#all of this to keep everything under HER control

[the-shedevil-writes]

Polaroids (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better. WORD COUNT: 2.3k WARNINGS: Bob gets angry in this one, folks. Cussing. Fighting. Hangman's an asshole- sorry. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Bob didn’t like talking about his relationship. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of her, or that he felt ashamed. But in fact, the opposite. He’d seen these animals, he’d call co-workers, and how they’d treat girls. Granted, the squadron he was with now wasn’t so bad. Rooster, Hangman, and Fanboy were hard flirts, but they had basic decency. He never felt embarrassed by their behavior when they went out to the bars, and they’d try and pick up a girl. If they were successful, they celebrated. If they weren’t, they’d walk away and move on. 

But it was his past experiences with other pilots. Locker room talk always rubbed him the wrong way. He did his best not to judge these guys. He had those thoughts, too, but he had heard too many dehumanizing things said about women he knew and didn’t. So he preferred to keep his gorgeous girlfriend, Y/n, under wraps, even if he did trust his current friends.

They preferred to keep their lives separate anyway. With Bob having his work and friend group, and Y/n having hers. It kept their conversations interesting, as they had their own lives to discuss, not just their shared one. 

The Dagger Squad, of course, would try and pry any information out of him. All they knew was that he had a girlfriend. Half the time, they’d forget what her name was because they had never met her, and Bob preferred not to talk about her, for fear they’d ask to see her. 

He was surprised they didn’t notice the Polaroids. Taking pictures of his girl was his favorite thing to do besides flying. He wasn’t exactly a photographer. But he made good use out of the instant Polaroid camera she got him for Christmas. It was so much better than taking pictures on his phone because he could hold the memory in his hand. The light and the moment were captured and printed instantly just for him. 

They were stuck everywhere. Photos over the years were plastered all over the inside of his locker. In his phone case was a picture of her wearing his glasses. And in the fold-out mirror of his truck was a photo of her taken off guard in the kitchen that she hated, but he loved. The one of her kissing his cheek was usually tucked in the front pocket of his flight suit. They all served as reminders of what he had waiting for him once his shift was over. His best friend and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life. 

His favorite was the photo he taped to his control panel every day. It was a little beat up, naturally, but he made sure to keep that one in the best condition it could be. It was his good luck charm- the first Polaroid he had ever taken of her. It was Christmas morning, and she sat next to the lit tree, in his old Lemoore High School shirt that she had stolen for herself. She hugged the frankly huge teddy bear that he had gotten her. While the lights on the tree sparkled in the photo and cast a golden glow on her smiling face. For some reason, when he had it, the missions went better. The days went by more easily when he got to see his girl’s face after a stressful hiccup in flight. 

It had been a long and grueling day flying under the sweltering sun. They had been training for a strike mission, and the dogfighting exercises had left him drenched in sweat, and owing Maverick 200 push-ups. Thanks, Payback, for the BRILLIANT idea. And thanks, Hangman, for doing what he did best- leaving him in the dust and pushing his buttons. 

After an almost embarrassing amount of time, he walked back to the locker room with biceps so sore they screamed. He unzipped his flight suit and took his glasses off, using the white shirt underneath to clean the fog and sweat off them. He couldn’t wait to go home and find his girlfriend in her study, working. And he especially couldn’t wait to bug and distract her from all of it. 

That’s when the sense of dread hit him, and he realized. He quickly checked all his pockets. Yes, the one of her kissing his cheek was there. But his lucky charm wasn’t in any of the other pockets. He rushed to climb out of his flight suit and scrambled to throw on a random shirt and shorts from his duffel. He couldn’t leave it in the jet. Who knew what maintenance would do if they found it? They’d probably just throw it away. 

Throwing on his backpack, he sprinted back down to the hangar. He didn’t even notice the whole squadron standing around talking. He didn’t care. All he wanted was his favorite picture and for this horrible day to be over with. 

The sunset shone on his forehead, exacerbating the glistening stress sweat. He quickly climbed the ladder onto the Super Hornet and looked inside the backseat interior. The only place it could be. And when he looked at the spot between the radar and the comms control, he put his face in his hands. It wasn’t there. The memory of the Christmas lights and the bear was missing. 

“Fuck.” He said to himself. It was hard to get Bob to curse, but this felt like an appropriate occasion.

Then Hangman’s voice rang out behind him. 

“Hey Baby on Board! You sure this isn’t a picture you found on Google?” 

Bob’s head whipped back to find Jake Seresin holding the photo. On one hand, he was just grateful that someone had found it. On the other hand, out of all the pilots, he wished so deeply that it wasn’t Hangman. 

He quickly climbed down the ladder. “Give me it back, please.” He said exasperated, and walked towards him.

Jake held the photo up so that Bob couldn’t get it. Neither of them was short, but Hangman was just slightly taller. 

“I’m not kidding.” He said, trying his best to keep his cool. It took a lot to make Bob angry. He was typically level-headed and able to logically think things through. That’s why he was a WSO Top Gun Graduate, and not necessarily a pilot. But right then, his whole day had been building up inside him, and this was the one thing he didn’t mess around with. 

“I just can’t believe that a babe like this is with a guy like you. Really, you should let me call her up.” He said teasingly with a smile. After leaving Bob and Phoenix stranded, AND doing this, Bob was at the end of his rope.

“Hangman, just give him back the photo,” Phoenix voiced with her arms crossed. She and Rooster watched the whole interaction, which just made him feel worse. This was humiliating. It was like they were boys in a school yard- which Bob would say was an apt description of most of the people he had worked with in the past.

He reached up for the photo and finally got a grip on it, but Hangman didn’t let go. 

“I just think it’s funny! I wanna look at it. I think there’s more in his locker, too.”

“Just let go, Hangman.” His voice was less whiny and more serious now. 

“No!” He grinned.

The two tussled and grabbed at the photo. It felt like a moment that was way too long. Until eventually they each pulled in a different direction, twisting it. It completely bent. Thankfully, it couldn’t rip because of the type of film, but the photo itself was fairly distorted. Bob’s heart beat out of his chest, and it was like his stomach twisted the same way the photo did. 

He suddenly let go of the photo and pushed Hangman so hard he stumbled back, surprised. The photo slapped onto the pavement. 

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE,” Bob said, following after him, ready to beat the shit out of him. Even though at first glance, most people would believe that Hangman would win in a fight between the two. It didn’t quite look it at the moment with the anger in Bob’s eyes and his arms pumped from the earlier push-ups.

Rooster quickly ran over and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. “HEY HEY HEY!” 

Phoenix ran over and did the opposite, pushing her hand against Hangman’s chest, though he didn’t try to move forward. He knew he was in the wrong here, and it was clear by his guilty expression.

“Bob, man, calm down,” Rooster said. They all looked at him, surprised. Timid, awkward Bob was… kinda scary when he was pissed off. His glasses slightly crooked and red in the face. Maybe it was just strange to see him so out of control.

He slowly pushed Rooster off of him and walked over, grabbing the crumpled photo on the ground. After a failed attempt at straightening it out, he put it in his pocket and walked off, steaming. 

That night, when he got home, he slammed the door. He was never the type to do that, but he felt so defeated. His duffel bag dropped to the floor uncaringly. 

“Bob? Is that you?” Y/n called out from the study.

He sighed, a little relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” He said, his voice almost completely flat. That wasn’t normal. He’d usually meet her in the study, but at the sounds of distress, she quickly came out.

She walked out to find him hanging up his sweatshirt with a depressed look on his face. His usual smile was replaced by a small, tense frown, and his shoulders were high and stiff. Something was very wrong.

“Oh, baby.” She said, walking over, “What’s wrong?” Her voice was so gentle.

He sighed and quickly wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I need to shower,” He said, not having gotten the chance to on base. But he still squeezed her, needing the support dearly. 

She shook her head against his chest. “What happened?” She knew he was trying to avoid it. 

He stepped back and pulled the bent photo out of his pocket. “Hangman happened.”

She gasped at the sight of it in his hand. “Oh no… Is this a man or a dog we’re talking about here?” She asked confused, and that made him laugh a little. He was already so grateful to be home. 

“Man. Though he definitely acts like a dog.” He groaned.

She gently took the photo from his hands. “I can try and fix it. Straighten it out. There might be a crease still in it, though.” She tried her best to flatten it out like he did, but to no avail.

He shook his head. “You can try, but I doubt it’ll be okay.”

That answer was so depressing, she looked up and tilted her head. “Hey, we’ll get it back to normal. I’ll look it up. How about you go shower and eat? I made pasta cause I was too lazy to be a real chef tonight.” She tried to lighten the air. “Then you can tell me all about your day.” 

He sighed in relief. “You’re too good to me.” He said softly, pulling her in for a much-needed kiss.

And that’s exactly how they ended up sprawled on the couch, each with bowls of penne and vodka sauce. On the coffee table, the photo lay on a piece of wax paper and was buried under some thick fighter jet manuals Bob had. 

“It was just like the whole day had been building up in me. Payback’s bet. Hangman leaving me and Phoenix dead in the water. The two hundred push-ups. And the photo going missing in the first place drove me crazy. So when he bent it, I just… exploded a little.” He admitted, almost ashamed to have lost control.

She sighed. “That’s okay. It was natural after all of that.” She reassured gently, reaching for his calf and squeezing it. “This Hangman guy sounds like a real douche.”

“Understatement.” He said, but he was feeling better talking through it all with her. “I just hope that the photo is okay. You know it’s my good luck charm, and if it’s not flat, it won’t stick to my console very well.” 

A small smile appeared on her face. “It’s under some of the thickest books I’ve ever seen. If it’s not flattened, then that’s just defying gravity.” She said. 

He exhaled again, relaxing, and it was like the tension in him completely dissipated. “You’re right.” He said gently. 

“Hey, maybe after today he’ll leave you alone.” She suggested.

He scoffed, “Hangman? I give him less than a week before he starts using you against me.” 

She chuckled and set her bowl down so she could lie down against him. “Hmmmm, gotta get you enrolled in anger management classes then.” She teased.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re funny.” He said sarcastically.

The next morning, he woke up at the crack of dawn per usual. He slowly slipped out of his girlfriend’s grasp, and she whined, half asleep. Their typical routine. He gently leaned down, ran his hand over her hair, and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered, and she subconsciously did so.

He got ready in his khaki uniform and walked out to the living room. On the table were the stacks of manuals. He very carefully took them off one by one and set them on the couch to soften the noise. Checking on the Polaroid, he sighed in relief as it was flat again. A small crease was across the middle, but at the very least, it was flat. He turned it around and saw something new. On the plain white back of the photo was a lipstick kiss mark over the folded line. In the tiniest pen was ‘A kiss to make it better’. 

And the biggest smile grew on his face. This was better than he could’ve asked for. 

Now he didn’t just have a good luck charm, but also a kiss to remember her by. 

[dontrllycaretbh]

🏀 Title: Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Paige Bueckers × Azzi Fudd

Summary:

Late-night practices, locked gyms, and the weight of being more than teammates. In a world where eyes are always watching, Paige and Azzi find the one place they don’t have to pretend.

