#fieldwork fails

[viric-dreams]

I hope everyone else’s OCs are enjoying the games. Jones hasn’t slept in 34 hours. Man’s been given the world’s worst assignment monitoring selected members of Koloman’s delegation. And that’s the least of his current set of problems.

[tiffanyachings]

started rereading the silm; met up with friends; saw a very faint aurora; foraged walnuts; went to my friend's gig; saw four deer; played several board games; took pictures of cool mushrooms; ate lots of good food; played an old lotr game from 2004, helped plant strawberry runners in my mum's community garden; watched the birds migrate south

[disillusionedjudge]

((I'll repost the thing about Myriel soon! I had some Thoughts about Gylfie and her ambition so now I'm trying to sort that all out and how it affected her ability to maintain relationships

[wndaswife]

escape into you | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Babysitting has been a lucrative side job, and an escape from your life as an overworked college student. But when you come to babysit on a day you weren’t scheduled, Wanda improvises.

Word count: 7306

Tags: smut, fluff, fingering, cunnilingus, suckling, kinda nipple play, age gap, mommy kink, ageplay (i have limited knowledge, so not heavy), mommy wanda, completely self-indulgent fic

It wasn’t only your workload that got overwhelming during the semester, but your lack of stability. You lived alone in a small apartment, but a heavy workload made for constant change, a constant drive forward, and never any time to settle. 

It was so often that you yearned for an escape from it all that you wondered if you really were the responsible and independent college student that you sometimes felt you were merely masquerading as. 

So often did you imagine yourself as someone younger, so much more vulnerable and needy for another’s care, that you wondered how much more realistic that version of yourself was. 

Who was it, then, who went through your day-to-day life? And who was it who sat in the back of your mind, waiting to be cared for?

It was through a chain of good fortune that you landed a job as a babysitter for Wanda Maximoff and her twins. You told your friend that you were searching for a casual side job just to make some extra money. Your friend’s aunt, who was going through a divorce, had just brought up to her that she was looking for a babysitter for some extra help now that it was just her and the twins at home, which made her work hours difficult. Since your friend wasn’t able to dedicate any of her weekends, she referred you to her aunt. 

Wanda worked as an environmental specialist and was often required to do hours upon hours of fieldwork a day, but the slow and time-consuming process of her divorce forced to move around a lot of her time, which shifted around a lot of her typical work hours and schedule at home.

The Maximoffs had become a landmark of stability for you since you started babysitting for Wanda a few months ago. It was typically every other weekend that you babysat for her and scarcely anything more infrequent than that, though sometimes she’d ask for you the following weekend if something came up and her ex-husband couldn’t take her sons.

It was Saturday, an hour or two before dinnertime, and honestly, all you’d been thinking about was going over to Wanda’s to babysit for the evening. 

You’d been in the library more often than you’d been at your place for the last two weeks, surviving on coffee and energy drinks and meals from around campus. 

Of course, you enjoyed being with the twins; they were sweet and quite mature for their age, and highly knowledgeable about their video games and on the board games in the house. It was nice to take walks with them and just hang out, and especially to hear how their schooling was going. 

But most of all, you liked Wanda. She was smart and beautiful and incredibly accomplished in her field. You admired her, and she always made sure you were taken care of. She never failed to let you know how much you took care of her needs. 

Your dynamic with Wanda was quite difficult to explain. It was as if you were a completely different person when you were with her. You couldn’t explain it to anyone else, and no one else could understand aside from the two of you. 

It was dusk now, and the air was getting cooler. Evening began to blanket over the town, and the warm amber lights coming from the windows of Wanda’s house felt so domestic and welcoming. 

When she opened her front door, she was in a minimalistic linen dress that reached her calves and a brown long sleeve beneath it — something she’d wear to stay home. She had no makeup on and her hair was worn in its natural waves, pulled back by a hair clip. 

Any minimal feeling of doubt that you’d come on the wrong day was swiftly confirmed when Wanda stepped forward, looking around behind you for just a moment before asking, “Hi, Y/N. Is everything alright?”

“Wh- Um… Yeah, I’m here for…” 

You trailed off, letting it set in that you had come on a weekend she didn’t need you. By how she was dressed, it was clear that Wanda was planning on staying home all night, and that the twins were with their father. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, stepping forward onto the porch. “I think you’ve gotten the wrong day — the boys are with their dad this weekend.”

You stepped back, a bit embarrassed. It’s not like she could tell from your face how much you’d been looking forward to coming, only to feel like a humiliated and disappointed little kid.

“I think I did,” you admitted, feigning a casual bashfulness to avoid looking too scattered and immature. “Sorry. I must’ve mixed today up with some other deadline.”

As you spoke, Wanda regarded you patiently, watching you closely with a small supportive smile as an older woman normally would towards a much younger girl. 

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded kindly. 

There was a beat of silence as Wanda regarded you. Her eyes darted down your body for a moment, then towards the porch you were both standing on, her lips parting when she looked back up to offer, “If you have your schedule cleared for the evening, I’d love to have your company tonight.”

You swallowed. “Are you sure? I’m sure you must enjoy having time to yourself.”

“I’m quite sure, Y/N,” she insisted. She stepped to the side, allowing you entry into her house, a welcoming smile on her gorgeous face. “Come enjoy the evening with me.”

Your hands tightened around your backpack straps as you stepped forward, and you felt Wanda’s eyes running over your paled knuckles as you walked past her. 

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” she asked, heading towards the kitchen as you put your bag down and took your things off at the front door. 

The place felt different without the twins around. It was quieter and more serious. The divorce papers laying on the coffee table of the living room emanated a threatening aura. You hurried after Wanda to see her peeling some carrots in the kitchen. 

“A little, but maybe just for a snack,” you replied, your eyes running over her body from behind. Her long dirty blonde hair spilled down her back in waves. Her smooth forearms dotted here and there with beauty marks and freckles flexed slightly as she peeled and chopped the carrots. 

“I’m nearly done cutting these up. Would you mind plating them for us?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at you. 

You felt your face flush and you hurriedly looked around for a plate, to which you found a round wooden dish by Wanda’s cutting board. 

Standing beside her, you organized the fruits and vegetables she’d cut into a neat setup. She had strawberries, grapes, snap peas, and now the carrots she was slicing. 

“How has school been, baby?” Wanda asked. At the pet name, you looked over at her as if called by a dog whistle. 

“Um…” You tried to speak, but felt that you were shrinking into yourself. Everything about school seemed far away, and not at all related to you. “It’s been busy.”

Wanda nodded understandingly. The sound of her knife slowly cutting through the carrot seemed to slice right through you, shooting down your spine. “You’re nearing your finals, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. You wanted to say more, but found that you just couldn’t bring yourself to talk much about those things. It was too stressful and… too big of a reality. 

“But what have you been up to…?” you asked, feeling a little shy. 

It wasn’t only that Wanda was just gorgeous and incredibly smart, but that she was older than you, more mature, more experienced, and always so motherly. She took her time with you, always, so careful and gentle when she spoke, and always regarding you with this knowing gaze, as if she knew more about you than she let on. 

“I’ve been alright. Nothing to complain about,” she said, slicing the last piece of carrot. 

When she put the last few slices into the wooden plate, she met your eyes with a smile, “Busy. Like you.” 

Within your shared gaze was an exchanged understanding, unspoken and quiet. It made something within your chest stir and awaken, tempting you to abandon anything that existed any further than her. 

Just for a little bit, at least. 

The two of you sat out in Wanda’s backyard on one of the couches, the platter placed on the cushion between the two of you. You and Wanda chatted mostly about herself, since in the moment you felt more like listening. Wanda spoke here and there about her divorce process, which was going as slowly as it had since the last time she spoke about it. She spoke about her job too, but quickly grew tired of that. 

When things got busy for you, it was hard to do anything more than study and stay up late and balance your time in a repetitive weary cycle — and mostly on your own. Sometimes being that overwhelmed made it easy to forget how dismal it all was. 

Any time with Wanda felt so much more real than the blur of days that flew by, overflowing in papers and mundane hours studying in grim libraries. 

Wanda’s backyard was quite large, and her patio was beautiful. Surrounded by the lush plants decorating Wanda’s vast backyard, and blanketed in her patio lights that complemented the purple-blue hue of the evening, you felt detached from the rest of the world.

Maybe it was Wanda’s voice that softened you so much, or her careful fingers and hands that moved like she had a deliberate intention to be delicate with anything she touched. A large part of you knew, however, that it was because of how she was able to coddle you as if you were more of a child than the independent college student you were. 

For how Wanda seemed to reach into you, pulling to the surface something that had long lain dormant since the last time she had brought it to life, again you wondered how much more real this version of yourself was — the version of yourself that was quieter, smaller, younger. 

“Oh, honey, you must be feeling so stressed,” Wanda sympathized when you told her a little about how you’ve been doing. With how you were sitting close, your legs folded towards each other, she placed a hand on your thigh and rubbed you gently. 

You nodded. “It’s been overwhelming,” you conceded.

Wanda’s eyes lifted towards yours as she took a bite of a strawberry. She smiled sympathetically, and her eyes catching onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. “You’re much too young for that kind of workload, honey,” she said.

Sometimes you thought about the times you spent with Wanda when you were deep in your studies or during lectures or while commuting to and from campus. But it was near impossible. The thought of Wanda didn’t belong at school or where you were feeling older and more mature. The woman Wanda was for you didn’t belong anywhere but right here — the person you were with Wanda came to life only here.

“How young…?” you asked shyly, hesitantly looking up at her from your lap. 

Wanda placed a supportive hand on your knee. “Much younger than me, sweetheart…” she answered, her expression feigning sympathy though the shifting beneath her dress gave her away.

“Ah… I…” you stuttered, different sides of you tugging at each other. A tension deep in your chest knotted and your cheeks felt flushed. Your arms felt too far from your body, so you closed them against your torso a little. 

She squeezed your knee and retracted her hand, leaning back against the arm rest behind her, feeling either intrigued or pleased, or both. She readjusted herself, crossing her leg over the other. “Tell me more about how school’s been, baby.” 

“U-Um…”

You shifted, sitting up and getting your thoughts in order. Your hands balled into fists by your hips for a moment as you adjusted yourself. 

“You’re right — I’m nearing my exams…” you started, looking at her. You felt like reaching for a carrot to keep your hands occupied, but felt somewhat confined in your seat, as if set into an invisible box. “Right now, I’ve been trying to finish my final assignments before the exam period starts.”

“I see,” Wanda replied. Your eyes darted down to her fingers that were gently tapping against her thigh before you looked back up to her. “That must be very hard, Y/N… It sounds like far too much to think about all at once.”

There was a condescending lilt to her voice, speaking not only as someone who viewed you as younger, but someone who was also somewhat incapable of being on their own.

Swallowing, you nodded, feeling your voice getting smaller though you couldn’t tell if it was all in your head. “It is hard to keep up with all of it.”

Inhaling as she leaned forward in her seat and straightening her back, Wanda said, “Not at all something for a little girl like you.”

Your chest tightened and your thighs clenched together instinctually. When your expression wavered, she met your eyes without moving her focus away from yours. Wanda smiled warmly, always behind her veil of being the supportive, sympathetic older woman. 

Perhaps your instinctive reaction was the only response she needed, for Wanda adjusted her position again, letting her leg down and crossing her other leg over it. Her thumb rubbed side to side against her thigh, as if she were pacing herself. 

Wanda’s movements were always so natural. She was older and accomplished and far more experienced than you in everything, and everything she did always seemed so calculated and put together. So when the side of her foot brushed against your ankle, you bristled at the contact. 

Occasionally you and Wanda would have some extra time with each other after you babysat. She would come home stressed and needing relief, and clear about wanting your company. Wanda wasn’t always so held together as she was today — sometimes she was desperate, wanting you. 

Other times, she liked to tease you out when she knew it had been a while. 

She eyed the plate between the two of you so quickly that you couldn’t follow her gaze before she spoke again, and suddenly her eyes were back on you.

“I know I always thank you for babysitting, but I haven’t thanked you enough for being here whenever I need you,” Wanda said. “It’s been so chaotic with the divorce and trying to figure things out with work, and you’ve been such a great help.”

You opened your mouth to speak, eager to tell Wanda how much you looked forward to babysitting, and how much it’s been helping you too. But she started speaking again, leaning forward and placing her hands in her lap.

“You know, sweetheart…” Wanda placed her hand down on your forearm. “I’ve always thought you were such a good, obedient girl.” Her voice sounded lower, and her eyes darkened, zoned in on you as a predator would.

How long has it been since you spoke last?

“I do hope you don’t think poorly of me, baby… What, taking you out to my backyard just to have you all for myself, as if I were in need of your babysitting.” Wanda laughed, her hand squeezing your forearm playfully.

You felt yourself laughing too, but your mind felt long gone; you felt dependent on Wanda just to feel comforted. 

There was a light buzzing in your head, and the breeze of the darkening evening cooled your cheeks. You felt you couldn’t do anything without Wanda, so smart and beautiful, so much older than you and so much more experienced and knowledgeable than you in everything.

You hoped desperately she wouldn’t let go of your arm.

“I don’t think poorly of you at all,” you responded. 

Wanda smiled, pleased by your response. Her hand began to slowly rub your forearm. “No, and that wouldn’t make sense, would it, for you to look after me?” She seemed to look at you expectantly, though you could’ve been imagining it, so you shook your head.

“You’re much too young for that, sweetheart — too little,” she said.

A flood of desperation rushed through your chest, and when you exhaled through your nose, you heard yourself whimper quietly.

The first time you slept with Wanda, you couldn’t fathom ever leaving her, going back to your place to study and commute or do anything on your own ever again. Wanda made you feel so small, so dependent. She let you leave everything you wanted to escape from at the door.

With gentle hands, she would touch your body like it were something born anew, your skin feeling warmer and softer, not belonging to whoever it was that lived and worked and studied alone. With Wanda, your mind was fuzzy, and little, and dependent on her care. 

You couldn’t possibly fit this kind of feeling within the short timeframe of freedom the two of you only sometimes had from the lives you lived away from each other. It was rare to be free at all, and much less for this kind of time to align. So Wanda took her time, for she loved to see you get smaller, see the timidity wash over you, pamper you in her care, watch as you melted away from everything that existed apart from her.

Wanda’s hand lifted from your forearm, reaching over to take hold of your chin gently. “Are you gonna let me take care of you, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes,” you replied as quickly as you could. “I’m…”

A good girl, you wanted to say.

While still holding your chin, Wanda brought a strawberry to your mouth with her other hand. Obediently, you wrapped your lips around it and took a bite. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl for mama…?” she asked, her voice quiet as she focused on your lips wrapped around the strawberry, its reddish-pink juices peeking from the edges of your mouth.

Mama…

You felt your body buzz when Wanda finally used the term; you found you couldn’t say it on your own first, and needed Wanda’s help. You felt yourself beginning to need her help for everything.

Her eyes flickered up to yours and you nodded, leaning your head forward and taking another bite of it, your lips grazing the tips of Wanda’s fingers when you then took the rest of the sliced strawberry into your mouth.

Wanda gathered its sweet juice from the corners of your mouth with her thumb and slid it into your mouth, your lips wrapping around her finger. You sucked softly at it, eliciting a pleased hum from her. 

“Why don’t we go inside, honey?” Wanda said, carefully pulling her thumb out of your mouth. “Are you getting cold?”

You nodded and Wanda took your hand, carrying the platter with her other as the two of you went back inside. You huddled against her side and Wanda wrapped her arm around your shoulders before kissing your forehead.

Wanda took you into the living room after setting the plate down in the kitchen. With her hands on your hips, she brought you onto her lap. Her arms circled you and you buried your face in her neck.

“Have you been having a hard time at school, sweetheart?” Wanda asked softly, her hand rubbing your back soothingly. She felt you nod into the crook of her neck. “You need mommy to make you feel better, hm?”

When she felt you nod again, she tucked her hands under your shirt, rubbing her warm palms up your sides. You squirmed in her lap and Wanda chuckled against the side of your head.

“I missed my little girl so much,” Wanda said, kissing your cheek over and over until she made her way to the corner of your lips. You turned your head, allowing Wanda to meet your lips with hers. 

“You’re so sweet, baby…” she muttered against you, one of her hands coming to the side of your face as she kissed you. 

You whined and wrapped your arms around her neck. “I missed mama…”

Wanda hummed and her hands moved further up your shirt, her palms now running against your rib cage until her thumbs met with the sides of your breasts. She began pressing soft kisses down your neck when you lifted your head.

“I love having you to myself, honey…” she muttered, her hands rounding your body to unclip your bra. “You don’t know how much mama loves playing with her little girl.” Her lips suckled softly at your neck, her warm hands cupping your breasts and kneading them gently.

You were a mess of whimpers and whines, your back arching and pressing your chest into her hands to which Wanda responded by rolling your nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. 

Seemingly having grown impatient, Wanda stood up carefully so you had enough time to slide off her lap. As you stood, she helped you take your bra off beneath your shirt, dropping it to your feet. “Come upstairs,” she told you, taking your hand and heading up with you.

You cuddled back against her side again. 

“I really missed you,” you said, looking up at her. 

“Me too, sweetheart,” Wanda said, smiling down at you.

It wasn’t only your age that made you feel so little with Wanda. She spoke to you so gently and touched you so carefully. Your mommy was so beautiful — how she dressed, how she did her hair, her eyes, her nose, her soft lips. 

All you wanted to do with Wanda was be taken care of, and she loved to take care of you.

Upstairs, Wanda had her hands all over you, undoing your pants while you unclipped her hair, then running her hands up your sides and pulling your shirt over your head.

“My sweet little girl…” she muttered into your neck, kissing you softly. “Do you like when mommy touches you like this?” 

“Uh-huh… I like it, mommy,” you replied, whining softly when Wanda’s hands wrapped around your waist, carefully leading you backwards onto the bed.

She climbed on top of you. Her long hair blanketed over your shoulders as she kissed down your breasts. She took your nipples into her mouth one after the other and groaned at the feeling of the stiff buds against her tongue.

When your hips bucked up slightly at the feeling of tension building between your thighs, Wanda reached her hand down and rubbed you through your underwear.

