#i will draw kit soon... probably... some day...

[thewritingrowlet]

The Tireless Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, deepthroat—you know what, just read the whole thing, hm?

length: 8k+

author's note: I speedran this fic so please forgive me if it's too messy; I just wanted to make use of this free time.

p.s. this fic takes place before and after The Determined Wife.

-

Irene walks in the bedroom as you’re gathering your consciousness after a very good, post-sex sleep. “Ah, good morning, my love.” She high steps towards the bed to join you, taking her rightful place in your arms. “Love, on a scale of 1 to 10, how awake are you?” “Seven, probably.” You rub your eyes to see if maybe you can improve that score. “Okay, maybe eight and a half,” you revise.

Irene thinks that it’s not good enough; she wants you to be 100% in the right mind this morning, which is odd. She sits on your lap and starts kissing you passionately, seemingly in high spirits; she’s likely very satisfied with the fact that you’ve granted her wish to be bred.

“Tell me again.” “Nine and a half,” you tease. Your wife rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t play hard to get.” You chuckle. “Aww, come on, love; I just want more kisses.” She puts on the beautiful smile that’s unique to her and only her. “Ah, fine, you win.”

She comes in for one more deep kiss, going as far as invading the space of your mouth with her tongue—it’s unfortunate that she breaks it soon after, though. “If that didn’t make it 10, I’m going to suck you off,” she says. “Sounds tempting,” you tease, “well, maybe later—let’s get to your point first.”

With a smile, Irene fishes something out of her shorts pocket and hands it to you with a closed palm. It is only when she lets go that you can see what it is: a pregnancy test device with two lines on it. “I’m a mother, love,” Irene starts breaking into tears, “I’m a mother, and there’s no question that you’re the father.”

Tears, endless of them, start flowing freely out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “Y-you’re pregnant, my love?” Your grip on the little test kit weakens as your hand starts trembling—oh, look: a tear lands on the device, right where the little screen is. “I am,” Irene joins you in crying, “thank you for granting my wish.”

You put the small device to the side because you want to use your hands to hug your wife. “No, no, no,” you say, “thank you for giving me such a huge blessing.” Irene starts crying more freely, and you can’t help but do the same. “We’re going to become parents, love—isn’t that crazy?” “It is,” you agree with her, “thank you for making it possible for us, love.”

Irene pulls away from the hug, placing her hands on your shoulders instead. “You need to get ready for work, don’t you, love—let me start your shower.” You shake your head. “Screw work,” you say, “I want to spend this wonderful day with you and only you.” Your words draw a wide smile on her face. “Sounds great, love.”

She turns around before leaning against your chest, placing your hand right on her stomach that’s now occupied by the little one—your little one (the fetus hasn’t formed yet, yes, but the point still stands). Irene giggles as you rub her belly gently. “You’ll need to come up with some names, love.” “You first,” you say, “do you have ideas?” She taps her chin as she thinks of a candidate. “Jihoon-ie if it’s a boy, and Hyewon-ie if it’s a girl.”

You’re a little startled; Jihoon was the name of your little brother who passed away just before he turned 9 years old (you were 13 at the time) due to cardiac arrest. Your parents, specifically your mom, took his passing heavily, falling into what you learned years later as depression, which explained why they weren’t at home a lot—they were busy seeking help from professionals, both at home and abroad.

Irene knows about this story, obviously; you’ve taken her to his resting place a few times. “His memories can live on with our child, love,” she explains the reason behind the idea. “I’m glad that you have that idea, but personally, I think I’d let him rest,” you say, and Irene dares not argue.

“What about your ideas, love?” You take a few deep breaths as you try to come up with some names. “I don’t have any boy names in my head, but Yeseo if it’s a girl,” you say. Irene likes your idea; she thinks that it’s such a pretty and cute name for a girl. “Well, we’ll need to wait until they can tell if we’re having a son or a daughter.”

-

Mr. Hwang, the cook, has made some fettuccine for breakfast, since Irene said that she’s been craving pasta—a pregnant woman shall have what she wants. So, here you are: sitting at the table in the dining room with Irene, ready to fill your stomach with this tasty-looking dish.

Seeing the tall glass of water reminds you of something important that you want to address with Irene. “My love,” you place a hand over hers, “now that we’re going to become parents, let’s stop drinking alcohol, hm?” She nods enthusiastically. “I was about to suggest that idea to you, hon.” You smile. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” “About that, though,” she backtracks, “what about our collection? We have some nice wine and champagne.”

You ring the kitchen bell, and Mr. Hwang appears after a few seconds. “Yes, sir?” “Do you drink, Mr. Hwang?” “I do, sir, occasionally,” he admits. “Nice,” you put on a thumbs-up, “would you like to keep our liquor collection? We want to stop drinking now that we’re expecting.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would be honored, sir, but as far as I know, they’re expensive.” You smile kindly while placing a hand on the side of his arm. “The only thing I care about, Mr. Hwang, is my wife and my child’s health—I don’t care about those bottles.” “If you say so—oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy, sir.”

After convincing Mr. Hwang to keep your collection of liquor for himself, you return to your wife. “Mr. Hwang will take care of those bottles, love; we won’t have to throw them out,” you inform her. “Erm, actually,” says Irene, “can we give the Masseto to my parents, love?” You agree with her request, thus officially marking the start of the transition to a clear-headed life without alcohol.

-

You invite Irene to join you on the sofa because you think that you have some things to discuss with her. “What do you want to talk about, love?” “Which hospital do you want, and how do you want to deliver the baby?” After thinking about it for a while, Irene says she wants to try delivering without surgery but is open to it as the last option. As for the hospital, she chooses the Sacred Heart Hospital, which is a very good hospital that’s also not too far from your house.

“Next up, our stuff,” you say, making Irene confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, we’re going to need a new car; I don’t think transporting the 3 of us in that 911 or your Genesis is a good idea.” “Do you want to sell the 911?” No, you don’t want to; Irene bought that silver speedster as a birthday present for you. “I was thinking that we should just buy a new one—something that can accommodate us and our child comfortably.” She pulls out her phone to search for options, but you stop her. “That doesn’t have to happen today, love,” you say, “we can think about that later on; I was just trying to get it out there, you know.”

Irene moves to sit on your lap. “I have some things to ask from you, love,” she starts on a new subject, “tell me what you think about them, okay?” You nod to get her to continue. “First, whenever possible, please come home early and don’t spend too much time working.” You say yes without hesitation, which satisfies her. Work will always be there, but your child’s growth and other important moments only happen once—wouldn’t want to miss your child’s first word or first step, would you?

“Second,” she puts up two fingers in front of your eyes, “please have mercy on me when we have sex.” You ask her to elaborate further. “I know that we can get rough sometimes, so let’s turn it down a bit to make sure the child isn’t in danger or anything.” “What about the frequency?” You take your turn to ask. “Just the usual, please; I’ll tell you when I want it, and you can tell me when you want it.” Again, without hesitation, you agree to her terms, which apparently serves as a segue for her next point.

“Can I have you, love?” You grin as you feel your cock getting hard. “You certainly can, love—can I have you as well?” Irene giggles cutely. “That goes hand-in-hand, doesn’t it?” “Just wanted to make sure, baby.”

Because of the time and day, there are other people in the house (i.e. the cook and the cleaning staff), so the only place you can have sex in is the bedroom. On your way to the bedroom with Irene in your arms, she taps your chin to get your attention. “Love, Miss Jo wants to take a leave to visit her parents,” she says. “We’ll go out later and get her some stuff to take home.”

You set Irene gently onto the bed in compliance with her request to take things easier during sex. “Ah, my gentle giant,” she comments. She hasn’t used that nickname in quite some time, now that you think about it. That name was given to you by your fellow student council members (including Irene) back in university when you refused to beat up a toilet peeper and would rather have him formally punished by the university and charged by the victims. “I thought you’ve forgotten that name.” She lets out a giggle. “How can I forget, love?”

You come in for a kiss to indicate that you’ve had enough chatter, and Irene welcomes you warmly as usual. “Please, love,” she gulps, “please start already.” You reach for her pajama top and undo the first button. “Patience, baby; I still need to undress you.” She cooperates by undoing her top starting from the bottom button and meeting you halfway. “There, I helped,” she says, making you laugh a little. She then proceeds to pull down her shorts just as you’re about to ask her.

Your gaze lands on her firm belly where your child is being safely kept. “I hope you won’t hate me when my stomach gets bigger.” You shake your head rapidly. “There’s no way I’d hate you for that—you’re my wife and that’s our child in your belly,” you say, and you see that Irene’s eyes are threatening to burst.

You join her in bed after undressing yourself and after she has taken off her underwear. You then pull her into a hug and peck her head everywhere, making her let out that lovely laugh that’s special to her. Once you stop, she places her hands on each side of your face. “I swear on everything I have that I’m so glad that I ended up with you and not with that Kim Junghwan guy.” “He never deserved you,” you say, demeaning. “That is true,” she agrees with you, “you and only you, love.”

You take the bottom position today, letting Irene have her way with you. “I have a feeling that I’d not be able to ride you as well with a big belly,” she comments as she moves to sit on your lap. You’re starting to get ticked off, but at the same time, she’s coming from a good place, so for now, you simply let out a sigh. “Love, please don’t worry about the sex; we’ll adapt as the pregnancy continues. Just focus on your health and stress levels, please.” Irene places her hands on her chest. “That’s touching, love—thank you.”

With your cock in hand, she aims it at her entrance. “Here I go,” she notifies you, as if you couldn’t see what she’s doing. Irene slowly goes down on your shaft, hugging it with her tight and warm walls. You breathe deeply as she starts moving up and down. “Fuck, that’s good,” you praise her to rile her up. “Yeah, daddy?” There it is: the kink that you love the most—Irene has always been quick to use it.

Irene bends backwards slightly and fixes her grip on your knees. After making sure that she’s steady, she starts moving faster on your cock, and you desperately want to hold those bouncing plump tits of hers. “Daddy, daddy,” she chants, “oh, you’re so deep in me, daddy.” “Keep it up, baby—fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Irene might not be the best at working out, but damn is she good at managing her stamina during sex; it feels like she has this extra battery pack that’s specifically used for sex, and as long as praises and words of affirmation keep flowing out of your lips, that battery will never die.

“Oh, no, daddy,” she slows down a little, “I think I’m about to cum.” “I don’t see the problem with that.” You slap her butt a few times to get her to speed up again. “Go on, baby; be good and cum for me.” Irene nods and picks up the pace again, trying to adhere to your command to “be good.”

Irene’s thighs shake violently when her first orgasm hits while her walls are gripping your shaft very tightly, making it very hard to you to not just bust right here. You pull her towards you and hug her. “Good job, love—very good job.” “You—oh, you always bring the best out of me, daddy,” she replies despite the heavy pants. “I can say the same about you, love,” you whisper back.

Without retreating from her pussy, you roll over until you’re the one on top. “You’re so sweaty, love,” you comment while wiping her forehead, “that must’ve been exhausting for you.” Irene shakes her head feebly. “A-anything to make you happy, daddy.” The way she always puts your pleasure as the top priority is touching. “Alright, let’s take a breather first, okay?”

“Take a breather,” you say, but you’re still slowly moving back and forth in her pussy, making her let out soft moans despite the exhaustion. “Ha-have mercy—please, daddy,” she utters faintly, almost too quiet to reach your ears. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m being gentle.”

As you keep fucking her like this, you can feel your orgasm inching closer, so you pause for now. “Okay, I’m going to stop here—I don’t want to cum without your full attention.” “B-but you have my attention, daddy.” You chuckle. “Your eyes are barely open, love.” When you see her opening her mouth to make an argument, you quickly lean in for a kiss to interrupt her. “Relax, love, we have all day.”

You’ve spent the last few minutes kissing (while still being inside her), and Irene is the first to break it. “When are you going to give me your cum, daddy?” You assess that she has recovered enough for you to finish this, so to answer her, “Right now.” You straighten your back and prepare to start. “Where do you want it, love?” Irene scoffs. “Where else?” “But what about your career?” The callback to the career vs. child argument makes her laugh. “I’m literally pregnant right now, in case you forgot—fill me however much you want, daddy.”

You place her legs together on one side of your shoulder and start fucking her. Irene promptly places her hands on her tits, doing whatever she can to add more stimulation on top of that you’re giving her. “Daddy, you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it, you know.” You let out a hum to answer her. “Give it to me whenever, daddy.”

You fasten your grip on her legs as you turn up the pace to the maximum of your ability. Your wife has now been reduced to moans and screams; she no longer has the headspace to play with her tits and instead just puts her hands on each side of her head.

“Love, I—” Before you can finish your sentence, semen escapes your shaft and enters her body, making her let out a long, sensual moan because of the warmth. “Oh, daddy,” she gasps, “oh, God, you’ve filled me again.” You let go of her legs and fall limply onto her body. “I love you, baby,” you say right into her ear. “I love you more, daddy.”

-

As you roll closer towards your house, you see your wife patiently waiting for you in the front garden among the flowers. She turns her head and puts on a smile for you, and you swear to God that exhaustion and stress from work has been taken away, and along with it, your breath.

You quickly jump out of your car, stumbling on your own leg in the process. “Welcome home, love,” she greets you with open arms. You take your rightful spot in her arms, and you can feel her belly bump against yours. “Tired, love?” “I was but not anymore,” you say. “It’s like magic, isn’t it—the moment you see your significant other, everything else just disappears.” “Absolutely,” you agree with her.

Irene invites you to sit on the garden bench with her, but you opt to take a knee in front of her instead. You rub her belly gently to greet your little one, and Irene looks at you with a smile of approval. “I want to say that I’m tired, but it doesn’t feel right.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Why not?” “I mean, it’s you who went to work, not me.” “That’s absurd; you might be at home, but I imagine being pregnant is tiring.” You can tell that she wants to make another argument, but the way you’re looking at her right in the eyes makes her bury that intention.

“Have you eaten, by the way?” Irene nods. “I asked Mr. Hwang to make me lentil soup for lunch.” Lentil soup sounds nice and healthy, which is important for a pregnant woman. “It was so delicious, by the way.” You laugh. “He’d be in deep trouble if it wasn’t.”

You think that this is enough catching up for now and that it’s time to get into the house, so you carry her inside safely. Irene says she wants to watch TV because she’s “tired of being in the bedroom,” so you put her down on the sofa and hand her the remote. You then tell her that you’ll join her after taking a quick shower.

When you get back to the living room to join her, you see that Irene is watching this little documentary on Giethoorn, this beautiful hamlet in the Netherlands where rivers run everywhere. She keeps letting out wows as shots of the area are shown on screen, deeply immersed in the show. “Do you think we can move there one day, love?” “Oh, man, I hope so; that looks like a really nice place to live in.” Irene turns your head towards you. “Maybe if we can’t live in the Netherlands, we can live in some quieter place instead—Damyang or Jinhae, perhaps?” You smile at her. “We’ll see what we can do, alright?” Not satisfied with just words, she makes you make a pinky promise that you’ll seriously consider it.

-

You didn’t know that you fell asleep, only waking up because you feel soft pokes on your thigh.

