#if i get to the very end and still have energy left i can go back and add shading and then add color

[wendichester]

Hiii I've fallen in love with your writing and I've been eating it up. I've been watching Supernatural, and I'm ashamed I didn't start it sooner. AND I fell in love with Castiel

Sooo....

If you're accepting requests, would you be able to do Fluff, like me getting a mouthful of cavities kind of writing. Maybe Castiel having a crush a not knowing how to act about it or something. Honestly as long as I'm giggling and kicking my feet it don't matter ✋️🙂‍↕️🤚

.ೃ࿔*:･ short-circuit grace,

pairing. castiel x reader ( gn )

wordcount. 518 genre. tooth-rooting fluff

warnings. castiel being confused by feelings™, awkward angel crush energy, sam and dean being so aware and mildly entertained, blushing. lots of blushing (and not just the human kind), emotional clumsiness with heart-melting sincerity

Castiel is malfunctioning again.

That’s what Dean calls it, at least—his very charming way of saying “your angel boyfriend is glitching out every time you smile at him.”

He’s not wrong.

It starts small. Little things. Castiel begins hovering—more than usual. Lurking around the war room while you read, sitting at the far end of the library table and staring like you’ve suddenly become the most complex Enochian tablet on Earth. Once, you caught him watching you make a sandwich in the kitchen like it was the key to the cosmos.

“Cas?” you asked that time, half-laughing. “You good?”

He blinked, jolted like someone had turned him back on. “…I’m uncertain.”

That had been two weeks ago. He has not improved.

Now, you’re sitting on the couch in the bunker’s living room, a bowl of popcorn in your lap, watching a movie. Dean’s on your left, Sam on the floor, and Castiel—poor, sweet, completely infatuated Castiel—is seated awkwardly beside you like the idea of “casual proximity” is a dangerous and possibly illegal activity.

You nudge him gently with your shoulder. “You okay?”

He jerks his head toward you. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You’re sitting like someone’s trying to hack your limbs remotely.”

Dean snorts. Cas glances at him, then back to you, expression painfully earnest.

“I’m attempting to be normal,” he confesses. “But your presence makes that… difficult.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh?”

“You emit a calming energy that is simultaneously extremely distracting,” Cas says, tone flat but eyes wide. “I find myself thinking about you when I should be focused on the hunt. I remember the cadence of your voice. The curve of your handwriting. I memorized the way you laugh and I recite it to myself when things are difficult.”

You blink.

Dean lets out a low whistle. Sam looks up from the floor like this is the best episode of TV he’s ever seen.

“…Cas,” you say, stunned and gooey, “are you saying you have a crush on me?”

He tilts his head, clearly running diagnostics on the word. “If ‘crush’ means I feel a strong urge to protect you, spend time near you, and offer you flowers I stole from the neighbor’s yard—” he gestures to a small, slightly mangled bouquet beside the lamp—“then yes. I believe I do.”

You laugh. Warm and full and flustered.

Castiel immediately stiffens. “Was that incorrect? Did I misread the—”

You kiss his cheek before he can finish.

It’s soft. Quick. But it shuts him up instantly.

Cas just… freezes. His eyes go wide. His wings (which no one else can see) flare, slightly. His vessel’s face goes rosy in a way that shouldn’t be possible, and he looks like someone just handed him the stars.

You smile at him. “You’re doing great.”

Dean groans into his beer. “Oh, come on. You’re gonna make me throw up.”

Sam grins. “Let ‘em have their moment.”

Cas is still staring at you, utterly stunned.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you realize: angels don’t fall in love every day.

But when they do… they fall hard.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[transfemstalin]

I'm sorry to burden you with this, but I just wanted to get it off my chest. Feel free to delete this if you want. And I promise this isn't ragebait or here to make you mad, but I know I can't convince you just by saying this.

I'm an ex-communist. That's it. It's strange and surreal, seeing people that could have been old friends believing in something I've reasoned out of and left behind long ago. I haven't been a communist for 2 years. Less than it feels, but also more than it feels.

I don't claim to be omniscient. Maybe socialism is the way. Maybe it isn't. But I'm not wasting my mental energy and breath trying to change the world when nothing ultimately matters at the end of existence. Who will care if we lived in a utopia or horrid dystopia at the end of mankind? I know it makes me a monster, I guess, but I simply don't care to try.

Maybe it is easier to imagine the end of existence than it is the end of capitalism. I will happily eat the fruits of capitalism, suckle the tit of a system I know is not perfect. But, of course, that milk, like all milk, is derived from blood. Impoverished overseas workers, innocents killed in wars. Older me would have cared, now, I really do not, despite being fully aware that the very liquid nourishing me, metaphorically, is human blood. I simply don't care. It's extremely callous and selfish of me, and I know that, but I suppose it's an extension of my... fatalistic outlook, I guess. We all die anyway. I know that makes me a monster to think, and I don't want to be. But... I don't know. I know I don't need or deserve your pity, so please don't pity me. I am part of the problem.

Maybe that makes us vampires, those of us who subscribe to neoliberalism (or at least go with the flow of it, like a dead fish. I don't believe in anything, really. It's all useless at the end of the day anyway. Silly to think of hope, of how this school of thought is PERFECT and will make a UTOPIA FOREVER! Even if there were one perfect ideology, it means NOTHING in the face of the inevitable decay and end of everything. Everything built crumbles and everything alive dies. I guess I'm disillusioned with everything and can't understand the hope in people's eyes.)

I honestly don't know what I'm trying to say here. I guess it's just word vomit, and I do sincerely apologize if I made your day worse. I probably did. I'm very sorry. I know it was cruel of me to pick some random innocent to unload all my horrible issues onto, you're not my therapist and I don't expect you to be. It's just... I dunno. Maybe seeing you reminded me of my younger self.

You're not me, and you have no idea who I am. So it's a bit foolish. But still, it's like I'm talking to myself, in a way, my younger, more hopeful self. If that makes sense. Even though you're not me. Anyway, I'm really sorry for this. Please, do something nice for yourself today to counterbalance having to read this.

I don't appreciate the tone you're taking with me here, I'll be honest. You're entirely right that not only do I not know you, but you don't know me, nor do you know anything about my life. You were apologizing to nobody as you wrote this, and if you were truly sorry you would have decided against hitting send on this ask. I think you should consider that before sending something like this to someone else, since I know that's what you did with your ask about defeatism. quit apologizing and own up to what you mean.

however, I will still entertain this, and raise two points:

firstly, marxist leninists do not want utopia. we want a better world, and realistically speaking, that world will still have flaws. every marxist worth their salt knows that and can accept it. we do not want a happy gumdrop rainbow land, we want workers to own the means of production, a state run by the proleteriat to oppress the bourgeoise, and an eventual abolition of class. with that suppression and subsequent abolition of the bourgeoise comes other benefits, such as better healthcare, anti imperialist efforts, better standards of living, etc, because that is what happens when a state takes on a socialist character and focused on what people need rather than what makes the most money and cements a spot as a world power

and second, crucial to what you seemed to be getting at, that you need to internalize: death and change are unavoidable parts of life. everyone needs to come to terms with that sooner or later. if you spend your whole life moping about it you won't be able to enjoy your time here.

I'll use an allegory. scientists don't waste time debating over materialism or idealism. scientists are materialists because you cannot study the world with idealism. and you've said it yourself, you can't get anything done like this. nihilism is similar in this regard. if nothing matters because we're all going to die, you're right, what's the point? why do anything at all if in a billion years we won't even be here for it?

why eat today if you'll die in 70 years? why get up out of bed and do something if you know you'll just need to sleep eventually once more? why wear glasses if you know your eyesight will continue to get worse either way? why love if you know it will end in heartbreak? because you do not live in the future, you live in the present day. and it feels good to have nice things while they last.

it makes no sense to discard an ideology that has lifted millions out of poverty and exploitation, has beaten back imperialists, has defeated fascism, has advanced medicine, and science, has got us into space, simply because in a couple billion years the sun will swallow up the earth. you won't even be around for that! but you know what you are around for? the present day. and socialism is there in the present day as well, and will be for as long as there is exploitation.

so, in short, I implore you to try again, this time not expecting utopia with an answer to all your problems, but a better world, with an answer to most of them. and maybe work a bit on your death anxiety so you can actually do something the next time you have a go at marx

[jamiragondrawstuff]