She lifted her head from your breasts and looked down at you, her hair looking a bit disheveled and a small grin on her lips as she watched you writhe beneath her. Her fingers drew slow circles against your clothed pussy.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone about this, right, baby?” she asked, slightly breathless. “That mommy touches you like this?”

You shook your head adamantly. 

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, lolling your head to the side so you could brush your cheek against Wanda’s hair that acted like a curtain down the side of your head as she looked down at you.

In a voice that was low, like a soft purr as she spoke, Wanda said, “Only very special mommies touch their little girls like this, sweetheart…”

You reached up, wrapping your arms around her waist. Wanda lowered herself so her hip pressed against yours, her elbow holding herself up so she could stroke the top of your head lovingly.

“I don’t wanna stop playing with mommy…” you whimpered, looking up at her pleadingly.

“This can be our secret, honey,” she replied before leaning down and kissing you softly. “We wouldn’t want anyone else to know how sweet and little my baby really is.”

When your hand came up to your breast, squeezing it softly beyond her dress, Wanda parted from your lips to moan softly. 

“Does mama’s sweet little girl wanna touch?” she asked, her hand moving up from between your thighs to keep your hand in place, guiding you into kneading her breast softly.

When you nodded, she asked, “Do you want mama to take her clothes off?”

“Please, mommy.”

“Honey, you’re so well-mannered,” Wanda cooed, kissing your forehead before sliding off the bed and standing beside you, unzipping the side of her dress slowly as you watched. She put on a show for you, pushing her hair back and letting her dress’ strap slowly slip off her shoulders.

Long hair spilled down her back as Wanda turned, peering at you from over her shoulder as her dress spilled down around her ankles, leaving her in black underwear and her brown turtleneck.

Your eyes ran up the curve of Wanda’s ass, to the arch in her back, then back down to the way her hair spilled down her back and her long, smooth legs.

Sitting up onto your knees and leaning back on your heels, you reached out for Wanda, wrapping your arms around her waist. Wanda laughed as she stumbled back against you. She looked down at you as you rubbed your cheek against her upper arm. 

“Are you going to help mommy take her shirt off?” she asked softly, rubbing your forearms that were covering her stomach.

You nodded, finding the hem of her shirt and carefully lifting it up.

“That’s good, baby…” Wanda cooed, helping you the rest of the way until she was only in her underwear. She turned, climbing on top of you again and meeting your lips. 

With her lips on your neck, Wanda tugged your panties down, and you instinctively spread your legs when she dropped them off the edge of the bed. 

“My sweet babygirl…” she murmured against your warm skin, her hands finding your inner thighs and spreading your legs further apart. 

When you looked down, Wanda was looking up at you, green eyes focused on your helpless expression from beyond her mess of hair that curtained the sides of her face. Her lips were parted enough for you to hear her soft pants. The tip of pink of her tongue rested against the bottom row of her teeth. 

The sight made your breath catch and your chest constrict in a way that you had to take an extra breath to give yourself air. 

“Your nipples are so cute,” Wande cooed, and you watched as her lips wrapped around one of your buds, eliciting a groan from you as you arched your back.

“So sensitive,” she muttered when she switched to the other one. 

Meanwhile, her hand circled the space between your hips, the heel of her palm pressing against your lower stomach. Her middle and ring finger traced the hood of your clit. 

“Mommy,” you whined, bucking your hips up. 

Wanda pressed her hand down and lifted her fingers from your pussy so you didn’t nudge your clit against them. “You’re just a sweet little girl, Y/N — do you think you know better than mama?” she asked after parting from your nipple then looking up at you. 

You shook your head. 

“No…” she whispered with a soft adoring smile. “My baby is too young to know better than me.”

Looking up at her shyly, you asked, “Is mama going to take advantage of me…?”

Wanda laughed, both at your evident dedication and arousal at the fantasy you were playing out, and at how sweet you were when you asked her. 

“Well, now, honey, it’s not taking advantage when you’re my little girl, is it?” she replied.

You giggled a little and shook your head. 

She moved up from your breasts and kissed your jaw, and finally her fingers met with your wet folds, sticky and warm against her cool fingers. 

With slow motions of two fingers, Wanda moved up and down against your wet cunt, pressing against your hole and meeting your clit before rubbing back down. The wet noises from your parted pussy made you shiver, and Wanda kept her lips close to your neck so she could hear you writhe and whimper. 

“I love having you like this,” she said. A soft groan of appreciation came from her when you wrapped your arms around her waist and held her close. 

You felt so fluid, so out of control. 

You felt yourself stretch to the size of Wanda’s finger, and she lifted her head to watch as your eyebrows furrowed together. 

“So little, baby…” she murmured, in awe as you grasped at her, moaning at the way she moved in and out of you. The pad of her middle digit curled softly and applied pressure as she fingered you. “So dependent on mama. You don’t know how to do a single thing on your own, do you?”

You shook your head adamantly. When you opened your mouth to reply, Wanda slid a second finger in, and a low cry was pulled out of you in place of your words. 

“Can you feel how your tight little pussy stretches out for mommy?” Wanda asked, looking down at you with a smug expression. “How much your tiny little hole loves mommy’s fingers?”

She groaned softly as you whimpered, and you could feel Wanda squeezing her thighs together, the lower half of her body squirming and readjusting itself as her fingers gained speed now that she had two inside of you. 

“You’re so young, honey. Do you even know what I’m doing to you?” she teased, evidently savouring in the fantasy of taking advantage of a sweet little girl. “You don’t know when to tell mama ‘no.’”

Fingers curled inside of you, rubbing upwards against you as she entered and slid out of you. She kept her hand pressed against your body so the top of her palm rubbed against your clit. Wanda knew how you liked getting fingered — she didn’t move her fingers on their own, but her entire hand, so she rubbed against your pussy each time she moved in and out of your cunt.

“It’s okay that mommy touches you like this, right, baby?”

“It- Ah!” Your words were interrupted when Wanda curled inside of you in a particularly pleasing arch. You swallowed and tried to speak again. “It’s okay, mama, I-”

When Wanda buried her face in the crook of your neck again, sucking at your neck softly, she said, “So little and wet for me… Letting mama touch your special parts.”

You grasped at the blanket below you to keep yourself from gripping Wanda too harshly and hurting her as you felt yourself inch closer to orgasm. Your other arm squeezed around her waist. 

“Oh, honey, are you gonna come?” she cooed, looking down at you with such admiration. “My babygirl’s sweet little pussy is getting so tight…”

Nodding, you buried your face in Wanda’s neck, whining and just feeling her soft hair against your cheek. “Mhm… I’m gonna come, mama…” you murmured. 

“Come for mommy, baby. That’s right, honey…” Wanda cooed, kissing your cheek and your temple. She stroked your hair with her other hand as you whimpered helplessly like the tiny little girl you were. “Come on mommy’s fingers, sweetheart.”

Wanda groaned at the feeling of your pussy squeezing her fingers as you came. You parted from her neck as your back arched and your head laid back against the pillow. She looked down, watching your little thighs tremble. 

She carefully pulled out of your pulsing pussy, her moan of appreciation reaching your ears as she laid her eyes on her sticky fingers, coated in her sweet little girl’s cum. 

“You wanna suckle, my baby…?” Wanda asked, looking down at your tired little body. She kissed your forehead when you nodded and you cuddled close to her chest. “Fingers first, honey. Open up.”

Your lips parted and your eyes opened in time to see how coated her fingers were before she slid them into your mouth, laying them against your tongue. 

She pet the top of your head soothingly as she watched your lips move around her fingers while you sucked them. Your tongue slid between and around them, and Wanda smiled down at you adoringly. 

“Your pussy always tastes so nice and sweet, baby. Good girl, licking it off of mama.” She kissed your cheek over and over then slipped your fingers out of your mouth. 

Wanda lifted your head and adjusted your body so you could suckle from her. She caressed the side of your face and brought her stiff nipple to your lips. She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan when you latched onto her and sucked softly. 

“That’s good…” She looked down at you, continuing to stroke the side of your head. “Mmm…” 

You loved doing this with Wanda. She looked so beautiful when she looked down at you, and she regarded you so warmly, making you feel so taken care of. She would hold you in her arms like this while you soothed yourself with her nipple, and the look of pleasure on her face made you feel so special. 

She let out a little gasp as the tip of your tongue came out and teased at her bud, and Wanda brought your head closer to her breast, her head thrown back slightly as you flicked and rubbed your tongue against her. 

You looked up at her innocently, watching as your mama moaned above you. Her thighs rubbed together at the corner of your eye, and she reached a hand down and pulled her underwear off. She brought her hand up to tease at her other nipple, her finger flicking at it then rolling it between her fingers. 

She pulled you off her breast carefully. 

“Okay, baby…” she spoke, slightly breathless. “Now the other one.” She adjusted the two of you slightly and brought your lips to her nipple again. 

“Ah… Mmm, good girl…” Wanda cooed when you immediately latched onto her. “Such a soft tongue my little girl has.” She looked down at you, holding eye contact as you suckled from her. 

She carefully took your hand, interlacing her fingers with yours as you continued, feeling your heart rate go down, your body practically melting into Wanda’s arms and her soft bed sheets. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Wanda’s legs spread slightly, and she brought your hand down between her thighs. She let go of your hand and guided your fingers to her pussy. 

“You make mommy feel so excited, honey,” she purred before the pads of your fingers met with her warm folds that you all but slipped through with how wet she was. She guided your fingers up and down her pussy, her hips rolling forward and back ever so slightly. “You and your sweet little mouth…”

Her thumb ran against your bottom lip gently, then, with her hand, carefully removed her nipple from your mouth. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips.

When you pushed your fingers through her labia and pressed against her opening, you felt Wanda’s warm breath exhale against your lips as she moaned. You rubbed circles against her wet opening, feeling it clench against the pads of your fingers. 

“I need your mouth, honey,” Wanda said, her voice sounding low and raspy. “Are you going to be a good girl and give mommy your tongue?”

“Am I going to make mommy feel good too?” you asked, looking up at her. 

Wanda smiled down at you and stroked your cheek with her thumb. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re going to make mama feel really good… But you need to follow my instructions, because only special girls can do this for their mamas.”

You nodded obediently. “Okay, mama. I can do it. I’m a special girl,” you told her, feeling determined.

She kissed your lips softly then got onto her back, helping you up and slowly leading you downwards. “That’s a good girl…” she said, slightly breathless. 

As you descended, you laid your eyes on Wanda’s pussy, her thighs laying on your shoulders, spread open for you. You could smell her arousal and you recalled how her taste differed from your own. You felt yourself begin to salivate. 

“Open your mouth, sweetheart. Let me see your tongue,” she instructed. Her hand came to the back of your head, leading you closer to her. 

When your little pink tongue stuck out, Wanda brought your head a bit closer, and you ran your tongue through her slit, parting soft sticky folds. The tip of your tongue poked at her opening when you licked her, making Wanda whimper softly. 

You looked up at her shyly when you went in for another lick, her flavour spreading across your tongue. 

“You’re doing so good, honey… Just like that,” she encouraged.

At the sight of her above you, her hips twitchrd upwards as her back began to arch slightly. You pushed your head further between her thighs and wrapped your lips around her pussy. Your tongue dipped through her soft folds and pressed against her opening, running up to brush against her clit. 

Wanda’s hand tightened your hair into a ball at the back of your head and secured your face against her cunt. Her head fell back and she let out a long relieved moan. Her thighs adjusted atop of your shoulders and they squeezed against the side of your head. 

“Mama needs this, baby. Good girl,” she encouraged as you lapped at her. 

Your tongue smoothed out and steadied, lapping at her rhythmically. She listened to your wet lapping against her and the soft slurps from your lips.

“Eat mama’s pussy just like that… So sweet and slow,” she cooed, rubbing the pads of her fingers against the back of your head. 

Above you, Wanda was beginning to turn into a mess of whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut and her hair curling against her damp forehead. 

“Oh, fuck, babygirl… You’re making me feel so…” Her head lolled to the side and a sharp whimper passed her parted lips. Her hips began rolling against your mouth, and you stiffened your tongue, nudging it up only slightly when you wanted to press against her clit. 

Otherwise, she rolled herself against your stiffened tongue so it pushed through her folds and against her opening, then back up to graze her clit. 

“Ah, yeah, baby,” Wanda panted out between breaths, her other hand coming down to take hold of your hair. “I’m gonna come, sweetheart…”

Her thighs squeezed around your head, her ankles linked behind your back with her heel digging against your lower spine. Her back arched and her head was thrown back, her hair dropping from around her shoulders to her sheets. Her collarbone and soft neck were revealed, flushed a subtle pink from how warm her body was. 

Wanda always made you feel so special when you ate her out, the way she spread her legs for you and praised you for how well you were doing. You were special and did such a good job just for being you. 

It wasn’t scary to be with Wanda or in trying to make her feel good; she loved spending time with you and being touched by you. Everything you did with her was enough — you were never less than, never failing, never out of place. 

With Wanda, you always belonged, and she took care of you no matter what state you felt you were in when you finally found time together. 

Her body relaxed, her back meeting the sheets as she exhaled with a huff. Her thighs relaxed from around your head and you could hear how she was panting. 

“Oh, honey…” she groaned tiredly. She slid her legs from your shoulders and looked down at you with a hazy smile. You felt your heart pick up its pace at the sight of her, a tenderness spreading down your chest and into your stomach like warm maple syrup.

She reached down and pushed the hair from your face with the tip of her middle and ring fingers, admiring your innocent little face, glistening from the mouth down. 

“Come up so mama can give you some kisses,” she said. She cupped your cheek and kept it there as you crawled up her body and nestled yourself against her.

You turned your back to her so she could hold you from behind, and Wanda immediately wrapped her arms around you and kissed your neck before taking a deep inhale. 

“Mama…” you giggled. Your knees came up to your stomach so you could wiggle around in a ball as mommy tickled your side and gave you plenty of pecks. 

“Oh, honey, you are the sweetest…”

Peck. 

“Smartest…”

Peck. Peck. 

“Most amazing little girl in the whole entire world.”

You kicked your feet a little as Wanda’s kisses tickled your neck while her fingers tickled your side, eliciting a flurry of giggles from you. 

“Silly girl. You have a sticky face,” she said, stopping her tickles to wipe your face with her hand. She then lifted herself onto her elbow to reach down and kiss your lips. 

You quickly turned in her arms and buried your face in her chest. Wanda looked down the bed to gather her sheets and brought them up to your shoulders.

“You are so special, my sweetest little angel…” Wanda murmured against your ear and rubbing your back. 

Tears inexplicably sprung in your eyes at the care she was giving you, and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper. 

Wanda just kept rubbing your back and kissing your head and temple occasionally. She went into more detail of how work and the divorce had been going, just so you could listen and not have to talk about yourself; she knew school had you feeling a little overwhelmed, and that you were such a good listener. 

When you seemed more laidback, and your responses had turned into little hums of affirmations, Wanda asked you, “Have you been doing alright lately, sweetheart?”

“I’ve just been really overwhelmed and tired,” you answered, not feeling pressured or upset in sharing how you’ve been. Before, it was hard, reminding you only of all your problems, and now, you were simply… talking to Wanda.

It was just Wanda, like it always was when you were together. 

“It suddenly caught up to me. I realized that all I’ve been doing is studying and eating on campus to study during meals, then going home right after, and waking up to study all over again.”

Wanda kissed your forehead. “It must be hard, baby. You’ve been working so hard…”

You nodded. “I really want all of this to be over,” you muttered into her chest, feeling more resigned than miserable. 

“I know. Soon, honey.”

Since neither of you had dinner, you spent a few minutes in bed discussing what to eat and getting occasionally distracted when Wanda kept teasing you — she knew all too well how ticklish you were, and she truly couldn’t help herself. 

You and Wanda decided on ordering takeout because you wanted Chinese food and she wasn’t any good at making it. Back up in the bedroom after the food arrived, you and Wanda had dinner with a movie playing on her laptop. 

Wrapped up in her clothes, you savoured the feeling of being with her — not needing to be or do anything but share dinner with her while leaning against her shoulder. 

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, looking down at you with a gentle smile. 

You looked up and met her eyes, nodding. 

“I feel much better,” you said. 

She kissed the top of your head, and everything else besides just you and Wanda melted away for a while. 

[neonbonded]

MC is an independent, strong woman—we love her for that—but what if… what if she told the LIs she wanted to quit her job and go full-on wife, kids, stay-at-home life? I feel like it’d be fluffy and hilarious like Sylus and Caleb would be over the moon spoiling her into the richest most pampered wife in the country, and Xavier would immediately start making babies lol

Stay-At-Home Sweetheart

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: fluff, future talk, domestic life, possessiveness, soft power fantasies, rich boyfriend behavior ♡ a/n: thank you for the suggestion—this was such a fun little fluffy write! I hope you enjoy your taste of spoiled wife life

CALEB — “So you’re telling me… I get to spoil you forever?”

You say it offhandedly.

You’re sitting in his lap, one leg draped lazily over his thigh, sipping tea in your sleep shirt while he’s scrolling through post-mission reports.

You don’t even think he’s really listening when you mumble,

“What if I just quit and stayed home full time? Cooked, cleaned, wore pretty dresses. Full wife mode.”

But Caleb freezes.

Like you slapped him with an engagement ring.

His hands drop to your hips. His head tilts. He stares at you like you just offered him divinity.

“Wait. Say that again.”

You blink. “I said maybe I want to be a stay-at-home—”

“Wife.” “You said wife. Don’t skip the good part.”

You try to laugh it off. “I mean, it’s a dumb idea—”

“No, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

And he’s already spiraling.

Out loud.

“You’d look so good barefoot in the kitchen. No. Wait. In my t-shirt. Holding a toddler and a spatula. Crying over a baking fail while I kiss it better—Jesus Christ.”

You: “You okay?”

“Absolutely not.”

Five minutes later, he’s dragging out a notepad and scribbling:

“Baby name list, but chaotic: Nova, Toast, Jellybean???”

“Do we buy a second house or just knock out the wall next door?”

“I need to up my life insurance because you’re not lifting anything heavier than a glass of wine ever again.”

