.) 

Birthmarks/scars: scar across left cheek. "X" slave branding scar on right hand.  

Tattoo Placement Sheet (+ Scars):

Tattoo reference pics from Pinterest:

(sorry, yeah he has Pinterest tats, I’m not a professional)

Language(s): English, Cajun French, standard French, Chahta Anumpa (Choctaw language), American Sign Language

Personality: extroverted, adaptable, friendly and charismatic, good-natured, energetic, sincere, outspoken, optimistic, excitable, loyal, motivated, facetious, compassionate, quick-witted, patient, confident, genuine (never pretends to be someone he isn't), but can be a schmoozer

Vices:  weed, moonshine/hooch, casual sex, drunk fishing.

Voice: loud. Rich Cajun twang, smooth and silky despite the volume at which he speaks.

Smells like: when dirty—swamp, mildew, and fish. When clean—earthy scent with aquatic undertones: Spanish moss, evergreen and Cyprus, soliflore gardenia, and blue gum eucalyptus.    

Face claim(s): (young) Eddie Spears (top row), Michael Hudson (bottom row, big shoutout to @3-2-whump for finding Michael!)

Character inspiration: nothing in particular; I just thought I was missing something, and thus, Benny was born and slowly revealed himself to me in parts. I knew I needed a wild swamp man.

Other: has wrestled alligators and isn't afraid of shit besides catfish (his mortal enemy). Harmonica champion. Consumes ungodly amounts of shrimp. 

 

Character sheet filled out from his POV

[welcome-home-art-dump]

Welcome Home x Kaiju reader in:

Humanized Home!

Headcanons: through an unexplained reason, Home has been given a more humanoid body which will let them interact with you better. This is my depiction of home being able to properly interact with reader if given a body.

Note: I've read on the website that Home is genderfluid, so I'll be using they/them pronouns.

Sorry if you were expecting something a bit more mature for Home's design, but I liked the idea of them looking more childish. [+I wanted to do something different-] And no, their mouth isn't visible like Hello Kitty.

And here, rather than just up and spontaneously transform (they have an occupant after all-) they have their consciousness manifest into a humanoid form.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🏠 You kind of need to help them stand up at first and teach them how to walk since they weren't used to having legs.

🏠 Their first impulse is to feel your face and wings and marveled at how smooth they were. (Note: Poppy had to tell them to be careful with the wings since they were kind of clumsily groping your wings, due to being new to having hands.)

🏠 They often sit with you and play with your wings and tail a lot, as well as your hair. In general they like the new feeling sensation with their hands.

🏠 they absolutely love the feeling of intertwining their fingers with yours. They've never felt warmth like that before.

🏠 during this time, they liked to hug you a lot. Some times out of the blue. They like your warmth.

🏠 They are kind of childlike around you, acting curious and cutesy, but Sally firmly believes this is an act.

🏠 they communicate by whispering things in your ear. (Note: I like to think they wouldn't be used to verbal talking and would be unsure of their voice.]

🏠 they yearn for your attention the most out of everyone in the neighborhood.

👁 They secretly just want you to all themselves, which puts them at odds and ends with others. Especially Wally.

👁 They have a stare that's more intense than Wally's, and at times swirls appear in the pupils. For some reason once those appeared, the others didn't want to stick around too long.

👁 wonders why the other neighbors want them to go back to their stifling house form.