When are we going to address the elephant in the room that is the 11th Doctor's time spent on Trenzalore and his regeneration into 12? He was happy travelling around as normal, except now post-Day of the Doctor, he has the hope that Gallifrey's now out there somewhere. Then one day he meets up with Clara and suddenly the planet all those spaceships are hovering around turns out to be the one he's been avoiding. Literally the hill he was told he would die on. And he has to go there anyway, no putting it off anymore. And at this point he still thinks he's on his last life, even though we as an audience didn't know for sure until the moment he told Clara that (even if some of us worked it out with maths). So we have an Eleventh Doctor who is really the Thirteenth, who has cheated death before on Lake Silencio, (which suddenly makes more sense now, the way he went into it assuming he couldn't get out no matter what he did, for most of Series 6) (ignore the simulated regeneration energy, that was just the Teselecta robot doing it for show and probably to deflect from the notion that this Doctor is on his last pair of legs). And how long does he have to stay there on Trenzalore as it's sherrif? 300 years, then several hundred more. It's not stated explicitly in the story but it's assumed to be around 900 years, and that's how Matt Smith's Doctor gets so old, wrinkly and forgetful of everyone and everything to the point that he still says Barnable's name by force of habit. Or maybe dementia. Then he goes up the bell tower to make his final stand, and is saved by the crack opening up and sending him regeneration energy. So now he can regenerate infinite times, something that was always hinted at as being possible in Big Finish audios and such but never confirmed. It officially confirms that the regeneration limit WAS a conspiracy by Rassilon to keep everyone else in check. The Doctor regenerates in the weirdest way as well. He basically explodes everything around him like a nuke, and then rushes off to the TARDIS looking as young as he did at the beginning of the story, gets changed into his regular Series 7B outfit and calls Clara from Glasgow in their future/Earth in the 21st century (which is probably the past at this point). And does his whole speech about "Not forgetting one line of this, I swear. Not one day. I will always remember when the Doctor was me." And THEN after an abrupt sneeze of a regeneration into Peter Capaldi (who for some reason has no idea how to pilot the TARDIS, I dunno maybe all those long years on Trenzalore made him forget or something...) they fly off and end up in the mouth of a T-Rex and drag said T-Rex into Victorian London. And for the ENTIRETY of Series 8, 9 and 10, the Doctor's time on Trenzalore is literally NEVER addressed or mentioned again. 900 years stuck on a single planet, fighting a long protracted war against Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans and who knows what else, and Peter Capaldi's Doctor never brings it up. I get the feeling that his second episode, Into The Dalek, is him going around cleaning up the mess left in the wake of Trenzalore. But that's just personal headcanon. We never hear that planet's name ever again. It's just left by the wayside as if it never happened, when it could have been a goldmine of personal trauma and psychological issues for Twelve to address, just like the Time War. I'm sorry, but this has been on my mind since 2013 and I can't let it go. Whenever the Doctor spends an EXTREMELY long time in one place it kind of gets under my skin somehow. Not as much as Heaven Sent, but it's close.

@dw-opinions-you-wont-like very interested to hear your take on this.

[whoupsqlointing]

finally figured out the impaling scene. still think it looks a bit jank but i decided to actually shorten it by a second or two and i think the faster pacing hides its flaws better. means ive got to make the next bit last longer but oh well i think itll work

[wesavegotham]

The different parts of Gotham War not lining up at all in terms of plot, character motivation and characterization is bad enough, but now that DC is suddenly trying to explain when other titles like Detective Comics and Batman and Robin are taking place in relation to Gotham War it gets even worse because now all of these storylines make so much less sense too.

[penisbilt]

the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now

[gender-euphowrya]

blue prince is gonna make me set up a conspiracy theory corkboard with red string wall

[burningcomputerpersona]

went outside and saw a bunch of fat little borbs chirping at each other on a bush. effervescent.

[lovebugism]

reader taking care of bob (thunderbolts) during a depressive episode? 🥹

ty for requesting!! — you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why (friends in love, fluff, thunderbolts spoilers, cw for mentions of depression and suicidal ideation | 1.4k words)

Bob has his bad days. And he’s not just talking about that stint in New York.

Sometimes he can’t get out of bed, can’t take care of himself, can’t go outside. There are days when he can’t find a reason to be an actual functioning human being, so he takes to rotting in his room — and trying not to suffocate beneath the crushing knowledge that the rest of the world is living on just fine without him. 

He’ll hear the rest of the team laughing or otherwise arguing a floor below, while he hasn’t spoken a word all day because he can’t find the energy to. He’ll go to sleep without having left the four walls of his bedroom, or his bed for that matter, while fighting the black shroud of death that never quite seems to leave him.

It’s been that way his whole life: constant cycles of great days followed by the no-good-very-bad ones that he’s always distantly fearful might be the end of him. So Bob counts himself lucky that he’s got you for those days, and all the days in between. 

“I think the blonde’s finally washed out,” you observe gently as you brush through his freshly washed curls. You get a whiff of the strawberry-scented shampoo with every swipe of the comb from where you sit just behind him on the bed. Bob, meanwhile, slouches on the floor between your legs and fiddles nervously with one of the many skincare products you’ve stacked beside him.

This is often what your “sleepovers” look like — which is what you call the many nights where the rest of the team’s out on a mission and you’re left babysitting the leftovers. (Bob’s almost certain you only call it that so you have an excuse to take care of him.)

“Really?” Bob hums distantly, fighting back a shiver. He’d much rather blame his chills on the water droplets falling from his hair and dampening the neck of his white t-shirt than the fact that he’s just not used to being touched so gently. Not used to being touched at all. 

“Yeah,” you say with an audible smile. “I like your hair better this way.”

Bob scoffs pessimistically. “Shit brown?”

“It’s more like chocolate. Or chestnut, maybe— with little flakes of gold.”

Something in your words strikes him deep. Makes his chest go all warm and sparkly. He doesn’t know how you see such beauty in him when he can hardly look in the mirror without snarling in disgust most days. You still think he’s got so much good left in him, even after Valentina made him hurt you, even after he nearly took out a whole city without blinking. 

He doesn’t get it. 

In fact, the thought alone makes him so dizzy that his head starts to hurt. 

“I— I’m sorry about this,” Bob apologizes through a breathy, awkward laugh. “Just— By the way.”

“Sorry about what?”

“You, you know, having to take care of me and everything.”

“Don’t apologize,” you giggle and drag the brush from his temple, around the curve of his ear, and down towards his neck. “I like taking care of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Bob chuckles with a stubborn shake of his head.

“I do. Honest.” 

The mattress squeaks when you rise from it. Bob tilts his chin and peers up at you with a pair of dark, glittering eyes as you round him. “So… what?” he lilts with a shy half-smile. “You’d rather be here than off fighting crime with the New Avengers?”

“Yes,” you answer automatically, scoffing like it’s obvious, as you sit on the ground across from him. You settle between his parted legs with your own curled beneath you and twist the cap off of something that says deep hydrating face cream.

“I would much rather be here with you than god knows where with Walker trying to tell everyone what to do, and Ava and Yelena shouting at him, and Bucky trying to shout over all of them, and…”

You trail off. The lid unscrews with a quiet pop. You flash Bob a shy smile and a pair of squinted eyes. “Basically, what I’m saying is this is practically heaven compared to that.”

Bob’s face flares. He shakes his head and looks away. His eyes find a rogue piece of glitter in your carpet and lock there. “You don’t mean that…”

“Actually, I do—” You swipe two fingers through the white lotion and set it off to the side. “—Here. Look at me.”

You shift an inch towards him and lift a hand towards his face. Bob flinches on instinct despite wanting you so much closer. “Sorry,” he apologizes, ‘cause that’s his instinct, too.

Your eyes go wide and dart worriedly across his face. “Did I do something?”

“No! No, it’s not— It’s not you,” Bob stammers with his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s— It’s me. I don’t wanna…”

His voice breaks, fragile as glass, and he trails off. He doesn’t have the words for it — what he did to you, how he did it. He only knows that you saved his life, and touched his hand, and saw something that terrified you. He doesn’t know what it was, only that he won’t forget how frightened of him you looked.

You don’t look so scared of him now, though.

Instead, you look at him with your eyes wide and full of hope — like you love being this close to him, like you can’t wait to get closer. 

“You won’t. I promise.”

This time, when you reach for him, you do it slowly. You give him ample time to stop you before you cup his jaw in your hand, slightly scruffy and still flushed from a steaming shower. You cradle his face in your palms without a vision of a long-gone horror flashing across your eyelids. You just feel safe. Warm. A strange sort of happy emotion that still makes you feel like crying.

“See?” you lilt with a sunshine smile. 

Bob swallows hard as your fingertips swipe softly across his face. Your middle and ring fingers trace over the dark circles under his eyes in a feather-light touch as you rub in the moisturizer. Your fingertips follow his cheekbones as they rise to his temples before sliding down and across his stubbly jaw.

He keeps his eyes shut as he tries hopelessly to recall the last time he was ever touched this gently — if he ever has before — if he even deserves it.

“That day…” he starts suddenly, slowly. “You know, the day you guys found me…”

“Mhm?” you hum to egg him on.

“When you pulled me up out of that elevator…” Bob’s dark eyes flutter open again, swimming with honey and apprehension. “What did you see?”

He watches you falter, but only briefly. It’s a faint flicker in your eye that he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t already notice everything about you.

Your face twitches slightly, like his question single-handedly brings back the dreaded memories you’ve been trying to shove down for years.

“Uh, Hydra,” you stammer, swallowing hard and sitting back on your haunches. You can’t find the strength to meet his gaze, so you focus on your hands as you rub the remaining moisturizer into your palms. “I came back from a mission I couldn’t finish— A children’s hospital full of ‘failed test subjects’ that wanted me to get rid of, and I couldn’t do it… And they punished me for it.”

You decide to save him the gritty, bloody details of what had happened to you that day, but Bob still flinches like he knows everything you’re not telling him. He feels like he does, in a way. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when he can’t find the words to say.

You flash him a quiet smile and a soft look beneath your lashes. “It’s not your fault.”

Bob scoffs an emotionless laugh. “Well, I mean, it kinda is—”

You reach suddenly for his face again, and his eyes go wide. Your touch is still as gentle as ever, but stern still, as you force him to meet your gaze. “It isn’t,” you repeat with an unyielding stare. “And, you know, despite the circumstances and everything, my life’s actually gotten a whole lot better since you’ve been in it.”

Bob’s face burns at your confession, even more so at your touch. “...Really?” is all he can squeak out.

“Really,” you echo with a firm nod.

He shifts awkwardly, uncomfortable in his skin, and tilts his cheek further into your palm “Like… Even on my bad days?” he mumbles, distantly dreading the answer.