The gym was quiet, lit only by the overhead fluorescents humming softly above the hardwood. Midnight shootarounds were nothing new, but this one wasn’t about jumpers.

Paige leaned against the padded wall, sweaty from drills, watching Azzi from across the court — her form, her follow-through, that stupid effortless way she always made it look like art. Paige wasn’t watching the ball. She hadn’t been for weeks.

“You gonna just stare or actually rebound?” Azzi teased, eyes meeting hers over her shoulder.

Paige smirked. “You know I’m better at stealing than rebounding.”

Azzi raised a brow, the tension between them heavy and familiar — unspoken, electric. No one else was supposed to know. Not the team, not the coaches, especially not the media. UConn was about legacy. Discipline. Focus. A scandal was the last thing they needed.

But Paige? She didn’t care anymore.

She crossed the court slowly, sneakers squeaking, her gaze locked on Azzi. Close now — too close — she reached for the ball just as Azzi turned, their hands colliding.

Neither of them moved.

Azzi swallowed. “We said we’d keep things—”

“Under control,” Paige whispered, stepping in closer. “But you keep looking at me like that, and I forget why.”

Azzi’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled around the ball like it was the only thing grounding her.

“We’re not even supposed to be here alone,” she said, voice low.

“Exactly why it feels so good,” Paige murmured, brushing her hand against Azzi’s hip, casual like it meant nothing — but it meant everything.

The ball dropped. Neither of them noticed.

Azzi’s lips were parted, her eyes flickering between Paige’s mouth and her eyes. “We could get benched,” she whispered, barely audible.

Paige leaned in, her lips ghosting Azzi’s ear. “Then we better make it worth it.”

She kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t gentle. It was the kind of kiss that had been held back through practices, press conferences, and two too many team dinners pretending they were just teammates.

Azzi pressed back, hands slipping under Paige’s hoodie, nails dragging across sweat-slick skin. The air between them cracked like static — raw, reckless, real.

Paige backed her into the wall, hands planted beside her head. She didn’t care about rules right now. All she knew was the way Azzi was pulling her closer, breath shallow, kissing her like she’d been starving and Paige was the first taste.

There were things they weren’t supposed to be.

But in that gym, behind locked doors, with nothing but silence around them and everything unsaid burning between them — they didn’t care.

Not tonight.

[lambilegs]

AN AMOROUS KISS WITH THE ONCE ENEMY.

day two of sevika week: first time.

set in the universe of this fic.

contains: royalty!au, sevika and reader are part of enemy kingdoms and have been pushed into an arranged marriage with each other for the sake of peace, reader lives with a toxic family, smut (minors + ageless blogs dni), sevika has a dick, mentions of breeding and pregnancy, soft sex, praise, reader is called "wife" and "girl," reader's body is referred to with the terms: "pussy," "cunt," "clit," and "tits"

a/n: this is inspired by an m4f audio I came across on reddit, made by u/AugustInTheWinter -- I haven't listened to it in full, so I can't guarantee all the content in it, so please check his warnings and keep it all in mind.

dividers by: @/strangergraphics and @/anitalenia

The last thing you expected upon Sevika’s arrival was for her to cup your face and plant on you the most amorous kiss you’ve ever received.

She’s been gone for two incredibly long months on account of counseling she’s had to do in several different provinces for the sake of peacekeeping. Your family jumped at the opportunity to have you back home, and while the prospect at first seemed tempting, it took only five days of staying with them to remember why you had agreed to the marriage of allegiance with Sevika in the first place. 

Everything feels… tighter around the throat. The rules that had governed you all throughout your childhood were now wound back around your neck, forcing every interaction to have controlled coldness and false niceties laced in. Prior to your marriage, this sort of life came naturally to you, like a sort of second skin you donned with ease every morning and tore off during the late hours.

But, after ten months of marriage to Sevika, living in her country and experiencing a whole new way of socializing, one that prizes bluntness and passion above all else, this world you once called home feels foreign now. You can already picture your wife’s – God, your wife – reaction had she been staying here with you. She would’ve barked out a crude laugh at your mother’s insistence on what subjects can and cannot be broached in a formal dinner. She would’ve kept you in her stare during balls no matter how impolite it was deemed for a woman to give her spouse the “sinful gaze,” as your aunt once hilariously put it.

But, oh, how that sinful gaze feels like Heaven after being tied to her for so long. At first, you viciously hated it. You thought the way she looked at your body was pure filth, and you tried hard to ignore the way it made arousal bloom between your thighs. You were also under the impression that twisted into that stare was contempt and pure arrogance at knowing you were putty under her hands. And in hindsight, you’re sure that was the case.

But, then, the two of you spent time together after the wedding night. You still cannot decipher if it was the most blessed or stupid decision you’ve ever made. The wedding night turned into an immediate argument in the morning. And that argument unfolded into weeks of bickering. Then, a vulnerable night where someone at a dinner party made a rude comment about your people made you struck with tears – and, shockingly enough, made your wife fist the table cloth and defend you.

A rare moment of kinship turned into shared smirks in the middle of shooting snarky remarks back and forth. It turned into her squeezing your hip during public outings and biting back a chuckle whenever you shot her a glare. It turned into her reading her book aloud to help you sleep during the anxious nights. It turned into you advocating for her when her father dismissed her. It turned into fights over you defending each other and the pride broken in doing so, ending with mumbled apologies and feeble attempts to grab one another’s hand.

Somewhere, tucked away deep in your soul, it turned into an actual marriage. It turned into that four letter word you still can’t manage to unleash from your throat when faced with her cocksureness. 

You gasp as her lips move against you in the fluid dance that nights upon nights of intimacy, all done under the justification of needing to produce an heir, have trained you both in. Your fingers twist eagerly into the fabric of her vest, pulling her in so that your fronts are squished together. She’s so tall, so lovely, so fucking strong. So warm when she’s on top of you, so dependable during the nights you meekly turn into her side when a nightmare leaves you feeling like you’re plunged into cold water. So steady – firm in her stance, cold and rough around the edges, but an inside, so tender and soft. An inability to ever deny you the care you need. You both know that. But, not only you. You’ve seen her show that care for so many people, including the ones she holds dearest to her chest and the strangers who have nothing to give her in return. It makes your admiration of her swell tenfold.

When she grabs your ass, nails digging into the plush of it, your mouth opens in a choked gasp. You can feel the longing for her, the desperate need for skin-on-skin contact. And you’d be uttering a terrible lie if you say that you don’t feel the same way. These last two months have been downright torturous, your brain itching for her thoughts on what you read, your face aching for the grins she causes in her rare moments of awkwardness, your body yearning for her rough touch. 

She pulls away from your mouth with a wet squelch, and through the heaving breaths, you finally take her in. Her hair has grown longer, black strands hanging in her eyes, and her eyes are shadowed with dark under eye circles. And yet, the light in those grey irises doesn’t falter even once, searing through your skin as her gaze shifts over your face. The sharp focus of the movement causes your stomach to flip. Did she miss you? Did she envision your face at night as much as you did hers?

Your mind barely has time to run through more questions before her hands lift to your face and she’s pulling you into another impassioned kiss, muttering, “You been sleeping well?”

The soft question nearly brings you to tears. Still passively hanging your mouth open, letting her tongue lick into the crevices of it, you shake your head from side to side. You had grown quite accustomed to having her nearby during the late hours.

Her kisses sloppily move to your cheek, her next words firm with determination. “You will tonight.”

When she loosens your robe, her eyes take you in, focused and half-lidded, hand rubbing at your tummy. “Fuck. Get on the bed now.”

You bite your lip in eagerness, arousal coursing through you. You’re already damp between the legs, your wetness smeared on your inner thighs. You know it’s probably a horrible idea to be doing it here, at your parents’ estate (you try to ignore just how touched it makes you to know she made a detour on her journey home just to visit your parents’ and ensure you make the rest of the trip together). But, there’s something tantalizing about it. This kingdom, so rigid, so seeped in structure and sense, totally demolished in this small way. In the tangle of limbs, the hot mix of breaths, the depraved claiming she always stakes on you.

When you get on all fours, anticipating that she’ll want it fast and hard after the time spent away, she chuckles softly. 

When you feel the slippery softness of her lips upon your spine, you gasp. A surge of heat shoots through you as she murmurs, “Get up. I want to see your face.”

The request makes your stomach tighten up, a wave of tenderness rolling through you. God, you want to see her too. So badly. You’re almost seized with fear at the enormity of your want, at the vulnerability that’ll be tethering you two together through this round of lovemaking. Lovemaking. Before, it was just sex – something you convinced yourself was only done for the necessity of bearing her child. Now, it’s something completely different. It’s another way you two have learned to mold yourselves together and allow your souls to dance in companionship.

Her skin, set ablaze under the warm light of the fire, is toasty under your roaming hands. She sits up with her back leaning against the headboard, your body curled up in her lap. You’re gasping pitifully as her dick slides between your pussy’s soaked lips, the hot weight of it getting slick as she grips your hips and helps you rock back and forth. Nails digging into her broad shoulders, breasts crushed together, your moist breaths fan against her cheek as you press messy, mindless kisses to the corner of her mouth.

Mind softened and turned malleable from the feeling of her cock brushing against your stiffened clit, you breathe out, “I missed you.”

She makes a small noise in her throat, then mutters, “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft during my time away.”

The lack of reciprocation stings, and you immediately pause to pull back with a glare. “Will you not say it back?”

She levels you with a deadpan stare. “My dick is about an inch close to being inside you.”

You scoff, “Yes, and that’s how close you’ll get unless you tell me you missed me too. Or did you not?”

At the soft crack in your voice, one that has your face heating in embarrassment, Sevika’s eyes sharply flick to you. A moment later, she leans into you, grabbing the base of her dick and encouraging you to lift your hips. Mouth pressed to your jaw, almost as though she can’t bear to meet your gaze, she murmurs, “You think I would’ve added two days to my journey home unless I did?”

Your chest aches.

When she slowly splits you open on your dick, you immediately begin rutting desperately on her, the time apart feeling like an extended eternity. 

She bites her lip, hard, the corner of it quirking up in clear amusement. “Needed it that bad, huh?”

Despite the taunt in her voice, you can hear the way it trembles, and you know it’s taking her every ounce of willpower not to thrust into you the way she desires.

You take advantage of the weak point, pressing your palms on her chest and swivelling your hips in circles, slow and measured. Her dick twists in you just right, and a low whine flows from your mouth.

Sevika grits her teeth from where she sits, the muscles of her chest flexing under your touch. “You’re so, fuck–”

She barely gets the sentence out before her thick arms wrap around your waist and she’s bending her knees to give herself the leverage she needs to begin pumping her hips up. You cry out in shock, a hand feebly pressing to the bed frame as her cock darts in and out of you without falter, your hole gushing with juices mixed in with her precum. One hand grips your ass, kneading and smacking, while the other is braced against your back, keeping you still as she pounds into you like her personal toy. 