“Hngh?”

“Love, you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Please, that doesn’t look like a little.”

“A little lot, perhaps,” you change your answer.

“I was going to invite you to sleep, but you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s fine, love.”

“No, it’s not fine—do you want to have food delivered here?”

“Eh, sure,” you accept her offer, “order something light for me, please.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, presumably busy scrolling through the food delivery app to find something for you. “Light, light, light—what’s something that’s light?” “A lamp—haha, get it?” Irene slaps your thigh for your joke. “Daddy is really funny, isn’t he, Hyewon-ah?” Hearing your wife say that name startles you a tad. “Hyewon-ah? Really?” “I don’t know,” Irene shrugs, “I just like that name.” “Oh, I thought we’ve found out if we’re having a daughter.”

Irene focuses on ordering food again, and something finally catches her fancy. “What about some toast, love?” “What toast?” She shows you the available options, from peanut butter toast to kimchi and cheese toast. “Get me one peanut butter toast, please.” She says that it’s a better deal to order at least 3 toasts, so she adds some other toast to the order. “It’ll be here in around 45 minutes, love.” You thank her for the help and then invite her to rest her head on your lap.

“Love me, please,” she says in this aegyo-esque voice. You bend down and peck her on the forehead. “Anything specific, love?” Irene opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly trying to judge if she should speak her mind. “You’re so tired, though,” she utters, and you can already tell what she’s getting at. “You want me between your legs, don’t you?” Your wife covers her red face. “W-well, if you put it like that…” “We’ll wait until I have some food in my stomach and see how we can proceed—do we have a deal?” “Yes, deal!” The way her voice cracks makes you laugh. “My, my, aren’t you a cutie?”

-

The toasts are here: you’ve grabbed the bag from the delivery man and put it on the living room table.

You pick up the box with the text “PB” written on it. Irene says that she has bought some toast from this place before and hopes that you’ll like it like she does. You nod in satisfaction after taking the first bite. “I think I know what brand of peanut butter this is,” you comment. She scratches her head in cluelessness. “I don’t know, love; they all taste the same to me.”

You notice that Irene has two hands on top of each other on her stomach and keeps licking her lips while watching you eat. “Want to have a bite, lovely?” She nods timidly. “It looks so good,” she admits, “b-but I don’t know if I should eat.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?” “Erm, I think that’s ultra-processed food—that’s one. Two, I don’t want to gain too much weight.” Weight can be quite a sensitive subject, especially considering that your wife has always been paying close attention to it.

You keep chewing as you think of a reasonable answer—well, here it goes: “I’m sure that you have good intentions, but I’m almost certain that one toast won’t hurt you or Hyewon-ie.” You can tell that she’s starting to get swayed, as proven by how she has a box with “CHOCO” written on it in her hands. “Forgive me, Hyewon-ah, but I really want this toast.”

You panic a little when Irene sheds a tear after taking a bite. “Oh my, are you okay, love?” She nods again. “T-this is so good, but I feel so guilty for eating this—oh, I’m so sorry, Hyewon-ah.” You put down your and her toast on the table so that you can hold her hands. “Love, love,” you try to get her to focus on you, “it’s okay, no one is yelling at you for eating one toast—not me, not Doctor Shin, and certainly not Hyewon-ie.” “A-are you sure?” “Yes,” you say in a resolute tone. “We’ll be just fine, trust me.”

Feeling decently comforted and assured by your words, Irene asks if she can have her toast again, so you give it back to her. You make sure you don’t forget to wipe that random tear off her cheek while you’re at it. “Thank you,” she utters softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” you say equally softly.

-

After finishing those tasty and quite filling toast, Irene asks if she can have you between her legs, so you stand up from your seat and stretch your body to warm up. “I apologize in advance if I finish too fast; I’m kind of tired.” Your wife shakes her head. “As long as your load is mine, I don’t really see the problem with finishing fast—I’ll probably finish before you, anyway.”

There’s only you and your wife in this house right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that sex should only happen in the bedroom for the next 6 to 7 months; it’s more comfortable for her and safer for your child.

After getting undressed, Irene asks to be helped sit on the stool that she prepared earlier today. “It seems like you have an idea,” you comment. “Yes,” she says, “I want you back there.” “What happened to turning it down?” “This isn’t our first time, is it—just remember to be gentle.”

You open the bedside drawer to find the lube and see that it’s not there. “We don’t have lube?” Irene looks away to hide her red cheeks. “Erm, I might or might not have used it earlier.” You furrow your eyebrows. “You used it? For what?” She shyly admits that she fucked herself in the rear with a dildo this afternoon. “I-I wanted to prepare for you, because I know you like it when I think ahead.”

It’s not strange or new to you that your wife is lustful; you’ve known that for years at this point. That said, you’d think that being pregnant would turn that lustfulness down, but it doesn’t seem like it so far—in fact, it feels like she’s more lustful than ever.

You stand in front of her and hold her chin. “Oh, love, what would you do without me—who could satisfy you if not me?” “I don’t know, daddy; it’s always been you since day one.” You reward her with a kiss for answering correctly. “May I, then?” Irene giggles slightly. “Certainly.”

You walk around and look for your target. “I’m pulling this plug out, alright?” After getting a nod of approval from your wife, you gently tug on the plug. “Ngh!” Irene clenches her fists when she feels her rear being stretched by the wide part of the plug. “Relax, love—it’s almost out.” With a pop, the plug is finally out of her tight ass, and you quickly put your mouth on it for the first time ever in this marriage, making your wife gasp in shock. “Daddy, no, I’m dirty there.”

You ignore her and keep running your tongue on her puckered hole; quite fun, you must admit. Occasionally, you try parting her cheeks apart so that you can put the tip of your tongue in her rear.

Feeling weak, Irene starts tumbling forwards, but you catch her just in time to save her from going face first onto the floor. “God, you’re so crazy, daddy.” “Your new task, baby, is to keep it clean all the time—is that clear?” Irene nods in obedience. “Y-yes, sir; I will try my best.” You squeeze her butt cheek lightly. “Good girl,” you praise her.

You get on your feet and hug the panting woman from behind. “Are you alright?” “Y-yes—fuck, you’re fucking crazy.” You pinch a nipple, more surprising than painful. “That’s not how you speak to me, woman.” “S-sorry, sir, b-but you are indeed crazy.” You kiss her on the back of the head. “I hope you didn’t mind, by the way.” Your wife shakes her head. “Not—oh, not at all.”

“Sir, daddy,” Irene can’t choose between the two, “would you fuck my ass, please?” “Thought you’d never ask, baby.” You stroke your shaft to make sure that it’s properly hard and ready while your wife spreads her butt cheeks to give you access. You place the tip right on the entrance of her forbidden hole. “Are you ready, baby?” “Yes—oh, God, fuck, yes.”

You waste little time and go deep right away into her warmed-up hole. “Fuck, you’re always so tight right here.” “Hngh! Ngh!” Irene can only let out grunts as she’s getting overwhelmed by the stimulation you’re giving her. “No one can touch you like I do, hm?” She shakes her head weakly as a response, still unable to say anything back.

You hook her arms backwards as you get ready to fuck her to make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool. “I’m yours, daddy—fuck me however you want,” she says, as if it was ever a question. “Bet.”

With this steady posture, you start fucking her ass roughly, forcing Irene to scream with each thrust delivered. “My husband is fucking amazing—Hyewon-ah, daddy is fucking amazing,” Irene thinks as the sounds of your hips crashing against her butt enter her ears.

As time goes on, everything starts to get blurry for Irene, and it doesn’t help that from this position, she has no control over how fast you’re fucking her. “P-please stop,” she says weakly, hoping that it’ll still reach your ears amongst the clapping sounds. It doesn’t seem like you heard her, though; you’re still fucking her ass recklessly, which leaves her no other choice but to just yell out loud. “DADDY, STOP—PLEASE!” Hearing her scream makes you stop abruptly with more than half your shaft still lodged in her ass. “Daddy, please, let me breathe,” Irene begs.

Still panting, you gently retreat from her gaped ass. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you just realize how rough you’ve been. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, love,” you repeat to show sincerity. You pull her into your arms and take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the sight of your wife crying (from getting fucked in the ass, nonetheless) twists your heart like nothing else. You keep repeating apologies while rubbing her stomach gently, hoping that doing so could also tell Hyewon that you’re regretful of your actions.

Irene feebly reaches for your face. “I-it’s okay; it was good until it became overwhelming, daddy.” You lie her down on her side and inspect the result of your recklessness—it seems like she didn’t get injured by your shaft. “I think you’re fine, baby.” “Great,” she replies, “so what are you waiting for?” You blink rapidly in confusion. “I thought you were in pain?” “I never said that,” she shrugs. Seeing that you’re silent, Irene piles on. “C’mon, look at yourself, daddy: you’re still hard and ready to fuck me—let me finish the job, please.” “Fine,” you give up, “I’m not getting in your ass again, though.”

Irene says that you have a deal and asks you to lie down so that she can take control, which is fine by you; you’ve had enough “fun” being dominant tonight. You keep an eye on your wife as she aims your shaft towards her entrance from the cowgirl position. You grit your teeth when Irene slowly sits down on your cock—you’re in her ass again. “Oh, fuck, welcome back, daddy.” “I thought we had a deal.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene deflects, “anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, hihihi.”

Irene rests her subtly bulged belly on your body while her hips are busy bouncing up and down along your length. She keeps chanting “you’re in my ass” as if you can’t tell that you are indeed in her ass. You reach around and slap her butt. “Go faster.” Having planted her hands on your chest, Irene tries to bounce faster on your cock. “Oh, oh, yes—how’s this, daddy?” It’s you who can’t respond this time; just like earlier, the way her muscles are squeezing you prevents you from thinking straight and coming up with words to say.

You rest your head on the pillow while your wife is busy fucking herself on your cock (while moaning so freaking freely), and for some reason, your eyelids feel like they weighed 100 kilograms—what the hell are they so heavy for? “You must be close, daddy,” Irene makes a keen observation. “Uh-huh,” are all that escape your lips. Hearing that you’re close serves as fuel for Irene to keep up the tempo and make you bust with her ass; this tireless woman can be very crazy in bed, pregnant or not.

“Love, I’m about to—oh, fuck, I’m about to bust,” you warn her. “Yeah?” Her voice is barely heard thanks to the endless clapping noises. You grip the pillow your head is resting on as your cock starts twitching wildly in her rear. “Baby, please,” you let your desperation to cum be known to her.

Irene slams herself down onto your body, and you instantly erupt, surprising the both of you at the same time. She throws her head back as your warm semen floods her ass. “Oh, oh, yes, daddy.” It was her who did all the work, but it’s you who’s panting heavily.

“Love, thank you so much.” Irene removes you from her ass and lies down next to you. “Even when tired, you’re still so strong,” she praises while her hand runs along your length. “What’s your secret, daddy?” “You’re my secret; if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be like this.” You let out a low moan when your wife manages to squeeze the last bit of semen out of you. “You’re so cute, you know that?” You chuckle. “No, I don’t.”

-

It feels odd to not have Irene welcome you at the driveway, especially since she’s been doing that consistently for the past few weeks, too. Her Genesis is parked neatly in the usual spot, so she must be at home, but where is she?

“I’m home.” You close the door behind you and scan your surroundings—still no sign of your wife, making you wonder if perhaps she’s asleep. You make your way towards the bedroom, and your jaw drops immediately when you see her kneeling on the floor while being almost entirely naked. Irene buckles a little, presumably because she feels a fetus kick. “Even Hyewon-ie doesn’t approve,” you comment.

You rub the side of her face gently. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do, love?” The ball gag in her mouth prevents her from answering, but she has this little spanker in her hands that she’s trying to hand over to you. “Love, please, what are you doing?” Irene just looks at your feet while her hands are on her thighs. “This isn’t how a woman in her second trimester is supposed to behave, is it?” You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get yourself together. “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

Your wife steals some glances as you undress in front of her, and when you’re finished, you take the time to take off her bra, exposing her tits that you swear have grown bigger recently. You then lift her onto her feet to remove her panties, and Irene instantly drops back down onto the floor after you’re done. “Oh, you’re that serious, aren’t you?”

You pick up the slim paddle from the floor and prepare to swing. “Wait, where do I hit her?” You look for places to hit her on, but the more you think about it, the more that you don’t want to do it. That said, you imagine that it’d disappoint her if you chicken out, so you decide to play along until she taps out.

You hit her on the right shoulder once. “Ngh!” Irene lets out a yelp of surprise when the paddle lands. “That’s one.” You move the paddle to your other hand and hit her on the left shoulder. “I’ll count until 29, okay?” Irene nods in response, and that’s when you look for other targets.

You ask her to show you her palms and hit them successively. “Any ideas?” Your wife taps her thighs, indicating that she wants to be hit there, so you hit those two spots, harder than you’d like to admit, making her grunt in pain. “Sorry.” That sounds less sincere than you’d like, but it’s okay, you’ll make it up to her later.

Before you continue, you join her on the floor and unlatch the gag. “This doesn’t look comfortable, so I’m taking it off,” you say. Irene relaxes her mouth now that she’s free. “Thank you, master.” You sigh. “Master? Really?” Irene nods enthusiastically. “Yes, master.”

You stand back up and swing at her tender breasts out of nowhere. “Fucking naughty, aren’t you?” As Irene opens her mouth to say something, you hit her breasts again. “You’re pregnant, and this is how you fucking act? Explain yourself.” You tell her to explain herself, but you don’t give her the chance to do so, interrupting her with a hit on the forearm. “M-master, please.” “Please what?” You subconsciously raise your tone. “Please punish me; I-I’ve been naughty.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck it, we’re going back to zero.”

You hit her on different places in rapid succession, and Irene screams after each one. “How many?” “S-six, master.” “Good,” you praise her emptily, “count to 18, slut.” You initially chose 29, which is the date she was born, but changed it to 18, which is the date you were born. As much as you’re putting on a cold charade for her, you don’t have the heart to hit her 29 fucking times.

You tell her to get on her hands and knees to expose other parts of her body. You smack her on the back a few times before moving on to her butt and hitting it a few more times. “How many?” Irene chokes up momentarily before she manages to get her answer out. “T-twelve, sir.”

To end the show, you give her some hard hits on the back of her thighs. “E-eighteen, master.” “On your knees,” you command, and Irene obeys right away. “Explain yourself, or else.” “I-I was just trying new stuff,” she says. “Is that it?” Irene just nods, and you can’t help but sigh, feeling somewhat frustrated by her simple answer.

“Love, be honest with me: why are you acting like this?” After taking a deep breath, Irene proceeds to explain the whole thing, from how she tore the left rear tire of her car against an elevated curb while trying to pull into a gas station this afternoon, to the fact that she touched herself thrice while thinking about you. “L-like I said, I’ve been very naughty.” You exhale deeply. “Those few things don’t require punishment—especially not of this sort.” Your wife shakes her head. “But I want to be punished,” she insists.

“Have you had enough, or what?” Irene slowly shifts her gaze to meet yours, and you know that she knows that you’re aroused, as shown by your erect cock. “Do whatever you please, master,” she says, hiding her excitement behind the façade of obedience.