“Especially on your bad days,” you laugh. “‘Cause you’re the only one that lets me braid your hair.”

“That’s the only reason why you like me?” Bob laughs, trying to play it cool even though his hopeful eyes give everything away. “‘Cause I let you braid my hair?”

You smile at his smiling. “Mhm. The only reason,” you nod, obviously playful in a way that makes his heart skip a beat (or three). “Nothing else at all.”

[lvmimis]

Katsuki handles you extremely gently for the most part, which is why when you find yourself at the tail end of play-wrestling in the midday on Saturday, wrists bound together in a firm, one-handed grasp and a leg locked against him at the hip, you’re a bit surprised. Your lips form into a soft ‘o’ as you let out a pant; conversely, his breathing is still, having not exerted very much effort, but you can practically feel his heart pound in his chest.

Or possibly it’s wishful thinking, given the way your own heart races.

Katsuki pauses for a moment, then dips in close, kissing your forehead.

“Had enough?” he asks.

“What if I said no?” you quip. In reply, his face buries in the crook of your neck and he snorts softly.

“Why don’t we make love, not war?” 

You’d admonish him on the cheesiness of the statement, but you don’t have the energy to. By now, Katsuki has relaxed his hold on your wrists and your leg, but you let your thighs and calves find new positioning wrapped around his waist as he lowers his weight onto you. He’s heavy, but it’s a familiar, comfortable heaviness that keeps you warm.

“Don’t like roughhousing with you,” he murmurs softly, still unmoving. Your bodies breathe in and out together, and you let yourself hold him even closer, hooking your left arm around his neck gently and running your right through his hair. 

Perhaps somewhere this is another form of a wrestling lock, but you’re decidedly loving, letting fingers trace between the blonde spikes to scratch his scalp.

Katsuki appreciates your softness just as much as your feistiness at times, and perhaps the former he needs a little more at this time.

You lay together for a moment, remembering when you sparred for real once years ago while at UA, and how quickly he folded.

Perhaps you cheated, you think as you conjure up the memory.

…

Paired together for sparring despite your friends’ apprehensive looks, you take up the challenge gladly. Light on your feet, the two of you move in concert towards and away from each other quickly as you trade blows - a narrow dodge of a punch with a sidestep. You grab his hand, and Katsuki’s surprise emboldens you as you plant your foot firmly on the ground and use your momentum to throw him over your shoulder.

Collective gasps abound from your watching classmates as Katsuki hits the ground, hard. You smile once he’s quick to jump back to his feet, wider still as he grumbles out loud.

“You’re so goddamn sneaky.”

He resumes a fighting stance. The ring is relatively small, a chalky circle about 8 bodies in diameter, but he still hasn’t fallen out of bounds. Red-faced, he’s lunged at you again (Izuku in the crowd comments that he must be more upset that he can’t use his quirk than the fight itself) and you sidestep him once more before tripping him. He loses his balance just for a moment, but jumps back into a back handstand then rights himself. 

He does look like he’s getting his ass kicked, but your friend heckles him first with the truth.

“He’s blinded by love, go easy on him!”

Aizawa shoots her a disapproving look, and your cheeks warm, but you don’t let yourself get distracted. You won’t know how right she is until later, anyway.

Time elapses - you block another heavy roundhouse kick that causes you to skid but you stay standing as you brace for impact, your heels digging into soft ground.

“I told you I won’t ever go easy on you,” Katsuki hisses. 

He follows this up with a leg sweep that has you tumble over him, and you somersault to regain control, but Katsuki has your leg by the ankle, pulling until you dangle for a moment, but you land a punch straight into his gut despite your upside down position.

Your friend screams again to ‘get his ass!’ amongst your classmates and gets another look from Aizawa. 

But Katsuki has let go with the force of the shock and you shoot backwards and prepare for an axe kick. He blocks, but for a split second he loses his resolve - the look on your face is fierce, and he remembers exactly why he has a crush on you.

The two of you jump back and separate to the opposite sides of the ring.

“If you don’t get serious, you’ll lose,” you tease.

“I’m going easy on you,” he finally claims, gruffly.

“You literally said otherwise 15 seconds ago.”

An ooooooo runs through the crowd that makes him scowl, and he takes off again with another lunge. You block, a move that makes Shoto shake his head at the bad choice, and you skid backwards from the sheer power behind the punch, making it almost closer to the borders of the ring. The subsequent onslaught is hard and you’re about to make it out of bounds.

Until you try a desperate move.

Leaning forward suddenly as if you were to kiss him, red blooms on his face, and he immediately backs off.

Izuku cups his face in his palms.

A leapfrog jump over him and a slight push, and he’s out of the ring, having fallen flat on his ass.

Denki, Sero and Kirishima don’t let him live it down for hours.

…

You definitely did cheat.

And perhaps in a way you are now, because he’s putty in your hands as he melts into you. 

But you’re no longer fighting, whether playful or not - teeth, tongue, lips don’t clash but rather dance and glide together; fingers and palms caress and worship each other in your joint embrace.

No power struggle between you two to be found anywhere - if anything perhaps in a way, you’ve always had the upper hand, being fully adored by him.

Regardless of how much stronger he is than you, whether it is in physical ability or will or resolve, he’d still very easily and consistently succumb to your love.

[atisecnom]

EXTREME MAKE OUT TIME! ♡♡

Characters: The Hanks (Date Everything), afab!reader

Warnings: readers lowkey giving virgin loser energy, mentions ready has a viamgina and boobs, making out (durr), men kissing 🤯

Summary: It's your first time participating in your boyfriends' "extreme group makeout" activity.

A/N: inspired by the line they say in the game "take off that mouthguard- it's extreme make-out time!" 😋 this been in the drafts for agesss

This is not proofread

You're laying on your bed, doom scrolling on your phone. It's been what feels like ages since your boyfriends left the house to go their next little adventure. It took a lot of convincing, but you were allowed to stay home while they went out. Usually, they string you along everywhere but you had a stomach ache in the morning and was NOT in the correct shape to do parcore and other Hank activities.

The Hanks are always out for long periods of time, but you miss them. The house is deathly quiet whenever they aren't here. You contemplated calling them on the phones you bought for them (rip to your bank account), but you knew they probably wouldn't be able to answer.

Finally, you hear the front door open from your bedroom and the voices of your boyfriends' happy yelling fill the house. They're home.

The five burst into your bedroom, laughing and jumping around, still full of adrenaline. "You know what time it is?!" Hank 1 yells. "Extreme make-out time, baby!" Hank 3 replies. Extreme huh?

Your relationship is still new, not FRESH new, but still new. You haven't heard of "extreme make-out time" yet. What other things do they do that you don't know about yet?? Guess you'll have to figure them all out as time goes by.

You put your phone down and scoot up on the bed as the five men sit on the bed. "Wait. What do you mean "extreme make-out time"?" You question. "It's simple," Hank 2 starts. "Very, bro," Hank 4 continues, "We all make-out until we can't breathe no more, baby!" "And now that you're here... you can join our... activity," Hank 3 grins at you, his hand trailing up your thigh.

"How do I..." you trail off, turning a little red. "Just gotta go with the flow, bro," Hank 1 says, his hand on your back comfortably. "Yeahhh, baby. You're good with your mouth on other thingssssss. You'll be a natural," Hank 3 says, his face turning a little red. And with all 10 eyes in the room looking at you, you give them a nod, agreeing to their activity.

"Whos kissing them first?" Hank 2 asks the group. "...rock, paper, scissors!" Hank 5 says, setting his hands up for the game. All other 4 Hanks put their hands up and they all start playing. In the end, Hanks 3 and 4 are left to battle themselves. "Can't we stop here with two, bros? I mean technically... babes got two sets of lips on them..." Hank 3 says. You let out a quiet 'huh' as the rest of the Hanks groan and cringe at what Hank 3 said. They always groan and cringe when he starts talking like that or flirting.

"Mannnnn that's for later! We're focusing on the lips on the face, bro. Save the pussy eating for later, I want kisses," Hank 4 says. They have one more Rock, Paper, Scissors game and Hank 4 wins. He scoots over to you, sitting next to you on the bed. He instantly grabs your face and kisses you roughly.

You struggle to kiss back with the same sudden passion. Your eyes turn to the rest of the Hanks, who were busy with eachother already; Hank 1 towering over Hank 2 as he lays on the bed, making out, and Hanks 3 and 5 sitting on the bed side by side, making out as well.

After a bit, you get the hang of Hank 4s kiss and wrap your arms around his neck, moaning softly against his lips. Once he senses you're comfortable, he touches and feels on your waist. He shifts so you're fully laying on the bed with him on top of you, your fingers in his hair. The room was filled with kissing noises and saliva mixing. Turned you on a little bit.

A couple minutes of pass, and you and Hank 4 pull apart for air. Instead of coming back to your lips, he scoots away and Hank 3 towers over you, that shit-eating grin on his now red face. "Hey baby," he purrs out and leans in, kissing you and getting quickly passionate. Hank 3 caresses your thighs and ass as you two make out. Hank 4 is now making out with Hank 1; Hank 5 with Hank 2.

You moan against Hank 3s lips and tongue, your hands gripping his shoulder and the back of his neck. Hank 3s kiss is more lustful and rough compared to Hank 4s. Hank 3s hand trails up your body slowly, and lands right under boobs. He pulls away a little, panting and staring down at you. You nod and he pulls you back in. His hand goes to your boob, softly kneading it as you make out. You moan and Hank 3 pulls away, grinning, and attaches his lips to your neck, biting and sucking it. You look over at the other Hanks making out, whining as Hank 3 abuses your neck.