I might post a full ref of my depiction of human Home soon, but I hope this was sufficient.

~~~~~~~~~~

Idea is from a reader on this book.

Still open to em.

[sin-cognito]

Rarepair event prize: A deal is a deal, Sans/Reaper

NSFW

Wordcount: 4596

Sans' ribcage is so smooth. His sternum is softer than the finest of silks, and Reaper can't stop running his fingers across it. He makes sure to keep his touch feather-light. He doesn't want to wake Sans up.

Last prize for @catsitta the beloved! This was a struggle to write but BOY do I LOVE this rarepair!! All of Catsitta's ideas were gold and it was so hard to only pick 1!!

READ ON AO3

Sans' ribcage is so smooth. His sternum is softer than the finest of silks, and Reaper can't stop running his fingers across it. He makes sure to keep his touch feather-light. He doesn't want to wake Sans up.

For the past thirty minutes, Reaper has been quietly enjoying the sight of his naked lover sprawled contentedly all over the bedsheets in the morning light. He wishes the moment would never end, but already he can predict the moment the ray of sunshine slowly creeping up Sans' face will reach his closed eyesockets and be too bright.

Without a sound, he sighs.

It's unfair how beautiful Sans is in this defenseless state. If Reaper had any remaining desire to finish the mission that first led him to meet Sans, the view of the bed and its sleeping occupant on this fine late spring morning would be enough to make him change his mind all over again.

It's been six months since he's decided not to carry out his mission to assassinate the Don, and not a day passes by that Reaper isn't glad he made that decision, no matter how insane. Putting his life at risk, deadly risk, is such a better choice than killing the one monster Reaper's SOUL is beating for.

Oh, dear skies, look at him. So mushy for a beautiful, perfect, snoring skeleton.

A gentle smile tugs at the corner of his teeth as he focuses back on Sans' sternum. The early morning light, hazy and slightly pink from the organza curtains, has switched place with his fingers and is caressing Sans' ribs, going through them methodically, one by one, as dawn turns into morning. Moving without a sound, like he's not there at all, Reaper bends down and hovers his teeth where sunlight meets bone in a ghost kiss. His magic uses the opportunity to remind him how much he craves Sans' body, and Reaper pulls back, shaking his skull at his own horniness.

Can't even enjoy a simple, quiet morning without getting all hot and bothered about Sans.

Only then does he register just how quiet the room has become. Sans' delicate snoring has softened back to gentle breathing and as Reaper lifts his skull up, he can see why. Two unfocused white eyelights, still hazy from sleep, are trained on him, lazily following his every move. Reaper smiles and Sans smiles back.

"Good morning," Reaper whispers as he lifts a hand to cup Sans' cheek.

"good morning," Sans' voice, still raw from last night, croaks out as his smile widens a little. He nuzzles Reaper's hand, and Reaper melts.

Now that Sans is awake, there's no need for Reaper to keep his touch light anymore, so he unceremoniously crawls over him and slots his face into the crook of Sans' neck. He hums as Sans lifts his skull up further, giving his lover easier access to those wonderful vertebrae. A sigh or two leave Sans as Reaper licks the bone but he wants more, so he dips his tongue between the grooves to reach the more sensitive cartilage.

"last night wasn't enough, huh?" Sans' laughter is breathy and hoarse as he wraps his arms around Reaper's shoulders in an unmistakable invitation for more.

Reaper can't bring himself to admit to Sans that it just does it for him when he sees Sans so openly defensless in his presence. It's the (former?) hitman in Reaper, he can't help it. Trust is something he can't afford in his field of work, and having such a powerful Don -if not because of technical abilities (though Sans can be a rough opponent in a fight when he feels like engaging), at least through money and family connections- be at his mercy so willingly does things to his magic that he can't figure out how to repress anymore. Reaper wants to explore, revere, and taste Sans' body, savor every second of their intimacy like it's the last time they do this. In Sans' line of work, it very well might be.

"Nothing will ever be enough," Reaper whispers back, a slight growl rumbling in his chest before he hungrily kisses Sans.

The smaller skeleton kisses back eagerly. Apparently, last night wasn't enough for him either and Reaper can't help grinning into the kiss. Sans wraps his legs around Reaper's waist and they both hiss when the magic in their crotch touch. Reaper drops the pants he stupidly put on earlier, really, there was no need for them in the first place and he should've known that, while Sans' magic forms the prettiest entrance for Reaper.

Some days Reaper likes to take his time exploring Sans' body during endless foreplay, but his earlier exploration of Sans' sleepy form already took care of that. Now he just wants to make Sans scream his name, so without further ado, he dives skull first between Sans' legs.

"ooh i love it when you're like that," Sans pants and huffs in an attempt at laughter, but his squirming legs are a telltale sign that Reaper's treatment of his pussy isn't without effect. "all eager and impatient to take me… thought you of all people should know- ah! restraint."

Sans can't keep the dirty talk, his version of it anyway, with how he starts meowling in pleasure. Nevertheless it's done its job in riling Reaper up.

Yes, as a professional hitman, Reaper is more than used to patience and restraint and frustration. Sitting in the back of a smelly parking lot, waiting for a target to cross the path of his sniper rifle… Those things take time, a lot of it.

But Sans' reactions, always immediate and delicious, send shivers and sparks down Reaper's body, and he doubles down on Sans' entrance. His tongue glides on his clit, tasting its wetness. Once it's of an appropriate level, Reaper finally draws back and Sans can breathe again.

"You were saying?" He teases though he feels light headed as well as he aligns himself.

"come on, lover, make me scream," Sans doesn't quite take the bait, another reason Reaper loves him so much. So small and delicate, yet nothing can break his composure.

Reaper presses himself in and starts a steady rhythm that works for both of them. They pant, they kiss, they grunt, but more than anything they feel good wrapped in each other's presence like that. Reaper grabs the headboard of the bed, a bunch of metallic rods elegantly twisted into a weaving pattern yet solid enough for him to pull on it as he pushes into Sans with all the vigor he has. Sans' skull falls back as he closes his eyesockets and finally lets out more of those whorish sounds Reaper loves so much.

Reaper grabs Sans' legs and lifts them up so they rest on his shoulders, the new angle allowing him to go in deeper into Sans.

"oh yeah, just like that," Sans whines as he makes the supreme effort of lifting his skull back up to look Reaper into the eyesocket, making him lose control.