Still kneeling in front of you, Irene eases you into her mouth. You place a hand on the back of her head and pull her towards you, forcing your cock deeper. She’s taken you deep plenty of times, so this is neither new nor difficult for her. “Hold it there and count to 10.” After finishing her count, Irene retreats until only your tip is in her mouth. “Very good—now do it 9 more times.”

Irene does as you command, doing each repetition passionately, much to your satisfaction. “That’s very good, love,” you make sure you don’t forget to praise her. You retreat from her wet mouth to let her breathe, and she promptly inhales sharply. “I-I hope I did well, sir.” You smile kindly. “Of course; you always do everything so well.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while you wait for Irene to get herself together. “Anything else, master?” A lit bulb appears over your head. “Is it just me, love, or have your breasts gotten bigger?” She takes a quick look at herself. “I-I think they have indeed grown, master.” “They look so soft, don’t you think?” She nods to your question. “Would you like to touch them, sir?” “I have a better idea,” you say, “put them around my cock.”

Irene crawls towards you and places your cock right between her extra plump tits. “Like this, sir?” You moan in a low voice as your shaft grinds against her tits. “You—oh, fuck, you’re so good at every-fucking-thing.” Your wife blushes. “I aim to please, master.” “Oh, trust me, I’m very pleased right now, love.”

Much to your pleasure, Irene presses her chin against her chest and catches your tip with her mouth every time it pokes through her tits. You pet her head gently. “Good fucking job, baby—fuck, I’m about to bust.” “Please, give me your cum, master.” Irene moves her tits faster, eager to have your first load of the day.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as semen spurts out of the tip of your cock, landing all over her face and chest. “Oh my, very thick,” she comments. “I love how you taste, master; your diet works well for me too, you know.” You chuckle. “Good to know, baby.”

You invite Irene to lie down in bed with you. “You haven’t cum yet.” “Yes, I have; I told you I touched myself a lot today.” You get your tie from the messy pile of clothes. “Hands above your head, please.” She puts her hands together above her head, and you tie them together. “Are we ready?” Irene looks at you nervously. “Please have mercy, master; I’ve had a lot of orgasm today.” “That wasn’t my doing, was it?”

Irene gasps in shock when she feels your hand on her little nub. “Sensitive much?” “Please, master.” “Please what, baby?” “I need to cum again, master—make me cum with your hands, please.” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You use one hand to stimulate her nub and use the other to play with her tits, going fast and fervent right from the gate.

In the moment of high stimulation, Irene accidentally kicks you in the head—how did that even happen? “That’s not nice.” “I-I—fuck, I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t mean it.” “That’s strike one, Miss Bae,” you warn. To punish her behavior, you increase the intensity of stimulation on her pussy, making her jolt around more. It’s fine if she were to kick you again; you have some more ideas in your head to get her back.

Your wife keeps moaning loudly and freely as her fourth orgasm looms ahead. “Master, master,” Irene begs for your attention, “I won’t last too long, master.” “Oh, is that so?” You plunge two fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her, and Irene can’t help but moan, possibly until her voice disappears.

Your hand starts getting tired, but as timing has it, she’s also very, very close to orgasm. With an ear-piercing scream, Irene explodes: her legs are shaking violently, and her juice is coming out torrentially. “Very, very good, my love—you’re such a big bomb, aren’t you?” You free her hands and move to barrage her sweaty head with pecks. “We’ll wait until you’re relaxed before doing anything else, alright?”

Amid all this, you notice that you’re getting rock hard again. You start stroking your cock with the sight of your naked wife in front of you. Irene, in her exhausted state, looks at you. “Don’t waste your cum,” she says vaguely. “What do you mean?” “Put it somewhere in me, master,” she clarifies. You stop for a moment. “You’re very exhausted, love. I don’t want to burden you with more sex.” Your wife shakes her head. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

You take a position in between her legs, aiming your cock at her pussy in the process. You announce that you’re going in, and Irene moans weakly at the first contact. She tells you that you need to do all the work this, citing her exhaustion. “Never thought I’d hear such words from you; you’ve been tireless recently,” you say, earning a little chuckle from her.

You kiss her while your shaft goes in and out of her, dropping whatever charade you’ve been using these past few hours. “I love you, baby—I love you so fucking much.” “I-I love you more, hon—you’re the best for me.” Her warm words make you smile. “I’ll stay by your side until death do us part, my love.” “You have a deal.” You hug her tightly when your second load of the day enters her body.

“We’ll rest a bit, if that’s okay with you.” “Sure,” Irene says, “I can’t even stand up right now.”

-

You feel rapid taps on your chest, making you wake up crassly in surprise. When your eyes are open enough to provide vision, you see that your wife is seated in bed with Yeseo in her arms. “Yes, love?” Irene doesn’t answer your question and instead, starts breaking down in tears. “C-can you take care of her a little? I-I want to rest.”

You slap yourself as hard as you can for leaving your wife to sleep and, in turn, forcing her to tend to your child alone. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, love.” You open your hands to receive your daughter who is wrapped snug with a little blanket, and Irene immediately falls flat onto the bed—she’s still crying, though. “Go to sleep if you can, love; I’ll keep her safe.” “I’m such a bad mom,” she insults herself unnecessarily, “I can’t even stay up for my daughter.” “No, you’re not a bad mom—trust me, you’re not.” To offer her some peace, you tell her that you’ll be in the living room with Yeseo until morning. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give her a peck as a parting gift.

“Yeseo-yah,” you whisper softly, “while mommy catches her breath, we’ll hang out in the living room, okay?” Having been born just a few weeks ago, Yeseo can’t respond much aside from a small head movement, which you’ll gladly accept as an answer. “We’re going to get along very well, aren’t we, sweetie?”

You turn on the TV to watch something in an attempt make sure you don’t fall asleep, and that’s when you see the time: 02:09 a.m. “We’re staying up late, sweetie—I hope you won’t make this a habit when you’re grown up,” you comment.

You make sure that the TV is muted so that it doesn’t startle your daughter when this video starts. “Oh my, look at that place, Yeseo-yah.” A shot of beautiful countryside scenery in Jeju steals your attention, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation to move there with your family. “What do you say we move there, sweetie?” Yeseo lets out a small squeal, and you guess that she’s interested in living there. “Aha, great minds think alike, hey?”

You remember your wife asking if the family can move to somewhere quieter to raise Yeseo in, and now that she’s actually here, you’re really contemplating the opportunity. In your head, you try to think about what work would be like if you lived in a place like Jeju, which is even farther from the big capital. Your brain suggests stepping down from your post and earning from dividends, which sounds like a sound idea. Irene had stepped down from her position of director of risk management two months before Yeseo was born, so it’s not the craziest idea to follow suit.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and mommy, Yeseo-yah.” You want to say that you’re willing to die for them, but Irene’s words enter your mind: why die for family, if you can be healthy and stay by their side instead? You laugh a little as you recall that exchange. “Mommy is an amazing person, sweetie. Sometimes I can’t believe I ended up with her.”

-

Irene wakes up around 6 hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed after a decent night’s sleep. The first thing she does is obviously to check up on her husband and daughter.

“Look at you: sleeping with Yeseo in your hands.” Irene unlocks her phone and takes a picture of you sleeping with your mouth wide open while Yeseo is chilling in your arms. She gets teary eyes looking at this scene in the living room.

She never had the idea of being childfree and has taken a more neutral stance about it, but at the same time, having Yeseo is quite the surprise turn of her life.

Irene quietly joins you on the sofa to not disturb your peace. “Love, love,” she whispers, trying to get you to wake up, “wake up, please; it’s time for work.” “Screw work,” she hears you say, “I’m stepping down.” She knows that you’re referring to your job. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you reply again, “we’re moving to Jeju.”

Before getting too excited, Irene makes sure you’re awake. “Love, seriously, wake up.” The way you’re suddenly looking at her with eyes wide open makes her jump. “Yes?” “Were you serious about moving to Jeju?” You nod. “I’ve talked with Yeseo about it, and she agreed.” Irene bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Sure, she did.” “Just ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She plays along with your joke and asks Yeseo about her opinion on moving out of the big city, to which she replies by crying out loud, taking the two of you by surprise. “What, what, what,” you panic, “is she hungry? She’s probably hungry, right?” Irene unbuttons her pajama to expose a nipple Yeseo can latch on, so you hand your daughter over to her to be breastfed.

“Sorry, love, but these tits aren’t solely yours anymore,” Irene quips. You start laughing out loud, finding it difficult to stop. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you say it like that?” Your wife joins you in laughing. “I don’t know—it just felt right to say it.” You shake your head, highly amused by your wife’s odd statement. “It’s fine; I’m totally content with sharing them with Yeseo,” you clarify.

-

You take one last look at your house that is now empty. “We spent a fortune on this house, didn’t we, love?” You nod in agreement. “It’s crazy how much we bought this place for,” you reply. “I hope you won’t regret moving out,” Irene expresses her concern. You look at her right in the eyes while your hands are on either side of her waist. “We’re doing this for Yeseo—this is bigger than just the two of us, love.”

You walk with her outside towards the driveway, where Yeseo’s stroller is parked. “Isn’t she so cute?” “She is,” you say, “I swear I will do and give everything for you and her.” Irene puts on a big smile.

“We’ll give her a good life and a bright future, love.”

“We absolutely will.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Call Up III

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first Senior match

"Frido," Magda says, jaw hanging open in shock," What the hell is that?"

"Cool, right?" Frido brags, pulling on her shirt to show off the back.

"They're not selling those right now," Magda says as she takes her seat," How did you get one?"

Frido grins.

On her back, is Harder-Eriksson, the name you've chosen to represent Sweden with.

"I got it off a site where you can customise jerseys."

"She got scammed too," Zećira says," Had to get a new credit card."

"Stop telling people that!"

Zećira just laughs as Pernille and Magda take their seats. "How is she feeling? Nervous?"

"Probably," Pernille says," You know how she is. It's her first game. She wants this to go perfectly."

"It will," Zećira replies. She sounds confident and Pernille has to wonder if she's psychic or something. The way she says it with such conviction is like there's no other option means she must be psychic. There's no other explanation.

The crowd cheers, stopping Pernille from pressing further and she gets to her feet to clap as the players filter out from the tunnel.

You're the second in line, right after your captain - a newly appointed woman who looks so much taller and older compared to you at just seventeen.

You look nervous, it's clear on your face. It's clear by the way you keep shifting your weight around and how you gnaw at your bottom lip. Your eyes dart around, purposely avoiding the box of supporters you know who are here to see you.

Magda can't believe what she's seeing, not really. For years, you've waddled around the house in her Sweden jersey. For years, you've worn Zećira's Sweden jersey to sleep.

But now, you're standing in front of a sold-out crowd in a Sweden jersey of your own (one day, you'll have the most jersey sales of a keeper in history). There are names on your back that people will be very familiar with (one day, those names will be synonymous with you alone, not Magda and Pernille). There is a small handful of people here to see you (one day, people will buy tickets just because your name is on the team sheet).

This is your first time playing for Sweden.

Just a friendly (one day, you'll win World Cups with Sweden).

One day, this match will be a blip in your life but right now it's the most important match of your career.

You're representing your country as you stand in the middle of you goal.

You've played against Spain's youth team countless times for Denmark. It's strange to see the Spain kit and no Natalia Guijarro running towards you with the ball.

Vicky Lopez is running at you this time, barely five minutes into the match. She's woven her way through your defensive line. She adjusts her positioning by just a fraction and winds her leg up.

She'll shoot for the top corner. You know this and you leap, falling forward onto your front.

The ball is in your hands and you roll it out towards your defenders.

"Yes!" Frido cheers, pumping her fist into the air," Yes! That's it!"

Magda wants to roll her eyes but she feels exactly the same way, though she keeps it much more contained.

The first half draws to a close with a spectacular goal from a Swedish midfielder who Magda knows recently signed for Gotham.

You jog off the field with your team, instantly being tucked under the arm of your captain as she teasingly ruffles your hair.

When you come out for the second half, you look infinitely more relaxed and comfortable. You look much more like you did when you played for Denmark.

You look secure and you definitely take a few more daring risks.

Stealing the ball right from the feet of a Spanish player looks so much like Magda that even the cameraman cuts to your Morsa cheer from the stands, waving a little flag with your face on it.

As soon as she realises Magda is on screen, your moster Frido barges her way into view as well with a sign that has some of your baby pictures on it.

It's embarrassing and so stupid but it makes you smile as you kick the ball down to your midfield who starts on the attack.

The smile that emerges doesn't fade even when the fulltime whistle is blown.

A clean sheet seems like the best way to start your international career with Sweden.

"Look at you," Your captain says, ruffling your hair," Clean sheet. What did I tell you, huh? Nothing to be worried about."

You try to squirm away but she holds you tighter. She holds you hostage as the rest of the team on and off the bench converge on you.

You know what they're going to do and you try to escape.

You manage to duck under arms but run straight into Frido.

You hadn't even realised she'd gotten onto the pitch.

"No," She teases, turning you around and shoving you right back at the team.

"Momma, Morsa!" You whine as Frido tries to walk you over," Make her stop."

"No chance," Morsa laughs," This is your debut. You get all the perks that comes with it."

You pout. "I wish I stayed with Denmark."

"Don't lie," Momma says.

"Zećira, please? Can't you stop them?"

Zećira laughs as well, arms crossed over her chest. "And miss out on my little prodigy experiencing this? Take it with dignity."

Frido pushes you right at the crowd of your teammates.

They don't let you get away this time.

Hands are on your limbs as you're lifted up and thrown into the air.

[starrieshq]

Aftercare [Kitty]

here it is!!! What you all have been waiting for

Enjoy <3

TW: some swearing, mentions of s3x

The sun pierced through the windows of Ty’s room, the curtains were pushed back, and Kit could see the coastline from his spot on the bed.

Ty’s bare chest rose and fell, dark Marks twining up his arms as he pushed his hair out of his face. Kit tried not to stare, but he was, well…

Beautiful.

After several minutes, Kit managed to sit upright. His throat felt scratchy.

“We did use a silencing rune, right?” He asked Ty, who silently nodded and reached for him.

Kit scooted closer to him, and they sat together in silence for a moment.

“We should probably clean all of this up.” Ty motioned at the messy sheets, and Kit nodded, standing.

Pain shot through him, and he buckled against the bed. Ty was immediately next to him and hoisted him up into a bridal style.

“Bath or shower?” He asked.

Kit hated baths, but he could not stand to save his life.

“Bath.” He said reluctantly.

He placed him in the tub, and as Kit began filling it with water, Ty tossed in a bath bomb.

Kit fiddled with the hot water faucet. When he lived with his dad, he almost never had access to hot water. When he moved to the Institute, he became hooked on steamy showers. They felt…relaxing. He took one every day, and when he came out of the bathroom, the mirror was usually foggy.

He was so caught up in though that he didn’t notice that Ty had joined him in the tub until he said,

“Are you okay?”

Kit nodded, hands finding Ty’s and twining them together.

“Yeah.”

Ty began to lather soap across Kit’s back, which was really distracting.