Hank 4s hand cups Hank 1s cheek as they make out, sitting on opposite ends of the bed and leaning to them. Hank 1 ruins his han through Hank 4s hair as they both let out soft noises of pleasure.

Hank 5s arms wrap around Hank 2s neck as they make out too. They sat next to eachother, one of Hank 2s hands are on Hank 5s thigh. Apart from you, Hank 5 is the loudest in the room. You're still the loudest, tho.

You look back down to Hank 3 and pull him up, kissing his lips again. A couple seconds after your lips reconnect, he's pulled away by Hank 1. "Save some candy for me, bro!" He yells and pulls you in, kissing you. You hold onto his arms as Hank 3 moves to kiss Hank 4, Hanks 5 and 2 still going at eachother.

Hank 1s kiss is more passionate and gentle compared to Hanks 4 and 3. He takes his time with each kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, making your back arch off the bed. Your hands squeeze his biceps. Your hands trailing up his arms slowly and your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. Slowly, his kisses get a little rougher, almost matching Hank 4s roughness.

Speaking of Hank 4, he and Hank 3 are going at it. They're the roughest kissers out of all 6 of you. They're the loudest in the room now, but not by moan, but by smacking sounds. Hank 3 towers above Hank 4, who's laying down, perpendicular to you. Hank 3 holds onto Hank 4s hips, squeezing tightly. Hank 4 holds onto Hank 3s face with his hand. Hanks 3s hand trails down, tracing Hank 4s V line.

Hank 2 and 5 are still kissing, their make-out descalating a bit. It's softer now, but that just makes Hank 5s soft moans louder.

After a couple minutes of making out, Hank 1 pulls away, his arms slowly and teasingly unwrapping themselves around your waist, caressing it as you pull away. Hank 2 scoots over to you. He uses his thumb accross your bottom lip, cleaning up some saliva on your lip. Who's saliva? At the point, who knows. Hank 2 kisses you softly. It takes a while for the kiss to turn into a full on makeout tho.

Your hands run through his hair, Hank 2s hands are cupping your face. They slowly trail down to your shoulder. The kiss quickly escalates. Your arms go around his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

Hanks 3 and 4 are still making out as Hanks 1 and 5 start kissing. Hank 1 pulls Hank 5 onto his lap and his arms circle his waist. Hank 5s arms wrap around Hank 1.

Hank 2 pulls you on top of him. His back hits the mattress and you sit on his waist. His hand trails down your back, over your ass and down to your thighs. Your arms around around his neck, propping his head up. A couple minutes of kissing, you pull away, panting. You mutter a soft "wait..." and nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. Your panting, out of breath.

The rest of the Hanks turn to look at you and Hank 2. "Damn," Hank 3 says, very obviously staring at your ass. You let out a tired laugh. "Give me a second," you mutter against Hank 2s neck. "You okay, baby?" Hank 2 asks. He pulls your face up to look at him in the eyes, showing his very concerned eyes. You nod and clarify that you're okay. You pull him in and continue the kiss. Hank 3 let's out a laugh and reaches over and slaps your ass. You yelp when his hand harshly lands on your ass and Hank 3 laughs and goes back to his makeout with Hank 4.

A looooong while later, minutes of making out later, Hank 2 sits up, his hands gripping onto your waist. You peck his lips one last time and scoot away from him. The rest of the Hanks pull apart from eachother. Hank 2 and 3 start kissing, Hank 3 get on top of him, kissing him passionately. Hanks 4 and 1 start making out too, Hank 1s hand cupping Hank 4s cheek.

Hank 5 kisses you passionately, gently. The most gentle kiss out of all 5 of the men that just tasted the inside of you. You sit on his lap and tangle your fingers in his hair.

Minutes go by, and you're still kissing Hank 5. You pull away and kiss down his chin, then his neck softly. Hank 5 let's put a quiet moan, his hand tangling in your hair. You kiss back up his neck and to his lips. You push him down so you're on top of him and his laying on the bed. Hank 5s hands go under your shirt and caress your bare back with his hands. His hands trail up to your upper back.

You two pull apart, panting. You smile down at him and hug him, his face nuzzling into your neck. One after the other, they all stop kissing. Hank 3 falls into the bed, on his back. "Phew. That was great, guys. Same time next week?" All the Hanks agree. "Next week?" You question, " you guys do this every week?"

"Yeah, bro," Hank 2 says, the other Hanks following in agreement. "Where have I been?" You ask. "Either asleep, or like gone or something," Hank 5 says. "And we learned the hard way to not wake you up, hotstuff. You're scary when anybody interrupts you," Hank 3 says. "True," you mutter. Hank 1 laughs and pats your back, laying on the bed.

Same time next week.

Now you have something to look forward to.

I gave up half way through I'm so sorry 😭

Sorry this was SO late

[bitchface24-7]

COYOTE UGLY - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: When you’re not at the lab researching and developing Hextech, you’re in Zaun at the BDSM club Coyote Ugly as the bartender. Having this job ensures your team has enough money to continue working without any headaches. Well you’re in for a massive migraine since the man you’ve been in love with since you were kids is gonna find out about your dirty little secret.

warnings: secrets, bdsm etiquette, dom!viktor, love confessions, abelist comments (Viktor refers to himself in a negative light twice, referencing what others have called him) traffic light system, spanking, afab terms used for the smut section, dirty talk, vaginal sex, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, squirting, I’m gonna write this as a 5 + 1 kinda deal. Ok? Ok. Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f

p.s. This fic very obviously references Coyote Ugly (2000), and I know it is a bar in the movie but I didn't want to do a whole plotline on The Last Drop vs Coyote Ugly; and I didn't have the energy to write and characterize Silco LMAO. So I hope none of y'all are mad I tweaked it to be a BDSM club/bar instead. I've loved this movie ever since I was a kid. Now I'm tempted to do a Practical Magic (1998) fic too 😭😭

The Five Times Viktor Gets a Clue About You, and the One Time His Suspicions are Confirmed

One.

Viktor’s known you for almost two decades by this point. You’re well into your twenties and can do whatever you please. But Viktor’s got suspicions regarding you. Your excuses, your secrets. He knows you better than he knows himself.

So when you walk into the lab one day with a stack of cash, both Jayce and Viktor can’t help but look at you as if you were a project they were working on. You’ve peaked their curiosity and suspicion.

“So,” Viktor starts as you give the money to Jayce, and walk back to your desk, “Where did that money come from?”

You lightly scoff, “Don’t worry about it, V.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it! That’s a lot of money miláček! Please tell me you got it legally.”

You whip around with a snort, “Don’t worry Viktor, it’s all legal. I just got paid from my second job. I already took a cut for myself; the rest I’m donating to the lab for our research.”

Viktor’s lips thin at that. You already took a cut for yourself and still had that much money to just… give away?

“Whatever you say, miláček.”

You’re gonna regret that. You’ve just peaked Viktor’s curiosity; and what’s the saying?

Curiosity killed the cat… but satisfaction brought it back.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two.

Viktor’s curiosity is peaked once more when he sees a glimmer of sparkle at your navel as your shirt rises, as you try to get something off the shelf for him.

Viktor hums as he puts his pen on the hem of your shirt to lift it a bit more. You gasp as a fresh breeze brushes against your abdomen.

“Whats this, hmm?”

You sputter a bit before dropping your arms and tugging your shirt down quickly, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Your belly button is magical and shimmers on its own?”

You sarcastically hum, “How’d you know?” you add a dramatic gasp, just because you can. Viktor quirks an eyebrow at you, “You can just admit you got a piercing. Its quite common down in Zaun.”

“Whats the fun in that.” You pout, “I got it forever ago, a bit before we left for the Academy actually.”

“You got your navel pierced when you were seventeen, and I never found out about it until you were twenty-six and I was twenty-eight?”

You playfully shrug, “Guess you aren't as observant as you think you are.”

Viktor clenches his jaw, “Don’t tease me miláček. You won't like where you end up.”

“Try me.”

With that, you walk away with a sway to your hips as Viktor's grip on his pen tightens to the point he thinks it's going to snap in half.

You're going to regret that.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Three.

“What is that?!” Jayce exclaims as you lounge on the couch, taking a small nap. “What? What! What're you screeching about Jayce?”

“That!” he squeaks, “On your lower back! Is that a…”

Viktor finishes the thought, “A tattoo?”

You twist your torso and look down. There's the perpetrator, a small tramp stamp that kind of looks like the Hexcores magic, and in the centre is a heart.

“Yeah.” you casually state as you go back to nap.

“Why does it look like the Hexcore?”

You take a quick peek over to Viktor before muttering, “Why not? I care about you guys and decided to get a tattoo to commemorate it.”

Jayce awes a bit but Viktor just narrows his eyes at you. There's more to it than just that. Because if not, then why did you put it in such a… risque place? Unless you wear low-rise pants or extremely cropped shirts; no one would ever see it.

Unless you're completely naked.

Viktor rubs his nose as you reposition yourself, your hip jutting out as your top rises even farther.

Viktor casually stands up and walks over to where you're resting on the labs couch. Lightly touching your lower back, he feels you flinch as he presses his hand harder onto the fully healed tattoo, “You must be cold, here. Let me fix that.”

And with that, Viktor pulls up the fleece blanket to cover your torso.

You look to Viktor and your eyes have darkened, your lids slightly narrowed. Your lips are lightly pursed as you examine Viktor. Viktor just smirks at you.