It’s pure ecstasy, rough and passion encapsulated in the quick, uncoordinated movements. But, what has your entire body eventually spiralling to orgasm is when she slows down. Continuing to hold you still, she rocks in and out patiently, leaning away from your shoulder to press her sweaty forehead into yours, the hairs plastered onto her skin making yours tickle and itch. Her eyes remain narrowed on how your mouth falls open in pleasure, utterly intent. You roll your hips to meet her thrusts, which are wet and loud with the cream you’re certain is coating her cock and your walls.

The forced eye contact has you crumbling from the inside out, feeling as though your insides are laid on display for her. And after so much time apart, basking in her desire and touch like this has you feeling like it’s the first time again. 

The feeling is only exemplified by the praise she begins to grunt out, so different from her usual humiliation and teasing. 

“Fuck, how did I stay away from you for so long?” she rasps, her voice rough like sandpaper. “This sweet little cunt, this pretty little face.”

A stuttering moan is racked from your throat, flutters twirling through your stomach. She thinks you pretty. God, she thinks you pretty. It feels silly to get so excited by such a revelation, considering she’s your wife, but you can’t help it. She makes you feel like everything is the first time, like she’s your first love. She isn’t, but when she looks at you like your body is a hidden gem found in a cave, when she mocks you and teases you and tentatively asks for your opinion as though you’re important, you can’t help it. She makes you feel wanted. And you want her just as badly, if not more.

Overwhelmed by the weight of your thoughts, you weakly utter, “I– don’t leave me again.”

The plea is more open than you had anticipated, brokenly uttered, honest to the core, and anxiety shoots in you as she slows down even more, her cock gently scraping against your walls.

“I won’t,” she says through her teeth, her voice hard. “I won’t leave you to the wolves.”

An instant need to defend your family rears its head, and you whisper, “I managed.”

“Just managing isn’t good enough for me.” She starts thrusting faster, holding the back of your head and keeping it still as she whispers, “You’re my wife. I’m gonna make sure you have better than that.”

Her words and movements make you sag into her, arms winding about her neck as you clutch on tightly. Her cock plunges in and out of you faster and you moan senselessly against her shoulder, lifting her hand from your waist to suck on her fingers.

“Messy girl,” she grumbles.

When she comes in you, your entire body is thrown into a fit of shivers, the thick strings of it bursting into your hole and filling you up delightfully. Keening, you press yourself down on her harder, trying to suck in every drop of her seed, downright greedy for it.

Deliriously, you pant, “More, more, more, give me it all, shove it in me. Please, please, breed me, get me pregnant.”

“Such a fucking needy girl,” she groans, continuing to thrust hard and deep into you, forcing her come into your hole as much as she can. “Take it, fucking take it.”

Moments later, the knot in your tummy releases, rolls of overbearing, heavy pleasure coursing through you as you bite into her shoulder, trying to muffle your noises. She hisses at the dig of your teeth, but you don’t care, wanting so badly to mark her up as your own. She’s no one else’s. She’s yours. Yours, yours, yours.

The words are right on the tip of your tongue, hanging precariously. 

But, your adoration of her is triumphed by your fear of your rejection. So, you hold it in, content to keep her like this, her softening cock still inside you. 

Her fingers smooth along the pimples of your back, ghosting over your skin and making you squirm. 

When you clench onto her tighter, she sucks in a small breath, muttering, “Already needing round two?”

You weakly smack her bicep. “Shut up. I can’t help it.”

The rest of her arm wraps around you and you nuzzle further into her. It feels familiarly like a hug, and your chest throbs at the affection. Because, truly? As much as you relish in the sex, the aftermath, the excuse to hold each other without undergoing the intimacy of asking for it and making your needs evident, is just as fulfilling.

Wanting to linger in the moment, you ask quietly, “How was the trip?”

“Tiring.”

“Thank you for the details.”

She huffs. “I’ll give them to you tomorrow.” 

After a pause, she asks, “How has the homeland been?”

You know her well enough by now to recognize the veiled message. Do you miss it here? Do you wish you hadn’t married me?

You press your nose into her collarbone. “Tiring.”

Her hold tightens. “I’m here now.”

And just like that, you hold on tighter, melting into the deep timbre of her voice, the words no longer a threat of dread and anger, but one of hope and comfort.

[technicallyastar]

blu blushes

two time headcanons please? anything rlly, if ur fine with it,, :D

As luck would have it, Two Time is one of the few characters I don't have a decent grasp on rn so I wasnt able to crank this out quickly! (To my other request-ees: I'm working on HC requests for several other characters rn! I should have them ready to spam-post sometime this this week, I'm going for this Tuesday<3)

So here's some general and sfw and nsfw relationship hcs for Two Time ;)

-A first small note, Two Time is Non-Binary, I love the representation in Forsaken.

-Two Time is a person who has entirely rejected modern society. They want nothing more to do with it, all that matters is spawn.

-It all fits when you consider the major events of their life. Their mother dying in childbirth, father soon after tgeir mother, all they had were the cult they were born into. They were mentored and raised by a kind woman who indoctrinated them into the cult of the Spawn, and as her last lesson ordered Two Time too sacrifice her to their God. Their life was peaceful for a point of time, until he was urged by spawn in a bout of religious psychosis too end his lovers life for another of their own. Every small bit of comfort they ever had was destroyed by their hands. If that doesn’t cement the idea that the only constant, the only omnipresent that can be given a chance, is spawn. I don’t know what would.

-And I think on some level he questions the reality of it all. Did he do the right thing? Did they destroy their own life for nothing? Was their sacrifice even worth it? None of it matters in the long run, though. Their only remaining goal in life is too worship and guide others too spawns divine bosom, what's done is done it was spawns will... They did a good. They are righteous... But they do get this distant, sour expression sometimes when they contemplate these things.

-I think they're as close to an as-is yandere because, they're territorial, and that would 1000% extend to a partner. They're not a master and you’re not their pet, but god would they try to keep you in their clutches. Use every sweet word and convincing anecdote in their arsenal to convince you to stay by their side. The thing that keeps them from being all-out controlling is that spawn lets all of their disciple's make decisions for themselves. You deserve to make those choices too, even if they disagrees with what you pick.

-They will, however, watch you like a hawk. To not sugarcoat it, they’ll stalk you. Two Time just wants to be prepared for the moment everything goes wrong. The moment they know for certain will come, when you see they're right about society and that spawn is the true way. When that happens, they’ll swoop in to save you and they will personally indoctrinate you themselves under spawn will and guidance

-They dont like to leave you unattended for too long, this extends in and out of matches as well as Pre-Forsakened and present forsaken, but when you spend longer stints at your home in a village, you’ll notice the chilling feeling of being watched, constantly. It seems too last all day and night, and the spine chilling feeling is so harsh that walking outside sends you into a panic attack. When you return to visit Two Time at the sanctuary, the feeling mysteriously vanished and they're always there to greet you with a knowing smile

-They won't show it but they love being doted on or babied Call him cute or pitiful like they couldn't stain the ground red with your blood

-Their lips are always chapped to hell and back, sorry. Sharp kisses only for you.

NSFW (MINORS DNI)

They're a bit of a fiend in the bedroom. That is, they've hadn't had a partner to be intimate with in some time, and never placed much stock in physical pleasure… until they got a taste of it again. Then they become just about addicted to it; their libido skyrockets. I’m talking several days of the week, several rounds at a time. They're almost always horny after winning a match, too, when the adrenalin is still pumping.

-First of all, they're a dom cosplaying a sub. There’s just no arguing it. Even if you think you’ve convinced him to let you be in charge? No you haven’t. They're capable of restraining himself for an entire session like that but the second they think you look tired, or you’re going too slow, or you challenge them, or whatever excuse they find, they're ripping control back from you.

-I prefer not to say anything specific about dick sizes because they're are non-binary, but I make the rules and if Two Time had a cock I do personally think theirs would be slim-but-long. Not amazing girth, but great reach. If a stretch is what really gets you going, they've got no problem shoving a few (or all) of their fingers inside you at the same time.

-They're patient enough for restraints most of the time, but most of the time they like to pin you in submissive positions. However, their lean, lanky, malnourished build makes it especially difficult for them too hold you up for long periods of time without the right kind of bracing, so they favor keeping you beneath them in difficult-to-escape positions like a mating press or arm-lock.

-Two Times’s secret fantasy is to fuck you in front of everyone at the dining table. They won’t, not ever, But the most dark and possessive part of them wants everyone to see them claiming you, marking you, to know you’re Their gift, granted by spawn. But again, that’s not happening, so they settle for seducing you in semi-public places where they knows people can hear you calling their name. If you’re a killer you can’t enter one another’s realms, this means most of your sex occurs outdoors, either in the fields or on one of the maps.

-They also casually mentions about your bedroom endeavors to anyone they thinks might be attracted to you. They love to subtly (not so subtly) rub it in their face that you love how they make love to you.

-They dont moan much until they're close to finishing. The rest of the time they're running their mouth, cursing, praising you whatever gets you the most worked up. They're incapable of shutting up until you’re incapable of forming words.

-Expect to be left with plenty of markings. They don't care unless you do if you have some bruises, you’ll live and they go away the next day anyway. (Which means they get to make them again ahaha.) Theyre not much of a biter or scratcher, though. Just very grabby and hair-pull-y.

-Perhaps surprising, but they're very good at aftercare. Two Time doesn’t tire from physical activity, for whatever reason most likely the built up endurance they've gained, so even if you’re tuckered out they're still up and about. They enjoy taking baths together after sex, and they’ll even do all the work of washing you so you can relax. If you’re dozing off and they're able to take you to bed, they gets you all tucked in with water and a snack nearby. (If you’re a killer, they carry you back to you're realm, at least.) They won’t stick around to cuddle for more than a few minutes, though, because they have to do commune with spawn. They're ridiculous. (Sorry babe, spawn said I need to hop on a Skype call can't cuddle tonight.)

[galaxy-stardust]

"He’s silence sharpened into steel - haunted, untouchable, and devastatingly yours."

Name: Simon Riley

Codename: Ghost – It isn’t just a name. It’s what he became to survive. Silent, unseen, and unstoppable.

Date of Birth: May 24th 1984

Zodiac Sign: Taurus-Gemini cusp – The soldier with a soul of stone and smoke. Stoic body, haunted mind, soft hands meant for one.

Height: 6'4" (1.93m)

Build: Tall, lean muscle. Heavy in the shoulders, deadly in motion. Everything about him says danger - until he touches you. Then it’s a different kind of death.

Eye Color: Dark brown, nearly black. Piercing, unreadable. But they soften when they look at you.

Voice: Deep. Low and steady, with that sharp Manchester accent that rumbles through you. Every word is precise, deliberate - especially when whispered in your ear.

How he smells: Charcoal, leather, black pepper, and the faintest trace of something clean and familiar - you. He carries you with him without realizing it.

How he tastes: Salt, blood, heat. Like a warning and a promise. You have to earn his kiss - but once you do, he’ll ruin you with it.

