#hoping I can get back into the swing of being creative

[spectrelope]

quietly sobs as I get nice tags on some artwork

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : softdom!rafayel, hints of switch!rafayel, reader is hesitant with intimacy, descriptions of self-esteem issues and general insecurities, mentions/implications of toxic relationships, implications of dubcon (not with rafayel), praise and reassurance, kissing and making out, heavy petting, first time sex (with each other) (no virginity loss), masturbation (f), oral (m. receiving), vaginal sex, cowgirl and missionary positions, unprotected sex, creampie, soft sex, use of pet names "cutie" "princess" "baby", references to card "fiery undercurrents", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 7.9k (help me)

youtiful masterlist

a late birthday os for our favorite deep sea painter! ✨

You jumped at your phone, nearly gasping at the caller ID that flashed on your screen.

"Rafayel!"

Your grip on your phone was tight, held against your ear with an immediate burst of excitement.

It had been days.

You knew how it was, of course—an artist's inspiration was often sporadic and fleeting, and you'd even lost count of the number of times Rafayel had told you that. How essential it was to grab the spark of creativity before it you lose it; how paramount it was to focus on your flow before it disappeared... It was ingrained in the forefront of your mind, by now.

And even more than that, if Rafayel had always been one to speak of the elusiveness of inspiration, then Thomas had always been one to insist you leave him and his stroke of genius alone whenever he called for it.

You didn't understand much about the world of artists, so it was natural for you to take their words to heart, but it hadn't been easy.

Rafayel, being Rafayel, would always send you texts and updates, never failingly missing a single day... But it had been days since you'd last heard his voice at all—much less seen him. Now, marking a week sinve you'd been to his studio at all, you were pacing back and forth in your apartment, wondering how long you had to wait, and if maybe you should take a chance and visit him yourself—

But you didn't want to be selfish.

In fact, you quite despised being needy at all—with a quiet laugh, you thought, that was usually the role that Rafayel would play in your relationship. You wouldn't think to take it from him.

Yet, now, your phone rang, and the ever-familiar sound of his voice brought on a wave of butterflies in your stomach that had your mood lifting in seconds.

"Heeyyy there, cutie!"

In the background, you could make out the faint sounds of metal against concrete in the background, and your ears perked.

"Is... that your ladder? Have you finished your painting?"

"Yeah! It really took a while, this one... But Thomas'll be happy to know that it's finally finished! ...That is, if I could get ahold of him..."

You carefully sat on the edge of your bed, swinging your legs in sheer happiness at his little ramblings.

"...And, actually, I kind of need your help."

You blinked.

"Hm? Help? With what?"

"Well, you know how I told you it's been kind of a while since I last cleaned this place...?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you free now?"

"Rafayel, you can't mean...?"

"Yeah! Can you come over and help me clean?"

You couldn't believe his first thought with this call was to ask you for your cleaning services. You strained to hear the familiar tease in his voice, even waited for a moment for some kind of "Just kidding!" or whatever else that could tell you he wasn't being serious—

You felt your eyes narrow in disapproval when you found nothing.

"Rafayel, I'm not your maid, you know."

Not even an "I missed you", not even a " Want to hang out later?".

"Yeaaahh.... But you're my bodyguard, right?" The hopeful tone in his voice now would have made you laugh.... In other circumstances.

"What does that have to do with anything?!" There was a laugh, then, on the other side of the line, and you huffed. "Rafayel, don't joke with me—"

"Look! I told you, right? Thomas won't answer me, and, seriously! The studio's a mess. I really need some help... Please?"

He was laughing completely now, and the sound brought over that same, very familiar ripple of butterflies, despite all the odds.

You caved.

"This is labor abuse, Rafa. Of your own girlfriend, might I add!" You hmphed, but stood up from your bed, haphazardly gathering your things into a purse and walking out of your flat. "Fine. I'm on my way there."

"Oh, you really are the best girlfriend I could ever have wished for! Thanks, princess! See ya!"

Not even a "stay safe"!

You wondered if this was what Rafayel felt whenever you were late to receive his calls or to reply to hia texts, and you sighed.

Is he just trying to get back at me...?

Regardless, he made up for his actions by immediately twirling you over with a kiss the minute you knocked on his door, and you smiled.

"Nice to see you again, princess," he grinned.

You thought you could never have wanted to see his smile as much as you did now—

But you couldn't bring yourself to admit that to him.

"Would've been better if you said that when you called me, huh?" You rolled your eyes playfully, shoving him aside and scanning the space in front of you.

He hadn't been lying.

Paint had been scattered around, well past the patches of safety paper he usually had lying all over his studio. While you were used to seeing the place mostly messy, anyway, this seemed a lot less like the organized mess you were used to. What's more, the painting wasn't even in this room anymore, and god knows where he'd put it now to dry.

You turned towards him with the raise of an eyebrow.

"Geez, Rafayel... This place looks like it's been through a hell hole. What were you doing?"

"Painting."

He shrugged, ever nonchalant and casual, only as if stating the obvious—that clearly being so engrossed in your painting would result in such a mess, and that clearly—he handed over a bundle of cleaning supplies—this was a very normal way of greeting your significant other.

You sighed.

You supposed, nothing was ever truly normal with him, anyway.

By the time you had finished, the sun that peeked through his windows bathed his studio into a golden glow. You settled onto the couch beside him, silent as he rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder, your head resting contently on his shoulder.

"You're rich, Rafayel," you mumbled, a little tiredly. "Why can't you just hire a maid if you don't want to clean things yourself?"

"And where do you think I'd find one I could trust enough to let near my paintings?"

The scoff in his voice made your lips quirk into a smile, and you tilted your head up to look at him.

...Ah.

Your breath caught in your throat when your eyes met, the gentle mix of red and purple hues in his eyes once again having you transfixed. His hair was slightly unruly from the work you'd both done, but the sunset rays streaming in from the window had little specks of sunlight painting his tresses in such a way that had you utterly mesmerized.

He chuckled slightly.

"Cat got your tongue, princess?"

You could barely bring yourself to mumble a response when he leaned in, shifting your positions just enough to have you lying on your back against the couch. Half of his weight rest over you, and you could feel it; his heartbeat against yours. You could almost amazed feel at the comfort in your synchronicity.

He sighed, brushing your hair out of your face. "...Why haven't you been to the studio?" he mumbled.

His words pulled you out of your reverie, and immediately, you felt your heart sink.

"...I thought... I thought you'd be busy..." Your voice came out meek, already searching his eyes anxiously. "Thomas told me not to disturb you, a-and I thought, maybe, you didn't want to be interrupted? I know how hard it's been for you to finish that painting..."

You swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, that might be true..." Rafayel nuzzled your nose affectionately, succeeding in soothing your nerves down to a certain degree. "But what if I wanted to see you, too?"

"...You... You usually just ask..."

Your words were met with silence, and you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

"Rafayel—"

"But you can't expect me to be the one asking for you all the time, right?"

Something at the back of your mind told you he didn't mean it that way, but his words stung nonetheless. The disapproval in his pout made your stomach churn. The atmosphere had, to you, become a little weightier, and your chest felt heavy with guilt.

You promised you wouldn't make him wait... But didn't you, in the end? Some useless game of seeing who'd cave first?

Your gaze shifted away from him, and you played with the hem of your shirt.

"Sorry, Rafa, I didn't mean to upset you... I-I don't know much about art, and I didn't want to bother you, and—god, actually, maybe it was stupid of me to just rely on Thomas' words instead of asking you, I'm such a terrible girlfriend—"

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you spoke, but before you could proceed any further, you felt the soft sensation of lips upon yours.

You blinked your tears away rapidly, refocusing to meet his, parting your lips slightly in shock when he pulled away.

"Don't say that, princess." He shook his head, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "You're not a terrible girlfriend. You're perfect, actually, and... I'm partly to blame. It was wrong of me to test you like that... You're right. I should have just asked."

You drew in a breath.

Perhaps, it was because your roles had been reversed today; perhaps, it was because you'd been so anxious to see him again that even the slightest signs of any conflict had you feeling like walking on eggshells. But it was rare for you to see him take the situation at hand so maturely, and it did well for the tenseness in your shoulders to melt away.

He moved his hand back into your hair, soft, gentle strokes, if only to soothe you further away from your worries.

"...Well, actually, maybe we both are a little stupid. I... kind if made the studio messy on my own."

Your ears perked up with that, and you looked at him curiously.

Rafayel laughed.

"It wasn't that bad when I'd finished! And I wasn't lying, I had been neglecting the studio, I just..."

When his voice trailed off, you found the courage to speak again.

"Did you.... Make an excuse to bring me here?"

He smiled, bringing his lips over to the top of your head, another one on your temple, and then another one over the corner of your eye.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I missed you a lot. I guess I just got creative... A little too much, anyway."

His lips were on yours again the next second, soft pecks that made your heart soar with glee. You wrapped your arms slowly around his neck, barely registering the way he'd pulled himself over you, feeling safe under the weight of his body—you liked this. And you missed it, being close with him, having a few moments to yourselves just to revel in each other's warmth.

With half-lidded eyes, he pulled back for air, panting softly over your skin.

"...You really could have just asked me," you whispered, gazing into his eyes and allowing yourself to get lost in them once more.

He let out a soft laugh. "Hm, yeah. Buuuut, maybe I thought this would be more interesting... And maybe, then, you could stay the night, too..."

His eyes flickered closed as he ran his hands through your hair once more, bringing a lock up to his face and letting out a sigh.

"You used that shampoo again."

You faltered slightly at his words, but he pressed you against the couch, capturing your lips into a deeper kiss.

...That shampoo.

You knew exactly what he was referring to.

The last time he'd noticed this scent on you, the way he'd pressed his lips against yours had been anything but innocent—it was one of the first times the both of you had made out together, the hairdryer and towel that had started the whole ordeal then long-forgotten beside you. The mere thought of that night brought an undeniable flush to your face, an all-too-familiar tingling sensation breaking throughout your body.

And you knew what he was insinuating. Even as he continued to kiss you, and even as you felt yourself easily melting into him the way that you would.

His hand began to roam your body, slowly stroking down your sides, making their way to your thigh and inching closer, closer, to the heat of your clothed core—

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't control it.

It was like instinct, whatever this conflict of mind and body really was—

You immediately reached out to grab his wrist, and his reaction was immediate. In an instant, his lips were off of yours, and he froze in place, wide eyes searching yours.

"Shit," he whispered. "Princess, I'm sorry— Did I— Did I go something wrong—"

Though breathless and panting, your lips quivered, and your grip on his wrist tightened.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Slowly, you felt him peel himself off of you, sitting up carefully... And you took in a deep breath.

"R-Rafayel, I..."

The waver in your voice and the alarm that had found its way into your eyes weren't missed by him, and you turned your head. "I'm sorry," you swallowed thickly. "I... I don't think i can do this right now..."

You felt feeble and small as you moved to draw your knees up to your chest, almost as if with the intention of hiding yourself away. "I... M-maybe, just... Not tonight...?"

When you sneaked a glance back up at him, you could see it. That glimmer of hurt in his eyes, perhaps just barely there, but more noticeable to you than anything else. You were also made painfully aware of the sun that had set, the studio now darker into the night—a cold draft blew in through the windows and made you shiver, and now, you felt incredibly small.

Rafayel, however, gave you another soft smile, gently moving to sit with your legs over his lap, resorting to holding your hand in his gently.

"Okay," he said.

And it was so simple the way he accepted your rejection, so devoid of judgement, that it made you feel...

Guilty.

Even guiltier than you already were to begin with.

"...I'm sorry, Rafa, I—"

He shook his head, giving your hand another squeeze.

"No, that's... Well, also on me. I should have asked you about this first, too..." The regret in his voice made you want to hit something. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything today. I'll wait until you're ready, princess."

...He'll wait?

Quietly, you moved to crawl back towards him, snuggling into his chest.

This wasn't the first time he had tried to go further with you. That night, after drying your hair, had been one of such times, and it wasn't as if you didn't want to take the next step in your relationship.

In fact, you wanted it just as much as he did.

You've fantasized about it for nights on end, laying on your bed, fingers playing with your clit and imagining how well his hands would have worked you, how well his cock would have stretched you out and filled you up far better than your fingers ever could. You lost count, how many times you'd come undone, alone on your bed, having his name spill from your lips as you did.

You wanted so badly for him to ravage you.

But thinking of it was incredibly different from having the situation at hand right in front of you.

You were nervous.

There were so, so many things that could go wrong from just exposing yourself to him as you would have if you did go that far—just as so, so many things had already gone wrong the last time you had, with other people.

You buried your face into his chest, pressing against him, drowning yourself in his warmth.

"...Are you mad?" You whispered.

"Me? Why would I be, when you're cuddling me like this so tightly?" The playfulness in his voice chased enough of your worries for you to let out a little laugh. "Just so you know... I'm perfectly fine with this."

You shifted, tilting your head to look up at him.

Rafayel gently poked at your nose.

"I can't be mad at you, princess, just because you said no to me. There are other ways for us to be affectionate, and I don't need to have sex with you, you know?"

"...But you want to?" Your voice remained meek, still very obviously wanting to hide yourself back into his shirt. And you would have, if he hadn't pried you away, hands firmly over your arms, leaning down to study your gaze.

"R-Rafa—"

"I want to, princess, but only if you want to. And I need to make that super, suuper clear to you, because I won't be forcing you into anything you don't want. 'Kay?"

His words sent a flurry of comfort into your stomach.

"...But... But what if I make you wait too long? You dislike waiting... A-and it's normal, anyway, right? For couples to have sex? If we don't, then..." As you spoke, you noticed a frown frown gradually form over his face, and you faltered.

"You... You expect me to leave because of this?"

You turned your gaze away in silence.

"Princess... You... May I ask where that's coming from? Do... Do you feel unloved with me? Am I doing something wrong?"

It was like a trigger—the way his voice dropped into a soft whisper, his hands falling back down to take yours in his, lacing your fingers together.

He was so gentle with you.

You felt the unwelcome sting of tears in your eyes, and you shook your head—"N-no," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "You've done nothing wrong, but... But you're so—so nice to me, Rafayel..."

"...Baby? Of course I'm nice to you! Aren't you my girlfriend?!"

The nickname switch made your heart jump, and you nuzzled yourself further into his embrace.

"...I don't deserve you."

A pause.

You felt as if you could drown in the silence, even though you knew that he was just thinking of what to say.

"I'm sorry, I just made things worse—"

"...Deserve me? There's... there's nothing for you to say that—princess, that's my line, you know. You deserve everything—every little good thing out there, and so much more than me."

"But—! You—you're so good to me, and I'm—! How many times did I disappoint you? This whole week, and even just now, and—"

You felt yourself sniffling, and Rafayel once again brought you to look up at him. You chewed on your bottom lip, a flash of insecurity in your eyes that made him sigh softly.

"No, no, no... Don't cry, princess... Nothing's going to change just because of this, yeah? You know I love you. And nothing in the way that I love you is tied to... whatever ways you'll allow me to love you. I get it, you know? If you're not ready to go there yet, then that's fine. I promise. I don't make promises without reason, princess."

His gaze, now, was firm, and his words were warm. Genuine—like he always was with you. In the silence that followed, you felt yourself calm down slightly, your breath easing, the tears in your eyes blinked away in your insistence not to cry in front of him.

And more than anything, you found thr conviction in his words to be something you could... Trust.

You took in a deep breath.

"I've... I've done this a couple of times before," you spoke, slowly, quietly. "It's been a while since the last time, but— it's— it's just scary, Rafa."

Your voice trembled, and you hung your head.

"And I feel like it's so silly to be scared of it. It's always so obvious that I am, because I get too focused on trying to relax that I never really do, and then in the end I can only ever make up for it by letting them finish. So I— I don't know. Everyone says that couples always do this, like it's supposed to be a staple... Or else, what are they for, right?"

You let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, but it almost came out as if you were scolding yourself.

"Wait—hold on. You... You've never orgasmed?"

You blinked in surprise this time, looking up at him with a confused frown. "Huh? Only on my own, I guess... Never with them, no, but—"

"Oh, princess..." he began, almost like a whisper. "You've never enjoyed it, have you...? To call it a staple... Gosh. It's not something necessary to maintain a relationship, let's get that out of your pretty head first."

You watched him bring his hand over to the side of your face, a gentle caress.

"I don't know if humans really do think such fickle things, but I wouldn't leave you just because you won't go further with me. I want you to be ready before we go there. Okay? God, who have you been with?! They sound like the worst kind of humans!"

Despite yourself, you laughed at his indignation, watching him fall back against the couch with his arms crossed.

"No, seriously, baby—doesn't it sound wrong to you?! You know, I wouldn't have stopped until you came. In fact, I bet I could make you feel so much better than they ever could—" He paused, ears turning slightly red in telltale embarrassment. "...Sorry. I'll be totally patient, I really mean it. I was just, you know... saying..."

You giggled.

Rafayel was always cute when he was embarrassed, even if just a few moments ago, he'd so obviously reduced you to just a puddle through his kissses alone.

But his words, once again, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When you looked at him, his eyes were as gentle as the waves of the ocean you'd grown to love almost as much as him, and you couldn't help but feel... safe.

You'd never really felt safe before—not with anyone else.

Any time you opened up about this, your previous partners would have scoffed in your face—would have told you there couldn't have been a basis for what you felt, and that there was nothing more irrational than all of these needless worries of yours.

It was silly.

You had always believed that.

Yet you couldn't help feeling the way that you did.

Whenever you experienced sexual intimacy with anyone else, though you had let it happen in the end, you had never... associated it with anything special. Like you'd said, it only ever felt a mandatory part of any relationship. It was like going through the motions, and then you'd find out that you'd been a terrible experience—no matter how pretty they said you were, no matter how much you'd always be told that they were looking forward to it.

You were disappointing.

That was what conclusion you'd come up with, after several times of the same result.

And you always envied your friends, too.

Whenever the topic came up, they'd speak of how magical it was—how sweet, and how loving, and how good it felt... Yet you'd felt none of that. If there was anything good you associated with sex at all, it had been you—by yourself—in your room.

You really didn't know how to reconcile all of these feelings together—

And, yet, Rafayel had been the very first one to let it slide in a way that put your feelings first.

You promised him you wouldn't make him wait...

Yet here he was, adamant on letting you do exactly that.

You looked up at him, again, listening to him guide the conversation elsewhere, talking about how his week had been, and how painful it had been to get that painting done.

"You haven't seen it yet, have you? Hmm... I'm thinking if I should show you. I guess my girlfriend can have early access to it before the exhibition, right...?" He had one hand resting on your back, the other brought up to his chin in thought. "What do you think? Do you want to see it now?"

You stared, silently, as his eyes were back on yours.

That familiar, adorable tilt of his head, the inquisitive gaze in his eyes bringing that familiar shine to it that you loved, loved, loved, so very dearly.

You watched a small smile form on his features, and he pulled you close enough to have your foreheads touch.

"Hey. What's on your mind, cutie? You're spacing out again. Everything okay?"

God. You really loved him.

Even the simplest phrase had the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around almost mercilessly, and if you hadn't known better, you thought you were very likely blushing in that moment.

"Just you," you spoke, softly, quietly, barely even registering that you'd spoken so honestly in front of him before you recognized the look of surprise on his face. "Shit—I mean—"

"Nuh-uh, no take-backs! I like it when you're honest," he cut you off with a laugh, placing a quick peck on your lips.

Though he didn't say anything more on the subject, you knew he was thinking it—even if you'd tease, endlessly, of Rafayel's own clingier habits, you knew that in the end that you could easily eat your own words.

Rafayel was so good to you.

Sometimes you'd think he was too good to you—too good for you.

But admitting it out loud was always so difficult to you; your honesty of your own overwhelming feelings for him often more than you could speak to him yourself.

He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.

"Maybe we should go to sleep, yeah? It's pretty late. You've worked hard!"

Slowly, you moved to straddle his lap, and then buried your face into his neck.

"...Princess..."

"...Are you really okay with this, Rafa?"

"Me? I told you, I'm perfectly fi—"

"I just—I could make you feel good, at least..."

Maybe you'd let him consume your thoughts more than you'd intended, or maybe the guilt was simply eating away at you, having never been truly placated. You didn't know which side of emotions you were acting upon, and perhaps, it seemed as if he'd sensed that.

"Baby... No. We're not going to do it tonight. I want you to set your mind straight first."

"But—"

"No buts!"

He lifted you off of his lap, another firm shake of his head. "I want to ease you into this. And that means I won't be taking any pleasure for my own just yet, because I want you to feel good."

"...Wh- What do you...?"

He smiled, before poking your forehead.

"I mean, I want you to be comfortable around me first, before you even think of trying to give me an orgasm." Rafayel gave your hand another squeeze. "I'm hoping I can at least show you that it's not supposed to be a bad experience. So we'll sleep on it first, clear our heads, take things slowly... Then we'll see how things go from there. 'Kay?"

"Rafa..."

"Baby, relax. No rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Rafayel was always so good to you.

Even through your biggest insecurities, there would be no exception.

It had been quite some time since that conversation, and, sure enough, he had been adamant on taking things slower with you. You could feel it, how he'd constantly hold himself back with you. The way he would be sure not to take it too far when he kissed you, always respectfully lifting you off of his lap whenever he felt like it would get too much if you continued...

He took things step by step, just like he said he would. From kisses, to slowly dipping his hands beneath your clothes—You had found, over the past couple of days, how warm his hands were around your breasts, cupping and kneading them like a perfect fit. It was comfortable. And it had become almost a staple to your cuddling sessions over time.

Those nights in his bed slowly, slowly became less than innocent as weeks passed by.

And then one other night, you'd finally gained the courage to let him go even further. His fingers were long, able to reach deeper inside of you than you ever could, and the stretch in your walls felt more than welcome after so long. It was just as you'd fantasized—he'd buried his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, slow thrusts gradually picking up the pace until you were trembling around him, his arms holding you safe as you released. Even now, when you thought back to that night, you felt tingles all over your body. It was the first time anyone had made you cum, the first time anyone had bothered to cradle you in their arms afterwards, the first time anyone had cleaned you up without you having to do it yourself—

You hadn't known that this could really feel so intimate.

So loving.

That Rafayel could ease all your worries away, so... naturally.

It had gotten to the point that you began to notice a boldness in both of your actions—you were growing more comfortable with him, like he'd intended you to, and now, you found yourself gladly on your knees, feeling the drag of his cock against the walls of your mouth.

He'd gotten you to cum from his fingers and his mouth multiple times over the past few days, and you had promised him—promised him—that you were only returning the favor because you wanted to. Because through the past weeks, Rafayel had been gentle with you, and patient—always asking for your consent, never pushing you to do anything you didn't want to, never even giving a thought to his own pleasure as long as it meant focusing on yours.

