#identity v drabbles

[adiluv-moved]

Trick or treat with Naib? 🧟

"... So that's where my jacket went."

Naib's voice is nothing short of monotone as he makes the observation, his figure remaining entirely still as he stood in front of you—almost as though he were one of Galatea's infamous sculptures, only meant to replicate your lover instead of the angels and devils she often favored. Not that you weren't used to it, of course. Not that you'd failed to accomplish anything, either, if the tiny glimmer of mirth dancing within his muddled blue irises were anything to go by.

Without another word, his hand instinctively reaches out towards you, playing with the familiar article, a low hum slipping past his chapped lips as you informed him of your costume's inspiration. A zombie, you'd stated, a sense of pride within your voice, and he decides to reassess your appearance with the additional context in mind.

It certainly was convincing. The murky tones of the fabric, combined with the clothing you wore beneath—old, and torn, and stitched back together after particularly brutal matches—certainly did work to your advantage; enough so that he could almost ignore the memories of you laying within the infirmary, carried back on the shoulders of your other teammates.

That train of thought is interrupted, thankfully before he can go down the rabbit hole, by the sound of your voice. And while he isn't entirely certain what you'd just said, he takes the opportunity to pull away and catch himself, raking through his brain for memories of the custom. He's aware of what Halloween is—had to be, really—having been constantly exposed to all sorts of different holidays after deciding to join the army, though he'd never once had the chance to truly participate.

Something so leisurely would've only slowed him down, back then. Made a difficult job all the more unbearable. But now he was stuck within this God-forsaken manor where reality was flipped over on its head and time was easily the most bountiful resource he had, so it's not as if it'd hurt to indulge you.

He turns around, and you follow him into his room, taking a seat on the bed as moves towards a hole in the wall—a stash for anything he didn't want others to know about, including the bar of chocolate in his hand as he pushed the dresser back into place. You reach out towards him in order to relieve him of it, only for your eyes to widen as he snaps the confection in two.

The larger half is relinquished to you, mattress weighed down as he sits beside you, wasting no time in indulging within his share. There's another beat of silence. "For stealing my clothing." He murmurs, and you let out a small laugh, bringing your attention to your portion of the bar.

... Naib finds he might like Halloween a bit more than he'd originally assumed.

[superbat-love]

If the Justice League were ‘The Office’...

Superman: I want to trust Batman, I really do, but sometimes I can't help but question him, you know? Yesterday, I came home from the Daily Planet and ran into Batman outside my apartment. When I asked him what he was doing there, he claimed he was on a case looking for "evidence," then ran off. Not that I’m accusing him of anything, but… one of my undergarments has gone missing.

The camera pans out, revealing his costume conspicuously missing its iconic red underwear.

***

Batman: [holding up Superman’s red underwear sealed in a plastic evidence bag] That’s how I uncovered his big secret. How do I know for certain it’s Superman’s? Well, for one, no one else on the planet has them in this size. [glares directly at the camera] And two, you really should have kept spares if you didn’t want me to figure out who you were, Clark Kent.

[evil-lovergirl]

!    short nsfw drabble . . . florian brand , fire investigator . . . >> includes lots of mentions of scars/calloused hands on reader, handjob [char. receiving], bondage [char. receiving], florian is a little insane, per his usual antics, but he really likes your scars, florian is a giggler fight me, lowercase intended >> should i make a rent-a-partner au . . .

"Ah, ahn, ahhahahah..." such lovely noises you've been lucky enough to hear for the past couple of minutes from none other than your amazing fire investigator, florian.

he's not exactly quiet, and he's not trying to hide how good your calloused hand feels as it cups the tip of his dick before squeezing and moving back down to the base in a pleasuring rhythm.

he loves it, struggling against the soft ropes binding his wrists above his head, knowing he could easily snap out of them - or better yet, tell you to take them off, - but he simply doesn't. he likes the thrill and the high he gets off it.

he whines as he feels one of your finger slightly slip under his foreskin before continuing to stroke him in a way that has his feet pressing deep into the mattress below you two.

god, he loves the way your calloused hands rub against him, rough fingers treating him so gently in some ironic way he can't seem to put into words for now. he loves how when he looks at you, his eyes immediately go to your face, then to your scars.

he wants to drag his tounge across them so badly. kiss them, claw at them, maybe even give you new ones.

his fingers claw at whatever their bound form can reach, the thought merely intensifying his arousal as you speed up the pace, whispering something he can't decipher in his fuzzy mind before he cums with a rather loud mewl, eyes rolling back and sweat beading across his entire body.

maybe he'll ask to lick your hands clean once he's put himself back together...

[bimboothefool]

Any identity v character x a modern day/future reader

𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭!

𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙈𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙣!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝐚/𝐧: Ooo hell yea Anon! Honestly it’d be uber fun to have atleast another character that’s from the modern day or early to mid 2000’s.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Almost none, it’s a drabble and it’s just Luca and you being uber sweet to eachother. Good ol fashioned fluff and reader is gn as per usual!

Luca was extremely interested in how technology has advanced in your era. He’s often amazed by how such a small device can do so much.

“It plays music, you can send digital letters and more… How impressive!!” Luca’s joy was contagious, even if it was your norm. It still fascinated him, which was more than enough for you. “Wanna listen to some tunes?” You held out an unoccupied earbud his way. He excitedly nodded and sat next to you.

He pointed to the song within your many playlists, Luca’s head bobbed along to the beat as he wore an infectious smile. You gently pecked his cheek as Luca would ask you about each artist and their work.

You’d pretty much info dump, from who the artist is and what influences their music. Luca soaked the information in as his attention was squarely focused on you. With a dreamy look in his eyes. Soon you heard both of your names being called upon for a next round of matches.