Favorite season: Winter. It matches his stillness. Quiet, distant, dangerous. But also the season when you cling to him the most.

Favorite food: Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. Classic, slow-cooked, no fuss.

Favorite dessert: He’ll deny it, but he likes lemon drizzle cake. Something about the bite of citrus and sugar.

Food he hates: Mushrooms – the texture, the taste… just no. You once caught him picking them off a slice of pizza with military precision and muttering under his breath.

Favorite drink: Black coffee, strong. Whiskey only when it’s earned.

Favorite spot for vacation: He doesn’t believe in vacations - but with you? Somewhere cold, isolated, where he can just be. Maybe a cabin in Norway.

Favorite weapon: His combat knife. It’s not about brutality - it’s about control. Precision.

Favorite pet: A dog - specifically, a Belgian Malinois. Fierce, loyal, trained to the bone. He had one once. Doesn’t say her name out loud, but when he thinks no one’s looking, he taps his thigh like he's still calling her to heel. She was sharp as a blade and only trusted him. Just like him, really. Two shadows moving as one.

Skill on the battlefield: Stealth, recon, psychological warfare. He’s the ghost in their comms, the last thing they never see.

Nervous habits: Tightens his gloves. Checks his gear too often. His jaw clenches when he’s trying not to feel.

Bad habits: Shuts down when he should speak. Overthinks everything. Sleeps in his gear out of habit.

Cute habits: He keeps a picture of him and his younger brother folded up in his wallet. Old, worn at the edges. You only saw it once - he didn’t even know you were looking - but the way his thumb brushed over the image said it all

What he does in private: Cleans his weapons in silence. Reads. Stares at nothing while thinking about everything.

What makes him soft inside: When you fall asleep on him. When you trust him with the parts of you that no one else sees. When you touch his scar without fear.

Worst nightmare: Losing control. Not in battle - but of himself. Becoming the monster he was trained to be, unable to stop his own hands. Seeing blood on them and not remembering why. Looking in a mirror and not recognizing the man behind the mask. His nightmare is silence - where no command pulls him back, no voice grounds him, and the man he once swore he'd never become... stares back.

Worst nightmare when it comes to you: Losing you and not being able to stop it. Not being fast enough. Not being enough.

What he does without realizing it: Stands between you and every door. Always counts exits. Memorizes your routines.

Unexpected skills: Speaks several languages fluently. Can carve wood with precision.

Thoughts about having kids: Terrifies him. But he’s thought about it. Secretly wants to be better than the man he came from. Would kill to protect what he made with you.

Favorite spot to be teased at: The back of his neck. Run your fingers under the hem of his mask and he’ll shiver - every time.

Breaking point – when does he snap?: The night someone touched you. Nothing serious, but it set something off in him. He didn’t speak - just locked the door, peeled off the mask, and took you like you belonged to him. Because you do.

How he calls you:

In public: He rarely speaks your name out loud, but when he does, it’s low and heavy: “Love,” “You alright, pet?”

During teasing: “Mine.” That’s all. Said with his hand tight on your throat or buried in your hair. “Mine.”

Something that would make him imperfect : He hides. Not physically - but emotionally. He buries things deep, and sometimes you have to fight to pull them out. But every piece he gives you? It’s sacred.

Summary:

Ghost is your anchor in the storm, your shadow in the dark, your last safe place when the world goes to hell. He’s sharp, broken, dangerous - and yet everything inside him softens for you. He doesn’t need crowds, attention, or praise. He just needs you. He’ll protect you with his life, love you with quiet devotion, and show you the side of him no one else will ever see. He’s the man the world fears. And the one who fears losing you.

[tobesolnelyx]

S3 vampire Shauna🤤please please feed us more!

(Also can I be 💫 anon?)

— drain me! || vampire!shauna shipman headcanons

a/n: hi 💫anon!! i hear you guys and i need her just as badly <3

summary: ancient fucker, who decided to annoy you for another eternity. toxic!shauna. vampire!reader.

warnings: NSFW - content MDNI. mid gore. toxic relationship.

★ — you don't really want to know her real age. the number would scared you, trust me. she basically can't settle down. met few girls, been with them. but everytime, when she turned someone else to a vampire, they would simply run away from her. which is completely reasonable if you ask me. until she came to that shithole, Wiskayok in New Jersey and met you. you, who seemed to be so kind, so painfully human that she started feeling ugly jealousy. she didn't know if she wanted to be you or be with you.

★ — she came up with a diffrent tactic. decided that if previous relationship ended awfully, she'll make everything properly this time. properly in her terms, of course. which meant showing up in your room late at night, feeding on you. one night she simply lost herself. she bit you and make you swallow her own blood. so yeah, next day you were a mess.

★ — shauna, who proritised making you utterly dependent from her. she wanted to control you, keep you close. she pretended that she had no idea, who turned you, and basically decided to play this hero, who shows you how to live with that whole vampire thing now (read: you're fucked)

★ — shauna, who wears flannels everwhere in any weather to not get burned. sometimes uses bandanas on her head, and sunglasses. she says that they make her look cool or smth, but you doubt that.

★ — she feeds on people, saying that they're more nutritious and taste better than animals. you always grimace at that, it's not exactly ethical in your mind, but she stopped caring long time ago. she flirst with mortals only to drag them later to the bedroom and devour them.

★ — shauna, who introduce you to the real pleasure. when she urges you to feed on her for the first time, you're hesistant. is it even...right? but she pulls you on her lap with this ridicoulous strength and speed. you wrap around her, her hands guides yours to touch her pulse point, and you almost drool yourself. you hear soft thumping of her heart, feel tempting body under your fingertips, and you barely register the moment when your fangs are fully out.

★ — shauna, who helps you ride her thigh, while you suck her blood. she's precise, pressing you against her just right. you whine in her skin, smearing blood all over your mouth. she's done this so many times, and still - her hips jerk with each movement of your lips. she's groaning, head thrown back in ecstasy.

★ — she's...sassy. ovedramatic and whiny. mind her, she's been so long on this world that she's bored. but at the same time, she refuses to even acknowledge new technology. mostly gets frustrated with that. "shauna it's..." you start, but she cuts you off with a scoff. "it's total bullshit" she rolls her eyes not even looking at the app you're showing her. "back in time it didn't even exist and everyone were just fine."

★ — bites. bites. bites. obviously, she's a vampire. but she loves biting you just to taste you, your blood, your skin. not exactly to feed on you, but she has this strange desire to feel you on her tongue constantly.

★ — possessive. long story short, she'll either kill or turn into a meal anyone, who will try to flirt with you. good luck with having friends. she'll feed on them anyway. you don't need other people, right? just her.

★ — has a power of manipulaton. she was great at gaslighting before, sure. but now, anytime you try to walk away, cause she's starting to do fucked up shits, she uses that strength. the worst part? you know that this sweet tone of hers means that you're being awfully manipulated , but you stay anyway. you can't just walk away.

"baby," she murmurs cupping your face, making sure you're looking her right in the eyes. her smile seems almost poisonous. "you don't really want to leave me, do you?" she brushes your cheekbones and presses kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"you're mine," she'll tell you later. "you were never not mine," she'll whisper to your ear.

★ — oversensitive. better smell, hearing, eyesight (especially in the darkness. her eyes are glowing deep red). has constant headaches and gets easily overstimulated. seems like she's never got used to being hyperaware of everything. she lays on bed on worst days, sighning dramatically and rambling something about endless suffering.

[dearstvckyx]

You need to cry, baby - Quinn Hughes

During the offseason, Quinn Hughes struggles under the weight of pressure and expectations, hiding it behind forced smiles. At a quiet family dinner, his walls crack, and reader follows him to the boat at the lake house. There, with gentle comfort, they help him break down and finally let go—reminding him it’s okay to cry. - The Neighbourhood , Cry Baby

Quinn Hughes x Reader , (ft Ellen Hughes)

Warnings: Emotional distress, Anxiety / burnout, Suppressed emotions / emotional breakdown, Comfort after crying, Angst with comfort

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The Hughes lake house always looked perfect in the summer—warm, golden sunsets, laughter echoing across the dock, the quiet hum of a family that loved each other deeply. But perfection had a way of hiding cracks.

And Quinn Hughes was full of them.

He’d come home for the offseason with his usual shy smile, hugging his brothers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, letting his mom squeeze him like she hadn’t seen him in years. But something was off. You noticed it first in the way his jaw clenched when no one was looking. In the way his shoulders never quite relaxed, not even out here by the water.

He laughed when he was supposed to. Ate when he was told. Sat through games of cards and boat rides and family barbecues like he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

And you knew it. So did Ellen.

You’d catch her glancing at him when he’d go quiet, her eyes soft with concern. Sometimes, you’d share those glances too—wordless, knowing. The kind of look that only came from watching someone you love try so damn hard to keep it together.

That night at dinner, it all came to a head.

It was nothing special—just burgers, corn on the cob, fresh salad, the usual summer spread. Everyone was talking, laughing, bickering over board games and who had to do the dishes.

Quinn sat mostly silent.

He picked at his food, nodded when someone spoke to him, but didn’t join in. Not like he usually did.

Ellen asked him something—something innocent, like how training was going—and he flinched. Visibly. Then he dropped his fork onto his plate with a sharp clatter.

Everyone went still.

“I’m fine,” he said tightly. Too tightly. “Just tired.”

His voice didn’t match his words. It cracked around the edges. He stood up before anyone could say anything else and muttered, “Gonna take a walk.”

You didn’t move right away. But Ellen caught your eye across the table and gave you the smallest nod.

Go to him.

So you did.

⸻

You found him on the boat, legs dangling off the edge, head bowed like the weight of the world had finally landed on his back. The lake was quiet, the moonlight skimming across the water like a ghost.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just climbed aboard and sat beside him. He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes fixed on the ripples below, fists clenched in his lap.

“Wanna talk?” you offered softly.

“No.”

You nodded. Waited.

He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Your heart ached.

“I’m supposed to be happy. I should be happy.” He swallowed hard. “It’s the offseason. I’m with my family. I’m with you. But I feel like I can’t breathe. Like there’s this… thing sitting on my chest, and I’m just pretending it’s not there.”

You turned toward him, placing a gentle hand on his knee.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

His lips trembled, and he shook his head. “I can’t let them see me like this. They all think I’m okay. That I’ve got it under control. I’m the oldest—I’m supposed to be strong.”

“You are strong,” you said quietly. “But strength doesn’t mean swallowing everything down until it eats you alive.”

He blinked, fast and desperate.

“Quinn,” you whispered, your voice trembling with him. “You need to cry, baby. You need to let it out. It’s okay.”

His breath hitched—once, twice—before the dam broke.

Tears slid down his cheeks, slow at first, then faster. You moved closer and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him to you. He didn’t resist. He folded into you like he’d been holding himself up for too long.

His face pressed into your shoulder, his hands clutching at your sides like he was afraid you’d disappear. You didn’t say anything more. Just held him as he cried for everything he’d kept bottled up—every bad game, every doubt, every moment he’d felt like he wasn’t enough.