And this, you thought to yourself with a smile, was now a reward for for him just as much as it was for you.

Your eyes closed as you swirled circles over the tip of his length, taking your time with him as he often did with you. Your tongue ran up and over his cock, wetting him fully becore taking him in again, keening at the way his hips would stutter and his moans would reach your ears in a well-received melody.

"Fuck, yeah—Just like that, princess—" Rafayel's words were broken, his eyes half lidded as he watched you work him. "So good for me, baby—ngh, shit—"

You found his praises go straight to your core, eager to please him, eager to hear more. And in effect, your pace quickened, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking and sucking him with a new hunger. His hands tangled in your hair, the sensation more than welcome as he guided you into a rhythm, hips bucking upwards to meet your mouth.

"So, so good— Feels so good, princess, don't stop—"

Another tug on your hair had you moaning against him, feeling him throb in your mouth at the extra stimulation.

He was close.

Determined to take in the sight, you watched, fondly, as his head fell back into the pillows, the skin of his thigh hot to the touch, your eyes drawn to the way his mouth hung open, his own eyes squeezing shut.

"Shit— M'gonna—! Gonna cum, baby, pleas—"

He arched his back, his hands fleeing from your hair to fist into the sheets beneath him. It hit in an instant, then—the sheer intensity having rendered him silent, mouthing curses, eyes still shut as streaks of cum shot out of him and onto your tongue.

You were familiar with the taste; warm in your mouth, and salty—thick. There was a certain discomfort to it, swallowing every last drop, but it couldn't compare to the thrill of it. Having Rafayel finally cum in your mouth, finally come undone for you... Your eyes locked as you released him with a wet 'pop', licking your lips and then hastily wiping your mouth with a little smile.

"Damn... That was..." He was breathless, chest heaving, barely moving to allow you to climb back up on the bed and reach for the bottle of water on his nightstand. "You're really... Really good at that, princess."

Feeling warm at another word of praise from him, you exchanged the bottle for the washcloth beside it, and crawled over to gently pat him clean.

"...Baby, I can—"

"If you won't let me do it when I finish, then I won't let you, either."

Your gaze was firm, and he laughed.

"Well played. My habits are growing on you, huh, cutie? That's good."

He pulled you up into his arms for a kiss, and you snuggled into his embrace. The heat from his skin was comforting—another thing you'd slowly gotten used to, having your activities now easily practiced without the need for any more clothes on.

"...How are you feeling? Was that okay?" He mumbled into your hair as you buried your face into his chest, lifting your leg over him as if to draw him even closer to you. You nodded quietly, and a soft sigh escaped his lips when you brushed your wetness against his still-sensitive cock. "Princess... Did sucking me off get you all wet?"

You could hear the laugh in his voice, and you whined.

"You— you made me wait to do that!" You protested, and you didn't need to look up to know he had that ever-present smirk on his face. "...I wanted to make you cum, too..."

He only replied with a chuckle, trailing his hand down your back to settle upon your waist. "I know. And thank you, by the way. Your mouth feels heavenly. Did you know that?"

You swat at his arm playfully. "Rafayel!"

"What? I'm only saying the truth! And, anyway..." You squealed when he leaned over to nip at your earlobe, completely sure of how flushed you were in that moment. "You're drenched, so which one will it be? My tongue? My fingers? My thigh?"

When you didn't reply immediately, he gently gave you squeeze. "Or do you want to sleep it off? We don't have to do anything if you—"

"N- no!"

You looked up, pouting, and found that the mirth in his gaze had melted away into one of pure adoration.

"I... I think..." You gulped, your eyes traveling downward to where you rest over him.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You would have been lying if you said you hadn't been thinking about it on a constant—how he would feel inside you. And though you'd thought about it generally before, you found yourself warming up to the idea. Craving it, even, in a way you hadn't before.

You raised your head to meet his eyes again, holding your breath as you moved to straddle him, sliding your folds over his cock gently.

The moan that he let out was music to his ears, but when his hands gripped your waist tightly, you stopped.

"Fuck, wait—are you sure, princess?"

You smiled slightly at that.

Truly, Rafayel had been nothing but gentle with you; nothing but patient.

You nodded.

"I-I mean... Only if you want to? But you just came, right...? S-so, maybe not... Sorry, I don't mean to be needy, you can just—"

"Hey, hey. Deep breaths for me first, baby, yeah? Relax."

Immediately, his hands were rubbing soothingly into your sides, and you fell forward onto his chest, holding him close.

"Don't you worry about being needy with me, I don't think I'm any less needier than you, anyway," he laughed. "I want this. I really want this. But, princess... I need to know that you aren't forcing yourself into it."

You remained silent, only managing a nod.

"Look at me?"

Compliant, you raised your head once more, and Rafayel reached over to thread his fingers through your hair. He smiled.

"Verbal consent, princess. I've given you mine. Now, I need your confirmation before we do anything. Have you decided? Do you want me?"

Your heart swelled in your chest.

You didn't know how Rafayel could be so selfless with you.

None of the others you've been with would ever treat you this way, and it was... new.

It was true, what he said—it wasn't a secret to you how much he wanted you. Though he wouldn't say it, so determined not to make you feel pressured, you'd see it in the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. Even the way he spoke with you—always the more vocal one in terms of clinginess, even though you, yourself, secretly enjoyed his attention.

You'd understood from the start that he was doing his best to stay firm in his self control just for you, and it made you feel warm—Loved. Appreciated.

Even now, as you were sitting on his cock, readjusting your position only to have it poke against your back—he was patiently waiting for your answer. He was waiting for you to be sure about this.

You thought it ironic, almost.

It wasn't as if this was your first time, and yet... you'd never experienced someone be so gentle with you.

With another determined nod, you sat back up, placing your hands on your lap.

"Okay," you said, and took a deep breath. "I'm sure, Rafayel. I want you."

You swore you could feel the way his cock twitched at your words, and couldn't help the way your lips quirked into another smile.

He read your expression, and laughed. "You really drive me insane, princess."

His hands remained firm on your hips, gently lifting you off—"Do you want to stay on top? Set your pace for me?"

"...Um... Do you?"

"Baby, don't turn this back to me! Doesn't matter what I want right now, I wanna make this about you. In case you haven't noticed, I'd be more than happy to take you in any way you want me to."

You almost rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "...Okay, then... I'll try it like this. But, Rafayel, sometimes it's concerning how much you pay attention to my needs..."

"Me? Concerning? Says the one who's had some of the worst sexual experiences on the planet!" He scoffed. "Listen, princess. I say this a lot, but you understand, right? I'm not in this relationship for your body. I'm not using you for your body. I love you, because you're you, and not just so I get to fuck you some day." He paused, then, and you saw a flash of contemplation in his eyes, "...Which miiiight be today, but that's besides the point."

You laughed, this time, and perhaps in any other situation, you'd playfully hit his chest, and tell him to stop being so silly. But the lighthearted atmosphere was welcome, and you felt your shoulders slump in some sort of relief.

"I know, Rafa. I..." You bit your lip, steeling yourself, willing yourself to say it. "I... I-I love you, too."

Immediately, you watched his eyes widen, a certain shine in them that almost could have made you melt.

"...Seriously?" he whispered. "You mean it?"

You flushed at the way he sounded so much in disbelief, despite what you were about to do. But, perhaps, you understood the shock that he displayed. While he would often use the words around you—having made it clear that they were his feelings, and that you didn't have to reciprocate them immediately—you had yet to say it back.

You did love him.

Of course you did.

And you have, for a while now.

But it wasn't easy to speak these feelings out loud; wasn't easy to make yourself so affectionate and so vulnerable around him. At least, not as easy as it has been for him. It had been long established that Rafayel was the more expressive one—though he would tone things down with playful jokes and banter to match your pace of things, you knew that his feelings had been nothing but genuine for you.

And you'd always struggled to make sure that he knew you felt the same, but...

You nodded.

You could do it, this time. Give back all the love that he'd always given you.

Slowly, you reached behind you to guide his cock to your entrance, letting out a slow breath at the feeling of his tip—hot, and wet, and stiff—prodding your hole.

"I love you," you whispered, feeling confident, now, as you spoke.

His fingers dug into your skin as he gasped, finally having you slowly lower yourself down onto his cock. "Fuck," he muttered. His eyes closed—you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You feel so... so..."

A loud whine rattled past your lips when he finally pressed all the way inside of you, so big, and so filling, like nothing else you've ever had before.

"Shit," he continued to curse under his breath. "So—so good, baby."

His hands, shaky, massaged your hips in reassurance, eyes opening to reveal a hazy glimmer of lust that you had yet to see on his face before. The image before you made you shiver—every ounce of self control was slowly slipping away from him, and he was trembling with the little bit of patience he still had left in his body.

"M-move," he whimpered, looking up at you with pleading eyes that made you gasp. "Please, princess—please—can you do that for me?"

Your jaw clenched, and you obliged—how could you resist?

You rocked your hips slowly, at first, getting used to the feeling of him in side you. And, you found—you were enjoying this. Whatever you'd imagined could never compare; he felt good inside you. Every sensation you felt of his cock against your center was pleasurable, every moan that fell from his lips having you swirl your hips with a need to hear more.

You bit your lip when he slowly began to rut his hips up to meet your pelvis, now finding the strength to guide your hips gently up and down his length—

"Fuck, baby, don't hide from me, please," he moaned, eyes locking with yours with an air of desperation. "Haah—Let me hear you—hear how good it feels—'s it feel good, princess?"

You found yourself obedient.

As his tip knocked up against your sensitive spot, a loud moan spilled from your lips—immediately, you rest your hands on his chest as your head hung, feeling yourself bounce to his rhythm, hips moving in sync.

"F-feels good, 'fayel— Ah—!"

"Yeah? Like that, baby? That spot, huh?"

You grinded down on his cock, eyes screwing shut at the sound of your arousal slicking around him. His words guided you through your motions, whisperes of praise and reassurance that had you soaring—and you could feel it. The tightness that had gathered in your stomach, slowly, slowly building into something more—but so far away, so unobtainable, that it had you whining.

"R-Rafayel!" You cried as you leaned forward, burying your face into his chest. Even as he planted his feet on the bed and thrust up into you, picking his pace up a little and grunting into your ear, you shook your head— "M-more, please— I— I can't—"

"Oh, fuck, princess—"

He groaned when you clenched tightly around him, and with quick movements, he had you lying on your back, caged between his arms as breathless pants fell from his lips.

"I—fuck, baby... Are you okay with this? I'll—Shit— Sorry, I m-moved—"

He'd snapped his his hips back into yours the minute you wrapped your legs around his waist, but when he looked at you, your own eyes filled with a desire that dared to rival his own, he let out a slow breath.

"...Okay?" he whispered.

You nodded. "Please."

Rafayel laced his fingers through with yours, holding them against the pillow. At your consent, he resumed his pace, fucking deep into your cunt with thrusts so precisely rubbing against your spot that you closed your eyes with another loud moan.

"Ah, Rafa—Rafayel, s-so good—"

Any thoughts of holding back your sounds were lost in the pleasure raking through your body, feeling the way his cock would brush against all the right places. So thorough, and so loving—and so, so good.

Rafayel was making you feel good.

Better than you've ever felt—better than your fingers, and better than his, and you thought—

Fuck.

You wished you'd gotten to do this sooner.

"P-princess," he whimpered, hips stuttering as he pressed his forehead against yours, drowning a myriad of moans of your name with the way he kissed you. So needy with his touches, you melted into him like you always did, easily following his thrusts and receiving everything he could give you.

"Princess—are you—are you safe?" he breathed.

You could feel the way he tensed inside you, his hips slowing slightly into a pace that had you whining as he waited for your reply.

"Can I... Can I cum inside? If—If you—"

It almost seemed like he could barely form coherent words, and you smiled slightly. Your arms wrapped around his neck; "I'm safe," you mumbled. "Go ahead, Rafa."

The moan that he let out sent a shiver down your spine, and then his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking—you didn't even mind, anymore, whether or not he'd be leaving marks on you by the time you were done. Groans spilled from his lips between his kisses, and you felt yourself moaning along with him. The pace he'd set picked up, no longer as gentle as you'd started with, but you found that it was more than welcome.

"C-Cumming," you shut your eyes, breathing out his name in endless chants into his hair. "Cumming, Rafa, I—!"

You felt it.

The throbbing of his cock as he spilled rope after rope of cum into your cunt, just in time with your own release. Your nails dug into his scalp as you clenched sporadically around him, throwing your head back with a drawn-out moan of his name, feeling yourself drown in the sheer intensity of it.

"Rafayel—!"

"Fuck—Fuck—Take it, princess— Shit—" He hissed into your neck, pumping his cum into you, moans falling back into whimpers.

A moment passed after, and you smiled contentedly as he hugged you, pulling out of you but still so determined to keep you close to him.

"...R- Rafayel?" You whispered, soothingly stroking his hair. And only then did he look at you.

Your breath caught at his expression.

Tired, undeniably, but so... tender.

"Hey..." he mumbled, slowly moving up to give you a quick kiss. "Can you say it again?"

"H-huh? Say what...?" You felt your face grow even warmer at the mere thought of all the things you'd possibly moaned in the midst of your lust.

But he only smiled. "What you said, earlier. Say that you love me."

A giggle bubbled at your throat, and you pushed him onto the space next to you—

Naturally, he only pulled you back against him, arms wrapping around you, tucking you under his chin.

"C'monnnn, baby. Please?"

It was so hard for you to say no to him like this.

You turned around to face him, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Rafayel," you mumbled with a smile.

His expression relaxed.

"...And, thank you. For always making me feel so loved. I've never... I've never thought it could feel like this, a-and..."

"Did you like it?"

"More than liked it! I... I enjoyed it. Really. Thank you."

He grinned, then, gently setting you down on the bed and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Then, mission accomplished! So... Let's clean you up before we sleep, yeah? We can have another round in the morni—"

"Rafayel!"

"I'm kidding!"

⁺₊ / an: holy shit this took an eternity to write??!?!?!! nearly 8k words, what do u know... all this love for the birthday boy, this is an insane amount of special treatment for rafayel fr 🍰

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house. 

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth. 

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand. 

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease. 

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots. 

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet. 

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then. 

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips. 

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses. 

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom. 

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

[thankskenpenders]

Happy new year, everyone! Welcome to 2024, the year that will mark the 10th anniversary of Thanks Ken Penders. I'd like to go over my plans for the blog for this year.

First of all: in the very near future, I'll have a post with my thoughts on Sonic Dream Team, and I'm sure I'll write one last Sonic Prime review once the final episodes drop on the 11th. I've also been sitting on an unfinished piece about the Sonic LEGO sets. I wanted this to be longer and more detailed piece that not only reviewed the sets but also went into the weird disconnect between homogenized image of Sonic the Brand and the actual fiction it's based off of, but it'll probably end up getting cut down a lot just so I can put something out. Let's just say I did a fun little thing with one of the sets.

Second: yes, I would like to return to regular TKP updates this year. As I've said many times, I wanted to do this in 2023, but I've been suffering from creative burnout after finishing SLARPG and have generally been unable to focus on any of my creative goals this past year. I'm hoping that this year will be better and I'll be able to get back into the swing of covering Archie Sonic issues. Even doing one issue every week or so would be vastly preferable to continuing the hiatus. I'm still only halfway done!! But aside from burnout, my other main hurdle is that I need to reread my own archive to refresh myself on all these things after nearly three years away. This will take some time.

The thing is, though, this year I'll have an extra incentive to go back through my previous writing and brush up on all things Archie Sonic. Because you see...

I've decided that I want to make a video essay about Penders. The comics, the copyright battle, The Lara-Su Chronicles, everything.

The why

I've thought about doing this before, but I never committed to the idea. I was too busy with gamedev, or I thought it'd end up being too long, or I figured that there were already enough videos on the subject, or I just lacked confidence in my ability to put together a video essay. So I told myself it wasn't meant to be, and let the multiple YouTubers who have cited me as a source on their own Penders videos fill that void.

Recently, though, a few things have happened that have convinced me it might be time. For one, YouTube video essays/media retrospectives/etc. are just getting longer and longer. When Quinton Reviews is out here doing 21 hours of videos on Sam & Cat, a subpar Nick sitcom that only lasted one season, I don't feel so crazy for wanting to make a video about several hundred comic books and two lawsuits that'd be at least an hour or two long lmao. Admittedly, I've also been self-conscious about doing a long video essay like this as a trans woman who has yet to do any vocal training. But these days I feel like I see a lot more transfem YouTubers who have done little to no vocal training, and that's given me more confidence on that front.

But the big one was Hbomberguy's recent plagiarism video. As I sat there watching it, I kept thinking about the time I found a CBR article that was just a crude 800 word summary of my two previous articles on Penders, published by a CBR writer who's put out over 4000 articles since 2019. If I've already been plagiarized before, and my writing is so frequently passed around as a go-to source on Archie Sonic drama, then I wouldn't be shocked if there were YouTubers out there straight up just plagiarizing me. I don't watch other peoples' videos on Archie Sonic, so I'd never know! So if people are just gonna paraphrase me when covering these topics anyway, why not take matters into my own hands and make what I would consider to be the definitive video on the subject? If hacks like James Somerton and iilluminaughtii can churn out these shitty video essays and people will still watch them, surely it can't be that impossible to make my own, right? (And also, uh, Hbomb literally told me I should make the video lol. If you're reading this, thanks for the encouragement.)

The what, how, and when

So here's the plan.

Part of this video essay will be an adaptation of my Medium article on the recurring themes of Ken's Archie Sonic run, with its content touched up and expanded upon. There were a few things I skimmed over in the article because I didn't want it to get too long, but again, people are out here watching ten hour videos about bad Nickelodeon sitcoms now. I can get away with elaborating a little more. I can add a few paragraphs talking about the Chaos Knuckles arc, or throw in a little more historical context I've discovered in the years since.

After covering the comics, the back half(-ish?) of the video will be dedicated to the copyright battles and their ensuing controversies, trying to give an accurate picture of what actually went down, the sheer scale of how bad Archie fucked up, and what our takeaways should be. This will have some similarities to my New York Magazine article on the subject, but I'll be rewriting it from scratch. I REALLY had to keep things short for that article because I was already way over the expected word count, and my tone was a little more straight-laced than normal because I was trying to keep things Professional. I can riff more and insert more of my own opinions this time, like I normally would.

I'll inevitably have to touch on some of Ken's Bad Tweets when discussing things that have happened after the lawsuits, but I don't want the video to just devolve into a list of times people got mad at him on Twitter, so I'm gonna try to keep that to a minimum in favor of focusing on his actual work. Things like the Scourge the Speed Demon incident and his continued statements on certain characters' copyright statuses probably warrant mentioning, though. And finally, assuming that the book really does come out this summer, I would like the grand finale of the video to be about those first couple chapters of The Lara-Su Chronicles.

I don't currently know when this video will get done, but it'll probably be in the back half of the year, especially with me waiting for the book to either drop or get delayed yet again. But I've actually already started writing a bit of the script, and will keep chipping away at it for a while.

So, uh, yeah, look forward to that? Wish me luck?

[grimm-writings]

hihi >_< could i request chilchuck x reader, maybe with reader flirting with him constantly, and then getting flustered when he actually decides to flirt back?

“what a flirt!”

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, suggestive comments, grimm trying so hard not to make the flirting sound cring, mention of chilchuck's wife

…wc! 698

…notes! my stupid doodle of chil with an iron is at 4203 notes at the time of writing my fic blog reputation has been squandered by the shitpost… but i finally got motivation do actually WRITE who cheered!!!! hope you enjoy and apologies for the wait!!

“Gosh, Chil, with those hands of yours you could easily please a partner!”

With his back turned away from you all you can hear from the picklock doing his job is a very deep inhale.  You can’t miss the way the tips of his ears glow red, even in the dim dungeon light.  You know there’s a ‘rule’ to not disturb the half-foot as he works but… goodness it’s just too tempting!  It’s not like there’s any harm in it!

When Chilchuck finishes his task he stands up and glares at you pointedly.  You return it with a bright smile.  “Thank you very much!” you chorus with the party oh, so politely.  The rest have partially given up on convincing you to not say or do anything while Chlichuck is busy.  He still gets the job done, at least…

Travels continue, and you find yourself trying to match a tall half-foot’s pace.  You have to slow down considerably but in your head all you can think about is how adorable Chilchuck might look if he tried to match your pace instead.

Right as you were about to drift off into fantasy, Chilchuck cleared his throat.  “You got somethin’ to say or is your head in the clouds again?”

You giggle.  “No, just thinking about how handsome you are.”  Once more, you relish in how flustered Chilchuck gets, attempting to speed walk ahead of you and start up a chat with Laios instead.

It’s so irritating.  Chilchuck can’t say or do anything without you making some kind of dumb comment!  He’s convinced even in a life or death situation you’d find some way to make him choke on his words and stumble.  You probably would let it happen if it means you can get the jump on him and humiliate him once again!

Before Chilchuck knows it he’s gritting his teeth together, his seething not going unnoticed.  Laios says quietly enough so you aren’t quite able to pick out what’s being said, “why not fight fire with fire?”

It’s an alright suggestion, sure, but that means… having to flirt back with you.  Chilchuck doesn’t know what constitutes flirting really.  His old flame used to say that he only ever honeyed her up when he’s a few drinks in.  Is that really what it will take to get you off his ass?

His question would be answered just a few hours later.  Combat isn’t Chilchuck’s forte, so once again he’s hiding behind some rock somewhere, slightly elevated off the floor.  That way he could avoid any collateral damage.

So he hoped at least.  A swing of a tail from the creature, slamming on the rock floor, proves him otherwise.  The ground collapses beneath Chilchuck and for a second he internally laments that he’s going to acquire another spot of brain damage.

But he doesn’t.  Instead, your arms easily catch underneath his knees and torso, holding him almost like a bride.  It’s you, and you look just so relieved, off guard.

Almost on instinct, Chilchuck lets the words slip.

“Looks like I fell for you.”

It’s so awful.  It’s so pathetic.  At least your pick–up lines were actually creative.  He almost wishes you’d let him break a bone or two.  Marcille’s healing might actually hurt less.

What he doesn’t expect at all is how your face deepens in colour and dusts across your face and cheeks, how your eyes widen and your jaw hangs open.  In your hold, Chilchuck feels your arms shaking.  Chilchuck only had to think for a second before realising that you seriously can’t take what you dish out.

The smug, brash grin that makes its way onto his face could infuriate anyone else, but you just feel your knees buckle.  “C’mon, be an angel and let me down, yeah?  Can’t have you dropping me, though I know my charm is irresistible.”

Funny how just a spot of encouragement can bring out this side of him.  Even as you do as you’re told with a pat on the head and, “why, thank you” being cooed at you, you know this isn’t the end of this.