You tease him—ask if he’s going to make you do laundry, too.

His response?

“You? Laundry? No. You’ll be too busy getting railed over the dryer while I fold towels with one hand.”

You: “CALEB.”

He grabs your face in both hands, deadly serious.

“I love your independence. Your brilliance. Your strength.”

A pause.

“But if you ever, ever, give me permission to spoil you full-time, to keep you warm and soft and loved and mine all day long?”

“I will become the most insufferable, overprotective, apron-wearing husband in recorded history.”

And the worst part?

He’s dead serious.

There’s already a Pinterest board. And a credit card. And probably a draft resignation email saved to your tablet—you didn’t write it.

But Caleb?

He’s just… ready.

Because to him, you are home. And if you want to stay there forever?

He’ll make it a kingdom.

XAVIER —“If that’s what you want… I’ll take care of the rest.”

It’s quiet.

Late evening, somewhere between mission fatigue and domestic stillness. You’re both curled up on the couch—your legs stretched across his lap, his hand absently resting on your shin.

He’s reading through intel logs. You’re chewing on the corner of a cookie. The room smells like his tea and your lotion and something safe.

And then you say it. Casual. Sleepy. Barely even meaning to.

“I’ve been thinking about quitting fieldwork. Just staying home. Full wife era. Maybe some kids. You’d visit on lunch breaks, and I’d make bad pancakes in your hoodie.”

You don’t even look at him right away. You expect a raised brow. A quiet “You’d get bored in a week.”

But instead?

Silence.

Followed by the soft slide of a datapad being set down.

Then his hand curls around your ankle. Just slightly. Anchoring.

“You’d really want that?”

You glance over.

His face is still neutral—stoic, quiet, unreadable—but his eyes?

Locked on you. Sharp. Focused. Lit with something that looks too much like longing to be casual.

You nod, shy. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just sounds… nice.”

He’s quiet for a second longer.

Then?

“Then we should start planning.”

You blink. “Planning what?”

“Everything.”

And then—without a hint of irony:

“I’ll map out when I can reduce field time. We’ll need a safer neighborhood. Somewhere with open sky. Room for a crib.”

You stare.

“Wait, are you being serious—?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says simply. “You said kids. You want to stay home. That’s not something I’d let you do alone.”

His fingers trace a line down your calf.

Soft. Possessive.

“You want a family with me.”

You flush. “I said maybe—”

“Maybe is enough.”

He leans in. Presses a kiss to your knee.

“We’d be good at it. You’d be good at it.”

Then, softer—more vulnerable than he usually lets himself sound:

“I think I’ve wanted that longer than I realized.”

You’re too stunned to reply.

So he does what he always does: fills the silence with something that sounds like logic but bleeds affection around the edges.

“We’ll need to track your cycle,” he murmurs. “If we’re going to do this properly.”

You: “XAVIER—”

He shrugs. Calm. Unfazed.

“I’ve already marked probable dates.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or climb into his lap and tell him to start now.

(You do both.)

RAFAYEL — “My muse… in an apron? I need to sit down.”

He’s painting.

Or pretending to.

Really, he’s mostly shirtless, barefoot, standing in the center of his studio surrounded by chaotic swatches of violet and gold while a brush dangles lazily between two fingers.

And you?

You’re curled up on the floor near the open window, sipping tea, flipping through a magazine when you say:

“I kind of want to quit working. Just stay home. Full-time wife. Cook, nap, look hot, raise tiny artistic children who only wear linen and answer to names like Moth and Cypress.”

You mean it jokingly.

Casually.

But the sound of a paintbrush hitting the floor makes your head snap up.

Rafayel’s just staring at you.

Mouth slightly open.

Eyes blown wide.

“You…” he breathes. “You want to be mine?”

You blink. “I— I am yours?”

“No, no. I mean domestically. Biblically. Artistically. Legally.”

And then?

He drops to one knee in the most chaotic half-prayer, half-shock position you’ve ever seen.

“I always knew you were divinely unhinged, but this—this is the final painting. My muse. My wife. My aproned disaster angel. I need a moment.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

He lunges for you.

Pulls you into his lap on the floor, paint still wet on his hands, smearing across your shirt like it’s a signature.

“Say it again.”

You: “What?”

“That you want to stay home. That you want to make soup and babies and let me buy you pastel oven mitts.”

You laugh. “I mean, I do like pastel.”

“We’ll get matching ones. For the baby.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

“Rafayel—”

“I want them to have your mouth and my hair. Or your hair and my mouth. Either way, they’ll be dramatic and ruinous.”

He starts sketching. On your thigh. With paint-stained fingers.

“Tiny limbs. Stubborn expression. Covered in jam. Perfect.”

You can’t stop laughing now, your face buried in his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be more excited about this than me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he hums, kissing your collarbone. “I’ve been ready to ruin you with love since the moment you snuck into my studio and insulted my color palette.”

You whisper, “So you’d really want that?”

And for once, he goes still.

Serious.

His fingers curl at your waist.

“I’d worship you every day for it.”

“I’d paint your swollen belly and your tired eyes and your messy hair like it’s the only truth I’ve ever known.”

A beat.

“You don’t have to be anything for me. But if you want to just… be loved? Be kept?”

His voice drops.

“I was made for that.”

ZAYNE — “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

You say it on a Tuesday.

The apartment smells like coffee and something citrusy—probably the linen spray you used on the couch that made him sneeze earlier.

You’re curled into the corner of the sectional, legs tucked under you, still in one of his oversized shirts from last night. Your hair’s a mess. Your heart? Still not at full strength after last month’s mission.

Zayne’s at the kitchen island, scrolling through research on his tablet.

And that’s when you say it:

“I’m thinking of quitting.”

His eyes don’t move at first.

Just a slow blink. Still calm.

“Quitting…?”

You shrug, voice light. “Hunting. The whole thing. Maybe it’s time. I could stay home. Rest. Get spoiled. Be your sexy little housewife or whatever.”

You expect a scoff.

Some half-snide retort.

Instead?

He sets the tablet down.

Quietly.

Then walks over.

You blink up at him. “What?”

He crouches in front of you.

Not joking. Not teasing.

Just… looking.

“Say it again.”

You falter. “That I want to quit?”

He nods once. Slow. Like he’s memorizing every word.

And then?

He exhales. Deep. Controlled.

“Good.”

“Zayne?”

His hand comes up to your chest—right over your heart. Like he’s checking it. Like he always does. Thumb brushing that familiar spot beneath your collarbone.

“Do you know what it’s been like watching you come home hurt?” he says softly. “Waiting to see if you’ll faint halfway through a sentence because your pulse is erratic again?”

You go quiet.

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle.

“You think I didn’t notice how your hands were shaking after that last field run? Or how long you spent in the medbay?”

“I didn’t want you to worry—”

“I do worry.”

A pause.

Then—

“But if you’re really done… if I can finally stop wondering whether your heart will give out before mine ever gets the chance to break…”

He trails off.

Then rests his forehead against your knees.

Breath shaky. But steadying.

“Then I’ll build you the quietest life imaginable.”

“You’ll never have to lift a finger again. Not if I can help it.”

You lean down, fingers threading through his hair.

He presses a kiss to your thigh.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he whispers.

And for the first time in months?

He doesn’t check your pulse again.

Because for once, he can feel it—steady. Safe. Home.

SYLUS — “You want to be mine? Fully? Then say it again.”

It starts as a joke.

Just a passing comment while you’re still half-asleep in his bed, buried in his obscenely expensive sheets.

“I think I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

You say it with a yawn. Barely conscious.

But Sylus?

He stills.

Lays back on the pillow and turns his head toward you.

His eyes narrow just slightly. That unreadable look—the one that means he’s calculating something dangerous in the background.

“Say that again.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What?”

“What you just said.”

You hesitate. Then mumble, “I said I wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

His smirk curves slow and sharp.

He sits up. Drapes one arm across the headboard. The sheets slide down his chest, revealing the fine lines of muscle.

“Finally,” he murmurs.

“Finally what?”

He leans in.

“Finally you’re giving me an excuse to spoil the hell out of you without pretending to feel guilty about it.”

You blink. “Wait, I was joking—”

“No, you weren’t.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“I’ve seen the way you melt when I buy you things. The way you light up when I feed you. The way you pout when I’m gone too long.”

He grabs his phone from the nightstand.

You frown. “What are you doing?”

“Canceling every mission you had this week.”

Tap. Tap.

“Calling my architect to add another garden wing to the house.”

Tap.

“And messaging my tailor to start designing custom loungewear.”

“…Sylus.”

“You’ll need something to wear while you parade around this apartment doing absolutely nothing except looking pretty.”

You try to sit up, but he throws an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap instead.

“No more early meetings. No more danger. No more stress.”

His fingers trail down your spine.

“Just this. Me. Spoiling you.”

You blink up at him. “What if I get bored?”

He smiles slowly. Dangerous and amused.

“Then I’ll give you something to do.”

“Like what?”

His voice drops.

“Like carrying my last name.”

“Like letting me put a baby in you.”

You go silent.

Your face heats.

And Sylus?

He just hums against your neck.

“Thought so.”

“Now shut up and let me shop for your new walk-in closet.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

The flotsam and jetsam of our digital queries and transactions, the flurry of electrons flitting about, warm the medium of air. Heat is the waste product of computation, and if left unchecked, it becomes a foil to the workings of digital civilization. Heat must therefore be relentlessly abated to keep the engine of the digital thrumming in a constant state, 24 hours a day, every day. To quell this thermodynamic threat, data centers overwhelmingly rely on air conditioning, a mechanical process that refrigerates the gaseous medium of air, so that it can displace or lift perilous heat away from computers. Today, power-hungry computer room air conditioners (CRACs) or computer room air handlers (CRAHs) are staples of even the most advanced data centers. In North America, most data centers draw power from “dirty” electricity grids, especially in Virginia’s “data center alley,” the site of 70 percent of the world’s internet traffic in 2019. To cool, the Cloud burns carbon, what Jeffrey Moro calls an “elemental irony.” In most data centers today, cooling accounts for greater than 40 percent of electricity usage.

[...]

The Cloud now has a greater carbon footprint than the airline industry. A single data center can consume the equivalent electricity of 50,000 homes. At 200 terawatt hours (TWh) annually, data centers collectively devour more energy than some nation-states. Today, the electricity utilized by data centers accounts for 0.3 percent of overall carbon emissions, and if we extend our accounting to include networked devices like laptops, smartphones, and tablets, the total shifts to 2 percent of global carbon emissions. Why so much energy? Beyond cooling, the energy requirements of data centers are vast. To meet the pledge to customers that their data and cloud services will be available anytime, anywhere, data centers are designed to be hyper-redundant: If one system fails, another is ready to take its place at a moment’s notice, to prevent a disruption in user experiences. Like Tom’s air conditioners idling in a low-power state, ready to rev up when things get too hot, the data center is a Russian doll of redundancies: redundant power systems like diesel generators, redundant servers ready to take over computational processes should others become unexpectedly unavailable, and so forth. In some cases, only 6 to 12 percent of energy consumed is devoted to active computational processes. The remainder is allocated to cooling and maintaining chains upon chains of redundant fail-safes to prevent costly downtime.

[renae-nicole-lynn]

More Invincible x Frankenstein's Monster!Reader Headcanons

A/N: Why? Sometimes I like the ideas I come up with. These are in no particular order in terms of timeline or otherwise, like bare minimum organization period, other than mostly being based in season 1

There is another part to ‘Why Him?” coming soon so keep an eye out for that, assuming I have it out before the hype completely dies if it hasn’t already 🫠. Also @sweatinghoneybee left a really cool analysis on my first headcanon post and you should absolutely read it.

As the old story goes, stolen limbs were sewn together to create you. And with a shock of electricity and the worst pain you have ever felt since, you became something from nothing. Originally after your creator for robbing the gravesites of heroes, the GDA finds you abandoned and Cecil, seeing the potential, decides to take you in and train you.

You’re taught how to hone your abilities through physical and mental disciplines, eventually excelling in hand-to-hand combat, shooting, and academics. Most of all, you’re taught how to survive, to blend into a crowd effortlessly. With a hologram watch(or bracelet depending on your style) that hides the two white streaks in your hair and the scars and stitches that hold your body together, you look as human as it gets. Sure as hell doesn’t feel like it sometimes, if at all.

Your costume is created from a material that can repair itself as fast as it can be pulled apart, making it easy when you have to detach a limb during a mission. Completed with holsters for guns, medical kit, etc.; tactile, not flashy, perfect for working in the shadows.

Once you’re deemed ready to start doing fieldwork, that's exactly where you start. You watch, you learn, you report to Cecil anything noteworthy.

You only really start doing civilian work when you start doing part-time missions with Team Teen and eventually with Mark. Even then you’re something of an urban legend, keeping your distance from civilians as much as possible last time you interacted directly with civilians it didn't end well. Most pictures of you are back shots and the ones of your face were too blurry to make out any defining features save from your signature white streaks and scars/stitches.

You and Mark were sitting across from each other at Burger Mart when he asked, “How come you don’t have a hero name?”

You take a sip of soda as you consider his question. “Why, ‘Weird Stitch Monster Thing and Invincible’ doesn’t scream ‘dynamic duo’ to you?”

After the discussion confession on the roof there was nothing like a formal agreement or secret handshake; the two or you as a duo just felt right, as both heroes and romantically, it was almost instinctive.

Mark rolled his eyes playfully. “Just curious, I’ve seen a lot of people online talking about it.”

You sat back against your side of the booth. “Having a name typically means interacting with civilians on some level regularly, something I clearly don’t do too often because Reasons.”

Mark winced. He knew what you were talking about, your first interaction with civilians gone bad was one of the first stories you told him.

“Besides the whole ‘mysterious person’ thing I got going on is enough for people to remember me by, no hero name required.”

This changed weeks later when some civilian heard Rex Splode call you ‘Corpse Bride’ and the name quickly circulated online.

Mark struggled and failed to not to laugh as you gripped his shoulders with utter panic and disgust. “I don’t care what my hero name is, it will not be something the poor man King Bomb-omb gave me.”

He snorted as he squeezed your hands comfortingly. “We’ll think of something.”

In the early days of your relationship, you weren’t used to casual displays of affection, i.e. holding hands or Mark’s arm casually wrapped around your shoulder. He’s patient with you, always asking if you’re okay before doing anything. Eventually, it’s as natural as breathing to you both.

Compared to your naturally chilly body temperature, Mark’s warmth feels like heaven oh the joys of being a reanimated corpse and a half-alien respectively. Whenever you’re curled up together you wrap your limbs around him and bury your face in his neck, getting close as you possibly can. Not that he’s any better, during the warmer weather the boy’s clinging to you like a koala.

Stealing kisses from each other while on patrol and sparring becomes a regular thing. It gets to a point where your friends/teammates learn to give a warning before they enter a room with the two of you in it, especially when you two began to take things a little further.

When you both have free time you’ll cuddle up in his room and read comic books together quietly. You two don’t talk, you don’t need to, just being in each other’s company was enough.

You are a nerd through and through. Sometimes when you and Mark hang out together you’ll go on science rants and geek out over a recent paper that was published. He never seems to mind though, you’ve even caught him staring at you with an adorably dopey look on his face as he listened to one of your rants

You cut your tangent off and looked at Mark guiltily. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…” You trailed off when you saw the look on his face.

He had his chin propped up by his palm, and he was watching you with a soft look in his eyes and an even softer smile on his face. When he realized you were actually looking at him, he blinked and quickly shook his head. "No no, don't apologize." His cheeks turned a light pink and he scratched the back of his head. "I like listening to you."

You awkwardly tap your fingers against the table. "Yeah?"

He shrugged as if it was the most simplest thing in the world. "Yeah, it's cute."

You look away, if you could blush would probably be pink like him. “I guess it’s fair considered how many Seance Dog tangents I’ve had to sit through.”

“Hey!”

You totally think he’s cute when he goes on his own tangents, don’t lie.

Of course, this means study dates with the classic kiss every time a question was answered correctly. Given your high intelligence and the motivation of getting to kiss you, Mark’s grades improve and Debbie loves you for it.

Speaking of which, when it’s time to meet the parents you charm and are charmed by your boyfriend’s mom. You think of her as a pillar of strength for being a wife and mother to heroes, she thinks you’re good for Mark because you keep him grounded inside and outside of hero life. Nolan was perfectly polite, asking all the right questions a parent should ask their kid’s partner; but you got the sense that he didn't approve of your relationship with Mark. It wasn’t until after his murder of the the Guardians of The Globe and using Mark to massacre Chicago.

As you sat beside his hospital bed, you thought back to the moment he left you and Will in the Burger Mart parking lot. I should have done more to keep him there, I should have ignored Cecil and gone to Chicago and helped…

Shouldn’ts went going to help you now. Your thoughts turned angry as you looked at Mark’s broken body. Omni-Man wanted to use the sweet boy you loved as a weapon. Next time you would be ready, next time you would defend Mark to your last breath.

Later, when you two had a moments alone, you just held each other in his bed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

You felt his hold on you tighten. “I’m glad you weren’t,” you could feel him begin to shake. “God, if he had killed you- I need you to promise me if he comes back you’ll run.”

You pulled away just enough you were looking him in the eye. “I am not going to leave you! If he comes back we face him or anything else together!”

“I can’t lose you!”

“And I can’t lose you! So fuck running away, fuck you, we’re stronger together!”

“Why are you so stubborn?!”

“Because my boyfriend almost died and he’s asking me to abandon him if he’s ever in that situation again!” Your voice cracked, and this time you tightened your grip on him. “Never ask me to abandon you ever, please.”

The two of you stared at each other silently for a while before Mark sighed, letting his forehead fall against yours. “Okay.”

You let your eyes closed and pressed your palm against his beating heart.

He was here, broken but alive.

You were together.

Things were going to be okay.

“Okay.”

[wedreamedlove]

[FIC] touch me softly and i'm yours

Rating: Explicit Characters: Osborn/Reader Word Count: 14,138

Summary: He has never asked for or expected anything from the world, he has only wanted to find a small corner he can call home, and you’re fortunate enough to be able to build one with him.

