#let us go for a scuttle

[atomicpunch-natsume]

Draw a close up of Natoris lil lizard 🦎🦎🦎

I’m not so secretly obsessed with the lizard….

[swanbornbyleda]

Hi, I loved your art of Venhys and the Iron Bull. Is Venhys a Trevelyan Inquisitor or an OC of some other background? Either way, their energy together was so compelling.

Thank you so much! I'm really glad that seems to have played for so many people because I don't imagine either of them knows how to curb their mutual or individual intensities.

I'm the type to take my existing original characters from my own worlds and writing and AU-ify them rather than making new, bespoke characters for each new game and setting I want to play in. That's just what's always been more fun for me, so crafting Ven's backstory for a Dragon Age AU does mean tossing out the canonical inquisitor backstories.

Ven's a blood mage from Tevinter, the child of a contentious magister within a reclusive, cult-like family dynamic. Through some miserable (and, long-term, serendipitous) circumstances, Ven is a ward of a Circle in the Free Marches when Kirkwall falls and the Mage Templar war begins (we keep a little trevelyan backstory, for fun!)

But Venhys is, for a very long time, hiding anything and everything about who they are, where they come from, and what they do for a long time. There's a foundation of pretty significant distrust between Ven and Bull because of it. But as far as the inquisition is initially concerned, the herald of andraste is just a regular ol mage from the marches with a bit of a tilt to their accent when things kick off.

Ven and Bull's relationship is fractious, and tense, and guarded for a very long time. Neither of them is comfortable with the other in pretty severe ways? They can be quite cruel and scrutinizing of one another before they start to develop a friendship, and even after they become friends and start circling one another, they don't know how to Not be Intense and challenging and contentious with one another. Casual conversations? Between these two? Unlikely. They're a slow burn, and a pretty bumpy one at that. Ven has a little fling with Cullen in the beginning that falls apart (overcoming mage prejudice is one thing, but it's a bit harder when they're actively practicing blood magic and proud of it), and in the narrative in my head, Ven and Bull don't actually end up together until fairly late game, through much different circumstances than the actual in-game Bull romance.

[newtafterdark]

Hi, hello, I feel so normal about the "Bloodlines 2" trailer that happened a couple of hours ago, but to which I literally just woke up to!

For one, I am glad to see the project still kicking against all odds. Do I believe it will come out at the end of next year as promised though? I am hopeful, but after the development hell it was in, I am not trusting that just yet.

I am going to be as transparent about my thoughts as I can possibly be when I say this - I am sure that every single person who was part of making this thing a reality, from years ago until now, poured their heartblood into it. I am genuinely so thankful for them and send my love and appreciation out to all of them.

But I know in my heart of hearts that it will be just as clunky and wonky as Bloodlines 1. And that's GOOD! Yes, I could be the kinda guy who only wants a perfect game - but I am Bloodlines fan. I thrive between janky combat, bad pathing and broken puzzles. Genuinely, I am just glad that despite all odds this thing, that so many people wanted to make on the gamedev side of things for decades, is finally happening.

And I can not wait to come up with my personal fella to walk through Seattle's streets in those long-awaited nights. 🦇

[xcziel]

!!!!!!! big spider in the house!!!!!!

perched right at the edge of the light, centered in the passway like a gunfighter, i felt threatened actually

i do NOT like this

[emerald-oceans]

There’s a spider in my room and I’m torn between wanting to interact with it and my arachnophobia taking over and hiding in a corner, scared.

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II

[oldmannapping]

Crack HC, because is there any other kind?

Bruce realises embarrassingly late that his Batkids can’t swim.

Gotham’s beach water is pure chemicals and sewage, and the city’s public school funding doesn’t exactly prioritise teaching kids to swim. Steph, Duke and Jason had never seen a swimming pool before meeting Bruce.

Tim’s parents meant to sign him up for swim lessons after he fell into their indoor fountain when he was three and nearly drowned - it would have been so embarrassing if it happened when they had guests! - but forgot.

So Bruce is like. Oh no my baby-soldiers must learn to swim.

Damian insists that since the League trained him to withstand waterboarding, he’s fine. Bruce pulls a muscle in his cheek from clenching his jaw so hard.

Dick insists that he can swim and manages one impressive mermaid-style undulation before becoming disoriented and slamming into the wall.

Duke covers himself in floaties and clings to a pool noodle for dear life, eschewing dignity because “this isn’t how I die”.

Conversely, Tim sinks like a stone, curls up on the bottom of the pool, and waits for death.

Cass, with the lowest body fat percentage, also sinks but manages to squeeze into one of the drains. She re-emerges six hours later in an estuary in New Jersey.

Steph refuses to let go of the wall by the deep end, scuttling away like a crab when Bruce tries to poke her into the water with a skimmer net.

Jason scoffs at them all and manages a perfect swan dive before flailing and crashing into Steph, causing both of them to panic and use each other as ladders to get out.

Alfred asks Barbara for the security camera footage and makes everyone watch it twice a year to keep their egos in check.

[letorip]

crimson & clover

“now i don't hardly know her, but i think i could love her"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x mute!reader

summary: people fear that which they do not understand. it makes sense then, why you and wednesday fall in love and help each other

warnings: erm you killed a lot of people on accident, angsty in the middle there, threats of violence, descriptions of violence

word count: 5.1k

A/N: heavily inspired by black bolt, who i really do think is one of my favourite heroes. there will likely be a part 2 or 3 to this but for rn my attention is on kiss with a fist. THERE WILL ALSO BE A PART [IV] OF SOMETHIN' STUPID

KISS WITH A FIST [IV] WILL BE UP NEXT SUNDAY

===+++===

===+++===

There were certain things you couldn’t have, when one had the ability to do incredible damage, if they just opened their mouth.

When you did so, on a random Saturday morning at 10 years old, and your house burst apart, it took your parents and a chunk of the neighbourhood with it in a fiery tempest that stabbed you right through the heart. You learned then, that maybe you weren't meant to have a family.

At age 12, when the kids at the Home for Outcast Children strung you up from the monkey bars by your ankles, and you couldn’t hold in a laugh from how the world looked funny when the sky looked like the floor, you learned you weren’t meant to have friends, sitting silently in the dirty crater where the playground used to be with your head tucked into your knees.

You had thought it would be implied then, that you would never have a lover, either. But then again, there was Wednesday Addams.

It was still a mystery, why she chose you. You had assumed she would want nothing to do with you just like she didn’t want anything to do with most people, and you couldn’t have been more wrong.

The both of you met about a week after she arrived at Nevermore, in the dead of night on one of the walks you always took when everyone else had gone to bed and there was no one to watch you, no one to murmur as you went past. You didn't pose a danger to anyone, then, and it was liberating and also deeply melancholic.

That was when you were most at peace. Your thoughts, even though well-reasoned, could not be expressed. You wrote often, in a leather-bound notebook you’d let no one see, but the power was given to writing through reading it, and there was no one you could have close enough to do so. It made you tired, to be around people you couldn’t communicate with. Few people wanted to wait for you to write something out on a notebook and even fewer wanted to learn sign language.

Kinbott had a dry-erase whiteboard in her office that was just meant for you and the only deaf person in Jericho, though the old man had gone missing a few months ago, without a trace. It was humiliating, at first, and you used to write two-word sentences, curt responses doing the bare minimum, often out of anger— whether it was anger from your situation or anger at being a teenager, you didn’t know— but now you could fill it with paragraphs and kept a notebook for when communication was especially necessary.

That night itself was peaceful, with gentle, twinkling stars that were only lightly polluted by the quad’s towering lamps. You could still see their faint outlines above you, with casting shadows down the lawn from the roof’s spires, and it smelled as if it were going to rain soon.

When you heard the scuttling of something on the floor, you jumped, startled, eyes shooting down to where you were certain you had felt someone’s fingers grip at your leg. Your eyes widened in surprise at the disembodied hand, racing up the uneven cobblestones and then up the leg of someone at the far end of the quad, landing finally on her shoulder.

Wednesday with her arms crossed, looking at you with a comically large bag slung over her shoulder that must've contained all of her belongings, like a runaway in the night.

Oh. That's what she was.

You blankly stared back at her, blinking at her figure. She took a menacing step forward, her grip on the bag tightening. "Are you following me?" she asked, tone icy. When you kept looking at her without so much as opening your mouth, her apathetic eyes narrowed. "If you tell anyone you saw me, they will never find your body. Don't say a word."

It was intended to be a threat, and if it had been anyone else, it probably would've made their blood run ice over just from how cold her gaze was. But you just raised your eyebrows at her, unable to stop the amusement from tugging at the corners of your lips. The irony was very far from lost on you, and the more serious she seemed the more funny the blunder was.

"What?" she snipped. "Is something amusing to you?"

Again, you could not say. You silently shook your head, tilting it then out of curiosity, and gently pointing towards the hand on her shoulder. It sat up at your attention, sending a friendly wave in your direction. Your eyes widened, waving before Wednesday could clear her throat and pull your eyes back up to hers.

Her eyes in question were dark and intense, but beautiful, even under the dim lighting, and you had to swallow what felt like a lump in your throat, in order to regain your composure. "Why are you silent?" she asked, narrowing them at you. You were under her microscope, and she scanned you, looking for anything that would impair your immediate voice.

You raised up a hand as if to say ‘hold on,’ before tugging your notebook out from your overcoat, flipping it open and pulling out your pen. With a click, you were scribbling down on the paper, and Wednesday narrowed her eyes at you again, scanning you in suspicion.

When you were done, you flipped it around, holding it up to her eyes with a gentle smile. 'Trust me, I don't think you'll need to worry about me telling anyone anything, anytime soon.'

Her eyes combed over the words, then glanced back down to you. "Why is—" she opened her mouth out of curiosity, but a heavy door slammed shut down the hall, and she whipped around before she could finish the question.

You both could hear the footsteps coming closer, and Wednesday straightened up, grip tightening on the bag over her shoulder. "You didn't see me, and you won't ever again," she said, coldly.

You nodded, not that you believed she'd make it out. You yourself had tried to run away for the first month and a half, and after long enough, one just gave up. Nevermore was hard to escape; you doubted she had readied a good enough plan in just a few days of being there. Still, you wished her luck. The forest was dangerous, and especially now.

With a final nod in your direction, she hastily walked off, down the corridor the opposite way. You watched her go, calmly sitting near the fountain. A few moments after she disappeared down a different hallway, a very tired looking Weems came down the stairs in her nightgown, holding onto a rusted lantern.

When she saw you, she sighed. "What did I say about those nighttime walks of yours, (Y/n)?"

You smiled, tilting your head to the side and shrugging at her. Weems huffed at your attempt at cluelessness, shaking her head fondly. "Just make sure you get yourself to bed soon, alright?"

You nodded, leaning back on the fountain edge and tracing the grout lines with your thumbs. Weems turned back to the hallway Wednesday went down. "I guess Miss Addams is planning to escape tonight?" But you didn't write anything down, raising your eyebrows at her as if to say 'duh.' Weems adjusted the hem of her nightgown from where it had dragged gently on the steps. "Thank you, (Y/n). I'll see you tomorrow."

She began to follow down the path Wednesday had taken, letting the lantern lead her through the dim corridor, and you silently yawned, picking up your notebook and figuring you had enough adventure for the night.

===+++===

That was your first unofficial meeting, at least. You almost forgot it had happened the following morning, except for when Wednesday showed up in class the next day looking more displeased and unhappy to be there than normal.

It was amusing how frustrated she was, mouth drawn into an annoyed line and eyes looking especially dark. When she caught your eye as she went to take her seat, you averted your gaze back down to your notebook to hide your cheeky smile, resuming your doodle in the margin and running a nervous hand through your hair.

She kept staring throughout the lecture, as if silently daring you to mention her failure, not that you could aloud. You weren’t willing to look back, but you could see her dark eyes shift up and across the round of tables towards you from the corner of your eye, which you made sure to keep on Thornhill.

After long enough, Xavier noticed too. He whispered something to her and then glanced up at you with a look that was far from friendly. He hadn't liked you one bit, but neither did any of the other kids, when they found out. You couldn't exactly blame them, either. The school was full of monsters, but you were a monster among monsters.

"Wednesday, Xavier," Thornhill called out, crossing her arms. She wasn't angry, though. More playful. "Is something more important than our study of carnivorous plants?"

Xavier began to shake his head, starting an apology, but Wednesday cut him off, blankly staring back at Thornhill as it left her mouth. "Yes."

At the challenge, the whole class seemed to let out a comically loud gasp. Thornhill's previously teasing smile dropped to a displeased frown, and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her overalls, motioning to the large glass enclosure on the table behind her. "I don't suppose you can tell me what this is, then?" At the question, you can see Bianca smirk and raise her own hand, eager to steal it away, "I haven't said the name out loud yet, and it will be on your test next—"

"—Dendrophylax lindenii." The interruption came swift from her lips, but Wednesday's eyes are still steeled over and unimpressed by Thornhill's attempt to be put on the spot.

You have to hide your amusement again, at the shocked look on Bianca's face, but she rushes to make up for it by adding something of her own. "It's also known as the Ghost Orchid—”

"—First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1852," Wednesday adds, and once more she's won. Or, she would have. You can't help the shake your head does, or the cheeky smile on your face that Wednesday locks onto, like a heatseeking missile. Her eyes are like daggers, stabbing you through and through. "Is something funny?"

She says it across the entire classroom and everyone goes silent, less focused on the plants now and more the fact that she's acknowledging your presence. You shrug, trying to diffuse the situation, but it only makes her glare at you harder. "No, go on," Wednesday demands, her tone just as icy as she had been the night before. "Tell us, what was so funny?"

"Wednesday," Thornhill warns her, sending you a sympathetic look, but she ignores her and so do you.

"Or are you still at a loss for words," she draws out, and in doing so, the rest of the class fills with 'ooh's and 'woah's. You stare at her for a moment, then silently, your hand goes to your notebook.

The moment you begin writing in it, the classroom tenses again, waiting for you to finish. You make them as big as possible, large enough that she'll be able to clearly read them across the room. When you're done, you flip it around and hold it up like a sign, face blank.

discovered 1854, not 1852

idiot.

You've circled it several times in messy pen, to make sure she really sees. The room roars even louder in surprise, and however bad Wednesday's stare was before, the new one she gives you is infinitely worse. