#who never gives up and does what he can. who constantly scrambles around trying to turn every hopeless situation he's in around.....

[kotaerukoto]

I just want to say thank you to everyone who is or has interacted with Makoto in times or verses where he hasn't experienced The Horrors. I've been thinking of how irrevocably different things can get for him once things go south and MAN. There's just something about characters whose trauma happens during the story itself instead of being part of the backstory that hits different for me

edit: i love writing him going through The Horrors don't get me wrong I just also like it when he gets a break

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

The Tiefling Bachelors Taking Care of Sick! Reader Getting Treatment

A/N: This was sitting in my drafts, finished months ago, but I guess I never posted it? Oh well, it’s here now! 

No one asked for this but it came to me as I was getting infused the other day. I really wanted Zevlor to manifest out of thin air and hold my hand  😔. Anyway, without further ado… Here we go!

Characters: Dammon/Reader; Rolan/Reader; Zevlor/Reader

Word Count: 1.1k 

TW: Brief discussions of illness, some fantasy medical talk

Dammon- 

Dammon is probably the most fussy of the trio. He’s bumbling around the tent, ensuring you have enough blankets and water. Or do you want tea? Juice? Whatever it is, love, name it and he will fetch it for you.

He means to be helpful although his nervous waiting on you does create an air of anxiety in the room. 

If he gets too manic, the healers have to send him out on an ‘errand’, so that he can collect his nerves and so you have time to yourself. 

When he returns, Dammon is much calmer, having been cornered and given a pep talk by one of the elder tieflings or your companions outside. 

He’ll sit across from you, and distract you by showing you his latest outlines/blueprints for swords and lathes and such. 

If you’re particularly stressed, or truly not feeling well due to the side-effects of the treatment, he might even show you his jewelry designs. Dammon was, of course, planning to give them to you as a present after you’d finished your treatment, but in the meantime, he’d like you to keep them in mind to have something forward to look to. 

If you’re sleepy, he’ll just stay at your side while you rest, sketching in his book or making idle chats with the healer. 

Dammon excels at ‘parallel play’ kind of dates. He quite enjoys it when the two of you are each doing their respective thing within a shared space. He’s more than comfortable amusing himself while you just chill out right next to him. 

Of course, before you leave, he asks the healers a million questions, scrambling down all their answers. How long will this last? What side effects should you look out for? What happens if things get worse? He wants to be prepared after they take their leave, and he sees it as his responsibility to take care of you as you recuperate. 

He’s really so sweet, like a little puppy dog. He’s not always the most helpful, and he has a tendency to get in the way, but his efforts never fail to lift your spirits at the end of the day.

Rolan-

Rolan is such a stickler for being an oppositional brat all the time. He gives everyone around him whiplash by turning into the most overbearing parental figure. You’d think he’d been possessed if it wasn’t for that trademark smirk of his. 

He’s constantly making you drink. No, he doesn’t care that you’re not thirsty, the healer said to stay hydrated throughout the process. And no, he doesn’t care that it means you have to get up to pee every 15 minutes. Urinary frequency is a small price to pay! Now be a good patient and drink your chamomile tea without any more complaining, yeah?

He watches the healers like a hawk, mentally recording their every word/move. He’s not a cleric or druid, but that doesn’t mean he’s entirely naive to healing magic. He wants to make sure whatever spells or potions you’re being given are up to his standard. 

And if the healing isn’t magical in nature... Oh boy, he’s going to be even more of a pill about it. He still hovers of course. But he also makes the occasional ‘helpful’ suggestion like: ‘I know a spell that could do that faster’, ‘Herbs are nothing compared to the power of the Weave’. The healers just roll their eyes and work around him. 

If he gets really grouchy, you’re gonna have to put him in a time-out. If not for your sake, then for the poor healers who are just trying to do their job. Rolan argues for a moment, but ultimately agrees, leaving to gather himself. 

When he comes back you can tell either Cal or Lia have spoken some sense into him, since he’s calmed down a bit. Rolan will sit with you, read to you, hold your hand if you beg ask, he might even perform a few tricks for you if you’re feeling up to it. 

He ushers the healers away as soon as they're done, wanting to just be alone with you. He puts up a tough exterior, but deep down he’s afraid. He cares for you so much. You, Cal, and Lia are his family, he feels it's his job to protect you, but try as he might he cannot protect you from your illnesses, and that hurts him deeply. 

You’ll need to comfort him once all this is all over. It’s as much an ordeal for him as it is for you.

Zevlor-

Zevlor is a worry-wart, bless his old paladin heart. His mind is always racing with endless possibilities- about the tieflings, about the grove, about you… It can be a lot for the commander to handle. 

But because Zevlor is a paladin and former hellrider, he has a good amount of experience working under pressure. He knows how to keep a level head and act on what is good for those around him, unlike what seems easiest to accomplish. 

He’s a very disciplined man, and he tries to get that discipline extended to you as you heal. He sets up a regime, for diet, exercise, and socializing catered especially to your needs and current abilities. He wants you to utilize this time to maximize your healing, and just let yourself trust that you are doing all you can to take care of yourself. 

He trusts the healers implicitly, knowing their expertise is much better suited to you and your current priorities. He’ll cater his regime around their recommendations, taking into accommodation your current feelings/moods of course. 

He writes out instructions for you to read while he’s away, busy tending to his duties. In the event he’s especially worried about watching over you, he’ll send Tilly or another one of his soldiers to check in on you periodically. 

Zevlor would love nothing more than to spend the entire day with you, keeping you safe in his embrace, but he’s wise enough to understand that even amidst these kinds of things, life must go on. He cannot abandon his duties as leader and you cannot abandon your life. 

Zevlor tries to maintain the status quo as best as possible, he doesn’t want your illness and treatments to entirely define your life, just as he wishes Elterel will not solely define his. 

Once all is said and done, he comes to find you, a warm broth in his hands. He settles down next to you as you sip your meal slowly, his tail coiling around your waist keeping you close to him. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, you don’t need to. It’s clear to you what’s in Zevlor’s heart. 

The two of you just sit silently together, enjoying each other's company, as you brace yourselves for yet another new dawn. 

I hope you enjoyed! 

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[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — YUTA x FEM READER

Yuta’s just like a puppy. 

wc — 1k

tags —  mdni, aged up, dog boy Yuta, unfortunately have been reading too much borderline furry (boys with cat ears) manga and was converted, if I was braver I’d make this more intense, gentle fem dom, hand job on a desk, this is going to appeal to exactly one (1) person

You expected this. Yuta has never tried to hide the man that he is. 

Still, you think this is a bit too much. 

You’ve been standing in front of the mirror for at least ten minutes, trying to figure out how you’ll hide this mark in the summer heat. Yuta loves all of you, but he has a special fondness for the nape of your neck. More specifically - biting it. 

You know he can’t help it. It’s the nature of a guard dog. You had thought as much when you had first met him, all those months ago. 

Yuta naturally assumes the role of the protector. It’s instinctual to him, in everything from the way he shoves you behind him during fights or the way he pushes your favorite foods onto your plate from his. He’s always been like this. 

When you’re in danger, his hackles rise. He’s total in his brutality, an effortlessly efficient killing machine. Although he’s never thought of himself as such, in truth, Yuta is as much a prodigy as Gojo is. Having Rika makes it too easy to play at heroics. He’s never had to fear much when he’s the object of her devotion. 

Perhaps it’s because her love is all he’s ever known that he’s turned out the way he has. 

Yuta loves in the same way the Queen of Curses does. They’re both beasts tamed only by the leash their partners hold, weapons of mass destruction cradled in soft hands. Like Rika, Yuta is single minded in his devotion towards you. 

Dogged, one might say. 

He’s always touching you, like a puppy begging for attention from his master. A hand on your waist or curled around the back of your neck, Yuta needs to feel your skin on his. 

He dotes on you endlessly, constantly at your beck and call. He’ll deliver whatever you want to you on a silver platter. The way he waits eagerly for praise afterwards is adorable. 

Because of this, you’ll usually forgive him for anything. 

But you had woken up unnecessarily angry this morning, and the bite mark just sealed the deal. It had been too hot underneath your sheets, leaving you groggy and irritated. You had lashed out at your puppy, who was such an easy target. Yuta never argued or fought back, even if it was undeserved. He just took it. 

You’re feeling particularly guilty because he’s so patient with you. He had gotten back from a mission hours ago, and instead of cleaning up or resting, he was waiting outside your office patiently. He hadn’t even gotten out of the suit he had been wearing for this undercover assignment. 

His legs are drawn up to his chest so he can rest his head on his knees, staring at the closed door that separates him from you. When it finally opens, his ears perk up and his tail starts wagging. 

It’s hard to repress the urge to coo over him, to pet over his soft ears and praise him for being a good boy. 

Instead, you grab his tie, wrap it around your fist like a leash, and tug him inside your office. 

There’s blood on his face from his work. You shouldn’t find it so hot. 

“Are you still mad at me?” He asks. 

“I was never mad at you, pup,” you say gently, pushing him towards your desk. He lands sprawled across your documents on his back, looking bewildered. 

It’s evident he came here looking to make it up to you. You’d rather give him his dues, instead. 

“Pants off, baby,” you tell him, and he scrambles to obey. His hands are shaking a little as he undoes his belt, fumbling the latch over and over until finally you take pity on him and undo it yourself. 

Yuta goes a little cross eyed at your gentle handling of him. Of course, that only spurs you on further. 

“What do we say, Yu?”

“Thank you, thank you,” he chants.

“Good boy,” you croon, watching as his eyes practically turn into hearts and his tail wags furiously between his legs. You give it a light tug and he whimpers. There’s already a tent forming in his boxers. 

Playfully, you snap the waistband of his boxers against his skin. Yuta throws an arm over his eyes. His cheeks are turning red from embarrassment, but you can’t have that. 

“Don’t hide from me,” you say as you pull his arm away from his face. 

Yuta’s been so good. You don’t want to make him wait for it anymore. You tug his boxers off and wrap one hand around his cock. He’s already leaking so much you don’t need lube. Your giggle only makes him turn his face away, shy and even more embarrassed. 

Yuta’s hips thrust up involuntarily at the first slow, sweet stroke the tight circle of your fist makes around his cock. It’s followed by a string of gasped out sobs as Yuta tries to keep himself still, only to jerk like he’s been electrocuted at the next pump of your hand. 

“You don’t need to restrain yourself,” you tell him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. Yuta’s loud. He whines and cries and begs even as you’re willingly giving him all he wants and more. 

He chases his high like a man starved, humping into your hand with a sweetly depraved desperation. When you twist your wrist just the way he likes, he sobs, a wretched, pathetic noise that makes something awful inside of you preen in delight. You want to hear him make that noise again.

When you look up again to gauge his reaction, Yuta’s biting his lip. “I’m close,” he whimpers when he catches you watching. “I’m gonna-I’m- fuck-“ 

“Go on, sweetheart,” you tell him. “Be a good boy and cum for me.” 

Praise always works well on Yuta. 

He cums into your hand with a sob, shaking through his orgasm. His knees knock together before you force them apart, pushing him just shy of overstimulation before you finally pull away. Yuta practically melts into your desk, boneless. 

“Was that a good enough apology?” You tease him. 

Yuta blinks at you. His brain is practically melting out of his ears. Then he shakes his head as if he’s shaking water off, his dark hair flying around his face. With the dumbest, cutest smile in the world, he says, “Repeat that?” 

[cornerdreams-txt]

WAIT PEOPLE ENJOY QSMP AGERE CONTENT??

bro if i had known... IF I HAD KNOWN..... anyway hey hi have some q!cellbit regression headcanons :) what do you mean it's obvious i've thought about this excessively nuh uh no way i would never (lie.)

➤ what is age regression?

★ cellbit has no idea that he regresses. he just thinks its him being overly tired and stressed and maybe he just needs a nap? and - uh, is bad okay? why is he looking at him so oddly?

★ when he's regressed, cellbit behaves uncannily like his younger self - minus the violence. naturally, as a result, bad picks up on it before anyone else, and can't help but baby cellbit. just a little bit. pulling him on a few adventures, teasingly offering to carry cellbit around when he complains that he's tired, walking him home afterwards - you know, little things!

including a cheerful "good work today, cellbit!" as bad rubs his head, and cellbit bunts into it with a happy prrp! and then immediately pauses in disbelief at himself while bad giggles fondly, reminded of simpler times.

★ bad has to tell roier what cellbit's regression is, but once he understands it, roier introduces it playfully. teasing pet names, "let me do this for you, gatinho <3" lovingly, until cellbit finds himself comfortably allowing roier to do things for him and fussing over him and showering him in affection whenever he feels soft and tired and like his body is too big for him.

★ typically, cellbit is a sleepy regressor. sometimes he gets playful, rowdy, wanting to do something fun, but he's easily distracted with card games or being encouraged to work on his ttrpg.

★ roier likes calling him "gatito" when he's regressed. "little kitty." cellbit thinks its embarrassing and gets flustered over it. (he likes it)

★ pac and mike are familiar with regression, but didn't realize that cellbit does it at first. but once pac realizes, he begs mike to give it a try, just trust him on this, and suddenly they're dragging cellbit on adventures around their factory, and at some point ;

★ pac realizes that cellbit will chase laser pointers directly into walls with a startled meow when regressed, and laughs himself into tears of delight about it while cellbit gives him a sad, confused look, rubbing his now-sore head from where he slammed into the wall.

★ "cebe, you can't drink coffee all day! especially not when you're little!" "but guapito... :(" complete with the biggest saddest wettest puppy eyes a catboy could possibly muster. roier is a strong, strong man for forcing cellbit to drink water instead.

★ chews on his clothes. on his hands. on his mug. on his pencils. he'd probably chew on his shield if he could. dear lord someone get this little one a very very durable teething toy. he needs it.

★ oh you pick him up?? you pick him up??? sleepy!! sleepy cat be upon ye!! (falls asleep almost instantly upon being scooped up into someone's arms. always. without fail. every time.)

★ will laugh himself to incoherence playfighting with anyone who lets him. his favorite to playfight with is bad, who is strong enough and tall enough (and familiar enough with him) that he can get flung around like a ragdoll but never get hurt. he finds it delightful.

★ clingy clingy kitty. constantly hanging off roier's arm or wearing his clothes or carrying something that reminds himself of his husband. would carry richas around the whole day if he could. clings to bad's cloak and follows him like a personal shadow. scrambles excitedly to follow after pac and mike when they leave to go somewhere.

★ messes up his and roier's bed to make a big nest at the end of the day so he can roll around and make the bed and blankets smell like him, before grabbing roier and dragging him into the nest for snuggles, purring so loud he can't hear his own thoughts, and dozing off draped over his husband's chest.

[inkblot22]

The Infection I Don't Want

I don't have any words. Don't look at me. In all seriousness, I definitely love the savior trope. I tried to give it a cute little twist. Idia feels funny in this one too. Also sorry if the formatting is weird. I write these in Docs and then I transfer them to tumblr and for some reason in this fic's document I used Amatic SC and I have bad vision to begin with. No clue why I love torturing myself. Dividers by @/cafekitsune. This fic gets a little heavy. If you start feeling unwell, stop reading. I won't take it personal, promise.

This fic is aimed towards afab readers, but uses they/them pronouns. Mentions of periods and wombs. I may have been a bit less impersonal with this one, but the reader doesn't go on my weird love rant that I have in my self-insert Idia fic so there is that.

This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, DIY abortion which could also be read as miscarriage, I guess, abortion, Idia is incredibly mean in this and possibly OOC, Ortho being unintentionally creepy, parasites, sort of misogyny relating to periods, shock collars, electric shocks, captivity, implied forced marriage, implied forced medical procedures. PSA: don't try anything the reader does in this fic. It's an excellent way to get sepsis, and you don't want that, I promise.

Part 5 of the Pants on Fire series.

You don’t want to admit it, but a bit too much has changed about you. In the past few weeks, you’ve noticed plenty of things, but the largest and most blaring was that your period never came. Before when you would have it, Idia would sulk and pout, acting like you were bleeding on purpose, throwing a heating pad and a blanket and a pillow and the necessary products at you so you’d be comfortable in your distress. He kept talking about figuring out some technology to rid you of that pesky trait, and you really can’t think of anyone who likes having a period, so if he had, you wouldn’t have fought him on it, 

It’s too late for that now. For the last few days, you’ve been waking up early and vomiting. The smell of Idia’s favorite noodles makes it worse. Your poor tummy is constantly roiling, and you can hardly keep anything down. Ortho has been staring at you incessantly. You think he’s being annoying, really, and Idia’s been getting on your last nerves as well. 

Today, you woke up, vomited, and just sat in the bathroom for a moment, coming to terms with the fact that you could very well be pregnant. You feel conflicted. On one hand, you don’t want to talk or think about this. You’re stressed enough as it is. On the other hand, you absolutely don’t want this. You don’t want this creature in your stomach. You know it's there. You can’t feel it, but how often can you feel something before everything goes absolutely wrong? You can’t. 

But it’s unimportant. A knock comes at the door and you scramble to your feet, flushing the toilet and rinsing out your mouth before opening the door. It’s Idia. He gives you a look and starts stripping, turning on the shower and handing you a hair tie.

“You look sick.  What’s wrong with you?”

“O-oh, I… I don’t know. I feel fine.” You’re not sure how to tell him, so you lie. Maybe you won’t have to tell him. You pull his hair into a bun and he hops into the shower. 

You stand there for a moment and he peeks his head around the door at you, “What are you doing? You want to join me?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Just thinking.”

“Go see if Ortho can get you some aspirin or something so you can start acting normal again.” He mutters.

You leave. It’s fine. Idia’s dorm room is always cold. He keeps it like that on purpose. If you’re cold and he doesn’t provide much more than these stupid skimpy pajama sets that are cute but are also thin, so you’re more likely to cuddle up to him or wear his hoodies. At least he has good taste in that.

You don’t really feel like undertaking the task of looking through his closet, so you take a seat in Idia’s gaming chair, which is still warm from him sitting in it, and sigh, laying a hand over your belly. He said that Ortho was here, but he must be out getting breakfast, since you didn’t immediately hear his high voice  shrilling in your ears, “Good morning!”

You like Ortho just fine. He’s not your ally, but being around him is better than being around Idia. You wished he’d been gone for longer. You sigh and your head begins to hurt, “Hi, Ortho.”

He giggles a little and puts down the takeout bag, smiling as he turns back to face you. And then he just stares, chartruse eyes boring into you.

“Ortho, is there a problem?” You can’t hold your tongue about this any longer. You have a headache and honestly you just want to take a fat nap and let the world, small as it has become for you, deal with itself.

Before he can respond, Idia strolls out of the bathroom, lazily greeting Ortho, “Hey, Ortho.”

“Hello!” His voice is just so grating. You want to throw something.

“Mmm.” Idia glances at you, walking over and nudging your shoulder with the back of his hand, like he’s shooing an animal, “Go lay down.”

“I don’t-”

“Did you ask Ortho for-”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” You snarl, turning to look at him.

He stiffens ever so slightly, then hunches down and digs through the takeout bag Ortho brought in, “Are you acting like this because you’re on your period?”

“Did you really just ask me-”

This time, it’s Ortho, not Idia, who interrupts you, “Oh, they won’t be having a period for a while.”

Idia freezes. You freeze. Ortho goes back to what he was doing, humming as he makes the bed. Idia turns to narrow his eyes at you, his eyes sliding down to look at your midsection and feet, and his eyes roll back into his head and he’s hitting the ground. Maybe if you cared more about him, you’d check to make sure that he was fine, but as it is now, you don’t really have the energy or wherewithal to do so. You rush into the bathroom and cower near the toilet, like there’s a tornado or something outside. You’re distressed.

He doesn’t know it, but Ortho just vocalized the actualization of all your fears, the culmination of your meager existent, all rolled up into this… this parasite in your stomach. You swallow your incoming hysteria and make a decision. You’re going to get up. You’re going to get a change of clothes. You’re going to take a shower. And you’ll be fine. You’ll figure this out. You always have before. You’ll do it again.

When you exit the bathroom, Ortho is blowing air into Idia’s pallid face, and Idia is groaning. You ignore the pair and go to the closet. You grab a change of clothes, the rabbit-themed set of pajamas, you walk into the bathroom, you turn on the water. About as soon as the stream hits your back, you’re screaming. Sobs break from your chest like a hammer going into ice, smashing its way out despite every effort you make to keep it together. You’ve barely got the peace of mind to quickly wash yourself, and when you exit- the water is cold, too cold for comfort- you dry. You feel twitchy, after crying so hard. You tug on the spaghetti strap shirt, the bunny face stretching against your skin, and then you’re staring at the hanger.

You remember reading something, a long, long time ago. You were far too young to be reading this type of thing, the gorier parts of feminism and women’s rights, but… you remember a passage. The wire twists apart easily as you remember the story. A woman, desperate to be rid of the parasitic growth in her womb, just as desperate as you are now, used a wire coat hanger to remove it. It’s been so long that you can’t remember how it ended for her, but you remember the rest very clearly. The bent end, no longer crooked after you bent it, slips into your opening so easily. You can barely feel it. then the door opens, you freeze,  and you hear Ortho scream.

“Idia!” He yells, and there are footsteps and a moment of silence.

You look up at Idia’s honey-colored eyes that are glued to the wire hanger sticking out of your body, see the way both of the Shroud boys are looking at your current unfinished action, see the slow spread of crimson into Idia’s long hair, starting at the tips and spreading like, well, like fire, to the roots. There’s that familiar three-tap warning, and then you drop the hanger, clutching at the collar as the strongest shock you’ve ever felt hits you like a truck. It’s worse than the time you didn’t want to hang out with him, worse than the times you’d stray too close to the door. It forces you to your knees, sets your body into convulsions that shake the twisted hanger out of you, makes you foam at the mouth.

Somewhere under your anguish, you think you hear Ortho robotically say, “BPM reaching critical levels.”

The current stops and your body stops convulsing, relaxing so hard that your world, small as it has become, goes black. When you awake, you’re reliving a distant memory: you’re bound, hands and ankles, on the bed. You’re dressed again, one of Idia’s hoodies draped over you like a blanket, and Idia is just staring at you, holding your collar. He looks pissed, but his hair isn’t red, at least. He’s noticed you’re awake, but he’s not saying anything. He turns slightly in his gaming chair and throws the strap of leather on his desk, the wiring fried. There are holes burnt into the leather, and Idia stares at it blankly before he starts typing away on his tablet, his own voice coming through the device.

It sounds about as burnt out as the shock collar looks, “I bet you feel pretty bad, huh?”

You don’t dignify that with a response. It doesn’t matter to him, since his fingers fly as he keeps typing away.

“You’re a fucking moron. Only someone stupid would try to-” He doesn’t finish the sentence and hits the desk, standing up and pacing. You can’t see him, but you can hear him panting. 

You try to de-escalate, sort of. The shock collar isn’t around your neck anymore, but you really don’t need him to work himself up again, “The word is ‘desperate.’ I don’t want… I don’t want this. This thing growing inside of me, I don’t-”

“You’re not the only one with a parasite.” His voice is quiet but seething. It breathily cuts through the air like a knife, aiming for your soft parts, “You just have the privilege of being able to get rid of yours comfortably.”

“Really? So you putting this thing in me isn’t as bad as I think it is?”

He paces back into view and you notice something missing. Someone missing. You lift your head a bit to look around and Idia takes a heavy seat at his desk again. This state is rare. It takes him a while to relax when he gets like this, but you’ve only seen it aimed at others, like that time his account got temporarily banned because one of his party members was hacking. At least that had an easy solution for him- you’ve never seen him grin as much as when he had the poor guy swatted and watched through the CCTV cameras around the poor fool's house.

“We’re going home. I’ll fix your little problem twofold, since I’m the only competent one between the two of us.” He types out, his recorded voice not lagging once.

“What? And what do you mean you have a parasite?”

He doesn’t look at you, but you think you see him wipe his cheek with his sleeve, typing with only one hand, “Ortho is gonna come back with some burn cream. I lost my temper and you got hurt. Not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t deserve any of this. I asked you if you had a condom.”

He doesn’t respond to that statement, instead typing, “I don’t love you. You know that, right? Love is for the idealistic masses, those who aren’t capable of keeping their feet on the ground. You’re just someone who has taken up a space in my mind. So the solution to yours won’t be permanent. Seven knows my parents will be getting on my case about providing them an heir eventually.”

“So I’m just here for eventual marriage security?”

Idia doesn’t respond. Ortho strolls in, placing a tube on Idia’s desk and goes out of your line of sight, seemingly to tidy or something. You don’t really care. He’s not your ally. He’s never been.

Idia sighs, then goes back to working on something on his desk. You don’t know how much time passes, but he loops it around your throat and unties you. It’s sitting a bit lower on your neck, just against your collarbones. There’s a three-tap warning, but no shock afterward. Just the flat look on Idia’s face.

“I should start calling you ‘baby’, kitten. It’d be so much easier for you to understand your position.”

“That’s not funny.” You say, “I never asked you to bring me here.”

Idia shrugs, “Well, I don’t think of you as a pet. With the way you act, you might as well be a pest.” He grins, sharp teeth on display, “Maybe I should put out some glue traps… or start dosing you with raw garlic and ivermectin.” 

He starts laughing, and you feel your eyes well with tears. You tell yourself it's the pregnancy hormones. Idia laughs harder at your expression.

“Aw, kitten, I’m just teasing. Come sit with me.”

“But I-” That three-tap warning from your new collar cuts you off. You stand up and start walking the two steps between the bed and Idia’s desk. When you reach your hands towards the collar, it zaps you. It’s quick and not too painful, but it gets you moving towards Idia. When you take a seat on his lap, he leans to bury his nose in your hair, a thrilled noise escaping him. He drops the burn cream in your lap.

He just watches you as you unscrew the lid and reach for your neck. There’s a three-tap warning again- bzz bzz bzz- but you ignore it. The second your fingers barely graze your throat with the cream, you get zapped, short and swift, but uncomfortable enough. You drop your hand and it goes away. When you look up at Idia, he takes the cream from your other hand and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, using his free hand to click into one of his many tabs for some anime streaming site.

“Good. It works.” Is all he says.

As he dabs the cream onto the electrical burns on your neck, you have to blink away the despair again. It’s settled over you like a blanket, eaten holey by moths and worms. Every move you make is accompanied by tentative fear, a worry that Idia will do something awful if you do certain things. You never once considered it would go this far, though. Ortho drops something onto Idia’s bed, a hefty-looking luggage set, and Idia pays him no mind as he tucks away some clothes. You don’t want to admit it, but you don’t want to be around any more people under Idia’s thumb, whether they know it or not.

[dreamersbcll]

“I paced around for hours on empty, I jumped at the slightest of sounds”

- whumptober, prompt no. 7

(hey, can you hear me? who’s in control? are you there?)

——————————————————————————

It had been a long time since Sam saw his face.

Though she was twenty-six years old, she still believed in second chances. She believed in foolish ideas that were only tangible as a child. Ideas that grew hope, and hope that always killed.

But she thought it was better. She was supposed to be better. Her stupid psychiatrist said she would be better. Take the medications, exercise, drink water, and stay on a tight regimen. She did all that and more- as Tara was on a similar neurological cocktail, the two were able to make it all work.

It was never enough. Whatever she did wasn’t ever enough. Somehow, the monsters under her bed morphed into the waking nightmare that followed her around, consuming every piece of her.

One year since New York. Well, a little over. They were coming up to the year and a half-mark lately. Yet it didn’t matter.

Billy is back. And she can’t get rid of him.

As everything does, it started small. It was the small glimpses of him in freshly washed plates or hearing his laugh in a crowded room. Then it progressed. She couldn’t brush her teeth in the mirror without seeing him smile at her, and she avoided the stainless steel dishwasher at work, for he was always lurking.

The whispers were the final straw. There wasn’t a moment of peace anymore. Billy was constantly at her ear, talking, begging, pleading. Anything to get her to listen. He begged Sam to let him take over, to let him hold a knife again. He promised that he would help her feel better, that he would scratch that itch that she couldn’t quite get.

The worst part was she agreed with him. She has been feeling a strange itch- something resting under her skin, gnawing at her bones. Alcohol or drugs couldn’t satisfy it. Movie nights, midnight walks, or early morning workouts couldn’t quench it. She knows what it wants. She knows what it needs.

But she won’t let herself kill again. Unless there was a good reason, and she didn’t have one.

Billy had other ideas.

He wanted Sam to hurt people close to her, and she couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t lay her hands on the twins, or Gale, or worst of all, her little love. They were her life, and she could never touch them.