“Wanna dance to a couple of those songs sometime, after we’re rested of course!” You laughed and accepted his invitation. “Hell yeah! Now let’s bust a move!” You both eagerly ran off to the dining hall, hyping each other up.

𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐧 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 | 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

[naomifootes]

Mike's kisses are wild, no doubt about it, they're comparable to fire crackers, short bursts and pecks that only get deeper when you wrap your arms around him.

But when he's in his hunter form? Expect his tongue immediately in your mouth and his head titling to get his tongue as deep as he possibly can.

I hate hullabaloo/j

[fishermanshook]

Edgar Valden who’d paint ‘till his wrists broke, would do anything for you. You want flowers? He’ll pick some out with the help of Emma and paint a jar of them for you. You want candy? He’ll save up his clues to buy you baskets upon baskets of them, and paint a jar of the sugary sweets while he’s at it. You want him and him alone? The Painter will strip himself of his dignity (and clothes) and work his magic on you under the sheets.

He might as well paint you naked too.

note: this is not the ACTUAL Painter fic, that one should be coming this Sunday, so you should probably follow me so you don’t miss it /hj

[kodentsimp]

Calling you slut/whore I guess idk its like 2:59 am

NSFW minors-nvm I'm a minor myself read at your own risk i guess first time writing on this app 😵: afab!reader x various male Characters

Oh god.. you're going to make me cum soon if you keep making those sounds.. biting your neck as he slams his cock faster inside you ah~ fuck~ That's it my little slut, cum on this cock~! he said as his movements becoming more rougher, still thrusting into you deeper, Such a dirty little whore aren't you? he growls as he pounds into you faster. He wasn't going to stop until he had you begging him to...

Scaramouche Blade Karma Ryuunosuke Overhaul Ajax Diluc Kokushibo Nathaniel Norwell cough-Keyaru daniel dickens Chae yul bakugo kamisato ayato levi and dni if you must idc Edgar valden!!👏

[endiecutieo6]

WRITE AN OVERWORKING FREDDY SICKFIC

AND MY LIFE

IS YOURS

HI! I’m so sorry this took so long, my brain wasn’t functioning properly. Making up a plot line was harder than I thought lol

For starters, a doodle inspired/made before I started the story!

TW: Mentions of sickness, mentions of vomit (no vomiting though)

Also, Freacher/Kreddy yay-

He doesn’t care about what anyone says, Freddy is not sick.

Yes, he’d been having some… issues; it had just started with a bit of shortness of breath, then a tiny fever, only a little lightheadedness, and just a small bit of nausea, nothing he couldn’t manage. Freddy had been sick- actually sick- before and this wasn’t it, couldn’t be it. He wasn’t wheezing, he could keep food down, he wasn’t bedridden, and he sure as hell wasn’t weak.

Sure, his head swirled enough that he now took twice the time to get down the stairs to prevent himself from falling down.

Sure, he kept having to wipe away the excessive saliva that seemed to now be a constant (the fact that he couldn’t properly close his mouth due to his teeth didn’t help matters).

Sure, his vision basically blacked out when he stood up no matter how long he waited to move.

But, he wasn’t sick, he just wasn’t.

But, even if he was, the manor wasn’t going to clean itself.

It wasn’t like chores weren’t done, quite the opposite. To an untrained eye, the manor looked spotless, the image of high class perfection, but Freddy knew better. He could see it in the details; the spots of dust underneath the furniture, the books all out of place on the shelves, the plants that weren’t in the room last time he checked, and so much more. It had been bugging him for weeks, and only a week ago he finally cracked and started getting everything back in order. To hell with what everyone else said, it needed to be done. He’d done so much already, only a few people actually appreciating his work, but then his… symptoms started to flare up and make things a bit more difficult. He’d considered stopping for a bit, but if everyone was going to insist he was sick and “needed to rest” he couldn’t just confirm it. No, that would bring about all sorts of bad results, ones he's just barely been hiding from…

Freddy shakes his head. He’s getting off track, and from the looks of the spotless patch of floor in his sight he’d been done with this small task for a while. Alright, he’d gotten some dirt and mud off the floor (he’d talk Nortons ear off about this later- why couldn’t he at least try to clean his shoes before entering the manor?!), now he had to reorganize the bookshelf before making sure the pillows were in their proper place and weren’t dusty. After that, he’d have to go to another room and do the process again. No problem, should be easy enough, he’d done it countless times at this point, no doubt he could do it again-

He stood and started walking, only to get the quick realization of how bad of an idea that was. In an instant, all the weight in his body shifted downwards, making it feel like his feet were encased in cement. His vision was spotting up so badly he could hardly make out anything in front of him, his sight obscured by a gray static that seemed to swirl and spin, which definitely wasn’t helping. His eyes widened and he tried to recover but his foot was slow and wasn’t hitting the ground and now he was falling, hands reaching out to grasp at something, anything to stop his fall-

His hands found purchase, and Freddy just barely managed to keep himself upright. Even though he now had both feet on the ground, leftover adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears like he’d dodged death instead of an unpleasant fall, a total overreaction. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to move and try to brush it off, letting himself pant as he put a shaking hand against his chest, trying to calm his overactive heart. Something was dripping down his face, and he quickly clocked it as sweat. Normally, he’d just chalk it up to being sensitive to the heat, but it was the middle of winter and the manors insulation wasn’t terrible, but wasn’t the greatest either, no excuse for him to be sweating bullets after all he did was scrub a patch of dirt off the floor.