Chilchuck will make sure you never forget how his words make you feel.

[ghostkennedy]

I HAVE A REQUEST PLEASEE MAKE ONE WHERE LEON AND READER ARE ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND HAVE A SIMILAR SCENE WHERE LEON AND MARIA ARE FIGHTING IN DEATH ISLAND. I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE.

PLEASE YOU CAN IGNORE THIS IF YOU DONT WANT TO DO IT BUT PLEASEE IM BEGGING YOUUU

Demolition Lovers

~DI! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Leon and beloved Reader are our demolition lovers. Make sure you give that song by MCR a listen. I was worried about this one, but I fucking looooved writing it.

Word count: 2138

Content warnings: the girlies are fighting-physically and vocally, traumatized reader, villain reader, talk of death, attempted murder, knives, blood, strangling, choking, crying, screaming, angst, smut, sexual content, kissing, p in v sex, reader is riding, creampie, unprotected sex

!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!

“Do you always have to get in the fucking way of everything, Kennedy?”

Leon scoffs at your remark. “What am I supposed to do? Let you end the world for some personal vendetta? Is that it?”

You laugh as you step further into the giant lab, having caught Leon meddling in your plans again. The man never fucking stops, does he? He’s been in your business, getting his hands dirty with your mess for years now.

It’s funny how much he still tries to protect you, keeping your treacherous actions a secret, regardless of how many times you come back to attempt the same thing. Somehow still believing there’s a good person inside of you, perhaps a person who could still empathize with him. Maybe if you coped with the trauma, your need for revenge would subside. You’re tired of his wishy-washy bullshit.

You’ll never be satisfied until the whole world knows your pain. Knows what it feels like to lose control of yourself no matter how hard you try to fight it. To watch the world from your own fucking eyes and being locked away somewhere inside your own head. A mere spectator as your hands are controlled by something else entirely.

Every last person left on the planet after everything is said and done will know what it feels like to watch your own hands kill the people you love while there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. 

You shake your head at him. “I’m sorry I have to kill you. It’s nothing personal, I promise.”

“I wish you’d been more creative. You guys always try to end the world. It’s getting repetitive if I’m being honest.”

You laugh loudly, your hand quickly grabbing the knife strapped to your leg and tossing it at the man’s forehead.

Your distraction is not nearly enough to stop Leon from dodging the hit.

He throws himself out of the way of your flying knife and you charge him, unsheathing another knife strapped to your chest.

You’re in front of him in an instant. You kick your leg up in an attempt to knock him off his balance again, but he grabs your ankle and pushes you around.

You recover quickly, spinning around until you’re back face to face with him. Your hand swings the knife towards his neck, but he grabs your wrist.

He goes to kick your feet out from under you, but you quickly jump, kneeing him hard in the abdomen. 

You both recover before either of you can even blink, both back in stable stances instantly. 

You fake out a hit to his face. When he reaches up to stop the blow, your other hand is jolting the knife towards his stomach.

His forearm stops your punch from connecting, while his free hand bashes down into your wrist brandishing the knife, forcing it to fall to the ground with a loud clang.

You pull your now knifeless fist back and go to connect with his jaw, but he arches his back, moving his face back from harm’s way.

In your frustration, you get sloppy, giving Leon the perfect opportunity to pounce.

He straightens his back as you lean down to grab your knife. When your back is curved down, he kicks his leg straight out, swinging it over top of you. His thigh connects with the back of your neck and sends your body crashing to the floor.

Before he can pin you to the floor, you quickly flip onto your back. You dig your nails into his thigh, allowing yourself to slide out from under him as his leg goes stiff. 

As you slide out, you pull his calf roughly, causing his leg to straighten out and him to lose his balance.

Before his chest can even make contact with the floor, you’re on his back. Your hands grab a fistfull of his hair and yank it back as he hits the floor.

You wrap your legs around his neck, locking your legs together as they cross at the front of his neck. 

You bring one of your forearms below his chin, pulling him up at an uncomfortable angle.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Leon.” You say in a fake empathetic voice.

He grunts and his voice comes out strained, “You’re a fucking puppet!”

“So are you!” You yell out. You can’t help but shake your head, “I guess we do have something in common after all.”

Leon flings his body, flipping you over.

Your back crashes into the ground as he straddles your abdomen, trapping your hands at your hips.

“I’m trying to fucking help you.” He gets out through gritted teeth.

Leon feels his irritation growing impossibly larger as you laugh, once again, “I didn’t ask for your help. You put yourself into this shit, that isn’t my fault.”

He stares into your eyes with a death glare and you send one of your own right back at him. 

You can feel one of your knives beneath your thigh. If you can just strain your arm enough, you could pull it closer with the tips of your fingers until you can get a proper grip on it. He’ll just think you’re trying to wiggle out, if you just stretch your fingers enough… there it is! 

In the blink of an eye, you wrap your hand around the weapon tightly and bring it up to Leon’s leg, slicing into his thigh. 

He grunts out and flinches at the sudden sting, and of course, you utilize the opportunity.

You push yourself out from underneath him, rising to your feet and he does the same, ignoring the pain in the back of his leg. 

He surges forward, reaching out to grab you. You jump up and grab a low hanging pipe swinging your legs over his shoulders. Your ankles lock behind his head, but he keeps moving forward, forcing you to let go of the pipe.

His arms reach out to try and push you off of him, but you grab onto his forearms to keep yourself from falling.

He continues forward until his hips make contact with a metal table, throwing your back against the cold surface. He wraps his hands around your throat and you pull your leg against your chest, pushing the bottom of your shoe against his face.

This doesn’t help at all, so you come up with another idea.

You wrap your legs around his waist, gripping him tightly between your thighs. His eyes widen in response and his grip on your throat loosens.

You’re able to gain the upperhand, changing positions and pushing Leon back onto the table. His feet leave the floor as you push him further down the cold metal, climbing up after him.

It’s your turn to straddle him and wrap your hands around his throat.

His hands shoot up, gripping tightly around your wrists in an attempt to pull them away from him. Your wrists feel like they’ll break between his hands, but you only allow that to fuel yourself, gripping his throat tighter.

“Why couldn’t you just stay out of my fucking way?” You yell out, frustrated and somehow devastated that it had to end up this way.

His voice is scratchy as he forces words out of his mouth despite his lack of air, “How–could I–do that? This is–just–too much–fun.”

“Just shut the fuck up!” You grit out through your clenched teeth, “I have to do this, Leon. I have to see this through.”

Leon continues to gasp for air, his face growing red and his mouth forced open. His eyelids flutter as he keeps trying to suck in a breath, but you just squeeze tighter. His hands are shaking around your wrists, his grip slowly loosening.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a desperate, pathetic noise leaves his lips as the lack of oxygen to his brain takes over.

You don’t know what happens. You don’t know what comes over you, but you let him go. You pull your hands away from his throat and he sputters and coughs as he desperately sucks the air into his dry throat.

His eyes focus back on yours and you don’t realize you’re crying until you lick your lips and taste the salty tears on your tongue.

You’re overcome with so many emotions and for some reason, your frustration turns to pure rage. You ball your hands up into tight fists and start pounding them against his chest, hard. Over and over you punch him and he just lets you. 

You scream at the top of your lungs a banshee-like sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making. 

You don’t see him as your fists connect with his chest again and again. You see the people you lost while being controlled by a parasite. The people you loved dying from your finger on the trigger, your hand wrapped around the handle of the knife, your hands wrapped around their throats.

You’re pulled back to the present as Leon wraps his hands around your wrists and stills them. You’re panting, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. 

His eyes meet yours and you squeeze yours closed, unable to meet him head on. 

“They don’t know the pain. No one knows how I fucking feel.”

Maybe you did lose your humanity to that parasite. Maybe it was too late and you’ll always be this fucked up.

You feel Leon’s warm hands cup your cheeks, “Look at me.”

You slowly open your eyes and see a concerned look in Leon’s eyes. You can’t bare it, can’t bare his worry to be about you. You can’t handle anyone worrying about you anymore. It makes them vulnerable, puts them in danger. Anyone who cares about you is immediately worse off because of the fact.

You just sit there, your face in his hands and your body straddling his hips, lost somewhere deep in your own head.

Your eyes widen when you register what he’s done.

He’s kissing you. Leon Kennedy is fucking kissing you. 

Why is he doing this? Why does it feel so fucking good? Why are you closing your eyes and leaning into the kiss? Why are you bringing your hands up to his hair and tangling your fingers in the strands?

You don’t know what possesses you to reach down between the two of you and palm his hardening cock through his pants. You don’t know what possesses him to reach down between you two as well and hastily undo his belt. You don’t know what possesses either of you and the actions you continue to take, furthering a situation that doesn’t make any fucking sense, but neither of you make any effort to stop. Quite the opposite really. 

He pushes his pants down his hips and you undo the button and zipper on yours and your fingers are shaking so much, fumbling with every move you make and all you know is that you can’t stop.

Not when you’re pushing your own pants and panties down your hips and off of your legs. Not when you grab his underwear and nearly rip them off of his body.

And especially not when you sink your wet heat down onto his hard cock and start bouncing up and down desperately as his fingers dig into your hips and make you go faster.

No. All you can think about is chasing your pleasure and his. It’s the first time in years that your mind has thought of anything besides revenge and forcing others to endure the same pain you feel every single fucking day.

You don’t feel the pain. All you can feel is the way your walls clench around his cock, trying to pull him closer, pull him deeper, until there’s not one single bit of your pussy left that hasn’t been speared on his cock.

And as you throw your head back, screaming out as your climax crashes through you, your mind goes completely foggy. You can’t think at all. All you can do is feel the tingling relief coursing through your body from your powerful release.

You feel his come flood your pussy and it feels so fucking good. Everything feels so good right now. And after nothing feeling good, not even close, for years, you know you’re addicted. 

You don’t have to give your pain to others to somehow release yourself from it. No. You’ve found a way to release it from yourself over and over and fucking over again.

God fucking dammit, Leon Kennedy. Always so determined to find a way to help you and by the grace of God or some other holy intervention, the prick has found it. He’s found it and you’re going to keep giving it to him willingly.

~masterlist~

[cultofdixon]

It is no one’s fault for unexpected tragedies

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Accidents happen every day. That hasn’t changed because of the end of the world…so why are you trying to blame yourself, Dixon? • ANGST/SFW • TW: Major Injuries / Blood Loss / Anxiety Attacks / Nightmares

Requested by: Anon

“You’re going on that run tomorrow right?” Daryl asks his partner who was busy packing for said run, so it was stating the obvious in hopes that Y/N would invite him. But she knows his games.

“Yes, and I’ll be at the Kingdom by nightfall. I’ll manage without you” Y/N smiles leaning into her man when he brings himself close bringing his arms around her. “Think you’ll manage without me?”

“Nah. I’ll always need yea” Daryl felt the twitch of a smile grace his features when Y/N turned around to face him and pressed her lips to his cheek.

As the next morning follows, Daryl leans against the car Y/N will be taking as she puts her bag in the trunk along with the trading good for the Kingdom.

“Don’t cause too much trouble when I’m gone, Dixon”

“You try not to cause any trouble, Dixon” He smiles warmly bringing her into his embrace for a moment holding her and occasionally planting kisses on her temple.

“You’re trying to butter me up to invite you or to distract me long enough to stay”

“Is it working?” He hums bringing his lips to hers as she happily returns the soft gentle kiss before gently pushing herself off of him. “You wound me, sunshine”

“You have work to do as well, love. Better go get it done.” Y/N smiles pulling him off the car before getting into the driver Daryl instantly brought himself to the window stealing one more kiss before getting roped into anything and everything Rick asks of him.

It’s been a couple of hours and Daryl sat on the porch of his home holding the radio in his hand giving it another second before calling in to any open line hoping someone from the Kingdom to answer. Just his luck that Carol was the first to chime back.

“Hey?”

“It’s Daryl”

“Ha, no shit. Did you need something, Daryl?”

“I was uh wondering…if Y/N made it there and if I could talk to her” Daryl frowns hoping for a yes from the other side as he never liked being apart from his partner.

“She’s currently sleeping. Went hunting on her drive over here.”

“Seriously? She didn’t take her hunting rifle”

“You know Y/N. She’s a creative person, she got creative and brought a buck over. You are uh missing out if I do say so”

“Well I can always come—-“

“She’s sleeping! Are you seriously going to come here and disturb her?”

Daryl didn’t like where this conversation was going and grew a bit of a suspicion. “Carol. I was talkin’ to try the buck. I ain’t gonna interrupt her sleep…but a little hunting just for one piece of game shouldn’t have worn her out”

“Well, she did also stop at a few cars along the way to siphon for gas. Yknow, what we are supposed to do while Maggie devises a plan for an alternative fuel source that isn’t solar”

Carol is a smart woman and knows how to knock the archer off her “scent”. “Seriously Daryl. Just come over tomorrow”

“Y/N is supposed to come home tomorrow”

“Well, that’s too bad. Guess she has to stay here so that the two of you go home together. Besides, you were already planning to come for breakfast if Rick didn’t ask you to take the morning watch” Carol took a swing with her guessing and the silence from the other end only confirmed it. The grumble that got picked up also did. “We shall see you tomorrow”

“Tell Y/N I said goodnight.” Pause. “And I love her” Then the line finally turns off.

Carol stood in the hallway to the housing section of the Kingdom that included the mess hall and their designated rooms for their infirmary when she took the call from her best friend. Her best friend could sniff out lies…but didn’t this time.

“Hey,” Carol quickly turned to Siddiq, who did weekly visits to other communities, giving her a concerned look. “She’s awake”

“Okay…Can I be alone with her?”

“Yeah, I’ll be getting her water. Were you talking to Daryl? Did you tell him yet?”

“No…Should I have?”

“If she was dying, yeah. But it’s still…a lot. Maybe in the morning tell him?” Siddiq questioned while passing his friend he didn’t overhear the conversation because Carol knew for a fact Daryl would be coming in the morning.

Whether Y/N had a near death experience or not.

When Carol entered the room to find her friend lay in bed. She looked exhausted, broken in physical and mental places, but brought her attention to the soft steps her friend gave and shown her a smile on her face before it faded when looking at her injuries.

“Can’t believe I almost died over a deer…”

“You did bring us back a plentiful feast from the buck” Carol tried to joke with her to lighten the mood but the way Y/N went from exhausted to emotionless to overwhelmed in the matter of seconds, it wasn’t the time. “Hey hey…I’m sorry I shouldn’t have tried to make light on very recent matters…I’m just. So thankful you’re still alive”

“I could’ve died…could’ve been worse than broken bones and several deep wounds. I’ve…I’ve gotten so used to this life and how grateful I am for the now…how the fuck did those stupid fucking deer not see me?” Y/N sobbed no matter how painful her broken ribs felt when trying to catch a deep breath to calm her, or the throbbing pain from her broken wrist and dislocated ankle. More had happened and more could’ve happened.

Throughout the night, Ezekiel came in to check on Carol who wasn’t going to leave her friend’s side and helped in any way that he could for both his partner and Y/N. Eventually they decided to use the oxygen tank they found to keep some flow steady for Y/N given every chance she tried to sleep she would trigger an anxiety attack making it difficult to breathe and her ribs were already doing a number on her.

The morning came and Daryl had radio’d in before coming so Carol could prepare entirely for what she was going to tell him. But she also prepared for in the moment it was going to fly out the window.

Daryl came through the gates of the Kingdom noticing Ezekiel first as he waves at him giving him a waiting gesture so that he could fetch Carol. But the archer grew curious about the tense atmosphere when he parked his bike, not finding the vehicle Y/N had came in.

“Hey man! You here for breakfast with Carol?” Jerry approaches Daryl as he gave the man a confused look. “Hey? What’s up?”

“Y/N’s car ain’t around. Did she leave?”

“Uh no. She uhm. Got a flat so one of our people is taking a look at it. She’s still…somewhere!” Jerry laughs with a shrug as he quickly takes his leave into the direction of where Y/N really is, knowing Carol is there. But he kept glancing behind him to make sure Daryl wasn’t following.

He wasn’t. But he is investigating further.

But it meant him being a bit nosey in his scary silent way.

A few Kingdom people were tending to a lot of repairs regarding its community and Daryl thought those few would be the best to ask around about any vehicle maintenance but the answers revolved around…

Had to fill one up with gas

The tire repair would’ve been tricky if we didn’t have to spare

Did you know duct tape is a good tool to keep a bumper on?

Nothing really of use until Daryl found a man going through the engine of a familiar model to the car his partner took but he honestly can’t entirely recall what the car was since he was more focused on Y/N.

“Need a hand?” Daryl decided to come off the helpful route to see if he gets more out of the guy.

“Uh” This guy gave the archer a confused look before moving aside giving him access to look for himself.

“There’s nothing wrong with it” Now Daryl was even more confused while looking at the engine before reaching in and taking out a piece of an antler. “Someone hit a buck?”

“More like…a buck and a half. I was just told to get rid of the evidence before trying to repair the car cosmetically” He groans gesturing for Daryl to step back to close the hood as they watch it bounce up. “Yeah this’ll take a while”

“What happened to the person driving it?”

“Oh you should’ve been there. She came in with the buck through the windshield and the deer barely hanging onto the hood. It was fucking awful. I haven’t heard about her condition yet, that Siddiq fella that makes his rounds every few weeks? If he wasn’t here when she came in, she probably would’ve died to her injuries”

Daryl watches the man round the car to check the back of it, leaving him to check the drivers seat and once he opened the door he brings himself to sit so he could reach the glove box finding Y/N’s journal. She always brings that on her drives. His anxiety went from steady to overwhelming in the matter of seconds as he left the vehicle knowing exactly where to go next.

Carol stood in the hallway after being informed that Daryl was on the premises and it will only take him a matter of time before he barged into the building.

“How bad is it?!”

“Daryl—-“ Carol stopped him in his tracks as he instantly fought against her.

“NO! If she’s dead and yea didn’t tell me I’m gonna—-“

“She’s not dead, Daryl!” She raised her voice loud enough for her words to pass his rushing thoughts as he relaxed from trying to toss his friend over to get to Y/N. “She’s in a lot of pain, even with the meds we gave her. You need to be careful going in there”

“H-…Sh…She’s fine?”

“Yes. She’s going to be fine. You need to get that look off your face” The archer instantly scoffed as Carol gripped his shoulders. “She’ll read your expression in an instant Daryl. You know she will. Don’t even try and make this your fault when it’s not. It’s not hers either. Freak accidents happen”

“I know that…w-what makes yea think…” Daryl frowns avoiding her eyes contact knowing damn well she’s giving him a concerned but obvious expression. He tries to make everything his fault when most incidents aren’t.

They all know this.

The door creaked open startling Y/N a bit as she’s been in and out of that exhaustion fog caused by pain and medication. She tried her best to look at what made the noise but when she saw Daryl step in she felt her heart race and the tears threaten to spill.

“H-Hey” She rasped out as Daryl brought himself to sit carefully on the side of her bed taking note of her injuries resulting in his pulling it all together look to one of fear and sadness as he tried to turn his face away but she used her good hand to grab onto his forearm forcing him to look at the connection before connecting their eyes. “Don’t…”

“…I’m tryin’ not to…”

“This…ugh” Y/N tried to stop the tears. “Was so f-fucking freak. It’s no one’s fault but the goddamn buck”

Daryl couldn’t help the short lived chuckle to escape him as he held onto her arm keeping close as he could to her.

“It did a number on your car. Yea lucky I saved your journal”

“Okay it wasn’t a fucking monster deer that tore the car a new one. It was multiple and no where near the glove compartment” Y/N laughs lightly pulling her hand away only to hold her ribs when she laughed. “I’m so not including this in that book”

“I don’t know…it’d be a page turner” He decided to keep lighthearted on the matter for the time being.

Even if the nights they’ve spent there, Daryl found himself awake by her side in case she needed anything. Least he wasn’t bullying himself as he sat awake. He was just. There for her.

[noisyquokka]

Bro you write Felix so well! I have an idea for a request if you're willing ^^

He buys the reader flowers a lot and keeps one from each bouquet so he knows when the rest are dying and he can buy them more! It doesn't have to be boyfriend!felix, I'll leave that up to you! Just something super cute and wholesome, love that!!

A Lesson in Gift-Giving

PAIRING - Felix x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Sometimes gift-giving doesn't go as smooth as you plan. Felix realizes the error of his ways after months away on tour.

WORDCOUNT - 2.5k

WARNINGS - Fluff, humor, newly-established relationship, which means there's a little miscommunication, but we get through it like champs ✊🏻

A/N - I love this idea so much! Got a little inspo just from your request, which I added in, hope you don't mind 😅 Wrote it as bf!Felix just cause it's a vibe.

"This is... definitely not getting out of hand."

You mutter these words to yourself as you stare down the latest delivery of fresh cut flowers sitting on your kitchen counter. Pink and white mini-carnations stare back at you in all their ruffled-petal glory, their sweet scent wafting through your personal space. The handwritten note between your fingers is cheesy and adorable; so very Felix. You scratch the side of your head in bemusement.

Most would say such a reaction to a bouquet of flowers was rude, considering it came from your boyfriend. But as you sit here amongst the variety of florals in your home, you think you've had enough to sustain you for the rest of the year.

It all began with one trip to a local Flea Market. You had stepped inside one of the mini shops on the way out only to catch the dashing white orchids in their pot on the shelf. Felix had offered to buy them for you as a little gift, and with hearts in your eyes, you had accepted. You stare at it now - a glorious centerpiece of four months that is absolutely thriving in its own right.

Then came the fresh cut peonies.

You were over the moon when Felix had surprised you with the first bouquet two weeks later, but you never could've imagined the deluge of flowers that would follow like clockwork. And you accepted all of them with the utmost gratitude. You'd also developed an odd relationship with the delivery guy over time; saying nothing verbally, but everything with the great art of facial miming, if that was even a thing.

The only thing about such a gift is that your place was beginning to look less like a home and more like a florist's shop. Your kitchen island not only held your thriving orchid display, but those same lush peonies, now dried in hues of dusty pinks. As your collection of flowers grew, so did your creativity. The flourishing arrangement of blooms that you had gotten for your four month anniversary had been carefully pressed between paper-towel-lined book pages for roughly two weeks before you were able to proudly display them in the frame above your bed.

It's safe to say you've turned just about every blank space in your home into a floral oasis over the last few months.

What was supposed to be a simple, romantic gesture was quickly derailing. Only problem was you had to be the one to stop it. After being with Felix for six months, you'd think such a simple conversation would be... well, simple. And yet, you stand here in a state of blooming panic.

A knock at the door brings you back to your current predicament. Your fingers twitch around the cardstock, crumpling the edge as your feet move in short strides toward the entrance. You're half expecting the delivery guy again, but as you swing the door open, you're even more surprised to find your boyfriend standing there with a smile that rivals the sun and-

"More flowers...!"