But he wanted more. So she pulled back. She stopped going to movie nights, claiming she had work to do. Every time someone called out, she picked up shifts. She worked days, doubles on most, and nights. Sam began to utilize the spare room, sleeping there while Tara had class. Touches, hugs, kisses, all were pulled back. She knew how Tara felt about it. She saw the crestfallen looks and broken-hearted smiles.

Sam wasn’t going to give in.

Until Tara forced it out of her.

In her defense, Sam was trying to cut onions for dinner but got distracted by his reflection in the stainless steel. He was trying to talk to her, and though she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but listen. She admittedly watched too long as Tara managed to sneak up on her.

“Sam? What’s going on?” Tara asked, her voice thick with concern.

Dropping the knife, Sam scrambled back, her back pressed against the refrigerator. Tara held her hands up in confusion, her brow furrowing.

Before Tara could speak, Sam was already blabbering in panic. “Get away from me. Get away from me!” she cried, throwing napkins and unopened letters at Tara.

Her sister ducked, her teeth bared in a snarl. “Jesus, Sam! What the fuck is going on?” She got up in Sam’s face, reaching for her big sister’s chin. Her eyes softened as Sam flinched at the action.

Pulling back, Tara clapped her hands together, making Sam jump. “Hey! Look at me. Talk to me! Sam!” she pleaded, waving her hands in Sam’s face.

Shaking her head rapidly, Sam swallowed hard. She looked around, digging her nails in the fridge. She couldn’t see Billy, but he was there. His laughter could be heard down the hallway. “You can’t, you can’t be here. It’s not safe-”

Tara cut her off before she could begin. “-Sam. What are you talking about? You’re the safest thing I know. You’re home, Sam. You’re my home. Now stop tweaking and fucking talk to me!”

Her words hung up in the air, frozen. Sam stopped listening around the second sentence as her world was coming to a halt. He was here. Behind Tara, Billy bent down, picking up the knife. Sauntering right up to Sam, he grinned wide, waving the knife in her face.

She lost. He was here.

“Oh, Tara,” she breathed, tears pricking in her eyes.

Tara’s steely eyes softened, her breathing picking up. Sam knew her little sister could see her cracking open, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Fuck, Sam didn’t know what to do.

“Sammy. What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, Sam swallowed hard.“He’s back. And he won’t stop talking,” she whispered, watching as he mouthed, let's kill her.

Frowning, Tara followed Sam’s gaze, trying to find the murderer in their kitchen. Little did she know that there were two. “What’s he saying?”

“He wants me to hurt you,” Sam blurted out, wincing at her lack of finesse. She licked her lips, trying to calm her nerves. He still kept whispering and twirling the knife.

Tara’s lower lip wobbled, her big brown eyes shining with tears. “And?” she said, her words barely above a whisper.

Sam just shook her head, shifting her eyes away from her little sister. Tara reached out to grab her hand, but Sam snatched it away before contact could be made. She couldn’t touch her sister. She couldn’t have him know what Tara’s skin felt like. And she couldn’t let him make her feel what Tara’s dead skin would feel like.

Frowning at the action, Tara stepped back. “You’re scaring me, Sam. Please stop. Please talk to me,” she begged, reaching out again for Tara.

Once again, Sam moved away from Tara. Clenching her jaw, Sam breathed out. “I can’t stop his awful energy. I can’t stop him. You have to go.”

Glancing towards the door, Sam swallowed hard. “Maybe I have to go,” she whispered.

“No! No, we will fight him together—you and I. You promised we would take on everything together. You promised me!” Tara forced out, her teeth bared.

Her little sister always tried to look so ferocious, so threshing. But she could never be as scary as the man standing behind her. The man that Sam couldn’t control, the man who, instead, possessed her.

She didn’t know what to do. So she did what she could, be honest.

“I don’t know who’s in control anymore, Tara.”

[aceofshitposts]

ALRIGHT SO. y'all remember that poll where I asked what animal you thought Jason would be and then immediately went nvm I picked something else? Well here is an info dump/not fic on that au since I never got around to actually writing it for jtw

So the au was inspired by the anime BNA: Brand New Animal where Tim would be taking the protagonist role of Michiru and Jason would be Shiro. It's just inspired by BNA you don't need to know anything about it for this au :)

Basically, for those who haven't watched BNA there are humans and beastmen; a race of anthropromorphic animal people who also have the ability to take a human form as well as their beast form.

Tim is a human turned beastman by accident. You see, he's been chronically ill since he was a child and his parents have been travelling the world to find a treatment/cure all his life. He has monthly appointments at the Drake Industries Clinic for a shot that helps mitigate his symptoms.

Well, one day the tech fucks up. They give him the wrong formula and Tim ends up transforming into a European Polecat Beastman. Which is, bad.

Bad because Beastmen are generally outcast to the poorer parts of Gotham and even intentionally hunted down by rogue groups that believe they're dangerous. His parents would flip. Tim knows they're prejudiced against Beastmen.

Tim can't leave the facility, he has no idea how to change back to a human form like a regular beastman. He's panicky and has all kinds of new senses and instincts screaming at him constantly that he's in danger.

He ends up overhearing the techs a couple days after his untimely transformation plotting his death in order to cover up the fuck up from his parents. There may also be some kind of extortion plot too idk.

Well Tim isn't about to sit around and let that happen. He's gotta get out of here and get help.

Hand waves, Tim escapes but. Now he's loose in Gotham as a beastman. He tries to get help but the police end up turning on him for being an unregistered beastman in a non beastman area and Tim has to further escape them too.

But something odd happens. Tim finds he doesn't feel weak and sickly like he used to. He can run and fast. He can scramble up a wall to his from his pursuers, he can hear them a mile away.

Regardless though. Tim ends up having to flee towards the bowery, soaked to the bones after getting caught in the pouring rain.

He stumbles into a small bar thinking he could definitely use a drink after all this before he continues trying to get help.

The bartender is a broad and tall man, tanned skin and black hair with a shock of white through the bangs.

He raises an eyebrow at Tim, which is fair considering Tim's miserable state.

"You got ID there, kid?" the bartender asks as Tim takes a seat at the bar.

Tim wasn't able to save his phone but he does have his wallet, though he's aware any use of his cards would likely lead to his location, he still has got his ID and hands it over wordlessly.

The bartender looks down at the card then back up and snorts.

"Maybe this works in human bars but you're gonna need to give me your real one if you want me to serve you."

Tim bristles, "that is my real ID," on the tip of his tongue as he snatches it back and realizes.

Beside the picture of a very human man is his information.

Drake, Timothy Jackson

Sex: Male

Species: Human

Tim deflates realizing that his ID is no longer valid.

"I- I am, I was-" the panic starts coming back quickly, adrenaline draining from his system after the night he's had. Everything is different now and nobody is going to believe he is who he says he is, he's stuck even if he can get in contact with his parents; Tim realizes just how much he doesn't want to go back to the labs.

"Hey, kid, are you okay? Kid?"

Tim has a panic attack and passes out.

Meanwhile, Jason rushes over to check the kid's vitals. He's seen his fair share of runaways and the like, the kid looks run ragged in his soaked through clothes. It's strange to have someone walking around in beast form like this, even in the bowery most beastmen choose to keep their human form unless a situation really calls for it.

Something is definitely wrong here and while Jason doesn't really want to get involved he can provide the kid with some shelter for the night.

So he carries Tim up to his little apartment above the bar, locking it up for the night and settles in to make sure the kid doesn't die in his sleep.

Because I can't figure out a good transition at this point 😂 Jason is an Elk beastman. Dark fur except for the white patch, dark green eyes and antlers.

He's got a huge rack.

Which is also often why he chooses to stay in human form because they can be inconvenient for walking through doors and get caught on things.

Plot wise, it turns out Tim is actually part beastman on his mom's side but the genes were dormant until accidentally activated. The shots Tim was getting were actually to keep the genes dormant and add a side effect continued to make him sick. They've been looking for a cure to get rid of the beastman genes once and for all.

Jason ends up helping Tim in his quest to uncover this whole thing and Tim ultimately chooses to stay as a beastman. He knows what his parents did was put out love but he can't yet forgive him for not even giving him a choice to discover who he was or could be.

Jazz hands.

This was all just an excuse to make the Jason has a huge rack joke tbh but I also just think elk and polecat fit them so well. Wanted to give Tim polecat cuz they have little masks and are fiesty but small.

Anyway hope you enjoyed these thoughts, have a good day!

[saremina]

I'm gonna be posting some older oneshots here too.

This is from the Love&Abuse verse, taking place between Love and Abuse and Delicate and Vicious, around ~2700 words.

Enjoy!

Sometimes Jonny wishes his job was less ‘caretaker’ and more ‘personal driver’ like it used to be in the beginning. When Harley was there to take care of Joker. And when Bob was there to pick up the slack when Harley and Joker broke up for a few weeks.

And now he has to get breakfast and walk a dog at ungodly hours after a night of trying to keep Joker from getting murdered because he thought spilling beer on Black Mask’s latest girlfriend because she didn’t want to give her stilettos to Joker, and then chopping her foot off to get her to relinquish said stilettos (can’t forget that), was a good idea.

Basically, Jonny is exhausted. Constantly.

He still does his best to not make too much noise when he lets Pumpkin into Joker’s apartment (good side of being a valet instead of personal driver: Jonny gets to live rent free down the hall), and closes the door quietly; Joker is a light sleeper when he’s not in a drug induced coma, and Jonny doesn’t want to deal with the foul mood accidentally waking him up because Jonny ‘breathes too loud’ creates.

So Jonny tiptoes deeper into the apartment, yawning as quietly as he can—

and nearly drops the bag he’s carrying at the sight of Pumpkin gnawing on a piece of what looks an awful lot like Batman’s armor.

What the hell did he miss?

Shit. Did Batman break in? Joker is going to murder him if that happened.

Quietly—just in case Joker is asleep and not waiting in some corner for a chance to kill Jonny for letting Batman find his home—Jonny takes the bag into the kitchen, and pulls out his gun. Pumpkin gets up when Jonny enters the living room, catching onto his tenseness.

When she heads into the bedroom, Jonny follows her at a safe distance. The piece of armor is still in her mouth, and it scratches against the bedroom door as she opens it with her nose and paws. Jonny is far more quiet as he follows, his gun at ready. He peeks through the door, finding the room quiet for the most part. Pumpkin has discarded the piece of Kevlar for the cape; she’s pulling at it, no doubt ripping holes into it, probably ruining it in the process.

There’s no dead or maimed Batman, though. There is Joker, sound asleep atop of Bruce Wayne.

Okay.

Jonny stretches his neck and surveys the room. There’s discarded gauze among the pieces of armor. But no Bat-corpse. Which would mean…

Oh no. No. No, nope, not happening. Fucking shit, this is not happening to him.

He stumbles back and hurries to the kitchen as quickly as he can without making noise. He’ll empty the bag, because Joker without his morning coffee is far more terrifying than Joker who has gotten his morning coffee, and then he’ll leave town, change his name, and move to some backwater place with no internet or phones or cameras or anything that could be used to track him.

He’ll definitely need to leave the country as well. Maybe even the continent. Europe might be nice; he’s always wanted to visit, anyways.

With the coffee maker on—bless the thermos pot—and the breakfast in the fridge—Jonny had learned not to bring anything that would need to stay heated to be edible a long time ago—Jonny turns around, only to find a revolver at his face.

“Jesus fuck!” He scrambles to get a hold of the counter as he gasps for breath. How silently can a person move? Holy hell that’s horrifying. “Hi, boss. The bulldog was back at the park, but we handled it. And Happy’s kid is having a birthday party. I’m trying to figure out if we can attend because of the—the cake. And—”

Joker cocks the revolver, his frown shifting into a more are-you-serious-right now look, which isn’t really better. He clicks his tongue—never a good sign oh god Jonny is going to die in a kitchen, murdered by his boss who’s wearing that dark pink, lacy dressing gown with those poofy sleeves and hems he’d bought just because he started dating Bruce Wayne who is apparently also Batman, and he wanted the perfect outfit for when the police came to question him on whether or not he killed Wayne, and he wanted to descent the stairs like one of those rich widows who definitely killed their husbands in movies—and… lowers the revolver? Even if it’s just an inch or two, it’s still unexpected. “Now, I don’t really wanna shoot you.”

Jonny has entered a twilight zone. “I’d rather not be shot.”

“Great! Common ground.” Joker smiles in that too sweet way he does when he’s seconds away from fucking someone up. “But we kinda have a problem, here. A dilemma, if you will. See, I like you. I know I pay you to be nice to me and stick around, but you’re the best pretend-friend I’ve got. And you’re great at your job. Replacing you would be a hassle.”

Jonny nods. The coffee maker puffs out hot steam as it finishes brewing the coffee.

“But,” Joker continues. “You do get that I can’t exactly let you go and run around tellin’ everyone about Brucie, right?” Joker waves the revolver over his shoulder at the living room.

Jonny swallows and nods again. “Sure. But—”

“So what am I supposed to do here?”

Coffee. Jonny needs coffee. He raises his hands and inches towards to the cupboard with the mugs, the counter pressed uncomfortably against his back the whole time. He doesn’t want to turn his back to Joker, but he has to if he wants the coffee so he risks it, grabbing Joker’s favorite mug so fast he almost drops it. He hurries back to the coffee maker, pours the coffee, and adds sugar and just a tiny drop of milk into the coffee before handing it to Joker.

He’s never gotten the milk thing. The amount is so minimal it barely changes the taste of the coffee, and Joker has no problem drinking coffee without milk, so why add it? And if Jonny even thinks about adding milk to a triple shot of espresso, Joker will berate him for his stupidity for the rest of the week.

Joker takes the coffee and sips it. That should give Jonny a few seconds before his brain gets scattered across the kitchen surfaces. “I’d never do anything to compromise your operations or safety or—”

“I’m not the one at risk here,” Joker points out, his voice so sharp Jonny flinches.

Shit. “Yeah, could I finish a sentence?” The look of shock on Joker’s face is almost worth Jonny’s chances of walking out of there alive dropping to zero. “Also, permission to speak freely?”

“You’re not already doing that?”

Jonny takes that as a yes. He’s already dead, anyways. He sighs and pushes his hair from his face, and spreads his hands. “Look. I keep your secrets to my grave, no matter how hard the road there is, and it’s got nothing to do with money. Or the fact that you’re terrifying.”