Freddy swallows hard, saliva filling his mouth much faster than usual. His stomach was twisting again, tugging at his gut and growling loud enough that it had gone from annoying to concerning. The latter really shouldn’t have taken him off guard; ever since the nausea joined the fray, he’d been skipping meals ever so often, not only because his appetite had gone down but to prevent himself from throwing up. It was such an obvious and distracting action, one he wouldn’t be able to hide or brush off easily. It seemed like a passable idea when it had first entered his mind, but hindsight is 20/20 and now he could only sit with the bitter realization that it was probably only making the situation infinitely worse.

Now that his vision had cleared up, his eyes flickered over to the chair not too far away. Wiping his mouth with his free hand, he considered a break. He’d been working for about an hour by now, maybe even more since he hadn’t checked the clock in a bit, a break wouldn’t be unreasonable, right? Surely, he would’ve earned it by now, especially with the amount of effort he’d put into this whole thing. He was alone too, meaning he didn’t have to worry about inadvertently confirming people's assumptions and having them dote on him like he was a child. It didn’t have to be a long break, maybe just a few minutes? His back was starting hurt anyway-

“¡Jesús Cristo! Freddy, what happened?!”

In an instant, Freddy was standing up straight, ignoring the way his stomach lurched with the sudden movement. He snatched his hand away from the cabinet like it burned him, forcing his hands to his sides. Naturally, his face was the first thing to correct, the forced indifferent almost just as natural as breathing to him. He doesn’t really know why he did it, as turning around revealed the obvious; Kreacher was at the door and it was obvious his little performance wasn’t fooling him. Faster than he could blink, Kreacher was right up against him, hands off his shoulders as his eyes darted over him to assess the damage, like a vase that had tipped over and struck the ground, like he was fragile.

Freddy didn’t know exactly why it made him feel offended, but it had sparked and was quickly beginning to burn.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kreacher,” Freddy said- too quickly for his own liking, made him sound desperate “I can, and already have, assured you that I’m just fine-”

“Bull-shit! K-Kreacher knows what he saw, and kn-know you’re lying through your teeth!” Kreacher interrupted, his frustration only becoming clearly with every word that was spilling out, possibly days worth of unsaid worries now flowing freely “fuck- why can’t you ju-just admit to yourself that your not feeling well?! You’re stumbling and panting, it-it’s just so obvious! Why- Why can’t you just admit it?! You’re sick.”

As soon as he processed those words, Freddy found himself tensing up, jaw clenching tightly as he found himself on the defense. Internally, it was a different story; how could he have been so careless about it?! He thought he’d been hiding it well, putting up at least a decent act, but if Kreacher was able to notice it so well, what have other people been thinking?! The only bit of leeway he could apply to himself was the fact that Kreacher would’ve noticed a lot sooner than, considering the amount of time they spent together- Kreacher was his partner, after all, so it was only natural that he’d pick up on Freddys stumbles and lapses in his performance. Really, it was only an inevitability that Kreacher would snap and confront him directly.

Unfortunately, Freddy had dug this hole too far to go back. He needed to stand his ground.

“Kreacher, I assure you I’m fine. I just stood up too fast, that’s all,” this time, his voice came out steady and composed, just the perfect amount of calm to hopefully soothe Kreacher's worries “maybe I’m not feeling the greatest, but I just can’t be as ill as you think I am. I wouldn’t have gotten so much done if I was really that sick, you would’ve instead found me in a much worse state if I really was that ill.”

For emphasis, he took a step back, Kreacher's hands leaving his shoulders as he took a step far too confident for his own good. Whether it was karma or simply just comedic timing, a wave of nausea struck him hard, as if punishing him for lying. It punched the air out of him, and that small distraction had his foot landing the wrong way, not enough to compensate for the shift in weight, and his blood went cold as he fell back. Once again, he was falling, but now he was too far away from the cabinet to grab hold of it. Fuck, unless he could roll onto his side mid-air, he was either going to land on his tailbone or crack his skull open. Either couldn’t be afforded, especially not in his current state, but he didn’t have enough time to think, just hope for the best-

Kreacher quickly reached out and grasped his arm, fingers clinging on tight before Freddy was hauled to his feet. Somehow, even that action was too fast, and Freddy ended up leaning against Kreacher to just keep upright as his mind (and stomach) reeled. Kreacher, thank god, let him have his moment to recoup before guiding him to the chair, moving slowly to make sure Freddy could follow. Freddy had to force his mouth shut and swallow down the sudden flood of saliva that now had decided to join with the nausea. Freddy doesn’t think he'd ever been more relieved to sit in a chair before than right now, if at all, but there was a first time for everything and if it meant the nausea would go away, then so be it. He practically melted into the seat, a hand over his mouth as he tried to will the remains of dizziness away and ignore the metallic twing that stung the back of his throat. He couldn’t throw up, at least not here- he didn't think he’d make it to the bathroom in time and he wasn’t going to vomit on one of the plants, especially not the ones Emma tended to… which was basically all of them.

During this, Kreacher had kneeled down in front of him, putting his hand on Freddys thigh and rubbing comforting circles as Freddy gathered his bearings. It was sweet, but it was overshadowed by just how humiliated Freddy felt. It was embarrassing- he wasn’t supposed to be so weak. He had taken blow after blow during his life, and endless more since he got to the manor, yet here he was; nearly swept off his feet twice and having to be tended to like a child, by his partner no less. Freddy wasn’t good by any means, but he was better than this.

“F-feeling a bit better now?” Kreacher asked softly, cocking his head and giving Freddy that lopsided grin that never failed to make Freddy gush just a little bit “Yo- you should rest for a bit. Kre- I’ll be with you.”