“You know I can do that, right?” Kit asked.

He nodded. “I’d rather do it for you. You should relax.”

Kit settled in, sighing contently as Ty continued to rinse him off, as if any amount of soap would scrub away what had just happened between them.

After several minutes of content silence, Kit cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Did…did you like it?” He asked.

Ty stopped scrubbing him for a moment, considering.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “It was…”

He trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Different.” Kit finished.

Ty nodded, and went back to rinsing him.

After getting out of the tub (with the assistance of Ty, of course), Kit pulled on a pair of sweats and one of Ty’s t-shirts.

Ty had taken the sheets down to the washer and was now at his desk, headphones on. Kit could faintly hear the classical music playing.

Kit was ever so slightly limping, and he prayed that the iratze he applied would kick in soon. If Dru, or God forbid, Helen or Julian saw him like this, there was not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that they would be having words.

Kit reached for his stele, but before he could apply another iratze, he felt Ty’s hand close around his, gently pulling it away from him.

“What are you doing?” Kit asked.

Ty nudged back the collar of his shirt, and began to draw the iratze.

“I’m the reason you’re limping, it just seems fair that I’m the one who takes care of you.”

Kit shook his head. “You know that I can take care of myself.”

Ty leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to Kit’s collarbone. “But have you considered that I want to?”

Kit’s head spun. Ty was skilled in dishing out compliments to him all the time, and he never had anything to say back to him.

“But why would you want to look after me?” He whispered.

Ty’s lips found his ear, and he said softly,

“Because you are what I want.” His hands curved around Kit’s waist, pulling him closer. “I am yours. Those years we spent apart, I learned that much.”

After a minute or two, they decided to inconspicuously go downstairs. They made their way to the kitchen, where Cristina and Mark stood, animatedly talking on the phone with who Kit presumed was Kieran.

“Julian’s looking for you two.” Mark said as Cristina nodded along to whatever Kieran was saying. “He’s been looking for you guys for a while, and Dru said that Ty’s room was locked, but she refused to open the door with a rune.”

Kit’s ears turned red, but Ty calmly said, “Where’s Julian, then?”

“Bye!” Cristina said, handing the phone to Mark.

“We’ll see you soon, love.” Mark said into the phone. “Make sure to talk to him when you can, ‘kay?” He paused. “Alright. Love you.”

He handed the phone back to Cristina.

“Julian should be at the beach. Emma’s with him.” She said, pocketing it.

Kit felt Cristina glance over him, a small knowing smile on her face.

“Don’t.” He warned her, his eyebrows raised.

“I won’t.” She replied, her smirk turning into the genuine smile it usually was. “It’s just great to see you two happy again.”

The pair headed out of the doors of the Institute, opting to go barefoot in the soft sand. Ty was slightly ahead of him, his silent footsteps refusing to stir up any dust.

He turned around, seeing Kit and smiling slightly. They grasped each other's hand, continuing to head alongside the coast.

Ty pointed in the distance. “I think I can see them.” He said.

A short distance away, Kit could see Emma and Julian heading towards them, along with a shorter figure that could only be Dru.

He tensed slightly. “What do you think they want us for?”

Ty shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe they were curious where we were?”

Kit doubted it was that. The fact that Dru had spottem them and was now eagerly skipping towards them did not give him any comfort.

“See?” She said to Emma and Julian, gesturing at Ty and Kit, “I told you that they were just making out in Ty’s room!”

Kit flushed.

“We weren’t making out.” He said.

“Alright then, Sherlock,” Emma said to Ty. “Explain what’s on Kit’s neck then for me.”

Shit.

Kit had attempted to cover up a hickey on his neck with concealer he found in Dru’s room. Apparently, it must’ve come off.

“We weren’t making out.” Ty confirmed, slightly squeezing Kit’s hand.

Emma did a once-over of Kit.

“I agree.” Emma said, smirking. “I think they had more than a make out session.”

Kit turned redder as Julian approached them.

“There you two are.” He said. “I was thinking that we’d have to get Magnus and imbed you with tracking devices.”

“Or you could just use a Tracking rune.” Ty pointed out.

“Tracking devices would be cooler.” Kit counterargued.

“Regardless,” Julian intervened, waving his arms. “I understand that both of you are 18…”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Kit moaned, covering his face. “You are not doing this in the middle of the beach! Or in front of Dru!”

“I find this entertaining.” Dru said, attempting to cover her laughter and failing miserably.

Julian continued. “And obviously, there’s nothing any of us can do about you two sneaking off and doing…things-”

“To be fair, we were doing things, too.” Emma pointed out. “And we weren’t 18 yet.”

“Regardless,” Julian stated. “You two need to be safe.”

Kit stared at him.

“You knew that we were already in Ty’s room with the door locked, proceeded to go down to the beach to ‘look for us’, and now you’re lecturing us about being safe?” He asked incredulously.

Julian nodded.

“You are ridiculous.” He declared after a moment.

“Don’t worry, we’re fine.” Ty assured Julian.

“This is fucking hilarious.” Dru cackled.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, Dru.” Julian said. “I’m giving both you and Ash the same talk when you turn 18, too.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Four

“Obedience” — @febuwhump prompt!

If this doesn’t have Ambrose’s name written all over it >:)

Intoxicating Fear — part Xi

Read part one here

Continued from here

TW: forced to obey, mentions of SH, SH implied and referred to, mentions of scars, past Whump implied, past sh implied, past sh inferred, kidnapped Whumpee, captive Whumpee, sadistic whumper,

*~*~*~*~*

Kit walked out of his room a few hours later, looking worse off than before he went in, but Ambrose didn’t question him as he walked over to the kettle and filled it with water. He just sat at the table, watching him as he moved about, doing his best to ignore Ambrose’s stares.

Ambrose had Kit’s phone in between his thumb and index finger, using his fourth finger to twirl it slowly, in a controlled motion over itself and back again.

Kit took a mug out from the cupboard above the counter, spooned three spoons of coffee into a cup clanging the metal spoon into the mug and turning to face Ambrose. He was wedged in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest as he shrugged and asked: “what?”

Ambrose smiled, “what do you mean what?”

“Don’t play coy, Ambrose,” Kit said with a groan, wiping a hand down his face. “It doesn’t suit you. I can hear your cogs turning in your brain.”

Ambrose’s smile turned coy, “isn’t that my power, Mallory?”

Kit scoffed and turned, throwing his hands in the air.

“Whatever,” he mumbled to himself as the kettle boiled, the switch flipping up as the water rumbled soothingly within. “I’ll probably find out soon enough anyway.”

Ambrose’s smile fell when Kit turned his back, his eyebrows drawing together in quiet contemplation, whether to broach the subject or not.

“I’ve been thinking Kit,” Ambrose said after a while.

“Uh-oh,” said Kit, stirring his coffee.

Ambrose smiled, despite himself, at Kit’s inability to shut up sometimes. Kit turned again, steaming hot cup cradled between his palms as he regarded Ambrose with an impassive expression.

“Should I be worried?” Kit asked, taking a tentative sip.

Ambrose let out a soft laugh. “No. It’s actually something that could benefit both of us,” said Ambrose. Kit’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling, before immediately pinching themselves down into a frown, suspicious.

“I know,” said Ambrose. “You have every right to be skeptical, but I think… after recent events that we should consider a way to do things more effectively.”

Kit’s lips curled back into a snarl, like that of a stray dog. “You mean you want to be more efficient in how you torture me?!”

“No,” Ambrose said, dark eyes meeting Kit’s light ones, bright with anger. “I think we should be able to have a conversation without getting defensive.”

Kit scoffed, rolling his eyes to the sky. “I wonder, God, gee Ambrose, you’re right. I wonder why the fuck we can’t be civil with each other. It’s a real head scratcher, huh?”

Ambrose’s voice took an edge to it and Kit’s mockery vanished in his throat.

“There is no reason we can’t both somehow get along.”

“I don’t know, Rosy,” Kit said, which drew a cutting stare from Ambrose. “Somehow getting along with my torturer is not on my bingo card this year.”

Ambrose laughed. He laughed a moment too long at Kit’s outburst, before he settled his gaze on Kit again and his entire expression went blank like the fucking psychopath he was.

“I could take every single freedom from you, Kit,” said Ambrose, voice full of sadistic promise. Kit swallowed hard and covered it up with a sip of his coffee. “I could have you on your knees right now begging me to hurt you again—”

“You would just love that wouldn’t you?” Kit snapped. Ambrose inclined his head at Kit, a warning, so Kit shut up.

“The truth of the matter is that I don’t want you to be some drooling, half formed thing,” Ambrose said, leaving the phone on the table and getting to his feet. Kit’s expression faltered for a moment, fear flashing across his features before schooling them neutral again.

Ambrose approached slowly. Kit took an unconscious step back but was quickly reminded that he was standing in the corner of his kitchenette and silently cursed himself for cornering himself.

“I want you to struggle and fight me, otherwise you wouldn’t be as entertaining,” he said getting closer and closer. Kit tightened his grip on the mug to stop his hands from shaking. “I want you to have your free will and be, well, Kit, because you are the most fun, I’ve ever had.”

Kit swallowed, wanting to look away but too scared to do it. “Glad to be of service.”

“See?” Ambrose said, eyes bright and voice brighter as he stood in front of Kit, forcing Kit to stare up at him. “You just can’t help yourself.”

Something flittered across Ambrose’s face that Kit couldn’t quite identify. “Your defiance is what makes you so fun, but it’s tiring subduing you all the time.”

Kit didn’t dare speak, no matter how much he wanted to. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when Ambrose put his hands on the edge of the counters boxing Kit in more. Ambrose leaned in, teeth bared in a wolfish smile as Kit’s eyes widened and he leaned back awkwardly to try and keep some space between him and his tormentor.

“See? That fear,” Ambrose whispered, as if he was saying a prayer, eyes searching Kit’s face and drinking in every last detail, every minute wince or flinch or hint of discomfort. “You just can’t bury it no matter how hard you try to hide it from me. It’s commendable really, but this doesn’t have to be just me benefiting from this relationship.”

“Relationship?!” Kit breathed with a scoff, disgust written across his face and lacing every syllable. “I want nothing to do with you!”

“But wouldn’t you enjoy your life a bit more if there were days where I didn’t have to wrestle every piece of your defiance from your body?”

The words left Kit speechless. His chest rising and falling in time with Ambrose’s. The thought of not having to worry about Ambrose’s power invading his mind sounded too good to be true, so foreign. How long had it been since Kit didn’t have to worry about Ambrose torturing him for fun? To worry about what he was going to say in case it flipped a switch in Ambrose’s brain and made him hurt Kit.

Kit was tired. He was exhausted. Life before Ambrose seemed like a dream, not a reality. He missed being ignorant. He missed not having to be terrified every day.

Ambrose got his answer when Kit’s shoulders dropped.

“See? You want it just as much as I do.”

Ambrose leaned back, backing out of Kit’s space and allowing him to stand properly again. Kit’s eyes dropped to the floor as shame flooded his system.

Deferring to a Villain?! Who was he? He was so weak; how could he kid himself into being a Hero when he couldn’t even fight a Villain for himself?! What would Mentor say if he saw Kit now?

“What do you suggest?” Kit asked, voice quiet and broken. How could thoughts of freedom take this much life from his body?! The guilt burned red up Kit’s neck, but he couldn’t not concede. He was exhausted. He just wanted a little semblance of normalcy, and if that price was whatever Ambrose named so be it.

“Your… obedience,” Ambrose said. The words hit Kit in the chest harder than a kick from a horse. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto Ambrose’s in accusation.

“You want my consent to hurt me?!” Kit barked out with a humourless laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “Would you just hear me out before making a judgement?”

Kit clenched his jaw behind closed lips and nodded.

“I was thinking about it all. The amount of power I have to use to subdue you every day, not letting you use your power, not letting you leave the house. It doesn’t all happen naturally. My power’s working overtime 24/7 with you. It’s getting exhausting.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Oh boo-fucking-who, he thought, torturing someone takes effort, poor Ambrose.

“So, I came up with a proposition if you dare to consider it. I will leave you alone for most of the week,” he said, and Kit’s heart stuttered to a stop. It must have shown on his face given Ambrose’s smirk. “I will pop in sometimes, only two or three times a week. All I ask if that you obey this little schedule change without fighting me.”

Kit’s words came out breathless, “so you do want me to consent to being tortured,” he said, an unreadable expression screwing his face up tight.

“Think of it more as consent to not being tortured as you are now,” said Ambrose taking a step closer, closing the gap between them again. He placed a hand on Kit’s cheek, thumb hooked under his chin and tilted Kit’s head up. Dark eyes searching Kit’s. “Don’t you want to be free of me, even if just for a little while?”

Kit’s bottom lip trembled. He did, he wanted it more than anything. He wanted to have some kind of normal life even if it meant agreeing to this outrageous condition. He missed his life; he missed Superhero and his job. He missed grocery shopping and late nights with his friends. He missed being able to make decisions for himself.

“What else does obedience entail?” Kit asked, spitting the word obedience as if it was some monstrous creature.

Ambrose’s eyes shined a little at the question. “It means that when I do come and see you, you drop everything. You can still fight me, still defy me, curse me out do whatever you need to — but you simply accept it.”

Kit worried his bottom lip, eyes going far away as he considered Ambrose’s proposal. Ambrose stepped away, turning to lean against the opposite counter in the kitchenette. He crossed his arms over his chest, regarding Kit as he mulled everything over.

“I can see you’re conflicted, Kit, so let me sweeten the deal,” that got Kit’s hesitant eyes back on Ambrose. “If you agree to this, I won’t attack another Hero.”

It seemed as if all air left Kit’s lungs, like an anvil had fallen from the sky and landed on Kit’s shoulders weighing them down suddenly. This was Ambrose’s ultimate cruelty. Appealing to Kit’s heroic nature, forcing him to be a martyr and shoulder the burden of Ambrose’s torment to save other heroes, the people he loves. His friends, hell, at this point his family.

Kit swallowed hard. He didn’t want to be heroic; he didn’t want to shoulder this unfair burden. He didn’t want to protect everyone from this torture, he wanted… he just wanted to be left alone.

If you agree to this, I won’t attack another hero.

Which really was a double-edged sword.

If you don’t agree to this, I will attack another hero. Take another Hero hostage, do everything I’ve done to you and more. Break them, and when they break, I will let you know that it’s all because you didn’t take my deal. Then Ambrose would probably present the deal to Kit again and Kit would take it, the guilt forcing his hand.

“I can have a normal life?” Kit asked, not meeting Ambrose’s gaze.

“Semi-normal, but I can’t see why not,” Ambrose replied.

“And I’m guessing I can’t tell anyone about our little arrangement?” Kit asked, voice mutinous. Ambrose stepped closer and put a hand on Kit’s shoulder. Kit suppressed a flinch; he hated Ambrose touching him. Kit glared up at Ambrose.

“If you like I can make you forget about it all until you see my face, then you could really live a life.”

“In ignorance,” Kit spat, batting Ambrose’s hand away. “No thanks. I’d rather know what’s coming than be caught unaware again.”