Joker’s smile loses a hint of its cruelty. “Aww, thank you!”

“You’re welcome. The point is, I don’t tell your business to anyone, under any circumstances, and it’s not because you’re my boss or professional pride or any bullshit like that; I’d like to think we’ve got some kind of… mutual respect thing going on here? Maybe? Or maybe it’s just on my side. The point is, I don’t spread your business around, and as far as I’m concerned, whoever you’re sleeping with is your business, so I keep it to myself. Even if it’s…”

“Batman?”

“Yeah.” Jonny sighs again. “Double incentive to keep my mouth shut if there ever was one, actually. Not that I’d need it because it’s your business, and I keep all of that to myself until I die. Like I said.”

Joker regards Jonny closely as he sips his coffee until Jonny is sweating in his spot, his heart racing in his chest. Finally Joker puts the revolver on the table, but he keeps his hand on it. “That so?”

“Yes,” Jonny says with conviction that’s (fortunately) real.

Joker shifts, cocking his head. “Well, this was easier than I thought.”

Jonny shrugs. “I aim to please.”

It gets a genuine laugh out of Joker, which is always a good thing. Maybe Jonny will live though this after all.

“Ya know, you are definitely the best paid-friend I’ve ever had.” Joker flashes Jonny one of those rare, genuine smiles, and raises his cup. “So glad I shot Bob and got you to replace him—not that Bob wasn’t amazing, he was. Bless Bob and may he have many margaritas wherever he is these days. But I kinda like your attitude better.”

Okay, no. That’s not going to fly, not if Jonny is not getting shot. “You’re not paying me to be your friend.”

Joker tilts his head from side to side and hums. “Yeah, I kinda am.”

“No—” Joker can look so incredulous when he wants to “—you’re paying me to drive you around and take care of your dog and… clean up and do groceries and stuff. I don’t hold your hair back when you’re throwing up from too much drugs or alcohol because you pay me; I don’t sit with you to four in the morning listening to you talk about your relationship problems, or do online shoe shopping in PJ's because you pay me either. I do that because… well, I dunno how much of a friend you can be with your boss, but I’d like to think we’re that.”

Joker blinks, his face having gone dangerously blank. “You think we’re… friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

Joker’s jaw clenches and his hand goes to the revolver again. Jonny would take a step back if he wasn’t already pressed against the counter. “Whoa! Don’t—”

Joker points the revolver at Jonny’s face. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not—”

“Because I’m not in the mood for that, and you’re not even going for something worth laughing about later on.”

“I’m not! Jesus, how does anyone have a relationship with you if you react this badly to having a friend?” Jonny bites his tongue. That… was probably not a good thing to say.

For a moment, Joker remains absolutely still. Then he laughs and lowers the revolver slightly—but he still lowers it and that’s what’s important. “So you think we’re friends?”

Jonny licks his lips and nods slowly. “As much as anyone can be friends with their boss, yeah.”

“How much is that?”

“No idea.”

They regard each other in silence, Joker with a dangerously calculating look, Jonny fearing for his life.

Eventually Joker lifts the revolver to his shoulder. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Joker places the revolver and the coffee on the table. “So we’re friends. Ish. Whatever.”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Joker bites his lower lip, then he smiles, grins and makes a high pitched keening sound. Jonny barely has the time to wonder what the hell is going on before Joker throws his arms around his neck and pulls him into a crushing hug.

Jonny oomphs, his arms flailing around. What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck is happening? What is he supposed to do? Is he going to die? He’s probably not going to die, unless it’s from a lack of oxygen caused by Joker hugging him too tightly. Holy hell he’s strong for such a wry guy. He’s all limbs; he shouldn’t be able to choke Jonny with a hug.

Cautiously, Jonny puts his arms around Joker and pats his back. Joker only squeezes him tighter, making another one of those happy noises. That… good? “Any chance you could not choke me to death?”

Joker lets go of Jonny, but he stays well within his personal space, a happy smile on his face.

Jonny clears his throat. “So. Bruce Wayne is Batman, huh? Didn’t see that coming.”

Thankfully, Joker laughs at that. “He’s so sweet when he’s Brucie and he’s got ten different kinds of soap and cream made of diamonds or some shit. And then he hits you like a freight train while he’s cosplaying and breaks all your bones and then you have to stay in the ICU for a month. He’s adorable.”

Jonny doesn’t know about that, but he trusts Joker’s judgment.

“Oh!” Joker claps his hands together. “I gotta clean up. Could you make me breakfast?”

Jonny nods, confused and a little worried, but since Joker still has a happy smile on his face, it can’t be that bad. Jonny pulls the things he’d just put in the fridge back out and heats what needs to be heated while Joker does… something in the living room. Going by the sounds, he’s picking up the armor.

He returns as Jonny starts setting the table, singing under his breath. He stays out of Jonny’s way, observing him in that silent way of his.

When he’s done, Jonny straightens up and turns to face Joker.

“Don’t worry, he’s asleep.” Joker cocks his head towards the bedroom. “I slipped him a sedative last night.”

“Okay.” Jonny shifts. “So, uhh… just to clarify, now that you’re dating Batman—”

Joker makes an earsplitting sound and hops in his spot, clapping his hands together. God, he’s like a child sometimes. “I know! I always said it’d happen.”

Jonny nods. “You did.”

“And now I’ve got him and I can’t tell anyone. Do you know how much I just wanna let people know I was right: he’s totally into me! There are so many people who said I’m delusional but I was right.”

“You were.”

Joker nods. “And he loves me. He said that. I got Bats to admit that.” Jonny hums and nods, and sits down with his coffee. Joker slumps in the seat opposite of him with a happy sigh, and accepts the coffee Jonny offers him. “He’s so cute with his little, pointy ears and all that brooding.”

Jonny keeps agreeing as Joker babbles on about Batman and Bruce, sometimes like he doesn’t realize he’s talking about the same person, until Pumpkin starts yapping in the living room. Joker switches topics to needing to buy new clothes on the fly. Jonny does his best to pretend he’s following the one sided conversation until Bruce enters the kitchen, running his hand through his hair. “Your dog still hates me.”

“She can sense you don’t like her.” Joker leans back in the chair and smiles at Bruce. “You gotta be nicer to her.”

Bruce grimaces and sits by Joker’s side. He offers Jonny a brief greeting and pours himself coffee from the pot Jonny had placed in the middle of the table.

Jonny mumbles a good morning and shoves toast into his mouth. He’s eating breakfast with Joker and Batman.

Fuck his life.

Fortunately for him, Bruce’s attention soon turns back to Joker. “What’s with the, uh…” he waves his toast at Joker’s dressing gown.

Joker looks down on himself, then turns his attention to Bruce with a happy giggle. “It’s for when I murder you and Gordy comes to question me.” Joker sits up and puts on his dramatically shocked face. “’No, Commissioner, I didn’t kill him; I could never hurt him. He was so sweet and kind. I don’t know who could have done such a thing.’ Think he’d fall for it?”

Bruce smiles and shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Oh, I will need to be at your place for this to work.” Joker points at Bruce, turning more towards him. “Mostly for the staircase. I could also cry for effect. Like a single tear? And I need the kiddos and Niles on my side.”

“I’ll make sure they’re aware of it,” Bruce promises, smiling at Joker as he launches into a detailed explanation of how this supposed murder and it’s investigation would take place. Jonny would be concerned over it if it wasn’t for the warmth in Bruce’s eyes as he watches Joker act out his imagined scenarios of murdering Bruce and then covering it up.

Yeah, they love each other.

And as far as Jonny is concerned, anyone who tries to get in between them can go fuck themselves until Joker is busy with something that doesn’t require Jonny so that Jonny can hunt that asshole down and shoot them between the eyes.

[lifeswack]

I made a small analysis on the recent drdt episode!

(heres the link to the google doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jvUy2txjIYfixGA_ortVeSpr1457b5GHb5hsH78vP8A/edit#heading=h.vp6z4l5f7buz ) and now heres what i have so far

insane literature girl (david) analysis

Peeps i used:

 @nsmiaumiau,@moonzeiw

the link to my notes, its very scrambled so beware: 

The Morse code at 4:21 translates to:

"You still believed in me despite everything I've done, but that's just a fantasy isn't it? I simply chose to believe you did. Afterall I'm incapable of being somebody without you

That morse code and the scene at 2:24 are bothreferring to xander, the one at 2:24 is obvious, you can even see david referring to xander as “important” this fact alone could solidify that the person david is referring to at 4:24 is xander however there are still a few more people who it could be 

The reason both instances HAVE to refer to Xander is that David was never really close to anyone else. The only two people it could have possibly been are Hu and Arei, but through a process of elimination, we can rule out Hu since she's still alive. Even if you say Hu no longer respects david, While the Morse code at 4:21 uses past tense, it's safe to say Hu was never very close to David in the first place. Now, let's talk about Arei. She's a bit harder to debunk, but she's also eliminated for the same reason. Arei was only on good terms with David for about a day and a half, and that time was spent focused on her. Additionally, David wouldn't really feel like himself around Arei due to her vulgar and foul mouth, constantly berating everyone she knows. Although she may have changed slightly, she remained aggressive. However, to give Arei some credit, she knew David's secret, but I'm eliminating her as a possibility anyway. Xander is the only person we have confirmation (from 2:24) of being important to David. David even stated that Xander was a sort of role model to him, as Xander represented everything David pretended to be. But I do believe they were genuinely close; I mean, come on, guys, the bromance is there!

Before I present my own theories, let's debunk a theory:

 that David manipulated or asked Xander to kill Teruko. I find this possibility plainly impossible (haha, Tsumugi reference). David is well aware of the consequences of murder and was genuinely distraught and upset when Xander died. Moreover, I don't believe David was the one who said "I have to kill Teruko Tawaki" at the beginning of DRDT; it is widely accepted to be Xander, but I have my own issues with the Xander theory.

Once again, huge thanks to @nsmiaumiau – she, he, they???? – for being a tremendous help throughout this.

The video contains word searches for every character except David, with text aligning to each character. Although some don't seem to match perfectly, we can use the descriptions as our best bet to assign the numbers to characters. Many of them appear nonsensical, like Hu's crossword being "???: Go and cry," Julia's being "Do it like that lets live together!" and Nico's being "even if you try to think idk!!! (Lmao)." I noticed that these texts are either sarcastic or ominous. Let's take Nico's, for instance; it's very sarcastic and oddly worded, so I'll try to make it less headache-inducing: 

some of the word searches mention this mysterious (????) person, and it could either refer to David himself or the red-haired girl who keeps appearing. I'll do my best to make sense of everyone's crossword and figure out their significance.

Crossword analysis

(desclaimer despite coming tpo the conclusion these are davids thoughts i still analayze some of them as random strings of text and not thoughts)

1. Xander - His crossword is odd, saying "I have no idea if it counts (the world of abnormal sentient dance)." All of these make my head hurt, and this one takes the cake, but it does bring up the word "sentient," which I find interesting. Since I've already deduced these are David's thoughts, I'm going to have to look at it from that lens. The part "I have no idea if it counts" is what intrigues me. Like I said before, the Morse code at 4:21 is referring to Xander, so it might be David saying "I have no idea if Xander cares"??? It's definitely a shot in the dark, but I'm doing my best, okay!! The phrase "(abnormal sentient dance)" could be interpreted in several ways. I see it as an odd conversation, think of it as the phrase "the conversation has a mind of its own" – add "abnormal," and it would be akin to an odd conversation or if you add "dance," an odd situation.

2. Rose - Her crossword states "I think, therefore I am": This phrase is a famous philosophical statement attributed to the French philosopher René Descartes. In Latin, it is "Cogito, ergo sum." The phrase expresses the idea that the act of thinking itself proves one's existence. It's a foundational element in Descartes' philosophy and is often seen as a starting point for understanding one's own existence and consciousness.

"(confused)": The addition of "(confused)" after the famous philosophical statement adds an intriguing twist. It suggests that even though Rose acknowledges her existence through her thoughts, she experiences confusion or uncertainty about her identity or reality. The inclusion of this word creates an interesting contrast between certainty (thinking) and doubt (confusion).

3. Charles - The phrase "if you doubt" further proves that Charles is not one to accept things without scrutiny. This trait is vital in chemistry, as it involves testing hypotheses and theories through experimentation and analysis.

The second part of the crossword, "brittle things are broken," indicates Charles' knowledge of material properties, including fragility and how certain substances react under specific conditions. As an expert chemist, he understands the importance of understanding the characteristics of different substances to handle them safely and predict their behavior accurately. But that's just a literal analysis. In Charles's own words, "are you really gonna take that at face value?" So if I were to be crazy and analyze this, I would probably think this is referring to people. Maybe Charles doubted his brother at a certain point in time, and it led to his brother's death? :33

5. Arei - I think it's partially straightforward. The last time Arei got any major screen time was before she died. She cried to David about how she wanted to change and be a good person, questioning why Eden was allowed to be a good person without anyone taking advantage of her. Additionally, she was constantly harassed, assaulted, and verbally abused by her sisters, which resulted in her crying. This is likely what the crossword is referring to.

6. Ace - His crossword says, "'Right now, why do you go insane?'" Again, fairly straightforward. If I had to take a guess, it would be from how malnourished our poor boy is. His motive secret literally was "your body's falling apart, and yet you still refuse to eat." He's probably starving, and some of it is just because he's a hot-headed asshole.

7. Arturo’s is “mind exercises 1 2 3 4!” which confuses me just as much as xanders confuses me, if it were any other maybe i could have come up with something but this really just dosent fit him, he’s a cosmetic surgeon not a psychiatrist, since we know very little about Arturo im assuming this has something to do with his obsession with J, perhaps he finds J’s situation mentally stimulating?

8. Since julias the visual affects artist the part where it says “do it like that” maybee its referencing her more creative side an a way for things to go her way?

The second part, "let's live together," is intriguing and could imply several things. It might suggest her wish for harmony and collaboration in the theater world, emphasizing the importance of teamwork to create a successful production. Alternatively, it might hint at her vulnerability and a desire for deeper connections with others, as she tends to appear tough on the outside but is sensitive on the inside.

Considering her disdain for actors, the phrase "let's live together" might also indicate her longing for a community where egos and spotlight-hogging behavior are minimized, promoting a more supportive and cohesive environment in the theatrical world.