They're Dahlias this time - an arrangement of small but vibrant Orange Button blooms that compliment their larger, blushing Café au Lait companions. The contrast between them in both size and color is stunning; warm candle flames licking at the edges of whimsical ivory bones.

"Special delivery!" Felix's bubbly voice sets your heart in motion, and although you're seeing flower petals behind your eyelids, you can't help but smile at the cellophane-wrapped bouquet in his hand. A tote bag hangs off his other arm, filled to the brim with you can only guess what.

"Felix!?" You shake your head but lunge at him with open arms, a mix of confusion and excitement crossing your face. "Tour doesn't end for another three days. What are you doing here?"

"Last stop was canceled so I pulled some strings and caught a red-eye." He murmurs, burying his nose into your scalp. You feel him sink into your touch, a deep release of breath that says he's happy to be back home. God, did he miss you.

You pull away, ushering him inside and taking the flowers with the utmost care.

"Dahlias aren't even in season yet, where'd you get these?!"

You miss the furrow of his brow as he slugs his shoes off at the mat, following you through the immediate hallway.

"I may have pulled some more strings..." Felix trails off, footsteps faltering once he's in the open space of the kitchen and living room. He hears your laugh, lips quirking into a lopsided grin as he takes in the familiar centerpiece on the island. When you turn around, you catch those brown eyes shift from the orchids to the peonies that sit beside them. He points at the mummified bouquet with a tilt of his head.

"Are those~" He blinks, setting the tote bag down on the cool marble. "Are those the peonies I bought you for our one month?"

You hum an affirmative, lips thinning as you disappear down the hallway in search of a vase. Every single floral in your house is like a bright red flag in the apartment; waving rampantly in your peripheral as you pass through the living room. Good god, Felix hasn't even noticed those yet. The thought has you losing focus, fingers mindlessly shuffling through the vast collection of vases in the hall closet.

The crumpled petals in their muted pinks and creams stare back at the man as he leans against the kitchen island, chin resting in the palm of his hand with narrowed eyes. Felix would've expected these to be long gone by now. The peonies that had once been so vibrant and alive are nothing more than dried stems and petals in a ceramic vase. To him, they look less-than-lively in their current state. The sound of socked feet padding back into the living room shifts his attention. He doesn't even notice the other displays behind you, too focused on your presence alone.

"I'm no florist, Love, but these look like they're past their prime." There's a hint of a smile on his lips when he finishes his quip, and you can't help but chuckle. Twitchy fingers reach for the junk drawer handle, pulling it open with a lazy arm.

"I know they're not as beautiful as when you first gave them to me," You say, grabbing the set of pruners and scissors that rest among snack clips, rubber bands and the like, "but trust me when I say that they're still pretty."

"They look dead." He deadpans, padding around the island in few strides. He watches you work intently, leaning against the countertop as you cut the wrapping away and cut back the stems. The tap runs in the sink, cooler for the delicate blooms in your hands.

"They're not-" You start, filling the chosen vase a quarter of the way and mixing the food packet in. Your cheeks feel warm from the comment and you dip your head as you work. "Well, I guess they are technically dead..."

You hear the chuff of a laugh from your boyfriend and glance over your shoulder, quickly looking forward again when you find citrine eyes already on you. The grin on Felix's face is soft and yet you feel your face heat up even more. If he's teasing me about the peonies, what's he gonna say about the others?

"I dried them, so to me, they're just... frozen in time." You say, pruning the few leaves from the lower stems.

"You dried them?" He sounds surprised. You nod, placing the flowers into their yellow porcelain vase, fiddling with the placement of each blossom more than you should.

It's now, when you're preoccupied, that Felix's eyes rove over the island to the living room and his eyes widen. The Gladiolus bouquet from almost two weeks ago sits on the coffee table as a centerpiece, still alive by some miracle. Even more surprising, the Hydrangeas from a week and a half ago sit in a glass jar on the console table behind your sofa. The water in the makeshift vase is just about gone, settled in the base of the jar touching just the tips of the clipped stems.

"Baby, how are these still alive?" He asks, walking around the island towards the displays in the living area. Your attention shifts, following his movements as he stands there baffled by the still pristine blooms on the coffee table. Felix turns his head to you, your fingers laced in front of you as you move away from the Dahlias in their yellow porcelain vase.

"Felix, I have to tell you something."

Dark brows knit at your tone, voice mumbling and awkward as you tap your index nail onto your opposite ones.

"What, Love?"

"It's just- ah-" You let out a tense exhale, your heart beat picking up in your chest. "It's a little embarrassing to say, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but the flowers have gotten a bit out of hand... and..."

You pause in your ramblings, glancing up to your boyfriend who is still fascinated by the week old flowers. He picks up the jar of Hydrangeas with a careful hand, eyeing the petals that have begun their wilting and drying process. Observing. Analyzing. For a moment you believe he's so focused on them that your words have gone unheard, but he shifts his gaze to yours with arched brows and narrowed browns.

"How'd you manage to keep these fresh so long? The florist's site said they'd last a little under a week if you were lucky."

You tilt your head toward the ceiling, pressing your lips together as you scratch at the nape of your neck.

"I may or may not have some background in floristry..." You trail, voice going higher as you speak. Your fingers clench over your thumb as your eyes flicker about the living space, avoiding eye contact. "It's part of why I'm telling you. I love the flowers, Felix, I really do. But, it's just becoming a bit much."

"Love," Felix sets the flowers down with a sigh, and you keep your eyes on the far wall out of shame. He's mad, disappointed... he's something! And it's not a good someth-

You startle at the feeling of warm hands cupping your cheeks and your wide eyes dart forward to meet his. He takes in your expression, noticing the nervous shifting and fidgeting. Felix offers you his full attention - a warm smile and warm eyes, those familiar crescents.

"Why are you so nerved up? There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know I support you in everything." He leans forward and in an instant you feel him press a kiss to your forehead. Your chest lightens at the gesture.

"So you're not mad?"

"Never! Though I wish you would've told me that you were knowledgeable in fresh cut flowers. I only sent you new ones after the flower I took from each bouquet wilted on me."

His confession makes you laugh, your eyes closing as you shake your head.

"I was wondering why one was missing from every delivery. I thought someone was shortchanging you!"

"No, I wanted you to have something to brighten up the place when I'm gone. I guess I didn't consider the idea of you knowing anything on flowers..." He trails, chuckling to himself. His hands leave your face, taking their familiar place wrapped around your waist as he pulls you into him. Felix's chin rests atop your head, and you bring your own arms around his torso, nails scratching lightly against his shoulder blades. You press your face into his chest.

"So, where'd you learn all your magical floristry skills from?" He asks, glancing around the place for any other old bouquets he'd gifted you.

"My grandfather." You murmur, tilting your head up to catch his eye. Your arms tighten around him. "He was always out in the garden, spent most of his lifetime caring for his flowers out there, I'm pretty sure. Everything he'd taught me was through his own trial and error."

"Well, sure seems like you've perfected some of his teachings." Felix muses, grinning down at you. A scoff leaves you and you wave away his high praises.

"It's nothing, really. I just enjoy the process." You feel your cheeks heating up again, so you press your face back into the fabric of his hoodie.

"It's nothing?" Felix's arms tighten around your waist, lifting you easily and sitting himself down on the couch so you're draped over his lap. You settle your face in the crook of his neck, feeling him huff out a content sigh as he relaxes into the cushions. "You are so humble... but you have to admit, you're a natural at this. Maybe we should open up a flower shop together, hm? I'll take the orders, you just do your thing with this beautiful mind of yours." He nuzzles his chin into the side of your head with a chuckle, fingers cascading over the skin of your hip.

"You gonna take orders on tour, too?" You tease, fighting back a grin.

"You betcha! Your talent can be shipped worldwide." He glances down to gauge your reaction, the corners of his lips curled up in a smug amusement. Though there's that genuine affection seeping through as well. The kind that makes your heart flutter. You roll your eyes, but your hostility is lost with the curl to your lips. You press a soft kiss to Felix's neck, his expression shifting as he rests his head against the back of the couch.

"You really think I could open a flower shop?"

"You could be anything you wanna be, Love." He says, shifting so that you're facing each other. He draws you closer, hands moving to the curve of your shoulders. You can feel his heart beating against your own, missing that skin-to-skin contact that he's been craving for the past few months on tour. The living room settles into contentedness for a moment; just fingers brushing skin and shallow breaths as you both keep your eyes on one another.

"I love you," Felix whispers, lips brushing against yours once, twice, until they fully connect in a sweet kiss.

"And I love you," You mumble, smiling against him. "but I'll happily take your brownies every week for the next year."

"No more flowers, then?" You scrunch your nose at his question, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from laughing at the ridiculousness of your situation.

"You are the biggest rom-com protagonist I've ever laid my eyes on."

Felix's eyes light up with a playful spark as he tilts his head to the side, a deep chuckle rumbling his chest.

"What can I say, I try." He's oh, so humble about it; eyebrows arching in a cocky manner, a lopsided grin on his lips. He presses another kiss to your lips, slow and lingering as his hands slip to your lower back. You can't help but smile against his mouth, bringing a hand up to tangle in the dark tresses of hair. He hums before pulling back, suddenly remembering something.

"Speaking of being the best boyfriend alive-"

"Your words, but sure-"

"-I brought some takeout and a few other gifts from overseas... but you said you wanted brownies soooo..." He looks off elsewhere, and you roll your eyes.

"Babe!"

Felix laughs, the sound a gentle melody to your ears. Your eyes meet again and he shoots you a loving smile, nodding toward the bag sitting on the counter.

"They're yours, Love." He murmurs, fingers tapping the side of your leg to usher you off the couch.

"C'mon. The quicker we eat, the quicker I get to cuddle you to sleep."

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[just-wrting]

Perhaps a Little Jealous

Title: Perhaps a Little Jealous

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Read

Summary: After gifting Hotch a new sweater, you use it to your advantage to keep other women away. Unfortunately, this doesn’t go unnoticed.

Word Count: 1817

Master List

A/N: My first actual post in forever and it’s not Supernatural. I think having to keep this blog Supernatural related got to me and I just kinda neglected it. I think opening up requests for a multitude of fandoms will help my creativity! Anyway, enjoy some of my current obsession: Criminal Minds’ Aaron Hotchner!

Part 2

Knocking on Hotch’s office door, you smooth out your shirt. Granted, you didn’t have to give Hotch a gift, but you feel obligated to give him something. He had prevented you from getting injured, or worse killed. So in an effort to say thanks, you had gotten him a gift.

“Yes?”

Hotch’s office door swings open and you look at him sheepishly. “I wanted to give you a gift. To say thanks for saving me on the last case. Can I come in?”

Hotch steps aside to let you in. You make your way over to his desk and stand next to the guest chair. You can’t bear to face him due to your face being so red. You know why you are nervous. You just don’t want to admit it.

“You got me a gift? For doing my job?” Hotch makes his way to his desk. “I don’t think this is necessary.”

You glance up to look into his eyes before looking away. You had magically found an excuse to give him a gift, but you are scared to tell him the real reason. You are giving him a gift cause it was a way that you showed you loved someone. Well in this case have feelings for.

“I think it's just a nice thing to do.” You are quick to answer. “You’ve done so much for me since I started at the BAU and not to mention you did save me on the last case.”

Hotch looks like he might ask more, but he graciously holds his hand out for the gift instead. “(Y/N), you’re a member of the team. I was just doing what I would do for any of the others.”

Your heart sinks a little. Of course, Hotch would say something like that. At the end of the day, he is your boss. Hotch is someone you should never have developed feelings for. Yet here you are. Standing in his office, handing him a gift, and almost hoping that he would read into and figure you out.

“Still. It’s just something I like to do for people I care about or like. Like I gave Garcia some coupons I had found for a brand that matches her style.”

You watch as Hotch pulls the ribbon off of the gift. You are nervous. Your heart is pounding. If Hotch took one good look at you, you know that he would be able to pick you apart and say the words you were thinking.

“Coupons and a gift you went out and bought are two different things, (Y/N). Besides, this,” he pulls the sweater out of the box, “looks like it cost you more than some coupons.”

“Hotch, if it bothers you, I can take it back. I just thought that having something comfortable while on a case or that you can use to stay warm in the hotels would be nice. I’m sure I got your size right, but if I didn’t there is a gift receipt in the box.”

Hotch checks the tag and shakes out the sweater. You know it was his style, the quarter-zip, and his color, a wine red. You are almost one hundred percent sure that you had gotten his size, a large, though you’re sure that even if it isn’t the right size he’d still look good. The only thing you didn’t know was whether or not he would like it.

“This is,” Hotch pauses while feeling the material, “very soft. Where did you get this? Actually, if you don’t mind me asking, how much was it?” You give him a smile as someone knocks on the door. “Looks like J.J. was right. There’s always a new case almost right after the last.”

—

It’s the morning of the third day on this case and weirdly enough, you are starving. Normally you get up too late to actually grab breakfast or anything, but today you woke up right as the hotel started putting breakfast out.

Hotch had told you all to make sure you got enough rest last night and to be one hundred percent ready to tackle the case this morning. This meant that you were allowed to get almost eight hours of sleep, closer to seven but who was really counting, and you were allowed to have more than a cup of coffee and a stale muffin for breakfast.

Not only are you right on time, but you also are surprised to see Hotch standing in line for the coffee maker. The new quarter-zip looks very nice on him and you realize that you weren’t the only one who noticed. A pair of women sit at the window, eyeing him from over their teas.

“Hotch!” You speed up your steps. “You should've had me grab you breakfast.”

You step as close as you think you can without getting in his way. The zipper of his sweater going at a diagonal angle makes you want to laugh. Knowing how motivated he is to finish cases, you figure he probably stayed up late and slept in it.

“Your thing, uh zipper, it’s crooked. Here let me fix it for you. Did you end up sleeping in this?”

Your hand grasps the collar of the sweater and gently adjusts it. Smoothing out the fabric, you give Hotch a soft smile. You like that he was wearing the sweater you got him. You didn’t like the fact that other women seem like they wanted to flirt with him.

“You can tell that I didn’t follow my own orders, can’t you?” Hotch asks as he puts a lid on his coffee.

You giggle. “Oh yes. Though if you were up all night looking at the files maybe you magically found something new.”

He hands you your own coffee and walks you toward the ever-wonderful selection of the hotel buffet. “I did see a few things. They could mean nothing, but without a second opinion, I’m unsure. Do you mind if I join you for breakfast and share them?”

You stand there in shock. Is he asking you to have breakfast with him? Not just the whole team? Could it actually just be so he could tell you to not invade his personal space again?

“Uh yeah! My room is super close, J.J. got me the room closest to the front door so that way when I’m running late I’m faster. Is that fine?”

He gives you a quick nod before grabbing some toast. Thankfully he doesn’t leave your side, or make any comments, as you load up your plate. He doesn’t even complain when you toss both a yogurt and a muffin on his plate.

The two of you are silent as you walk what was probably only a minute to your room, but feels like ages to you. You are nervous, not only are you still in pajamas, not even like the ones on television you are wearing the silly cat meme shirt, but you are going to have Aaron Hotchner in your hotel room.

“Sorry about the mess. The only person who usually comes in, well besides the staff, is Emily or J.J. Sometimes Morgan if he thinks I need further teasing. If I’m not treating it like it’s my room I just can’t think right.”

Hotch makes no comment. He instead opts to pull the chair from the desk and offer it to you. You shake your head and pull out the stool. “Actually, I’ll let the boss sit in the fancy chair. I can use the footrest as a seat.”

Hotch lets out a chuckle as he sits down. “The probably cheap office chair is fancy to you?”

You lower the chunk of waffle from your face. “As fancy as a cheap office chair can be. What did you notice?”

Hotch folds his hands on the table. “You paused after saying my name in the lobby. Almost as if you regretted it or noticed something else. When you came up to me you stood closer than you usually did and took your time making sure I was presentable.”

Swallowing hard, you look into his eyes. “Oh. Is this what you meant by opinions to share?”

You think you see a smile on his face as he continues, “You made sure that you put extra food on my plate like you were looking out for me. All of this would leave an impression on others that we’re close. And given the fact that hotels are usually couples or families on vacation this impression would be that we are together.”

You rub your arm and look away. Who said he could look so handsome while profiling your feelings? Just cause he was good at his job doesn’t mean you wanted to be the target.

“You saw the same women sitting near the window that I did, didn’t you? What made you give them the wrong impression?”

You know if you looked at him you’d give everything away even if you lied. “There’s no need for women to be taking up your time. We are on a case. Just because you won’t entertain them, doesn’t mean they won't waste time.”

“You’re very easy to read. When you feel like you can’t control your emotions, you look away. So I know that you’re hiding something or you’re lying to me.”

You know your face is red. You can’t do anything about that. Instead, you turn and face Hotch.

“The team can’t have women taking up time that could be spent working the case.”

Hotch’s smile wavers. “I know you’re lying to me. If that was truly the reason, your face wouldn’t be so flushed. Would you like to know what I think?”

You lick your lips and nod. “If you think you can read me that well then go ahead Hotch. Surprise me.”

This time he leans in. You would worry about the food and coffee spilling but you can’t focus that well with Hotch’s face only a foot away from yours.

“I think that you saw those women watching me and got jealous. Perhaps you got just a little bit,” he pauses and you know the word he’s thinking of, “possessive? You wanted to scare them off and make them think I was taken.”

“What would you do if that was the reason?” You hold your breath. “Would you tell me off?”

Glancing at the clock behind you, Hotch gives a smile. He stands up and leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Perhaps after the case is over we can go and get breakfast. Someplace that isn’t your hotel room. Let me know if that works for you, (Y/N).”

With that, Hotch leaves your room. You’re a flustered mess due to his teasing. You never even knew that Hotch could tease. Your ear still feels warm from where he whispered and you do your best to calm down.

[voidcat]

— what the cat dragged in

characters: papa emeritus iii/you, cardinal copia, nameless ghouls, sister imperator

wc & genre/notes: 8.1k – strangers to friends/lovers, fluff, suggestive content (minor discussion of kinks and terzo being terzo during mummy dust. That part starts with “I’d say you’re deflecting,” and ends with the divider.) neighbors au, reader has a cat… I’ll b honest idk what else to say

a/n: this is My blog and I get to choose how cringe I want to be. Yes I said I’d not write for ghost and did it anyways after one (1) bad day. Yes this file is titled “hatehatehatemyself” on Google drive. The part after the burgundy divider is an optional ending. You can read the entire thing as platonic or slowly growing into something romantic. have fun x

Head turned left and right, looking around, no sign around.

The neighborhood is rather quiet today, the sun up and everyone out, at work or else. Rustling of grass with each breeze reaches your ears, and each time you whip your head toward the direction with hope.

In a breath, you cross the road and walk and walk and walk. It’s a long one, not unbearably so but still a little unnerving. You don’t recall many people going this way after all.

Now standing before the grand door, the little mailbox a few meters away awfully standing out, you raise your fist and knock.

And wait.

And waiting you do for almost a minute, if it weren’t for the noises you hear, a clutter of something, a shatter there and finally footsteps.

The door swings open– though it looks too heavy to be opened just like that and the man stands tall before you, forearm resting against the frame, leaning his entire weight to it, eyes barely open and you don’t need to see the barely filled bottle he holds to tell he is drunk.

The scent of alcohol reeks off him just enough.

Your nose scrunches up at the smell.

Squinting his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light coming from the sun, he doesn’t acknowledge you right away.

You doubt he has noticed you.

Isn’t it a bit too early to be drinking like this already? He looks trashed, to say the least.

Then he seems to notice you, though he makes so little movement to fix his posture, the belt tied around his waist barely doing its job to hold the robe together.

Decent on the eyes, you’d have thought for the guy, if it wasn’t for the weird face paint.

Getting too far and a little too early on the halloween spirit?

“Ah…” you clear your throat and try again. “So you see, my cat was lost and–”

“Oh perfect! That’s just lovely now.” he cuts you off, quite loud too. Head thrown back, he holds a sneer. “And what, little one ? Decided to come here and accuse us?” bottle dropped on the floor, rolls off to the side, hitting to an end by the door frame. 

With both hands free, he throws them up in mockery, mimicking what you can only think to be a kid’s voice: “‘ Oh no the big bad mean satanists stole my cat and used it for their sick rituals. ’” hands dropped to his sides immediately as he is done with his imitation, he glares down at you: “Well guess what? Buzz off! As if I don’t have enough bullshit to deal with right now. Go find a more creative way to get in sherlock.” 

So they were satanists after all…

Good to know you suppose, not that you care in all honesty. The whole church-like air of the building only gets more confusing for you though.

Before he can close the door to your face, you place your palm against it to stop him. “Hey!” 

The force behind the door comes to a pause, probably didn’t expect you to fight back.

“Listen, Mr. Halloween or whatever poor Jack Skellington look you were going for.” you begin speaking, ignoring the way his face morphs into pure confusion. “How about you listen to people before barking assumptions at them?”

A moment of breath, the resistance behind the door ends completely and he opens it full again, waiting for you to continue but doesn’t seem all too happy.

“My cat likes to go outdoors and one of my neighbors said to me once that he often visits this place. So can I please come in?”

Seeing it written clear that you won’t be leaving any time soon, the guy sighs and steps aside. “Don’t touch anything and don’t leave my sight.”

Footsteps echoing in the hallways, you ‘pspsps’ here and there in hopes of your cat turning around but to no avail.

It’s only when passing a door that the guy pauses and curses to himself, you can hear the hints of an accent.

Turning to face him, he takes in your raised brow as a question.

“Copia has rats– pet rats. Your cat better be a vegan because I will not deal with his whole…” he gestures with his hand at nothing, “mourning or Sister Imperator’s reprimanding if a single one of them is missing.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a well behaving, domesticated cat with manners, thank you very much.” you say and turn your head with a huff.

Copia? Imperator? You have no idea who these guys are but you’re sure you can handle a couple of …dorky satanists, if the rest of them are just like this man baby at least.

You can always leave town before night too, if it comes down to it.

Only few steps away and the man watches as you disappear, yelling after you about ‘what did he say’ and all that bullshit but you couldn’t care any less because there he is, your precious baby!

All pulled up into a cozy little furry ball by the corner under a window, in what appears to be someone’s bedroom.

Pretty messy too.

The man seems to catch sight of you and say something he thinks is amusing, or sleek, from the tone he uses, though you pay no attention to his words or how they suddenly run dry. (‘ well if your eye on me the whole time, you didn’t need to make up an excuse about a lost c –’)

Picking up your cat despite his protests, you turn and thank him with a nod. His words register in your mind with a small delay. 