The longer this goes on, the more clues Viktor gets.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Four.

Jayce keeps pacing in the lab. Back and forth, back and forth. Viktor is worried Jayce is going to wear the floor down to the baseboards.

“Are you okay?” Viktor quietly asks, looking at Jayce in concern. He's never seen him so… frazzled before.

“No. There's a small gathering happening later today with the council members and high-level individuals. There was supposed to be a bartender to make the meeting not as mind numbing but the one Mel booked previously is sick. Now we need to find a replacement for…”

Jayce looks at his watch and runs a hand through his hair, “Three hours from now.”

Before Viktor can put his two cents in, you pipe in, “I can do it.”

Jayce whips around to look at you, a manic gleam in his eyes, “You’re not joking, right? You can actually bartend.”

You nod once, “I can actually bartend.”

“Shes not lying Jayce. She was a part-time bartender at the Last Drop when… when Vander was the owner.

Both you and Viktor look down, Vander was a good man. He took care of everyone as if they were his own kids.

Jayce clears his throat, trying to dissipate the mournful aura in the lab, “Wow, you're like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Many hidden talents.”

You snort, “More like a coyote prowling in the forest. Challenge brings mastery, dear Jayce.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow at you. That's an… odd choice of words. No one ever refers to themselves as a coyote unless they frequent…

Oh.

Oh.

Everything is slowly piecing together, he just needs one more piece of proof before he pounces. Viktor almost feels like he's insane; he's a frequent member of the well-established BDSM club down in Zaun; Coyote Ugly. He's sure he would’ve seen you before. But there's the off chance you work when he's not there. He only goes on Saturdays, on a bi-weekly schedule.

Maybe you knew that and planned your schedule around Viktor's desires.

For this last bit of proof, Viktor’s gonna bring his attitude from Coyote Ugly to the lab. Hopefully, he doesn't traumatize Jayce (or you if he's wrong.)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Five.

Viktor is good at what he does. Many people look at him and assume he's a virgin due to his disabilities. They think he's submissive due to the fact he's more lean and lithe as a man.

He's not.

He can get anyone down to their knees. He can get anyone to listen to him. He doesn't typically use this power in his day-to-day life, but he's going to bring it to the lab today. Luckily for him, Jayce had a mandated meeting to go to and couldn't weasel his way out of it.

He sees his target in the corner of his eye.

You.

You're standing by the blackboard, wobbling in place. Viktor isn't sure how well you've slept, if you've eaten anything today, or if you've even taken a break.

Viktor gets up from his own spot, and makes his way to the small kitchenette in the lab and prepares a basic sandwich and sweet milk for you. He places the items onto your desk and you're none the wiser.

Its not until Viktor clears his throat do you look away from the blackboard.

“You can barely stand straight. Here, come take a small break. Eat something.”

You smile lightly at the care, “Oh Viktor, I’d love to but I can't. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough; I can feel it! If I stop now, I wont ever complete this runic sequence!”

“I insist.”

“No, I really can't—”

“Sit.”

With that, you sat down at your desk immediately. You've never heard Viktor's voice go like that. So dark, so commanding, so… sensual.

You feel almost ashamed. Here Viktor is, making you food, a drink, and worrying about your health. And you were too much of a brat to see it.

You take half the sandwich and bite into it as your stomach growls at you. Shit, he's right. You haven't eaten in several hours and now your body’s catching up to you.

Viktor tilts his head, observing you.

“You were right, thank you.”

Viktor puts his hand on the nape of your neck and squeezes. You shiver and lean into the touch.

“You’re welcome. Don't make me have to do that again.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. Your lips pouted lightly. Viktor's grip tightens on your nape and you somewhat successfully suppress a whine.

That's the final puzzle piece.

“I wont.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, Viktor can see you blue screen.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Plus One.

Viktor's changing up his routine, visiting Coyote Ugly on a Friday rather than his usual Saturday. The trek down to Zaun wasn't too bad, but the difference is air quality was highly noticeable.

Slowly but surely, Viktor makes his way to the club. He's in his usual outfit for this scene, an all-black ensemble with the buttons of his shirt undone almost dangerously low. He can feel the looks of desire shot his way. He's always on the top of the submissive’s lists at Coyote Ugly. And every coyote he's taken has been incredibly satisfied.

But ever since this theory of his sprouted, he's been hyper-focusing on it. On you. So he hasn't been able to take any of the coyotes to bed. They're desperate.

But there's a certain coyote that's already caught his eye.

He sees you working the bar as if it were second nature. Mixing drinks, pouring shots, opening beers, and chatting up the patrons. You seem so at home here.

Viktor gets a lovely eyeful of your outfit when you hope up on the bar with a megaphone, “Same shit, new day! We follow the rules and—”

All the patrons echo your words back to you, “We don't touch your girls!”

You smirk, “And with that, let the party begin!” a bell is heard ringing in the background but all Viktor can do is appreciate your sexiness.

You're in an all-black outfit as well, but its all leather. Your top is closed by a single button, so Viktor damn near gets an eyeful of your breasts. He can see your abdomen down to the top of your navel, your belly button piercing glittering in the club's lights.

Your leather pants are skin tight and low enough that Viktor's worried you can't bend over in them without flashing someone. He sees you turn around to hop off the bar and there it is. Your hexcore inspired tattoo.

Viktor feels his pants tighten at that. Its almost like a branding in his mind. Look at that. She's mine.

A few girls get up onto the bar and dance to the songs playing on the jukebox. With a distraction in place, he makes his way to the bar to order a drink.

Your back is to the bar as you clean some glasses, “What can I getcha?”

Viktor ensures his voice is loud enough so that you can hear him, “A whiskey sour, miláček.”

The sounds of cups almost breaking puts a smile on Viktor’s face. He's got you just where he wants you. You whip around with a deer-in-the-headlights look, “Vi—Viktor! What're you doing here?! You usually come on—”

“Saturdays. Yes, I know. But I've heard wonderful things about a certain bartender and wanted to see her for myself. The only bartender I've ever met is Thomas.”

You inhale sharply, “What gave me away?”

“Little things. The money, your body modifications, referring to yourself as a coyote.”

You hit your forehead with the palm of your hand, “I'm an idiot.”

Viktor shakes his head, “No, you just got too comfortable. Besides how you reacted a few days ago when given an order sealed the deal.”

Your face feels hot, almost unbearably so. Goddamn it.

“Does this… ruin anything between us?”

Viktor scoffs, “Absolutely not! Do you know how long I've fantasized about a scenario like this happening?”

“I have an idea…” your tone is breathless as your eyes are as wide as saucers. No way is this happening. No way are your dreams coming true.

Before anything else can happen, you do a special knock on the bar. Thomas whips his head over to look at you and seems shocked.

“This is officially a Code V. I need you to man the bar tonight.”

Thomas just smiles and takes over no problem, you hop over the bar and stand next to Viktor, a beaming smile on your face.

“A Code V?”

“When I officially get the man of my dreams, I get to have a shift off. No ifs, ands, or buts!”

Viktor smiles sweetly at that.

“So…” you add before your confidence dissipates, “Wanna go upstairs?”

Viktor knows that private rooms are located upstairs if you want to… have some fun. He just nods, a sly smirk on his face, “Lead the way, miláček.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You and Viktor rush up as best you can to one of the private rooms. Before anything happens, Viktor enquires if you know about the stoplight system. You do. And with that, you two touch each other in a way you’ve been dreaming about since you both started puberty.

A bit of kissing here, a bit of groping there. Before you know it, Viktor’s fingering open your pussy as you whine and pant at the pleasure Viktor is presenting your body with.

It’s wet, slick, and so hot. Viktor’s hand is slapping against your clit, causing a loud schlick sound that makes your ears burn in embarrassment. Viktor just revels in the sounds and faces you make; he never thought you could get any prettier. Looks like he was wrong.

“Please… Please… Put it in.” You beg, your eyes watery at the constant assault Viktor is giving your g-spot. Viktor kisses his teeth, “Put what in?” He cockily asks.

“Y-your cock. I want your cock in me. I want to fuck you into the bed. Please Viktor, please? I want it so bad… I need it…” You beg, your voice wobbly in your desire. Viktor growls low in his chest as removes his fingers from your pussy. “You're such a good girl, begging for me. C'mon sweetheart, I'm all yours.” With that, you ensure Viktor is comfortable as he sits up against the headboard, you saddle him and slowly sink onto his wonderful cock.

You gasp out a long drown out moan at the feeling. Viktor’s pushed right up against your g-spot, he’s stretching you out. Your pussy is moulding itself to Viktors cock, nothing else in this world will satisfy you now. One hand holds your waist as the other rubs your back.

“C’mon.” In a low, throaty voice, you moan. As if you had to use additional effort to get the words past your parted lips. Your voice is whiney and breathy. As if putting Viktors cock in you knocked all the air out of your lungs. When you lower yourself more, Viktor, who is rubbing your back with his free hand, feels something deep inside his gut tighten up a little more as you persistently try to fit the final few inches of his cock inside. You feel dizzy at that, you're so stuffed… and there’s a few inches more.

Needy. You're so fucking needy; and Viktor loves it.

He squeezes, quickly prickling your flesh beneath his fingertips into a supple hue. Viktor wishes he could mark you like that for good, wishes that squeezing hard enough would leave bruises and indents to last a lifetime. Last several lifetimes. Even if you aren't aware of it, you still attract admiring looks from other people, which irritates Viktor. Ever since you two were teens, people would look lecherously at you. And you never noticed. But at the mere thought of everyone seeing you so marked up, something wild, primal, and almost startlingly possessive gets hold of him. Even though Viktor would know who did it, they wouldn't.