A/N: 20:00 Osborn's 2024 Birthday Relay. Beastmen AU with a black panther Osborn and human reader.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

The manual clock you deliberately hung up on the wall carries out its job diligently, making every second that passes tighten the air until the atmosphere in the underground office is oppressive. You turn the last page of the mission report you’re reading and then toss it onto your desk, the papers scattering haphazardly, before you raise your eyes to look at the man standing in front of you.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”

The man bristles at your question. “They shorted me.”

“So you do know.” You comment lightly. “If the client doesn’t honor their end of the contract, then you report it and leave it to the organization to rectify it. You’re not to take personal action.”

He slams his hands on your desk and leans forward, snarling. “AND LET YOU HUMANS KEEP MAKING DECISIONS FOR US BEASTMEN?”

Your heart rate jolts and then rockets up when you see the man partially transform; wolf fur sprouts down his sideburns, his jaw lengthens to give the illusion of a muzzle, fangs slip out from under his lips, pointed ears appear on the top of his head, and most noticeably his voice gains an inhuman growl that layers his words. However, despite your racing heartbeat, your hands remain steady and your body is relaxed when you meet his animalistic pupils.

It was a mission a couple of years ago, some time after you turned of age, where your grandmother sent you out into the field to meet with an informant and retrieve their report. In her words, if you were to inherit her position and the organization, then you had to experience every aspect of the organization, from administration to fieldwork. Naturally, your grandmother still made sure you would be safe and sent your bodyguard, Osborn, with you.

However, what should have been a simple task rapidly escalated into a dangerous extraction mission when the informant was exposed and captured. You and Osborn spent a week to map out the safehouse where the informant was kept, the schedule of the guards, and confirm an entry and exit route. After everything was in place, all that was left was to execute the plan.

“Scared?” Osborn asked while checking over his equipment with an efficiency that bordered on ruthless.

“No,” you replied as you tried to tighten the straps of your protective vest and failed for the third time.

There was a beat of silence before a pair of callused hands knocked yours aside and corrected the fit of the vest for you. “Here’s a tip, beastmen can hear and smell physiological responses, so there’s no hiding anything and us beastmen value honesty.”

You looked up from your vest and crashed into a pair of sea-green eyes that burned bright with an unknown emotion. His pupils had contracted into the characteristic slit of beastmen in anticipation of the upcoming fight, but you had never been scared of these eyes. You held each other’s stare for a moment and just as he was about to withdraw his hands you grabbed the edge of his sleeve.

“I’m scared,”‌ you said, a hint of a challenge seeping into your tone.

Surprise flashed across‌ Osborn’s face, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be honest with him, but then he pulled his sleeve out of your grip to raise his hand to your head, ruffling your hair like you were younger than him despite how you were both the same age. “Danger has never been worth fearing, the source of fear lies in the unknown. But once you truly understand yourself and you’ve done all possible preparations, then the unknown and fear will disappear. So, the best way to confront danger is to learn to enjoy it. Besides, no matter what happens, you still have me.”

Oh. You understood the emotion you saw in his eyes earlier now. It was excitement.

Strangely, his words reassured some part of you and you found your trembling hands turn steady. In that pair of eyes that were as clear as an untouched lake in the mountains, you saw the reflection of your own eyes get touched by a similar excitement.

“OK, I’m ready now.”

The untouched lake in the mountains rippled with his smile, catching the sunlight and glimmering with something both of you weren’t ready to recognize yet.

It’s instinct for a fight or flight response to kick in when humans find themselves in front of an apex predator. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re scared. You embrace the adrenaline coursing through you and, without making any attempt to hide your pounding heartbeat, you stare unflinchingly into the eyes of the wolf beastman in front of you and you see his stance falter at your reaction.

“You clearly trust in the organization enough to remain here after my grandmother passed away and made me her successor. If you no longer agree with how I‌ run things, then the door is right behind you.”

There is a minute flinch from the beastman when you call out his bluff.

Unfortunately, despite the better treatment of beastmen presently, it wasn’t very long ago when humans had treated them as beasts of burden or pets. In fact, it was only more than a century ago that beastmen were given rights, but there were still many humans who were reluctant to accept them and this caused the beastmen to form groups of their own that tried to carve out spaces for themselves, legally or illegally. In response, humans reacted harshly and created segregated zones; however, there were also sympathetic humans who struck a compromise with beastmen and created organizations where they, in essence, vouched for beastmen and provided places for them to work and live without discrimination. The organization your grandmother founded and passed onto you is one of these, except that behind its public operations it also handles illegal commissions.

In short, if the beastman leaves he will have a hard time surviving on his own and will only be able to hope for another organization or group of beastmen to take him in. However, taking into account the illegal commissions your organization accepts, he likely has his fair share of enemies that will leap at the easy target of a lone wolf.

Your eyes turn cold. “If you’re done posturing, your punishment for acting on your own and breaking the rules is to be barred from taking any commissions and to report to the archives for a week. I hear they need more hands to revamp the database.”

The beastman reflexively raises his lip to bare his teeth but he wilts under your frigid stare and the wolf features withdraw seamlessly as he grits his teeth, nods in acknowledgment of his punishment, and turns around to storm out the door.

You look back down at the scattered report on your desk and sigh as you gather the papers together again and turn to pick up your tablet, steeling yourself for the headache-inducing task of resolving the mess the wolf beastman made. You have instructions to send to your executives.

There is a knock on the door when you are in the middle of a conversation with one of your executives and so you tell whoever it is outside to come in, but you don’t raise your eyes from the tablet screen. It’s a small power play for you to make whoever enters wait for you to give them your attention.

Five minutes later, after your executive confirms your orders and goes to carry them out, you flip your tablet over and look up only to see Osborn leaning against the door behind him, watching you with a smile on the corners of his lips.

“Osborn!? Why didn’t you say anything!”

You hurriedly stand up and round your desk. Last you heard, your boyfriend had been out completing a commission and wasn’t due back for another day.

Osborn steps forward to meet you, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “I was enjoying the scenery. Mn, as expected, my girlfriend is very pretty when she’s working seriously.”

A blush dusts your cheeks at his direct compliment and you cough into your fist to hide your own smile as you force yourself to sound stern. “Lift up your shirt.”

Osborn’s eyebrows fly up and he makes a show of looking around your office and over his shoulder at the closed door before asking, “Right here? You’re bold today.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch his implication and the faint blush on your face deepens into a bright red. This was something he clearly waited for, because Osborn grins like a mischievous boy who pulled off a successful prank.

“OSBORN!” You glare at him. “I’m checking to see if a certain someone is injured or not since he always loves to hide this from me. Lift up your shirt right now!”

“Tsk, imagine if someone heard that. You, the great leader of our organization, ordering me, a poor beastman, to lift his shirt up all alone in your office.” Even though Osborn continues to talk back, his hands reach down to pull his shirt out of his pants and raise the bottom of it to his collarbone.

The white incandescent ceiling lights in the underground office hide nothing and also cast a shine on the expanse of healthy wheat-colored skin that is suddenly exposed in front of you, giving it a marble-like sheen. Sleek. That is always the first word that pops into your mind whenever you see Osborn’s bare body; he has the classic triangle of broad shoulders that taper into a trim waist, but his height and long legs prevent him from looking bulky. Dangerous. That is the second word that follows after the first; Osborn’s body fat percentage is on the lower end and this causes his muscles to stand out in stark definition, drawing attention to all the coiled power in his frame. Temptation. That is the third word. Like the last dabs of ink on a work of art, there are four beauty marks on Osborn: one at the corner of his right eye, inviting you to kiss it; one on his collarbone, inviting you to suck it; and two right above his pelvis, inviting you to place your fingers on them and slide them down to trace the protruding vein on his lower abdomen to explore the depths that trail of hair below his navel leads—

You have to drag your attention off his body and refocus on searching for injuries. Happily, you don’t see any gashes, holes, burns, bandages, or stitches, even when you walk around to his back. There are only faint white scars scattered here and there that are unnoticeable unless you look closely or—and you know this through personal experience—when you run your hands over those tiny bumps. Like postage stamps, these scars record the places he’s walked, the sights he’s seen, and the situations he’s experienced.

Despite not being able to see you, Osborn seems to sense the downturn in your mood and he speaks up, “See?‌ Not a scratch. I’m much more careful with my life now.”

You give a noncommittal hum in response and finish your inspection to come back to stand in front of him. Then, before he can drop his shirt, you stick your left hand onto him right below his belly button, the tip of your thumb brushing against the waistband of his pants.

His body reflexively tenses but you feel him forcibly relax as you slide your hand up, traveling over the hills and valleys of his abdominal muscles, so that by the time your hand reaches his chest, your fingers sink into his skin rather than press into something as hard as steel. What was a boyfriend’s godly physique for other than to let his girlfriend ravage him like a stress toy?

You try your best to keep your lips flat and suppress the silly smitten smile that wants to appear, but you’re not sure you succeed when you feel the vibrations of Osborn’s chuckles, and then his shirt drops, draping over your hand that is still squeezing his chest, when he lets go to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into his chest, trapping your arm between your bodies.

“Feeling better?”

“Hm?” You look up now that the scenery is covered and meet his sea-green eyes that are equal parts amused and concerned.

“When I came in, your face was all scrunched up at the tablet. Got something bothering you?”

You purse your lips when you’re reminded of what happened earlier. “You know how there’s always been some unrest after I took over, right? It seems to be getting worse.”

Ever since your grandmother passed away and you succeeded the organization, there were humans and beastmen who thought you were too young or that you would be a pushover. Your mother died early in your childhood due to an illness and your father chose to leave, wanting nothing to do with beastmen, and so you were raised by your grandmother.‌ When you were old enough to understand what the organization truly did, your grandmother had given you the choice to inherit her position or to leave like your father. You chose to stay because you shared her beliefs in working towards a future where humans and beastmen could be equals.

Osborn frowns. “I thought we dealt with most of them back then. Tell me who it is now and I’ll handle it.”

You shake your head. “No, that won’t solve the root of the problem.”

“But it’ll feel good,” he jokes.

His shameless response pulls a laugh out of you, which was probably his goal, and you raise your right hand to tap his nose, dodging the exaggerated snap of his teeth.

Osborn doesn’t insist on his suggestion because you both know it will only delay the issue. If he metes out punishment in your stead, then the other beastmen will only act obedient when he’s around, but the moment he’s gone they will test you again and even harder this time, believing that you’re hiding behind Osborn’s back. It’s instinct for beastmen to submit only to strength and, while you don’t blame them for being guided by their primal drive, it doesn’t make this any less of a headache.

As you pull your hand back your eyes land on the choker collar around Osborn’s neck.

The first time you met Osborn you were 11 years old and had just slipped out from under the watch of your bodyguard to explore the neighborhood while the adults had their boring meeting. Your grandmother had brought you on this trip to introduce you to the heads of other organizations, but there was nothing for you to do after that and your bodyguard didn’t want to play, so you could only take matters into your own hands.

You went on an adventure in the industrial district alone, climbing pipes, squeezing through holes in fences, and peeking into every nook and cranny of this concrete jungle. It was in the middle of this exploration that you suddenly heard the raucous laughter of other kids and followed the noise to a warehouse where you saw a group of boys using sticks and stones to bully a snarling black panther cub, although at the time you thought he was just a large black kitten.

Without a second thought, you shoved past the boys roughly and stood in front of the panther, spreading out your arms to protect him as you yelled at the boys to leave him alone. The kids told you that it was an evil beastman behind you, which only made you angrier and you picked up one of the rocks they threw at the panther to throw right back at them. The group of boys would have made you their next target if they hadn’t noticed the quality of your clothes and shoes and realized that they couldn’t afford to anger whichever family you were from.

After the bullies left, you wiped your sweaty hands on your dress and turned to the black panther who had quieted down. He gave a warning hiss when you walked over but was shocked into silence when you reached out to pet his head without any fear and cooed over his injuries. You even removed your hair ribbon to tie around his injured paw.

It took a while for your grandmother and the rest of your group to find you and, by that time, you had fallen asleep against the panther. You were only woken when he snarled loudly at anyone who tried to approach you and him. It was only when you were older that you learned the reason why no one tried to forcibly separate you two was because beastmen who lost control and returned to their beast forms were extremely dangerous, both to themselves and to others in their instinctive state.

Later, after you calmed everyone down and convinced your grandmother to help the black panther beastman get back on his feet, he ended up as your bodyguard, Osborn. You had argued with your grandmother over this because, in your child’s mind, having a beastman bodyguard went against what the organization stood for, but she refused to change her decision and so you could only set your sights on getting Osborn to be the one to reject this position.

As a child and then a teenager, Osborn had been reticent and extremely stubborn. When he joined the organization, he immediately chose to be a future bounty hunter in addition to being your bodyguard and so, whenever he was not on bodyguard duty, he would be training or running alongside the older and more experienced hunters on easy missions.

Whenever he was on bodyguard duty, you tried to escape his watch many times, hoping you could either annoy him enough to make him quit or get him in trouble with your grandmother, but no matter where you went he was always there right behind you. You remember losing your temper one day and throwing a collar at him, saying that if he was going to follow you around like a dog then he should look the part. This was your last resort in the hopes that a collar would be insulting enough to make him stop being your bodyguard. However, Osborn simply looked at the collar that had struck his chest and fallen to the ground, bent down to pick it up, and put it around his neck without a word.

It took a long period of time before you eventually confessed to him about your wish for his life not to revolve around you. You had always thought he was bound for freedom and that, like the color of his eyes, he was a staunch and resilient cedar tree on a wintry mountain, not needing to rely on anything or anyone but himself. This was when Osborn revealed that your grandmother gave him many options back then, but he was the one who chose to be a bounty hunter and requested to be your bodyguard.

After this misunderstanding was cleared, the distance between you two shortened greatly and the collar became something of an inside joke. At the beginning, there were beastmen who thought Osborn being collared meant he was weak, but after he repeatedly showed his dominance over them, there were less and less people who questioned his collar. Those who felt his fists knew not to doubt his strength and those who joined the organization later just assumed it was a strange quirk. Over time, the choker collar around Osborn’s neck became a familiar and unremarkable sight.

A sting that comes from your finger brings your meandering thoughts in the past back to the present and you see that Osborn has taken your right hand, put your finger into his mouth, and pressed a fang to it, not hard enough to break the skin but just hard enough to deliver a prick of pain.

“You’re not allowed to be absentminded around me,” He growls playfully.

You pull your finger out of his mouth and place it under his chin, pushing to tilt his head up. Osborn follows the action and bares his throat to you with a nonchalant smile on the edges of his lips.

“I wasn’t absentminded, I was considering our problem.”

You turn your finger over and slide it down Osborn’s chin and throat to run into the choker collar around his neck. An idea is sprouting in your mind. You only need to do something that can satisfy the primal instincts of beastmen to have them acknowledge you as being stronger than them, but who says it has to be a show of skill on your part?

“I recognize that look. You’re cooking something up in that brain of yours.” The vibration of his vocal cords passes through the collar to your finger.

“If I ask you to cooperate with me no matter what I do, would you?”

“Naturally, but what do I get out of it?”

“A favor for a favor.”

His eyes sharpen with interest. Normally, whenever you two play this game of “payment”‌ the expectation is a meal, a hug, a kiss, or maybe bedtime activities, to give a favor as payment means you’re planning something large or something you feel might be an imposition on him.

Osborn tilts his head and reaches up to remove your hand from his throat, intertwining his fingers with yours, before he gives you a slow smile. “Oh?‌ Should I‌ be worried now?”

You give him a fierce look. “Just tell me whether you’ll accept or not.”

“OK, OK, of course I accept, when have I not obeyed my girlfriend?” He chuckles and lowers his head to nuzzle his nose against your nose.

===

Several days later, after Osborn’s mission report arrives in your email inbox, the opportunity you’ve been waiting for appears.

You send a text to Osborn, telling him you’re calling in the favor and that you need him to be at The Pit this evening. He responds with a sticker of a black panther cub sitting with polite paws and saluting with its tail. The sticker is so cute you can’t help but send a row of emojis of a hand with its palm down to express petting. He replies again with an animated sticker where the panther cub reaches up to grab a hand and pulls it down onto its head. You’re unable to suppress the smile that stretches across your face as you turn off the screen.

The Pit is a local hangout for beastmen in the organization, functioning as a pub that serves food as well as a place for beastmen to gather, exchange information, or simply unwind and have fun. Humans are naturally allowed but, due to the large presence of predators there, they don’t frequent the place. All of this serves your objective though and you carefully pick out your weapons for tonight, demanding perfection from your choice of clothes to your makeup.

By the time you make your way to The Pit, you can already hear loud noise spilling through the closed doors into the hallway. The pub is at its peak hours and more packed than usual, on account of it being a‌ Friday night, and just five minutes earlier Osborn had sent you a sticker of the panther cub peeking out from behind a wall, clearly wondering where you are.

Stopping at the door, you allow yourself one deep inhale and exhale. This is going to be the performance of a lifetime. And then you push open the door and step inside.

There is a lull in activity when the beastmen catch sight of you, but conversations quickly resume, quieter than before though since many are evidently curious about your presence here. Humans are already rare enough in The Pit, to say nothing of the boss of the organization coming here. You ignore the gazes and scan the interior of the pub, searching for and finding Osborn in an armchair in the corner, and stride over to him, although you nearly pause when you see that he’s not wearing a shirt under his cropped leather jacket for some reason.

Osborn is in the middle of raising a glass of whiskey to his lips when he catches sight of you and you see him stop to take you in over the rim of the glass, his eyes moving up slowly from your heels to the black knee-length side-slit skirt, the navy underbust corset with subtle embroidery, the white chemise blouse, and the black overcoat draped over your shoulders that fans out behind you. You know you’re the very image of an elegant businesswoman, but the most important points of your outfit are your bright red heels, your bright red lips, and the way the embroidery on your corset catches the dim lights and shimmers gold-red. In the animal world, bright colors are associated with danger and right now you’re asserting that you’re the largest danger in this room.

You plant your feet in front of Osborn’s chair and throw the papers in your hand at him, letting it scatter in his lap. You deliberately printed out his mission report for this dramatic move. Osborn blinks and glances at the papers before lifting his eyes to yours and raising an eyebrow.