Those deep white eyelights are too much for Reaper, they're what made him fall for Sans all these months ago and even now he can't resit, can't get enough of them. He wants Sans to look at him and him only, he wants to be in Sans' every thought like Sans is constantly on his mind. He wants to beat the Don at his own game even when he knows he lost long ago to Sans' gaze.

In a way, he's fine with the outcome.

Reaper is the first one to reach that high and he spills with a grunt into Sans' pussy. He keeps thrusting a few more times, knowing Sans shouldn't be that far anyway and a smug grin tugs at his teeth when Sans' body locks and he comes around Reaper's cock. As always, Sans is silent in his bliss but the tense scrunching of his expression is enough for Reaper.

When they both relax, Reaper lets Sans' legs down before he pulls out and drops on Sans' sweaty ribcage. They stay still and silent for a moment, but they both know the longer nothing happens the higher the chances are they will go again, as Reaper cannot stay long without kissing Sans' body, and kisses always lead to sex with them. Which is more than fine with Reaper.

So when Sans wriggles his way out of under Reaper's body, Reaper lets out a pathetic, disappointed sound.

"don't be like that," Sans chuckles as he walks to his closet for a fresh suit. The one from last night lies at the foot of the bed, wrinkled and smelly, and the Don needs to be presentable for today's activities.

Speaking of activities…

"So? What are your plans for today?" Reluctantly, Reaper gets up as well, though he doesn't bother and just puts back on his suit from yesterday. He does smooth his hands over the fabric of his shirt, he can't allow his disheveled appearance to negatively impact Sans' perfectly groomed style. Thankfully his dark grey shirt and ink black pants are forgiving.

He moves behind Sans to help him with his suspenders while Sans gives him a run down of the day to come. "i'm meeting paps for breakfast," he says fondly before he fixes his expression to something more guarded and cautious, befitting the level of eagerness he feels for the rest of his daily schedule, "then i got a meeting with don dreemurr at noon. we're going over that mess he allowed to happen to the northern neighborhood."

Reaper tsks. He knows Sans is particularly upset about how the other don let the situation unfold. Sans and Don Dreemurr have a relatively friendly relationship, as friendly as anything in the mafia goes, but the way the goat monster handled things doesn't look particularly good on him. Which could in turn look bad on Sans, who likes to make sure he has an impeccable reputation. It's a chore, but Sans needs to deal with Don Dreemurr.

…Or Reaper could deal with Don Dreemurr himself. Nobody would know.

It's not because he failed to kill Sans that he suddenly became obsolete as a hitman.

Reaper only realizes his expression has turned a tad too dark when he feels a small, porcelain finger poke at his cheek.

"cheer up, it's gonna go fine," Sans grins nonchalantly. Reaper has to remember that Sans is used to dealing with bigger fry than the goat. But then Sans drops a bomb. "i also have a meeting with don nightmare later tonight to discuss… something."

Reaper focuses all his efforts into keeping his face as neutral as possible, but he feels on edge. While Sans is now aware of Reaper's identity as a hitman and the conditions that led them to meet, Reaper never revealed the name of the employers who hired him to assassinate Sans a little over a year ago. It might be true that Reaper never had any direct contact with Don Nightmare himself, but it wasn't hard to figure out he was the one behind it all when Killer made contact with Reaper to hire his services. Reaper isn't dumb today and he wasn't back then, he was already keeping tabs on every Don in the city, and Killer is Don Nightmare's little puppy on a leash. There was no mistaking who the orders to eliminate Sans came from.

His body follows Sans on autopilot throughout morning and lunch with Don Dreemurr, but he can't keep his mind off what's going to happen to him when Sans meets with Don Nightmare. Logically, Reaper should be… dealt with. It's the rule. He's a hitman, he took money for an execution that he didn't perform, and that's a bigger crime than deserting the army. Keeping the money would be bad enough already, and would warrant the loss of a limb or two, or a family member if Reaper had any left, but Reaper managed to put himself in an even worse position: not only did he let his target live, he's gotten himself involved with Sans, in more than one way. He's Sans' confident, bodyguard and lover all at once.

He can only wonder what Don Nightmare will do to him, but if he's to be really honest with himself, he's much more worried about Sans. Not in the sense (heh) that the goopy skeleton might lethally harm the small Don, no. Sans is the strongest monster in this city. Even so, Reaper doesn't have nearly enough information about Don Nightmare, who is new enough in town to potentially still be hiding some secret abilities. Especially when those creepy tentacles of his are concerned.

Besides, he has no business meeting with Sans, Reaper thinks. They're not playing at the same level. Maybe that's what Don Nightmare is looking for? An in into the higher grounds of the mafia world? Since his plan to eliminate Sans backfired, maybe he's trying to win him over instead? Reaper can't help the anxious feelings that this might very well be Don Nightmare's plan: lure Sans in with the prospect of an alliance, and then finish Reaper's job himself.

As Sans gets out of the car to head to the restaurant Don Nightmare is waiting for him in, Reaper makes a point of walking as close to Sans' back as he's allowed in his position. If Sans gets hurt because Reaper was a weak fool and fell for Don Nightmare's trap, he will never forgive himself. He's ready to wreck havoc in the high-end establishment if it means protecting the tiny skeleton, and fuck the mafia code. Civilians or not, Reaper's mission is to make sure Sans comes out of that meeting alive and unharmed.

Unaware of the mounting tension whirling in Reaper's mind, Sans nonchalantly makes his way to a table at the far end of the restaurant, whistling a silly tune under his breath. Don Nightmare and his dog are already sat at the table, though the dark-boned monster politely stands up to shake Sans' hand.

"heya nighty," Sans grins, his voice light and happy. "can i call you nighty? i'mma call you nighty."

If Nighty is displeased by the nickname, he doesn't let it show on his face, which doesn't mean much considering his seemingly perpetual grumpy expression. His single eyelight shines a bright, dangerous mint color in the darkness of his remaining eyesocket. Reaper tries to figure out if Don Nightmare is just playing nice because he knows how powerful Sans is and that was clearly a threat (or rather that was just Sans testing the waters but that's basically the same in their world), or because Don Nightmare is biding his time in the hopes of getting Sans to lower down his guard. No matter, Reaper won't lower his.

Next to Don Nightmare, unceremoniously slumped on the chair, Killer waves at Reaper with an amused grin that doesn't match the emptiness of his devoid eyesockets. Fuck him. Reaper doesn't need his eyelights either, he can look creepy too.

Ignoring the nickname remark, Don Nightmare pulls out a stack of documents from a briefcase, pushing it toward Sans. "I brought what you asked me. Here are all the receipts I have."