The sobs shook his whole body.

You ran your fingers through his hair and whispered, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I’m so tired,” he whispered into your shirt.

“I know,” you murmured, kissing the top of his head. “Let yourself rest. Just for a little while.”

Minutes passed. The tears slowed. His breathing evened out.

He pulled back eventually, red-eyed and quiet, and you gently wiped the tears from his face with your sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be.” You gave him a soft smile. “Crying doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

He reached for your hand and held it tightly. The moonlight caught the shimmer of drying tears on his cheeks, but his eyes were clearer now. Lighter.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You squeezed his hand. “Always.”

The lake lapped gently against the boat as you sat in silence, your head resting on his shoulder, his fingers still laced with yours.

He wasn’t all the way healed. Not yet. But tonight—tonight he’d let go. Just enough to breathe again.

[emeralddoeadeer]

a picture is worth a thousand words

@jilymicrofics from the June list, Day 3. Prompt: Portrait Word Count: 765

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

Time has a way of slipping through his fingers.

It’s not the first occasion he’s felt it, that longing to stop time, to slow the clock and just exist.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe in the future; so much has happened in their short lives that the idea of another seventy or eighty years seems preposterous. He’s tired; the war has taken so much from him, from them, and still they battle on. Figuratively speaking.

There isn’t much to do in Godric’s Hollow, but in this he’s found a sense of purpose.

He says it's a hobby, a means to pass the time, but it’s more than that…

Almost therapeutic; something about the rhythmic scratch of brush against canvas soothes his worries, back and forth, focusing on precise details.

“Do you think maybe you’ve made Sirius a little too handsome?”

A bubble of laughter falls past his lips, turning to admire his wife in the doorway, prettier than any portrait could ever capture.

“I pride myself on accuracy; this won't work if there isn’t a true likeness, you know.”

Lily makes her way to where he stands by the window, admiring the masterpiece upon its easel. Her smile matches the one she wears in the moving photograph perched at the corner of the frame, the one he’s been working from since he can hardly have them sit for it now; four best friends and her, younger, fresher faced.

Her eyes pass between the painting and him, fingers reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes, trace his cheekbone, his dimple, his lips.

She makes a pleased humming sound. “Nothing's quite as good as the real thing, but it looks fantastic.”

James preens under her praise, leaning down to capture a kiss.

Everything stills in that moment, as it always does when they first connect; everything is right with the world.

Safe, loved, complete.

When they part, Lily’s eyes return to the canvas, softer, sadder. The reality of their lives crackling through the bubble of contentment.

He wraps his arms around her waist and bites back promises he can’t keep. He wishes he could assure her everything will work out, or offer her even just one more carefree day, without worrying for what’s to come, or when it’s coming.

“Did he go down ok?”

“He did, curled up like a little fawn.”

“Tiring work training to be a Quidditch pro, he’s almost outgrown the broom from Padfoot already.”

They share a smile, one uniquely sourced by mention of their son. Harry, there’s nothing they wouldn’t do to give him a great life, a safe life, a free life.

Time is moving too fast.

“I had another look through the book and your notes; I can’t see any fault in the spell work. Might be worth getting the lads to have a look at it and utilise the collective Marauder brain that created your magical map.”

James holds her close, breathing in her honey shampoo, enjoying the warmth of her body nestled under his arm. Every moment a prize; he’ll never get enough of her.

Together their fingers trace the top edge of the image, silvery-white clouds, moving gently across the canvas. Precious and private, they don’t know all of what’s locked within.

“Just waiting for Wormtail to find the time; Moony left his thoughts on Tuesday, and Padfoot keeps adding more…"

More than a hobby, more than a means to pass the time, this portrait will live long after he’s gone.

Lily pulls her wand out, resting it against her temple and smiling a devilish grin.

“Can’t have him controlling too much of the narrative; I can recall the times your pranks backfired.”

It lightens the mood, the knowledge that the painting isn’t only a contingency plan, created out of worry and fear. More than just declarations of love or warnings for the future, it’s filled with good memories, fun times; pranks and parties, quidditch and quests. Before the threats that come with war, before the dangers, the uncertainties.

The highlights of their time together.

He doesn’t think of who it’s for, or why it’s come to be, forgets in this moment that the painting won't wake until they’re all gone. A dormant enchantment gathering dust in a vault as they grieve one another, their echoes tucked inside, waiting to be reunited beyond the veil.

The memories swirl and twirl, bending beneath his touch, time slipping through his fingers.

Maybe they’ll have another eighty years, and dozens of portraits will line the walls, or maybe this is all that will be left in the end.

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

Thanks @jilymicrofics for the prompt, and thanks for reading

<3 xDoe

Also on Ao3

[hb-writes]

Voicemail - Part 2

Summary: Maya reluctantly heads into the Pitt for damage control after receiving Robby’s voicemail.

The Pitt Masterlist — Part 1

Maya stopped at the nurses’ station, engaging Princess and Perlah in small talk as long as she could manage, half-hoping that when she finally got around to telling them why she was here, they’d say that Dr. Robby was too busy to see her.

“Hi, sweetie,” Dana said, squeezing Maya in a side hug that hurt in more places than she imagined possible as Dana handed a chart over to Princess. 

“Here to see Robby?” Dana continued, the soft raise of her eyebrows and set of her mouth making it clear that she already knew precisely why Maya was visiting them in the Pitt today. She knew all about the voicemail Robby had left Maya, informing her that he had spoken with Jake and that she was to come straight to the hospital when she got the message. 

Because, of course Dana already knew. That woman seemed to know everything.

Maya hadn’t done as Robby asked. She hadn’t come straight to the Pitt, taking her time with wrapping things up at school before traveling over. Judging by the shortness and the tone employed by Robby in the voicemail, that probably wasn’t the best choice, but Maya would argue that she wasn’t exactly thinking straight. 

She was exhausted and her head felt like it was about to explode. Not to mention that after spending the afternoon out of the house, a certain soreness had seeped into every bit of her body.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Maya answered and she was well-aware that she’d said it too quickly. “Jake’s being dramatic.” 

Dana hummed. “Ok, well. C7 is open.” She nodded toward the exam room in question. “You go get settled and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Maya thought about fighting it. She thought about insisting that an exam room wouldn’t be necessary—she was managing perfectly fine, after all—but she knew Dana was the same kind of tough that Robby was, and when they were determined there was really no use in fighting either one of them. 

“No need. I’m here,” Robby said as he stepped up beside them. He gave some sort of directive to Perlah and she shifted her eyes to the computer long enough to do whatever he had asked. By the time that was done, Robby had turned to Maya, one hand on his hip and the other in a fist under his chin as he leaned his elbow down against the counter. 

The look Robby was fixing Maya with had her thinking that walking over to C7 actually sounded real nice right about now, like a much better option than getting lectured in the middle of the Pitt with everyone watching. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” he asked. 

Maya glanced to the floor, considering her options for responses, though the only thing that came to her mind was, “I’m going to fucking kill Jake.” 

Based on the shift in Robby’s face as Maya muttered it under her breath, it clearly wasn’t the response he was looking forward to. She probably should’ve kept that one as an ‘inside thought’ but there was no taking it back now. 

“Jake did the right thing by telling me—what the hell were you thinking?” 

Maya hesitated, once again considering a handful of responses. She was feeling like saying something that would only make him more angry with her—for some reason that seemed to be the only stuff coming to her mind, but she was also feeling as though this whole interaction was about to become major entertainment for the day shift and a juicy piece of gossip for the night shift, who was due to start arriving in the next half an hour. 

Maya was thinking that this was exactly what she had been trying to avoid by keeping her dad in the dark. 

A big, unnecessary visit to the ER. 

A lengthy lecture.

A whole bunch of doctors telling her what an idiot she was. 

A whole production. 

Robby was still staring at Maya when she looked up, waiting on an answer. She averted her gaze again, just long enough to realize that Perlah and Princess were watching like she and Robby were characters on their favorite primetime drama. And beyond them, Langdon had just come out of an exam room, spotting her right away, confusion and excitement highlighting his features. 

For some reason, she didn’t imagine Frank would be a particularly good addition to the situation considering he liked to stir the pot and because he’d likely be as likely to lecture her as Robby would. 

She thanked the skies that Abbot wasn’t here yet, her chest tightening for a moment as she willed herself to take a deep breath. 

Maya cleared her throat. “Can we maybe talk privately?”

She considered mentioning HIPAA, though that sounded a bit smart-assy even to her so she bit her tongue. “Dana said C7 was open.” 

Robby stared at her a bit longer, something that most people would consider a smile twisting at his lips before he snorted and stood up straight. He held out an arm, allowing Maya to lead the way. She thought briefly of asking Dana to join, but quickly thought better of it. Maya was pretty sure that Dana and Robby were in cahoots. She wouldn’t be on Maya’s side. Maya doubted anyone in the hospital would be. 

She kept her eyes forward as they moved to the exam room, heading straight for the bed and maneuvering herself up onto it without being told. Robby pulled the door closed and headed to the sink to wash his hands, coming back with a wet paper towel. 

“Wipe all that off so I can see the real damage.”

Maya heaved a sigh. “It’s fine,” she said, but even as she said it, she was already moving her hair away from her face, one side at a time, and setting aside the glasses she almost never wore, usually preferring her contact lenses. 

It had taken Maya’s roommate an hour to get the makeup right, but in the end she had done it. The bruising was barely visible. If her makeup had been done when she answered Jake’s facetime, he would’ve been none the wiser about her bruising, but Maya had been half-asleep when he called. She hadn’t even thought to answer on audio only. They always facetimed. 

Maya took the paper towel from Robby’s outstretched hand and began cleaning the layers of concealer and foundation from her face, wincing as she went over the bits that were more badly bruised and sore. She swallowed at a wave of pain, lowering her hand for a moment as she collected herself. Robby took the paper towel from her then to finish up, cupping her chin in his hand as he tilted her head, making his initial observations as he went. 

“It looks worse than it is,” she offered.

“I certainly hope so,” he answered, his voice still gruff, even though Robby knew she was probably right and that was likely to be the case where head injuries were concerned. The ones that looked bad were less likely to actually be bad and Maya looked awful, a slew of bruises covering the right side of her face. 

Robby tossed the paper towel on the bed as he began a more thorough examination, his fingers ghosting over the bones of Maya’s face and head as he checked for further injury. “Jake said you fainted and you hit your head,” he said, as he retrieved the flashlight from his pocket.

“Yes,” she confirmed as she shifted on the bed. There was no point in lying about denying the basic information at this point. “And I’m fine.” 

Robby flashed the light in both eyes. Her pupillary response was a little slower than normal, but he was relieved it wasn’t any worse. 

“Jake was just being dramatic.” 

Robby placed his hands on either side of her. “Enough, Maya. How about we go with the truth from here on out?” 