9. I think i already explained what i think of nicos crossword but ill explain again for you dimwits! (haha miu reference)  it's very sarcastic and oddly worded, so i tried to make it less head ace inducing but heres my raw unfiltered analysis “even if i try to think, idk! (lmao)” i think its still david being sarcastic, and he’s referring to one specific moment, when nico tried to kill ace, davids telling him he didint think and that even if he did think he’d be too blinded by rage

[pleasantspark]

Baby Daddy Zarbon - Chapter One Zarbon + Daughter! OC (Mikumi) / Zarbon x Saiyan! OC (Zucchine) Genre: Romance & Family Tropes: Enemies To Lovers, One Night Stands, Unwanted Pregnancy Part of The Baby Daddy Zarbon Series Warnings: Suggestive Content (Only for a couple chapters), Death, Offscreen Death, Zarbon and Zucchine being Assholes, Zarbon being Zarbon, Implied Child execution (Frieza WAS considering it, I say WAS, and I can't stress this enough.) AUs Utilized: Overhaul AU A/N: I am tired of fuckers asking where Mikumi's mother is, well this entire series explains EVERYTHING and why she isn't around, so y'all can shut the fuck up about it /nm /nbh

From the moment Freiza had picked her and Zarbon up, she knew they were going to compete in everything. From who was the fastest, to who can keep up their asskissing.

It was a constant back and forth between the two, with Zarbon showing off, and her retaliating back. She never liked him, especially since Frieza had said he was looking for his first elite. And that led to them trying to outdo one another for the position.

Bloodsports.

Zucchine was what you called, a Saiyan, a very proud one indeed. She would turn anything into a challenge, compared to Zarbon who preferred to be delicate and soft. You get a hot and cold situation, an up and down, left right...

You get the point.

Especially when there's a chance to be one of Frieza's respected officers on the line, this leads to being competitive. It was unclear how their mutual rivalry started but it became even bigger than before when the Elite Pickers were announced, he was only asking for one which and even stated if he needed another he would host again.

But Zucchine wanted it.

She wanted to rub it in the smug prince's face on how she won against him, everything and anything to wipe that cocky and annoying personality.

And she would SECURE it.

He wouldn't lie if he didn't say that the two fighting over a title was as pathetic as ever. It was a pointless and useless thing to him. It just meant he viewed you as worthy enough to make you his commanders. But the Monkey and Stuck up elegant prick were constantly one upping themselves. And it got on his nerves to the point where he considered making these two fight to the death for it, but to be honest, Frieza enjoyed having these idiots scramble around and try to appease him.

Atleast for a bit.

It was entertaining.

Then it got annoying real quick. And he had to step in.

"You doltheads, stop it. You need to learn to behave, and be nice to another!" Frieza snaps.

"Lord Frieza she started it!" "Lord Frieza he started it!"

They both immediately pointing fingers at one another, and Frieza just didn't care, he shook his head, and stared at them.

"Does it look like I care? Just, I don't know, GET along!?" Frieza snaps.

"Find some common ground. I don't know, talk, read? Hell even bond over killing traitors to the force! Anything besides bickering about how powerful you are!"

"I don't have anything in common with that piece of shit."

"Neither do I have with that monkey."

Something that became untrue shortly after.

Just one little incident.

It was all because of a party things changed between Zucchine and Zarbon rapidly.

It was also because of a helpful friend called Alcohol, Zarbon had a lot to drink as with Zucchine and the two began flinging insults before it gradually became flirtatious in nature.

No one was sure who landed the first kiss, because it was in the heat of the moment, but things escalated to the point of arriving to Zarbon's Quarters and having some needed fun.

By that, Zarbon showed his skill, his hands roamed her body, as he grips her hair and gave her the most delicate fuck he's given to anyone. He was experienced. And Zucchine appreciated it.

The next morning, Zucchine found her hungover and naked in the bed of Zarbon. She groaned and placed her clothes on, and didn't bother giving him an answer. Not like he needed one anyways.

She didn't regret what she did last night, not like it didn't change her opinion of Zarbon any less. She still hated him and a hate fuck was needed anyways.

What she least expected was a simple night of debauchery and sin, a no strings attached deal.

But what she got back was far more time consuming and worse than she expected.

She was livid.

She missed her period a week prior and found herself needing more and more portions to eat. This began to be an issue. She then noticed she was more fatigued.

She took a pregnancy test, and she was pregnant. She... Was upset.

She didn't remember if Zarbon used a condom or released inside her so she knew she was pregnant. She tried to figure out if he was more or less drunk then her. But couldn't.

She wondered if this was his whole entire plan this time? To get him and her piss drunk so he could impregnate her and have her drop out of the competition so he could win.

She could just as easily get rid-

No, she won't.

She would make Zarbon face his consequences of his actions, and by that. She will keep the baby and at the most inconvenient of times, drop the bombshell she is pregnant, maybe during his celebration party. Forcing him to realize he's fucked.

Yes, fuck winning. It's about humiliating him.

Zarbon read the note he was sent about 4 months ago, it was from Zucchine saying she's dropping out of the competition for the Elite Position. She said she was dropping out due to "complications that was unforeseen" and that she needed a "break from the Force."

Zarbon at first thought it was a prank. But when he stepped foot in Lord Frieza's meeting room. Frieza hired him. He told him the exact same thing that Zucchine had briefly said in the note.

He deep down was happy, but was confused on why a Saiyan like her had given up. He lived for the thrill of a battle. A challenge, a...

A rival.

A rival to keep him going, to reach new heights. So now that she was gone, he felt empty... Hollow.

He asked about her, but Frieza said she's off on a break for a couple months due to "Health reasons" and that she requested to be "alone".

Zarbon found this particularly upsetting.

But hey, he atleast got the position without any effort!

>Next Chapter

[unmecha]

OC Page Taylor

Types: Fighting/Steel/Electric/Physical Dark

Central Strats: Crit Spam, Status Synergy, Electric Terrain

Alignment: Council

“We’re headed for a brilliant future! It’s such a shame you won’t be part of it.”

           I’m gonna be honest with you this character exists because I saw the Empire femc model and immediately thought of Esdeath from Akane Ga Kill. To contrast the other 2 of the Disaster Trio, Taylor isn’t trying to become the champion to change anything—she just thinks she can do a better job of it than the current champion, a notably uncharismatic man by all accounts. It’s nice that he killed Mad King Tobias and all, but the council needs a hero with Style.

           Despite her obvious confidence and drive, Taylor’s real motives, moods, and decisions. At this point, it’s less a mask that she can use and more a filter she has to talk around. Even when she loses her cool she still keeps up the act, which is nice for not showing weakness…but she also hasn’t had an honest conversation with another human being in a very long time.

           The reason she’s worn this mask for some time is, to put it bluntly, she thinks there’s something wrong with her. As a child, she never truly developed empathy, and instead of perhaps supporting their child or helping her to kind to people without needing to empathize, Taylor’s parents and others in her life branded her as a monster. Thanks to her parents covering up any issues they might be having, most people in Tellius don’t have this coloring their first impression of her, but it certainly colors how she views the world around her.

           You see, Taylor internalized three things as a child:

1.    There are Bad People in the world (herself included) that cannot be redeemed and must be controlled or killed

2.    Only Good People (the council) can keep Bad People in check

3.    Good People are above judgement, because without them society would fall to the Bad People

TL;DR: Cop Brain

All this swirls together with a burning desire to prove herself and mental health issues that still haven’t been effectively dealt with, and it’s resulted in a ruthless and sadistic person who’s only trusted one person. And then that person staring saying weird things about Capital and The Ruling Class…

           So yeah Junko Enoshima except for she does it all for Order and Authority and Prosperity and feels guilt not for doing and saying the things she does, but enjoying them.

           If Taylor can be said to have any weaknesses in the façade she’s put up, the first and most important is pretty girls. All that “I have no emotions I’m just an awful monster that lives to hurt people” internal mindset gets a little scrambled when a woman her age gives her positive attention. In addition, because of her constant hypervigilance re: social context, she’s a little vulnerable to psyching herself out because of small gestures, but this only really comes up, again, when dealing with women. Shoutout to @grandmasickos ‘s Paulinus, the best at intentionally getting a rise out of her.

           I say intentionally because Jeanne manages to wind her up just by being around. Taylor’s constantly trying to subtly figure out her intentions, wear down her old flame, get her to come back to her side, but deep down she knows Jeanne just does not accept packages on that floor. Even when they each get out of their own heads enough to have an honest conversation, it frequently devolves to shouting because each one has a critically inability to divert from their chosen course.

           Of course, when the previous two are combined, Taylor’s reactor is like to meltdown. Paulinus has started spending time with Jeanne, finding her “cute” despite differing worldviews, and Taylor is Dead. Certain. That it’s an intentional dig and an attempt to steal her girlfriend. Which is funny, because that’s exactly what Taylor’s doing.

           Empire gives players two canon childhood friends: Alanah, who fled the country with you and returns with you at canon start, and North, who stayed behind and joined the army after graduating from the Officer’s academy you all attended. North and Alanah used to be…something, but North’s really broken up over the whole “fleeing the country” thing, so Taylor sees it as the perfect chance to snag a replacement girlfriend. Sorry North, you’re a good friend and a fellow soldier to her, but the road’s gotta be built so get out of the way or get paved over.

           Taylor’s appearance is immaculate. She mixes military styles and high fashion in almost entirely white with some black, grey, or light blue, and she’s trained enough to run in heels. She rests her pokeballs in a spring-loaded holster hanging off her belt like a sword sheath. She may or may not have an actual rapier in her bag. Test her patience and find out!

           Taylor names her pokemon after movies, companies and media franchises, especially ones that are either excessively mainstream, have been involved in scandals, or were fictitious from the start. For example, her starter Clobbopus looks kind of like a superhero, so it’s called “The MCU”.

           As for her actual taste in pokemon, I envision her as specializing in Steel, Electric, and Fighting types, using the reworked High-Powered Terrain (+1 to all crit ratios, electric moves x1.5) to consistently deliver powerful hits and rip enemy teams apart. She also makes use of new crit-focused abilities like Duelist (+1 def/spdef on crit) and Sadist (attacks on “compromised” targets always crit) as well as a few technician mons. “Compromised” is almost any status condition, and she always carries lots of ways to apply it, whether through toxic spikes (something Jeanne notably doesn’t use due to it interfering with her sleep powders), direct paralysis, or more esoteric stuff like Tormet+Encore to force her opponent to Struggle. She also uses certain crit-centric dark types, but physical-only due to the nature of Night Slash and her breakup with Special Dark Specialist Jeanne. Commonly used mons include Farfetchd (HelloFresh), Alolan Raichu (Creatures, Inc), Scimenco (Pinkerton), and Murkrow (Goncharov)

           Also if you use a pokemon she’s designated as “hers” she’s gonna be really petty about it. This mostly comes up in the context of Jeanne’s Zangoose (normal fighting, has crit synergy via Cross Chop and other moves), or Jeanne’s few electric types, like Electrode and Togedemaru.

           If Taylor can be said to have a weakness, that weakness is women. Jeanne is of course a massive source of grief and frustration, but even outside of that Taylor’s desire to be desired and general Yuri Yearning lead her to slip up or alter her original plans just to try and take care of the women around her. This doesn’t override her cop brain entirely, so she’s mostly fine early on, but there are later events that take that small fracture in her heart and smash it open with a hammer.

           Alright and that’s Taylor! TBQH her and Jeanne are probably my favorite pokemon OCs, there’s so much wrong with them and the plot of Empire gives me a lot to work with. Next up is Alexandria, but I don’t have as much to say about her. What I will say is she really does a great job of covering up the terminal case of shit idiot brain fungus!

[gutouhua]

title. suffocate me. drugged & under the influence!pantalone x f. reader. rating. explicit. tags. face-sitting, drugs, alcohol, hickeys/love marks. a face-sitting writing exercise for a face-sitting scene in my shrine master’s bride fic :D not edited

"sit on my face."

you startle and turn to face the man, a retort already on your lips until you catch sight of his glossy, starstruck eyes and half-parted lips, slick with something burgundy and bittersweet. you roll your eyes.

pantalone had gotten himself drugged up again and was drinking his favorite ruby port wine. you sniff the air around him lightly, catching something sickly sweet -- you couldn't be sure if it was the drugs or alcohol -- as he stumbles into your arms, nearly knocking your smaller frame over.

"what did i say about testing drugs on yourself, pantalone?"

"it's for research, babe. you know." he sneaks two hands under and up the hem of your shirt, lighting sparks up your spine as he gives you a wolfish grin. "research."

"i know research," you say exasperated despite the fact that his touch already has you squirming. "but it's not good to constantly be doing it, and especially, ah--"

he looks up at you, eyes bright and wide in innocence as if he didn't just leave the biggest, darkest hickey on your neck. you groan internally; the other fatui are gonna have a ball making fun of you tomorrow when they see the fat kiss mark.

"n-not there, baby," you fist your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him off your neck like you'd do to an errant puppy who wouldn't stop licking your face.

to your surprise, he stops. then he lifts you up, carrying you over to the bed, steady, like he doesn't have a single drop of drugs or liquor in his blood right now, and plops you down before laying down himself. he makes himself comfortable, rests his head on a fluffy, down pillow as you stare at him confused before he says, "come here, sweetheart."

so you do, inching closer to him until he's close enough to hook you by the waist and pull your panties down from your dress in an efficiency that belied his intoxicated state.

"i--what--"

"sit on me," he rasps.

you're confused. even more confused then when he talks to you about his latest experiments, but what makes you even more confused is his next sentence.

"sit on my face, darling."

"what?" you ask, shocked. "why? but i'll suffocate you."

"you won't," he groans, pulling you close to his face and already helping you maneuver your legs on each side of his body. "please, we've never done it before. do it for me and if not for me then for the research, babe, please."

it's hard to say no when he whines so prettily and who are you to resist him? "i'll do it," you mumble, "but it's for you. not because it's for research or anything, okay?"

"yes, yes, of course," he holds your hips steady as you lower yourself, trying to not feel self-conscious about the whole ordeal. you have to remind yourself that he's probably a little bit too far gone to see all your imperfections, but the fact is that it still bothers you a tiny bit and what if this position gives him a different view that makes him think you're--

tears threaten to spill when he tongues your clit, the sudden sensation and weight from your body nearly making you scramble away from the intensity. pantalone hums when he hears you, pleased, and you can feel the vibrations all the way to your core.