Ambrose smirked. “Fine by me.”

Kit licked his lips, passing his coffee cup into his left hand before extending his right to Ambrose. “Fine then. Deal.”

“Ah,” Ambrose said, holding up a finger, “I think we should try this out before you accept.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed and let out a soft tch of disapproval. He knew Ambrose wasn’t going to make it as easy as he made it out to be.

“You’re already reneging on your deal,” Kit said, looking to the side and taking a long, slow sip of his coffee. Ambrose stepped back to lean against the opposite counter.

“I’m not, just consider this a test,” said Ambrose. Kit rolled his eyes and set his mug down on the countertop with a dull thud.

He shrugged his shoulders and said: “fine. What do you want me to do?”

Ambrose’s eyes lit up in that eerie way they did when he got an awful idea to further humiliate or cause Kit pain.

“Let’s start with something easy,” said Ambrose simply, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “How about… sit?”

Kit scoffed and walked towards the chair beside the table. Ambrose’s voice stopped him again with a soft, “Ah.”

“What?” Kit demanded. “You said sit. I’m going to sit.”

“I didn’t say sit on a chair, Mallory.”

Kit’s eyes burned as well as the tips of his ears, shoulders bunched up. He clenched his fists at his sides and turned to face Ambrose again.

“What? You want me to sit on the ground? Like a dog?”

“Your words,” said Ambrose with an innocent smile. “Not mine.”

Kit clenched his jaw, glaring up at Ambrose and keeping eye contact as he bent his knee and dropped to the ground. He planted his butt firmly on the ground and crossed his legs.

“Now,” Kit spat. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Good,” said Kit, moving to get to his feet again. Ambrose pressed a boot down on Kit’s ankle to stop him from getting up. Kit clenched his fists tight but settled himself back onto the ground.

“I didn’t say you could get up, Mallory,” Ambrose chides, removing his foot from Kit’s ankle.

Kit crossed his arms across his chest in a huff like a child throwing a tantrum, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care what Ambrose thought of him.

“You’re such a dick,” said Kit, grumpy.

“Look at you, you’re adorable. Are you pouting?”

Kit bared his teeth up at Ambrose in reply. “Okay, you can stand up now,” said Ambrose.

Kit scoffed and remained stubbornly on the floor. “Fuck you.”

Ambrose shrugged theatrically. “Fine, I guess I was expecting too much of you when I proposed my deal.”

An obvious ploy for Kit to protest, but still Kit couldn’t do anything but protest. The thought of freedom… it was too enticing to say no to.

“Wait,” Kit grumbled, casting his eyes to the floor as his mind screamed at him for obeying Ambrose at all. “Just… wait.” Kit swallowed hard and got to his feet, still not meeting Ambrose’s hungry stare.

“Kit,” Ambrose said, but Kit still didn’t look at him. “Kit, look at me.”

Kit felt his blood flood his cheeks with humiliation as he raised his head to meet Ambrose’s gaze. His hands were shaking, with anger or frustration or shame Kit didn’t know, but he knew they were shaking and that he didn’t want them to.

“Show me your scars,” said Ambrose.

Kit took a step backwards, as if Ambrose had just assaulted him. His lips curled up and he cut his hand through the air as if to say enough.

“No,” Kit said, voice thick. “No.”

Ambrose tilted his head to the side. “Will I have to say everything twice, Mallory?”

“You are fucking loving this aren’t you?” Kit hissed, throwing his hands up in a helpless sort of gesture. “Whether I agree to your deal or not it doesn’t matter because you still get to hurt me like this. You’re fucking sick. You disgust me.”

Ambrose stared at Kit’s emotional outburst like one would judging the weather from their bedroom window in the morning. “Do I have to say it again, or are you flat out refusing?”

“Fine!” Kit snapped, voice higher, almost hysterical. Kit reached up to grab the collar of his shirt and hoisted it over his head to reveal his back, not taking it off all the way. He turned his back to Ambrose and said: “that one on my left shoulder? That’s from a nasty run in with Other Villain when Another Hero called for aid on a mission. I got it from his fucking scythe if you can believe it—”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Here,” said Kit, turning again and shrugging his shirt back on before lifting the bottom of it to reveal the scar just above his hip. It wasn’t one but three. “Villain’s whip,” Kit told Ambrose. “It stung like a bitch, but she only ever caught me once with it.”

Kit flung his shirt down and grinned at Ambrose. “There, Rosy. I showed you, my scars. I obeyed your fucking command. Are you happy?”

Ambrose hummed in the back of his throat. “We must be spending too much time together, Mallory. You’re starting to understand the power of words.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You learn to when your freedom is limited by them.”

Ambrose didn’t say anything for a moment. He pursed his lips together, taking his hands from his pockets.

“Perhaps the deal was too premature,” Ambrose said. Kit’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, his throat suddenly dry at the prospect of losing his chance at a semi-normal life again. “I’m sorry Kit,” said Ambrose. He meant it too, because he turned to go but Kit’s hand shot out before he could stop himself and grabbed Ambrose’s arm stopping him from leaving.

Ambrose looked down at the hand on his arm then at Kit’s face which was hidden behind his hair, his head tilted down.

“Okay,” Kit whispered. “I’ll show you… you just… you have to use the right words.”

Ambrose stiffened under Kit. “Which are?”

“You said show me your scars. The scars on my arm? They’re not mine,” Kit continued in that same grave, self-hating voice. He raised his head to meet Ambrose’s black eyes with his own haunted gaze. “They’re yours. I didn’t earn them; they mean nothing to me. My scars are mine, wholly mine. I got them.”

Kit ignored the way his voice cracked and let Ambrose go, rolling up his sleeve. “Not these. I didn’t get these, they were forced on me, much like you are. So there. Have I passed your fucking obedience training, or do you want me to bark?”

Ambrose couldn’t help but be a little impressed at Kit’s speech. He didn’t even look down at Kit’s arms the whole time that Kit spoke. He was too focused on the spark of defiance that defined Kit in his mind. The way it left a strange sort of glow to Kit’s features, made them brighter, more animated and life like. As if fighting back the rage he wanted to scream at Ambrose was going to energise other parts of his body.

He didn’t tremble once. He didn’t shake. Everything he said he was certain of, and he didn’t fear any retribution because of it. Ambrose wanted to see more of it, not less, and he feared if he kept Kit isolated and locked away from life forever that spark would dwindle down into nothing. He could search the entire planet ten times over and never find something like it again.

Ambrose smiled. “No Kit. You proved that you could do what you say.”

Kit’s eyes went to Ambrose’s with that same delicious conviction. Ambrose stuck his hand out and Kit shook it.

“I think we have a deal.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage roll call (tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3 ): - @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland

[rileys-battlecats]

Was Possum aware of how MicaClan is about outsiders when he dropped Muddy off there? He probably didn’t have much other choice at that moment, but did he have an idea of how Mudpaw might be treated once he left? If he didn’t know, then do you think he might’ve tried to find another option if he did know?

Also, if I’m allowed to ask, do you know where Possum is currently? And do you think he might ever show up again?

He definitely knew about Micaclan's attitude toward outsiders; part of the reason he hadn't visited home the whole time was because they'd made their stance on his leaving clear. Leaving the clan was a betrayal, even if Possum hadn't meant for it to be. The only reason he was taking the chance on Micaclan when everything went wrong was because, in his panic and heartbreak, all he could think was that Muddy will be safe at home. Even all these years later, in his heart of hearts, the mountain and the cats that raised him are still home.

He thought that Muddy's connection to him would be enough to soften their view. Possum was once a Micaclan cat, he still has family in Micaclan. Perhaps the blood connection would be enough. It didn't matter, in the end; Wrentail never told them.

Along with this, part of the reason he renamed Muddy as Mudkit was to make him seem less foreign, less strange, more traditional. After all, Mudkit sounds like a name any clan cat might give their kit, whereas Muddykit has just the slightest tinge of the atypical. Possum did everything he could to soften the blow, but he worries it wasn't enough.

Today, I think Possum hangs around outside the town he met Sweetpea in. On the outskirts. He can't bring himself to leave, can no longer travel as he once might have, knowing his kit is still living further up the mountain. He can't bring himself to stay either, though. Their old haunts all remind him of his mate, and of their kit. The memories are painful. He's stuck somewhere in the in between. Part of him died that day; in some ways, he feels like a ghost, unable to pass on.

And I don't know if he will show up again! I would love to tie him back into the story, but I think his return would have to be some time after Mudpaw's story draws to a close. Mudpaw has his own development to do, and I think bringing Possum back into the mix too soon could throw things off course. Fun to think about, though!

[hed-romancer]

-Everyday-

Part 5 of my AU comic where Teru is stronger than Mob, but also works with just regular canon. Was no one going to tell me I forgot to draw ears for the first 4 parts????

Strength Swap AU Original idea

Strength Swap Comic: part 1 previous part next part

i don't support mcdonalds or subway, just tryna show teru is not eating healthy

image id below the cut!

image id:

The first panel reads, "Everyday, Hanazawa Teruki..."

The three panels below it split the paper in thirds. The left column reads "yesterday", the middle "Today", and the right "tomorrow"

Under today and yesterday are images of teru in bed at 6:00 on thursday and friday, respectively. he is not wearing a wig. under tomorrow, he lies in bed at 11:57 on saturday. in all three he is frowning. underneath all three, a text box reads "wakes up alone,"

Under yesterday is an image of some mob-o's cereal ("the easy cereal"), under today is an image of a mobdonalds takeout bag, and under tomorrow is an image of a hand reaching for a granola bar. underneath all three, a textbox reads, "eats breakfast alone,"

Under yesterday is an image of teru walking in the sun with a frown on his face, under today is a closer up image of teru walking in the sun with a frown on his face. underneath both of them, a textbox reads "and walks to school alone". Under tomorrow is an even closer up image of teru in bed at 14:22 on saturday, with a frown on his face. text below reads "or finds something else to do alone."

Under yesterday is an image of a kid saying, "you're so cool, teru!" and under today is an image of a different kid saying, "Please go out with me, Teru!" Underneath both is the text, "He has friends..." Under tomorrow, is an image of Teru standing alone, above the text "just not ones he sees outside of school."

Under yesterday is an image of a flip phone saying "Mom: We're so proud of you Teru!" and under today is two pictures hanging on the wall, one of a younger teru and his parents, and one of just his parents. below both are the words "He has parents..." Under tomorrow is an image of 5 letters, reading: "We promise!", "We'll visit!", "Next year!", "Soon!", "Soon!" Underneath is the text, "just not ones he sees ever."

Under yesterday is an image of an open freezer with a bunch of frozen food (mostly pizzas). Under today is an image of a mob-way eat-fresh bag. Under tomorrow is an image of Teru lying in bed at 18:57 on Saturday, with his stomach rumbling. Under all three is the text, "He eats dinner alone."

Under yesterday, today, and tomorrow, are three images of the same tv, all displaying the movie title "Flying Dead Pig." Underneath all three is the text, "He watches movie alone" with an "s" at the end of "movie" crossed out.

A textbox says "He's done this every day for years, but every once in a while, his life gets exciting."

The three columns are now labeled "Age 10"- above an image of Teru standing over a dead adult with a broken window in the background- "Last week"- above an image of Teru wrapping his own injured arm using a first aid kit- and "The rest of his life, probably"- above an image of Teru standing, fists raised and glowing with power as he says "Try me."

A textbox reads, "Hanazawa Teruki is safe alone, because he's the strongest. He always has been, and he always will be."

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

I’ve kinda already written about this before with the college AU I started a while ago but I have a mighty need for a life drawing workshop with Ghost and Soap.

Like maybe Soap runs some classes in a local bar venue space or something and he puts out ads every so often for models. Ghost meanwhile is discharged from the army with a shitty shoulder injury and no where to go. After going for a pint with Gaz to commiserate, and drown their shared sorrows of having to leave army life, Gaz tells Ghost about a new side hustle he has going ever since he’d had to leave months prior.

Ghost snorts out a laugh at first “are you bloody joking? You. A life model?”

Gaz pretends not to get too offended, but rolls his eyes and take a drink.

“It’s not as weird as you think. You stand in a couple different poses-“

“With your kit off,” Ghost chuckles.

“Yes, with your kit off,” Gaz huffs. “You get told how to stand and what props to use and then a bunch of people draw you for a couple hours. It’s totally painless and you get decent dosh for it. I do Soap’s class twice a month and Alex’s class three times - it’s easy money, plus it’s cash in hand so HMRC don’t have to be any the wiser bout it.”

“Hang on a minute, Soap?” Ghost says, shaking his head. “What kind of a name is Soap? He gives you props as well? What next, does he ask you to dance for him too? Give ‘im the old dazzle dazzle, do you?”

“Fuck off Ghost.”

“Aw, im only messing. ‘Sides even if I wanted to do little poses for your art class, I wouldn’t be able to. My shoulder’s buggered remember? I wouldn’t be able to hold a lot of positions for long.”

“Soap’s pretty understanding. He can pick poses that suit your body and he can adjust the times so that you don’t have to stay still too long if you can’t take it. You just have to tell him about your injury and he’ll be understanding.”

Ghost shook his head again and took another gulp.

“Fuckin’ Soap.”

“He’s an eccentric guy, but he’s cool,” Gaz shrugs. “Do you want me to speak to him for you? He’s usually on the lookout for new models.”

Ghost would say he’d need to take some time to think about it, but Gaz would take that as a yes. So a few days roll by and soon enough Ghost gets a text through telling him that Soap would be ‘well up’ for meeting him and said he should come by the next evening before class.

Ghost - I told you I’d think about it, you twat. Not to go on ahead and tell him I wanna join his little cult.

Gaz - show up or don’t, you can think about it all you like between now and then. You’ll thank me later 🤪

After that last text Gaz then sent him a picture of a wad of cash and few coins spread out over a blotted bar top. Ghost would sigh, but as soon as he saw that money he knew his decision was made. He needed something until he was able to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, something to tide him over till he received payments for his injury.

He’d turn up for Soap’s class with a flustered air around him and would step through the shadowy doorway to the bar with soft unsure steps. It was still early, there wouldn’t be many people inside. He’d ask the barman where the function room was and sullenly walk through the curtain, raising his brows when he’d finally lay eyes on Soap.

Ghost wouldn’t know what to expect but it’s not the mohawked barrel of a man that’s lugging chairs around the room and running around like a little worker ant. His eyes would linger on the muscles that were exposed from Soap’s paint and charcoal stained tank top and he’d watch on wordlessly, widening his eyes when Soap would finally notice him. He’d dig his nails into his palms to try to stop himself from blushing in embarrassment.

“You’re a bit early for the class’ mate,” Soap would huff, settling another chair around the raised stage. “Looking to join?”

“Uh sort of,” Ghost would say, frowning as he struggled to find words around the bodybuilder/artist. “My friend Gaz, uh Kyle you probably know him as - he said you were looking for more models and that I should come by…”

Soap’s eyes would light in recognition and he’d smile warmly, striding over to greet Ghost properly. Ghost wouldn’t be prepared for the warm grip in Ghost’s handshake and he especiallly wasn’t prepared for those big blue crystalline eyes to be roaming over him as if they were mentally taking him apart.