“I’m not lying. I’m—”

“Alright, so stop me when I name a symptom you haven’t had.” Robby backed away, a step and began counting off on fingers. “Headaches. Nausea. Trouble sleeping. Fatigue. Irritability. Trouble concentrating. Light sensitivity—”

“Alright, Dad. Stop,” she interrupted. He had more than made his point. 

“Did you even have a paper due on Monday or were you just trying to keep this from me?” 

“Yes…” It was technically the truth. She had a paper due on Monday. It wasn’t necessarily why she had canceled their standing Monday night dinner date since she’d turned it in early Monday afternoon, but it was still technically the truth.

Robby stilled, giving her another one of those looks that communicated far more than words ever could. 

“Dad, I—”

“I’m not joking around here, Maya. You better start telling me the whole story here,” he said, searching her eyes for some sort of understanding. “Are you in pain now?” 

“A little,” she answered, because he’d already seen her wince so there was no getting out of that. 

“Anywhere beside your head and face?” 

Maya hesitated long enough that Robby ground out her name.

“Fine,” she groaned, struggling to remove her cardigan with just her left hand. Robby let her struggle, sighing as she finally revealed the bandage wrapped around her clearly swollen elbow. 

Maya kept her eyes on her elbow rather than looking up to Robby. She slowly raised her arm to give him better access even though Robby hadn’t given her a directive, careful to move it as little as possible because she had already learned that moving it too much or too fast hurt like a bitch. 

Maya squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the bed with her other hand as he unwound the bandage, getting a full look at the damage. Robby released another frustrated sigh. 

“How have you been taking care of this?” he asked, as he moved around her side to get a better look.

“Ice and tylenol.” 

Robby nodded though he wasn’t looking at her and Maya took that to mean she had done at least something right. Once he had his initial impressions, Robby gently lowered her arm. 

“Is there anything else I need to know about?” he asked as he moved back to feel around the back of her head and neck. “Any other pain?” 

“No.”

“See now, I don’t even know if I can trust that answer.” Robby paused his search for any bumps on her head and stepped back so he could meet her eyes. “You should have come straight here. You should have called me.” 

Or Dana. Or Abbot. Or Langdon.

Robby was pretty sure Maya had the cell number of just about everyone he worked with saved in her contacts. 

“I didn’t want to worry you over nothing,” she answered. “I was back at school today.” He didn’t need to know that she’d barely made it through class and that she had already emailed her boss to say she wouldn’t be back to work until after the weekend. “I’ve been managing fine at home. I don’t need—” 

“You have a concussion, Maya, and I’m pretty sure that elbow is fractured. You can barely move it.” 

“Fractured?” she said quietly as she glanced down at her elbow. It looked ghastly under the hospital’s overhead fluorescents. “Oh.” 

Robby snorted. “Yeah. Oh. You need a CT and x-rays, and some blood work and an EKG considering we don’t know what made you pass out in the first place. I don’t want to hear any more about how you’re fine. Sit tight while I go put all these orders in—did you eat dinner?” 

She swallowed and shook her head, struggling to get any words out because of the heavy lump in her throat. 

“I’ll get you something,” he said before he moved toward the door, making it just two steps before Maya called out to him.

“Dad?”

Robby was braced for another fight, but Maya’s voice was so small that he was briefly transported back about fifteen or so years, to the first time she’d called him that. Robby wasn’t Maya’s biological dad. He fostered and adopted her after her mom died, but even before that…during the seven months when Robby had dated Maya’s mother, Robby had been her dad in all the ways that counted. And then when Maya’s mom died, he had stepped up when no one else would. She wasn’t his responsibility, and from time to time — more and more now that Maya was twenty-two, she felt guilty when she thought about all this man had sacrificed for her. How much he still regularly sacrificed for her. 

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I screwed up. I should’ve told you.”

Robby frowned, softening a bit as he back-tracked to her side. 

“I was up all night Sunday working on the paper and then I was all messed up in the morning so I skipped breakfast and then things were so busy at work I missed lunch and I was so tired and that’s probably why I fainted. And when it happened, I just thought it was my fault and I didn’t want to make you mad or worried. And now you are mad and I broke your trust and interrupted your day when you have enough going on with work and—”

“Hey, hey, Maya,” Robby said, interrupting her as he set a hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath. It’s alright,” he said. “I’m not mad at you. It’s been a long day and Jake’s call surprised me, that’s all. I don’t like that my kid’s been hurting and I didn’t even know about it. I was frustrated and I took it out on you so that’s my bad. I’m sorry. You’re here now and we’re taking care of it. That’s all that matters.”

Robby ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, searching her eyes for some sort of acknowledgement, nodding slightly when he found it. “Alright. I have to go put these orders in. It might be a bit before we can get you in for tests, so why don’t you get comfortable, okay? Take a nap before Abbot gets in and comes to give you an ear full.”

Maya tried to smile at the joke, but she really wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jack, or Frank, or anyone other than Robby.

“I really am sorry,” she offered. “I fucked up.” 

“You did,” Robby said as he moved to the end of the bed to raise it for her. “And we’ll be having a long conversation about that later, but for now I want you to rest. I’ll have someone bring in dinner and some ice for that arm. I’ll be back to check on you after I do my rounds and pass things over to the night shift, alright?” 

She nodded.

“And Maya?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you, kid. Always. Even when you fuck up. Don’t ever be afraid to call me.” he said, leaning forward to kiss her hairline. 

“I love you, too, Dad,” Maya answered as she latched her left arm around Robby’s neck.

—

The Pitt Masterlist

[sunfalls]

while both dedra and syril have a preoccupation with order i think they differ in why they want order and that's what ultimately causes their ideals to diverge even if they seem perfectly aligned at first

dedra will support a genocide—will demand that genocide—if she believes it ultimately preserves order because she views order as something which itself supports control. for her, control is the end goal and maintaining order is important but subordinate to that. we see throughout the series that she expresses a displeasure at inefficiency ("I don't like wasting time") and as luthen puts it disgust at the state of the galaxy. i think she holds the view that society needs a leash around its neck to keep it from harming itself and sees the empire as something that has appropriately collared and chained the galaxy to keep it from devolving into some baser state of violence (and if we're getting into headcanon territory this has to do with growing up in an extremely chaotic situation under the republic until [in her eyes] the empire rose to fix it). she's a bootlicker that fully believes in the necessity of the boot kicking people when they're down because that enforcement of order keeps others in line. her fatal mistake is thinking that her rank protects her from being stepped on too. she knows what the empire is and fully loves it anyway because it represents safety from freedom, which she sees as an inherently violent and uncontrolled state

and that's where syril differs. for syril, order is prized for its own sake. i think the shot of him straightening that stupid fondue fork on the plate before dinner exemplifies the difference between them even if i also think i’m probably reading way too much into it lmfao. for dedra, order serves control but doesn't have to be perfect to fulfill its ultimate purpose. for syril, it must be perfect—order is its own reward, its own goal. everything will be right with the galaxy if everyone just does things the way they’re supposed to and follows the rules, because the rules are inherently just and correct and therefore anyone who violates them deserves to be put down (except when it's him and dedra doing it For The Greater Good because that's different. obviously). syril does not see the empire for what it is because he really truly believes it upholds Truth and Justice in the form of law and order. and that is where the divide between them ultimately stems from. on ghorman syril is eventually confronted—blindsided—by an injustice so massive and so intentional and so clearly attributable to this monolith he worships, utterly counter to the fundamental bedrock of belief in the righteousness of the empire he has built his entire life around, that he genuinely cannot process it

like, the ghorman front tries to get him on their side by saying “emperor palpatine has no idea what [the isb is doing] in his name" and obviously syril does not care about that in the slightest lol but also, like, i do think he believes in that sentiment on a wider scale. the emperor and others of the highest imperial echelons simply don’t see the inefficiency, the way good men die at the hands of criminals like cassian andor and nobody does anything about it, the way violations of the law occur everywhere, every day with nobody to care or attempt to fix them. and thus it’s syril’s job to help Restore Proper Order in a broken system.

and THIS. this divide is why dedra's saying never mind all the innocent people i'm about to give the order to be massacred, we're going home, we will be rewarded, this was planned long before we got here. i don't think she realizes that she's talking past him at that point. i think she was expecting him to be most hurt by the betrayal to him as an individual who didn't get to be in on the real plan, not have his core belief system blown to smithereens along with the people and planet. because she thinks their ideals are more aligned than they are. she thinks he'll be able to justify a genocide with For The Empire, For The Greater Good, For Ultimate Control the way she is and doesn't understand that syril's beliefs are just misaligned enough for this to serve as his breaking point

[wisps-writes-fic]

Read on Ao3 | Masterlist

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Fem OC

Summary: They say the night shift catches the crazy cases. The trouble with one case in particular doesn't lie with a medical malady, but the personal history it brings up for Jack—and new questions with it.

AN: TURN BACK YE WHO HATE KID FIC! I know the vast majority of people are not fans of the unexpected reunion/surprise kid trope, but I enjoy it, so here we are.

CW: Brief discussion of seizure activity and familial epilepsy, age gap, smut in future chapters

Chapter I

Jack

"Ellis, what are we looking at in central 4?" 

"Natalie Townsend. Pediatric tonic-clonic. Turns five next month. Loss of conciousness, started seizing, the mother called for an ambulance. She's stable now, scans have been ordered. First seizure on record. Nothing febrile as an infant or toddler. Maternal side does have a history of generalized epilepsy, but it skipped the girl's mother so far. She hasn't given us anything on the father's side." 

"Okay. Thank you." 

He started to reach for the door, pausing when she called again. "You should know, neither of them have been seen here, but the mother asked who the attending on duty was. I won't say she has something against you, but, be careful with your approach. Something's up."  "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." Quickly sanitizing his hands, he pushed the door open. "Good evening. I'm Dr. Abbot. I hear you—" One glance at the mother and Jack knew just what her problem with having him on duty was. "Gemma. Long time." 

Sitting before him was not just a patient's mother, but an ex girlfriend. One, if he was honest with himself, he had never truly gotten over. The past five years, whatever its struggles, had been kind to her. Even exhausted and worried, she was as beautiful as the day she walked away from him. From them. But now was not the time to unpack the past. While he could see the woman he knew five years ago, in front of it all was still a terrified mother. She may be familiar with what her daughter was facing, but that didn't eliminate her fears by any means. He pulled a stool up and seated himself across from her. "Gemma, I think you already have a pretty good idea of what happened." 

"I recognized the grand mal. I did—did everything I could remember. Got her on her side. Timed—" 

"You did everything you could in that moment. Bringing her to the ED was the best way to help her, especially with this being her first episode.” He reached to squeeze her hand. “Now that she’s here she can get the help she needs as well as preventative measures in place to start getting this under control. Do you know or suspect a trigger?”

“The heat today. This summer’s been terrible and she spent a lot of time outside.”

“It has,” he agreed. “All that said, I wouldn’t be checking every box if I immediately diagnosed this as inherited epilepsy.”

“A second episode is necessary for official diagnosis, right?”