"n-not-ah--not so fast, slow down--" you gasp, breath ragged against the back of your hand.

but pantalone does the exact opposite of what you ask, licking up and down your folds with an almost frenzied passion while he keeps his hands on both sides of your hips to hold you steady as your make tiny jerks above him.

"like this?" he grins against your slick folds, knowing how finely attuned you are to his every movement.

"i-ah--" you cut off before you can respond when he flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit in quick succession, eliciting a sweet, satisfying whimper from you.

pantalone could get used to this, he thinks, having you writhe so erotically above him, hearing your sharp moans, and licking your pretty wet cunt. you were so mesmerizing, so delicious when you gave in to your pleasure that not even the drugs nor alcohol could dampen your taste on his lips.

"'m-i'm close, baby," you pant, "please, i--"

"wanna cum?" he murmurs.

you nod, pointing teary eyes at him. you can feel it coming by the way your stomach twists into itself, the ache in your thighs, and how you have to struggle to keep up with what he's saying.

"then cum."

so you do. it comes quickly, so fast and all at once that you have to clench your thighs together to ease the sensation, almost suffocating him in the process. when you finally come to, he helps you move from his face to his chest, scooting you back until you can sit comfortably on him.

"did it feel good, baby?" he grins lazily at you, eyes still a bit glossy.

"yes," you mutter, almost petulantly. "but i haven't forgotten about your drug testing and alcohol. and besides!" you poke his hard chest, trying to ignore the satisfied look on his face. "i could've suffocated you!"

"you are welcome to suffocate me anytime you want, sweetheart. it would be my absolute pleasure."

[philliamwrites]

pairing: Eren x fem! Reader x Armin

warnings: ‼️18 +, minors do NOT interact‼️, threesome, penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (fem. receiving), aftercare, name calling (baby, cum bucket like once but affectionately because it’s eren)

a/n: reuploading because tumblr is mean to me again. the sequel to this one, but ngl unfortunately not as good bcs i let too much time pass. i’ll do better next time! enjoy!

Eren is a great friend.

Sure, sometimes he forgets birthdays and asks about things people have told him multiple times already. Memes are his love language, and he’s still waiting for Historia to unblock his number after his response to her almost breaking up with Ymir was ‘That’s so sad, Alexa play Despacito.’

Yet still, Eren is a great friend, because he’s known Armin has had a crush on you since forever, and to you, Armin is one of your most favourite people—right after him of course—so naturally, Eren has always encouraged you to dive into your little fantasies. Everyone assumes Eren is possessive and yes, he is, but he is also very, very much in love with you (he’s a true simp, what can he say) and if what you need to be fucked dumb is Armin involved, who is Eren to say No. That is what makes him the best partner.

What makes him a great friend is that he knows Armin is still a virgin, and it’s finally time to change that.

“First time for everyone,” Eren says, patting your quivering knee affectionately. When you throw him a mean, tear-glazed glare, he digs his nails into your warm thigh. “Makes it less scary, doesn’t it?”

“Shut,” you say, lifting your hips, fingers clawing at Armin’s shoulders. His cock drags along your tight walls, catches at your tight rim that milks his tip before you slide back down until he’s balls deep inside you. “Up.”

Eren takes a quick glance at Armin to see if he’s sharing your attitude, but he’s on cloud nine, his expression one of pure bliss: eyes squeezed shut, his round cheeks flushed red like ripe apples. A tiny drop of sweat runs down his temple and Eren feels the overwhelming urge to lean over and lick it up.

“How’s she doing, Armin?” he purrs, allowing his broad hand to wander up Armin’s shaking thighs. His fingers graze Armin’s heavy, tight balls, and the light touch has Armin throw back his head, throat bobbing as he swallows. “She treating you well?”

“’S so .. so good.” Heart eyes trailing over your face, Armin’s hands scramble for purchase on your tits, your thighs, your ass. He’s so overwhelmed, the feeling of his sensitive shaft being engulfed by tight, wet, pulsing walls is better than he could have ever imagined. It’s like you’re trying desperately to milk him for all he’s worth, to hold his dick captive within the confines of your velvety, warm insides.

“Yeah, yeah she’s always doing so good.” Eren’s pats your knee and gives your shoulder a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “Could put a little more work into it though. Don’t start slacking off now, babe.” He digs his fingers into your soft skin, eyes glued to where you’re connected to Armin.

You level him with a glare, one that does a poor job delivering your annoyance with him because it’s difficult to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head whenever Armin’s leaking tip presses a hard kiss against your cervix. He’s by no means as big as Eren, but for someone who’s never had sex before, he makes it up with desperate roles of his hips, little sharp thrusts that are unrelenting in their pursuit to make you drown in pleasure.

Especially now that his blunt tip is constantly grazing the bundle of nerves inside you, it’s hard to focus on anything despite the jolts it sends up your spine, the core of pleasure just below your belly growing tighter and tighter.

You try to find hold around Armin’s shoulders, your mouth hanging wide open. Armin is wearing a mirror expression of your own, looking unfairly adorable with the drool sticking to the corners of his beautiful, kiss-swollen mouth.

Lost in the thought of how pretty he is, so adorable that you simply want to devour him, your tempo falters, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing quiet as your hips take a break and you lean forward to drink up all the pretty moans and groans Armin grants you from his lips.

A warm chest presses against your back. Eren nips at your neck, teeth grazing the soft, heated skin. “Look at him, Armin’s so fucked out because of you,” he mumbles, voice deep and throaty and sweet like honey. His broad hands grip your waist, fingers digging painfully into your skin. “But don’t you stop now, you hear,” he demands, lifting you up only to slam you back down, getting split open by Armin’s dick. You throw your head back, stars exploding behind your closed eyes. His lips pressed against the shell of your ear, Eren’s voice sounds strained. “You’re not done yet, baby. You gotta make him cum. You gotta make him cum for the first time inside a pussy.”

Armin shakes under you, the pleasure overwhelming and too much. Everything he’s ever dreamt of is right in front of his eyes, so close and ready to touch. He lets Eren move you on top of him as he pleases, allows his own curious hands to roam your supple body, digs his fingers into wherever your soft skin gives under his touch. They find your tits, your perked nipples and his mouth waters, he needs them in his mouth, he needs to give them kitten-licks and love-bites since there are no words in this world that will suffice to convey how much he loves you, your body, your mind, so all that is left for him to do is let his actions speak, repay your kindness by making you feel good.

If Armin can make you cum, he can die a happy man.

That thought alone, that the pleasure you receive is his doing, that the cock currently stirring up your insides is his, shoots an electric bolt of pleasure through him that makes his toes curl against the mattress.

“I—I’m so close,” he whines, and hopes Eren understands what he’s beginning for; hopes you will finally give him the sweet, sweet release he’s been craving for ever since he’s heard Eren fuck you in the other room two days ago.

“You hear? He’s close.” Eren holds your hips still as Armin thrusts his up in a vicious pace, eyes shut tightly, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes as he batters into your sensitive, swollen cunt. “He’s so close, you can’t leave him hanging, okay? You’ll take everything he gives you, okay? Make him cum, make Armin cum inside you.”

Eren’s demand has your back arching, Armin crying out desperately. You’re barely aware that you’re mumbling incoherent sentences, jumbled words that first say “Hmm no, not inside” first, and then at the slightest change of angle of Armin’s dick, you plead “I want you so bad, Armin, please fill me up.”

Armin’s grip on you is painful, desperate. “I—I shouldn’t,” he whimpers, but he doesn’t slow down, keeps hammering his weeping dick inside your cunt.

“Yes. Do it.” You barely recognise Eren’s voice, so full of lust, desire, desperation. His dick, hard and hot, slides against your ass in short, quick thrusts. “She loves it. Loves being a cum bucket.”

You groan. Or Armin groans. Or maybe it is Eren, or all three of you at the same time. Your hands scramble to hold onto something, find Armin’s waiting and you entangle them, holding tight onto each other as you’re about to come undone.

“But you have to ask her properly, Amin,” Eren continues, hooking his chin over your shoulder to watch Armin’s face drunk with pleasure. “Come on, ask her.”

Armin’s beautiful baby blue eyes rivet on you. His tongue darts out and you watch with fascination how it swipes over his bottom lip, leaving a wet, glossy trail. “C-can I cum inside you? P-please.”

“Yes! Yes, please, please, please do it. Cum inside me, Armin.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His whole body shakes when he feels you squirm, beg, demand for him—it’s all too much too quick. The well of pleasure quickly builds inside him. Head swelling, he feels his cock grow more sensitive quick, pulse by pulse, thrust by eager thrust, his tight grip onto your hands erratic and needy, all he can do is whine and whimper as his thickening length pumps a last few times into you before settling deep, followed quickly by burst after burst of spreading heat in his stomach, able to follow its trail from his tensing balls past your thoroughly-fucked entrance, then jetting deep in your guts.

Eren yanks your hips down, not allowing a single drop to spill as your whole body shakes; legs quiver, toes cramp up, pussy pulsing and milking Armin so hard you curl over him, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as overwhelming torrents of pleasure wreck your body.

Your hips still rock gently against him, your pussy his home now, and you entangle your fingers from his only to lift them and wipe the tears from his soft cheeks, to kiss him and tell him what a great job he did and “Thank you, thank you, you were so great.”

Something inside Eren’s heart swells at the sight of it, his best friend and you together and so soft with each other. His arm circles around your waist, lifts you and he grins cheekily at the little surprised yelp from you when he quickly jams two fingers inside you to stop Armin’s cum from leaking out.

“Why so surprised?” He laughs, turning you around so your back is pressed against Armin’s rapidly rising and falling chest. He manhandles you so easily as if you are nothing but a ragdoll and alignes your swollen, still sensitive entrance once more with Armin’s slick-glistening, soft shaft.

“E-Eren, wait,” Armin protests weakly, throwing his head back and swallowing another grunt as Eren pushes his spent, overstimulated dick back inside your warm folds, now drenched in his cum.

“She can give us one more,” Eren says, and the way he talks about you as if you’re not there, as if you don’t have any say in how much they can use you makes your walls clench once more. Armin curses, his hands finding your bruise-littered hips but he doesn’t make a move to pull you off.

Eren leans over your shoulder, pressing his forehead against Armin’s. “You were so good,” he mumbles, bumping their noses against each other. He gives Armin a slow, intense kiss, all tongue and teeth but with no hurry at all. “Good boy.”

Armin’s face, where it presses right against the side of yours, grows hot. You can feel his dick give a weak twitch inside you.

He is so putty in Eren’s hands, allowing him to move one of his hands to your ass, spreading one cheek slightly, the other circles around the hook of your right knee, lifting it up until it’s pressed against your tit, giving Eren a full view of Armin and you connected, your swollen pussy stretching around him.

“And you,” he finally says to you, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your chin. “Did such a great job as well, making Armin feel good.” Eren leans away from you, looking down at your stretched pussy. He gives his dick, still hard and an angry red, a few quick, desperate pumps, shuffling closer against you until he can tap the blunt, leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“Think we can both fit?”

Your body reacts in an instant, clenching hard around Armin. He tightens his hold around you, groaning.

“Maybe next time,” Eren continues, eyes glued to your cunt mouthing at Armin, still milking him, demanding more more more, “next time when Armin fucks you, I’ll bully my fingers inside you. Train you to take two cocks at some point.”

He drags his cock over your wet pussy a few more times, allows his tip to press gently against your hole. Eren can already feel it, how easily his cock would pop inside you, your cunt tugging his ridge, so thirsty for him, how amazing it would feel to be pressed right against your walls and Armin’s dick.

Eren bends over and sticks his tongue out, flat, so your hips roll your pussy right against him, making your clit hump his tongue, dragging it sharply over it. Your legs involuntarily squirm, kicking lightly nowhere and your toes trying to curl onto anything they could. Your fingers rake through his hair, pull and tug because you need him closer.

Eren jerks himself off while you get off on his tongue for a second orgasm, tight walls imprisoning and holding Armin’s dick like a vice as he whines at the overstimulation, fingernails dragging over the back of your thigh.

Quickly, Eren rises and smashes his mouth against yours where you taste him, yourself, Armin, making it so messy because he whispers “I love you, I love,” while trying to shove his tongue inside your mouth. He cums all over your pussy, presses his pulsing, jerking tip right against your hole right next to Armin’s shaft so his cum mixes with Armin’s inside you.

A moment of rest settles over the room. You catch your breaths, allow your lust-fogged minds to return to the present. Eren pushes himself off you, helps you lift your exhausted body off Armin and you all three watch in fascination the pool of cum leaking from your used hole.

Eren whistles. Armin cries out like a hurt animal and dives for the box of tissues on your nightstand, hurrying to clean you up. “Sorry, oh God, I’m so so sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—” Though he really did. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Armin, it’s fine,” you say, flopping into your back and ready to dose off for a couple minutes. “It felt amazing, really. I wanted it.”

His eyes catch yours for a second before they return to the task at hand and you feel goosebumps rise up your arms at how gently he opens your legs to clean you. “Okay,” he says so quietly you almost don’t hear him, “I’ll give you more next time.”

Heat crawls up your face. “Next time?”

You look over at Eren who’s leaning against the wall, already reaching for his phone to fulfil his promise at the beginning of all this and order some pizza. He wiggles his eyebrows and makes grabby hands at you, grinning. “Next time.”

[echo-of-sounds]

their type

Headcanons on what Aizawa's, Toshinori's, and Hizashi's types are. Part two (with Tai, Kugo, Ryo, and Vlad) is coming either tomorrow or Wednesday.

Ah, it's been so long since I posted something! I'm so sorry.

And before people send in asks like, "You said X. Does that mean he wouldn't be interested in Y?", I want to clarify that these are just their general types/what they're usually attracted to. It doesn't mean they would never be interested in people who don't fall within these lines.

Aizawa Shouta

Quiet. Calm. Relaxed. Shouta needs someone who isn’t constantly running in circles and stressing him more. So much of his day is spent around big personalities and scrambling, excitable teenagers that he’d have trouble with someone who is exactly like that all the time. He needs time to unwind.

Sho needs someone understanding of him and his personality. He’s gruff, a bit odd at times, and not a conversationalist. Many don’t think of those traits when picturing their ‘perfect partner.’ He isn’t into PDA. He doesn’t want to change how he dresses. He doesn’t like getting forced into a lot of activities, especially if you surprise him with them. Don’t keep trying to hold his hand or invade his space or pressure him to dress a certain way. If you can’t respect who he is and what he’s comfortable with, he’s going to get fed up quickly, and he isn’t afraid to end the relationship if his wants and needs aren’t being respected.