Reaper raises a curious eyebrow while Sans grabs the papers and starts looking through the stack, pulling a sheet here and there and placing it back between the two Dons. Reaper knows it's not his place to ask what's going on in the middle of what's obviously a deal of some sort, after all, if Sans wanted him to know, he would've let Reaper in the loop, but he can't help the curiosity and slight unease. He can't protect Sans efficiently if he doesn't know the ins and outs of a threat. Trying to look over Sans' shoulder to read what's on the documents is pointless though, Sans isn't known for making such rookie mistakes.

Sans is mostly silent as he goes through the papers, his expression focused and serious to Reaper who knows him so well. But for an unfamiliar monster like Don Nightmare or his right hand, Sans must appear just as relaxed and nonchalant as an innocent man going through the menu at a restaurant. Killer's barely even paying attention to Sans, focusing on Reaper instead.

It's clear Killer remembers him too, and Reaper is already thinking of ways to get rid of the creepy, void-socketed skeleton. He doubts any excuse of why Sans is still alive would be received well, and he doesn't have the money anyway to pay them back.

Suddenly Reaper wonders if this meeting is about him. He didn't think of that, but that would make sense (heh), wouldn't it? It would certainly answer the question as to why Sans didn't discuss the details of the deal before taking Reaper there… Are those documents about Reaper? Don Nightmare mentioned they were receipts, but he didn't say what for. What if it was proof that Reaper was hired to kill Sans? Sure, Sans knows about it already, but Reaper might have forgotten to let him know he never gave back the money he received. Does Sans have any doubt about Reaper's loyalty to him? Was getting Reaper into his bed just a scheme to discover the truth about Reaper's intentions to harm Sans? Surely the Don can't possibly think Reaper will ever carry on the mission! Has Reaper been unintentionally acting suspicious lately?

Killer's low chuckle is what draws Reaper out of his spiraling thoughts and it takes a considerable amount of effort for Reaper to not react. In truth, he wants to run away like a coward, but his mind, body and SOUL all belong to Sans and if today is the day he dusts by the hand of his lover, then so be it.

"anything funny you wanna share?" Sans asks with a sweet smile, startling Killer, who chokes on his laughter. "i'm always down for a good laugh."

Killer just shrugs and crosses his hands behind his skull, leaning back into the chair. He's exuding an air of false relaxation that just doesn't sit well with Reaper. If he's going to attack Sans, Reaper must be ready.

"Answer Don Sans, you dimwit," Nightmare grumbles as he kicks Killer's shin under the table, making him lose that stupid smugness. Reaper can't help grinning a little.

"ouch boss! that wasn't nice," he mumbles, rubbing his shin before shooting Sans a charming smile. "it's nothing don sans. was just thinking back about that time i hired a hitman to dust someone, and the guy just ran with the money and got frisky with the very monster he was supposed to eliminate. real hilarious if you ask me, but boss here wasn't very pleased with me for losing all that money…"

If Reaper was tense before, it's nothing compared to how his magic turns to ice in his bones and freezes his entire body. He doesn't even dare to breathe.

That's it, he's over. Sans is going to ask questions, if not to Killer right now, at least to Reaper later in the car, he just knows it. His mind is racing, trying to find any plausible excuse, and he doubt Sans is gullible enough to buy that Reaper just lost the money… Still, Reaper has to try to convince Sans that he didn't keep the money because he still intends to finish the job.

Reaper barely registers Sans chuckling nonchalantly, so much so that the Don could sound actually amused if Reaper's mind wasn't otherwise preoccupied.

"heh heh, yeah that can happen. tough luck."

Sans makes no further comment and resumes his reading. After ten more minutes of silence, he's done with the sorting out and pushes the smallest stack toward Don Nightmare.

"these ones you keep. they look like private business to me. the rest i can take care of," he says before standing up, setting into motion Don Nightmare and the asshole. Reaper stays on the side of caution and doesn't move.

"So, do we have a deal?" Nightmare asks as he tentatively lifts a hand for Sans to shake.

Sans accepts it with an easy smile. "sure. welcome to the family, nighty."

So Reaper was right about that then. Don Nightmare arranged this meeting with Sans so they could go over Don Nightmare's financial situation. It's not the first time a new member is added to Sans' family since Reaper has joined, and typically the only requirements Sans makes is to have one's wallet in order. He doesn't like it when outsiders bring dirty money into the family, so he checks any debts and payments the aspiring mobster has made over the last few years.

Sans is known in the mafia world for his particularly sweet deals: upon entering the family, he'll clear most of the newcomer's debts, provided that they share something of value in return.

Reaper wonders what Don Nightmare offered to Sans. He might never know.

The two Dons shake hands, then Reaper follows Sans out of the restaurant.

"take us home, i'm tired," Sans yawns as they get in the car.

The way back home is silent and tense, for Reaper at least. Unless Sans is faking sleep. He manages to wake up by the time they arrive, and Reaper knows what's coming next so he doesn't bother stalling.

"Am I in trouble?" He asks stupidly. Of course he's in trouble. The worst trouble ever.

Yet Sans is, as always, full of surprises and simply replies, "whatever for?"

Reaper can't resist rolling invisible eyelights.

"Please Sans, don't play dumb with me. We both know who Killer was refering to."

He grips the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles pop. He stares straight ahead, carefully avoiding looking to his right in case Sans is already getting a gun out to deal with the situation. He's not sure he wants to be witness to his own dusting.

"yeah well… that actually happens more often than you'd think. or i'd like."

What is Sans' deal! Is he trying to make excuses for Reaper or just buying time for… who knows what! Reaper is sitting right next to him in the car, as easy a target as it gets, and parked as they are right in front of Sans' mansion, it would be oh so easy to make the whole crime scene disappear!

Reaper can't take it anymore, he whips his skull around and grabs Sans' shoulders, shaking him.

"I was hired to kill you, Sans! I didn't but I kept the money! I haven't finished the job, I'm a liability to you! Sooner or later, Don Nightmare is going to take it out on me, or you!" He feels his eyesockets start to prickle. "You need to get rid of me."

With everything laid flat in front of Sans, there is no way for the little Don to play dumb anymore. But he stays silent and just stares at Reaper, expressionless for several long minutes.

Until a big fat smile stretches on his teeth.

"gotcha!"

He wriggles himself free from Reaper's hold and flicks the point of his nasal aperture.

"Wha- huh?" Reaper blabbers as he rubs his face. "What do you mean, 'gotcha'?"