“Do you know what you did wrong?”‌‌‌ You open the conversation.

He gathers the report leisurely, skims the first page, and then sets it on the side table next to him. “I don’t.”

“I specifically told you to keep collateral damage low.”

He chuckles. “That was low.”

Out of patience with his back talk, you lift your foot and step right on his crotch, leaning forward to make your stance more aggressive and to loom over him.

He stills.

Sharp inhales come from the surrounding beastmen watching this show, but only you and Osborn know that the majority of your weight is at the front of your foot with the flat bottom and not the painful spike of the heel. Still, the sight is deceptive and this is exactly what you want.

“Don’t test my patience. Explain yourself, now,” you command.

“… They insulted you.”

“And? What, do you want praise for disobeying me to defend my honor? I can deal with them myself, but what do you think it looks like when a beastman in my organization disregards my direct instructions?”

You twist your foot, making it look like you’re grinding down on his groin although you aren’t using any strength, but to your surprise you can feel a change in the large mound under your shoe as it slowly expands and hardens. His chest is also rising and falling more prominently as his breathing deepens. You shoot your boyfriend a glance, asking him with your eyes if he’s seriously getting turned on at a time like this. Osborn looks back at you innocently, as if saying he can’t control his body’s honest reaction.

Then he reveals his beast ears and tail.

Osborn rarely shows his black panther traits in front of you for some reason and so this scene arrests your attention. Velvety black ears sprout from the top of his head before they immediately swivel backwards to give the illusion of his displeasure. A long, thick, black tail also appears and trails down from the leather armchair, the tip curling and uncurling.

Your distraction seems to be sensed and it’s Osborn’s touch when he wraps his left hand around your leg, just a bit below your knee, that brings you back to your senses. He’s still in character, an impertinent smile playing on the corners of his lips, but you can see the encouragement in his eyes for you to continue the act.

“You’re stepping on thin ice, little wildcat.” He layers his words with the characteristic growl of when a beastman’s control lessens.

You smile slowly—viciously. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here.”

And then you unleash your secret weapon. Your hand flashes forward to snap the hook of the leash, which you had wrapped around your arm to hide in your sleeve, onto the buckle of Osborn’s choker collar, and then you let a suitable length of the chain leash slide through your fingers before you catch the end of it and shoot your hand into the air, yanking Osborn’s head up and forcing his throat to be bared to you.

His glass of whiskey drops out of his hand and shatters on the ground.

It’s the only sound in the suddenly dead silent pub.

“If I say something is blue, then it’s blue. If I say it’s a clear day then it’s a clear day, even if it’s raining. If I tell you to go east, then you’re not to even look west. You can offer suggestions, you can offer opinions, but when I‌ give orders, you obey, because I am the law here. Do you understand?”

You see Osborn’s pupils dilate enormously, the calm surface of those malachite eyes consumed by the black of desire, and he swallows at your actions and words. Hard. His tail curls tightly and then unfurls to smack the side of the armchair rhythmically, revealing how he’s in a state of high stimulation.

“Do you understand?” You repeat, tugging the leash for emphasis.

There’s a constant vibration that travels through the leash to your hand, like Osborn is growling but it’s at a frequency too low for you to hear with your human ears. “… Yes.”

Everyone knows the significance of a bared throat. To reveal one’s throat is a sign of utter submission and no one can get near Osborn’s throat if he doesn’t allow them. So, for you to easily manhandle Osborn, the number one bounty hunter in the organization, cements your position above him. Any beastman will instinctively recoil at showing their throat to someone they don’t regard as being above them, whether that’s through choice or force. And here is Osborn, watching your performance with a heat in his eyes that threatens to engulf you.

Your mouth abruptly goes dry and you need to work to keep your voice level. “You’re not allowed to remove this leash until I‌ say so. It’s your punishment for disobeying my instructions this time.”

You lower your hand, pull your leg out of his loose hold to remove your foot from his crotch, and toss the rest of the chain leash into his lap. Your intent was to help him hide his erection, but when a low grunt escapes his lips at the impact of the leash dropping onto him, you send him a quick apologetic and guilty look. Then you turn on your heel and stride towards the door of the pub.

The stares and deafening silence from the rest of the beastmen descends on you and just as your steps are about to stutter from this weight you hear a voice.

“What, never seen someone get reprimanded? Stop staring and go back to what you were all doing,” Osborn drawls without a trace of embarrassment or anger in his voice.

His words immediately take attention off of you and you walk out of The‌ Pit without any mishaps.

===

Ever since your display at The Pit, you had no more incidents with the beastmen in the organization. Everyone gives you the respect you are due, if not even more. For example, the herbivore beastmen, who used to be neutral or friendly towards you, are all nervous around you now, as if you’re some kind of apex predator who will eat them at the next moment.

Oh, wait, there was one incident that happened afterwards and it was that you weren’t able to leave your bed the next day after Osborn visited you that very night to show his true response to your performance at The Pit.

These were all minor happenings though. The greatest trouble you’re currently facing is that Osborn’s birthday is tomorrow and you’re still torn on your list of presents for him. You already have a stack of boxes in one of the side rooms, filled with items that caught your eye throughout the year that you thought would suit Osborn. But these are all material objects and you know he doesn’t place much importance on those, instead the best thing to give him is something intangible, like an experience. The one thing that does come to your mind turns your cheeks red, but it’s also what you’ve been conflicted about for all these weeks.

Forget it, tomorrow you’ll take things one step at a time and decide whether or not to give Osborn his last present at the end of the day after the itinerary you have planned.

Turning off the lights, you set your phone alarm and head to bed early so that you can wake up at midnight to wish Osborn a happy birthday.

……

… You open your eyes in the darkness.

You don’t know how long you slept, but given how your bedroom is still dark not a lot of time must have passed. You aren’t exactly sure what woke you up, but you trust your instincts and so you keep your body relaxed and feign sleep while you strain your ears to catch any noise.

There. It’s the rustle of clothes as someone approaches your bed on silent feet.

Underneath your pillow, you wrap your fingers around the hilt of a dagger, inwardly calculating the distance of when you should attack. The intruder stops at the edge of your bed and makes no other movement for a while—it’s so silent you can hear their breathing deepen irregularly. Is it out of nervousness?‌ Or excitement?

Then you feel the bed dip from the weight of their knee pressing down on it and this is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. You whirl around, simultaneously pulling the sheath off of the dagger, and stab at the intruder. However, they seem unsurprised at your action and accurately grab and twist your wrist to make you drop the dagger. Undeterred, you’ve already curled your legs to launch a kick at their solar plexus. But they also seem to have predicted this and throw their weight onto your bent legs to stop them from kicking out.

The both of you crash down onto the bed and you’re about to headbutt them when you catch a whiff of damp black cedarwood at the same time you hear a familiar voice.

“Xiao Five, it’s me.”‌ Osborn grunts.

You immediately relax. “Osborn? Why did you sneak into my room and not say anything?‌ Don’t you know that’s dangerous?”

He lets go of your wrist but he doesn’t reply or move his weight off of you and this is when you notice his abnormality. His body temperature is much higher than usual and his breathing has become uneven as he nuzzles your neck, sniffing deeply. The strands of his hair that brush against your jaw and cheek are slightly wet, as if he came here right after taking a shower.

“Osborn?‌ Are you OK?‌”

“You still owe me a favor, right? I’m calling it in. Will you spend my heat with me?”‌ His voice has already gone husky, but when you unconsciously stiffen he presses light kisses to your neck in reassurance and doesn’t do anything further.

You and Osborn have been intimate together many times, but you’ve never spent his heat with him because you know it carries a heavy significance for beastmen. You feel like it’s something that can’t be done thoughtlessly and Osborn has always respected your stance on all things. In fact, at the start of the relationship, he told you with a seldom seen seriousness that, as a beastman, he would instinctively make all sorts of advances towards you, but you had the right to refuse him at any stage and he would wait until you gave him the green light. When you pointed out how this could be unfair to him, he had only laughed, scuffed your nose with a finger, and said you only needed to consider yourself.

There is no doubt this is simply another tentative advance from him and, if you refuse him here, he will immediately back off and deal with his heat by himself. He only brought up the favor to give you an excuse to use, in case you’re too embarrassed to directly agree.

You breathe in deeply and think about many things, about Osborn’s birthday tomorrow, about your last present to him, about how certain you are that he is the person you want to walk with to the end of your life, and then exhale as you wrap your arms around him. “Okay.”

It takes a moment for Osborn to react, as if he wasn’t expecting for you to agree, and he even pulls back to examine your expression. “You’re willing?”

You stare directly into his mint-green eyes and nod. “I am.”

Then you close your eyes and prepare to be pounced on by an uncontrollable beast in heat. Except you only hear Osborn laugh quietly. You open your eyes again to see him grab the dagger on the bed and set it on the side table, turning on the lamp there for dim lighting, before he pulls off his shirt he threw on after his shower with one hand and then grabs you by the waist with both hands to lift you onto him as he turns to lie down on his back, letting you straddle his waist.

“Let’s kiss for a while first.” Happiness is clear in the curve of his eyebrows and eyes as he places a hand on your nape and pulls you down to kiss you.

Osborn’s lips are on the thin side, giving him an unapproachable air when they’re pressed into a flat line on an expressionless face, but only you know their softness. He licks your mouth and then presses his lips to yours, rubbing them together until they slide wetly against each other, and then he pulls your lower lip into his mouth to suck on it. When you naturally part your mouth, wanting to rescue your lip, he seizes this opening to dive into your mouth with his tongue.

You feel the hot spray of breath from his nose on your cheek when he tilts his head for a deeper angle, his tongue inviting yours into a dance that sends tingles through your body. You pant as his hands begin to roam across your body and run down your back, igniting all your sensitive spots with familiarity, before they slip under your silk camisole to caress the skin of your waist. The heat from his palms sears you and the calluses on his fingers spark a fire that melts your body.

It doesn’t take long until you’re boneless on top of him, exchanging wet kisses, and there’s a stickiness between your legs that makes you twist your hips, rubbing yourself against his abdomen with an inaudible mewl.

“It must feel frustrating through the cloth, why don’t you take off your underwear?” Osborn coaxes against your lips, his breathing ragged.

Your mind is already hazy with pleasure and so you obey his suggestion without a second thought, rising onto your knees with one hand on his chest for support while the other reaches down to pull off your underwear. A string of wetness stretches between your nether regions and your panties as you push them down before it eventually snaps and Osborn’s eyes darken at the sight.

Finally getting rid of your underwear, you sit back onto his abdomen and grind against him, leaving glimmering trails over that spot.

“Osborn…” You lean down to lick the underside of his chin.

How can he not know what you want after all the time you’ve spent together? But Osborn closes his eyes and clenches his jaw tightly to restrain the raging heat in him. “Not yet, you need to be wetter.”

“Aren’t you… in heat?” You roll your hips with a hitch in your words, feeling the pleasurable way the folds of your pussy run over the ridges of his muscles.

“Xiao Five, we’re making love, there’s no rush.” He presses a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before he chuckles. “Besides, don’t you know how much I‌ can endure?”

You do. You probably know better than anyone else. In the bedroom, this man insists on making you orgasm multiple times before he even cums once and, abruptly, this makes you feel a spike of annoyance. What’s he so proud for? If he wants to endure his heat so badly, then you would like to see just how much he can endure.

Sitting up again, you scratch down his chest lightly and enjoy the hiss and jerk of his body when your nails scrape over his nipples. Then you reach behind to palm and squeeze his bulging package before you push down the waistband of his sweatpants along with his briefs to free his cock, which swings up and smacks against your butt, sprinkling droplets of pre-cum on you.

“Mgh…!” Osborn’s hands on your waist flex, but ultimately he doesn’t do anything and just watches you with a heavy, burning gaze. There’s a thin layer of sweat on his face and a fetching flush of arousal at the outer corners of his eyes.

You lift yourself up and tease the head of his member, stroking it against your vagina, before you let it slide past your entrance and press it down to sit on its shaft, sandwiching it between your bodies, and move your hips back and forth. You’re so wet it doesn’t take more than two passes until the sticky wet noise of you rubbing yourself against him echoes in the room, making your ears red enough to drip blood, but you’re urged on by the way Osborn’s lips part as he pants heavily, his chest rising and falling noticeably while you satisfy yourself on him.

When your clitoris catches on the crown of his penis, the bolt of pleasure that strikes you makes you squeeze your legs around his hips hard and moan. Osborn exhales audibly, the last note so low it comes out as a growl and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or an encouragement. But since you’re intentionally provoking him, you ignore him and continue to grind your swollen nub into him.

His cock is hot between your legs and you can almost feel the vein on it pulsing as even more blood rushes into it, making it larger and harder. The slit at the top occasionally weeps, dripping more pre-cum onto Osborn’s lower abdomen along with your juices and soaking the hair down there.

Before long, you tense and mewl as the wave of your orgasm crashes over you and then you slump forward onto his chest, trembling and gasping for air. Osborn tugs you up enough to catch your mouth in a punishing kiss, biting your lips out of sexual frustration, but he also strokes your damp back soothingly to guide you down from your climax.

You lap at his lips with your tongue until he opens his mouth to let you in and gentles his kiss. Just as your tongue wraps around his though, you feel his fingers press into your vagina, making you give a full body shiver.

“Mm, I don’t want your fingers.” You wiggle your hips in objection even though you feel your hole clench down on them.

Osborn pulls his fingers out with an embarrassingly wet pop and then he taps your butt with his palm. “Greedy kitten. I can barely fit in two fingers right now.”

Without letting you say anything else, you feel his core muscles tighten into steel below you and then the world goes spinning as he flips you and reverses your positions so that he’s on top while your back is flat on the bed. When you’re still blinking up at the ceiling, trying to process what just happened, he pushes your camisole up with a hand and lowers his head to your breast, enclosing its peak with his mouth and sinking two fingers into your pussy entirely to their base.

You cry out at the dual assault of pleasure and your legs instinctively try to close, but Osborn’s broad chest is between your thighs and keeps them open. He speaks around the nipple in his mouth. “Be good, it won’t take long.”

He pulls sounds out of you like a skilled musician as he teases your nipple, drawing circles around it with the tip of his tongue, flicking it, pushing it down hard, and then letting it pop out only to lightly close his teeth around it and tug. When he begins sucking loudly, making you dig your toes into the bed and quiver, you barely notice him spreading his fingers in your channel, stretching it.

However, you do whimper when you feel the tight fit of him pressing a third finger into you. Osborn releases your nipple, which has hardened into a bright red pebble, and moves to your neglected breast while purring reassuringly. The vibration from his throat when he wraps his lips around your other nipple makes your nether regions clench and release another surge of wetness.

Osborn rotates his wrist and moves his fingers slowly. He raises his head from your chest to give you an open-mouthed kiss before he pulls away to examine your expression and make sure you aren’t in any enormous discomfort. Feeling reassured by your misty eyes and the moans that escape your lips he begins to thrust his fingers in earnest, curling them slightly to scuff the spongy area at the top of your passage close to the entrance.

You shout as the lapping tides of pleasure turn into a giant wave that drags you under. He nuzzles your sweaty temple and captures your ear in his mouth, teasing the sensitive lobe with his tongue, and then pants right there, knowing how much his voice turns you on. He’s rewarded when your pussy contracts around his fingers.

“Cum one more time for me, hm?” His voice is gravelly beyond belief.

The squelching sound of your slick and how it splashes onto the bed sheet, his palm, and your thighs with his rapid movements is drowned out by the rushing blood in your ears as you climb up once more to the peak of an orgasm. You arch your back and your legs are so tense they tremble.

Fireworks go off behind your closed eyes.

Osborn yanks out his fingers and then presses them to the top of your mound, rubbing slippery circles there to prolong your pleasure. The bed sheet under your crotch has darkened an entire shade.

Faintly, after you shakily drop back onto the bed, you feel Osborn remove your clothes completely and then there’s a rustle as he strips off his own. You come back to yourself with a quiver when you feel the heavy head of his penis land between the folds of your vagina and slide back and forth.

“Osborn…” Your voice is watery.

He grabs your waist with one hand to hold you in place while his other hand directs his cock to your hole. “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll give it to you right now.”

Osborn shakes his head to get his damp bangs out of his eyes as he lowers them to watch himself enter you, wanting to make sure there’s no tearing. His entire body gleams with a layer of sweat and veins stand out prominently on his arms and lower abdomen with how much he’s restraining himself to go slow.

There is an uncomfortable stretch when his tip pushes in, but the emptiness deep in your body drives your pussy to squeeze down and suck on him greedily. Osborn groans lowly and has to pause when his scalp and lower back tightens at this pleasure.

Finally, when his entire length is sheathed in you, you both let out sighs of satisfaction.

“Still okay?” Osborn strokes your waist and his palm is scorching hot.

Every breath you exhale feels like steam. “Mhm…”

Osborn begins to move slowly, not pulling out too far and not pushing in too deep. The dim light from the side table lamp casts a glow that softens his sharp contours and reflects off his feline eyes and the buckle of his choker collar, but something niggles at the back of your mind even as he picks up the pace after he sees how your hips chase after his.

It takes a moment for you to notice, especially when your thoughts get interrupted every time he thrusts in deeply, but there’s a blur around the top of his head, like the air there is hazy. You stretch a hand out unconsciously, wanting to touch it, and Osborn mistakenly thinks you’re reaching for him. He grabs your hand, nuzzles his cheek against your palm, and then he interlocks your hands together and leans down to place your hand above your head, kissing you as he increases his speed.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes obscenely in the room as he drives his pelvis into yours, and you can no longer think, you can only cling onto him and turn your head, breaking the kiss, to bite his shoulder as another orgasm crashes over you.

The explosion in your mind drives out all your thoughts.

Osborn pounds into you a dozen more times before he buries his head into the crook of your neck and releases into you with a muffled groan. The hot splash of ejaculation inside you makes you shiver and your passage convulses around him even as he continues to move in and out slowly, drawing out his climax. Osborn turns his head to pepper the side of your neck with soft kisses between his irregular breaths, but his body is still completely taut like a strung bow.

Oh, you know what it is that bothers you now.

“Osborn…”‌ You push at him until he pulls away to look at you questioningly.