“Maybe consider tidying up your room, what are you, twelve?” and with that, you exit his warzone of a room and walk back the path you took, with Mr. Whiskers purring in your arms the entire walk home.

The second time your cat goes missing while you’re home, you know better.

Instead of wasting hours searching around, you hike up all the way to that dreaded place and knock on the door with force and impatience.

It is a woman who answers instead.

A woman who does not seem to be the slightest bit impressed.

Staring at her bored face, you take notice of her clothes you can deem as formal for the place, the sound of fabric brushing as she crosses her arms, you snap out of it, trying to formulate the words regarding your cat and and all.

Whatever thought seems to pass her mind, you conclude that she doesnt care and watch as she leaves the door open, walking back inside. So you hurriedly follow.

“Sleek, black hair you said?” she asks, still walking ahead as you nod– shit, satanist or not, she can’t have an eye at the back of her head now; letting out a hum of affirmation you fasten your steps and try to walk by her side.

Steps come to a halt before a closed door, she knocks firmly, once.

Upon receiving no answer whatsoever, she rolls her eyes and opens the door.

They must have quite the savings you think, to have a place with soundproof walls and doors. The unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and all, you wonder to yourself, couldn’t your cat have picked somewhere …normal to take his afternoon naps.

Paying the scene before her eyes no mind, the woman steps in– is that who the man referred to as Sister Imperator?, and you catch her words about grabbing the darn cat now and continuing his pity party later.

The sounds of sex stop and you can hear someone walking around all the while mumbling something.

Before you can thank the woman however, she turns and walks away.

Less than a minute later the same man from before peeks out his head through the door.

Wearing a different robe this time and doing a poor job of holding your cat, though Mr. Whiskers doesn’t seem to mind, the traitor, he watches as you take the cat from his arms.

As you turn to leave and call it a day, maybe open a bottle of wine and see where the night takes you, a ‘hey!’ catches up to you from behind.

Leaning against the door frame like he did the first time, he waits for you to face him.

“Just let me know next time your cat comes over. I doubt neither you nor Sister would like to become frequent acquaintances.” 

You eye him with a suspicious look. Sure the woman does seem like if she sees you 3 times a week or more for your cat, she might sacrifice you and Mr. Whiskers to Lucifer with her bare hands but hey, you cannot control who answers the door now.

As if sensing your train of thought, or, a part of it, he lets out a sigh, “My windows are pretty wide. Pretend they’re doors or something.”

“...right.” Sounds more and more reassuring with each word for sure, great , thank you Mr. Whiskers.

Then an after thought seems to follow as a whine can be heard from inside his room, “ Just – maybe let me know ahead before you come through the window, yeah ?”

“And I should do that, how?” you ask, wishing the whole encounter to be over “I don’t want you charging me if a stone happens to find its way in.”

From how he mumbles the words ‘charging’ and ‘stone’ confused, it seems to be taking him a while to register your words.

The implication of your words seem to dawn in as his face goes down “Last I checked, cellphones exist.” he states, not sounding too happy about the possible danger his precious windows may face. 

“And how should I know this isn’t some weird excuse to get my number?” you sound skeptical, on the edge, probably finger hovering over that dial button to the police if it wasn’t for the cat in your arms.

At your words though, he chuckles. “I do have a girl in my bed right now, you know?”

“And my question remains unchanged.” staring at him with a dead serious expression, you watch as his amused face falls, his eyes rolling and he shoves a hand down one of his pockets, taking out a pen.

Expectant eyes on you– wait, what is up with his eyes? , he pushes off the cap, shaking his left arm so the robe’s arm can slide off, revealing his skin, waiting. Waiting for you.

“You better not send me any weird crap or call-” you state then say out your phone number.

Well, worst comes to worst, you know a good lawyer.

Third time's the charm is how the saying goes. You have your doubts but perhaps there is truth to it as the man’s ridiculous window idea works.

It takes no time to figure out Mr. Whiskers spends his afternoons there because the rays of sunlight hit just right, and right next to where he sleeps is a comfortable armchair with black and white hair decorating its surface a little.

Few steps ahead of his windows, the view of a wonderful garden has attracted your attention but you know better than to ask, or enter without permission. The amount of times you’ve dropped by increases at record speed, yet the air between you both is still tight.

He lets out a warm laugh when he gets a good look at him once, but when you ask, you get no reply. Surely this cannot be the first tuxedo cat he has ever seen in his life.

One silence after another, he must've sensed how tense and awkward it feels too, as a little after he tries to make conversation and apologize.

So they are a satanic organization, that’s fine.

You’ve always wondered as a kid about the gatherings you’d see within a distance but never bothered to check for yourself.

A rock band to spread their word and message however, now that is odd. You’re starting to think their anti church might be the most normal thing to them.

Yet you remain your silence and let him speak, listen, and try to make as much sense of them as you can because god knows you won’t be leaving this place any time soon.

He says he is– was the frontman of the band, and their beloved antipope , but was dethroned , or so he claims, few days prior to your arrival.

You can understand frustration over something you have dedicated your time and effort into, and for you to be pulled off it without a logical explanation. That explains drinking until the brain shuts down despite that scent of alcohol still stings your senses.

Nodding to his words, you take his apology and leave with Mr. Whiskers that day. He asks if you’d like to see the garden the next time your legs are dangling off the windowsill.

You accept in a heartbeat.

With the weather warming up and all, your cat seems to enjoy the garden as much as you do.

Trees and flowers of all kinds tended to with care and love, you can tell. Each arranged with care, the entire place paints a beautiful picture before your eyes, and endless too.

Same as the window, this becomes a habit too. To stroll in the garden and sit on one of the stone benches, talking or staying like this in silence.

He seems fond of Mr Whiskers for reasons unknown to you, until he pulls out a photograph of someone in what you make out to be a tuxedo of sorts, on a stage no less.

The photograph is of small scale, you cannot make out much of the details, so he takes it upon himself to explain that it is indeed him in the photo and the looks of your cat caught him by surprise because of his looks.

Without waiting for a reaction, he offers to show you the outfit he wore back then, though he sounds a little melancholic about the whole thing still.

Sure , you agree, but keep it to yourself that the regency shirt and black pants look just fine on him.

It blurs at one point you begin visiting even without Mr. Whisker’s presence in his room.

Bursting out into laughter, he looks almost offended at your reaction. “I’m sorry-” your giggles break through as you wipe off a tear, “what did you say it was again?” 

“Emeritus.” he says flatly.

“Emeritus.” you repeat, this time doing a better job at containing the giggling.

“Yes, Emeritus,” he says again and adds, “The third.” 

If your laughter before was loud, this is something beyond, enough to make him go deaf in comparison.

“Okay no, I’m not calling you-”  you bring your hands up to finger quote, “Emeritus The Third.” you say in a serious tone. “And I’m certainly not calling you ‘papa’ or some bullshit title.” you cut in before he can get a word out.

“We’re going to need a nickname, what about ‘em’?”

“Em.” his tone asking ‘are you for real?’, his turn to repeat now.

“Okay no, that’s just as bad, give me some time to th-” hand covering his face, he just shakes his head with a sigh. 

“Just call me Terzo , caro mio.”

Seeing as to no reply from you comes, he removes his hand and looks up. “It means ‘ the third ’ in Italian.”

“Oh,” you manage to say, though you do sound a little different now, perhaps you thought from his reactions you hurt him and now feel sorry about that? 

“Yeah, I can do that, Terzo.” speaking with more confidence now, testing the name on your tongue, you talk more to yourself and nod your head than to him– he finds watching you act like this, how you operate and think as you talk endearing.

You find yourself liking spending time with Terzo more than you’ve realized.

Work is work, adulting is the same and sometimes relationships with friends feel dull or far away.

To say the least, he is interesting. Usually something to catch you off guard or wondering, it is guaranteed your time with him is never one to fall victim to boredom.

So he speaks of his life, of things he has done on the road and whatnot, even going as far to recreate when he tried to kick off a beach ball only to fall, basking in the waves of your laughter, even complaining to him by nighttime that your face hurts from laughing so much.

In return you feel you don’t have as exciting stories but he listens as if they’re the most wonderful things he has ever heard.

You deem them mundane and every time without a beat, he says only to you.

It comes down to, more like remembering, those scenes from when you were a kid.

He is awfully quiet that day, when you speak of seeing figures in black walking in tow, a kid or two that seemed to be your peers but how their estate in the eyes of some were off limits, and it was always at an odd time for you to be walking up there and talk with the kids.

A shame, the two of you could’ve met much earlier, yet he doesn’t voice it and you do not realize it.

Of all the things he has experienced recently, entering his room, to a bed unmade, finding you wrapped in the covers and sound asleep, would score high on Terzo’s list of things he wouldn’t expect– that is, if his brain could even muster up such a scene.

He doesn't need to, though, as it becomes real before his eyes and he makes way for the loveseat that night.

He doesn’t pry about it and all you say under your breath is that you felt lonely.

‘What about Wh-’ before he can ask, you open the covers partly to reveal that Mr. Whiskers is indeed with you, in his bed.

He just hopes the cat won’t switch his usual spot for his bed when he comes next time.

The nightly visits from you start to occur more, by the third time he knows it’ll become another constant, though not as frequent.

You do appear upset that he has to sleep on the couch, yet he waves his hand dismissively, that he doesn’t mind– he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or cross any unnamed boundaries. Which is a little outside the usual for him, he is known for being bold, for holding and kissing hands and doing much more when he can even smell from a kilometer away the slightest of interest the other party has in him.

The next time it repeats, he is startled by a sudden noise as he makes for the couch as always. Turning on his heel only to see you patting the spot next to you in his bed.

Sure, it is a spacious bed, more than enough space for the both of you, and Mr. Whiskers, yet he still feels tense about the whole situation.

What if he wraps an arm around you or something in his sleep and you wake up angry, that he jumped into conclusions, that this wasn’t what you wanted at all and that you’ll never visit again and file a restra–

“You think too much.” 

You draw him out of his pocket sized crisis with few words and a flock on his forehead. “Keep doing that and you’ll end up with wrinkles in no time.”

What else can he do but chuckle at that and sink into sleep, safe and sound?

Wine is a skillful loosener, as the two of you rediscover together.

On days you stick around for longer, he makes his offer– though you refuse it as much as you can.

Despite dropping by unannounced after a while, you haven't walked into any intimate moments. And against your initial claim, your phone does get bombarded, usually photos of Mr. Whiskers when Terzo catches a glimpse of him, or when he thinks he is being adorable.

The latter is worse, because Terzo always finds him adorable once he warms up to the cat. The way he acts through text makes you picture him lying on the floor, hands supporting his chin, legs behind him dangling in the air, watching the unknowing cat as he sleeps or does the most mundane cat thing anyone can think of.

Neither of you are aware just how fascinating mundane is to him.

You can sense his pout from meters away.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” you put down the stacked papers. “What is it?”

Crossing his arms, he turns away partially, grumbling under his breath, “I don’t know what youre talking about.”

Getting closer to Terzo means many things, witnessing the absolute manchild that resides in him included.

Picking up your phone to turn the volume down, your eyes find his figure again– either he resembles Mr. Whiskers more than you gave them credit for or your time spent with him making you delusional. “Out with it already,” his form shrinks only further, “or no more visits from me or Mr. Whiskers.”

Now that , gets his attention.

Eyes focused somewhere near your face intentionally, he almost appears reluctant to say the words.

“How come you never listen to any of my songs?”

It takes you few seconds longer to register his words.

Before you can answer, he begins rambling, so rushed and in a whisper, all you can hear is few words in italian, which you’re sure are curses slipping his tongue and terms of endearment.

“I just… forgot?” you offer with a shrug.

Okay, maybe not the best response as this gets him to throw his arms into air, “ mio satana , you are unbelievable.” a finger pokes into your side, you haven't even realized he already crossed the distance between you both.

So he gets jealous when you listen to other musicians, huh , you save the information for future use.

As you begin laughing, he chuckles, muttering under his breath. “I guess, I’ll  have to bring a ritual to your feet.”

It goes unknown to you that Terzo semi-regularly orders cat food for Mr. Whiskers, not that the cat ever seemed to be hungry when he was there, but hey, cannot hurt to try. If the cat only decides to visit him, with you in cue, more often, now there is no harm in that.

Another thing unbeknownst to you, is that, despite the distance between their estate and your house, Terzo can spot your lights without much effort.

If he were to dramatize the entire thing between you both and more, he’d refer to it as a beacon of light. But he doesn’t need to, because there is nothing more to what it is between the two of you, even if unnamed, even when he cannot help wondering “ what if …”, wondering if he is misinterpreting things.

So when he doesn’t see the lights turn on by the night time one evening, he doesn’t care, maybe the power went out, maybe you just want to try something different for a change. He certainly doesn’t care in the morning when he sees a second figure come out of the door, or when you drop by later that evening, a throbbing headache and ‘ long day at work’ you just murmur as you fall asleep on his shoulder.

You accept the wine when you're taking another stroll in the gardens.

With the weather beginning to cool down, you welcome its warmth to your very bones.

Booze loosens your tongue first, and soon your senses, your train of thought. Whether it’s a good thing or not that you’re not the only victim… you don't know.

“Was it worth it at least?” he muses as you’re seated on the same bench, glasses sat on the ground.

You twist your face, trying to recall, “Once I tuned his voice out, yeah I guess?” he snorts at your words, “Isn’t this the usual case?” 

“Nah,” you drag the word as you reach for your glass, “He could also suck in bed. So the entire night wasn’t a waste I suppose. Never going back to that place though, I’m picky for a reason.”

You say the words more to yourself as a mantra than anything, Terzo watching you with a giggle hanging on his lips. 

“Bad drinks as well?”

“It’d be charity to call them as such, ugh,” with a sigh, you drink down the remaining half of your wine, tipping the empty glass to his direction.

Taking your glass, he switches it with his and you take no time to bring it back to your lips.

“But this?” you raise the glass, “now that is a quality product.”

With another chuckle, he reaches for the bottle and fills the empty glass in his hand.

The topic of your recent and unfortunate endeavors morph into complaining about work, people in the streets, weird posts on the internet and whatnot.

“Okay, okay,” you try to speak inbetween laughter, “so what about weird preferences when it comes to sex?”

He just gives you a teasing smirk as you place your finger on his lips as a means to shush him “we already know weird shit and food combinations the other likes, consider this a slight change of topic.”

“I’d say you’re deflecting, but alright, I’ll buy.” he shrugs, throwing his head back to drink from the bottle– the glasses cast aside an hour or so ago.

“Any kink you can think of, I’m most likely into already, so just ask me yourself.”

You bring a finger to your chin, contemplating what to say for a moment, “Socks stay on or?..” you let your voice trail off, gazing at him from the side with a smile.

Bringing a hand over his heart and another against his forehead, he faces you fully and lets out a loud gasp. “Caro mio! You wound me. I might be the antipope but I am not a lunatic!”

He opens one eye to seize your reaction, and when your gazes meet, both of you burst into laughter.

“But the face paint stays on, no?” you gesture to your face once you stop clutching your stomach.

“Everyone has a preference, tesero.” he shrugs.

Considering his position and the closest people he can find to fuck, it does add up, you suppose.

“Now enough about me, what about you ?” He leans in to you, flashing his teeth. Not letting him get to him, you snatch the bottle from his hand. 

“What about me, indeed huh? Just your basic, vanilla bullshit.” you close your eyes as you gulp down the wine.

Your comment only ignites him further, with another chuckle, he scoots closer, “You? Vanilla? I’d beg to differ,” and again, with the poking to your sides, he pleads “Don’t keep your papa waiting now.” “Okay first of all–” 

You snap your head to him, only to be nose to nose, “ Not the ‘p’ word, we went over that ages ago, not calling you that.”

“Only because you’re being such a tease,” he sing-songs, his head thrown back.

 “You are such a child,” you mumble as you place the bottle between your legs, hands gripping its neck.

“Biting, I suppose.” You can hear him open an eye and look your way, “Nothing extreme as I said, but people aren’t exactly dying to be covered in red and purple, you know?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” he answers, “their loss.”

You can sense he wants to pry further but keeps himself, and hell , the wine is good, there is another bottle waiting by his foot, and compared to the amount of black mail-level footage of him you've got, this feels like nothing.

“Taking risks.” you say in a whisper, partially hoping he doesn’t hear.

“Now, this falls vague, bella.” he says. “Risks of conceiving, catching STDS–” he begins counting with a finger,

“ No ! I said risks , not being an idiot.” You cut in, a hand covering your face.

You know he is waiting with that smug smirk, “risks of getting caught, like, dunno , semi public spaces and the likes?” you ask more than speak, meeting his gaze as you finish speaking.

“So that’s where the biting comes,” he speaks in a knowing tone, “leaving telltale marks blooming everywhere?” he muses as his hand begins to move, finger grazing against your skin.

“Like this?” he asks, hand going up and drawing patterns on your thigh, slowly going up, his eyes gauging your expression. 

“...yeah” you say in a breath, letting his hand reach the inner side of your thigh. A finger flicks against the bottle, drawing out a trembling note, making your eyes flash though all your times here, you never saw anyone else in the gardens.

The bottle has long gone warm but his hand feels cold against your leg, you’re aware of his eyes locked on your face yet make no haste to draw yours away from the plants up ahead.

His hand begins to travel upwards, making way to fiddle with the hem, going under and his skin meeting yours.

Before he can do anything further however, you both jolt with the sudden noise coming from behind, between the windows.

“Cazzo!” he mutters and gets up, making way to enter his room through the windows.

While waiting for him, you go for the other bottle, pouring yourself some more wine, at least with a glass, you can keep count.

Pausing to listen around, you hear the commotion has died down.

Picking up the other glass and hoisting the empty bottle under your arm, you make way for the stained glass windows you’ve grown familiar with over the course of time.

Terzo doesn't seem to pay much mind to the interruption though, the conversation picks up from where it left, now talking in a more general sense.

“You give off vibes of someone who’d make a sex playlist,” you begin as he listens with a nod, “ and add your songs to it.”

“As I said gioia, everyone has their preferences.” he reaches to take the bottle from you, not expecting your arm to draw back, “yet I cannot help but be upset,” he sheds a nonexistent tear, “that you think my thrust game is so weak.”

Seeing as you freeze at his words, he takes a step to you, grabbing the bottle from your hand with a smile and places it down, not stepping back afterwards. “If you want a demonstration though, I am always happy to help.” 

As if your silence was anything to go by, now it is deafening, the warmth and flush of your skin; you’re unsure if the cause is alcohol or him .

“And I did promise a demonstration of my songs to you before, didn’t I?” he says as he takes another step your way.

“So you see, we got this fan favorite song, Mummy Dust,” he speaks while pretending to be interested in the ceiling, gesturing with a hand in the air, “but not because of the lyrics.” he remarks with a smug expression, redirecting his gaze to you as he takes another step, barely any space left separating the two of you.

You’re unsure what to say or do, when left alone in a room with a bunch of people wearing identical masks.

You think, Terzo must’ve pulled a rope here and there, or acted in secrecy considering his sudden drop of position in the band, to have gotten into this studio– and bringing you no less.

The people he referred to as Nameless Ghouls stare at you, and you back at them. You can imagine the confusion they must be going through.

Then the man of the hour reappears with a clap of hands, dressed up in an outfit resembling a suit, and his previous remark at Mr. Whiskers suddenly comes back to you, finally making sense.

A concert– or a ritual, as he put it, he promised and one he delivers.

A ghoul begins playing his guitar in sync with the drums, as two of them walk to stand at their both sides and with a sudden stomp of foot, they all play in, in a fashion you can describe as ‘ knocking the wind out of your lungs .’

Only when Terzo’s singing, and soon the instruments coming to a stop that you realize you've been holding your breath the whole time. And quickly find out you may as well die due to lack of oxygen by the time the day comes to an end if they only keep up this momentum.

One song after another, they captivate you gradually. Be it the way the ghouls play or the way Terzo moves as he sings, radiating with energy. Walking around and messing up with one another, bothering each other at times– it all creates the illusion of a found family.

Briefly moving his hand, the ghouls pick acoustic guitars once another song comes to an end.

After each song he tells its name and some information– or funny memories he finds important you know.

With a signal of his hand, the ghouls switch to acoustic guitars and Terzo begins humming: “a one, a two, three, and four.“ 

With a move of his hand, they all enter the song.

One hand in a fist, resting against his hip and the other in front of him, he sways his hips softly as he sings.

It doesn’t miss your attention how some of his moves arent as innocent or random as they seem– when he brings his other hand to join the stray one, hoisting them up in the air as if holding something, or how after he holds the microphone with one hand and violates the poor stand with his fingers. Hands thrown into the air and shaking in the air as a ta-da once in a while, he takes a step back to point at one of the ghouls’ playing.

The song comes to an end and you think you’ve done good so far– then he decides to announce that the song is called Jigolo Har Meggido and you burst into laughter, leaving the men in the room utterly confused.

It takes several minutes for you to gather yourself, wipe away the tears all the while ignoring Terzo hovering over you with concern, unsure whether to approach you or leave you be in your violent laughter.

“I’m sorry-” your words die in your throat as another wave of laughter takes over again, “it’s just-” hand clutching over your stomach, you do your best to look up, “you do re-”, meeting his face only makes you laugh again.

A tap on your shoulder distracts you a little. Taking the water bottle one of the ghouls have brought to you, in your frenzy you didn’t even realize him leaving, you take a few sips to calm your nerves.

“I know you’re flirty and all, but witnessing you calling yourself a manwhore caught me off guard.” 

Definitely not something worth laughing to that extent over, Terzo doesn’t say a word and instead flashes you a toothy grin.

“You’d be surprised to hear it was his brother who wrote this song.” you hear someone say, the same ghoul from before.

“Ah!” Terzo waves a hand dismissively in the air, “enough talk of that geezer. Now , what do you say to a grammy winning original?” 

The ghouls slowly begin as Terzo walks back, their eyes on him and his hands, watching every move and tilt, following his guidance. Compared to the other songs they’ve played so far, this one comes off much softer, gentler, making you wonder what will come next.

Raising both hands in the air as if in praise, the ghouls all stop and silence takes over, waiting, and with his signal, they enter the song, picking up stronger than where they left off.

The melody matches the lyrics somewhat, the impression of a thunder, it builds up and carries smoothly.

He begins singing what you assume to be the second verse, drawing closer to you at a steady pace. His voice becomes the only thing you hear as the instruments falter and die out, quietening one by one. The microphone now held in his left, his right hand reaches out to hold yours, bringing it up near his face as he keeps singing: “ Can't you see that you're lost without me?”

And with it, they all reenter the song with a bang, your hand still in his, Terzo kisses the back of it in between lyrics and steps back to his initial position.