Sans giggles so openly and carelessly, the way he only does when he's hanging out with his brother, that Reaper can't help but smile a little himself. Sans' laughter is contagious on any given day, and Reaper is particularly weak to it. Soon, all tension evaporates from him and is replaced by confusion.

"i already knew, i was just waiting for you to confess," Sans explains when he calms down. "oh, you should've seen your face when you told me. so serious!"

Yes well, in Reaper's defense, he really thought he was going to be dusted right then and there…

Reaper lets out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his sternum to calm down his SOUL.

"So… I'm not in trouble?" Sans shakes his skull no, still chuckling. Reaper hesitates to say the next part, but he has to know. "I'm thankful you're willing to spare me but… why? Were you… Are you not worried I might want to finish the job one day? If only to get Killer and Don Nightmare off my case. I can't imagine Don goopy tentacles is happy with me keeping all that money…"

Sans snorts but his laughter finally calms down for good and he gives Reaper a very distracting lopsided smile.

"don't you worry your pretty butt about any debt to nighty, i've already paid it all off a while ago. i just kept you in the dark about this to entertain myself. it's all about the payoff, you see?"

"What?" Reaper gasps. "You paid it off? Why?"

Once again, he's not ungrateful, but… It just doesn't make sense (heh) to him why Sans would do this! Especially if it was a while ago like the Don suggests.

"because i didn't want nighty to take it out on you, you bonehead," Sans replies, flicking Reaper's nose again. "or on me for that matter. didn't really feel like taking the hit for you, but i also didn't want nighty to hurt someone i care about. it was easier to simply give him some money." Reaper's SOUL gives an intense throb. Sans cares about him. "besides, it gave him an in to become one of my associates and i do think he'll be more manageable as part of my family than he was as a stray mob. i don't want another asgore situation. win-win."

When he puts it that way, Sans' reasoning makes perfect sense. Still, it's hard for Reaper to focus on the seriousness of the conversation when he can't stop thinking about Sans saying he cares about Reaper. They've exchanged the l-word already, but Sans' open affection for Reaper will never not get him all bothered.

He shakes his skull. Focus, focus.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're sparing me, Sans. I'll do everything to make it up to you. I'll pay you back, I promise."

Sans huffs light-heartedly and pats him on the shoulder. As he gets out of the car and nods to the house, he casually replies, "eh, i think you've learned your lesson. i've let you marinate in your thoughts for long enough and i trust you know now not to lie by omission to me anymore." His expression darkens for a second before he's all smile again. "now come on, i actually wanna go to sleep."

That's not totally wrong, Reaper can only agree as he follows after his Don. He's been torturing himself about this for months now, and he's glad that Sans finally lifted the weight Reaper didn't realize he was carrying for nothing. He has nothing left to hide to his Don and lover now, and he intends to keep it that way. He just hopes Don Nightmare and Killer will play nice with him, but he's not too worried about them now that Sans is their boss.

Gently, he slips his fingers into Sans'.

"Let me at least walk you to your room," he whispers, his baritone voice almost silent into the quiet of the night. "As a formal apology."

Sans picks up the innuendo without trouble, and flashes back his sultriest grin.

"i'll only accept the apology if you go a step further and get me to my bed."

"Deal."

Well. They don't quite make it to the bed, but Reaper is pardoned nonetheless.

[iheartpapipascal]

Dangerous Statement

Pairing: Jack Daniels x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

Summary: reader has bad sex the night before, so her roommate helps her out. Basically smut with a little plot beforehand and a tiny bit of fluff after (because I can't resist). Also, the reader isn't aware of Jack's occupation in this fic, just a heads-up.

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, nippleplay, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, yall), small praise kink, softdom!jack (blink and you'll miss it I'm serious), creampie, fluff, no use of Y/N. If I missed anything, please let me know in the comments!

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I really liked writing this, and I hope yall like it too. If you have any suggestions for future fics, just let me know :) also, if anyone knows how to make your posts say the "see more" thing, I would really appreciate it😭 I'm tired of scrolling all the way through a fic just to get to my other posts lmao.

Enjoy!

Edit: had to tweak a few things today, it was really late when I posted this last night and I forgot to add some stuff. Now enjoy (for real this time).

You yawn as you lumber into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Still making yourself aware of your surroundings, you spot the coffee machine on the counter and walk over to pour yourself a cup.

"Mornin'."

The smooth southern drawl of his voice abruptly cuts into the silence of the apartment, making you jump. You turn around, sipping on the hot, bitter liquid to face him.

"Jack? I thought you weren't supposed to be back for about a week."

He sits at the small two-seater dining table with a newspaper in hand and his beloved Stetson on the surface beside him.

"Well, I wasn't, but once we landed in Dallas, my boss musta' had the sudden realization that he overcompensated for the amount of work that needed to be done, so I was uh, sent home early."

You blink as you take in the slightly annoyed tone of his voice, the way his brows furrow as he talks, and the way his eyes glide over the page he's focused on.

"Oh."

You never really asked about his job, but you knew he was pretty secretive about it and that it kept him away often.

You pause and take a swig of your coffee.

"Hey, Jack, when'd you get in?"

Shit. Please say he got here this morning. Early this morning, too tired to even shower, please say that. Please say he didn't hear anything. Please, please, pl-

"Pretty late last night, but apparently not late enough. Boy, it sounded like you were havin' fun," he snickers as he turns the page.

Shit indeed.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, playing dumb, but he sees right through you.

"Oh come on, sweetheart," he drawls, tearing his eyes away from the paper and looking up at you through dark lashes, "You weren't exactly quiet."

"You think maybe," you scoff under your breath, giving up the useless facade, "That was the point?"

You couldn't hide the disappointment in your voice. And you were disappointed. You had high hopes for the man you had met the night before. He had seen you from across the bar and bought you a drink. He came over a minute later and cracked a cheesy pickup line. Despite your groans, the alcohol already in your system made you easy to laugh, and you invited him to have a seat. He was kind, funny, moderately handsome, and when he touched your leg after a joke, it gave you goosebumps. Yes, he was all this, and somehow, completely horrible in bed.