They would question who defiled you so throughly; and not once in their tiny minds would they think Viktor “The Cripple” “The Weirdo” fucked you so good you're bow-legged for days. With a trail of hickeys down your neck and chest, red marks on your wrists and a glazed look in your eyes. Viktor needs to calm down, he’s getting ahead of himself.

Before he can stop himself, Viktor tangles his fingers into your sweaty, untidy hair. You shiver at the feeling. His hands are so strong, so beautiful to look at.

“Viktor! Please! Please let me move! I need it…”You beg. You've needed this since you were fifteen and you noticed how handsome Viktor was becoming.

You lean closer to Viktor, your tits close enough to his face he can easily suck a nipple into mouth. This small shift caused his cock to press even harder into your g-spot; making a long whine and a few tears to slip out of you. Seeing that causes Viktor to freeze a bit before asking, “Colour?” At that you desperately cry out a pathetic, “Green! Please!”

If Viktor had shown even a tiny bit less restraint, the pitiful little "please" that slips from your mouth might have killed him right there.

You start to bounce, a nipple still firmly in Viktor's mouth. One hand stays on your hip as the other tweaks your other nipple. You use the headboard as support to ride Viktor to your heart's content. Fuck his cock is huge, you swear you feel it in your lungs. You could've been doing this for ages. You pitifully whine at that thought; so much time wasted.

“You look so pretty like this, you know,” Viktor mumbles appraisingly as he lets your nipple go, rocking back and forth at an almost painfully slow pace, trying to give you even more pleasure. Your thighs are trembling, splattered with lube, sweat, and an unprecedented amount of wetness from your arousal. You make a tiny, barely there noise in response, pushing weakly back against him. Viktor holds you still. “So fucked out, just for me. So cock-drunk aren’t you? My little fucktoy. My good girl. My prettiest girl” Viktor showers praise on you, who just groans at the sweet attack.

You pull up as far as you can against Viktor’s strength, the head of his cock catching on the entrance to your pussy, before dropping back down aggressively and picking up a steady rhythm. Viktor lets out an appreciative moan at that. Fuck you feel so good. He's gonna become obsessed with your pussy after this. Viktor's head tilts back to rest against the headboard as he moans, you pepper hickeys all across his pale neck. He's not the only one with possessive tendencies.

You go faster and faster, rougher and harder with each bounce, but you still take into account Viktors weaker leg. You're both moaning, yours goes up a pitch when Viktor starts to rub your clit.

Viktor whispers into your ear as he ravages your pussy, “You like that? You slut. Do you like having my big cock stretch you out? Do you like me abusing your g-spot, moulding your pussy into the shape of my dick? Nothing else will ever satisfy you again, will it Pretty Girl? No. It won’t. You’ll be desperate to have my dick rearranging your guts again.”

You just moan and starts to cry at the whispered words alongside the pounding your pussy is getting. The knot in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter, you instinctively know you can’t cum without permission. So you ask,

“Viktor… Can I cum? Please? Can I cum?

Viktor just snarls at that, nipping your ear and slapping your ass with a heavy groan, “Oh fuck… you’re such a good girl aren’t you? Asking for permission to cum without me even having to telling you. Cum. Cum right fucking now.”

And you do. With a gush of liquid, you cum hard. Your body jerking, eyes rolling into the back of your head, with your mouth ajar in a silent moan that trickles down to a pleased whine. Viktor starts to fuck into you, wanting to cum too. You start to overstimulate yourself, desperate to feel Viktor cum.

Little “Uhs.” are punched out of you at each thrust due to the painful pleasure. In no time, Viktor cums too. His hips pressed flush against yours; his sharp hipbones causing a nice bruise to form. You both simultaneously moan at the feeling of Viktor pumping you full of his cum. The two lose their strength and flop down onto the bed.

You're cuddled up, now efficiently cockwarming Viktor. You're both our of breath, and immensely pleased.

“We should clean up.” Viktor pants, you giggle breathlessly, “I don't think I can move.”

The silence is comfortable, enjoyable. You’ve almost fallen asleep when Viktor casually states, “I love you. I've loved you since I was sixteen.”

You look up at him and give him a sweet smile, before pressing your lips together in a loving, passionate kiss, “and I've loved you since I was thirteen. Looks like I've got you beat.”

Viktor just chuckles as he runs a hand through your hair, “I'm exhausted. We’ll get cleaned up when we wake up.”

“I couldn't agree more. But I want a round two before that.”

“Seriously?!”

You slap Viktor's chest playfully, “We could've been doing this for a little over a decade. I'm making up for lost time!”

Viktor kisses your forehead and contently sighs, “Can’t argue with that miláček. Can't argue with that.”

With how vigorously you two went, it’s no surprise you fell asleep in a few minutes. Wrapped up together, as content as can be.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That's a wrap! Please be nice to me, I haven't written smut since like 2022-2023. Hope y'all liked it!

For the tattoo, search up “cybersigilism heart tramp stamp tattoo” on pinterest to see what kind of tramp stamp you got LMAO

[thatonegrimm]

CAN WE GET A SAJA BOYS (SEPARATE) X READER WHERE READER IS SUOER GOOD AT GIVING MASSAGES, AND GIVES THEM ONE AFTER A PRETTY STRESSFUL DAY? 

-⭐️

Thank you for the request! These are always fun to write lol. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader – You Give the Best Massages

------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu wasn’t the type to admit when he was stressed.

He just sat a little too still. Smiled a little too tightly. Rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to manually release the tension coiled in his spine.

You found him like that on the balcony, sitting in a patio chair with his tea untouched, his gaze unfocused.

“Turn around,” you said softly.

He blinked. “What?”

You stepped behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I said, turn around. Let me help.”

Jinu stiffened as your thumbs pressed into the knots beneath his hoodie, but he didn’t pull away.

You worked in silence—slow, firm pressure along the cords of muscle between his shoulder blades. He exhaled sharply, head tilting forward just slightly.

“That’s… wow. That’s really good,” he muttered.

You smiled. “You carry everything here,” you said, kneading gently. “Let me take some of it off your shoulders.”

For once, he didn’t argue. Just leaned back into your touch, eyes closing.

Later, he’d quietly bring you a blanket and your favorite tea.

But in that moment, all he said was: “Don’t stop.”

------------------

💪 Abby 

Abby looked like nothing could shake him. Unbothered, unbreakable, all relaxed charm and big energy.

But after back-to-back rehearsals and helping move heavy set pieces when no one else could, even he had his limit.

You found him face-down on the floor, groaning into a pillow.

“I’m dying,” he mumbled.

You grinned. “Good. Stay there.”

You straddled his lower back and started working your hands up his spine. He jolted.

“Wait—woah, that’s—holy crap.”

Your thumbs hit a tense spot near his shoulder blades and he let out a very un-Abby-like whimper.

“You’re tense,” you teased.

“I’m always tense. I didn’t know until just now,” he muttered into the pillow.

You laughed, but your touch stayed steady—rolling circles into his shoulders, then kneading into the muscles of his arms. Slowly, Abby melted under you like warm butter.

By the end, he was completely limp.

“You’re magic,” he groaned. “Marry me.”

You smacked his shoulder playfully. “Let me finish the massage first.”

------------------

📚 Mystery 

You didn’t notice it at first.

Mystery never looked tired. He didn’t slump or complain or sigh dramatically.

But his silence had shifted—more withdrawn, more brittle.

So when he sat beside you, eyes shadowed and shoulders tight, you didn’t ask questions. You just reached out, lightly brushing your fingers over his arm.

He flinched—but only a little.

“Let me?” you asked quietly.

After a pause, he nodded.

You moved behind him, fingers finding the edge of his shoulder blade, working along the tight bands of tension he’d clearly been ignoring. He didn’t speak, but he tilted his head slightly to the side—giving you access.

You felt him unravel in degrees. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A subtle shiver when you found just the right spot near his neck.

Finally, he whispered, “…Feels good.”

“I know,” you said. “You don’t have to hold everything by yourself, you know.”

He didn’t reply, but you felt it—the way his fingers brushed yours afterward, small and deliberate.

A thank you in silence.

------------------

💋 Romance 

Romance lived for affection, but even he had bad days. Off-stage stress, a manager with too many opinions, and a performance that didn’t go how he wanted—it left him sulking on the couch, arms crossed, frown threatening to settle in for the night.

You came up behind him quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the crown of his head.

“Want me to help?” you asked.

He turned just enough to meet your eyes. “You’ll make me cry.”

“I’ll risk it.”

You pulled him onto the floor between your knees and began massaging his shoulders, thumbs pressing in small circles.

He melted. Instantly.

“Oh god, you’re good at this,” he moaned. “Is this love? Is this how I die?”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Yes, by massage. Very tragic.”

As you worked down his back, he sighed, completely boneless in your hands. His voice dipped quieter.

“…Thank you.”

You kissed his shoulder. “Always.”

And later, when you tried to stop, he dramatically flopped back onto you.

“Now I live here. This is my home.”

------------------

🔥 Baby 

Baby never asked.

But you noticed how he moved a little slower that night, hoodie riding up his back as he sprawled on the floor after practice, arms crossed under his head like a makeshift pillow.

You sat beside him and poked his side.

“Wanna trade? I give you a massage, you stop being grumpy.”

He grunted. “I’m not grumpy.”