Freddy lowered his hand, taking a deep breath as he stared down at his lap. Kreacher must’ve noticed his shift in and he tried to reach out, but Freddy recoiled, unable to look his own lover in the eyes. His face burned, and he didn’t even know if it was because of the fever or not, but he just couldn’t look at Kreacher.

He. Was. Better. Than. This.

“I- um- thank you d-dear,” Freddy managed out, the effort to keep his voice steady and composed so obvious it only made him feel more ashamed than he already felt “b-but I need to get back to work-”

“Like hell you are.”

Suddenly, Kreacher was all too close, right up against him. On instinct, his heart skipped a beat and he got flustered, only for it to morph into confusion as Kreacher wrapped his arms around him, but not in a hug, like he was going-

“Kreacher Pierson don’t you dare-”

Freddy didn’t even get the chance to finish before he was lifted off the ground, fast enough that it took him off guard but slow enough it didn’t make him hurl. Whether it was his own indignation or a reflex built up from the matches, but he instantly tried to push himself away, wriggling to the side with as much effort as his body would allow. This didn’t work out in his favor, as it allowed Kreacher to hook an arm underneath his legs, lifting them completely off the ground. He didn’t even give Freddy any time to try again before he was moving, taking long strides over to the door as Freddy fumed in his arms.

“Fuckin’- put me down!” Freddy hissed, his free hand going up and fisting Kreacher's shirt, only tugging enough for his frustrations to be known “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but-”

The door, which had apparently been left ajar (what if someone else saw them!? Freddy doesn’t think he’d be able to bear it if anyone else saw him act so pathetic!), had easily been opened up further with a prod, and any words Freddy had yet to say died in his throat the moment they entered the hallway. Freddy gritted his teeth, pressing his face against Kreachers chest like he’d absorbed into it if he tried hard enough, hands clenched so tightly his nails were digging into his palms. This was embarrassing, utterly mortifying, and he couldn’t tell whether falling to the floor and cracking his skull open would be a better alternative than what the hell would happen if someone found him like this.

Kreacher seemed to pick up on his sudden anxiety (or maybe not so sudden- he actually had been anxious for quite a bit) and squeezed him a bit, holding him just a little bit tighter, making Freddy feel… safe.

“D-don’t worry, everyone is b-busy,” Kreacher whispered, taking long but steady strides down the hallways of the manor “Kreacher wouldn’t be d-doing this if he didn’t know that…’

Freddy opened his mouth to say something, but it didn’t take long to realize he had nothing to say anymore. Now that he wasn’t moving or swallowing the urge to vomit, he was tired and woozy and would probably fall asleep in Kreacher's arms before they got to their destination, wherever that was. He just opted to let his head lull, pressed against the crook of Kreacher’s shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut. Kreacher must’ve been outside for a little bit before he went to see Freddy because he was cold- not freezing, but a comforting cool that felt heavenly against his sweltering skin. Christ, why hadn’t Freddy put on something else? It felt like he was boiling in his own skin- is that why it was so hard to think now? Actually, maybe that was for the better. He could risk not thinking for a bit.

With his eyes closed, every sensation felt so intense; the steady rise and fall of Kreacher's chest, the way his fingers would occasionally squeeze as if he was trying to comfort Freddy, the occasional tune he’d hum when it got too quiet, it was all so mesmerizing, so much so that it felt he’d lost track of time. He only snapped back to attention when he felt Kreacher start to put him down. For a moment, it was blind panic, eyes shooting open and darting around, only to calm down once his mind caught up to him. He was in his room, now on his bed with a blanket (one of the thinner ones, thank god) being laid on him. Freddy let his head lull back into the pillow, watching with just a faint smile as Kreacher slowly untied his tie, putting on his nightstand before beginning to unbutton his shirt. Freddy raised an eyebrow.

“That better be just to keep me from overheating, young man,” Freddy, even in his current state, couldn’t help but tease “I need to be resting, remember?”

Predictably, Kreacher's cheeks flushed a bit, and Freddy giggled as he (poorly) tried to hide the grin spreading across his face. It wasn’t easy to make Kreacher flustered, especially when it was just the two of them, so he couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest, nor the smirk that was creeping across his face.

“Pervertido,” Kreacher chuckled, hands moving to roll up Freddys sleeves “Such an innocent action and y-you say that. Says more about you than it does about Kreacher…”

It got another laugh out of him, Freddy playfully swatting at him while Kreacher just stuck out his tongue in response.

This was… nice. It had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy some domestic bliss, and it didn’t help that those memories were tainted with the grief that came with loss, so being able to do it, even all these years later, was a pleasant surprise. Hell, sometimes it still surprised him that he even managed to get to this point, where he could fall in love again; he didn’t think someone like him deserved to be loved again, if at all, but here Kreacher was, tending to him like they’d been married for years. Even now, with Kreachers hands actively touching him, it still didn’t feel real, like a dream…

“..g-gonna have got some clean clothes,” Kreacher was muttering to himself as he smoothed out the sheets “m-maybe some warm tea? No, n-not warm- ugh, I need to get Ms. Dyer-”

…that was going to become a nightmare-

“No!” Freddy nearly yelled, shooting up far too fast but he didn’t care “N-not her- I don’t need her. I’m just fine without her.”

It only occurred after he’d said it said Freddy could’ve been nicer about it, but it had already been done and he could see the frustrated burn behind Kreachers eyes, irritation making his fingers twitch. He stood up sharply, clearly exasperated by Freddy's continued stubbornness that he just didn’t understand. Freddy just wished he did, that it suddenly clicked in his head, that no words needed to be spoken for it to happen but by the time he opened his mouth Kreacher was already speaking.