Mothering, to a certain extent, is attractive to him. Now, he doesn’t expect you to do all the housework, clean his clothes, and have dinner on the table every night. He’s an adult. He knows his responsibilities and what should be shared when in a relationship. But when someone thinks of things he doesn’t do due to stress and exhaustion, it makes his heart just a bit lighter. Slip a protein bar into his gym bag. Bring him water when he’s on a grading spree. Throw a sweatshirt over his shoulders just before he leaves. The small things add up.

You need to have independence. His job hours are in no way ideal. They’re difficult for him and the people in his life. And so, he can’t be bothered with a partner who can’t take care of themselves. You must be able to function alone and make decisions by yourself. You’re an adult, and he isn’t your babysitter.

Honestly, the simplest one is: just be kind. Hold the door open for someone. Ask others if they need help. Show that you care for others and yourself. While he may not admit it, he thinks compassion and thoughtfulness are some of the most attractive things a person can do and be. The world is hard. That makes being kind even harder. And he respects those that make a sincere effort to do it.

Attitudes, impatience, whininess, and overt sarcasm are four things Shouta does not tolerate. He can handle them to an extent. Restlessness and feeling fidgety (Hizashi is his closest friend after all) are understandable, and he’s no stranger to the occasional snarky retort and brashness. But he cannot and will not deal with people who constantly pout, put their importance above others, and act immature. Don’t backtalk every little thing because you can. It’s rude. Don’t stomp your foot when you don’t get everything you want. Don’t whine because plans changed. Yes, it sucks. But don’t act a fool.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshinori isn’t put off by any specific personalities or characteristics. His job required, and still requires to a certain extent, a high level of tolerance for every type of person out there. And he’s gotten plenty of hugs and compliments from fans and praise from the media, but none of that is what he wants: intimacy. He wants someone who can provide him with trust, warmth, adoration, concern, and understanding, and he wants to give all of that back tenfold. He wants to confide in someone at night. He wants affection. He just wants love.

When it comes to appearances, femininity is very attractive to him. It doesn’t matter your gender; soft colors (specifically pinks, purples, and creams), lace, frills, and florals always catch his eye. Delicate necklaces, especially when they highlight your collarbones, and charming hairstyles also draw his attention. Other than that, he’s open-minded. Quirks provide a wide range of appearances, and so doesn’t individual taste. He’s acceptive of everyone’s differences.

In terms of romance, he does tend to find himself gravitating towards more tender-hearted, genuine people. His life has been exhausting, filled with overbearing personalities who are ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Those who are softer, calmer — who just want to spend a few days relaxing on a quiet beach or spend their weekend indoors, watching movies — are beyond refreshing after a career such as his.

Passion and ambition are beautiful. Even if you struggle along the way to your goal, have bumps, and think of giving up, but you keep going, is everything he wants to see in someone. Toshi wants to hear your flurry when you prattle on about your favorite topic. He wants to see your excitement when you get a new book or puzzle or whatever interests you. It doesn’t matter how ‘lame’ it is to others. Be ecstatic. Life is too short to not appreciate and indulge your interests and goals.

Being a listener is a must. If you can’t take the time to sit down and just listen, the relationship will never work. He knows you aren’t a therapist there to solve all his problems. He wants someone he can trust in with the difficult parts of life. His body isn’t healthy, and it’s only getting worse. Anxiety, nightmares, eating troubles plague him every day. The future, his life, isn’t guaranteed into the coming years. If you can listen, be there when he opens up, support him when he cries, it’d mean the world to him. Be his confidante. He doesn’t have anyone else.

To go along with that, communication between you two is equally as important. You don’t have to send daily reports spanning five pages. Toshi is just looking for someone willing to be open and share their feelings with him. If you had a bad day, tell him about it. If you can’t respond with words, emojis are just fine. Don’t hide from him. Let him be a part of your world like you're a part of his.

Yamada Hizashi

It’s so easy for Hizashi to get along with many different people. Grumpy, bouncy, sarcastic, or quiet? He’s able to be your friend. What really captures his attention is when people show interest in his work/hobbies, especially music. Ask a few questions and he’ll be blabbering on for hours.

For appearances, he has an interest in distinct hairstyles. If you experiment with colors, style your hair in cool ways, or just look different in some way, his eyes are following you down the street. Piercings and tattoos are also up there. Industrial ear, septum, and nipple piercings are his favorites. Sleek or distinctively designed tattoos are sexy to him. He just appreciates those with unique and altered appearances.

One big trait he looks for is adventurous — including sexually adventurous. Hizashi is mentally and physically regularly on the go. He needs someone who can keep up. He wants to try new foods, visit new places, go to concerts, attempt skydiving, possibly scuba diving, and maybe move when he’s older. And sometimes, a simple day at the zoo or beach is alright too. You don’t need to go with him everywhere. If you can’t make one or two adventures, he understands. All he really asks for is your support. Don’t chide him, call him childish, or berate him for wasting money.

Kind of going along with sexually adventurous, physical touch is also needed in his relationships. Cuddling, touching, and sex are important to him; he’s a physical guy, and it comes out in many ways. He knows everyone has different comfort levels of snuggling. And he understands if you two don’t jump into sex right away. Some people need time for various reasons. However, if you never want to cuddle and/or have sex, then he’s going to struggle. Physical touch is an incredibly important part of a relationship with him. He craves it, and if he can’t get it from his partner, then he’s going to end things.

Creativity! Hizashi recognizes and loves all forms of innovation and artistry. Baking, painting, writing, sewing, dancing (which he finds all styles incredibly beautiful), design, photography, and, most important to him, music! It doesn’t matter if you only dabble in it. Simply using your imagination to create something from nothing is engaging.

Hizashi typically finds it easier to understand and be understood by other neurodivergent people. ADHD is difficult to manage. It isn’t cute or quirky. He’s learned to hide and cope with most of the symptoms, but the inattention and hyperactivity are there every day, and they affect every part of his life. He needs someone who understands them — someone who won’t get angry when he asks you to repeat yourself seven times or frustrated when he’s a bit too jittery and annoying.

Take care of spiders and bugs for him.

[starryhyuck]

mark! (m)

pairing: dom!mark x sub!reader x dom!yuta

words: 2.2k+

summary: mark is scared of stepping out of his comfort zone with you. therefore, you enlist yuta’s help to get your boyfriend a little more comfortable.

genre: smut

warnings: threesome (kind of), anal sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, breeding kink

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

You sigh. “Mark, stop being such a scaredy cat.”

The frown on his face is positively adorable. You want to squeeze his cheeks so badly. “I’m not a scaredy cat!” He protests, but it only makes him look more soft.

You giggle and press a kiss to his lips. “Whatever you say. Besides, Yuta won’t be back for a while. I don’t know why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared!” He argues again, eyebrows furrowing together in the most adorable way. “I just- this is Yuta’s bed. It’s kind of impolite to be doing anything on a place where he sleeps.”

You sigh. “Mark, I think we both know what kind of a person Yuta is. I’m pretty sure he would do the exact same thing on your bed.”

His nose scrunches as the thought passes through him.

“Ew. I didn’t need that visual.”

You flop down on Yuta’s comforter before bringing Mark with you. He’s still very reluctant, despite connecting your lips together. You try easing him up, hands moving over his shoulders as you pull him closer and closer.

Your sex life with Mark was always more than satisfying, but he was constantly scared to take risks. Being an exhibitionist yourself and considering how shy Mark could get, it was really difficult to get your boyfriend to even hold your hand in front of the other members, let alone kiss you. You’ve tried on more than one occasion to suck him off at the dinner table, but he was always too on edge that someone would walk in.

To combat your curiosity, you enlisted Yuta’s help.

Your eyes carefully watch the door as Mark’s tongue explores your mouth. Yuta stares through the small opening, watching you with a heavy glare.

You giggle into the kiss and Mark eases up a little at the sound. Your fingers dance around his neck as you pull him closer and closer, observing as Yuta casually walks into the room. Mark is too lost in you to notice.

After letting you make out for a few more minutes, Yuta finally clears his throat. You swear Mark jumps five feet in the air and scrambles away from you. His whole face is flushed pink at the sight of Yuta, quickly stuttering to provide an excuse.

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “And what were you two doing exactly?”

You blink innocently. “What do you mean?”

He smirks at your act. You’re still sprawled out on his bed, hair tangled from Mark’s fingers messily running through it. Yuta wonders how pretty you would look with his cock sliding in your mouth, beautiful lips eager to taste him. He leans closer to your frame, ignoring Mark’s surprise at his older member’s proximity to his girlfriend.

“I mean you and Mark trying to fuck on my bed.”

“W-We’re sorry, Y-Yuta!” Mark frantically says. “W-We just- I just-“

Yuta chuckles, and the deep sound shoots straight to your core.

“It’s fine, Mark. You weren’t putting on much of a show anyways. Why haven’t you touched her?”

Mark looks like his brain is going on overdrive. “W-What?”

Yuta’s fingers graze over your exposed thigh. He picked out the skirt you were wearing for this occasion, knowing it would make Mark incredibly flustered.

“Why haven’t you touched her? That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

You quickly nod. “It’s what I want. Touch me, Yuta, please.”

Yuta grins, his eyes darting back to Mark’s. “Can I, Mark?”

You think your boyfriend is really broken. He’s nervously twitching, shaking his head as he tries to gather his thoughts. You decide to give him a little break.

“I thought Yuta could help us out a little, Mark. I asked him to come so we can have more fun.”

Yuta nods. “If you’re uncomfortable, Mark, I can leave.”

The silence in the air is deafening. Mark finally clears his throat. “Can you show m-me how you do it?”

Yuta smirks. “Do what, exactly?”

The blush fully appears on Mark’s cheeks again. “Um, how you eat her out.”

Your eyes widen. You were definitely not expecting him to say that. Yuta’s smirk widens at the request.

“Definitely. Sit down and watch.”

Yuta’s staring at your clothed core in no time, playing with the hem of your skirt. He chuckles when he sees your choice of underwear.

“Lace,” he hums playfully, snapping the elastic against your skin as you squeak. “Do you always wear such pretty panties for Mark?”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “I have prettier ones in his top drawer.”

“I’d love to see them some time, doll.”

You eagerly watch as Yuta pulls down your panties, making a show as his hands slowly caress your thighs. He throws the pair of red lace to Mark, who easily catches it and groans. Yuta yanks up your skirt so he can fully gaze at your exposed cunt.

He chuckles. “You should be nicer to her, Mark. She’s got such a pretty pussy.”

You moan when his fingers play with your folds, goosebumps spreading across your skin. You quickly learn that Yuta is a tease, patient as he touches you.

“Please, Yuta,” you beg, wanting him to do something already.

His smile appears again. “What is it, doll? What do you need?”

“Need your mouth,” you whine. “And your fingers.”

You’re already turning into a blubbering mess. Mark, on the other hand, could not be more nervous. He finds this whole situation incredibly arousing, but also dangerously intimidating. He wonders if Yuta will be better than him, and if you’ll like Yuta way more than you like him. All thoughts are thrown out the window when Yuta’s tongue takes a lick up your slit. Your moans shoot straight to Mark’s hardened cock, and Mark has no doubt in his mind that he could cum in his pants right now.

He takes silent notes as Yuta teases you, never fully giving you what you want and watching as you continue to beg for him. Yuta slips a finger into your hole and you cry out, your body reacting to every single touch.

Yuta’s gaze returns to Mark. “See? She likes it when you don’t go too fast. Draw it out, make her beg.”

Mark swallows at the sudden lessons. He’s always been really quick with you, never letting you wait this long.

“Yuta, please, please,” you continue to whimper, hands reaching for him. Yuta is quick to silence you, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Be a good girl and I’ll reward you. No touching until I say so.”

You nod in submission. Mark’s eyes zero in on Yuta’s tongue exploring your folds, finger slowly pushing in and out of your weeping pussy. Mark swears he’s never heard you this wet before, the squelch of Yuta’s finger entering you echoing throughout the room. When Yuta adds a second finger, you almost lose it.

“Please please, Yuta, I want to cum. Please let me cum,” you cry.

“That’s up to Mark,” he states, and the younger boy freezes. “Can she cum, Mark?”

Your eyes are glistening with tears as you stare at your boyfriend. You whimper when Yuta furiously begins eating you out, your orgasm dangerously approaching.

“Wait, wait, wait-“

“Give her the signal, Mark,” Yuta instructs, attacking your pussy with his tongue and fingers.

Mark waits until you’re right on the edge, seconds away from sobbing. He walks over and leans down until he’s whispering in your ear.

“Cum, pretty girl.”

You fall apart, clutching your boyfriend’s arm as you clench around Yuta’s fingers. He helps you ride out your high, licking up any remnants of your orgasm.

You blearily come to your senses after that mind numbing climax, Yuta and Mark discussing quietly. There’s a faint ringing sound in your ears until Mark cups your cheeks.

“Okay?”

You giggle. “Okay.”

He laughs at your delirious state.

“Does she always get like that?” Yuta questions.

“Only when it’s really good,” he replies. His focus turns back to you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

You giggle again. “Okay.”

He smiles fondly at you, and butterflies swell in your chest like they always do when Mark smiles at you like that.

“Make it rough,” Yuta chimes in. “I want to see her really cry.”

You’re flipped onto your stomach in no time, Mark’s fingers threading your ass. Yuta’s taken a seat not far from the bed, switching roles with Mark as he watches you this time. Mark’s thumb gently grazes over your other hole and you gasp.

Yuta’s voice is full of curiosity. “She likes it there?”

“Sometimes.” He pauses before making a decision. “Can I fuck you here, baby?”

“Yes, Mark, please.”

You can practically hear his grin. “Okay.”

Yuta tosses him the bottle of lube he keeps in his nightstand, and Mark quickly preps you. You moan when he fingers you, scissoring and stretching you to make sure you’re ready to take him.

You and Mark rarely do anal, mostly because he’s always afraid of hurting you. You know now, though, that he wants to put on a good show for Yuta.

Once you’re prepped enough, you feel the tip of his cock circling your hole. You both groan when he sinks the tip in. Unlike the other times, Mark doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He pushes into you roughly.

You cry at the intrusion, already feeling the first batch of tears painting your cheeks. Around this time, Mark usually pulls out and apologizes, checking if you’re okay. He’s turned into a completely different person in front of Yuta.