You arched a brow. “That wasn’t a no.”

So you scooted behind him and gently placed your hands on his back.

At first, he tensed like he was trying not to react.

Then your palms pressed into the tight space between his shoulders—and he groaned.

“Don’t tell anyone I made that noise,” he mumbled.

“I’m recording it for blackmail,” you teased, grinning.

But you kept going—slow, methodical, watching his posture shift as he finally let himself relax. His breathing evened out. His hands unclenched.

When you stopped, he cracked one eye open.

“…Ten more minutes.”

You smirked. “You like this, huh?”

“…Shut up.”

But the next night, he was already sitting on the floor, hoodie off, waiting.

------------------

M-List

[girllblogging777]

JUST LIKE HEAVEN ౨ৎ

IN WHICH spencer and you had a one night stand, and he realises he truly loves you when you get shot on the field

it all happened too quickly.

so quickly, that you weren’t exactly sure what you were currently referring to. was it the BAU’s visit to the police department in which you worked, and their stupidly talented doctor reid, who’d somewhat lost his words the second you walked in ?

or was it the consequences of that wrongly assumed profile, delivered too quickly by the federal agents who’d refused to give more time to analyse the situation, and gotten themselves as well as your team into terrible danger ?

because these two events, although somewhat linked, had very different outcomes. one resulted in the presence of a certain brown haired genius in your bed, last night after work. and the other, in you being shot to the chest by the UNSUB.

maybe the point in common was the fact that you’d ended up in a horizontal position because of a man you barely knew.

twice.

but for very different reasons.

“agent down. we need medics !!!!!” you heard someone shout right in your ear, interrupting your inner monologue. damn, that sounded terrible. was it normal for the voice in your head to talk so much ? was it even normal to have hear a voice ?

you quickly realised you were on the ground, back against the freshly mowed grass of the UNSUB’s lawn. organised, you thought. that was the part of the profile you’d been wrong about.

you struggled to move, and to speak, which only fed your panic. the previously bright green grass absorbed the sticky liquid pooling out of you, and you wondered how exactly you had ended up here, in a pool of your own blood. it was all blurry in your mind.

shouts. gunshots. people running.

your eyes might’ve been closed, but you could still hear it all, until a familiar voice caught your attention.

“can you hear me ?” spencer asked, his voice tinged with the slightest amount of worry he wasn’t supposed to feel on the field. “you don’t have to open your eyes, just- please, squeeze my hand or something-“

“you broke the rule” you thought, almost smiling to yourself as you remembered his words from last night. “we shouldn’t get too close to eachother at work,” he’d said, while he was putting his shirt back on after you two had taken part in a not-so-professional activity.

“not that i don’t want to, cause i really do. but, you just… mess with my head, and i don’t want it to impact the case”

unfortunately, it had. and spencer knew it.

feeling like you were slowly slipping away, betrayed by your own body, you gathered all the energy you had left to do so, trying your best to make him know you were still there, despite your body going limp on the ground.

it wasn’t exactly a squeeze, more like a featherlight brush of your pinky finger against his, but spencer felt it. and never in his life had he been so relieved. it was one thing to lose an agent, but even more so when this agent happened to have have made him consider the meaning of the “love at first sight” he’d never believed in, a couple of hours prior.

“the medics are on their way” he reassured you, not even sure you could hear him, but he had to give it a try. “and they got the UNSUB, i’m staying here with you”

he kept his promise.

with his hand pressed firmly against the spot under your rib where you were still bleeding. with his calming voice, trying to keep you conscious by talking to you until the medics got here. with his fingers still laced with yours as they took you into the ambulance. he stayed.

if you had been able to talk, you would’ve told him many things. first, that you didn’t feel like you were dying at all. if anything, you felt like you were falling asleep after a long day, muscles and bones going soft as you joined him in your dreams.

then, you would’ve told him that he shouldn’t have stayed. his presence next to you weakened the rest of the team, and meant he hadn’t followed protocol.

and lastly, you really would’ve liked to tell him that he should have stayed. last night, when the two of you were getting to know each other, when you wished for comfort and craved human affection after he’d left.

but you couldn’t speak right now.

there was no one to shut him up, and no warm voice to reassure him. “listen, please, please…” he kept repeating on the ambulance, begging him not to leave like everyone else in his life had.

“not now, okay ? you didn’t even have the chance to yell at me for approaching in front of the team…” damn, how, you wished to be conscious and awake to hear the rest of his words. unfortunately, the machines beeping around you and the darkness that surrounded you made you fall back into a deep slumber.

and even then, spencer was still there, under different conditions. you two were back in your bed, legs tangled as if you were trying to merge your bodies together. and you could see his beautiful eyes, looking into yours as he traced the birthmarks on your arm. but that was all a dream.

when you woke up, you most definitely felt dead. but the pounding in your head followed quickly, and as you opened your eyes to find yourself in a depressingly bright hospital room, you realised death would’ve been too easy.

“oh, there you are” he spoke gently, careful not to startle you. you thought you heard voices again, but turned around to find him sitting on a chair next to the bed, dark circles under his beautiful hazel eyes.

you managed to croak out weakly. “you look like hell”

of course the first thing you’d say to him after all of this was sarcastic. he smiled, proud of himself because he understood the joke for once.

“why, thank you. you look like heaven”

if there was once thing spencer reid couldn’t do, it was lying. a tired smile creeped up your pale face, and the sharp pain in your abdomen reminded you why you were there in the first place.

“if this is what heaven is like, i want a refund. i didn’t pay for this”

“technically, you didn’t pay at all. the bureau is responsible for any injuries on the field, even exterior individuals. your hospital bills are covered” spencer stated, to which you chuckled.

“oh… that was a joke, yeah ?

“yes.”

“right.. good joke”

silence surrounded both of you again, and you brushed your fingertips against your ribs to assess the damage. his eyes darted away, as he thought of you in the same position under different circumstances.

“the doctors stitched you up, you’ll be alright. he missed the lung by a few millimetres, it could’ve been- i mean, you could’ve-…”

“i know…”

“i really thought you were going to…” he admitted, refusing to look at you.

you repeated. “i know…”

if this was fate’s way of bringing the two of you together, it was definitely ironic. and also, way too painful on your side. then again, you’d never really lucked out in love, so this would probably be another funny story to share with your friends, after too many drinks.

unless…

“look,” spencer said, sitting up in his seat as if to prepare himself for rejection. “i know the circumstances are bad, and we agreed on calling it a mistake. but it wasn’t, for me. and i really thought i was gonna lose you today.”

his words made you soften, you tilted your head as he kept going, awkwardly using his hands as he spoke.

“i’m saying lose you, but i never even had you in the first place. and i don’t want that- i mean, i want to have you. yeah, i’m rambling”

you chuckled, which comforted him a bit.

“basically, i’m trying to say i’d like to have you before having to think about losing you. not that i ever want to think about losing you” he corrected himself, nose scrunching up at the thought of it.

“i’d like that too…”

he almost looked unsure, as if he was expecting you to somehow get up or run away which was completely absurd because you were physically unable to move, linked to the machines and the beeping monitors, and also because you were most definitely in love with him.

“really ?”

“yes, really. i can’t thank you enough for staying with me. i mean, you broke protocol-“

spencer raised a brow “actually, we broke protocol the minute you took me back to your place.”

laughing, you leaned back against the pillow, thouroughly amused by the situation. he really was something else. “okay, fair enough. so… i’d like to break protocol with you again.”

“is that a joke again ?” he asked, fingers tapping against the arm rest of the chair. after all, you had a knack for sarcasm.

“no, most definitely not a joke.”

“good. i’d like to break protocol with you too…”

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and Mice and Tea Parties 20

Masterpost

AN: B really was trying his best to protect Danny last time, he just was missing too much information. Poor Danny...

No reading over. We suffer and post at 2am.

-

It had been two weeks since the last rogue Wayne visit.

Danny hadn’t intended to keep track. There was no reason to. One visit from Cass and one from Tim did not a pattern make.

He tried to dismiss the observation. He had plenty to do; it wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. The bi-weekly trivia group would start meeting again soon. He also had a TTRGP session that did its best to meet around all that life threw at them. Tucker and him played online games when they could make schedules match and he and Sam talked when she was stateside. He even had regular lunches with coworkers!

Still, there had been something different about spending time with the family.

So no, Danny hadn’t meant to keep track, but he still knew it had been two weeks and a day. But of course he wouldn’t see the Waynes that often. Bruce was a very busy man and most of the children would have no reason to come to W.E. They had their own lives with work and school and being kids or young adults. The other visits had simply been flukes, as nice as the visits had been.

The subtle feeling of melancholy that had settled over him was ridiculous and he wasn’t having it. His mood was simply off because of the whole Ancient thing. The way it was affecting his health didn’t make feeling better any easier either.

Danny leaned against the wall of the elevator as he tried to catch his breath. He really shouldn’t be walking right then to get lunch, not with the way that he felt, but he hadn’t had anything at his place to make lunch with. He hadn’t had the energy to go shopping. He’d just go somewhere close instead of walking to anything on the other side of the park.

The natural reverb of the lobby assaulted Danny as he stepped out of the elevator.

He just had to get through the lobby, the street, the restaurant, back through the street, and through the lobby again. Then he could hide in his office and eat. Or he could hide in there and eat as long as Lucius didn’t find him. Maybe even Lucius would give him a break today though.

“Dr. Fenton…?”

Danny looked up from rubbing his neck.