“Por el amor de Dios- Kreacher knows you two don’t get along, but she’s- she’s the only doctor here!” Kreacher wasn’t shouting, but Freddy still shied away, lowering his head in what felt like shame, shame that he just couldn’t talk right, but Kreacher didn’t even seem to notice “Ada is not that kind of doctor, and I’m not- I’m not even a doctor! She’s the only one who can- who can help you! K-Kreacher doesn’t understand what you’re afraid of-”

Then it clicked.

Kreacher went silent, his face falling as it finally clicked into place, as he finally put two and two together. Freddy wanted to get mad, to yell that he should’ve realized sooner, but he just couldn’t; sometimes, you just didn’t think about it until you said it, didn’t connect the dots until you could see them, didn’t see how two things could be related until confronted. It wouldn’t have done anything anyway, the way Kreacher’s eyes widened, the way he hunched as his eyes went wide, darting around as if he couldn’t decide if he could look Freddy in the eye made it clear that he felt guilty. Normally, Freddy felt pleased, vindicated even, when people felt guilt, but now he just felt even more guilty than Kreacher did. Why hadn’t he said something? Gently nudged Kreacher in the right direction before snapping like that? Why did he just expect him to know?

“Mierda, Freddy, Kreacher is- I am- am sorry, I- I didn’t think about it-” Kreacher sputtered, fingers nervously fiddling with the clothes of his clothes, hunched into himself like he expected Freddy to scream at him or something “I sh-should’ve realized- fuck, I’m so sorry-”

“It- it’s okay,” Freddy sputtered suddenly, taking both of them off guard with how steady his voice was. “I should’ve just told you- and it's not just her, I don’t really trust any doctor, not one…”

For a moment, Kreacher just stood there, as if he was waiting for Freddy to suddenly snap at him, but Freddy never did and it made him confident enough to step forward, tentatively reaching out a hand and placing it on his shoulder. Freddy didn’t flinch, but couldn’t lean into it either. Thankfully, this didn’t deter Kreacher, who lifted his hand up and cupped Freddy's cheek. This time, he leaned into his, thankful for Kreacher's hands being so cold against his skin. Freddy still felt like he was on fire, though whether it was his illness or just a result of such high emotions. It felt nice either way.

“I- I think I understand,” Kreacher started after a long pause, clearly choosing his words carefully “but, if this d-doesn’t fade- like, it- it gets worse, I… I will ask her, but…”

“...only as a last option?”

Kreacher smiled warmly and nodded.

“Only as a last option.”

Freddy hesitated, but eventually nodded, even if his anxiety was telling him to do otherwise. He relaxed himself and let himself fall back against the bed, taking in a deep breath to cool his nerves. Kreacher just watched, before reaching out and taking his glasses off, putting everything that wasn’t a foot in front of him in a blur. It didn’t bother him too much though, especially as he audibly heard Kreacher folding them up and placing them down with his tie. He did raise an eyebrow when Kreacher placed a hand on his forehead.

“Y-you’re still running a fever,” Kreacher muttered, before standing up “I’m g-gonna get something. Kreacher will b-be right back, promise.”

Freddy didn’t say anything, just nodded dumbly as Kreacher left, only frowning once he was out the door. Now that he was alone, anxiety was starting to crawl up his spine again, sinking its nails into his skin and prying open all the old wounds that resided. Even though the memories were fresh, they were already being twisted beyond his control; Kreacher could’ve been lying, could’ve gone to get Emily, just rip the bandaid off while he was vulnerable. Freddy doesn’t even know if he would blame him either way, it wasn’t like it was job to take care of him. Kreacher was doing him a favor, even if he was in a relationship with him. Still, Freddy trusted him, especially because Kreacher is one of the few people here who know that woman's true nature, know what she did.

Maybe he was going soft, but he wanted to trust Kreacher. He didn’t want to be on edge, always assuming the worst, especially with his partner. He wasn’t going to let his worries ruin this too, he just couldn’t.

Thankfully, Kreacher wasn’t gone for long, and he definitely didn’t come back into the room with that woman in toe. Freddy smiled at him- he hoped he did at least. God, his vision was awful- and he didn’t even need to ask what Kreacher was holding before the wet, delightfully cold rag was gently placed on his forehead. It felt like an instant relief, even if he didn’t fully like the way water dripped down his face and soaked his hair (his air was awfully curly when it wasnt dried properly). Already, it felt like his mind was clearlier, like he could actually think again.

“Th-thank you, Kreacher,” Freddy mumbled, tiredness seeping into his voice “I love you.”

“I love you too, conejito testarudo.”

———

I’m so sorry if this sucks I’m so tired lol

[herdecisions]

Look at my husband with our children :)

[corruptedroses]

I eonder if you would do something of josheph x reader d mary

My mind is at this since I read ur fic at ao3

M.List | Ask Box [open] | Commissions [OPEN] | Ko-fi | Patreon

— Dogs do not talk

Fandom — Identity V Pairing — Joseph/reader/Mary Summery — Mary shows you how good her pet is. Content Warnings — no reader pronouns but is referred to as wearing a skirt and AFAB parts, collaring, oral sex (fem recieving), pet play, femdom, dom! Mary, sub! reader, sub! Joseph, threesomes, orgasm denial. Word Count — 772 Author's note — been meaning to write for these three again so this is a good chance for me to figure out their dynamic a bit more. Plus Mouse is quite old now.

Joseph was usually a proud man, he had an ego as tall as the manor itself, but sometimes even he surprised you as he allowed himself to kneel before the queen, a collar around his neck. He had stripped when asked, he had bared his neck without as much as a quip from his mouth and as Mary yanked on the leash with intricate gold detailing he fell to the floor on his hands.