Drumming his fingers in the air, swaying them at the direction of either of the ghouls, they all circle around the keyboard playing ghoul as the song shifts into an instrumental part.

Eyes never leaving theirs, especially not his, not when he makes sure to lock his with you, you watch the entire performance almost in a trance, mind going blank.

When the song ends, you can see his expectant looks on you, already beaming with whatever compliment he’s positive you’ll be giving him.

So you decide to pick the teasing route. 

“It was nice.” he stares at you, his face clearly showing he wasn’t waiting to hear that. “Nice?..”

Humming in affirmation, you nod your head. “Yeah, nice.” tilting your head to the side, you speak up, “ Say , this helps you get some?” 

The man stands there, blinking at you for what feels like eternity.

The ghouls in a similar stance, though you’re sure you’ve heard one of them snort, and another snicker.

The eternity ends with a shake of his head and a faint smile on his face. “Yes, sorella , it helps me …get plenty actually.” he uses your phrase.

“Well,” he clicks his tongue as he places the microphone back to its place, “if it’s a …meretricious song you desire, how about I give you,” his pace of speaking slows down, as if holding his breath, waiting for imaginary drum rolls: “Mummy Dust!” He drags the words in a low grumble, shaking his hands in the air once again.

From how he starts swaying and moving his hips, you immediately recognize the song.

As Terzo begins singing, the sound of a door opening and clicking close reach your ears and when you twist halfway in your seat, you see a man with pencil stache dressed up in black, his hat partially resembling a bat, same painted eyes and upper lip like Terzo yet lacking the rest of the face paint.

The man stills in place when he sees you, only gets his feet to move again when you pat the vacant spot near you.

Whispering greetings back and forth, you immediately remember his name.

“Ah you’re the Cardinal!” Your voice comes out a tad more excited than expected. The man on the other hand seems confused as to how you know him already.

“How are your rats? Happy, I hope. I am so sorry, I never got the chance to apologize to you or to them because of Mr. Whiskers.” The words leave your lips in a breath, leaving the man dumbfounded, repeating your cat’s name in confusion and unaware, 

“ah, I-, my most sincere apologies, who?..”

“Mr. Whiskers, my cat, didn't Terzo t- oh.” Unfortunately the mention of a cat before you can stop makes his eyes go wide, and you try your best to assure him that your cat didnt even set foot into his room, somewhat calming the anxious man down.

The music on the other hand, as well as the singing, gets louder and a tad more aggressive. 

Probably unhappy with how your attention was led somewhere other than him. So needy and grumpy, spoiled like a cat.

“Uh, we can save our discussing for after the song?” Cardinal suggests, to which you nod. “I'd hate to impose on this- uh, special performance his excellency was displaying for you.” He says, coughing on his words at the way Terzo moves.

“Its alright Cardinal. I was given a demonstration of this song already, I am not missing out on anything.”

Again, you must’ve said something wrong, because instead of relaxing, the Cardinal’s face tenses up and goes bright red.

“ Oh !” You wince, “poor choice of words on my behalf. That's not what I meant.” You try to offer an explanation with a sheepish smile, but to no avail. 

At least Terzo looks quite pleased with the interaction, as clear from the smug expression taking over his face.

The previous incident– goes unaddressed between the two of you but the air between doesnt waver.

Still, it must have triggered some sort of change, you conclude, as Terzo’s texting habits only evolve into a different stage.

Sure, it went for quite a while that the initial purpose of exchanging numbers was abandoned yet he still possessed control, a sense of self restraint, when texting you.

Definitely the absolute opposite of whatever it is going on as of now.

Maybe you’ve spoiled him too much, your brain reaches another conclusion as the lips on your skin snap that thought in the middle, pulling you back into reality.

You still don’t visit him as regular as to say daily, or even biweekly– so you hold onto the benefit of doubt that he has absolutely no way of knowing youre busy trying to have a nice night, focused on pleasure and the feeling of euphoria–

Another vibrating sound against your nightstand cuts into the air, your sceeen lightning up right after.

You ignore it only so far until you find yourself scrolling and typing up a reply, the light coming from the screen reflecting against you and the man you’ve forgotten about already.

As you smile at his newest text, hearing that stupid whining of his voice and the pout, someone next to you clears his throat, snapping you back.

“Anything I should know about?” He only asks and in all honesty , you cannot blame the guy. You’d have reaches into equally ugly assumptions, were this to happen to you.

But it didnt, and it isn’t right now, so its only a little too late that you put yourself in his shoes.

“Nope.” You say, walking up to your bookshelf and placing the phone screen down, “just a friend.”

The guy hums, sounding skeptical but doesn't pry.

You give him the benefit of the doubt but few too many repeats and you know it's intentional.

You did spoil him too much it seems.

Another afternoon by his side, you're sitting on the window sill, one leg tucked under yourself, he is busy on the other side of the room, who knows what he is preparing this time.

“Wine?” he turns on his heel, holding a glass and the bottle’s neck tilted slightly already. 

“None for me, thank you.” 

Eyebrows raised in curiosity, a scheming expression takes over. “Ooh? Any plans for tonight?” He inquires. You don’t need to know that he is dreading the confirmation that'll leave your lips. 

“I guess,” you shrug, turning to look outside the window, “promised Steve we’d spend the night together.”

Heavy silence spreads from your words and takes over the room. 

The teasing remarks signature to his natural charm never comes and you turn your head to see if he even heard you in the first place… or left the room before you spoke… or somehow passed out in silence as you spoke.

Your worries ease upon seeing him standing there, still, not even a muscle moved from his last position, unreadable eyes staring at you.

Only when you tilt your head towards, asking ‘what’s wrong?’ and only then he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, coughs and tried to laugh it off with a ‘ have fun’ , pouring himself a glass.

Unbelievable.

Discreetly taking a sip from his wine to distract himself doesn't do much to ease him and the now unimpressed look you're giving him makes even the wine taste bitter on his tongue. 

“Wh-“ “you are unbelievable.”

Okay, you don't just seem pissed, disappointed?, something definitely negative; you sound like it too.

“For wishing my friend a fun night?” And with a guy he has never heard you mention before– the word friend stings to say. “I’m sure Steve is a good gu-“ “ Again,” you dont let him finish, “you are unbelievable, absolutely childish and overall a great idiot.”

Okay now you're just being mean. A scowl makes its way to his face before he can even notice, making you shake your head in disbelief like a mother scolding her kids with a smile.

“If youre done with the insults cara,” he says and raises his glass, appearing pissed and upset as he downs the glass.

“Terzo, you met Steve.” His head snaps up at your words. “Steve?“ you repeat in question, “Steve Whiskers?” ‘ ring any bells? ’ He can hear you say in following–

The faint smile of yours slowly evolve in a giggle as you watch the gears turn in his head and finally connect the two and two together.

“The cat?!” His voice comes out louder than he meant to, suddenly straightening up and wiping invisible dust off his clothes, he clears his throat. 

“Excuse me for my sudden input of volume.” You reply with a smile, “Send my best regards to Mr. Whiskers.”

You see the ghouls around few more times you're in the perimeter, as well as the scary woman from before.

Sitting in the gardens with Terzo again one warm afternoon and she passes in the distance, her eye catching sight of you no doubt.

Jumping in your stead, you rush to where she is. Terzo watches as you speak with more animatic gestures, Sister remaining stoic as always. You bring a hand up to scratch your head in unease, then holding out a box of sorts. As you are about to turn, he sees your body beam , most likely at something Sister has said as she walks away.

You pattle back to where he waits, trying to contain a big smile and pulling out few cookies from behind in surprise. Just as he does with anything else you offer, he devours the cookies, making sure to express his gratitude and worship before and after.

You settle back next to him, laughing at the way he acts as he ignores the crumbs on his thighs, resting your head against his shoulder and relaxing.

Yet you never tell him what it was Sister Imperator has said to you that got you in high spirits; not then, not later.

When you wake up with the sunlight grazing your face from the wrong direction, your first instinct is to return to sleep.

Having falling asleep by Terzo's side a reasonable amount of times now, it feels just as comfortable as your room. Despite his chest not being as soft as your pillow, the comfort of his mattress easily beating yours makes up for the loss.

Just as a content smile makes its way to your lips and you, more than eager to return to sleep, the situation of now sinks in and you can feel the warmth drain from your entire body.

Sure, this is not the first time you've found yourself falling asleep here, even in his arms, limbs tangled up no less; but all those instances contain one huge difference from the predicament you find yourself in now and it is last night.

Maybe you should pretend to stay asleep until he is summoned for anything, but the chances of this are dangerously slim. The light coming from between the curtains doesn't burn into your eyes just yet so it must still be fairly early, maybe you can sneak out before he can return from the land of dreaming. But that'd would leave bigger problems for future you and frankly? future you has gotten sick of your 'dancing around with nothing acknowledged' bullshit.

You take a deep breath, and shut your eyes further– hey perhaps they'll glue themselves together from how tight your muscles are contracting and with your sudden admittance to the hospital and the emergencu of the entire situation, it'll all get forgo–

A sudden noise stops your entire thought process crashing. A trainwreck, yes that's what this is.

Sucking a sharp breathe in, you think 'now or never', suck it up once and face on with courage.

Creaking one eye open and meeting Terzo's eyes on yours, every single muscle in his face loosened and his expression what you can only describe as to be 'at peace', all your anxiety from bare seconds ago gets washed down the drain. 

And for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to relax, fully, and bask in whatever the future– and he, along with it, will offer you.

[frenchfrywrites]

Purr-egnancy mood swings

MINORS DNI

Warnings: top dom amab reader, trans man sub bottom pregnant Satan, pet play, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, piss, anal, dumbification, (nonverbal) subspace, little spit

Terms used for Satan: chest, tits, cunt, pussy, entrance, hole, asshole, vagina

Thank you to @arloheart for the commission!! and thank u for trusting me enough to let me have creative control over most of this <3

One second you’re peacefully holding Satan in your arms, cuddling him like you’ve been doing for the past couple hours while he reads. The next, he’s flinging his book halfway across the room, startling you with the loud crash that occurs from the action. 

He’s huffing angrily, the tips of his ears red, gritting his teeth like the book committed an atrocity against him. 

“Um… how’s the book?” you ask, regretting the question as soon as it leaves your mouth.

“Not. Good,” he spits out each word, coating them with a venomous tone. You bring your hands to his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into his tense muscles.

Satan is the Avatar of Wrath, and his pregnancy has made him more moody than ever. He turns around in your lap straddling you to keep himself steady, being careful of his swollen belly, curling his fists into your shirt tightly. He looks close to tears with how upset he is.

He’s one trimester in, and has most of his family walking around on eggshells. It’s not something Satan takes delight in, but he truly cannot control the violent oscillations between his emotional states. You move your hands from his shoulders up to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Let's think about something other than the book?” you propose when he is unable to calm down. “Or,” you tug softly at the hair on the back of his skull, making him look up at you, “maybe you shouldn’t think about anything at all, huh kitty?”

You watch in real time how the tension he’d been holding so tightly onto melts from his body. His pupils dilate with excitement, and a smile works its way across his face.

“Yes,” he sighs happily, his mood again swings, this time from angered to blissed out in record time. His legs clench around your waist, and he grinds himself against you.

“Do you want to dress up, kitten?” he nods, clenching his fists tighter into your shirt, but due to excitement rather than anger now. “Okay,” you lean in to press a soft kiss against his lips, “go get your things, I’ll be with you in a second.”

Satan nods, leaning in to kiss you again, “don’t keep me waiting too long, beloved,” he tells you  with that faux-innocent smile of his. His words could be misunderstood as a warning, but you know him well enough to know it’s a plea. With that, he hauls himself off your lap, holding onto his belly gently as he heads to where he keeps his things. You’re next to leave, hurrying out of his room, hoping no one runs into you while your dick is half hard. 

You grab a glass of water and some snacks for later, knowing he’ll want them but won’t want you to leave once you’re with him. Then, you rush back to his room, hoping that you haven’t kept him waiting for long. 

When you return, you find Satan sitting with several items strewn across the bed. He’s curled in on himself, sniffling softly.

“Satan?” you attempt to get his attention softly, setting down what you’d grabbed on the bedside table. He lifts his head, revealing he’d been crying. You’re by his side in an instant, hauling him into your lap again, so you can embrace him. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” you ask, placing a hand gently against his belly. 

“No, I-” he hiccups, “I didn’t think you’d come back is all,” he explains, his tears subsiding as he returns your embrace. You let out a startled laugh, relief flooding through your body that this is just the result of another mood swing. Bringing your other hand to his face, you wipe his tears from his flushed cheeks.

“Well I’m here, and I want to see you with some pretty cat ears, how’s that sound?” you ask, removing your hand and reaching for said accessory. Satan gives you a wobbly grin, nodding his head eagerly.

Carefully you help him clip them onto his head, “so cute,” you finish with a kiss to the tip of his nose, and Satan flushes. 

“Okay to keep going?” you ask, tugging on the fabric of his shirt. He nods,

“Yes,” he sounds both breathless and soothed, “if you stopped now I think I’d have a fit,” he jokes. Except the both of you know there’s more truth than he’d like to admit in his words. 

With a grin, you help him out of his shirt, revealing his swollen belly and his perky tits that have been gradually filling with milk as his pregnancy continues. You take them into your hands, rubbing his nipples with your thumbs as you massage them. Satan lets out a quiet moan, arching his chest into your hands while squirming on your lap.

He’s rubbing himself against your dick, and he’s unintentionally (though knowing Satan, it’s likely actually intentional) teasing you in the most agonizing way possible. You want to take your sweet time with him, but you know if you don’t get your pants off soon, you’re going to go crazy.

Looking over, you take a second to see what other items he picked out. Your eyes lock on the pink fabric collar adorned with lace, bows, and a little bell at the front. Your hands leave his chest as you go to pick it up, and Satan drops his head back, presenting his neck to you. 

An appreciative noise leaves you at his sign of submission, and he smiles smugly. It takes you a moment to get the collar on, but once you do, Satan lets out a slow breath, looking at you through his lashes. He’s calmer now that he has it on, making you delighted and unbelievably aroused. 

You tug on the front of the collar, and Satan falls forward, stabilizing himself by putting his hands on your shoulders. Still holding onto the collar, you press your lips against his, and with him sinking into his headspace, the kiss is languid and wanton.

“Open,” you mumble against his lips. Satan’s response is immediate, and he parts his lips so you can press your tongue inside his mouth. He lets you tongue fuck his mouth, moaning at the sensation and sounds that come from it. Drool seeps from his mouth, because his thoughts and senses are filled with you, and he can’t focus on simple things like swallowing. 

When you pull away from the filthy kiss, a string of saliva connects your lips. Satan bobs forward, trying to follow you for another kiss. You stop him, pressing your fingers against his mouth.

“Please-” he starts to whine. You cut him off by clicking your tongue. 

“My kitty doesn’t talk,” you remind him. Satan melts, letting out a loud moan, and squeezing your shoulders with excitement. “Do you remember your nonverbal signals?” you ask. He goes to open his mouth, but recalls what you’d just said and simply nods. “Good boy,” you coo, looking at what other toys he’d gotten out.

“Ooh,” you pick up the pair of white, lace, crotchless panties that Satan laid next to his tail. “You wanna put these on for me?” He nods, so you ease him off of your lap and onto his back on the bed. Hovering over him, you pull down his new maternity pants and the underwear he’s been wearing today- catching sight of the noticeable wet spot from his arousal- before you toss them off the bed. 

Satan preens under your gaze, spreading his legs as wide as they’ll go so you can get a good look at his soaked pussy. “Pretty kitty,” you muse softly, rubbing his erect clit gently. Satan lets out a whimper, bucking his hips as best as he can into your touch. Your other hand rubs and massages his belly affectionately.

You touch him for a moment longer, drinking up the sounds he makes as you tease him. When you pull your hand away from between his legs, Satan whines, loud and very disappointed. Your hand that was rubbing his belly goes to pinch his inner thigh as you mumble,

“Behave,” as a warning. He huffs, but doesn’t have the time to get too upset when he sees you pick up the panties. You help him into them, pulling the fabric through one leg, then the other. Slowly, you pull them up until the garment sits nicely on his hips, framing his pussy for you. You let out a low whistle at the sight.

“God, you look so good,” you practically moan. A proud smirk works its way onto Satan’s face; he’s obviously very pleased with the fact that a simple article of clothing could have such an effect on you.

“Tail next,” you hum, grabbing the buttplug that’s affixed with a furry white tail. Satan practically wiggles with giddiness, gnawing on his puffy lips. 

You grab the lube next, popping it open and lathering your fingers with it. The slick from his pussy has dribbled downwards, so Satan’s asshole is already wet when your fingers come in contact with it. You rub his rim gently, 

“Relax for me kitten,” his eyes flutter shut as he focuses on doing what he’s told. With him lax under you, you’re able to press a finger into him with little resistance. Satan lets out a half pained, half pleasured moan. “Oh, taking me so well kitten, good boy,” you groan, and he practically purrs under the praise, sinking further into his headspace. 

With him soothed and submissive, you’re able to easily get two fingers into him in no time. You stretch and fuck his ass with your fingers until you know he’ll be able to take the plug. Satan’s been moaning, groaning, and whimpering under you, making all sorts of sweet noises. Then, to hear him more you continue to finger fuck him, savoring the way he twitches and squeezes around your fingers. 

“Guh- Muh- Puh- nghh-” his noises have shifted to sounding like syllables of something. He wants to talk so badly, and each sound comes out like he’s biting the words before they leave his mouth.

“What’s on your silly little mind, kitty?” you ask, giving him permission to speak.

“Please fuck my vagina, fuh-fill me, breed me again, I- ah- I wanna give you a litter please, please,” he blurts.

“Oh sweet boy,” you moan, delicately pulling your fingers from his hole. You take the plug, lube it up, and slip it into him easily. Satan knocks his head back and moans when his ass is filled with the plug. 

“That feel good?” you ask, knowing the answer. He nods, his eyes fluttering shut as he adjusts to the new intrusion. 

“Fuck me,” he pleads after a moment, like you would have forgotten about what he wants already. Feeling your own patience thinning, you quickly strip yourself of your clothes, letting out a relieved sigh when your dick is finally free from the confines of your pants. 

“Have to stretch you,” you remind him, and you watch him turn red. 

“No!” he wails, “I can take it, fuck me now,” he glares at you, his eyes bright and wild. You shake your head, not allowing his temper tantrum to affect your judgment. 

“If you talk like that I’ll gag you,” you warn, and Satan bites his lip as you brush your lubed fingers against his cunt. “I’ll be quick, but I’m not going to fuck you until you’re stretched,” you decide. He lets out a frustrated grunt, but doesn’t talk back. 

With how turned on and relaxed he is, it doesn’t take you long to have two fingers stretching and fucking open his pussy. Satan practically sobbed with relief when your digits entered him. Now he squirms and pants as your fingers curl upwards and press against his most sensitive spots. By the time you ease in a third finger, he’s close to cumming- yet refusing to admit that- so you pull your fingers out and give his lips a kiss to muffle his complaints. 

Spreading the mix of lube and his juices onto your cock, you let out a soft moan at the sensation. Though you’ve been inside of him so many times before, you’ll always get excited for the heavenly pleasure that will overcome you when you slide into Satan’s pussy. 

“Condom?” you ask, mostly out of habit. Instantly Satan’s brows furrow, a scowl forming on his lips. “Okay, okay, calm down kitten, I’ll fill you up with my cum,” you promise, doing your best to avoid frustrating him, kissing the glare away from his face. 

When you pull back he looks content, and his disposition continues to improve when you line yourself up with his pussy.

“Good,” he purrs, outright moaning when the head of your cock presses against his entrance. You slowly push your hips forward, successfully popping yourself into his hot, wet, sticky cunt. 

“Oh-” he moans, arching his back upwards, pressing his ever-growing belly against you. A moan leaves your lips as you think about the time you knocked him up. Satan didn’t have to do any convincing, but that didn’t stop him from explaining all the pros (in meticulous detail) of getting him pregnant. His presentation had turned you on like an aphrodisiac, and you’d fucked him into the early morning. 

The way he scratches his nails into your shoulders brings you back to the present, and you press yourself further into him. You watch carefully for any signs of distress or discomfort, but he looks pleased as a peach under you.

As soon as your cock is fully inside of him, with your skin pressing against his and his legs wrapping around your waist, Satan lets out a startled noise. You feel it within the next second- the warm liquid gushing from his pussy. Your hips jerk against your will as you realize Satan is pissing himself, and absolutely soaking the panties he has on.

He lets out a long drawn out moan as he relieves himself, and you bring a hand down to pass your fingers through his stream.

“Got too full having both my baby and cock in your belly, huh? Just couldn’t hold it in?” Satan nods lazily, squeezing around your length at your words. “The plug up your ass probably didn’t help,” you muse as you move your hips back then forward, “you love getting the piss fucked out of you, isn’t that right?” He nods again, and you feel his stream dying down. 

“Say it,” you urge, slowly rocking your hips as you start to fuck him in earnest.

“It feels so good,” he slurs. You groan softly, then stick your piss covered fingers into his mouth. He licks and sucks on them immediately, cleaning you up obediently. 

Spurred on by the sight before you- with Satan drooling and slobbering on your fingers, his tits bouncing each time your hips snap against his, his eyes rolling up when you adjust to fuck him better- you can’t help but pick up the pace, fucking him harder with each thrust.

“Such a good kitty,” you praise breathlessly, and Satan digs his nails into your skin, meowing and moaning as best as he can around your fingers. 

It’s when you nearly choke him that you decide to finally pull your hand away from his face. He pants for breath, drool running down his chin. You bring your now spit covered fingers to Satan’s pussy, circling and rubbing his clit.

“Close,” he tells you urgently after a moment. You’re surprised he’s still able to speak coherently, but it’s nice that he gave you a warning. 

Re-angling your hips once again, you make sure your cock hits all the right spots inside of him. Your reward is the way that Satan’s cunt clenches like a vice around you,

“Fuck,” you grunt, feeling your own orgasm barrel towards you. 

Satan cums first, choking out your name as he claws at your shoulders. You fuck him through it, following soon after and, as promised, pumping him full of your cum.

He lets out a soft whimper, going limp as you fuck him through your climax. You let him clench and squeeze around you, riding out any aftershocks, until it’s painful to do so. Leaning down and kissing him lovingly, you slowly pull yourself out of him. 

Satan whines against your lips, but is otherwise in a state of euphoria. Laying next to him, you pull him into your arms. You mindlessly rub his belly, kissing his sweaty forehead, then his flushed cheeks, down to his jaw, his chin, and finally you sweetly kiss his lips. Satan sighs contently as you do, snuggling closer to you. 