“Unprovoked. And at least twenty-four hours from the first. It could very likely be weeks or months, though. I also have to ask if there have been any major incidents recently. Any accidents or rough play that may have resulted in a traumatic brain injury. She hasn’t been admitted at PTMC, but any outside care is important to track in our charts for her here.”

“Dr. Ellis asked. No hospital visits. I can’t think of anything at home. Her teacher hasn’t mentioned anything. She’s not a rowdy kid. She doesn’t even have cousins to play with.”

He nodded. “Okay. The orders for Neuro have been sent up. Might be a bit. Let me do a quick assessment of my own before I leave you to rest. Nothing that should wake her.”

“Of course.”

It was a selfish lie, that this was necessary. Her chart and the stats on the monitors told him everything he needed to know at the moment. But the timeline had fallen into place. He needed to really look at her. He wen’t through the familiar motions, but all the while… The dark hair was her mother’s certainly. As was the smattering of freckles. But the shape of her face, the green eyes—closer to hazel if he had to guess—that he’d already noted on her chart.

“I know where you’re convinced the markers point, but a full history can only help her at this point. Unrelated incidents and developments.”

“I told you—”

“I don’t mean hospital visits. I mean, I’m willing to let the night nurses have the best bit of gossip they’ll have caught in months if it means it might benefit a patient’s care. Tonight, in the future.”

“Jack—”

“Is she mine?” Silence. And answer enough. “You should have told me. Really, really should have told me. But I’m not going to hold it against you. You had a thousand reasons to be scared. How your life would change, how your family would react, seeing you with a man my age.” He gave a quiet chuckle, smoothing Natalie’s hair down before stepping away. “I just ask that I can see her in the future.”

She bit her lip, finally nodding. “Yeah. I think—think she’d like that.”

He shook out the blanket at the foot of the bed, rounding the visitor’s chair to drape it around her shoulders. “Thank you, Gem. I’ll update the chart. Try to get some rest.” ~~~~~ “Rough night?”

“You could say that. Central 4 please.”

Robby hesitated, glancing towards Lena for a hint on what could have happened during the night shift. No better source than a charge nurse. “I’ll check in on them first thing. You get home.”

Lena chuckled. “Oh, he isn’t going home, honey. Not with his baby girl in one of our beds.”

Robby snapped back around, looking almost hurt. “You’ve got a kid?”

“Apparently. Found out myself last night. Central 4?”

He gave a slow nod before clasping his hands in front of him. “Okay. Fill me in.”

“Natalie Townsend.” He rolled through the night’s work-up as quickly as he could, finally stopping in front of the glass door. “Never quite got over this woman,” he admitted. “Don’t embarrass me, Robinovich.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

[eriace]

this isn't in the script ; tsukishima kei

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which y/n ropes tsukishima kei into fake-dating her to get her persistent admirer off her back. what was supposed to be a no-feelings, zero-fluff arrangement turns into public hand-holding, secret smiles, and one very awkward (but honest) accidental confession. ↷ tsukishima kei ; haikyuu

↳ an order of cappuccino + hot chocolate from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

IT ALL STARTED with a favor.

Not a heartfelt one, not a desperate one either. Just… an eye-roll-worthy, absolutely inconvenient kind of favor that Tsukishima Kei would never agree to unless he was: a. bribed, b. blackmailed, or c. terminally bored.

Unfortunately, Y/n had found him on a day where he was both bored and eating strawberry Pocky, which she may or may not have bought on purpose.

"Just pretend to be my boyfriend for, like, two weeks."

"No."

"Kei."

"Still no."

"...I’ll tell Yamaguchi about that time you cried during that one Ghibli movie."

"...Two weeks."

And that’s how it began.

Tsukishima Kei was a lot of things: tall, snarky, chronically unimpressed. But even he had to admit—fake-dating Y/n was a little too easy.

They had a good routine. Casual shoulder bumps. Walking side-by-side after school. The occasional, begrudging compliment murmured too low for anyone but her to hear.

And sure, sometimes he’d catch himself watching the way she laughed, or how her nose scrunched up when she got annoyed, or how her pinky would always twitch like it wanted to hold his hand but wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

Whatever. He was an observational guy. Not his fault.

“It’s working,” Y/n whispered one day, eyes wide as she leaned close to him behind the vending machine.

Kei barely looked up from his drink, "Obviously."

"He said I’m off-limits now. Said my 'terrifying' boyfriend might kill him with sarcasm."

"...Accurate."

"You’re so good at this, Tsukki."

Something in his chest flipped a little.

He ignored it.

Everything was going fine until she said it.

They were sitting under the gym staircase, taking a break between study sessions, when Y/n—head resting lazily against his shoulder—murmured without thinking:

"You know… sometimes it doesn’t even feel fake."

Kei choked on his water, "What."

"Huh?"

"You said—"

"I said what?"

"You—nothing."

He turned away so she wouldn’t see the way his ears turned red.

But after that, things felt different.

He caught himself thinking about her when she wasn’t around. Replaying the sound of her laugh. Wondering what it would be like if it wasn’t fake.

If he could hold her hand without needing an excuse. If he could kiss her forehead and mean it.

He hated it. It made him feel out of control. Like he was in a match with no blocking allowed.

And then came the worst part.

Y/n had been joking with Yamaguchi, of all people. Teasing him about how good Tsukki was at acting like he didn’t care when he totally did. She was grinning, flailing, mimicking Tsukki’s unimpressed face, when she said it—loud enough for the universe to hear:

"Ugh, he’s such a grump, but I think I like him for real now, and that’s sooo embarrassing."

She froze.

Yamaguchi froze.

Someone behind her coughed.

Slowly, very slowly, she turned.

Kei stood behind her, eyes half-lidded, cheeks pink, expression unreadable.

"...Well," he said finally, adjusting his glasses, "that makes two of us."

Y/n blinked, "Wait. What?"

"What, you think I let just anyone fake date me for two weeks?"

"You did it for Pocky!"

"I did it because you looked at me like I mattered."

Oh.

Oh.

Cue Yamaguchi, who choked on his juice box in the background.

They were still under the gym staircase the next day when Kei offered her a stick of strawberry Pocky.

"So what now?" she asked.

"We could keep pretending," he said with a smirk.

"Pretending to date?"

"Pretending we don’t actually like each other."

Y/n laughed, grabbed the Pocky, and leaned against him again.

"Nah," she said. "I think I’m done pretending."

And Kei—sarcastic, aloof, too-tall-for-his-own-good Tsukishima Kei—smiled like maybe he was too.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[zoennes]

“We met up once and it wasn't even a date. I did it for Amber. You know how she's always going on about Senne. So… Last Friday I asked him to cancel that gathering. But in exchange, for half an hour I had to…”

“Kiss?”

“Talk [to him].”

Zoenne + 30 minutes

[abyssal-ilk]

i have mixed feelings overall about the dialogue between vivienne and cole, mainly because cole's prodding at her (and all of the other companions, really) feels so invasive and there is nothing we can do to get him to actually stop, BUT.

i cannot get over this piece of banter. it's forever living in my head

[g-glitchy-v2]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Jeez it's so annoying that i have to deal with these all. Thanks, tumblr. 🙏 Anyways here's the other part ⬇️

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

(Click to continue the lore of MemorySwap) ⤵

In order to MAKE Alphys listen, Undyne injected a liquid to Alphys, which made her got agressive and barely able to think. After sending Alphys to k¡ll Creepy, Undyne watched everything through her cameras around underground. Meanwhile, Napstaton HEARD everything Undyne SAID, but didn't SEE what she DID. After barely dying, but somehow finding a weak spot and sh0ving her spear to Alphys' head, Creepy k¡lled Alphys. Seeing this, and panicking, Undyne decided to send Napstaton there to k¡ll Creepy since she was already too tired. But Napstaton was scared. His robot body was still not completely finished so he didn't had any weapons to use. And not wanting to deal with Undyne's abuse anymore, at a place where Undyne's cameras didn't work, Napstaton told everything to Creepy, and when Creepy decided to also k¡ll Undyne, Napstaton helped her. In the end, both Alphys and Undyne has died. And since Creepy was the one k¡lled them, Toriel decided to let Creepy become the new lead of the royal guards. But since she wasn't still enough powerful, Toriel didn't really take her serious as she did to Alphys, and decided to give her annoyingly simple jobs to do in castle to make Creepy quit this job. Due Undyne's death, there's no one left that could fix Napstaton's body when it gets damaged. So his body is getting more damaged and rusty day by day, and he won't even gonna be able to leave that body even if he wants. In the other hand, Toriel lets Mettablook to treat others in the underground like sh*t, since Mettablook owns the most of the parts of underground's media. Since she lets Mettablook to do anything, Mettablook let's her to keep the media under her control. Normally the royal guard's jobs was making sure the monsters doesn't end the whole population by k¡lling eachother. But now, they mostly just k¡ll the one's who try to rebel Toriel. And lastly, there's a fallen child. Chara. Chara is doing their best to be the new hope for monsters, trying to be nice to these hopeless monsters and try to give them a new reason to believe that there's still some hope left for them. They also carry Temmie around as a small but appriciated company, not wanting to explore this whole underground alone. Even though there's no hope left in monsters' souls, Chara is Determined to give them a new shine of hope.

(⊹ ࣪ ˖ Im not sure, but maybe i can add a lil drawing of the scene where Creepy k¡lled Alphys here. But it dephends if i really do draw smth like that. SADLY, im still not really allowed to draw. So im not sure if i can draw that scene. Let's hope my parents stop torturing me and actually does lets me to draw 🙏😞 Anyways, it's all i was gonna say. Bye. 🦖🐬🦒🦞)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

(Click to read more about MemorySwap) ⤵

⊹ ࣪ ˖ HAD TO REPOST DUE SOME STUPID SHI SORRY 🙏🙏 (Im losing it.)

—

[SINCE TUMBLR DECIDED TO BE A F#CKING BA#STRAD, I CAN'T ADD THE DAMN LORE HERE. IM SO SORRY Y'ALL. (I tweaked out so hard that i hit my own face.)]

(So basically, Chara is a smol child that's trying to be nice as much as they can and carrying Temmie around, while Temmie is a smol scared fluffball that's just too tired. Asgore is a good father and deserves tons of hugs. Frisk misses MK so much and is seeing nightmares as Asriel does his best to cheer up his dad and sibling and is trying to comfort Frisk and help most of the monsters in underground. Creepy is the new lead of the royal guards and is getting cooking lessons from Asgore as Toriel treats her like shit. Papyrus is chill and lazy ahh, not even doing anything other than sleeping, smoking and drinking. Muffet is also chill and a nice person even though she looks grumpy and serious, and monsters turn eachother to dust in her bar. Grillby is too shy to get out of his house and his house is his comfort place, and some fucking monsters are making made up rumors to make others think he's bad when he's actually not. Mettablook is an total *sshole i hate him so much he's such a jerk and loves to make fun of people because he thinks he's better when he's just a fucking b*stard. Napstaton is just a smol baby that deserves the world, and since Undyne is dead, nobody is able to fix body as it gets older and more damaged, meaning he'll be trapped in that body if it completely gets broken. Undyne died because she was a backstabber and was too hungry for attention, and deserved to die since she betrayed her only friend. Alphys died because of Undyne, maybe she wasn't the best monster in the underground but still wasn't that bad and was the one training Creepy before her death. Toriel is a b*tch and i also hate her, she's the worst queen, wife and mom ever. And lastly, Monster Kid just deserved better because he couldn't even live his life properly since SOMEONE forced or fed him with those buttercup flowers, and now he's Temmie, but doesn't remembers anything.)

—

In case if you wanna check the more detailed versions ⬇️

-> Chara

-> Temmie & Asgore

-> Frisk & Mettablook

-> Papyrus

-> Creepy(Sans)

-> Muffet

-> Napstaton

-> Asriel & Grillby

-> Alphys

-> Undyne

-> Toriel & MK/Monster kid

—

> I don't think if i really have to make a "If you're wondering;" part in here too, since there's nothing much to add. I mean, yeah, Sans is a girl in MemorySwap, just like how it was in MemoryTale. And instead of her and Papyrus being "Skele-bro's", they both are "Skele-siblings". And, even though MemorySwap looks like a "swap au" for MemoryTale, it's actually not since some things aren't really swapped, and is actually changed. (For example; In MemoryTale, Muffet isn't a shy spider who stays in her house the whole time, but in MemorySwap Grillby IS. In MemoryTale, Papyrus is actually nice, but in MemorySwap, Creepy(Sans) isn't really that nice. In MemoryTale Memory(Sans) has anger issues, but in MemorySwap, Papyrus is pretty chill and wouldn't give a shi if the world is burning.) If i remember that i forgot to add smth, i'll just make a small "Update" and add it here so y'all can know :D (Ofc, if anyone is reading these all-)

—

About ships –

Toriel x Asgore – Well, fuck no. Toriel was never a good wife, mother and queen. She's still blaming Asgore for leaving her, not even wanting to accept that it was because of her. Asgore deserves better. No.

Any ship that includes Papyrus in it – Well, eh- Because Papyrus is so insufferable. I mean, this man is too lazy to tie his shoe laces. If you wanna be in a relationship w him, you gotta do ALL THE SHITS and im %100 sure this man would never finish the tasks you give him. He wouldn't even get up and come to you if you asked him to. I don't think anyone could tolerate him when he's like this. So, i don't really prefer to put him into ships. It would be like taking care of a baby since he's a grown ass man that doesn't even does any of the chores. And, i don't want him to get shipped w any of the other Papyruses 🙏 (Im not a REALLY fan of fontcest sooo....) So, no.

Any ship that's: Creepy x [Anyone from MemorySwap] – No. Because others are either too older than her or is too younger than her. I don't like it when the age gap is more than 3-4. So, no.

Any ship includes Mettablook in it — NO. JUST NO. THIS MAN IS A F*CKING *SSHOLE. DON'T PUT HIM IN ANY SHIPS. PLEASE. NO.

Undyne x Alphys — No. Undyne already can't feel any emotions properly. Not like being emotionless but ehhh- She's aroace. And shipping these two is not healthy. Undyne literally betrayed her and caused both of their deaths. No.

Any ship that includes Frisk, Chara, Asriel, Temmie, Monster Kid – NO. Do i have to explain myself? I don't think so. NO.

Memory x Creepy – Well, these two don't get along well and hate eachother. And since my "Sanses" don't really count as "Sanses" for a reason, shipping my "Sanses" doesn't really makes this "Sanscest". AND even though i prefer yuri over yaoi(i hate it.), no. Don't ship these two. C'mon y'all they hate eachother. Not like enemies to lovers shit. Im talking about HATE. I mean, imagine a classmate that keep annoys you, calls you names, makes fun of you, bullies you physically and makes you get embrassed infront of everyone. You would hate that *sshole, wouldn't you? Yeah u would. That's how Memory treats to Creepy. Respectfully, no.

Grillby x Muffet – HEALL YEAHHHJH– *cough* Yes. Well, im not a fan of every Muffet x Grillby but well, hear me out. These two give(at least in this au) girly boss and "give me attention and i'll explode" ahh grown ass man vibes. (To me, at least). They could be shipped, not a canon ship though. I mean, just approved by me ig. But not canon. Idk. *Slams hand to table* APPROVED. ✅️✅️

—

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Im tired y'all. Tired of writing these all over and over. Im tired of my life. F*ck this shit. I need to draw but im not allowed to because my mom isn't comfortable with the shit im drawing. She's acting like im drawing nsfw sh*t or smth. I hate my life. And hate my family. And hate myself. I wrote lots of sh*ts here but it kept getting deleted. I don't wanna keep write every single shit here AGAIN. I don't even know if anyone is reading these sh*ts. It's just pressing a small heart shaped button but it means so much to me. Im having another breakdown rn bc im tired. If you're reading these all, thank you. You're awesome buddy. Im tired. Really tired. It feels like im talking to a brick wall. Hey brick wall🧱. How's yo wife? Good? Damn. Brick by brick. (Im mentally i'll.)

(Sorry for any grammar issues- I read these again and again but i sometimes miss some small mistakes so if there's any, sorry about it 🙏)

[punkzombie]

Kerry doesn’t answer her right away. Just breathes. Real slow, like his lungs are catching up to something he isn’t ready to say out loud. The river’s moving lazy beside them—brown-gray and rippling with reflections that don’t belong to anything real. Somewhere down near the dock, a gull lets out a sound like a child being throttled. Somewhere behind them, a car backfires. The world’s all colorless noise.

And Cee’s arm is warm around him. Solid. Real.

His eyes sting a bit. He blinks hard, like the wind’s kicked up—except it hasn’t. It’s muggy and still, like the sky’s holding its breath. His throat is tight.

The steamboat in the distance wheezes, lets out a long, ghost-colored breath. It’s all brass trim and peeling paint, bobbing against the dock. Kerry finds himself staring at it too long. Maybe it all reminds him of home.

Not England home, not really. That place is gone. Something younger, more shapeless. Back in the city, when Alo used to sneak into bed at three in the morning with shaking hands and tear tracks still shining under his eyes. When he’d whisper apologies into Kerry’s mouth without saying the word sorry. When Kerry believed it all.

He swallows hard.

Cee speaks and Kerry let's out a cold laugh.

“Yeah,” he finally mutters, voice rough with something brittle. “I'm all fucked up 'bout that too. The key thing... it was a fine excuse. I let him keep the bloody thing too... cause I knew it would continue to be a fuckin' excuse."

It’s not dramatic. It’s just true.

Cee’s fingers graze the back of his neck, all warmth and grounding, and it nearly undoes him. He leans into her without thinking—just a tilt, just enough to feel her cheek against the edge of his temple. He doesn’t deserve her tenderness. He doesn't know why he feels like that these days. Undeserving. Weird and manic and lonely.

He thinks about Alo and the man's manipulations and feels sick about it. Because that was what it was. Alo took the opportunity. He took a shot while Kerry was home, alone. Madonna wasn't there. Alo must have waited until she was gone with Desmond somewhere. He didn't think this clearly at the time. All he thought about was feeling good, feeling close. It crossed his mind that he wanted Alo. He wanted to get back with him. And everything else disappeared. The pain or the shape of pain, wedged somewhere else, further and further away.

Did Alo really want him? Or did Alo just want to show some sort of control over the situation? That was a fine line that was perhaps crossed and only now was Kerry recognizing it with a coppery tang at the back of his throat and a sheen of sweat at his brow. Nerves properly jangled.

“He meant to do that didn't he...,” Kerry says suddenly, quiet. The words feel like teeth pulling out of his mouth. His hand flexes at his side. Then unclenches. He forces a sharp breath through his nose. Tries not to let it shake.

“I'm smarter than this. What t' fuck is wrong with me?”

She listens to Kerry with a quiet,  grim contemplation as she squints out at the passing river.  Cee would have wagered something like this happening,  ultimately.  Kerry doesn't really want to be without Alo.  But Alo was a selfish bastard and Kerry was crashing out from everything  —including that.  And it's all a sick little symptom of crashing out,  isn't it?  Alienating yourself from those that you love the most.  And with Alo?  No amount of love Kerry had for the man could disguise the fact that Alo  —more often than not  —operated by doing what Alo wanted to do.  To add insult to injury,  it's not only what Alo wants  —more often than not,  what Alo wants falls in line with what Claire wants. 

And Cee isn't stupid to the intricacies of that.  Isn't blind,  either,  to the fact that Alo's been fucking Kerry up.  If anything,  it was the main proponent behind why Cee wasn't overall shocked when she'd heard that Kerry'd broken it off.  Though,  in her mind,  she'd only anticipated a string of bad fights,  maybe a brief separation  —not infidelity,  a slow-decaying break-up.  But Kerry was crashing out.  She knew what that was like.  He'd broken up with Alo but he was faring no better for it  —worse,  actually,  if you took into consideration the state of his apartment and the smell of crushed powder clinging to his pores.  

She rubs a broad hand over her face,  thoughtful.   He was gonna leave.  I was gonna let him.  It sounded likely  —Alo,  their modern day St. Sebastian with a lance through his chest,  paying Kerry one last pitiful visit.  She can't help but guess that it was calculated in some way.  There wasn't a hint of Alo that appeared ready or able to let Kerry go.  Any forceful merging of their paths was dubious,  she thinks.  Fair to guess. 

He's making her chest hurt.  He does that.  He seems too sad lately,  so goddamn small that she can hardly stand it.  Normally it's the other way around.  Normally Kerry's the one holding her sturdy,  pressing kisses to her hairline and making big assurances  —stupid fucking jokes.  That was their normal.  She doesn't know what this is.  Ever since Mexico,  she isn't sure that there is a normal.  Cee's mouth draws thin as she squeezes Kerry to her side,  feeling leaden with grief.  

       I needed to feel like he wanted me. Like I still mattered.

Cee feels stricken by that.  Her fingers grip at Kerry's shoulders,  and she's craning her head to look at him better.  That was the worst kind of feeling.  Breaking it off for a good reason but somehow getting the sex in the moment is still better.  The love never went anywhere.  It's intact,  rooted in you like an organ.  She makes a soft,  displeased sound.

       "—Oh dear.  You're all fucked up,  aren't you."    She mutters sympathetically,  looking back to the river.   Her hand finds placement in his hair,  downy and soft  —like feathers,  some kind of bird that only lived south of the equator.  She squeezes the back of his neck affectionately before sighing,  dropping her head against his. 

       Thanks for not judging me.

       "Can't judge what I would've done sooner."   She chides,  peering up at him with a half-grin  —the sort that tries to rub off,  be infectious.  But then her smile fades,  and she's serious again.     "It's not your fault, though.  You know that?  It's a fucked up situation.  And y'don't just get to choose what makes you feel good,  right?"  But everyone still ends up suffering for it.  She takes the joint between Kerry's fingers and pinches it between the seam of her mouth.

"Anyway. Given' back your key. What an excuse to come over."