“What’s wrong? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

“No, it’s not that.” Your hand slides to the front of his neck, where his choker collar rests, and then you remove it and toss it off the bed where it hits the ground with a thump. “You don’t have to restrain yourself.”

Osborn stills.

And then he pulls out of you and flips you over roughly. You yelp out of surprise and scramble to your hands and knees only to freeze when his right hand lands heavily next to yours on the bed and his scorching hot chest presses to your back as his penis, which is erect again, bumps against your entrance.

Osborn’s voice is the guttural growl of an unleashed beastman. “Are you sure?”

You lower your head to look down your body and see that a sinuous black panther tail is swaying next to your thigh. Osborn pushes himself into your folds and then pulls away again, as if kissing your slit with his cock, and the squishing noises this makes deepens the flush on your body. Your vagina contracts and a glob of his cum mixed with your slick is squeezed out and slides down your leg.

You are his willing prey. “Yes.”

A soundless shout is torn out of you when he slams his length into you without any warning and you arch your back. Your passage has already accustomed itself to his size and so you don’t feel any pain, just the mind-numbing pleasure of this new angle. Lewd cries you didn’t think were possible to make are drawn from you as he hammers into you and so you raise your left hand to shove a fist against your mouth. However, Osborn pulls it down and forces his fingers between yours while he presses your hand into the bed.

His breath burns your ear. “Don’t hide. I want to hear you.”

Suddenly, his cock strikes a spot inside you that makes your entire body jerk and you immediately pull away from him, frightened by that sensation. His right arm wraps around your waist like a steel bar though and he hauls you back to drive his member into the deepest part of you, grinding against your cervix as punishment. You struggle instinctively and claw at his arm with your right hand when bolts of pleasure and pain send tremors through your body.

But then Osborn raises his left hand, splays it out between your shoulder blades, and forces your upper body down into the bed, snarling so loudly the room seems to shake.

“Where do you think you’re running?”

“Not… running… It’s too deep…” You gasp with physiological tears hanging on your eyelashes as your shaking body calms from his lack of movement.

Osborn considers you for a moment and then you hear a low chuckle before he inhales deeply behind your ear, parsing the scent of your arousal. “I get it, you’re feeling so much your body can’t help but run away. So all I need to do is pin you down.”

And then he drags you down into a violent rapture.

He keeps his left hand on your back while he holds up your waist with his right arm, ensuring each of his thrusts enters you deeply at this angle until you’re a sopping mess. You can only clench your hands into the bed sheet and endure his assault with an open mouth. His hips are like a piston as he snaps them against you and his balls slap wetly against your thighs until the tender skin there turns pink. Even the wetness that leaks nonstop from your entrance gains a foamy white edge.

There’s a pressure swelling up in you like a balloon and this brings a sense of unknown terror. What’s even more alarming is that you can feel something large press insistently against your hole every time Osborn sinks himself as deep as he can go and rolls his hips, as if he’s trying to push something into your narrow passage. You turn your head with difficulty between each mewl and gasp and see a bulb with short spines at the base of his cock.

You begin to tremble intensely again and shake your head on the pillow that’s already damp with your tears and saliva. “No, no, that won’t fit.”

“Yes, it can. You can take it. You just need to relax more.” Osborn removes his hand and sucks on your shoulders, leaving a trail of red marks. His and your sweat slide down your back.

He reaches down to push back the hood on your clitoris and you choke on a cry when something wiry brushes against this sensitive bundle of nerves, making your eyes roll back into your head. Your pussy clenches down so tight that Osborn has to stop moving and bite back a curse.

“Didn’t I tell you to relax? How come you’re even tighter now?”‌

You can’t respond and, in fact, you can’t put any strength into your body with the pleasure wracking through you. If it weren’t for Osborn’s arm holding your waist up, you would have slumped into the bed long ago. Looking down, you see that he’s rubbing your clit with his tail while he resumes slamming his hips into you, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The balloon in you continues to expand until, finally, the pressure is too much and it pops.

You squirt for the first time.

The clear liquid shoots out of you like a fountain, again and again every time your passage convulses, and it completely soaks Osborn’s tail. His tail reflexively shakes, like the tip of a rattlesnake, to get off the wetness but this just scatters it all over the bed. At the same time, he manages to shove the bulb at the base of his cock into you with a wet squelch and then ejaculates with a low roar.

The searing hot cum that strikes your walls makes you jolt and you try to get away from that feeling, but the penile spines on his bulb rake over the sensitive spots at your entrance and you sob, writhing, as another orgasm tears through you, making you squirt again.

“Pull it out, pull it out, it’s too much…”

Osborn has to drop his chest onto your back, crushing you into the bed with his weight to keep you still, and soothes you with words you can’t catch as you shake violently underneath him at the feeling of his release being pumped into you. Even though trickles of mixed cum seep out of where you’re connected, your abdomen is slightly sore, as if it’s been stretched.

“We’re locked together, moving will just make it worse. It’ll be over soon, you’re doing so good. You can take it, you can take all of me. That’s my girl.”

He turns your head and licks away the tears at the corners of your eyes before kissing you repeatedly until you respond by lapping at his lips. He draws your tongue into his mouth, sucking on it gently, and only then do you feel your drifting consciousness settle back into your body.

However, when Osborn turns to his side, bringing you with him, you shudder and dig your nails into the arm he has around your waist. “No more, no more��� please, Osborn…”

“I won’t, I‌ won’t. I’m just helping you feel better,”‌ Osborn murmurs, breathing heavily as you unconsciously squeeze him. After his orgasm, his penis had softened a little, but being locked inside your wet warmth isn’t easy for him to bear either.

He runs his hand over you at your waist reassuringly and then reaches up to caress your breast while kissing your neck. His other hand reaches down and his fingers delve through the cute bush there to massage your mound lightly.

“Focus on my touch, that’s it.”

His body is like a furnace behind you, warming the pleasure into small pleasant waves that soak your whole body, and his gentle ministrations ease the discomfort in your abdomen as your attention converges on the actions of his hands and the way his lips travel down the curve of your neck, planting tender kisses.

Before you know it, you begin to rotate your hips a little to his movements and mewl with a shiver when his penile spines stroke the walls of your passage.

Osborn laughs huskily and asks, “Little kitten wants more?”

“Mm…”

He moves his hand a little lower, sandwiches your clit between his middle and ring finger, and moves his palm up and down in short rapid movements, stimulating the entire area. Simultaneously, his other hand that was playing with your breast pinches your nipple and tugs. You give another pleased hum.

A short while later, you come apart in his arms again. The orgasm this time isn’t violent and instead it’s like a hot shower that pours down on you. For a second, the wetness that gushes through your channel has nowhere to exit and makes the soreness in your abdomen worse, but then your body relaxes on him completely and, as your awareness floats off, you do feel better.

Osborn’s chest heaves up and down behind you as his muscles tremble with restraint to stop his hips from moving at the contractions of your pussy. He bites down on your shoulder and grinds his teeth over a patch of skin until a new red mark blooms.

You two lie there and catch your breaths and, eventually, his bulb softens enough to be pulled out with a wet noise. Your juices and his cum strive to rush out of your hole first and it almost feels like you lost control of your bladder and wet yourself, making you turn to him and bury your head into his chest out of embarrassment.

Osborn thinks you’re just looking for more intimacy and so he strokes your back and then cups your face in both hands to raise your head to share a slow kiss with you, purring all the while.

When you feel his revitalized cock nudge against your entrance again though, you quickly place your hands flat on his chest and push at him.

“Baby, I’m still in the middle of my heat,” Osborn pulls back and growls warningly.

“I’m thirsty,”‌ you say with a scratchy voice and raise your chin at him.

Just as you expect, he stops moving his waist and contrition flashes across his eyes. He lets you go to sit up and you seize this opportunity to climb off the bed first. Your legs are wobbly, but you can still stand on your own. However, the feeling of wetness sliding down your legs gives you pause.

Osborn must think you can’t walk because the next thing you know he scoops you up in one arm, making you exclaim and cling onto his shoulders to balance yourself. Heat rushes to your cheeks at how his hand is on your butt and thus touching the mess there, but he doesn’t seem to care or even give a sign of noticing it.

He carries you into the kitchen, turns the lights on low, sets you down at the kitchen bar counter, and goes around it to get water for you. It’s only when you cough loudly and pointedly though that he sheepishly goes to wash his hands first before he takes down your couples cup from the cabinet and pours a glass of filtered water for you, making sure it’s at room temperature. He sets the glass of water next to your hand and then goes to grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator for himself.

Your eyes can’t help but stay on him when he twists the bottle cap off and raises his head to guzzle the water, revealing the strong line of his throat and his bobbing Adam’s apple as he swallows. His skin is flushed pink from his earlier exertions and you watch, entranced, as a sweat droplet rolls down the swell of his chest, the mountain range of his abdominal muscles, and disappears into the trail of hair below his navel.

His lower half is just as much of a mess as yours and the two moles at his hip almost sparkle from how wet they are. His cock stands upright against his lower abdomen and bobs slightly in time with his breaths. Your throat is suddenly even drier and you avert your eyes.

You don’t want to sit on the counter stools because of the stickiness between your legs and so you lean forward, resting your forearms on the cool counter, and clasp the water glass between both hands to take small sips. The liquid wets your scratchy throat and you can feel yourself becoming refreshed again.

You’re so invested in drinking your water that you don’t see Osborn finish off his, set aside the empty bottle, and come back around to you.

Osborn’s intention is just to hug you and wait for you to finish your glass of water, but when he sees your swaying butt and your glistening hole, where trickles of his ejaculation still slide down your leg from time to time, his pupils dilate and his throat tightens. He swallows. Hard.

One second you’re drinking water and the next you hear and feel Osborn sigh contentedly as his entire length slides into your pussy. There is no resistance as your body rises to its toes and welcomes his cock greedily, knowing the pleasure it can bring. You quiver and nearly choke on your water.

“What are, mm… you doing?”

He moves leisurely, doing one deep thrust for every nine shallow thrusts. “You can ignore me and just keep drinking.”

“How am I supposed, mngh… to drink with… you doing that?” You gasp.

Osborn bends down, takes the glass of water from you, drinks a mouthful, and turns his head to feed you the water. But you can’t swallow fast enough as you try to drink and breathe between his thrusts, and so the water spills out from the corners of your lips and down your chin.

“Why do both your mouths love to leak so much water?” Osborn laughs while he licks and sucks away the water around your mouth and chin.

In a fit of pique, you lower your head and bite right down on the mole at his collarbone, leaving a pretty row of teeth marks around the black dot there.

“Hss, they both love to bite too.” He slams his hips into you and stays there, grinding against you and making you arch your back and moan. “But I prefer being bitten by the mouth down here more.”

He begins to pound into you in earnest and in the kitchen there is only the sound of damp skin slapping against damp skin, your intermittent cries and his low groans, and the pitter-patter of liquid dripping onto the floor underneath where you and him are joined.

Osborn slides his hands down your sides to rest them on your waist. “Baby, raise your hips a little higher.”

The height difference between you two means you need to rise to your toes for him, but your legs tremble with strain at this and at the pleasure that assaults your body, so your waist constantly drops down. This repeats for some time with Osborn having to remind you to raise your hips but you being unable to maintain this position for long.

Finally, as if reaching the end of his tether, he grabs the knee of one of your legs and pulls it up. With your legs wide open, this new and deeper angle he strikes you at makes you moan loudly, but when a particularly hard thrust shoves you against the counter and your breasts are pushed into the cold marble, you jolt and clench down on him so hard that he has trouble moving.

“Gngh, are you trying to snap me in half?” Osborn’s tail lashes from side to side and you hear it thump several times against the legs of a counter stool.

“The counter… is too cold…” You pant in protest.

He eyes your position and then grabs one of your wrists with his free hand so that he can pull you away from the counter. You feel as if your body isn’t your own and that you’re under his complete control with your arm and leg in his hands and spread open entirely for him to plunder. Every time his cock slams into you, making your juices splash against your thigh and his abdomen, you writhe uncontrollably and your passage contracts around him tightly, reluctant to let him leave.

Soon, an orgasm rips through you and you squirt, the clear liquid spraying all over the floor. Osborn thrusts a couple more times before he shoves his bulb into you again and ejaculates deep inside you with a low snarl. By now, you’re so exhausted that your body doesn’t do more than twitch at the feeling of his hot semen filling your pussy.

Osborn unconsciously tightens his hands around your wrist and leg hard enough to leave bruises as pleasure runs through his body and, when he remembers to let go, you slump over entirely onto the counter. He rubs your wrist in apology and leans down to nuzzle and kiss you.

Abruptly, he laughs breathlessly. “I guess all that water you drank just now was for nothing.”

You shoot him a glare and Osborn immediately wipes the amusement off his face and grabs the glass of water to feed you the remaining water obediently by mouth without any other intentions.

Right after you finish the last mouthful of water, and he rubs his lips against yours affectionately, his bulb softens enough for him to pull out. You hear the splatter of fluids dropping onto the floor as he moves away, but you’re too tired to be embarrassed and instead you just make a mental note to order Osborn to clean everything up tomorrow. He made the mess so it’s his responsibility.

Osborn picks you up to walk back to the bedroom and you see his cock slowly rise up again out of the corner of your eye, so you merely lean your head onto his and close your eyes to try and catch whatever rest you can from this short trip.

However, something velvety continues to brush against your cheek and, when you open your eyes, you see that one of his panther ears is flicking next to you, maybe because your breath is landing on it. Out of an unknown impulse, you lean forward and wrap your lips around the tip of his ear.

Osborn stumbles in his steps and then turns his head to bite the underside of your breast hard enough to make you let go of his ear and cry out. “Ow!”

He growls, “Do you want to be fucked to death?”

You jut out your bottom lip. “You never show your ears or tail around me! Can’t I be curious?”

He falls silent the rest of the way to the bed and you think that’s the end of the conversation and prepare yourself to be pounced on and devoured by a beast after Osborn sets you down, except that he surprisingly takes a seat in front of you and looks at you with an odd expression, something of a cross between confusion and hesitation.

“Are you really curious about my ears and tail?”

“Of course!”

The tip of Osborn’s black tail curls and uncurls on the bed and your eyes track the movement. Then he deliberately swishes his tail and chuckles when your eyes also dart from left to right.

“Why haven’t you ever shown any sign of this?”

This time it’s your turn to fall silent and you squirm a little. “I thought it’d be rude to stare or ask to touch them. Plus, wouldn’t it be like asking to touch someone’s arm or leg? Weird.”

Osborn bursts out in laughter. “As if I’ve ever refused you touching any part of my body.”

He has you there. A blush heats up your cheeks.

“Do you want to touch them?”

“Yes!”

Osborn lowers his head before you and you stretch out a hand to run a fingertip over the tip of a furry black ear. The moment you do though it flicks away and Osborn grunts. “That tickles. You can use more strength.”

He’s the one who said this! You reach out and grab his ears in both hands, rubbing them between your fingers and then moving down to caress their base. Osborn shuffles forward to drop his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist, chuffing.

“Tsk, the second I give permission you really aren’t polite at all in ravaging my ears.”

“I‌ can stop.” You pointedly stop stroking his ears.

“No, don’t. I was just kidding.” Osborn tilts his head and butts it into your hands, no different from a cat begging for pets.

You resume petting his ears but, in this position, your eyes land on his slow wagging tail. As if possessed, you reach out and grab the tip. Osborn tenses for a moment and then he relaxes and drops more of his weight on you.

The fur on the tip of his tail is slightly clumped together and still a little damp. Your cheeks burn again when you recall what exactly got his tail wet and you hurriedly concentrate on stroking his tail to toss those memories to the back of your mind. But just as you move your hand up his tail he hisses and you immediately stop, scared you hurt him.

Osborn squeezes your waist. “Don’t push the fur in the opposite direction. Feels uncomfortable.”

Reassured, you begin to stroke his tail in the direction of his fur, letting go to move your hand higher before you grab it again and smooth it down all the way to the tip. Osborn stops chuffing and instead you hear his breathing grow heavier and heavier, scorching your skin with every exhale. You continue to move up his tail until you circle your fingers around the base, where it connects to his lower back, and then pull your hand down the entire length of his tail.

A shiver runs through Osborn’s body, like he was struck by lightning, and he begins to involuntarily move his hips, nudging you with his engorged cock and leaving streaks of pre-cum on your abdomen. One of your hands rubs his ear while the other plays with his tail, tickling the base and caressing the underside. Osborn turns his head to press his lips to the side of your neck and you feel the vibration of him growling at a frequency too low for you to hear.

You don’t even realize your own breathing has turned irregular at the sight of him this needy until a tingle in your nether regions makes you clench your thighs and you feel a trickle of wetness leak out.

Osborn inhales deeply, smelling the thickening arousal in your scent again, and then he pulls away to look at you with misty eyes and says in a strained voice, “I need you.”

You support yourself with your hands on his shoulders and raise yourself up to sink down onto his member. He enters you with a wet squelch and you moan at this addictive feeling of fullness. He’s deeper in you than usual because of the position, but your body has become completely ripe under his care and now there’s only boundless pleasure when his penis presses to your cervix.

Osborn groans hoarsely when you begin to move up and down slowly, but even though his cock twitches angrily inside you at this torturous pace he doesn’t stop you, he just settles his hands at your waist and rubs circles there with his thumbs.

You press your forehead against his and pant, staring into that sea-green ocean which belongs only to you. He holds your gaze and you breathe in each other’s air until you find yourself saying these words naturally without any thought.

“I love you.”

And then the sun rises on that ocean in your eyes. The viridian color lights up so much it turns into a fuchsite shade and glimmers with too many emotions for you to discern. Osborn closes his eyes and kisses you hard, as if trying to pour all his feelings into you in this one kiss.

“And I love you.”

He can no longer stay still and he maneuvers you so that your legs are hooked over the crook of his arms before he begins to lift and drop you on his pillar. Your entire weight is carried by him like this and so when he drops you down for the first time, his penis slams into your cervix and fireworks of pleasure explode behind your eyes. You arch your back and climax with a soundless shout.