“Clean me up?” he requests softly, peeking an eye open to gauge your response. You kiss him again,

“Of course,” you reply, pulling away only enough to reach the wipes on the bedside table. Carefully, you go through the slow and dutiful process of pulling his tail plug from him, taking off all his accessories, and wiping down his body. As you do so, Satan effortlessly mutters a spell that voids the pee from the bed, making things much more comfortable for himself. With a kiss to his belly, you dispose of the dirty wipes, and return to Satan’s side.

“Thank you for doing that for me,” he says softly, humming appreciatively when you run your hands through his hair, “I enjoyed myself a lot, and feel much better,” he continues. 

“I had a lot of fun too!” you assure him, “I’m always happy to take your mind off things, Satan,” he snorts. 

“Yes, that’s true, and it’s part of why I love you so,” he’s told you this thousands of times now, but it still makes your heart flutter and ache happily. Satan pulls you in for a kiss, and just before your lips meet you catch the way his green eyes glitter with delight.

His stomach rumbles seconds later, and you huff out a laugh when his mood swivels from loving to serious as he pulls away to bluntly state, “I’m hungry.”

You’re glad you thought ahead, because neither of you want to leave each others embrace as you reach for the snacks you’d left on the bedside table.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[dvrcos]

I feel like Nicky is the one Wymack is most nervous to mic up, but trusts Matt & Dan enough to be sure they'll get something good from that. Allison, he knows what he's signing up for, so no one is surprised when she's as aggressive as Aaron. But I think it's Renee who surprises everyone (except Andrew).

When Renee gets mic'd up, everyone is expecting serenity. Peace. "Oh, that was a good pass" about the other team. "Come on, Foxes!" quietly chanted from goal. Maybe some prayers.

Instead, they get a constant stream, in a similar style to Andrew. They get screams loud enough the mic crackles. They get "YOU LITTLE BITCH" screamed at full volume multiple times. They get "Aw, the big baby got upset that the lil midget hit him? What are you gonna do, big guy? Cry and crawl back inside your mama?" when Aaron takes a swing at a guy twice his size. They get gamer-girl-playing-with-a-group-of-boys-who-don't-go-easy-on-her level trash talk. They get hopes and wishes for players to drop dead or go to Hell and burn for eternity. They get angry shouts. They get swearing with 0 filter. They get death threats. They get detailed fantasies about gutting people like fish or of where she'd like to break their bodies.

Wymack is shocked. The audience & fans are eating it up because Renee walks off court with a serene smile and is sweet as sugar. When the other Foxes watch it back, they're all speechless because.... is that THEIR Renee?????? Are we sure???? Because it's easy for them to forget she grew up in a gang & testified against her former found-family. Andrew is the only one who isn't surprised because that's the version of Renee he spars with.

Wymack decides Nicky and Allison can get mic'd up as much as they want. All of the cousins can get mic'd up again. But Renee is banned from doing it again.

Neil gifts her a bar of soap to clean her mouth out with.

THIS !!!!

This was an absolute joy to read and you’re so correct, I have no notes

I can also imagine her being like “thoughts and prayers” in the most passive agressive way possible. The Foxes win and she’s like “I’ll keep you all in my thoughts and prayers tonight, I know that was a tough one for you” and she has the most menacing smile ever that actually shakes the other team to their core.

Also Renee knowing like 101 ways to seriously maim someone and when one of the Foxes gets hurt she just shouts a number at them. She’s been doing it for a long time and none of the Foxes knew why. When they’re listening back to her recording they hear her shout a number and then mumble to herself what that maiming technique is. And they all are just like OH. So it’s a lot more intimidating and meaningful when they hear her shouting numbers on the court from then on.

Andrew very quickly memorizes the list as well and offers her his opinion on which one he would’ve used when she gets off the court.

“22 was a better option”

“Yes but 54 is more creative” And just smiles at him.

The other Foxes also start to remember some of what each number means. They feel especially honored when she wips out certain numbers in defense of them.

Renee shouting from across the court “34”

The Foxes “Oooo, you’re fucked dude. Good luck!”

[heartthrobin]

lovers, to bed: tis almost fairy time (4)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 4.0k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, limited use of y/n, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), angst, subby sam winchester (?), some smoking, canon warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: i'm so sorry that this took so long, uni has put me in a really tough mental space at the moment and being creative has been so difficult. but i hope it was worth the wait! love you all endlessly

summary: yes, Sam Winchester was an idiot: but he would be damned if he was going to let his little fairy get away.

part one part two part three

The trunk clicked open, swinging up against the back window of the Impala.

Dean rummaged between the shotguns and the silver blades and the jugs of gasoline. His hand emerged with a wide set machete, holding it up to Sam.

"I've been dying to use this bad boy since Idaho." He grinned at his reflection in the steel blade.

Sam rolled his eyes, hair fluttering over his forehead where the evening wind was tugging on it. The Impala was parked up against the grass at the edge of the forest, the sun disappearing over the treetops in a way that sunk the town in a purple glow.

He reached in to grab a shotgun, a silver blade too: slipping it into his jacket pocket. "Right. Let's just get this over with."

His brother grinned, "So you can go see your little princess, hm?"

Sam didn't dignify him with a response. Mostly because he was right.

The weight of the truth draped over his shoulders like a truck. Stifling and making it hard to breath, let alone think.

Dean laughed at his lack of response, bumping his shoulder to his:

"Sammy's getting laid tonight." He sing-songed.

"Yeah, right. That's a great idea." He huffed, "Then she can see all my scars and realise I've been lying to her. Sounds fun."

Nudging the trunk closed, Dean groaned. "She's gonna find out either way."

"Not unless I don't tell her."

At that Dean paused. His eyes ran over Sam's figure where he was loading the shotgun.

"So when were done, we're just gonna leave town?"

Sam slammed the trunk shut with maybe a little too much force. "Can we drop it?"

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever. It's your problem, but I think she should know."

But Sam was already pacing towards the line of trees, huffing and trying to suffocate the guilt building in his chest.

The forest wasn't making it any easier. Dean was trailing behind him, every footstep crackling over the dry leaves and soft grass reminding him of your laugh. The dark bark of the black of your eyes, those eyes so wide and wet--

"Hey," Dean's voice cut through his thoughts. He motioned over between the trees. "Look."

There was the tree again. Glowing just like it had been the last time they'd ventured into the belly of the woods.

A crunch echoed around the space. Sam's head whipped over his shoulder, Dean reaching with a quickness that only came from experience for the gun in his holster:

"What was that?"

-

There was a teenager behind the counter when you plonked down a packet of sour worms and a tray of eggs in front of her.

She was usually the one who helped you when you'd stop in after work some days. She's cute in a sprightly way: piercings sticking out from every piece of skin she could get her hands on and she was one of the only people left in town who didn't scowl at you when you came in.

But she was looking at you funny just then, her hands still where they'd usually just reach to start scanning your things with a bored look on her young features.

"You've ... uh, got a ..." she'd motioned up to her own face, brushing a finger over her cheek.

Your hand came to pet your own face, drawing back with a palmful of blood. Shoulders sagging, you sigh. "Oh."

She leaned down under the counter, emerging with a handful of napkins and offering them to you. You smiled at her, "Thank you. It's, uhm, it's not mine."

The girl nodded like she already figured. She started to scan your eggs while you wiped down your cheek, napkins dissolving into a crimson lump. You wondered, for the millionth time, what your soulmate had gotten themselves into today.

There was a glass case enclosing some rotating hot dogs that you used to check your reflection: to probe gently at the thin cut you suspected was the work of a sharp blade, and when she handed you your bag, your face was mostly clean over where it was flush with embarrassment. Poor girl was already working late on a week night and you'd waltzed in looking like a scene from a horror movie.

You thanked her and she offered one last uninterested nod.

It was dark out already and you didn't feel as safe walking home as you once had but there was little option, and the corner store was less than a couple blocks from home.

The bag shuffled and your neck-full of crystals clinked as you walked. You hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all afternoon, some playful tune you'd heard on the radio in the shop.

In the distance there was a crowd. The road overthrown with a flickering blue and red light from cop cars parked just further down and voices overlapped in loud chatter.

You frowned. "What ..."

As you neared your eyes find uniformed officers pushing back other curious onlookers. There was a news van parked there too: a man dressed in a smart suit speaking into a microphone at his chest and he's grinning-- "Yes, Arthur, I am here in Fernglade Washington with some amazing news for our viewers. Tonight, the town can rest a little easier--"

There was a loud sob that carries over heads and a woman was on her knees, jeans pressing into the concrete where she was clutching a child. She's shaking violently ... and she wasn't alone.

Behind her was another set of parents with a child ... and another, and another.

Your heart floated into your throat. There brewed a bubbling feeling in your chest, it's ... it's the children. The missing children.

You recognised Rachel and Georgia ... and Manny. Sure, they were a little dirty: with pale soil-ridden faces and torn Barbie t-shirts.

One, two, three -- you counted them with your eyes -- seven. They were all there.

The police had set up a barricade and you didn't even realise you'd dropped and crushed your eggs when you pressed against it. There's eyes on you, guilty eyes, and you could tell nearby officers were pretending not to look at you out the corner of their eyes.

But you couldn't be bothered with them, with the whispering crowd either, because you'd made out the outline of the Winchester brothers' backs talking down at a short police woman who was avidly writing against a tiny notebook.

You were grinning so hard it was hurting your cheeks and your eyes welled with the joy of the scene. They were all there. They were all okay, alive!

"Sam!' you leaned over the wooden barricade. It had to have been them, there was nobody else who believed you. Believed that the kids weren't locked up in the depths of a dungeon you didn't own.

A laugh was gurgling up from the depths of your throat and you felt where a tear slipped over the healing cut on your cheek. "Sam!"

Sam's head perked up, pausing mid-sentence when he turned those wide shoulders to the crowd, to you. His face lit up with shadows under the spectacle of coloured lights when his eyes found yours.

Your heart sunk from where it was sitting in your throat, slipping all the way to the deepest pit in your stomach.

Even under the harsh light and the cover of night it was impossible to miss the drying blood painting his face. Running down from a cut over his cheek. Your hand came to find your own jaw, eyes never leaving his, when you pressed up into the matching scar. It didn't hurt and even if it had, you wouldn't have felt it just then.

Sam's face was twisting with realisation. "Y/n--"

You tripped back over the edges of your skirt, knocking into the onlookers behind you-- "hey, watch it!"

Concrete reached up, scraping at your heels wedged into dainty sandals, but the hammering of your heart kept them moving. You broke out the crowd, oxygen leaning further and further out your grasp when you broke into a run.

"Y/n, wait!"

But you didn't stop.

Sam watched your silhouette shrink down the road, streetlights illuminating your escape. He gulped for breath, guilt choking him out: clogging his airways with thick sludgy shame.

"Sammy," a hand closed over his arm. "Come on--"

"Agent, we need to finish getting your statement."

Dean was leaning over his shoulder when he looked down. His eyes were sticky with sympathy.

The officer was lingering just a foot from him. She looked confused, gaze flickering between him and the now empty street.

"Dean ..." he turned to his only comfort. "She-- my face ..."

His brother nodded. "Yeah, I know. I know, Sammy."

He patted him. "Just give her some time to breath, okay? Let's finish here."

Every nerve-ending in his body was screaming at him to chase you down the street. To break through the nosy locals and crawl his way up your porch steps: beg on his knees for forgiveness.

Just give her some time. He didn't know if his mind was ringing or if Dean had said it again, but Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

The officer pressed her pen back to her little notebook. She nodded, "Okay so you guys followed the perpetrator into the forest. Male, blonde hair, you said?"

Dean made a grunt of agreement.

-

The night was so cold, Sam remembered.

A thin sheet of drizzle was patching up the sidewalk when his heavy footsteps crept up along it. Barely enough to dampen his hair, but his jacket felt impossibly heavy over his shoulders.

It was past midnight. The police had held them down: a trip to the station, a tower of signed documents and a sketch artist later there he finally was, standing feeling small for the first time in his life at the edge of your property.

Wind was twirling a thin line of smoke off your porch. He could see you through the darkness.

You said nothing. Eyes connected with his across your impeccably maintained grass.

It egged him forward.

His footsteps were loud clambering up the three wooden steps onto your porch.

You were leaned back into the arms of an ornate wooden rocking chair he'd noticed on his first trip up those same stairs. You weren't looking at him anymore: eyes drifting over the quiet street.

Sam was at least glad to find you bundled up in a blanket.

In your lap sat was the strangest-looking pipe he'd ever seen. An obnoxiously long chamber with a bulbous bowl at the end.

A string of purple smoke was curling out from between your lips. "You're here."

He couldn't tell if it was a question or not. Your face was as passionless as he'd ever seen it: offering him nothing.

"I promised I would be."

You nodded slowly, bringing the pipe up to your mouth and sucking on it steadily, still not looking at him. "How are the kids?"

Sam's hands bunched at his side. A dreadful burning viper was slithering between his organs. In this light he could see the smooth cut against your face, a misaimed throw of a blade from Dean when a tiny grotesque goblin had leapt up at him.

"They're ... they're fine. T-They're good."

"Did you know?"

You're looking at him now. It's the question he knew was coming but it knocks him breathless all the same.

He draws breath, mind spinning between the truth and an easier lie. "I--"

"Don't lie, Sam."

Your eyes are piercing him, like an arrow to the chest. He swallows hard. "Yes ... I did."

The pipe draws up to your mouth again, you let out a soft humourless laugh. It's followed out by another cloud of glittering smoke. The laugh so empty that it dries Sam's mouth.

"I ... the life I lead," he starts again, the snippets of a speech that he'd been stewing on his whole life for this exact moment coming out sounding more pathetic than he ever thought they could. "It's no life for you. For anyone, and I couldn't do that to someone I... I-I love. To tie you to me, I've done terrible things you don't know--"

"And you think I haven't?" You're rising from the chair now, pipe thudding to the floor. Your voice is prickled in a rising anger. "That I'm some jewel who could never imagine what life is like on the run? To kill and hurt for survival?"

The rain was coming down harder. Trees and bushes leaning against the push of the wind. Sam was so lost in the heat of your eyes that he didn't notice the creep of a thick-set branch crawling up the edge of the porch, down over the lip of the roof.

"Were you just gonna leave?" Your voice never rose but he flinched like you'd screamed it at him. The flush of fury setting your cheeks alight, illuminating the scar that put you both there. "You were, weren't you?"

The touch was wet and solid when it wrapped around his ankle, the branch wrenching him by both ankles back against the bannister of the porch. He gasped when the wood struck his back: another thick brown limb winding around his neck, not enough to hurt but enough to fix his head in your direction and stop him from toppling over.

It took a couple gulps of breath to realise that it was the tree. The one wrapped around your cottage, that it was you.

"This is a two way street, Sam." you pressed up against his chest, eyes alight with a power you'd never let show before. "You bang me up for years and years, and I sit and wait for you. And you were just gonna leave? Leave me to patch up all your bullet holes and your wolf bites?"

Shame drains his cheeks of warmth. He doesn't fight the tree's grip, purposefully ignores the sharpened blade that's still well within his reach. Sam shakes his head as well as he can: he doesn't know what to say. His whole pathetic speech meant nothing anymore and he didn't think this could hurt any harder until he realises that tears are streaming quietly down your perfect perfect face.

You're pressed up against him, your warmth seeping into his bones.

Forehead meeting his pectoral, you shake your head too. Tears wetting his shirt.

"I was scared." He finally lets out, it's pitiful. "I didn't know this is what it felt like. I didn't know love could feel like this."

"I'm scared too, you know." You whisper into him.

In a surge of bravery, or maybe just stupidity - he couldn't tell anymore, his hand finds your jaw: tipping it up to face him.

God, he never thought you could be more beautiful but you were blinking up at him with wet lashes and a trembling lip and he was ready to give up his whole fucking life for you. Lay down the gun and never pick it up again, let Dean drive alone out and far away from Fernglade.

It was all made more real when you leaned up onto your toes, nose brushing his and hands finding his neck.

You moved no closer, warm breath caressing the bow of his lip, but Sam would be damned if being hog-tied by some oak tree was gonna stop him from the taste of you so he wrapped a strong arm over your waist and tugged you just that little distance further.

The feeling of your lips crashing on his couldn't be any sweeter. He imagined that this is what a firework felt like when it leapt into the sky and burst.

Your mouth was desperate, like his, and your hands wrapped around the base of his shivering neck.

You tasted like sweet tea and tangy like whatever was in your magical pipe and if the tree wasn't holding him upright he'd have crashed to his knees. You whined lowly and it stoked the fire pit in Sam's stomach.

His tongue slipped past your lips, struggling against the hold of the oak tree to let his hands roam your back. Your mouth was wet hot and he knew he could kiss you forever, until his oxygen depleted and he was dead for the world.

But you stepped back, eyes wide like you'd been doused over with ice water. A hand wiped at your mouth, at the mix of his and your's saliva coating your lips.

"You ..." your voice trembled. "You should go."

You stumbled back down the porch, door creaking as it opened and banging as it shut.

The grip of the tree loosened and Sam watched it's branches creep back under the porch. It became still again, rain calming to a measly patter and bushes watching quietly.

"Fuck." he whispered.

-

Sam shut the car door obnoxiously loud after him. The leather of the Impala creaked loudly when Dean followed in suit, hands reaching up to the slick black wheel.

"You're sure?"

Without answering, Sam shifted to take one last look at the Pinecone Motel and it's chipping copper paint.

"Fine." Dean turned the key into the ignition, car rumbling to life beneath them.

In the backseat is his and Sam's rucksacks and duffle-bags jam-packed with their few worldly possesions. The same bags haphazardly zipped shut that same morning when Sam eventually busted through the door demanding that they left Fernglade right fucking now.

The sun was just barely creeping over the town and morning chill frosted the view through the windscreen. It's busy despite the time: open signs are flickering on and men in aprons are heaving crates of apples onto stands under fairylight-lit doorways.

Bad Moon Rising hummed through the crumbly speakers and Sam slammed the switch on the dash so it shut off.

"Hey!" Dean calls, "take it easy man. She's gentle."

He pat the dash softly where Sam has just knocked it. Still, his brother says nothing.

"Okay." He huffed, pulling the car into a spot near the sidewalk in front of a lifeless diner. Dean twists in his seat to face Sam: "you've barely said a word all morning."

Sam tugged his jacket closer over his frame. "I said I don't wanna talk about it."

"Yeah, yeah. You've been saying that all damn week." Dean's arm lifted to rest against the back of the seat. "But you're gonna talk now. This isn't some passing girl that you can just pack your bags and run away from. You're gonna have to go there and apologise."

Sam's expression curls in anger. "Yeah, Dean, I did that! And she tied me up with tree branches and kicked me off her porch--"

"Well, boo hoo!" Dean tightened his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. "Do it again! Do it until she forgives you."

"I don't need your advice, Dean. I've made up my mind, we're leaving."

A cat was scratching on a growing weed at the edge of the sidewalk, Sam focused on it to avoid his brother's eyes. They were hot and he could feel them burning a hole into the side of his face.

"Can we just go."

"What is it?" Dean spoke again, this time quieter. Cool fog followed the words out his mouth. "What are you scared of?"

Sam ran both hands through the tendrils of hair over his scalp. He sighed. "I'm ... she's not gonna be able to forgive me."

"Are you gonna be able to forgive yourself?"

There was a long quiet.

It was broken by a car passing noisily. It draws Dean's attention and he nodded quietly to himself. "Fine. Wisconsin?"

"Yeah." Sam agrees quietly.

The car started again, Dean went to turn to radio back up. "Will you grab my jacket, I left it in the trunk. It's fucking freezing in here."

Sam sighed again. "Fine."

"Thanks."

The door clicked open again. He's barely both feet out the car when it grumbles and swerves off the sidewalk, Sam tripped over the edge nearly onto the concrete, and by the time he's stabled himself: the Impala was racing down the main road.

"You'll thank me for this!" His brother's voice faded with the car's black silhouette.

Sam's hands returned to his hair again, "son of a bitch!"

An old lady across the street turned to him with an affronted look. He waves her off, kicking at the same weed the cat had abandoned in the flurry of commotion.

Above him, the diner sign flickers on: The Frothy Mug. He stopped.

It felt like years between when he was last standing under the same light of the sign. In front of the same three steps that he watched your eyes sparkle at him: your hand tucked warmly against his.

"Fucking ..." the expletives died on his tongue. He's right, that asshole.

"I'm a fucking idiot."

Sam's legs began moving before he even knew they were, chasing down the same route he'd meandered along with you three nights previous. He's sprinting, breathing a purposeless afterthought as the diner disappeared behind him.

Past the pharmacy, the laundromat, The Bloom Box. All the way to the end of town where your cottage and your trees and your flowers and you waited for him.

Sam panted clouded breaths as the sight came into view at the end of the road. The morning sunlight lit your garden a bright orangey eden. His steps were just as heavy as they were in the early hours of that same morning when he trudged up the same stone pathway.

He didn't let himself hesitate, bringing red, bruised knuckles up against the hardwood door. The knock rumbled through the house and shakes every bone in his body.

There was a long pause. Then a scuffle, a sniff and a "Goose, get back".

The door creaked and you stood in the doorway like you had the first day his feet found this porch.

While expected, Sam was taken aback by the sight of you. You're in a matching set of pajamas, green - unsurprisingly - and covered in little ladybugs. Your face was swollen with sleep, eyelashes kissing in the corner and lips puffy.

"Sam--" you sighed, but Sam's hands find your shoulders gently.

"I know it's early, but please listen. I'm an idiot." He sounded desperate, but couldn't find a way to help it.

"Yes." You nodded.

"And I'm sorry." He nodded along with you. "And it took Dean kicking me out the car to get me here because - like I said - huge idiot, but I'm sorry. I'm a sorry, sorry idiot who's so in love with you that he doesn't know what to do with himself."

Your eyebrow curls, "Dean kicked you out the car?"

Sam's eyes rolled. "Yes. I was going to leave, because I'm a coward too. A cowardly idiot who doesn't deserve forgiveness, but I'm asking for it anyways."

You shrugged, head dipping to almost rest against your shoulder. Your face almost, almost laced in amusement. "Begging always looks a little more convincing on your knees, Sam."

His knees knock loudly when they hit the wooden porch. Sam's hands slide down to find yours.

"I'm sorry." He said again, the only words his brain could formulate under the shine of you in your morning glory - the sight of a woman he wanted to see every morning until forever. "Please let me make it up to you?"

Your hands released his slowly, rising to run through his chestnut hair and settling at the base of his neck. You smile.

He thought he might be dreaming but you lean down and kiss him gently. A tinkle of bells rang through the air and Sam smiled against your mouth.

You brushed your nose against his: "I forgive you, Sam."

Sam's hands grip against your hips before floating back and brushing against the edge of the silken wings at your back.

"Really?"

"Yes. Now come in here and show me how sorry you are."