Jack chuckles. "So you were fakin'?"

"Yeah, nothing new though, if I'm being honest. Seems like all men have the same goal: get off and get out."

He looks back down at the newspaper. "Well that's quite a statement."

"So you're saying it's not true then?" You bring the mug to your lips, awaiting his answer.

He shrugs. "In my personal experience, no. A woman never leaves my bed unsatisfied."

You scoff lightly. "Well aren't you special?"

"It's true, sugar," He looks back up at you. "You wouldn't."

You look at him with wide eyes, silent at the suggestion that's clearly a joke. Clearly. Right?

"Hey, you there?" His voice snaps you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

"Jack, what do you mean by that?"

"By what, sweetheart?"

"By saying that I wouldn't."

You lock his eyes with yours, daring him to say the words again. He looks at ease, like he's enjoying this, even. He clears his throat.

"What I mean by that, is that if you had sex with me, darlin', those moans wouldn't be fake."

You stare at him, cheeks heating up, even more dumbfounded by these words than the last. This side of him wasn't relatively unseen, though. He was always flirtatious with you, and sometimes you even returned those words jokingly. He made it easy enough, being hot as hell, but he was your roommate. You had deemed him off limits on day one.

"Is that an offer?" You tease, trying to salvage your dignity.

He closes the newspaper and stands up, smirking. "I don't know, is it?"

You look at him as he walks towards you, still trying to wrap your mind around his words. The only viable explanation for this is that he's messing with you.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I don't know, am I?"

"For God's sake, Daniels, just answer the damn question," You say in exasperation. "It's too early in the morning for riddles."

He closes the space between you, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I think I've made my intentions pretty clear, darlin'."

You're looking up at him now, so close he can probably hear your heart trying to jump out of your chest. Your eyes take all of him in, your gaze lingering first on his warm brown eyes, the shape of his beautiful aquiline nose, then the pout of his lips. You can make out his familiar scent of whiskey, caramel, and spicy hints of cinnamon. You make one last feeble attempt to deny what you want. What you need.

"Jack, I don't know...." Your words almost get caught in your throat as you continue to take in his presence so close to you. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

He smiles as he takes the mug out of your hands and sets it gently on the counter.

"Let me help you make up your mind."

Your eyes lock on his as he cups one side of your face with his hand. And then he's kissing you. His lips touch yours and suddenly you feel a longing for him that you hadn't known was there. Your eyes flutter closed as you savor the kiss, tender but firm. He tastes both spicy and sweet, and you feel as if you can't get enough. His lips linger on yours for a moment before he lets them separate and presses his forehead to yours.

"Just say the word and I'll stop." His words break the silence the kiss fills and your eyes open to look at him. You take in the situation for a moment. You pushed up against the counter, this close to him. Your bodies feel as if they were made to be pressed together like this. Fuck it, you decide. You reach up to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him back toward you. The kiss is rougher this time, more needy from the both of you. Your hands find his hair and run through his dark locks, looking for anything to grab onto.

He softly grips your waist with his free hand and takes his lips away from yours. You would protest at the absence if he wasn't moving his mouth lower to your chin, down your jaw, and then finally making you gasp as he hits a spot on your neck that sends sparks all through your body and heats up the place between your legs. He lets his hand fall from your face to make its way around your waist, then lets the other one go lower to snake its way around your upper thigh. In one swift motion, he picks you up and sets you gently on the counter, still kissing you hungrily.

His hands seem to have a mind of their own, moving to touch every part of you that they can at once, though still never enough. They move across your legs, your waist, and up your shirt, each spot they desert replaced with a feeling of need for his touch. Your eyes are closed and your mouth is open in a soft 'oh' as he moves his lips from your neck to your sternum, your hands still playing with his hair.

He lightly touches the fabric of your shirt and pulls his lips away from your skin to look at you again, both of you breathing in unison.

"This shirt needs to come off, sweetheart."

The words weren't a statement, but a question. One last chance for you to stop this before it goes too far. He slowly bunches up the fabric at each side of your shirt as he awaits your answer. You give him a single slow nod, telling him to go ahead. He nods back as he carefully lifts the shirt up over your head and tosses it on the floor.

Normally, when he was home, you would wear a sports bra under your shirt to bed, something to cover your chest. You had grown up uncomfortable with the idea of anyone seeing too much, and that notion stuck with you into adulthood. But due to him not being there for the past few days, you had freed yourself from that restraint.

"Shorts, too."

He plays at the waistband of your shorts as you adjust to allow him to pull them off and throw them haphazardly next to your shirt.

You look at his face for any type of reaction, waiting for him to say or do something, anything, as he just stares at you for a moment. Stares at your bare breasts, the way they shape a deep 'V' into your chest. The black lace panties you're still wearing from preparation for the night before. He stares at you in awe of what he deems perfection.

He brings his hand to your stomach, slowly moving it upward to cup your breast, his thumb moving circles around the bud of your nipple. The stimulation gives you chills as he kisses you again. He starts to move down like before, but doesn't stop at your collarbone. Instead, he goes further to your other breast, kissing and licking at your other nipple as he looks up at your reaction. Your eyes are closed in concentration, trying to savor the moment.

After a minute, he stands up and guides your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He makes out with you ravenously as he picks you up, carrying you across the apartment and to the couch. He brings both of you down onto it, him on top of you as your legs untangle themselves from around him. He sits up for a moment, taking off his T-shirt to reveal his bare chest, then goes back to touch your lips with his. One hand is in your hair, the other making its way down your body, finally settling on the fabric of your panties.

His fingers rub small circles around your sensitive spot through the fabric, making you squirm. He smiles against your lips as he takes in the small sounds you make against his. He drags his mouth down your body as he continues to play with your clit, enjoying every reaction he can draw from you with just his hands.

"Fuck, sweetheart. So wet for me already, hm? You want these fingers inside you, sugar?" He says, his mouth down by your entrance, placing small kisses around the area and sending jolts through your body with each one. Not able to wait, he pushes the lace aside as he licks a stripe up your pussy, making you moan softly. You cover your mouth, embarrassed to be making noises this early.

"Yeah, just like that darlin'. Keep makin' sounds just like that for me." He reaches up to grab your wrist to remove it from your mouth and pin it to your side. He continues to tease your clit with his tongue as your body begs for him and your mouth does the same. He finally lets his tongue enter you, looking up at you as he chuckles at your reaction.

You moan and continue to writhe under the influence of his tongue as he uses his forearm to pin you to the couch.

"Shhh, sweetheart. Stop movin'....just relax. Stop squirmin' or I'll stop. Understand?" He says, clearly enjoying the way you're trying to control yourself.

"Mm-hm." You nod, unable to form coherent words and try to focus on following his directions. You try, but you're falling apart at the seams with the way his tongue is massaging your pussy. With the way his mustache is rubbing against your clit, creating friction and blinding all your senses with pleasure. He takes your legs and throws them over his shoulders, then enters you with his fingers. Fingers much bigger and and longer than your own.

He curls them inward, repeatedly hitting a spot that makes you see stars. You moan loud as he continues to eat you out and finger you at the same time, stimulating and bringing you to the brink of an orgasm.

"Jack, please," You beg between moans, finally finding the words, "I need more."

He laughs as he meets your request, curling his fingers even deeper inside you and sucking your clit, sending you over the edge. You wrap your legs around his neck and cry out his name louder than ever as you come, closing your eyes as white-hot pleasure courses through you. You buck your hips against him as he helps you ride out your high until it becomes too much for you to handle. He cleans you up with his tongue, lapping up your orgasm and making you shudder with every touch placed on your overstimulated area.

Then, he pulls you up into a sitting position, now at eye level with you. He brings his fingers to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him. It's unlike anything you'd ever experienced before, and you allow yourself to enjoy it, looking into his eyes as you lick every bit of your juices off of him, coming off his fingers with a soft pop. With your legs now together, he's able to pull off the useless panties separating your pussy from him in a single quick motion and let them drop to the floor. He stands up and unbuttons his jeans, dropping and stepping out of them. From your sitting position, your eyes are level with his boxers, and he gives a low hiss as you palm him through the thin cotton with your hand.

"These need to come off, sweetheart." You look up at him, feigning innocence as your hand continues to tease him. You tug at the waistband with both hands and pull them down, eyes widening as you take in the sight of his cock.

Oh, fuck. Of course he's big.

Your reaction is subtle but apparently not invisible, because he laughs softly and lifts your chin to look at him in the face.

"You can take it darlin', you'll be fine. Promise."

You quickly regain your composure and nod as he strokes himself a few times, trying to relieve some of the tension in him. Then, he takes your hands and helps you off the couch, kissing you as he turns you both around and sits. He pulls down so you're straddling him, your hands running through his hair as he lines himself up with your entrance.

He stops kissing to look at you and you do the same. He nods in encouragement as you prepare yourself. You start to move down and pause as the tip stretches your entrance. "Fuck," you mumble, and stay there for a second. He's not moving, letting you go at your own pace, and you're instantly thankful. You close your eyes and brace yourself as you lower onto him. You let out a soft gasp and hold onto him tighter as you put his full length inside you. He's painfully big and you stay there for a second, getting used to him. You're positive you wouldn't be able to do this if you weren't already wet from your previous orgasm.

When you feel ready, you start to ride him slowly, still trying to get comfortable. There's still a stinging sensation that comes with each downward motion, but you start to welcome it as pleasure begins to creep its way into the existing pain. After some time, the pain completely subsides and you're left with just desire for more of him. You start to pick up the pace and he notices, both hands on your hips to help guide you onto his cock. You open your eyes to look at him, letting out soft moans as he talks you through it.

"That's it, sweetheart, you're doin' amazing. Look at me, just keep your eyes on me."

Your legs begin to shake as you continue to move up and down, still somehow not enough to get you where you're going just yet.

"Jack. Faster. Please go faster," you whine, barely getting the sentence out. And just like that, you're begging just like you did earlier. With a rushed breath, you choke out the one word that will make him give you what you need.

"More."

Your pleas are hushed and quick, but he understands them. He starts to thrust up into you, his hands gripping your waist hard, no doubt leaving marks. He brings you down onto him with such force that he bottoms out, making you moan loudly. He does this over and over, and with each of his thrusts you melt into him, clinging onto him for support. Your cries for him become louder as he continues, until you swear your neighbors can hear you in the next apartment over.

"Fuck, sugar, keep goin' just like that. Good girl, just keep sayin' my name. So fuckin' pretty when you do that."

His words are low and barely heard over your screams, but they push you further nonetheless. You can tell he's close, but you can also tell there's no way in hell he's about to let himself come before you. He swears as he pounds into you from below, holding you steady as you ride him. The final motion that threatens to send you over the edge is when he brings his index and middle finger up to his tongue then back down to your clit, rubbing it in small, controlled circles. You try to close your eyes but he grabs your chin and makes you face him.

"Look at me darlin'. I want to see those pretty eyes on mine when I make you come." You look at him as best you can and try to focus on his eyes as he keeps his relentless pace, drawing out cries of pleasure from your lips. Then finally, without much warning, the coil tightening in your core snaps, sending waves of ecstasy through your body. Your eyes are still trained on him as he continues to fuck you, each motion making your muscles clench onto him and sending blinding pleasure to every last part of you. You put your head in the indent of his shoulder as you grip onto him for support, the reality of the situation coming back to you as your orgasm wears off. He continues to fuck into you, chasing his own high while whispering praises in your ear. After a few thrusts, his breathing increases and the sound of his voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Where do you want it, sugar?" He asks, his words strained as he tries to maintain his pace. Your face leaves his shoulder and you sit up to look at him.