“Simon right?” Soap would say, revealing a perfect white grin. “I’m Soap, John’s my name, but I prefer Soap so you can go with that, yeah? Kyle mentioned you had a shoulder injury and that you weren’t sure you could hold certain poses.”

Ghost would straighten up then and nod, pointing out which one it was. From then Soap would take him through a few positions and would discuss the technicalities with him, were Ghost to join. Apparently it was easy to make accommodations for him, and Soap would be more than pleased to have him as a model, and like Kyle had already mentioned, the pay was pretty good.

Ghost would grow interested the more he would hear and eventually Soap would wear him down enough into taking him through a few practice ones. They would be relatively easy, and Ghost would find himself realising that Gaz was right - it was easy money. Plus Soap was no bad company either.

He’d be convinced into watching the class that night and getting to have a little taster of what he would be doing. The model that night would be a tiny little thing, a dancer, and would hold the most intricate stances for the eager artists to draw, contorting themselves into pretzel like shapes that Ghost couldn’t possibly hold. They’d capture his attention for a minute, but Ghost would always find himself staring at Soap right after.

He’d watch the way he directed the model, stroking the air to dictate how he wanted them and guiding them gently into form all without physically touching. He’d encourage the artists, complimenting a few people, and helping anyone that needed guidance. His favourite would be when the others would fall silent and Soap would take to gathering himself a pencil and paper and drawing for a little bit. The immense concentration, the way he’d clench his jaw and narrow his eyes would be so captivating and there was nothing that could stop Ghost looking away. Nothing that could stop him from wondering what it would be like having Soap’s eyes on him like that.

As it turns out it would almost steal all the breath from his lungs. Ghost would be sitting on that same stage the next week, stone faced and gritting his teeth through the slight chill in the air. He’d be used to resisting the cold, though he wouldn’t be used to all the eyes on his naked body, most of all Soap’s as his furrowed brow stayed glued to him. Ghost would swear that Soap could read his thoughts, could strip his mind just as easily as his body and he would know that Ghost was developing a stupid obsession with him (he’d refuse to think of it as a crush).

He’d look purposely look away on the next pose and would still feel Soap’s eyes on him still. They’d warm a path from the bones at his collar, all the way down the ridges of his pecs and right down to the pit of his belly. Butterflies would dance where his empty stomach should have been.

He’d love and hate it in equal measure, barely feeling the eyes of Soap’s gaggle of students because of the intensity of their teacher, but he would still show up again the next week and the next after that. Just hoping that maybe one night it wouldn’t be his own hands pulling the cord on his robe, perhaps he could embrace a pair covered in charcoal and graphite and entice them to touch instead of trace the air. He’d want to break through Soap’s page and show him new colours, tear the world as he knew it apart in only the way that Ghost could.

[not-a-space-alien]

K&J x MMSS 4: Valen & Jim Part 7B

Part 7 of the "B side" universe for AU4. You can check chapter 4B for clarification on what this means if you're lost.

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

Warnings: Aftermath of torture

In this chapter: Valen continues to make healing progress despite the setbacks.

***

Things continue relatively smoothly for the next few days. Liz gets Jim a blood draw kit that he uses to feed Valen, anxiously entering the realm of becoming food again, but the fact that it's his choice this time makes it different.

"You're looking a lot better." Jim notes as he removes Valen's bandages to change them. "I don't think we need to put new ones on. You wanna try talking?"

Valen is feeling a lot better.  He can smile without hurting his face now, and his skin has mostly grown back.  He doesn't flinch looking at himself in the mirror these days.

You wanna try talking?  Jim is surely prompting him to do so, but it still feels dangerous to assume permission for things, and to answer anything other than the exact literal question.  He nods vigorously, then waits patiently to be given permission, managing to flicker his eyes up to make eye contact a few times.

"Go ahead." Jim encourages excitedly. "Try saying something."

Valen can barely remember the motions to go through to talk.  He vibrates his throat, and a horrible, raspy noise comes out.  His eyes widen with shock, and he claps his hands over his mouth.

"Yeah, there you go!"Jim gives him a winning smile. "Keep going, try again. You gotta practice, it's not gonna be perfect on the first try."

Valen steels his nerves and makes a few more dry, horrible grunts, clearing his throat, shaking the cobwebs off.  He ramps up to it. ".......................jjjjjjjjjJjjjjjJJJJJJJJJIM."

And his face breaks into a delighted smile.  He rocks back and forth happily, wiggling his hands.  "Jim!" he rasps again

"Valen!" Jim says back enthusiastically.

It hasn't even been a week yet, and Jim is nervous about it, but he's a hugger. Valen is fed now, so it should be fine, right? He lightly wraps his arms around Valen, a bit tense, ready to pull away if he needs to. "I'm so happy for you."

Valen giggles and hugs back, firmly but not squeezing, and does an excited spin, lifting Jim off the ground slightly.  "Jim!  Jim!"

"Oh!" Jim freezes up, his heart beating fast with anxiety.

No, stop freaking out, this is Valen, not Kane. He's not going to pin you to the wall by your neck and choke you. He's not going to throw you to the ground so hard it leaves bruises. It's Valen. He's just picking you up because he's excited.

Jim forces himself to try to relax. "Valen Valen! Congrats, man. It's only been a few days and you've come so far."

Valen remains oblivious to Jim's anxiety, setting him back down on the ground and leaning into his chest, crying happily, not letting go, savoring the warm feeling.  He still feels some urge to bite, here in Jim's embrace, but he's well-fed enough to easily resist it.  That just adds to his happy crying.  It feels like he's never been this happy in his whole life.

Jim calms down significantly once he's back on his feet, unharmed. He holds Valen close, carding a hand through his hair. "We'll get there. Soon you'll be speaking in full sentences again."

He hesitates before adding, "So, I was thinking. Seems like you've definitely got your strength back, at least. Would you wanna get blood packs from vampire territory to bring back here? I know your stuff's probably gone by now since you've been captive so long, so if it's not feasible that's fine. I can keep feeding you. No matter what, you'll be safe and fed here."

Valen's face falls a little bit, suddenly realizing how burdensome his presence here is.  Of course Jim would want him to-

No, come on.  Jim is proposing a reasonable idea to lift some burden from himself, not saying he's going to kick Valen out, or hates him, or anything like that.  Valen is capable of doing things to help himself, and Jim.  Jim freed him, and fed him, and hugged him.  He can do this.

His face hardens with resolve.  "Yes," he croaks.  "I can try."

"Hey, there's a sentence! And you don't need to rush it, okay? Just something to think about doing once you feel up to it. I seriously don't mind feeding you in the meantime. And we'll make sure Liz clears it with her coworkers so no one stops you on the way. Can even drop you off and pick you up from the border if you want. Whatever you need." Jim smiles.

Valen salutes.

Valen's first order of business in this endeavor is not, in fact, to go to the border.  Valen tells Jim he's going to go out one night.  First he has to go to his house where he'd been living to see if any of his valuables are still there, because he needs money to buy the blood.  And the imported stuff isn't cheap.

He manages to get a few miles away before his nerves fail him and he runs straight back, shyly reporting that he would try again the next night and go a little further.

He repeats this process, getting a bit further away each night, until one day he manages to get back to his house and find his stash of valuables, bringing them back and showing Jim an outrageous pile of jewelry and gems and precious metals

"Holy shit." Jim laughs. "You're loaded! Thought you were just a normal guy, but I guess you made out like a bandit with that asshole husband's stuff?"

"Yes," he says, trying to suppress his laughter.  "I'm sure he was disappointed when he realized I was never coming back to return the things he'd convinced himself I'd merely 'borrowed.' I'll be sure to be careful where I sell them, lest he starts seeing them appear in pawn shops."

"Nice." Jim high-fives him.

Valen manages to work, up the courage to back over to vampire territory and return with blood packs.

Things go on. Valen is starting to look like his old self again, having access to his old clothes and getting back on T. Jim continues to coax him out of his shell, growing more comfortable himself now that he doesn't have to provide blood. The hunters in the area know not to fuck with Valen.

One day, the phone rings. When Jim answers with a "Hello?", Valen hears a very familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, Jim, how are you? It’s Chase. Just calling on behalf of the vampire hunters to check up on ya. Been a couple months, so we just wanted to make sure everything went okay with the leech after pickup.”

Valen had been unloading the dishwasher in the kitchen; as soon he hears that voice, he drops the armload of cups he'd been carrying, cracking a few of them.  He stands still, absolutely frozen, eyes glazed over in terror, instantly in tears.

"Everything's fine. Not a great time, don't call back." Jim says curtly before slamming the receiver and rushing over to Valen.

"Valen? It's okay, he's not here, he can't hurt you anymore." he says softly.

Valen steps back until he hits the wall, pulling away from Jim, and sliding down to curl up in a little ball.  "I'll be good, Jim, sir, please, please don't let him take me, please don't put me out in the sun, please please please."

Jim stays where he is, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoping that's a little less threatening. "He's not taking you. He's not even trying to take you, and if he did try, I wouldn't let him. No sun. No one's ever putting you in the sun again, least of all me. You're safe, remember? Can you try to remember that?"

Valen squeezes his eyes shut.  "Please don't give me back to them, Jim, I'll do anything you want to stay here.  Safe, safe, I'm safe here.  Please let me stay here.  Please don't send me back."

"I won't. I would never, ever make you go back there. Part of being safe means being safe from having to go anywhere you'll be hurt, okay? I don't just mean you're safe here, I mean you're safe in general. Do you understand?" Jim asks.

Valen nods.  "Thank you.  Thank you for your mercy, Jim. I know I don't deserve it, thank you, I'll be good."

"You deserve it, Valen." Jim's heart breaks for him. "You didn't do anything wrong, first of all. They had the wrong guy, remember? Second, even if you did do something, no one deserves the shit they did to you. You deserve to be safe."

"Thank you, Jim.  Thank you.  I think I want to go downstairs now, into the basement.  If that's okay?"

"Yeah, 'course it's okay. You want me to set anything up for you down there? I can blow up the air mattress again for you to lie down on, like when you first got here." Jim offers.

"N-no, that's okay," Valen says.  Still crouching, he scuttles away from Jim and into the basement.  Dark, solid, safe.  He closes the door.  Dark, dark, dark.  That's safe.  He curls up under the stairs.

He'd thought he was better by now, but hearing that man's voice had set him all the way back like he couldn't imagine.  He's still out there, walking around, free.  He knows Jim's phone number, maybe where he lives.  He doesn't dare come back out.

Jim cleans up the cups Valen dropped. He's been thinking that action against the hunters needs to be taken, talking to Liz about it, but he's afraid to rock the boat. Right now, no one's coming after Valen, who they believe to be safely contained and that Jim has a right to keep with him. What if that changes if the truth of the matter is revealed?

He'll talk to Valen about it later, he decides. When Valen's calmed down. It should be his decision.

He waits until it's dark out to go check on Valen, knocking on the door. "Valen? It's dark out now, if that makes you feel a little safer. Just wanted to check in on you and make sure you're holding up okay?"

Valen's wide eyes appear from under the stairs.  "J-Jim.  Does he know where you live?  He has your phone number, does he know where I am?  Could he show up here?"

"No, he doesn't know where I live. He's not gonna show up here." Jim promises. "I promise, you're safe here. You are never going back to that place."

Valen crawls up the stairs, lying in a heap at Jim's feet, hugging his knees.  "But he's still out there, they're all still out there.  What if they-they come here, and you aren't home?"

"They handed you over willingly, right?" Jim reminds him, crouching. "It's not like you escaped. And they wouldn't just, like, bust down the front door and break in. Even if they somehow showed up here when I wasn't home, hours by car away when they don't even know where I live, they still wouldn't get you. Okay?"

Valen nods, sniffling.  "Okay.  Thank you, Jim."

Valen is much more needy than usual over the next few days, barely ever leaving Jim's side, and even more rarely making eye contact.  Jim notices Valen eating less often than usual, and when he brings it up, Valen admits he's been trying to make the blood packs he has last longer to put off leaving the house for as long as possible.  "It's not like I need to be strong for anything," he offers as his rationale as to why it's okay.  "Nothing bad will happen if I don't eat for a while."

"I know what it's like to be terrified you're gonna get snapped up again and taken back." Jim takes Valen's hand. "How about I help you out, huh? No going hungry in this house. I'll get the blood draw kit back out."

"I can't ask you to," Valen says, voice thick.  "I'm sorry.  I know it makes you uncomfortable.  And then I'll feel like I have to go out faster so you can stop.  I would rather just not eat for a while."

"Well good thing you're not asking me to, then. I'm offering." Jim counters. "I wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't willing to do it. Starving yourself isn't an option. As your friend, I'm vetoing it."

He grabs a blood pack from the fridge and hands it to Valen. "Drink. When you run out, I'll feed you, for as long as you need me to. You don't have to feel rushed."

Valen cries again, feeling overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of actual support.  He starts to feel better not being hungry all the time, and works up the nerve to go get himself blood again soon enough.

Jim is glad to see Valen feeling confident enough to go out again. He decides this as good a time as ever.

"Hey, so, Liz and I have been talking. About the hunters who hurt you and all. She thinks it might be possible to get their hunting licenses revoked. She's not sure about prosecution, since this is kinda an unprecedented situation so there's no laws against it, but that might be possible too. Would that be something you're interested in?" he asks.

"Um."  Valen is terrified by the prospect of having to come face to face with any of these people again, and the possibility that they might seek him out for retaliation.  But the idea of taking away their power to do that to anyone else is too appealing.  "I-I think that would be the most responsible thing to do.  It-it should be made known what they're capable of.  They're-they're dangerous people, walking around free.  Yes.  You'll be with me the whole time, right?  In case I have to, have to c-confront them?"

"Of course. You won't have to see them. Liz and her friends and I will handle it." Jim gives Valen a quick hug. "You're gonna be alright."

This process actually goes very smoothly, partially helped by public opinion. Once Jim makes it known that Valen is the vampire who rescued him, from the bestselling book, there is a lot of public support for him. Hunting licenses are revoked, though the lack of existing laws makes prosecution hard. The process of getting a law put into place to prevent torture of vampires has started. This may cause a certain someone to put a rush on certain experiments getting going.

Jim's address is not known- that's the whole point of him moving out here in the first place- but Liz is sent things for Valen from random humans. Letters of support. One comes with a teddy bear holding a heart that says Get well soon.

Valen is relieved when it goes smoothly.  He'd half expected the whole thing to be dismissed, laughed off.  He's shocked when he starts receiving encouragement from random humans.  He has a hard time accepting the idea that a faceless crowd of humans could like him, instead of hate him, because he'd been told and shown for five years that only the latter was possible.  He keeps every single correspondence and gift he gets, setting them in a box and putting it in the basement, along with a blanket and a beanbag chair.  When he has his bad days, he goes downstairs to be away from the sun and sits there, curled up, reading and re-reading and re-re-reading every nice, comforting, supportive thing humans who are complete strangers to him have written.  Sometimes, when he's brave enough, he writes back and asks Liz to mail it out.