-

remember to comment and repost please!

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[lilsedge]

The Judgement Day’s Girl (8)

(GIF by me)

Warnings: fighting well wrestling

Taglist: @judgementdayfan1 @rooskaya-yelena @iwanttoberich420 @teenagedramaqueenlisa @simpin4pixels @imagandom @eleamrsk @pixielostboy @werewolfbansheelove @pawspurpaw @noxstxr @myletitiawright @neptune-lover @thybulleric @femkekiki @ambrehhlulz-blog @salary80 @lomlrhea @nightwonderer1 @ynbutbetter @hails-coleman @odessa-is-my-queen @jdnclaymoresbitch @plk-18 @lani08sblog

October 8, 2022

It’s the day of Extreme Rules. The creative team didn’t have a script for Y/N or Edge for the last Raw before the event, but she made sure to watch it. AJ and Rey had fought against the judgment day and, at the end of the match, AJ had attacked Rey. 

Y/N was backstage with her step mom, Rey and dad. Her dad had an “I quit” match against Finn Balor. Despite being tough on Y/N, she's still concerned about him. He gets a way when he loses in a PPV and it kinda scares her sometimes. That’s why Beth is here, just in case he loses. She can deal with him. 

They left Lyric and Ruby with their grandparents, so that both Beth and Y/N could be help for Edge if he needs. Anyone that has watched wrestling should know how the Judgement Day wins matches. 

Edge is stretching. He was ordered by his wife to stretch, so that he doesn’t strain anything. Then they were walking to the gorilla. Y/N was nervous about her father. This is a big match for someone his age and it’s scary. She hopes her little sisters aren’t watching. Those two haven’t really learned much about WWE. They get scared every single time they watch matches. 

You think you know me…

Edge is ready to walk out to the ring, but not before giving the two girls behind him a hug. Even though the father daughter duo was arguing, they always hated seeing the other one hurt. Backstage you could hear the crowd screaming for the Rated R Superstar. Edge smiles at his family and turns around to run out.

Beth wraps an arm around Y/N as the Judgement Day makes their way into the gorilla. Both of the girls move back out of the four peoples’ way, but not taking their eyes off of them. Beth and Y/N watched as Finn put his mask on and the other three hype him up. His theme song hit, causing him to turn away from everyone and walk out to where Edge was.

The three others didn’t leave the gorilla; they were probably waiting for a good moment to go out and help Finn win. Beth tightened her arm around Y/N as the bell rang, officially starting the match.

After a second of beating on Finn, Edge pulls a swing and neck breaker. It was early in the match, but as of right now, he was controlling it. Edge swung punches at Finn as they moved around the ring. The Hall of Famer forced Finn to hit a turnbuckle. Which looked like it hurt.

Y/N looked back at the three backstage, noticing that Rhea was already staring at her and her stepmom. Y/N looks away quickly whispering to Beth that Rhea was watching them. 

“Mom, I’m kind of nervous about the match,” Y/N whispers to Beth.

“Honey, it’s gonna be okay. Your father knows what he’s doing,” the older lady whispers back, giving her step daughter a kiss on the cheek.

“But like-,” Y/N is cut off.

“Excuse me,” Dominik says, “Can you guys shut up? We’re trying to watch a match here.”

Beth shakes her head at Dominik. Looking back up at the screen seeing Edge finally being hit by Balor. Edge crawls to the corner where Finn keeps kicking his knee. It was smart to target his knees.

Finn places Edge’s foot on the second rope, jumping on it, making Edge go down. Balor brought Edge’s leg around the second rope again, this time pulling on it. The ref brings the mic to Edges mouth by Finn’s demand. Edge doesn’t answer, instead he butts Finn’s head.

The Irish man continues to punish the Canadian’s knee. After being hit by Edge, Finn puts him in a figure four leg lock. Everyone could see and hear the pain Edge was going through. 

Through the groaning, Edge manages to tell the ref to, “get that out of my face.”

He immediately sits up, trying to reverse the figure four and successfully doing it. The pressure goes from Edge’s legs to Finn’s. Balor reversed back, so the pressure is back on Edge. 

Y/N gets distracted, feeling a hand on her shoulder. It’s tìo. She smiles, letting go of her mom, pulling Rey in for a hug. Letting go of Rey, she makes eye contact with the three members. They were all looking at her this time. She turns around, seeing Beth and Rey engage in a quiet conversation. While speaking to Rey, Beth pulls Y/N into her side again. The slight movement makes Y/N smile.

The young girl’s eyes make it back to the screen, seeing her dad stuck in the apron and Finn stomping on his back. Finn brings Edge to the commentary table and slams his head on it. The ref asked Edge if he quit multiple times, but the same answer said each time ‘no’.

Balor was driven in the post by Edge. The guys hit each other a few more times before Balor gives Edge a sling blade right outside the ring. The mic was put at his mouth, but the same answer as always ‘no’ came out. Edge then gets up, picks Balor up, and drives him through the barricade. 

Edge punches Finn, causing to go out into the crowd. They are running through the crowd. Coming to a stop, Edge attacks Finn. Performing a suplex on him.

Edge disappears while leaving Finn in pain. Edge then comes back with a hockey stick, pushing Balor down with it. Backstage, Y/N looks at Beth with a very amused face. Rey chuckles behind the two.

The two boys were on the kick off set where Edge put the hockey stick in Balors mouth, setting up for a Glasgow grin. Finn managed to get away. Scurrying through the crowd trying to get away from Edge, but the Hall of Famer was right behind him.

Edge bashing Finn’s head off the stairs. Then telling the ref to ask him if he quits. 

“No,” Balor says into the mic.

He then crawls up the stairs, still trying to get away from Edge. Of course, Edge was following behind him. The Irish man was trying to turn things around by slamming Edge into the walls. Balor was launched into the overhang. Edge was going to run up and hit Finn, but Finn moved out of the way, making him hit the railing.

“Oh, that’s gotta hurt,” Rey says. It was hard to hear him over all the laughing the judgment day was doing. Y/N lets out a shaky breath as she looks at her father through the tv.

The two of them were at the bottom of the stairs where Edge threw beer at Finn. They were moving around a lot in the crowd. Halting once more, Finn struck Edge in the midsection with a chair. They made their way back to ringside. Edge laying on the floor. Balor is looking for something under the ring. He finds what he was looking for by pulling out a chair.

The chair is jammed right into Edges ribs and back. The ref goes to ask if Edge quits, but his answer to that was, “Screw you, Finn.”

That pissed Finn off even more. He grabs the chair again and hits Edge in the back repeatedly. The mic was brought up to the older man’s lips, and he said, “I- I- I don’t quit.”

Finn stuffs the chair between the top and second turnbuckle. Hoping to make Edge hit there, but Edge fights back. Finn hit Edge with a Russian leg sweep. Balor pulling at Edges arm. Then turns it around into a cross face. 

Finn continues to torment Edge. Edge turns it around, throwing Balor into the chair that he set up. Then the Hall of Famer grabs the chair, taking out Balor’s legs. Edge focuses on the knee of Finn brutalizing it. Edge brings Finn into the edgecution of an old school move. 

This causes Finn to repeat the word ‘I’. Backstage, Y/N looks at the rest of the Judgement Day. Seeing Damian freak out, turn around and run to the ring. Y/N looks at Beth and Rey, knowing they will have to help soon.

Damian gets into the ring, but Edge is quick and clotheslines him and sends him out to ringside. Edge was about to send Finn to ringside too, but Dominik was there to save Balor. It didn’t last long when Edge speared Finn into Dom and Damian. Edge throws Finn back into the ring before getting in himself.

Beth, Y/N and Rey watch as Rhea runs out to ringside too. Y/N is getting more and more nervous as this match goes on. Rhea handcuffs Edge to the top rope. She holds the key up, smiling at what she did. The boys are all standing behind Edge, ready to take advantage of this. You could see in Edges face he knows what’s about to happen. 

He turns around and fights with one arm. It didn’t last long, but he tried. Dominik and Damian are attacking Edge. Finn gets kendo sticks to attack Edge. 

Y/N watches as her father gets tortured by Finn. She can’t stand it anymore. 

“Amor, let me go out there to see if I can help,” Rey says. 

Booyaka, Booyaka

The crowd is going crazy for Rey. Before Rey leaves, Y/N gives him a chair and a smile. He hits Priest with the chair and continues running to the ring. Finn tries to hit Rey with a kendo stick, but Rey ducks and jumps on the second rope landing on Finn. Then he slides, taking out Priest who’s on the apron and gives him a 619.

After the 619 Dominik goes and punches his father, knocking to ringside. Dominik jumps out of the ring, throwing his father into a barricade and the ring post. He stands over top of Rey. Then pauses…

Take it back (Take it back)

Y/N had enough. Leaving her mom backstage, she runs out to where Dominik is standing above Rey and gives him a shove. She pulls Rey from the spot he’s at, so he’s closer to the barricade and further from the ring. Dominik tried to come closer to beat up his father, but Y/N was standing in front of Rey and Dominik didn’t want to hurt her.

Edge finally stands up. When he does, Finn hits his knee with a kendo stick. Y/N watches as her dad keeps getting hit with the stick. She hears the crowd get louder. Looking around, she realizes her mom is now entering the ring. A smile makes its way to Y/N’s face. She always loves seeing her mom wrestle.

Beth rips the kendo stick from Finn’s hand, making him turn around. She then hits him with it. Priest got into the ring just to have the same thing done to him. Dominik then hops up on the apron, putting his hands up then jumping down when Beth goes to swing at him. 

Y/N walks to where Edge is. “Dad, are you good to continue?” 

Edge just lets out an ‘mhm’. Y/N looks up, noticing that her mom and Rhea are having some could say a discussion with each other. The crowd was chanting Beth’s name before the two women collided. 

“I think Rhea still has the key,” Rey says behind Y/N, still laying on the floor. Y/N acknowledges that he said that by giving a slight nod while also watching Beth spear Rhea. Y/N jumps up on the apron getting into the ring noticing Beth got the key. Beth was unlocking Edge with the help of her daughter. 

After he was unlocked. Y/N moved to the apron. She notices Beth’s hands were up to help her down. Y/N shakes her head, laughing at her mom before grabbing her hands and jumping down. 

Looking back at the ring, Edge was standing back up from giving Damian a spear. Having a standoff with Dominik. Dom puts his hand out for Edge to shake. Edge grabs it and kicks him where Dom kicked him back in September. 

Balor popped up behind Edge and delivered a sling blade to him. After that, he was looking to put Edge away. Edge comes back and spears Finn and gives him 2 more. 

“Get me a chair,” He says to Y/N or Beth. 

Beth goes and gets him one. She slides in the ring to give it to him. Edge rips the bottom off of the chair to give him a Glasgow grin, but stops when Rhea enters the ring punching Beth. Now Y/N is distracted. She gets grabbed by Dominik, brought into the ring where he is holding a pair of handcuffs. He handcuffs her to the rope closest to the ramp. 

Struggling, the young girl sees Rhea pull brass knuckles off her fist. The boys were beating up Edge. Pulling him, so Finn could do a Coup de grâce doing it twice more. There was fear in the young girl’s eyes as she saw what the Judgement Day did to her parents. Beth was unconscious and Edge was being held by the boys.

“This is your last chance, Edge, say it. You say it.” Finn tells Edge.

Y/N is yelling at her father not to say the two words. Edge replies to Finn, saying, “Go to hell.”

Rhea lifts Beth’s head up, and she’s out cold. The boys are holding Edge back. No one has to worry about Y/N. She’s handcuffed and can’t move anywhere, but she could still yell. No one could understand the words she was yelling, though it was mostly gibberish because she was afraid for Beth.

“She looks pretty damn lifeless to me,” Rhea says, bringing Beth’s head up again and dropping it down.

“And look at your daughter, so helpless,” Priest says, looking at Y/N. He lets go of Edges arm just to punch the man in the face. Rhea disappears to get a chair from under the ring. While Finn is still trying to make Edge say the two words. 

Rhea places a chair under Beth’s head. Y/N had tears fill her eyes. She’s normally not emotional when it comes to matches. Since it’s her mom, she’s scared. Yelling at Rhea to stop, but it doesn’t work. 

“I-I- I quit, I quit,” Edge says, hoping to save his wife….

Rhea still hits Beth. Y/N screams out, “Mom!” 

Judgement Day was getting out of the ring, but not before waving at Y/N, hoping to get her attention. Only to frown when she’s not looking at them. She’s too focused on the fact her mom is laying there unconscious and she is stuck and can’t help. 

An official helps her out of the handcuffs. She runs to her mom, dropping to her knees next to her dad. Y/N can’t stop thinking about the worst things to happen to Beth. Official and Rey jump in the ring to check on Beth. 

Y/N looks at the Judgement Day with anger in her eyes. How could people that are so nice to her do something so mean to the people she cares about? She gets that it was a match against Edge and Finn. Beth didn’t have to suffer because of that.

The young girl’s eyes fall back to Beth and Edge. Seeing Edge lay his head on Beth’s back made her let out a shaky breath. Rey is next to Y/N, running his hand up and down her back while trying to get some medical people to come out to the ring. 

Medical people finally run out from backstage. Getting people to move away from Beth. Y/N didn’t want to leave Beth just laying there. She was forced to move from Beth. Rey took her under his arm like he had done when Edge was in the medical room. 

Edge was in pain. He didn't reveal it, despite feeling it. He was too worried about his wife. In addition, he didn't want to terrify his daughter any further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my longest part yet. I spent a lot of time starting and stopping the 30 minute match, so I hope you enjoy it. Have a good night/day/afternoon!!!

[c-ptsdrecovery]

I've been meaning to make this post for months, but I'm lazy :P

This year, I got diagnosed with bipolar 2, and going on mood stabilizers has been LIFE-CHANGING. (In the way they always told me going on antidepressants would be, only it wasn't.) I have discovered that I had a lot of (common) misconceptions about what bipolar disorder was like, which was why I struggled for at least 15 years with it and didn't get diagnosed until now. So I wanted to share a little bit about what I've learned about what bipolar disorder is REALLY like, in the hopes that other people in the same boat as me might recognize their own symptoms.

Disclaimers: I am not a mental health professional or an expert in bipolar disorder, and this is drawn from my personal experiences, which may be different from what another person with bipolar experiences.

--There are different levels of depression and of mania. Low mania, for instance, is called hypomania. While people with Bipolar 1 experience a range of emotions from mania to depression, people with Bipolar 2 experience mostly depression with occasional hypomania.

--People have a very extreme and stereotyped idea of what mania looks like, so it can be harder to recognize hypomania in particular. Things that mania/hypomania can look like:

anxiety

restlessness

insomnia

constant fidgeting

huge excitement or joy

intense creativity

intense sensory experience (colors are brighter, handsoap smells AMAZING, etc)

rage

less inhibited behavior

more spending

more risky behavior

feeling like you're finally yourself for the first time in years

--You will notice in that list that manic doesn't just mean happy. Mania is a high-energy state. That can mean high-energy happiness, high-energy anger, high-energy anxiety, etc. Depression is the low-energy side of the equation.

--You don't have to be JUST manic or JUST depressed. It's very common to have "mixed episodes" where you are both at one time. I was diagnosed years ago with "anxiety and depression"--and it turns out that that was probably actually a bipolar mixed state. A lot of people with classic depression talk about having no energy, having trouble getting out of bed, etc, but I always had the kind of depression where I felt despairing but also high-energy. I was restless and anxious--and sometimes had bursts of happiness and enjoyment in the middle and then went back to being depressed again.

--Bipolar can feel like mood swings. Your moods are intense and they can change quickly. I have had a psychiatrist tell me that you know it's bipolar when your mood changes for no reason. This may be true for some people, but for me, I could almost always attribute my mood change to SOMETHING. "I feel bad because of that thing somebody said to me" or "I feel bad because I'm lonely" or "I feel anxious because my stomach is upset". So that wasn't a helpful indicator for me, but the presence of the mood swings was. Some people also try to say that you have to be in a manic or depressive state for a certain number of days in order to qualify as bipolar--but if you're having mixed episodes like I was, all bets are off as to how long a mood is going to last.

--It's very common for people with bipolar disorder to have sleep problems: sleeping too much, sleeping too little, or both. I go right to sleep at bedtime, but then I wake up in the middle of the night, lie awake for an hour, and then go back to sleep. I have done this regularly for literally 15 years.

--A really good sign of having bipolar disorder is if trying a new antidepressant makes you manic/hypomanic. This doesn't always happen to people with bipolar disorder trying an antidepressant, but it certainly can.

My experience with antidepressants is that sometimes they seemed to work a bit for awhile, but in the long run, they really didn't work. One antidepressant that I tried made me FURIOUSLY ANGRY, so much so that it scared me and I had to get off the med after a week (the rage was a hypomanic state). One antidepressant that I tried made me so unbearably anxious that I took it ONCE and never again (that anxiety was also a hypomanic state). I took an antidepressant once that worked PERFECTLY for two months, and then suddenly stopped, and never worked again (happy hypomania, mood-swinging back to depressed again). What finally tipped us off that my problem was bipolar disorder was when I tried a new antidepressant and it made me feel AMAZING and then it wore off and I got super-depressed again... and then we raised the dose and I felt AMAZING and then it wore off, and... Meanwhile, I was happier than I had ever been before, I started a new hobby of collecting bonkers earrings, I started dressing in eye-burning rainbow colors, I was far more confident than I had ever been, I spent more (not way too much, but more) than usual... That is the kind of hypomanic/manic state that most people recognize as such, which is how I finally got diagnosed.

I will add on tomorrow or so with some stories about episodes that I recognize in retrospect were from my bipolar disorder, but I don't want to make this post longer than it already is! I will just add: If any of this sounds like you, I strongly encourage you to talk to a doctor about trying mood stabilizers. Maybe they won't do anything for you--but then at least you'll KNOW. I have a sneaking suspicion that just like C-PTSD is wildly underdiagnosed, bipolar disorder probably is, too.

[alisblackgf]

Hola hola! Hope you're doing ok when you get this!

May I request a fic of Hobie taking care of a burnt out reader (black fem or gns fine cuz I use all pronouns)? Like he swings into her window one night late ASF and she's still up doing schoolwork (cuz that bachelor's ain't go appear in the mail) and he's like "mama wtf are you doing up, it's damn near dawn?" And she explains that she was double shifted in her verse (and she worked those 16 hours cuz capitalism and inflation has ripped her verse a new one) then had to participate in a 4 hour long search party as her spider-persona (on top of her long ass patrol) so she didn't even have time to look at her study reviews in the day. Hobie sits there and helps her out cuz he's a big brained individual and when she gets up to grab a snack (she hadn't eaten all day, didn't even get her mandated breaks 💔) she passes out.

I'll let you take the creative wheel from there.

If you get to this, I thank you a lot and hope that you are not like our reader and overworking yourself. Make sure you've had water and a meal, my love!!

(honey anon)

HONEY ANON YOURE BACK!!! thank you, make sure you take care of yourself too 🫶

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hobie brown x spider!gn!reader (reader is intended to be black)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion, and your caring boyfriend is right there to take care of you and your responsibilities.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i just wanna thank you all for the immense support on the previous works of mine, i couldn’t be more grateful <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: contains fainting and mentions of skipping meals, which may be triggering for some. viewer discretion is advised!

you’ve been doing your schoolwork for hours.

no matter how much you stared at the problems on your paper, you couldn’t understand it. even if you could, your brain would be too tired to process it properly.

you sat at your desk and twirled your pencil with your fingers, desperately attempting to fight the wave of exhaustion that washed over you.

you already tried splashing cold water on your face, and the energy from that lasted for a good five minutes. you tried drinking coffee too, but all that did was set you up for the biggest crash of your life.

you were nodding off until you heard knocking at your window. you opened your eyes and groaned. you looked at your phone and picked it up to check the time.

4:53 am.

more knocking came from your window, which agitated you.

“can you wait a second? i’m coming,” you let out another groan before pushing out your chair and groggily walking to your window. once you reached it, you opened it and were met with your boyfriend.

“little frustrated, are we?” he teased. you stared at him blankly in response. “am i allowed in?”

you nodded and slowly moved from the window so he could climb in. you walked back to your desk and he closed the window behind himself.

“did i wake you?” he questioned, his joking tone being replaced by a slightly softer one.

you shook your head at his question.

“then what are you doing up at damn near dawn?”

“schoolwork,” you shrugged and sat down, picking up your pencil and twirling it once more. he made his way over and kneeled down next to you.

“have you slept at all?”

“no.”

“not even a nap or—”

“no, hobie,” you interrupted him, getting aggravated. you didn’t mean to direct it at him, it was the lack of sleep talking. “i was double shifted by my boss today, miguel assigned me to a four hour search party, then i had to go patrol, and on top of all of that, my professor decided to add more fuel to the fire with this stupid assignment. there’s no time to sleep in any of that.”

hobie listened to you intently, and when you were done listing your troubles, he was ready to help you.

“have you eaten anything?”

you shook your head.

“alright, then let’s start there. go ahead and grab somethin’ to eat. when you come back, then we can tackle the assignment. sound good?”

you nod and get up to get a snack, but you begin to feel lightheaded and dizzy. you stumble a bit, and this doesn’t go unnoticed by your attentive boyfriend.

he quickly gets up and paces to your side. he grabs you and holds you steady.

“hey, easy now, love. i’ve got you.”

those were the last words you heard before your body slipped into unconsciousness. the suddenness of which your body went limp caused hobie to trip a little, but he quickly adjusted and dragged you over to your bed. once he made sure your entire body was on the mattress, he tucked you in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

he looked over to your desk before walking over to it. he picked up the assignment you were struggling with and hummed.

“this shouldn’t be too hard,” he mumbled to himself before pulling the chair out to sit down and picking up your pencil.

you regained consciousness and opened your eyes, but you didn’t have the strength or energy to get up. you let your eyes close and succumbed to your tiredness.

…

once you wake up, the sun’s up and birds are chirping. you quickly sit up in a panic.

“hobie?” you call out, unaware of the shuffling right next to you.

“quiet, dove. people are tryin’ to sleep,” he mumbles as he pulls you into him, forcing you to lay down with him again. you open your mouth to protest, but it’s as if he already knows what you were going to say. “i already did your homework, wasn’t too difficult. told your boss you were takin’ the day off, told miguel you were sick, and when we wake up again, i’ll make you somethin’ to eat. everything’s taken care of, so just lay here with me for a while, yeah?”

you look at his resting face and plant a gentle kiss to his nose, and his lips lazily curl into a soft smile. he was so sweet to you and you just loved him so much. you gave in and allowed yourself to rest, snuggling further into him.

you both deserved this, why not let it last?

solicitude: care or concern for someone or something

I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED HONEY ANON <3

tags: @pr0wlerpunk