"Inside."

That's all he needs to hear. He leans his head back against the couch, low groans escaping his mouth. Some seconds later, you feel his warm orgasm enter you, filling you up, and its unlike any sensation you'd ever felt before. You cant help the smile creeping onto your face. It'd always been a kink you wanted to explore, but during previous sessions with other men it had never felt right to ask when the time came. With Jack, though, you don't feel any hesitation to ask for what you want. It's freeing and you know instantly that you would be comfortable telling him even your deepest desires.

He slows his pace to a stop as you rest, still on him. He brings his hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he looks at you, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. He carefully guides you off of him then helps you sit down on the couch. He stands up then turns to face you. You have a look of confusion on your face and start to protest before he stops you.

"Don't move, alright? I'll be back in a sec."

You wait on the couch as he goes into the bathroom. He comes back after a minute, a wet washcloth in hand. He carefully cleans you up, chuckling as you shudder when the cloth touches a sensitive spot on your body. When he's done, he tosses it onto the floor beside his clothes. He sits on the couch beside you, then gingerly brings you both down into a laying position, one arm cradling your head, the other wrapped around you, pulling you close to him. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you tenderly before moving up to kiss the tip of your nose, then finally your forehead. He lets himself linger there for a second and you close your eyes, savoring the moment. You bring your hand up to touch his cheek, a small smile spreading across your face.

"So, were they fake?", he asks after a minute, laughing softly. You pretend to swat at him with your hand.

"Shut up." You say, laughing with him.

"Hey," he continues, caressing your back with his hand and still snickering, "you didn't say yes."

"Didnt say no, either." You continue, your head finding its favorite spot in the crook of his shoulder. His next words are missed as you doze off with him holding you, feeling as if you could stay there forever in his arms.

[spottylightning]

Lance Griffiths

Introduction

Full name: Lance Griffiths Nickname(s): Lancy, Checkers, Cowboy, Sarge, Lancelot, Stallion Gender: Male (he/him) Nationality: American Place of birth: Fort Davis, Texas, USA Age: Late forties to early fifties Callsign: Griffin Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Fighter aircraft Squadron: VMFA-312 "Checkerboards"

General Information

Personality: Lance is complex. Not everyone will get to know the same Hornet. On the surface, he's ruthlessly efficient at getting jobs done with military precision and strives to push himself to do better and work harder, although he can unknowingly come off as a bit too aggressive when he puts his mind to something. He has a brutal honesty to him and isn't afraid to say it how it is, which can come in handy in situations that require it. While a very stoic man on the outside, that doesn't mean he can't feel pain and sorrow, he just buries it deep down under a rough exterior. He may struggle to show emotion at times, but his loyalty is unmatched. Lance doesn't let many people see the softer side to him, mostly because he's afraid he'll be left heartbroken again. Once he does let down his walls though, he cares for you unconditionally, whether you're a friend, family, or a lover. Deep down, he's a gentle, kind, considerate and surprisingly affectionate guy who would go to the ends of the earth for those he truly cares about. Another side to him is a little more charismatic. Lance is a total charmer, there's no doubt about it. He certainly knows how to sweep someone off their feet with his soft, crooning voice or a subtle wink. Hobbies/Interests: Working out, playing guitar, singing, drawing. Likes: Horses, cooking, fishing, his family, challenging himself. Dislikes: Sweet foods in large quantities, having his opinions dismissed, laziness. Voice: Lance's typical speaking voice is very deep but smooth, though he can raise it to a commanding shout when necessary. Throughout the years, he has slowly developed a more typical southern drawl, both from his mother and time spent living in South Carolina. Compared to most of his siblings, he generally sounds more like his mother than his father.

Physical Characteristics

Species: Fighter jet Model: McDonnell Douglas F/A-18C Hornet Eye Colour: Dark blue Shape/Size: He is a very big guy in terms of fighter aircraft sizes. While standing far taller than the average F/A-18 Hornet, he is also very solid, with his build consisting primarily of thick muscle, especially around his fuselage. Notable Features: Large scarring across left LERX, smaller scars and bullet wounds can be found all over his chest, sides and underbelly. Interesting Facts: • Growing up in rural Texas, Lance has always had a bit of an accent, though it becomes much thicker when he's tired, angry, stressed or excited. • He struggles greatly with severe depression and PTSD, both from the loss of his wife and son, and being forced to fight a MiG-29 to the death for his own slim chance of survival. Lance has spent many nights awake as the nightmares became borderline unbearable. • He doesn't do very well in situations where everything is completely out of his control. As a first-time parent during Evelyn's pregnancy, Lance was stressed out about practically everything. Similarly, with Dexter, his partner had to assure him multiple times that everything was going to be okay. • He very much enjoys chin scratches. • He makes the absolute best apple pie you've ever tasted. • This man can sing, really well.

Mental Characteristics

Strengths: Dedicated, strong-willed, direct, honest, loyal, charismatic, organised. Weaknesses: Stubborn, overly dominant, insensitive, blunt, bossy, difficulty expressing emotion. Fears: Lance has an intense fear of losing those closest to him. He struggles with getting over loss and grief and finds it hard to push past what he can't get back. MBTI: ESTJ "Executive"

Relationships

Parents: • Andrew Griffiths (F/A-18A) • Sabine Griffiths (F/A-18A) Siblings: (In order of eldest to youngest. Includes gender and ages in comparison to Lance. All are F/A-18C Hornets.) • Sadie Griffiths (Female - 1 year younger) • John Griffiths (Male - 5 years younger) • Mark Griffiths (Male - 6 years younger) • Carol Griffiths (Female - 7 years younger) • Austin Griffiths (Male - 8 years younger) • Bradley Griffiths (Male - 9 years younger) • Abigail Griffiths (Female - 10 years younger) • Lucinda Griffiths (Female - 11 years younger) • Mason Griffiths (Male - 12 years younger) • Hailee Griffiths (Female - 13 years younger) • Riley Griffiths (Male - 14 years younger) • Thatcher Griffiths (Male - 15 years younger) • Cassidy Griffiths (Female - 16 years younger) • Isabella Griffiths (Female - 17 years younger) • Susie Griffiths (Female - 18 years younger) Children: • Harley Griffiths (F/A-18C x PA-34) • Jesse Griffiths (F/A-18C x F-35B) Friends: • Aaron Sullivan (F/A-18C) • Liam Grady (F/A-18C) Relationships: • Adam Haynes - former • Evelyn May - former • Dexter Dias-Sherwood - current