It was Tim. Damian was at Tim’s side, flanking him like a little guard dog and scowling. Tim was frowning too. Danny immediately wanted to fix whatever was wrong.

“Look at that, a pair of Waynes. How are you two?”

“That is unimportant,” Damian said with a little sniff. “You are clearly unwell. I assume you are returning to your apartment to rest?”

“Oh, no, I’m just going to go grab lunch. I’m alright, really,” Danny said and put on the best smile he could muster.

Tim and Damian looked at each other in some sort of silence conversation. Danny started to edge away from them, thinking he could escape before they came to some sort of end. He really needed out of the lobby and its echoing sounds.

A startled shriek from the entry way cut off that plan.

Danny twisted to face the sound as he stepped in front of the kids.

Of course it was a rogue, what else would it be in Gotham? It was a rogue, but at least it was the Mad Hatter and his squad of likely mind controlled goons. He usually wasn’t prone to death and destruction like some of the others were. But still, Danny felt his metaphorical hackles rising. The kids were here.

The kids were here and sure to draw the Mad Hatter’s attention if he saw them. Danny stepped slowly backwards, herding the kids away from the scene. At least they weren’t far into the lobby.

“Back up to the stairwell,” Danny said lowly, trying to cast his voice behind him.

“Tch. We can—”

“The elevator, the back left one,” Tim said quietly but firmly over his brother’s protest. “I have a code to take it to a safe room in the basement.”

“If he kills the power,” Danny started.

“The elevators have emergency back up.”

“That’s not very good behavior for a tea party, is it?” the Matter Hatter shouted at someone.

Danny bit back a rising noise of anger in his throat. His fingers twitched to act. But he couldn’t. The best plan was to get the kids out of there away from any action.

“Yes I see, Damian,” Tim hissed. “We’re almost to the elevator.”

“Call it as soon as you can,” Danny said. Was there a reverb to his voice? It felt like there was a reverb to his voice. No, no, he couldn’t, he had to…

“That’s better! See? This is how you behave when someone invites you to a tea party! Now where is that little dormouse?” the Mad Hatter called. “I know I saw him come in here! With an even littler one too.”

He wanted Tim.

“Calling the elevator.”

“Another mouse? A rat? A cat?"

The Mad Hatter wanted Tim and Damian.

“Here mousy mouse mice… where are you?"

Danny would not let that happen.

“Oh there you are! Hiding back by the doors, of course he is!” The Mad Hatter said. The crowed parted in fear. His wide, manic eyes looked right past Danny and he grinned. “Get them. We have a tea party we’re late for.”

“Over my dead body,” Danny growled.

The Mad Hatter blinked at Danny like he just noticed him for the first time. His goons rushed past him and through the crowd. “Oh, who are you? Never mind, if death is what you want, we can make that happen.”

Danny couldn’t hold back the chortling laughter. “See, that’s where you have a problem you don’t even know you could have.”

“And what is that?”

“You couldn’t handle my dead body,” Danny said just as the first goon reached them.

Danny stepped forward. He ducked under the swing of the punch and used the momentum to spin the goon around. With a push of his ghostly power, he sent the attacking goon careening into the next one and they both went tumbling.

“Danny, it’s here!” Tim shouted.

Not turning his back to the attackers, Danny stepped backwards into the elevator. Tim slammed a button and the doors basically snapped closed, much faster than they should. Danny was left staring at the polished metal surface of the elevator. Luminous green stared back at him. Soft black feathers dotted his temples. His fingers ended in talons. And he could feel it.

He could feel the skin on his back started to split.

Wings.

[science-hoes]

kate, i hope you’re having a great night, sunshine. a little wine is perfect for a sunday vibe! 🫶🏻

may i look into that beautiful brain of yours & hear what you have to say about jack & his darling finding out their pregnant after struggling to conceive? i think they’d struggle a bit at first with getting there, but would be over the moon ecstatic once it finally does happen for them. i know you can do this justice!

thank youuuuuu for whatever you come up with. 🥺

J my love 🥹 this is a very good question!!

—

“Lots of people struggle with fertility problems.” Robby says a bit under his breath as he slings his son’s diaper bag over his shoulders. “Abbot’s five years younger than Eliza, but trust me, he’d be a lot older if we’d had it our way.”

Jack huffs a small laugh as he cradles baby Abbot in his arms, the almost two-year-old sleeping contently after skipping his nap because he was too excited to spend the day with his uncle and aunt.

“I know.” He mumbles, looking down to the toddler in his embrace. “The fertility doc said labs looked fine. Said some couples just need the ‘perfect conditions’ for conception.”

Robby nods and carefully takes his son into his arms without waking him, brushing a dark wisp of brown hair out of his face. “We were told the same thing.” He replies.

Jack leans against the wall of the entryway to the house and crosses his arms. “So what did you do?”

Robby smiles slightly, bouncing baby Abbot in his arms when he began to stir, hoping to lull him back to sleep. “I cooked every meal for her. Not just the lazy dinners we had been doing in between shifts to stay alive. Actual good food that were in cookbooks people had given us as wedding gifts.” He begins and continues when he sees Jack staring intently, mentally storing every word he says. “I made sure every stressor in her life hit me first. Whether it was work or Eliza or chores. I would field every issue before passing it on to her.”

Jack nods, fidgeting with his hands a bit. “And it worked?” He questions, his voice a little softer than normal.

Robby chuckles and squeezes his son a little tighter in his arms. “Got the proof right here.” He teases before glancing down the hallway to make sure Eliza was still out of earshot. “We also took advantage of every free second we had during ovulation week.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Every free second?”

Robby shrugs, lips pulled tightly in a straight line. “We learned to make the most of our fifteen minute breaks at work.”

Jack’s face twists in disgust but can’t help the laugh that escapes his chest. “Are you fucking kidding me? Chief of EM fucking in the on-call room on the clock?” He questions.

Robby chuckles with him, his face growing red from embarrassment and laughter. “Worse. Supply closet.” He answers.

Their laughter is enough to beckon you and Eliza to the entry way of the house. You raise an eyebrow as you carefully handed Robby her backpack.

“Something funny?” You ask, mainly looking to Jack.

Both men give each other a quick look of panic, trying to think of an alibi, but thankfully Eliza begins barraging her father with a million questions about her parents’ date night. Jack just stays quiet, watching the way you helped buckle baby Abbot into his car seat while he and Robby wrangle Eliza and her fairy wings into her booster seat. You deserve to be a mom, and damn it, he is going to do everything in his power to make that happen.

—

Jack didn’t tell you about Robby’s advice. He simply took action. Every meal, whether it was breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snack food, was prepared at home by him. When you ended up on opposite shifts, Jack made sure you left with a full lunchbox of snacks and meals, including your folic acid pills.

Every chore in the house was taken care of before you could think about it. Dishes cleaned and stored away, laundry washed and folded with military precision, floors vacuumed and mopped. When you asked Jack about it, he just blamed the “extra energy” he would have after fucking you into oblivion after a long shift.

When you were ovulating that month, Jack turned into an animal. He fucked you raw every morning, every night, every fifteen minute break at work like it was a ritual. You had to start bringing a fresh pair of panties to work because “No, ma’am, it’s all staying in.” You didn’t mind it though because your hormones made you absolutely feral for your husband. Even in the uncomfortable bed of the on-call room, you were riding him into oblivion, making his eyes roll back and forget his own name.

Jack didn’t push you to take the pregnancy tests. He didn’t want you to feel the stress of his own impatience and hopes. But you had already taken three box tests from the hospital supply closet, each with the faintest extra line beside the control. You’d practically dragged Robby’s wife to an empty room with the transvaginal ultrasound to confirm and cried when you saw a little bean on the monitor. She had hugged you tightly and mentioned something about “Robby’s advice to Jack” that you didn’t question at the time.

All you could think about was telling Jack. He’s on the couch when you get home, intently watching his Penguins game. You tote in the small gift bag you’d picked up on the way home and flick on the lights to the living room. He gives you a warm kiss, throwing his arms around you, and pulls you into his lap.

“Hey, baby doll.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

You enjoy the warmth of his embrace for just a moment more before pulling away to sit up. “I got you something on the way home.” You say, dangling the gift bag in front of him.

Jack just chuckles and carefully takes the bag from your hand. “Why’d you do that?” He asked.

You shrug, trying to conceal your emotions. “Just as a thank you for all the help around the house, and all the amazing cooking you’ve been doing.” You explain.

Jack pulls the layer of tissue paper out of the bag. “Honey, it’s no big deal. I’m just-“

Your husband goes silent when he sees the contents of the bag. His breathing becomes unsteady as he carefully pulls out the positive pregnancy tests in a clear baggy.

“You- Are you-“ He’s trying so hard to get his words out.

You just grin and point to the bag. “There’s more in there.”

Jack looks to the bottom of the bag and pulls out a chain of black and white sonogram photos. In the top left corner, your last name, his last name, “Abbot” printed with your baby’s metrics. His big shoulders rise and fall heavily with his breaths, and his lip starts to quiver.

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He rasps, looking up to you for confirmation.

You take his stubbled face in your hands and nod, grinning through your own tears. “We’re having a baby, Jack.”

He wants to be a stronger man, he really does. But he collapses into your embrace and sobs. He cries and cries and holds you as close as he can. He never thought he would get to have this. He thought he might be too old, and he worried that he was holding you back from having children. But the sonogram was enough to break the dam of emotions.

It’s a good thing he’s become such a good cook in the past couple of months because you learn at your gender appointment that you’re having boys. Plural. As in two boys. More than one. And Jack is absolutely over the moon.