***

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@emcscared-whumps

@gt-daboss

@hurtpluscomfort

@jakersdaboss

@lolrpop

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@pigeonwhumps

@some-thrilling-heroics

@starfields08000

@t0rture-me

@thecyrulik

@thejinglingcourtjester

@vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff

@whuarri

@whump-cravings

@whump-my-heart-away

@whumpycries

@wolfeyedwitch

@whump-addict

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

[chil-aglia]

Splinter: Thank you my honest boys. Now... DO NOT TOUCH MY STUFF!😡 Capiche?🤨

Boys: Eep! Yes dad!😰😰😰😰😰

Splinter: 🤨😁Good. Now if you excuse me I'm gonna make some tea and enjoy the show. Have fun, but do not disturb me.

Splinter finally let go off breath they didn't they were holding.

Boys: Phew 😮‍💨

Raph: That was close eh guys?

Others: 😠😠😠😠

Raph: Oh... Right.😥

Adri: Next time, don't throw at us a freaking teapot!

Donnie: Seriously what were you thinking?!

Raph: I'm sorry! It was a first thing Raph grabbed and didn't think of it much!

Leo: Hey relax, we fixed didn't we? It's okay now.

Adri: Do you really think a plastic toy will work?

Mikey: It was a limited version of Jupiter Jim figure. Of course it will.

Donnie: Dear Angelo, that figure is made of literally 100% plastic so once Papa is gonna make a tea it will definitely m-

Leo put his hand on twin's mouth before he could say anything that would upset their little brother.

Leo: No need to buzzkill Dee (Donnie growled at that, but Leo continued), I mean everything is fine. No harm do-OW!

Suddenly Leo yelped in mid-sentence as he felt a sharp pain on right foot. He let go off Donnie's mouth and instinctively grabbed Adriaen and used him as his crutch. Adri didn't hesitate to help as he startled by slider's painful cry.

Raph: Leo! Leo are you okay?

Leo: Ow my foot hurts.

Adri: You're bleeding!

Indeed Leo's foot was bleeding small drops. It wasn't anything serious but poor little Mikey who had no idea panicked.

Mikey: Waahhh Leo is gonna die!😭

Donnie: Don't be ridiculous Mikey, Leo just accidentally cut himself. Probably from the missing piece. (Though he couldn't stop shaking from anxiety at the sight of blood)

Leo: Yeah, don't worry Angie. I'll be fine

Raph: That's right. But first we need treat your wound. Adriaen, could you bring a first aid kit please?

Adri: On it.

So they clean Leo's wound and put a cool Jupiter Jim blue bandage on it. They looked for the missing piece, but couldn't find it anywhere. Donnie said after looking that his dum dum brother must have kicked it away when he stepped on it and freaked out (Leo protested on that last part). They decided to let it go and went to sleep as it was getting late. And besides they already solved the teapot disaster.

Everything was fine.

Everything was NOT fine. Oh they had no idea how everything is not fine. Why? Because the next day at morning during breakfast, the boys Raph, Donnie, Mikey along with their dad followed a distressed Adriaen who couldn't stop chirping in panic as he dragged them to Leo's room to find their red eared slider brother in question, lying on floor next to vomit with sweating face burning red from high fever.

TO BE CONTINUED

_____________________________________________________________

Don't worry, this is only part 1. The others will come soon. Also in case you wondering why Splinter yell at them 'DO NOT TOUCH MY STUFF!' this is actually scrapped version from from End Game.

Here:

Pretty cool, but yeesh Splinter sure looks demonic in this panel. Maybe that's why they didn't animate it officially. (Honestly I'm grateful for that.)

Next time we'll see what's wrong with Leo. (Hang in there kiddo😔🙏)

Oop! Well this is exciting. Making me wanna try and draw tot Adriaen in that style (if I can that is)

Adriaen giving distress chirps in worry for Leo is making my heart melt

[skyscratch-wc]

The Skyfall AU Masterpost

This post will be an archive of sorts for the information posts for the Skyfall AU.

The goal of this AU is to hammer out a solid timeline for warrior cats, emphasize the downfall of Skyclan and the aftermath as key drivers in the plot, and better flesh out the characters and clan culture(s)! Additionally, I hope to address some of the more problematic elements of the canon text to make a narrative that is more satisfying and lives up to the potential the warriors world has. I also want to pin down a setting (at the moment I am leaning towards SW Scotland) for the books in order to make the names and environment consistent and accurate.

This AU will focus primarily on the the time frame from the fall of Skyclan to the end of OotS, since those are the books I read as a kid/teenager and are the books I have the best grasp of. I stopped reading the series consistently several years ago, but have re-read TPB recently. As such, I probably won't do much work on anything post-The Last Hope. Perhaps later, but certainly not anytime soon.

I hope to tackle DotC at some point, since I got about halfway through that arc before stopping reading the books.

This project is roughly broken into a few categories that are subject to change:

History of the Clans and Timeline Work:

Timeline from The Skyfall to Modern Day [DRAFT]

Clan Culture:

Skyclan's Cultural Evolution

Clan Ranks and Structure

How to Become Deputy by Clan

Plot:

Skyclan's Downfall

Thunderclan Civil War (aka The Skyblood Conflict)

Disbanding of Skyclan

Characters:

ThunderClan Cats

ShadowClan Cats

RiverClan Cats

WindClan Cats

Ancient SkyClan Cats

Modern SkyClan Cats

Rogues, Loners, and Housecats

Family Trees:

Power of Five

Skykin Foundations

ThunderClan

WindClan

RiverClan

ShadowClan

Modern SkyClan

Clanmew Posts:

SkyClan Ranks in Clanmew

Geography and Ecosystems:

Flora and Fauna of SW Scotland

The Forest Territories

Allegiances:

Into the Wild: ThunderClan

Into the Wild: ShadowClan

Into the Wild: WindClan

Into the Wild: RiverClan

Skyfall Asks + Responses:

Can Clerics have mates/kits

Will I write this?

Goal of the rewrite

This AU is inspired not only by the canonical warriors books that I read as a kid/teen but also by the work of @bonefall and @cryptidclaw, both blogs I absolutely love reading through because the ideas in their respective AUs/rewrites are superb and get the creative juices flowing. In particular, I plan on using the clanmew language system developed by bonefall and @troutfur and drawing from the clan culture bonefall has numerous posts about. This is also inspired by other animal fantasy books I read in my childhood, including Tailchaser's Song, Guardians of Ga'hoole, and Wings of Fire.

[kirwell]

PALEBREEZE SENIOR WARRIOR ⊱ HOWLINGCLAN ⊰

|| FEMALE || SENIOR (105 MOONS)

|| INSECURE || BELOVED KITSITTER lore dump below if that's your thing /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

☽◯☾

As one of the founding members of HowlingClan, she especially feels the importance of protecting and taking care of the clan. She rarely uses her claws and teeth, preferring to take a peacekeeping approach with compassion and words. She’s always been more passive, her insecurities keeping her from approaching situations with assertiveness or typical Warrior-aggression.  When HowlingClan was young, she served among the warrior ranks, but now that clan has grown in numbers and strength, Palebreeze feels herself drawing further away from the lifestyle of a warrior. Perhaps one day, she’ll join Duskskip as a fellow Mediator and tend to the disputes of their clan. And with so many new kits in the nursery, some orphaned, her motherly touch might be what HowlingClan needs right now.

Palebreeze is a prominent figure among HowlingClan, well-liked and loved by many, especially by Beambark, one of her oldest friends. Beambark always let her voice her thoughts without fear of judgment, and it was no surprise when Palebreeze realized her romantic feelings for the moody medicine cat. However, she refrained from letting her love known, fearing rejection from the medicine cat who held tight to her loyalty to The Code of Old While on a lone patrol to collect her thoughts, Palebreeze came across the Thunderpath that divided HowlingClan and the TwolegPlace and found a collapsed she-cat with an awful injury. Palebreeze trudged the she-cat back to camp, where she did, in fact, make a full recovery.  The stranger introduced herself to HowlingClan as a kittypet who left her home behind to pursue life among the clans after being guided by StarClan. Her supposed strong connection to their warrior ancestors was questionable, and the clan was suspicious when the kittypet told them she even received her name, “Pansyskitter” from Starclan themselves. Palebreeze liked the strange she-cat, however, and the two grew into quite great friends, Pansyskitter always making time for the warrior between her new medicine cat duties.  She wondered if this silly, cheerful she-cat was sent into her life for something more, and Palebreeze tried to entertain the idea of a life together. But she never felt the same festering love as she did for Beambark, and even though a future with her seemed like an unreachable dream, Palebreeze’s heart never wavered, and neither did her hopes. And then, one day, she was approached by an unusually emotional Beambark, and was shocked and overjoyed when the medicine cat finally confessed her own love for Palebreeze.  With tears in her eyes, Palebreeze laughed. "It's about time! I was waiting for you to get the nerve to finally ask me out." 

- I can't see her having biological kits. But she's always there for every new kit in the clan, and maybe one day, fate will bless her with a kit to adopt as her own <3

-She'll probably become a mediator soon, now that HowlingClan has so many able warriors now. And she'll be in favor of Beambark's views too, sooo that'll be interesting ..

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Oh look it’s me posting another damn fic excerpt bc I’m completely insane and day 5 of my style week shit is literally just sot whump

From In Poison Places:

“Is it working?”

Kyle laid his head back on the dry earth with a grimace. “Give- give it a minute.”

They honestly didn’t have a minute. Night would be falling soon, they were both injured, and there was still nearly a mile to go before they reached the other side of the woods. They were on a mission of the utmost importance: to reach the harbor where the Pirate King, Kyle’s brother Ike, made his home. The elven army was outnumbered by the humans, and in desperate need of allies, allies that would hopefully come in the form of the pirates. The elf king had sent correspondence to his brother days before, but after hearing nothing back, had decided it would be better to plead their case in person.

Unfortunately, the only path to the harbor that didn’t cross lands controlled by the Wizard King was through the seldom traversed Dark Forest. There was a reason few dared to enter these woods, as they were being continuously reminded.

Stan covered the hand that Kyle was pressing to his wound with his own, conscious of the labored rise and fall of the elf’s chest as he endeavored to stay awake. By the grace of the gods, some color was returning to him, albeit slowly.

“I… I think it’s- can you check?”

Wiping the moisture from his eyes and not caring that he was probably smearing blood on his cheeks, Stan nodded, understanding. He pulled away the king’s coat, untucking his shirt to expose the pale skin beneath, something he’d done many times under different, much more pleasant circumstances.

The hole in his side was gruesome, gushing an alarming amount of blood, but the black veins of venom branching from the wound were retreating, fading. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s working, my love.”

Kyle nodded, the movement drawing a small whimper from him. “Okay. Okay. Now we just- *shsss* -need to worry about blood loss. How deep?”

Stan cringed. “Deep.”

Kyle tried to crane his head up to look, but he wasn’t exactly in the best angle, or condition, to really see it. “I need you to stitch it up, then. You know where the medical kit is.”

“WHAT?!”

“You’ve done sutures before, Stanley-“ Kyle was cut off by an involuntary groan as a fresh wave of agony hit.

“On MYSELF, Kyle! I’ve done emergency sutures on myself, with my dominant hand, ONE TIME!”

The elf’s green eyes hardened and he clenched his jaw. “I trust you, beloved,” he said softly.

[the-firebird69]

I do have a couple things to mention they are about today's supposed setup. He thinks they're just sending his denial letter. Probably is. True too just sit there and abuse himself you draw a fire and they blame our son you deserves your place sucks pretty much all there is nope. You're filing criminal charges pretty much continuously now. And bunch of threatening old pieces of crap looking to get broken. Are a few more things happening

-they're walking around and you're expecting a handout of something. You want to go ahead and shut it down but it's pretty damn annoying

-is that a word for it they're delusional and obsessed and pretty much senile you know that's what they are. So I really dumb things to say

-+-you've had some progress in the past hour is feeling better Hera is feeling better and she's saying it's because if we is being destroyed and yeah they're finally moving theyre taking a lot of hits. And they're going to go down the entire 20%. There are 15% and speeding up right now and they will lose all 20% within the hour we do hear them here and on board they say they're going to heat up the remaining 50% all at the same time and let the party favors go. What's going to happen fairly soon they're probably going to get really badly injured here for their a****** comments other people are telling them what they're going to do and they're completely Stone Cold def.

--other than that we have a few actions we mentioned earlier and they are going as planned we are going to get back to you in a moment

Thor Freya

Automobile is up to like 71%, it's slowed it's going to speed up but we're at 30% of parts production including in the perimeter and not us and that's not extremely good and stuff with the car is starting to push it. They see the other car and they're fighting over it it is causing a massive stir in the entire community. As far as alcohol goes huge huge Vats are being transferred into cargo ships right now and they do pull right up and we have them do it it is a massive operation there's probably enough booze going out to supply the United States for 3 days and it's out of the Midwest but they're way behind so it's only going to last for half a day and we're going to send another batch tomorrow each day The bachelors will get bigger and we're continuously adding and we started taking the microbrewery stuff two weeks ago but not in the scale that Zeus and Hera said they said take them all and it's working kit cars are becoming popular people are trying to order them and we'll probably start piggybacking. Now we're going to start sending them it's getting repulsive can't stand them either so it'll work

Thor Freya again

Olympus

[canaryy15]

realized i never sent barak’s backstory here

(aka barak is the silly multi color cat with the earring that i draw a lot :3 also the one that i wrote like 8 paragraphs about in one post)

just know…this is only part one :3

(also i know the italics are messed up, it was intended to be on discord so i didn’t really care to fix em)

(also the silly at the end (and mentioned smokethistle) does not belong to me! belongs to @/havochellion here and on discord)

(click more to read, im just doing that so it doesn’t take up someone’s entire page lmao)

Viper’s Veil. A cut throat place where the strong eliminate the weak, where murderers and psychopaths live. A place where they scheme underground, then put it to action in chaos. A place with scouts, spies, killers, assassins. And one of the assassins was a cat named Anaconda.

She keeps to herself, only doing jobs the higher ups ask of her. A sly, secretive, and snappy she-cat with the ability of extracting poisons from snakes, scorpions, anything she’d get her hands on.

No one ever believed *she’d* have kits.

The first litter; Two kits, a female and male, but the male died at birth. Some believe she killed it just so she wouldn’t have to deal with more than one. And then she had another litter, consisting of one.

The runt.

The one who thinks too much.

The one with the strange name.

That was Barak.

Everyone knew she hated her kits, they weren’t even sure why she had them in the first place.

But he most of all didn’t believe it.

Until the day he met Smokethistle.

Barak remembered those first five moons of his life with more vividness than most other young cats. He remembered the dark, damp cave, the constant smell of blood, and every few heartbeats a yowl of a fighting cat.

He remembered laying awake some nights when he had slept in the nursery, required at his age, but separate from Anaconda, just watching. One glance in his direction, one moment where her face would soften, where her love would slip through when nobody was watching. That was all he wanted, just a hint of that secret affection he was sure she felt.

But she never took a glance at her kit, not in all the nights he watched her.