You grip the sheets as Mark relentlessly pounds into you, stretching you harder than he has before. It isn’t painful at all because even though Mark is rough with you, he always knows how to make you feel good.

You’re incoherently blubbering for him. “Y-Yes, feels so good. Feels s-so good, baby. Such a big cock inside my small little hole. So good, so good.”

Mark grunts, fingers tangling into your hair again. “Yeah? You like it when I fuck your tight little hole? You like making a show for Yuta?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob.

You can barely make out Yuta’s figure as he grows closer to you, wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

“Aren’t you such a pretty sight? Really selfish of Mark to keep you all to himself.”

Mark pinches your clit and you scream, diving headfirst into your second orgasm. Mark hisses as you clench even harder around him, pulling you as close as possible before shooting his cum deep inside you. You both release little moans as you recover.

Yuta laughs when you both are done. You swear you could pass out right now and sleep for at least twenty four hours straight.

The ringing sound echoes in your ears again as Mark and Yuta quietly converse once more. You whimper when Mark pulls out of you, his cum dripping down your thigh.

“Baby?” Mark’s voice pulls you out of your reverie. “Yuta wants to ask you something.”

You blink as Mark gently flips you on your back again. Yuta’s eyes grow darker.

“Are you on the pill?”

You nod.

“Can I try something?”

You nod again.

Mark leaves you to go get cleaned up and you observe as Yuta pulls his cock out, tip leaking and begging for attention. He runs his hand up and down his shaft for a few times before lining up with your pussy.

“Can I?”

You nod again, feeling too tired to form words. You gasp when Yuta pushes in, his cock much thicker than Mark’s.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes focusing on how his cock disappears into your cunt. “So fucking perfect.”

He builds up a steady rhythm, and you finally understand what he wanted to try when he’s balls deep inside of you.

“Gonna breed you, doll. Gonna stuff my cum into your cunt until you’re dripping. Would you like that? Walking around with cum dripping out of both of your holes?”

You openly cry at his filthy words, clenching harder around him.

“Oh, pretty doll likes that. You think I’d never notice how many times you’ve tried to get Mark to fuck you while we’re eating dinner? How many times you’ve sat on his lap in the dressing rooms and tried to get him to fuck you in front of us? Naughtily little slut.”

“Yuta, Yuta,” you gasp, your third orgasm of the night building. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Want to cum? Why don’t you cum for me then? Show Mark why he should be more protective of his girl.”

You follow his command, seeing white as you cum again. Yuta’s right behind you, still hissing dirty confessions.

“Always wondered what it was like to see you stuffed full of cum. Pretty little girl, just waiting to be bred all the time. Practically made to take cock.”

He growls and with a few more snaps of his hips, he shoots his cum deep inside you. You whine as his warmth fills you, Mark’s cum still leaking out of your other hole.

You feel absolutely used when Yuta pulls away from you. You didn’t even notice Mark had entered the room again until he starts cleaning you up. You smile sleepily at him.

“I hope that was okay.”

He presses a kiss to your lips. “More than okay. Get some rest, I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As you slowly drift off to sleep, you faintly hear Yuta say, “We should do that again, I could die a happy man in your girlfriend’s cunt.”

[workofheart]

promise

levi never thought he could have a peaceful night’s rest until he found himself in your arms

requested by: @thecaptainsbride​ 

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, canonverse, establishing domesticity

a/n: we had levi comforting reader, and now we have reader comforting levi :’) in terms of the request, i altered the timeline a bit but i think it still captures what you were going for! enjoy u guys <3

Levi isn’t used to letting people into his space.

In this line of work, he’s learned to be careful of the people he trusts to see his life from the inside. Not only to retain the secrecy and plans of the Scouts, but to protect his well being when he is so surrounded by death and destruction. A heart can only break so many times before it fails to beat at all.

That’s why, when the night comes when he finally decides to let you stay over, he’s tense. He observes your every step, unsure if he’s nervous or embarrassed or scared. It’s not skepticism, he knows, because he does trust you. You’re the only person he could possibly imagine him letting get so close to him with all that he’s experienced. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let you enter in the first place; so for once, he’s going to have faith his own judgment.

You slowly pace around his room, peeking at the knick knacks Levi has accumulated over the span of his life so far. He has quite the array of stationary arranged neatly on his desk, and a curated assortment of pens and ink to choose from. Worn, loved books line the shelves of the wooden case, small pieces of paper poking out from the top. A nimble finger traces over the cracked spine of one with a faded green cover.

“Can I?” you ask, turning over your shoulder to see him. Levi is sitting on the edge of his bed, palms pressed tightly to his thighs. He takes a deep breath and nods gently in response, dark strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

You carefully tilt the spine towards you and pluck it from its spot. Flipping through the pages, you can see how Levi has diligently underlined, highlighted, and starred the passages. Small notes in his delicate handwriting decorate the margins with definitions and insightful observations. This book has been well read, and you’re sure the others are just the same.

His room is fairly bare for how long it’s been his home, but how much of a home is it really if he’s always on the move with the scouts? Constantly between hotels, barracks, abandoned homes, or whatever else the world throws at them next, he hasn’t had time to make the space livable. They’re never in one place too long - this is more like a headquarters to come back to after the day is done. And for Levi, the day is rarely done, even when the sun has set and the sky turns dark.

It’s strange, but he almost likes having you here. To him, it’s always been just a room. A simple, stupid box in a line of other simple, stupid boxes to house people just like him. Now that you’re occupying the space, though, it’s much different. It’s no longer just a room, but a sort of home. 

Your presence here gives it much more meaning than any trinket he might have placed on the shelf. Things in this room he’s never given a second thought suddenly burst to life with your interest in them, pulling memories from the depths of his brain as he recalls where he got them, when he got them, just because you asked. 

It’s much too easy for him, too, the way he imagines coming home from a long day to greet you at the front door. He pictures you perfectly, hair twisted into a loose braid, a soft nightgown hanging off your shoulders, feet sporting cozy slippers that make muted thuds as you walk over to give him a warm welcome back. He imagines quiet mornings sitting at the table for two, sipping tea and working through crosswords together. He sees himself reading aloud to you at the bay window, dozing off against his shoulder under the light. 

The thought of such uncomplicated, reliable domesticity with you is a thought he lets himself dream about. It seems natural, a routine he wouldn’t mind slipping into in the slightest, and you haven’t even stayed the night yet. 

He wouldn’t mind living here forever as long as you did too

When your curiosity has been, for the most part, sated, you return back and join him on the bed. You plop down, expecting to sink right in - why exactly, you’re not sure, because it’s incredibly characteristic for Levi’s bed to be as hard as a rock.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but the firmness is still shocking beneath your fingertips.

“Have you ever even slept in this bed?” You ask with wide eyes, hands pressing down into the austere cushion, trying to fluff it like it was a pillow. The incredulous smile adorning your face makes his stomach flip. He crosses his arms across his front as if to mask his heart beating out of his rib cage. He's never been in such close, private quarters with you before. 

Levi shrugs. “I don’t really sleep anywhere.” Internally, he shakes off his nerves, not wanting to embarrass himself by leaning into them. The thought of showing how bashful he feels alone is mortifying, but he doesn’t know yet that you’d only love him more for it. 

You can’t help but to tease, muttering, “I mean, I know of a way to break it in.” Your face is utterly serious, but your eyes, swimming with a mirth Levi is far too fond of, give it away. 

Levi diverts his eyes with a small roll to the side, the hint of a smile crawling up his face. He’s the last person you’d think to be flustered by such a thing, but it’s only because it’s you. “Go to bed, brat.”

You pout. “Only if you lay down with me.”

“I told you, I don’t sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t lay down.”

You know your way around Levi too well, he thinks, or maybe he just loves you. The way you can get his resolve to crumble with a mere pleading expression must be some sort of crime. You read him like a book and know him like the back of your hand to a point where it would be dangerous if it were anyone else. Usually the thought of such a person would intimidate him, but he doesn’t mind being seen by you - not that he has a choice. Against your will, he doesn’t stand a chance; not now and not ever.

He sighs a long sigh and gestures for you to get in with a small wave of his hand. While he stands to close to blinds and light the lamp by his bedside, you scramble under the covers. The initial feeling of warmth covers your skin and makes you shiver as you adjust, crawling hastily under and pulling the blankets up close to your chest. They’re soft and clean and smell just like Levi.

He lets out a yawn that oddly reminds you of a lion pup, but you don’t mention it, instead locking it away for you to think of later on. If you said anything, he’d probably never do it again. Gently, he pulls up the covers on his side and slides under to join you, the bed sinking with his added weight.

“Goodnight, Levi.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

After laying for a while, staring up at the ceiling, Levi feels himself become drowsy. He lets his muscles relax, lets his jaw unclench, lets his eyes fall shut. Though he’s a bit puzzled as to why, sleeping now seems so inviting, and who is he to deny it?

From his side, you watch his breathing slow. It settles into a steady rise and fall of his chest, and his lips part slightly.

The progression is slow. At first, you work up the courage to slip your arm over his middle. You spend minute after minute contemplating, picturing him pushing you away, but you’re getting tired and enough is enough. You slip your arm over his middle and stay completely still; then, nothing happens.

Until moments later, when he rolls onto his side to face your direction. His eyes are still closed, rhythmically relaxed breaths leaving his nose. Then, you move onto your back and scoot up a bit further onto the pillows. He unconsciously curls into your warmth, shifting further into your body, and it makes you melt immediately, swelling with a giddy feeling. You’re almost worried the joyous thumping you feel inside your chest will wake him up.

Eventually, Levi’s head rests perfectly atop your shoulder, small puffs of air falling lightly on your skin. Your hands rub calm circles into the skin on his back where his t-shirt has ridden up, careful not to rouse him from his slumber.

It’s like that for a long time. You keep yourself awake, content with just holding him for now. You take the time to think, watching the flickering glow of the lamp, listening to his quiet breaths, feeling the muted beat of his heart on your hip.

It’s hours later when Levi sucks in a big breath, blinking awake in alarm. His head picks up off your chest and he looks around, finally settling on you who blinks right back. His lids squeeze shut and he mentally grounds himself as he realizes he’s safe.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, voice low as to not interrupt the calm of the night. Your hold around him tightens to let him know you’re there.

He shakes his head slightly and sighs. “Bad dream.” 

“‘S all right,” you say, hand moving from his back to his nape, “you can go back to sleep.”

He rubs his eyes, yawning. In an instant, he freezes, realizing the position he’s in. He’s practically clinging to you like a child would a toy, and he feels a familiar heat flush his skin as his head hangs. “Sorry.” He swallows. “I should probably start work.” 

He starts to push himself off of you to get up, but your hold on his shoulders is firm, pulling him right back down.

“You’re tired,” you say. “Stay. I’ll be right here.”

He sighs, looking around, before resigning and dipping his head back down to lay on top of you. He doesn’t feel like arguing something he knows he wants deep down anyway. He nuzzles his face into your front, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his mind of what was plaguing it in his rest.

“Promise you won’t leave,” he mumbles softly into your shirt, barely audible. He’s too tired to put up a mask for show, and he’s relieved to see that you don’t need one from him come rain or shine.

Your fingers card through his silky locks and brush them back from his face as his body finally sinks into yours, his weight a warming comfort. It’s slight, but you feel his head tilt just a bit further into your palm.

You place a chaste kiss to his crown. “Promise.”

☆☆☆

When the morning sun finally wakes and rises above the horizon line, Levi finds himself turning away from the beams filtering through the curtains. He feels the golden light on his lids, and he flips onto his opposite side, clinging to the cozy feel of his bed. The only thing that pulls him from his slumber is when his hand stretches out to find emptiness all around, your presence absent from his space where he so desperately wants you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you say, watching him shift slowly and gain his surroundings. You’re standing at the small counter across the room, boiling a pot of water on the stove - Levi can tell from the faint rumbling of bursting bubbles inside the steel kettle. He slowly peels his eyes open to get a glimpse of you, features seeming to glow with the light pouring in from the windows. He feels his heart skip a beat that he’s not ready for.

 Levi is surprised that he has slept in so late, let alone slept through the entire night at all. It’s rare that this happens - he almost wants to say it’s the first time it has occurred for him, waking up in secure comfort rather than burning fear. The only thing that could make it better were if you were right beside him.

Of course, Levi can’t bring himself to say something so forward this early in the morning. Instead, he mumbles a small, “Come back,” a hint of a whine to his voice that only you could identify.

There’s a muted clinking sound as you stir a spoon around in the porcelain cups you’ve prepared, knocking against each other as you try your best to pick them up. It feels like a juggling act, trying to bring them over safely. You don’t know how Levi makes it look so easy every time he brings you a cup when they are so awfully hot to the touch. He must have gotten used to it, or bears the sting for the sake of his collected appearance.

“I was planning on it,” you reassure him, “just had to stretch a bit.” 

Your feet pad lightly across the wood floors until you reach him, offering the tea which he graciously accepts. You set your own on the nightstand to cool while Levi takes his first sip immediately. It tastes just like how he makes it for himself. Considering he’s never explicitly shown you exactly what he does, he’s both surprised and deeply touched.

His eyes follow you as you clamor in next to him. He asks the question that’s been playing on his mind since he stirred awake hours ago. 

“Were you awake all night?”

He sees your expression falter slightly and knows right from then. Regardless, you brush it off without hesitation, nestling up to his side.

“No, no,” you lie casually, “I woke up a little before you did and went to sleep after.”

With a gentle hand, you straighten out the part in his hair, laying down the slight frizz from where his head was pressed into the pillow.

Levi looks at you for a long time, observing your tender gestures. He sees right through your words, and also sees the slight droop of your eyes, a hint of darkness beneath them. He thinks of you awake all night, petting his hair as he rests while you don’t, and brings a twinge of guilt to his heart. At the same time, his soul is utterly warmed and thankful. He’s not sure what to make of someone who’d do that for him.

He disregards your previous statement and instead addresses the obvious truth. “Don’t do that for me. You need sleep too.”

It draws a laugh from you. The way your eyes crease has his heart faltering. “I sleep more than enough, trust me.”

He peeks at you over the top of his tea cup, wishing he could freeze this moment in time, capturing how you look perfectly down to the miniscule curve of your lips so that he’ll never forget it. Maybe, he won’t have to.

He doesn’t need to ask because the answer is clear, but he does anyway.

“...Would you mind staying again tonight?”