"Oh," Mary laughed when she caught you looking at her as if she had grown a second head, "when I call him a mutt, it had some merit." Joseph crawled along side her as she dragged him to your feet, suddenly feeling a lot more bare despite the fact you were still clothed.

When Mary had told you she wanted to give you a treat, you never thought it would be anything like this. Though, as Joseph's cheek nuzzled at your knee through your skirts you couldn't help but flush, knowing that the sight itself was already enough to have you soaking your underclothes. Just like you he was still fully clothed, making the sight all the more crass; a noble man willingly kneeling to the cook, staring up at you as if you were the finest dining he had ever laid his eyes upon.

"He's... very patient." You reached forward to run your fingers through his white hair, nails scraping at his scalp gently as he raised his head to feel your palm.

"Of course, my pets all are broken in, dear mouse." Mary's words held a type of threat underneath her cheery tone, one of her clawed hands tracing along your knee until she grabbed ahold of your skirts, pushing them up to reveal your undergarments. "No hands, Joseph."

Joseph did it so naturally that if you closed your eyes you'd think he was a common brothel wrench, teeth biting your undergarments without biting any skin, hot breath fanning over your inner thigh as you felt him slowly pull it down. You shifted to help him, feeling as your garments were discarded at your feet.

"How beautiful..."

The leash was yanked as Joseph spoke, bringing forth a choking noise from the man's mouth.

"Dogs do not speak."

Joseph's eyes narrowed at the queen for a moment before he returned to your exposed cunt, dragging his lips across your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Gentle and delicate, like a brush to a canvas to create art, his lips were hot as they pressed a kiss to your clit, Mary tugging the leash to press him closer.

"Take a hold of it, dear," Mary smiled as she wrapped your fingers around the leash, "you control him."

Fire welled in your chest, spreading from there to your fingers as you hooked a leg to sit on his back, Joseph grunting against your slit as he laid kisses to what skin and flesh he could. While you enjoyed the tenderness and slowness that came with his affections, a dog would dig in a bit quicker than this. "Hurry up," you muttered at first, though it seemed that he didn't hear you between the flesh of your thighs, so, you repeated it louder, tightening the leash by looping it around your hand.

He got the hint, digging in with mouth and tongue, laying his tongue flat against your pussy before he finally gave you what you wanted. Your lungs evacuated every ounce of air as he tasted every part of you he could, Joseph acting like he had been starved of the fineries in life for far too long.

Or maybe he was just desperate for the warmth of another, to draw those pleasured breaths from your mouth as you shuddered.

The bed behind you shifted, feeling as Mary's arms circled around your middle, not able to escape her as she laid a kiss to your neck. "You're being so good, right now," she whispered into your neck, her breath cool as one hand squeezed your thigh, "I might have to train you too."

Her fingers were nimble, quick, joining Joseph's mouth as she began to spark the nerves between your thighs. She had these parts, she knew what could make you sing, your face nestling into hers as you whimpered, thighs shaking.

"Joseph, heel."

All of it was taken away, a low whine escaping your mouth as tears came to your eyes, the heat that had been building in the pit of your stomach seemingly disappearing without a second thought.

"Good dogs get treats when being trained."

You felt the collar slip around your neck.

[oletus-manors-log]

⚰️ ah !! i noticed it says we're still allowed to send you letters , still . if not then disregard this with my apologies ! if it is alright , could i request a norton campbell x reader ? i was thinking of something akin to taking care of each other after a match . it can be a small drabble or short story preferably , if that is alright . your writing is something i only recently stumbled upon , and i think it is incredible ! you are very talented , and i am wishing you the best !! thank you for reading , take care , observer !

OBSERVER'S NOTE:

" Hello, and yes, I'm still open to receiving letters (requests). Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong (unless you were one of my mutuals, in case... I do apologize for the potential hurt I end up causing /lh).

The request with Norton is so cute though- the idea of the prospector and his s/o taking care of each other after a match and especially against a hard one where the two won? Oh, it's so cute. I do hope this lives up to your expectation, even if it took me ages to get to this (also I kept this for too long because your words made my weeks because it's been stressful).

Again, I hope you enjoy this drabble! I enjoyed writing this a little too much, haha. "

Wounded Afterthought

It was a rare sight to see Norton be with someone like this, and especially with the mere thought of him being worried about another person after a tough match. People had assumed that he would simply ignore them, just like what he did to everyone else.

However, the same cannot be said for those that knew him well.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly as he patched them up, his eyes focused onto the scabs and scratches they got. They went up against Polun (from what he heard), so he knew that it had went rough. He could hardly believe that they had a tie with how difficult the triplets were in their streak.

... The only saving grace, however, was that it had been Arms Factory and there were more competent survivors that made sure to keep the team together.

Feeling a gloved hand on his shoulder, he turned his head to you, who simply shook your head. Ah. He must've looked terrifying, hm?

"I'm fine, Norton," he heard you answer, the feeling of the weight of your hand leaving as you placed it on your lap. Your attire had been torn, but it was better than last time.

Good, you aren't too heavily injured, he mused, sighing. "Quartz, you know that I'm doing this out of worry. Polun is a hard one to deal with, let alone escape against with the team you were with."

There goes an endearing nickname he called you— Quartz. He calls you something else, however, but that was the most frequent he'd choose. Unknowingly, of course.

"I know that. However, everyone wasn't as terrible against him, Norton," you reasoned, raising your left hand to gently cup his. Your gloved thumb traced over his cheek, and although he didn't want to show he liked it, you two could see him lean over involuntarily.

"After all, if they were, I wouldn't be here in your arms now, would I?"

Norton couldn't find an answer to that.

It was, unfortunately, true. If you had been hurt, he wouldn't have you in his grasp— he would've had you under Emily's care. And yet here you are, bandaged up, clothes torn, but still alive.

He couldn't help but sigh and bury his head on the crook of your neck, closing his eyes right after. He let go of you to simply adjust the position of his arms, wrapping it around your body to keep you close to him.

He wouldn't admit it, of course, but you can be quite stubborn for a priest. Not that he particularly cares— to him, what mattered was your safety, not your occupation.

... That, and unlike that Priestess, you rely on your own wits and snap decision to save you from being chaired.

Perhaps it's why he is so protective of you, and yet he simply backs off when you prove him wrong. After all, how could he when you both knew that you were right?

"... Maybe not. But I'd still like to make sure you're not in danger, if I can help it," he admitted, making you laugh at his own concern. He would normally grunt when someone else does it, but he didn't have the heart to do it to you.

You, a priest, who have left your past beliefs to find faith in a different God.

"Dear, with you on my side, I'll never be in danger. I can promise you that."

And for a mere moment, Norton knew those words rang true than the ones written in scripture.

© ᴏʟᴇᴛᴜs-ᴍᴀɴᴏʀs-ʟᴏɢ | 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 ✧ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ | ᴀʀᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʀɪɢʜᴛғᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀs

[fishandships]

Okay buy considering luchino is a fuckass lizard means that he’s big ass hell in terms of size…….like i assume the manor funds new clothes for it’s residents or they just magically clean themselves after their matches or something but imagine rosario sewing, knitting etc. various clothes for him because there is no proper size for him at shops or at the storages…….and like sometimes rosario has to get creative because of the lack of materials so they can use window curtains or those fancy napkins……sometimes it may look silly but it’s the thought that counts….collapses and dies

Oh my GODS i absolutely love this im so emotional thinking about it ;A;

It’s winter, and Luchino is struggling to stay warm enough to avoid going into torpor. Bane is occupied nearly full-time cutting wood to fuel the Manor’s fireplaces and stoves, and either Alva or Luca has fashioned him a heat lamp (arguments over who actually came up with the idea lead to violence, so it’s best not to ask), but it’s still not enough. So Rosario takes it upon themself to make him some warmer clothes. He may not be able to generate his own body heat anymore, but the right fabric should help hold onto external heat a little longer.

At first they try on their own, until their fingers are bloody from pricking themself on the pins and their nose is tingling with barely-restrained tears of frustration. Their results are a waste - missed stitches leaving gaps, everything is the wrong size (how did they manage to make it too big?). And so Rosario, normally too proud and too shy to ask for help for themself, begins asking around the Manor. Anything for Luchino.

They turn to Violetta, who is only too happy to enlist. She’s patient and encouraging as she teaches them how to properly prepare and follow a pattern, which stitches to use for which occasion, how to affix a button.

Leo and Lisa hear about the project and are excited to join in. The father-daughter team shows Rosario how to knit and generously provides some precious woolen fabric to work with. Slowly, an ensemble is coming together.

Robbie wants to help, too! He doesn’t really know about making clothes, but he cares about Luchino and is eager to learn. The grown-ups help him use fabric scraps to practice.

After much trial and error and many late nights, the project is completed. The little team presents Luchino with a heavy jacket, woolen trousers, knit stockings and a matching scarf, and a quilt made from the scraps of Rosario’s previous attempts. It’s not a surprise; even if they’d wanted it to be, it’s difficult to keep such a big project a secret with everyone living on top of each other. But Luchino is still a little overwhelmed as he accepts the gifts. He cannot thank everyone enough. Despite Rosario’s polite protest, Violetta, Leo, and Lisa all insist that, while they did help, Rosario truly did do the majority of the labor. Luchino kisses Rosario’s bandaged fingers before bundling up in his new outfit. It’s not exactly stylish - a mishmash of scrapped fabrics and different colors of yarn - but it’s warm, as warm as the smile on Rosario’s face when they see how pleased he is with their work.

[micyclemorton]

🎪 Final Spotlight - Mike Morton 🎪

[ this was just first-person experimentation, and came in at about 840 words! a little too short for my writing blog. written informally, too, with full lowercase and such. ]

~

i look down at my hands as they begin to tremble. bernard would criticise me, now, if he saw the sorry state of them - raw. bleeding and blistered, without gloves. those would just be stained anyway. do they hurt? i can’t tell. can you tell me? jugglers can’t juggle with hands like this. he told me i was an acrobat, but my movements are too sluggish to be deemed acrobatics now. my name is mike. you don’t have to know my surname. 

i used to be an acrobat. the days are blurring out in front of me, and i barely remember the faces i used to cherish. would murro be angry? margie? my friends… my friends no longer. after all, nobody likes a coward and a talentless performer. they were right to laugh and jeer and snarl. joker would be having the time of his life, i guarantee, if he saw me in such a state. that snivelling fool always took pleasure in my downcast days. i was the show pony, and i revelled in the attention just as a flower soaks in sunlight. 

i think he was jealous. jealousy turned to bitter words, and bitter words turned to blood. now, despite focusing on my hands, i can feel the dull ache of where his fists once were on my body - sometimes i was too slow. sometimes i got caught. i never doubted him, even when it was better to do so. safer. i wanted to scream at him, berate him for how he treated my dear friends. my voice proved too weak too often. maybe that was the first indication of my slipping - an early one, pushed to the back of my mind and left to fester until it was all too big to ignore. i’m filled with an intense regret, one that i can’t shake away even though i try endlessly to distract myself. 

patting my clothes to locate the leather pouch hanging on my belts at all times, small red prints and drags mar my uniform. my nose wrinkles and brows furrow, a stark contrast to the cheery disposition all the kids would know. perhaps i’m one of those hopeful children, naive and blind to horror, because i don’t find any recognition in my own expression. 

it begins to rain, fat droplets pooling in my hat’s brim and spilling down. my hands are still shaking, though i force myself to sit before i fall. there’s no reason for someone like me to be so shaky, is there? i’m headstrong and leap into danger, causing it more often than not. now, sitting against the cool ground, the tears begin to finally pour down my cheeks. i can’t say i’m unashamed, having invested so much energy into always maintaining a smile, but that’s not what matters most. the park around me is eerily silent, save for the sound of my own shuddering breaths and hiccups. 

maybe they were right to abandon me here. who are “they”? does it even matter? they wouldn’t care to see me again, no matter how often i plead. my voice has died in my throat, and all i can do is sob even more. the tears carve their way through the grooves in my skin, but they can’t wash away the glaring prints of my own failures. i won’t describe to you how much this hurts: blood and ash and salt mingling together tells its own story. 

for the first time in ages, i find myself able to make my own choices. despite the bitter loneliness chewing its way through my will to continue, i stand up and tip the rainwater from my hat onto my hands. it’s better than nothing to wash everything away. damage under the surface isn’t something I can fix, but my attitude is.

taking a small palette from my pouches, i busy myself in a fight with the weather, endeavouring to paint a smile onto my cheeks. the makeup drips and smears across my skin, painting a grim picture in direct contrast to my usual upbeat nature. 

maybe, i think, this is what it all comes down to. maybe this is the end of the line.

this morose feeling spreads outwards from my thoughts alone, blanketing me in such a way that i find it difficult not to bow my head. looking toward the ground, i select a few juggling balls from my pouch without bothering to check if they match. dragging my feet along paths that i know too well, i climb onto the now-deserted stage of the hullabaloo grounds. a deep, shuddering breath moves through my body, but all i can think about is the blank aftermath. 

no one is watching as i move through my practices, silent tears rolling. the one time i look up is to check the lights, even though i know they’ve been cracked and dim for far too long.

now, this is my final performance - i have no stage. i have no audience. i have no worth.

[evil-lovergirl]

!    general nsfw hcs . . . weeping clown , joker . . . >> includes mentions of pegging / fucking. referred to as 'dick.' trans hcs included.

⁀➴ crybaby alll the way. feels so bad about it too once he regains his senses ⁀➴ he doesn't want to be seen as weak or lesser than because he already had enough of the in the hullabaloo circus ⁀➴ needs reassurance that it's okay to cry from pleasure ⁀➴ actually he just needs reassurance in general ⁀➴ adores physical contact. hold him as closely as possible while you dick him down ⁀➴ i think he would really like a mating press just because he likes being able to wrap his arms around your neck, hold you closely, hide his face if needed, lock his legs around your back... ⁀➴ embarrassed noises at the start, probably. he doesn't want to be too loud, but he can't help it when a couple slip past his lips... ⁀➴ once he's cum once or twice, that's when he stops holding back and just lets them fall ⁀➴ more of a whiner and a whimpering person imo ⁀➴ probably hiccups. kind of cute ugm ⁀➴ adoressss it when you kiss his tears away... he likes kisses overall but these feel so loving to him during his pleasurable, vulnerable time with you ⁀➴ very inexperienced. what did you expect he's a skittish little guy ⁀➴ probably was too embarrassed to even try anything on his own... ⁀➴ not too fond of toys, prefers skin-to-skin ⁀➴ takes his robotic leg off after he gets more comfortable... it's kind of like taking your shoes and socks off after a long, hot day to him ⁀➴ doing so gives easier access? maybe? just be gentle, nobody really touches him there so it's super sensitive ⁀➴ actually he's just sensitive overall. brushing your hands over his waist already as him jumping and looking at you as if you just slapped his ass ⁀➴ isn't a fan of degradation or anything painful when having sex. he's showing you his most vulnerable side so you better love him correctly ⁀➴ average stamina. maybe 3 rounds, 5 if you really wanna push it ⁀➴ probably about ~6 in? maybe 5.5.. not too big, not too small... kind of cute ⁀➴ circumcised most likely ⁀➴ defff has a little bush growing.. gyatt! ⁀➴ itsy bitsy happy trail that he covers up ⁀➴ for trans hcs, i think his pussy would be puffy but not in an unhealthy manner ⁀➴ clit is very hard to find because it's kind of small, but his sensitivity makes up for it

⁀➴ love him right and he'll love you 100x more

[tallemy]

Florimatt Drabble - Unfinished

Time had already passed midnight and the rings of the bell became quiet whispers in the starless night, barely reaching the windowless office hidden in the heart of the library. No matter how much he listens, its melody remains unfinished, empty, just like the homunculus that never gained the spark of life and the letter that was supposed to be sent by the morning. His last words will remain nothing more than another unfinished sentence, a soft greeting written in pitch black ink cursed to be fed to the fire.

Eventually the only end Philemon had found was his own.

[naomifootes]

Norton's first taste of actual fresh and high quality food must've felt surreal, like yeah, he doesn't want to be here entirely, but hey, he's getting free food and a high quality bed to lay in at the end of the day, it's soft and he melts into it when he lays upon it, he could almost fall asleep just by *sitting* on the damn thing. The sheets and blankets were silky and incredibly soft to the touch, he's never felt a thing like it. Everything he touches becomes filthy to the touch, his hands are always filthy, however he's been more clean as of late, not being used to not being covered in dust and grease, his head *almost* feels clearer, almost.

Short Norton drabble becuz I felt a lil evil tonight and wanted to do something for Norton's birthday heh