She didn’t look in the day either, in fact. Not when enforcers would slam him to the ground, trap his tail between boulders, and shout in his face at how useless he was. But he tried, he tried to get smarter, to have her notice. He turned their tricks back on them, sliding between the cracks and getting away.

It didn’t work. It never did.

But that didn’t stop him from believing she loved him, he’d try to reassure him, *She’s a mother! She* has *to love her kits, right?* Oh, how wrong he was.

But one day, after he slipped out of his hidey hole where he had ate a rather scrawny and small lizard, he noticed some cats rallying over some prey, a rat, maybe? It was hard to see from his view, at least. From his standpoint, it looked like the fight would end soon; probably from one fainting from blood loss, knocking them out, or, probably the most probable, death.

The rat looked…somewhat retrievable, not *entirely* trampled yet. Maybe he could get it. *I could show Mother. She’d have to be proud, right?* He thought hopefully. He looked at the scene, trying to construct a way he could get it. *I won’t have much time before one of the two kills each other. Gotta be quick. Hm.. They keep reaching for the rat, it looks like, so if I could slip through the crowd and throw some decoy the other way, I'll have a shot at taking it.*

But what about the crowd? Would they see him? *Maybe I can make a really big distraction. But what would be big enough?* Maybe something loose, some creature. *A… Snake? Maybe?* He wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few snakes around, at most outside the cave. *I think someone got bit by a snake recently.* Where was it? He looked around, spotting some cracks in the wall, big enough for a snake. *There, I bet.*

He took a glance at the fighting cats. Neither looked like they were going to faint or die yet, so he had time still. He crept away to the cracks in the wall, but started to get cautious, realizing, *I don’t know how to catch a freaking snake!*

Barak already had the plan in his mind, he had to do it. *Okay. Catching a snake.* Then he realized… He didn’t want to *catch* it, he just wanted to let it loose. *That works. I can get it angry at me, then run into the crowd, aaa, screaming and stuff, boom, grab the rat, make Mother proud. That works.*

He just…had to not get bit.

Barak cautiously, step by step, approached the cracks and started to hear hissing. *Oh boy.* He glanced back at the fighting cats, knowing the brawl wouldn’t last much longer. *Gotta be quick. …even if quick means stupid.* He reared his haunches, and leapt towards the cracks, a snake head immediately popping out and hissing, forked tongue slithering about.

*Okay, okay, okay, gotta go.* “work with me, snake.” He inhaled lightly, and turned around quickly, darting towards the crowd. He looked behind him, the snake slithering after him. …oh boy, it was fast— Its fangs snapped at his leg, and he quickly jumped forward to get his leg away.

He was in the crowd now, and once he heard an ear splitting scream, he knew his plan had worked. He looked behind him, the snake’s fangs hinged to a cat’s leg. *Didn’t plan for that… argh.* He winced, wanting to say sorry, but that would blow his cover pretty quick. Shouting began and the cats started running in all directions, and the fighting cats had split up.

He got shoved by someone running, and grumbled something, twitching his ear as he got up, then remembered, *The rat! Where…* He glanced around quickly, and spotting the *kinda* trampled fresh-kill. It was still retrievable, he did this, it’d *have* to work. He darted under the running cats, snatching the rat and looked around quickly, seeing the snake still causing havoc, but he made his exit, ducking under a few other cats, and making his way out the hollow and to the rogue’s Battle Arena, where his mother spent most her time, he noticed.

*Hoping i don’t get my* entire *snout slashed off this time.*

Barak padded out to the Battle Arena, shaking out his paws. Running on the cold cave ground to grass was quite a switch. *She should be here, I think.* His Mother usually went here during the days, probably not wanting to bother tolerating the Viper’s Veil cats. *Maybe she worries about me. Maybe she hesitates before leaving, thinking, “What if they hurt my son?”* He often made… *scenarios* like that. It was sad in reality.

He came to the dome of the curved trees, looking around. He’d only come here once or twice before, they other time he had strayed away from his mentor to get a break, as he had been bleeding from *them*. *If Mother had seen, I'm sure she’d be worried, right?* The rat still hung from his jaws, and he trotted through the curved trees, looking up and spotting his Mother atop the trees, at the center where the branches met, forming a kind of canopy.

She was doing…something. What was she holding? A… scorpion? She was holding the barb delicately, and the scorpion seemed dead. She held a moss ball in her other paw, and stabbed the moss with the barb, squeezing it. The moss ball started to become dark, and liquidy, and she quickly put it in a curved leaf.

Her face seemed like a frozen scowl, not longing to see her kits. *The affection is somewhere.* He told himself, *It has to be. It’s just…secret.* Mother was definitely in a sour mood. He… He would make it better. He could.

“Mother!” He called up, the rat tucked between his paws. “I… Brought you something!”

Anaconda looked down, face still a frozen scowl. “What?” She snapped. “You insolent slug, if it’s not useful, you better get your ugly snout out of here and don’t come back.” She climbed down, leaping on the ground with a thud, towering over him. Another scenario popped up in his head in a matter of seconds. She had been looking at the ground when she said ugly snout, and looking at him when she said come back. Despite his scenarios, his Mother was still…terrifying. And large.

“I- I um.. Stole a rat. For you.” He stammered, pawing the trampled rat forward towards him.

She scowled, “Stole a rat. And brought it to me.” She repeated in a growl.

“Ye- Yes, I um–”

Next thing he knew, Anaconda slammed him to the ground and he yelped, breathing quickly. Her claws were around his throat, and she could easily kill him any second, tear his throat in two.

“Have you not heard what I have told you?” She snapped, snarling, “You survive. You are dependent only on yourself.” She tightened her grip, and he seethed, pain stringing throughout his throat as her claws seeped in.

“I- I- I’m sorry- I’ll go back to camp-“ He choked out, hard to breathe with his throat being pinned down.

She lifted him up in the air, light as a feather, and threw him across the Arena, his head colliding with one of the curving trees and he yowled, heaving as he fell to the ground. Before he could say a word, he was in the air again, back paws dangling as Anaconda had his throat between her claws and against the tree.

Was she going to kill him?

*She… She won’t, she* can’t, *I'm her son.*

He wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

Getting his snout slashed off would be better than this.

“Really? You expect me to let you off, not learning a single thing? Bringing mice to kits, if you even manage to *catch* one, telling cats to check up with the healers. You’re pathetic.” She snarled, eyes like daggers, staring him down.

He wanted to say something, to justify himself, but only a weak wheeze came out, his throat felt like it was eating itself from the inside.

She was going to kill him.

She was going to kill him, he was going to die.

He couldn’t, not now.

But he was.

He could’ve sworn he died, he had to, right? But right when Anaconda nearly striked again, when a noise sounded from the bushes, a cat about the same height as Anaconda appeared.

“What’s going on here?”

Her claws retracted and let go of Barak, him landing on the ground with a thud, breathing quickly and looking up. The cat was black and white, with one half of their head entirely scarred. He didn’t know them, they weren’t Viper’s Veil, for sure.

“Teaching my idiotic son a lesson.”

“About what, exactly?” Asked the stranger with a raise of a brow, their eyes flicking from Anaconda to Barak for a moment, and then back on his mother.

“He cares too much about other cats.” Anaconda snarly, a glare shot in his direction and he winced, still catching his breath. “It’s going to get him killed one day, and frankly I wouldn’t care if it did.”

*Ouch.* He winced.

“Interesting.” They looked over at him again, and then back at Anaconda, “I’d be willing to take him off your paws. If you don’t care, then I think it’d be better to use somewhere where it would matter.”

He blinked. *What-?*

She twitched her nose with a raise of a brow. “In one of those idiotic Clans? Yeah, right. They’re just as mushy as a newborn kit.”

“At least they have unity, unlike the band of rogues you hail from.” They retorted.

She snorted. “Why would you want him anyway? He’s never going to do anything important; he’s completely ordinary.”

*Ordinary.* That stung.

“Ordinary cats do important things all the time.”

The stranger moved past Anaconda and towards him. “Come on, cat who cares too much.”

“I didn’t say he was for sale.”

“But I'm taking him. What use is he to *you* if you believe he’s completely ordinary?”

Anaconda eyed the two, but scoffed. “Take him. It’d be a pleasure to never see him again.” A few heartbeats, and she already leapt up the tree, back to the canopy like place.

*She doesn’t care.* His mind realized in disbelief.

“Time to go.” The cat said, a bit gentler.

“But– My mother–”

“Doesn’t want you here.” They finished for him. They crouched in front of him, and he blinked, lip trembling. “You’ll be safe with me, alright? And wanted and cared for.”

He nodded, but… He.. He didn’t know what to think.

Barak padded alongside the cat, going to… A Clan, is what his mother said, at least.

He *was* ordinary.

But… maybe they were right.

Maybe he’ll do something important.

[laskar1s]

A quiet huff escaped Magna's lips as well, the notion of skinny ass almost turning her defensive when she remembers how skinny she has actually gotten. Glancing down, she took note of the gap between her thighs, the protruding hipbones. When was the last time she had a proper meal? How much longer could she endure fighting those things until she collapsed? Frankly, Magna wished she could just lie down and sleep for the rest of the day, every step feeling strenuous. Maybe she should. Maybe it would be easier..

But she had a job to do.

"Let's hope she has something inside that bag to make both of our asses bigger", Magna shot back as she gave Kyleigh back the belongings she had gotten momentarily rid of to be able to squeeze through the bars.

That little stunt would prove to be worth the effort, as Kyleigh would see that the woman had a few useful things in that bag: A first aid-kit, featuring various kinds of bandages, tweezers, even a damn manual how to perform first aid. Wet wipes. Duct tape.

And there was a pic of a toddler that felt like a stab to Magna's heart. May that boy rest in peace because that was probably better than growing up in that shithole when your whole family was probably dead.

"No food", Magna noted, disappointment palpable in her voice. She had been hoping the woman would have snuck a protein bar in there or something because Magna really didn't want to ask Kyleigh for too many favors. She hated that. "At least we can wipe our asses", she commented with an annoyed sigh.

"Alright, let's get a move on", she was quick to say, but it dawned upon her that she had no fucking idea what to do. She was supposed to be the expert here, as she had lived in this prison for a year, but the truth was that her mind was drawing a blank when it came to exit options. What an impostor she was, given that Kyleigh was probably believing she had found some sort of guide meeting Magna. All the options she could think of sucked, there were holes in every plan.

Magna retrieved a map from her backpack that she had drawn herself, deciding to have Kyleigh take a look. If she was involved in this plan she should get the best overview Magna could offer.

"I drew a map of all areas I've scouted. It's incomplete, but it's better than nothing. All the exits we could access from here are no longer an option. Shame because there's a supply truck that crashed when shit went down. It's probably still loaded with stuff, but the surrounding area is full of sickos."

Something Kyleigh deserved to know even if they probably couldn't do much about it. Magna hated the fact that she likely had to abandon a truck full of supplies. A moment later she realized that her comment probably had been useless. It was time to talk about actual options.

"The outside labor exit is an option. Last time I saw the area through a window I saw around nine dead ones so we'd have to take care of them to buy enough time to climb over the fence. And that part will suck."

Kyleigh probably disagreed, but Magna hated the thought of turning into one of them because she stabbed herself on barbed wire. And seven sickos were a lot. Magna was already feeling like she might collapse any time soon.

"There's a room just around the corner with air ducts our skinny asses might fit through. We'd have to try. We could reach the laundry room by crawling through the ducts." Her finger pointed at the laundry room on the map. "I hope nothing is in there. Last time I passed through the area, I locked the door so that room would be clean. There are enough tools in there to bypass the lock."

At least Magna hoped she would be able to bypass the lock. But she had to make sure that room was clean so she would never, ever crawl out of the ducts only to end up in a room full of those dead things.

"Our exit will be the sewage tunnels. I have no idea if they're clean, though. Or we go for the fence. What do you say?"

Jeez man, those things were all over this place! Why in the hell hadn't Magna thought of getting out of here before? Or rather, why hadn't any of the guards been kind enough to let the prisoners out? Maybe like everyone else they first thought that this was just something that was going to blow over, some kind of flu-like thing that the doctors would come up with some vaccine to get and everything would return to normal. Or maybe, and she hated thinking this, they didn't think that the inmates lives were important enough and rather than risk their own to get them to safety they just left them in there to turn. Well thank God Magna was smart and strong enough to not want that to happen to her. It just sucked that now it seemed as if Kyleigh was going to get them both killed.

Forgetting that thought for the moment the half lycan instead focused on trying to come up with a fresh idea. The two of them could only clear so many of these dead fuckers before they were either over run or passed out from exhaustion. With limited food and water they needed to get out of there and find somewhere else to stay. Even if it was just for the night. Then Kyleigh could go hunting and get them something solid to eat, and perhaps find out why the other woman was in here in the first place.

Glancing over when she heard Magna's footsteps stop, the second she saw the former inmate's face she knew what was going on. These dead were once people that Magna knew and possibly cared about in some way, so this part of the prison was going to be even harder for them to get through. Kyleigh knew that feeling all too well but when it came down to it, it was going to either be them or the dead. Thankfully she didn't have to say anything before Magna gathered herself and did what was necessary. Kyleigh took the last two that were in front of them out in a similar fashion, a slight smirk on her face as she was told to clean her weapon. "That's funny, I was going to tell you the same exact thing." She was going to add something about them having experience with slippery knives but now was not the time or place for that discussion.

For a few gloriuos moments all the noise of the dead died down a bit, the only sounds filling the hall were her and Magna's breathing. Things felt somewhat normal once more, as if the two of them were simply prisoners being moved to another part of the prison. But of course that didn't last too long, this time they were lucky in that a lot of the dead were behind bars. Kyleigh wouldn't have given them much thought, they couldn't have had anything useful in there with them. But the other woman had a point, they probably should put them down. "I guess we should. Maybe check the cells if we can get them open and see if there's anything of use in there."

Kyleigh was about to walk up to one when she heard the word survivor and her attention immediately shifted. Could it be possible? Had they really found someone else that might be able to help them out? And just as her luck would have it the poor young woman was already beyond their help. Figures. The half lycan was about to say let's go when she noticed what Magna was doing and frowned. Yeah she probably could fit through the bars, but damnit would it be worth the struggle? Letting out a sigh she handed her knife over to Magna as well as the bag on her back.

"Well it's only her and she's already handled so yeah I'll give it a shot. If I get stuck I'm going to be so pissed."

Magna was right though, Kyleigh had been small all of her life and with not being able to eat like she usually did, she had gotten even slimmer. Sucking in her breath she lifted one leg and got it through without trouble, followed by the rest of her body. The chest was a bit of a tight squeeze but she pushed hard enough to get in the cell. As she suspected what little prisoners were allowed to have was gone (probably in that bag), there was a sheet and a blanket on the bed, and all the water in the toilet was gone. Oh god, had that poor girl resorted to drinking that? Bending down she yanked the bag off the woman's body and checked for anything else.

First the sheet and blanket were tossed through the bars, the bag right after before Kyleigh squeezed through again, retrieving her own belongings from Magna. "If we're ever in a spot like this again, your skinny ass is doing that." She huffed, taking a moment to stretch her body a bit.