However, as if crazed, he doesn’t stop to let you catch your breath and instead continues to move his arms faster and faster, pumping you up and down with each thrust deeper and harder than the last like he wants to shove the head of his cock into the tiny opening of your cervix.

You wrap your arms around his neck and sob. “Mngh, wait… not there… You’re too deep… I’ll break…!”

“You won’t break. Look at how perfectly you fit me.” Osborn kisses you messily, his breathing ragged.

Like a small boat being tossed around on giant cresting waves, you’re completely at his mercy as he doesn’t stop pounding into you and, scarily, it feels like he’s really making headway in cracking open your cervix. Your entire body feels like a live wire and the smallest movement makes you shake, convulsing uncontrollably around him. Your mouth falls open as you try to breathe through this mind-numbing pleasure.

Everything is too wet and too hot.

Finally, he slams his bulb into you and the tip of his penis shoves deep against your cervix, his glans aligning with the opening there, and he shoots his sperm directly into your womb. This molten release and pressure makes you climax again and you squirt, the clear liquid splashing all over his lower abdomen and running down to stain the already soaked bed sheet. Osborn bites down on your shoulder with a muffled snarl, his hips jerking to shove as much of his cum into you as he can.

Your eyes roll back into your head and your tongue sticks out as a white-hot blaze of pleasure engulfs you and your consciousness snaps off from your body.

There are bells ringing.

No, there are literally bells ringing in the background because your phone alarm has gone off. Faintly, you feel Osborn stroke your back while he reaches out to grab your phone and turn off the alarm. He looks at the screen and then holds it up in front of you. In your unfocused eyes, you see his mouth open and close but you don’t hear anything as you sluggishly move your hand to your slightly distended abdomen where his release and cock fit snugly in you.

Osborn chuckles and this vibration runs through his body and member, inducing a full body tremor from you. “Have you turned a bit silly?”

He kisses you gently, pecking your lips again and again until you slowly come back to yourself.

“W… what are you smiling at?” You have to restart your sentence when your first attempt at speaking is scratchy beyond belief.

He only lays more kisses across your face until you make a noise of protest and then he stops to nuzzle his nose to yours. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

“Huh?” Your mind is still dazed.

Osborn pulls back enough for you to see his blinding smile before he raises your phone before your eyes again. Right there on the alarm screen is the reminder “Osborn’s birthday! Be the first to wish him happy birthday!”.

The phone screen is removed and your vision is filled once more with Osborn’s glimmering eyes. His breath lands on your lips and when he speaks your lips brush together. “Remember what you want to say to me now?”

Seeing his childlike joy, you almost want to tease him and pretend not to remember, but at the same time a corner of your heart softens into a puddle and so you hug him and say next to his ear, “Happy birthday Osborn! May all your wishes come true and may everything you do in the future be smooth sailing. I will always be at your side until the day you no longer want me.”

“You’re the only thing I‌ could wish for and you better prepare for a long journey because I‌ want you at my side for a lifetime and more.” He hugs you back just as tightly.

You both enjoy the pure and simple warmth of this moment until you remember the itinerary you made for his birthday, including the list of his presents, and you can’t stop yourself from grumbling quietly. “You spoiled one of your presents already.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“……” You regret bringing up your minor complaint because now his question puts you on the spot and you feel embarrassed to just say it out loud.

“Lazy kitten, you’re going to make me guess? Hm, let’s see…” He clicks his tongue, as if in annoyance, but his swaying tail exposes his good mood. “Don’t tell me it’s… birthday sex? Tsk, you’re always accusing me of being cliche, but look at you.”

You pull back to smack his shoulder and your face burns with embarrassment. “No! I was going to ask to join you for your next heat.”

Shock flashes across Osborn’s face, because he understands the significance. For a long time, he has implicitly or explicitly asked you to spend his heat with him, but you always refused him. Of course he was the one who told you to only give him the green light whenever you were ready, and so he never pushed the subject and accepted your response every time.

“I never asked, thinking you had your own reasons, or that you were actually somewhat against beastmen, since you never showed an interest in my ears or tail, and that this was your reservation towards spending my heat with me. But now I see that’s not the case, so can I‌ ask why you were so hesitant in the past?”

You chew on your lip, but ultimately confess everything under his encouraging eyes. “It’s because I heard that a beastman’s animal nature is at the forefront during their heat and that there’s been cases where their animal nature rejects their partner. I don’t doubt that you love me, but what if some deep part of your instincts, beyond your control, would prefer your own kind rather than—”

Osborn crashes his mouth to yours, interrupting you and devouring your whimper as he kisses you like he wants to touch your soul with his soul.

By the time he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, you’re both breathless. His voice is almost guttural from all the emotions he wants to squeeze into his words. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Since that day a little girl wrapped her hair ribbon around a panther cub’s paw without any fear, my animal nature chose you and won’t have any other. Naturally, I don’t want anyone else either.”

Your eyes sting at this confession and you pull him into another kiss. Your lips slide against each other and then his tongue is in your mouth, entangling around yours. The temperature between you two rises again as he strokes the underside of your tongue and teases the roof of your mouth.

Osborn breaks the kiss and begins to trail his lips down your jaw and neck, his breathing becoming heavier again. “Actually, I want to amend my earlier words. I do have another wish.”

“What is it?” You gasp, tilting your head back for him.

He laves his tongue over the bite mark he left on your shoulder. “Another round.”

“… No, no, no.” You say this even as he pushes you down and covers you with his body.

“I smelled how much you liked my ears and tail. Here, I’ll let you pet them again.” He moves his head to your breasts and begins to lick and suck on them while grabbing one of your hands to place on his head and shoving his tail into your other hand.

You want to chide him into stopping early tonight so that you can both wake up rested tomorrow to celebrate his birthday with the itinerary you planned, but as he slides his length into you again and every thrust shatters your thoughts into sparkling motes of light these dots of light seem to converge in your reflection in his eyes and you realize that you’re the only thing he cares about. And so you wrap your legs around his waist and surrender to this endless love.

He has never asked for or expected anything from the world, he has only wanted to find a small corner he can call home, and you’re fortunate enough to be able to build one with him.

===

The room is thick with the scent of copulation and there’s barely any surface that’s not wet with bodily fluids. The rational part of Osborn tells him he should clean the girl up so that she can sleep more comfortably, but the primal part of him demands for the smell of musk in the room to be thicker and denser, until every inch of the girl next to him exudes his scent. It isn’t enough for his smell to rest on her skin, she needs to smell of him so deeply that it won’t dissipate for days.

He is still hard and need is a dry heat in his body that burns like a prairie fire, but when he strokes the girl’s back, buries his head into her hair, and feels her mumble incoherently and unconsciously snuggle into his chest he feels a love pour into him that’s enough to bank the flames. There’s a fullness in him that pushes out the craving for more contact, more intimacy, more coupling, more, more, more. And so Osborn tightens his arms around the girl and presses her into him until there is no telling where he begins and where she ends.

[tiffanyachings]

gained another level of exhaustion today i think

[fyotherat]

Hello! Can I request some headcannons for how Akutagawa, Atsushi, Fyodor, Chuuya and Dazai would react when it rains? Maybe they were going somewhere with the reader when it suddenly rained. (They forgot to bring their umbrellas). Thank you!

Caught in Rain

Characters: Akutagawa, Atsushi, Fyodor, Chuuya, Dazai

Warnings: None, mentions of drinking on Dazai's part if that counts?

Notes: Thanks for the request! I suddenly had a soft spot for Aku while writing his part.😥 It turned out more like scenarios and I couldn't proofread thoroughly,,

Akutagawa

It was after a mission, a long and tiring one that ended with another success on Port Mafia's long list of victories.

He was tired from it all, and using his ability to that extent was something he still had to spend a lot of energy on, in his state, the rain was only another minor inconvenience.

It was you, who offered him your coat as a cover from rain, draping it over his hair and down to his shoulders.

If it were anyone else, he would tell them off and discard the offered coat.. but the worried look on your face when you gently fixed his wet hair..? It was too precious to hurt.

Yet, he still gave back your coat, he would not allow you to get sick for his sake.

He was tired, yes, but using his ability to create a makeshift umbrella wasn't something he couldn't manage. This was the closest thing he could do to 'sharing his coat'.

Inviting you closer, he used his ability to shelter you both from the pouring rain... Seeing his Rashomon be used for something other than killing wasn't a usual occurrence, but your gratitude and curiosity about his ability made him think that maybe... just maybe he could be useful in other ways too..?

Atsushi

It was supposed to be a good day of having a picnic with him, but the forecast had failed you when the sky turned grey right after you two found the perfect spot to settle down by a tree.

One after another, the few drops of rain turned into an unpredicted downpour, even the wind was picking up.

Despite his disappointment, he wasn't someone who would let this get in the way of your planned date, and your happiness.

"Want to make a run for it?"

He asked with his usual sheepish smile, offering his hand to you. There seemed to be a few cafés close by, and it would be a smart idea to move your date indoors.

Grabbing the picnic basket from the now wet ground, you reached to hold his hand as you both started running towards a café in the distance.

He was surprised to hear your chuckles as the rain fell onto your face, despite the cold wind that made him shiver due to his wet clothes, your smile made him feel warm.

Even after getting inside the café, he would keep asking if you're feeling cold or sick.. he doesn't even realize his own nose is being runny...

Fyodor

Everything was going according to plan, an unforgettable day at the opera followed by a nice dinner, this man had everything in order.

That was.. until you two stepped out of the restaurant and were met with droplets of rain. He quickly offered to call a ride and was met with an unexpected response.

"Why not take the chance to have a walk in the rain? It's a beautiful night."

A smile tugged on the corner of his lips, without hesitation, he offered his hand to you.

"Whatever you wish for, Milaya."

Just like that, you two started walking side by side, your arm intertwined in his. As your gaze lingered on the cloudy night sky, his gaze was fixated on your own.

He watched as your droplets of rain fell to your face with an amused look, he saw how the pearly strings dripped down from your hair.

Suddenly putting a stop to your steps, he turned you around to face him, he had removed his ushanka, putting it on your head. He nodded in approval as the sight of you wearing his clothes was getting engraved in his mind. He definitely took a note to let you wear his clothes more often.

Chuuya

Boring.. Paperwork could only be described as boring by Chuuya, he already did all the fieldwork! That should've been enough, yes?

Unfortunately, all his day was spent doing the thing he despised, but now, you were there... asking him to go on a ride together to free your minds from work after a long day.

He couldn't deny any request that came from you, and the weather seemed perfect to go on a ride, maybe a little far away from the city where you can see the stars.

Or.. so you thought, the clear skies soon turned into dark shades of grey, and thundering could be heard from the distance, and here you were, a half an hour ride away from the city.

His already gloomy mood only got more grim as the weather seemed to be making fun of him, and he was also worried about either of you getting sick.

Between his rumbles about his work and the weather.. your hand found his, you were soaked wet, even your hands were cold to touch, but you two were still together, right..?

"We'll be alright, we've been through hell and back together, so don't let the weather get to you now! And, at least we're together, hm?"

Your voice was reassuring and warm, it felt like a beacon of light after a day filled with dread. Pulling you close to his chest, he simply nodded in agreement. His voice conveyed his care for you through selfish words.

"I'm not forgiving you if you get sick."

Dazai

A long day in the agency could only be followed by a night unwinding at a cheap bar, and it had to be cheap, as Dazai said, nothing compared to cheap whiskey!

Your time at the bar was filled with laughter and gossip about your last cases and everyone at the agency, mostly Kunikida.

It was well past midnight when you two finally got a hold of yourselves and decided to head home to get a good sleep after the drinks you had.

Neither of you could've guessed it would rain when it was sunny all day long! So when you two left the bar, you two were met with a surprise.

Before you could offer to call a taxi, you were pulled by a hand on your waist and another that held your hand. Your confusion faded away to amusement as Dazai guided you to a sloppy yet intimate dance.

He was humming a tune you were unfamiliar with, yet soon you caught up with his rhythm and the waltz continued with the rain accompanying you.

He didn't mind his hair sticking to his forehead, he didn't mind your clothes getting soaked and he most definitely didn't mind the risk of slipping up and falling to the muddy ground, to him, this was a perfect moment shared between you two.

And before the dizziness from all the drinks followed by spinning around could kick in, he pulled you close and gave a tender kiss to your lips, followed by the words...

"I love you."

[lynethpearce]

AU: Agent John Juniper

"If all the world's a stage, let's set it on fire."

In the early stages of his acting career, John Juniper joined one of the Agency's espionage and counterintelligence units in the United States, with the goal of finally putting an end to Zor's global monopoly. Operating as an undercover agent, he specialized in information theft, infiltration, decrypting Zoraxis's communication channels, and manipulating them. This more subtle and "civilized" approach allowed him to dismantle Zor's plans without resorting to overly invasive methods or putting more agents or the operation at risk—beyond himself, of course. His role was to provide valuable information to the field team, including profiles, plans, files, and encrypted messages, thereby facilitating the work of those responsible for direct action.

At the beginning of his career as a spy, he was assigned to an Agency handler to be trained in the craft of espionage and receive continuous guidance throughout his missions. The unfortunate choice was former agent Gibson.

One of the few remnants of the Agency’s golden age in the fight against undercover operations and illicit activities during the Cold War (assuming the events of EYTD took place between 1960 and 1990), alongside Reginald Crane, though with a decade’s difference. Unlike Juniper, Gibson specialized in fieldwork, excelling in raiding enemy bases and dismantling operations from within, adopting a more aggressive approach. However, his career as a field agent ended after a severe injury during a failed operation against Zor. Since then, he had been relegated to handling duties, overseeing the Agency’s new recruits.

It wasn't necessary to mention that Gibson wasn't particularly thrilled about having to shape the Agency's new "guinea pig." Aside from his dissatisfaction with the way the Agency treated its personnel, the idea of supervising a rising Hollywood star led to more than a few preconceived judgments about the name "John Juniper." And most of them turned out to be spot on.

John was a character in himself. Charismatic, charming, sociable, and with a sharp wit... but, in Gibson's opinion, also a complete headache. Overconfident, arrogant, whiny, and egocentric. He talked incessantly, almost always slipping in references to his movies or contradicting Gibson during missions, challenging his authority on nearly everything. He didn't take his job as a spy seriously. Always grinning, always flashing a charming smile, or, more often, oozing an unbearable dose of sarcasm.

"This reminds me of the time I worked on the 'Masque of Red—"

"Focus on your mission, Juniper."

Until things got complicated, and that’s when Gibson finally understood why the Agency had set its sights on this second-rate actor in the first place. John Juniper's despotic and narcissistic personality would almost completely fade, giving way to the objectivity and composure of Agent Clover as soon as the objective came into play. He learned quickly, very quickly, and maintained the same efficiency in decision-making under pressure that he did in keeping a smile on his face for the public. His desire to stand out seemed to fuel his courage (or his lack of common sense) when facing imminent danger. John’s theatrical skills were his greatest asset in the field. Even in his humbler beginnings, with no technological support from the Agency, his ability to act and blend in was what propelled him to become a standout spy, earning more than one enemy in Zoraxis.

Although, in hand-to-hand combat, he left a lot to be desired.

"It was just luck—oh, oh, oh. Okay, Gibs. I admit it. You win. I was wrong. Ouch—Gibs, Gibs, Gibs, I give up, I give up, I GIVE UP!"

With the addition of smart masks to his repertoire, the balance seemed to tip even further in his favor, just as the telekinetic implant project was gaining momentum. These masks were designed to record, scan, store, and accurately replicate both the voices and appearances of those Juniper interacted with (individually, of course, but it was something). The rest depended on his acting, and with Juniper’s flawless performance, it became nearly impossible to distinguish the real person from the imposter. A true doppelgänger. This made it almost impossible for his enemies to identify him through his civilian identity.

He went on to adopt several identities to infiltrate Zoraxis: from workers and guards to allies, and even high-ranking members, such as The Fabricator (a role that earned her immediate hatred), and he even impersonated Gibson.

"Well, for starters, I DON'T sound like that."

"Of course you do."

As a result of these small successes, his relationship with Gibson improves exponentially. Gibson starts to value John’s strengths over his insufferable and idiotic attitude, becoming a sort of voice of reason—the only person in the Agency capable of tolerating him or bringing him to his senses. For his part, John views Gibson as his equal, someone capable enough to share the stage and bask in the spotlight. After all, what would an actor be without his loyal co-star, who accompanies him through every one of his adventures?

There would be no Clover without Gibson, that much is certain.

Things are going smoothly for both the Agency and the duo, until one afternoon, a letter bearing the Zoraxis logo arrives at John Juniper’s office, with a special invitation from Dr. Zor.

[almightykasumi]

Kind of scary to make my first post on tumblr, so I’m just ripping off the bandaid.

This is a little something I wrote for my Transformers OC, Sunpiercer, with TFP Ratchet. It’s a little over 2k words.

Thank you @runicarbiter02 and @themaineoddity for allowing me to ramble about her to you guys!!

I apologize if there’s any misspellings, misinformation (I’m new to the TF fandom), or mischaracterizations.

Thanks for reading!

It had been a few stellar cycles since Ratchet had yelled at Sunpiercer so fiercely, so intensely, that she thought his helm was going to pop clean off. Then came his confession, halfway an explanation as to why he was so angry at her when so many other bots got injured while out in the field. Yes, he was upset with them for getting hurt, but not nearly as much as he was with Sunny when he found her in his medbay. She did have an uncanny ability to get hurt more than others, which in turn incited Ratchet’s tirades about her recklessness. Primus help her if she decides to try and hide any sort of injury from him.

Sunpiercer had tried to scramble away from him as she re-entered the base through a groundbridge, but Ratchet knew her too well at this point. She always greeted him after coming back from a patrol or a mission, and if she didn’t, something was up. She had stalked back to her room, trying to be stealthier than her large frame allowed, and there he was, arms crossed over his chassis. She had hardly been able to open her habsuite door when his look of disdain pierced through her. Staring down at him for a moment, holding a guilty look on her face plates, Sunny slowly tried to close the door on him.

“Get your aft in here.” Ratchet says lowly.

He didn’t even have to force the door back open, Sunny opening it again and shuffling inside, keeping her back specifically away from him. Her optics held his gaze, an attempt at keeping up a facade that nothing was wrong. Lifting a servo to wave lightly at him, a half smile appears on her lips.

“Heyyyy, Ratch, what an unexpected surprise seeing you around here…” she starts, her smile faltering as his face plates remain the same, “What, uhh- what can I help you with?”

He looks Sunny up and down, arms still crossed over his chassis, scrutinizing her. He notices the scratches to her normally polished finished, superficial, but he files away his thoughts for later. He doesn’t see anything that she could be hiding, her wings in decent shape. Putting his servos on his hips, his optics squint at her.

“What!?” Sunpiercer snaps at him, not aggressively, but a little more than exasperated. She’s well aware he does this every time she comes back from fieldwork, without fail. Knowing the old mech means well, but the speech about her decisions while out there comes after, and it frustrates her to no end.

“Turn around,” Ratchet states flatly, clearly not in the mood to mess around about anything, “You did something to your wing, didn’t you?”

Ratchet knew he was right, didn’t need her to confirm it, but needed her to admit to it. He could see how she held her right wing a little lower than the left. It wasn’t something that just anyone would pick up on, but he’s watched over her oh so carefully since she’d garnered his attention upon her arrival about a vorn or so ago. Something about her made his spark flutter again, after so long of feeling rather empty. After so long of knowing nothing but tragedy and sorrow. He was going to protect that feeling with everything he had in him, so that meant he needed to protect her.

This time, it was Sunpiercer’s turn to cross her arms, her expression souring. Of course he would catch on. He had been treating her differently than the rest of the bots here stellar cycles, giving her mixed feelings. Sunny had already processed her thoughts about Ratchet, enjoying his company, despite their bickering, and often seeked him out. She admitted to herself that she definitely felt different about him, often thought of him when he wasn’t even in the room. It took her a while to come to terms with it, that she considered him to be a conjux prospect, but she held herself back from telling him. Afraid of him not having the same feelings in his spark, especially after her different treatment recently. Ratchet was snapping at her more when she comes to him with an injury, giving her lectures on her actions while fighting, and trying to take away duties assigned to her. It made Sunpiercer feel as if he had something against her, but that didn’t stop her from trying to make it better.

She stiffened as his digit traced just below where her wing connected with her back strut, an energon flush rushing through her cheek plates. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have a servo anymore. Sunny trusted Ratchet though, knew he was going to help her, even if he was pissed about it. His footfalls reached her audials, coming around to her front, his first digit held out to her. Glancing at it, she could see the bright blue energon upon it. Her helm quickly turns away from him, hiding that flush from his optics.

“What happened, hm? Another foolhardy plan not going as intended?” He started out calm enough, the frustration winning over towards the end.

She shifts between her pedes, meeting his gaze again, “A Vehicon got the better of me, until I got the better of him.” Sunpiercer smirked, recalling the events of the previous patrol. Ratchet motioned with his servo for her to continue explaining, quiet while she spoke. Listening.

She had found a trio of Vehicons on her patrol route, getting a tad too close to the Autobot base than was comfortable. She decided to take action and push them back. Diving at them from a high altitude, she hit the ground in the middle of the group with such force that it knocked one of them to the ground, destabilizing the other two. Thinking one was taken care of, she focused on the remaining ones, swiftly and brutally beating them back. She hadn’t expected the third to rise from the ground and attack her from behind, grappling her right wing and pulling her roughly to the ground. She could feel some cables snap at the connecting joint, a cry falling from her lips. She recovered from the initial shock of the attack quickly, pushing the pain to the back of her processor. She knew already that Ratchet was going to give her Pits for this.

After dispatching the foot soldiers, leaving their frames for a superior to find, Sunpiercer strode to an open area to transform and take flight back to the base to give a report. The beginning of her transformation felt normal, until her wings began to shift plating. Stopping abruptly as the bite of pain tore through her joint, she knew she was screwed. Radioing in to the one bot she knew wouldn’t ask questions, Arcee, Sunpiercer groundbridged back to base, which led up to where she is now.

“Why didn’t you use your sensors, that’s sparkling play!” Ratchet groans, running a servo over his helm in an attempt to soothe himself. His optics blink slowly, looking back to Sunpiercer, awaiting her excuse.

“I- “ She stopped herself, her vocal box resetting with a click. She knew he wasn’t going to like this answer. “I turned them off…”

Ratchet’s helm tilts, his jaw dropping slightly, mouth hanging open. “You-, why? What in Primus’ name gave you that brilliant idea!?”

Sunpiercer opens her mouth to explain her thought process behind this, only to be cut off immediately by the irate medic. The air grew heavy as his EM field spiked with anger, frustration, stress.

“You know what? No, I don’t want an excuse out of you! You should know better than this, know how much more vulnerable your wings are from behind, know that if your wings get damaged that your life is on the line more than it would be. You can’t afford to be making those kinds of reckless decisions out there!” Ratchet spews, his digit tapping on Sunpiercer’s chassis to emphasize his words, leaving traces of energon on her from when he had inspected her wing joint.

Optics glaring right back at him, Sunny grabs his wrist, pushing his servo away from her, “I know what I’m doing! It was a calculated risk to having an advantage. Did you forget how long I’ve been fighting in this war? How long I’ve had to survive on my own? What injuries I’ve dealt with myself because showing weakness in the Decepticons gets you killed!?” Her arms wave exasperatedly, optics narrowed, venting heavy. Her own EM field overpowering his slightly, before shrinking back quickly, reeling herself in.

Her processor hummed with thoughts, most of them trying to keep her anger at bay, something she’s always struggled with. It’s gotten better since joining the Autobots, but it’s not something that will ever go away. Behind that, a lingering sadness. Just when she thought she found a place she might truly belong to, it gets shoved back her in faceplates. She studies Ratchet’s expressions for a moment, his EM field slowly going back down to what his normal range is. His face grows soft, optics no longer holding that glare he’s so accustomed to. Looking at the energon on his digit-tip, he frowns, taking a slight step back from the taller femme.

“You’ve been treating me differently lately,” Sunpiercer continues, lubricant edging her optics, “Getting angry with me over things that you don’t get nearly get as angry with the others, removing me from patrols- missions even? It’s almost like you think I can’t do them! I can take care of myself, Ratchet. I’ve been working alone for a long time.”

“But you’re not alone anymore, Sunny!” He raises his voice, throwing his servos up.

Quiet lingers in the air, soft venting filling the space. His words ringing through her audials. She doesn’t speak, so he continues.

“You’re not alone anymore, Sunpiercer.” he restates, softer this time, taking a step closer to her again. “Some bots really want you to come back from field work. Some bots have seen too many things happen to those who aren’t careful. Some bots have lost too much. Some bots care so much it hurts! It hurts to see you like this, Sunny.” He reaches for her servos that had found their way back to her sides, cradling them in his own.

He looks up to Sunpiercer, lubricant gone from the edges of her optics, a serious yet concerned look replacing them. Venting roughly, he breaks optic contact with her, looking over to her now even more drooped wing, the scratches that were scattered over her gorgeous plating, the dents that marred her frame. Gritting his dentae, he squeezed her servos, meeting her gaze again.

“I don’t want to lose you, Sunpiercer,” Ratchet pauses, a vent shared between them, “You’ve been this old mech’s light in a very dark world. I’ve been hard on you lately, I know I have, and I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you hurt.” He stops, EM field reaching out to her own, wanting to entangle itself in her feeling.

Sunpiercer could feel her spark beating right out of her chassis, she didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect him to feel about her the way he does, shocked even. Her optics blink at him, not knowing how to respond, and yet, her EM field does for her. Reaching out to Ratchet’s the intertwine together, tentatively, testing.

Ratchet lets out a light scoff, almost in disbelief himself. “Well, can you say something? Let me know I didn’t just make a fool of myself?” He coaxes a response from Sunny, nervously fidgeting with her digits.

“I-“ she starts, energon rushing her cheek plates yet again, “I don’t want to lose you either, Ratch.”

He bows his head slightly, letting out a vent he didn’t even know he was holding. The relief is palpable in his EM field, her still reaching out to comfort his while she was lost for words. They stood there for a moment, just basking in each other. No words being said, yet a full conversation being held. Lifting up her servo, Ratchet places a light kiss on her knuckle joints.

“Let’s get you fixed up, hm?” He nods at Sunny, releasing her servos to get the habsuite door for her, beckoning her to his medbay.

(Quick shout out to Revelboo, thank you for all the writing you do, you've helped inspire me to start posing.)

[moonlight-tmd]

The god-sparkling AU

So, how would Primus and Unicorn react to the fact that Wasp tried to kill Bumblebee a lotta times. Just a bit curious on how that will play out, would really be interesting with Wasptinor or however you spell his name, (p.s. Blitzbee is the OP ship of TFA)

Well tbh, he's pissed. More so when the little squish comes to his planet just to torment his bitty more.

Back on Cybertron's orbit in boot camp Primus knew exactly what was happening with Bee and helped him get thru stuff. That however didn't stop Wasp from butting in. As a way to discourage him from bullying Primus came up with a brilliant idea or merciless karma; whenever Wasp bullied Bee, he would immediately after receive an inconvenience. Like stuff being dropped on him by a mech walking by or an embarrassing fall when they were out doing fieldwork. Even if he took a test beforehand, if he bullied Bee in the meantime he would fail it.

At first it seemed to do the trick but then Wasp started blaming everything on Bee even harder. So the karma punishments became more severe. Primus thought that after Bee went away with his crew and Wasp was stuck in jail it would all fall into the past... but nah, Wasp broke out and set out on a hunt for Bee before Primus could stop him.

When Wasp got to work on Earth, Unicron knew every single thing about him, Bee's been telling him a lot of stuff Primus was too spiteful to share with him. He let him do his thing, watched all his moves and plans and when he finally decided to kidnap Bee to replace him, that's when he struck.

The moment Wasp and Bee switched bodies, Wasp was overwhelmed by a divine sensation in his mind. He couldn't understand anything and the voices were only getting louder with each second. He couldn't handle it as the feeling of being bound down by shackles settled in and left him feeling helpless.

Bee was fine, just watching the show in Wasp's body and wondering whether he looks like this whenever he speaks to one of his parents. It was a short while before Bee grabbed the device and swapped back with Wasp and called backup. Wasp was so mentally worn out he couldn't do anything but to curl up and try to silence the raging memory of what happened barely few minutes ago.

He was taken back to Cybertron and held captive once more, this time however he ended up in one of the mental hospitals. He spend the following years thinking about what happened and reflecting on everything.

Maybe someday he'll come to peace that he's horrible and done a lot of wrong, maybe not. Only Primus will know.

Also hell yeah, we love BlitzBee. But other ships are also valid and should not be hated! Love yall! <3

[tlatollotl]

After several failed attempts over the last two years or so to get a grant to do the fieldwork necessary for my dissertation, I was awarded a Wenner-Gren grant today. It is humbling to be awarded when so many were not, including close friends of mine. I hope to make the most of this opportunity and do my very best to expand our understanding of West Mexico and make that information available to everyone. For those also struggling with similar situations, I wish you luck.

[narianders-gt-hell]

Normalize Being Bad At Your Job (1/5)

next A/N: my tummy hurts

Anyway welcome to part 1 of the first time my two guys Xen and Cass meet. It goes not great. Love em.

Uhhh content warning for mild swearing I guess? And a minor conflict.

—§—§—

Xenia trudged through thick underbrush that tugged at her clothing, constantly threatening to trip her up as she carved a path through the woods. The map she held in her hands had yellowed with age, but the ink hadn’t yet faded to the point of unusability. She was looking for a castle, possibly the ruins of a castle, lost to time in a forest clearing nearby.

Legends told of a fierce battle fought eons ago between the lord of the manor and a dragon that had marked the area as its territory. She had corroborated sources with cross-referenced material from multiple historical archives before stumbling across a more detailed map of the area as it was back in the days of old. Of course, the legends were all different, but the thread of truth running between them always listed the location near the heart of Carthan Woods. It was quite possible that there would be clues in the charred remains that could give her more insight into the massive, nigh-extinct creatures that once ruled the earth.

The trees finally gave way to a rocky patch of ground that dipped steeply downward into a sprawling valley. She came to a halt at the edge of the outcropping, gasping when she caught sight of the burnt out donjon rising above the treetops. “It’s here! Luis, it’s right here!” she proclaimed, whooping with excitement.

Her travel companion was not faring nearly as well as she. Stinging nettles had ripped at his face and arms, and sweat drenched his entire upper body. He huffed, shrugging off his rucksack. Their supplies clattered to the ground, settling in a heap next to him. “We should turn back, Xen.”

Xenia cocked her head at him, “What? But Luis, we’re so close…”

“That structure is at least another few miles away on foot, not to mention the fact that we’d have to rappel down this cliff to do it. I’m telling you now, we either set camp here or go back to the tavern.”

“We’ve only been walking for two hours! The sun is still climbing—“

“And it beats down on us like an angry god, Xen!” Luis exclaimed, cutting her off, “Look, if you really want, I will leave the supplies with you, but I need creature comforts, dammit, and since I’m not making it to the castle, I am going back to the inn.”

Xenia’s nostrils flared. She bit back a comment about the cushy hearth of academia softening him into a fieldwork-failing dolt and looked away, “Fine, go. Take one of the waterskins with you, but leave the rest of the supplies with me. I will make it there today.” she said, tempering her voice lest she allow the pit of anger churning in her stomach to rise to the surface, “I will meet you back at the tavern, Ser Alcontes.”

He sighed, running a hand over his glistening, grimy face, “Xen, I—“

“You what?”

“Nothing. Fine.” he groaned, knowing she was far past the point of arguing. He unclipped a skin from the side of the huge rucksack and set off before things could turn into an all out fight.

Xenia sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders when he was finally out of sight. She couldn’t understand. They’d planned this for months, going on hikes to build endurance, pored over hundreds of books late into the night, and he’d never backed out of fieldwork like this before. She pulled some dried fruit and salt-cured meat out of her own satchel, biting down hard on the chewy material as she gazed across the valley at her destination.

When she was finished with her meal, she secured some of the rope they brought to a tree, gathered her supplies, and began her descent.

Abseiling down the cliff was fairly easy. They’d brought enough rope and she was an experienced climber. Her mother had constantly taken her to the beachside cliffs near her childhood home, and she’d learned from a young age which rocks would hold her weight and which would send her tumbling down into the churning sea below. She kept her eyes on the castle even as she slipped below the treeline, no longer able to see it between the massive pines that stood in her way.

There was no real path for her to follow anymore, and she doubted anyone had been out this way for a very long time. She used the small billhook sheathed at her waist to make quick work of some of the larger undergrowth, carving her way through the thick, shadowy forest. The sun crept through the sky as she crept through the forest, hanging low on the horizon by the time she reached the outer retaining wall of the fortress. She touched the large stone bricks, feeling an odd jolt of electricity course through her body when she made contact with it. Shaking it off as mere excitement at the prospect of discovery, she secured her rucksack, took a swig from the skin she’d refilled at the creek she crossed an hour ago, and began to climb.

The brick and mortar had been worn with time, aiding her ability to find handholds. The other side was packed with dirt that had eroded away, creating a slight drop from the wall to the ground. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the other side. When her feet hit the ground she paused. Something was off. The forest had gone silent, and a feeling of impending doom coiled itself deep within her core. She began trekking quickly towards the only remaining structure on this side of the wall, the burned out donjon. The white tower stood tall against the lush landscape surrounding it. Ruined ballistas peeked out from crumbling parapets in the dying light of the sun, a stark reminder of a lost age.

The door to the keep had caved in long ago. She stumbled over splintered wood and took in her surroundings. The singed frame of a cracked mirror sat to the left of the doorway, and the room opened up beyond the foyer into a proper lord’s hall. She took a deep breath, trying to still her quickening pulse when an ear-splitting roar cracked across the sky, followed by the flapping of a titanic set of wings. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream, hidden in the shadow of the old lord’s hall. An earth-shaking thud sent her to her knees. By the grace of the gods she managed to keep her supplies from spilling to the floor.

She caught a glimpse of the beast in the mirror shards strewn across the entryway. Its red scales glinted in the broken reflection, the entire hulking form rising high above the treetops even as it laid itself down amongst them.

She carefully repositioned herself and prepared to sit there for however long it took for the beast to be on its way. The last rays of daylight slipped from the dusky room, and with it went her only way of keeping an eye on the behemoth outside.

She cursed Luis, if he had been here then perhaps the corroboration of what she’d seen would be enough to justify her expedition. Sleep crept upon her in spite of her fears, gently pulling her away from the waking world

[zithcavooris]

Before the accident, Victor Stone was a star on the football field. This caused some friction with his scientist father, Silas. Dr. Silas Stone worked in military robotics, developing prosthetics to allow injured soldiers to continue fieldwork. As the government pressured him for faster results, Dr. Stone failed to notice the increasingly hazardous conditions at his plant. The inevitable result was a massive explosion, destroying much of the plant–and worse, much of Victor’s body.

With no time to wait for an ambulance and desperate to save his son’s life, Dr. Stone outfitted him with all his most advanced prototypes. Biometals reinforced his spine, ribs, and skull; a pacemaker-defibrillator kept his heart beating; an internal ventilator kept him breathing, and bulletproof casing held it all together. That’s before even mentioning his industrial-strength limbs, with their sonic cannons, rocket launchers, and grappling cables, or his bionic eye with its enhanced visual capabilities.

When Vic regained consciousness, he was none too grateful. He blamed his father for causing the accident in the first place, and hated his “freakish” new appearance. Things only got worse when it turned out the military wanted to reclaim Vic’s cybernetics for themselves. Ultimately, Vic fled home, but didn’t get far before he witnessed a mugging. He made quick work of the mugger with his superior strength, only for the victim to be more afraid of him! The arrival of the police threatened to turn the situation dire, until the Teen Titans showed up to de-escalate. It was only among the young heroes that Vic began to feel he belonged, that some good could come of his misfortune. With their help, he would remove any doubt that he deserved his new body and defeat anyone who wanted to take it from him. He would investigate whether the plant accident was truly an accident after all. And most incredibly, he would maybe even learn to reconcile with his father.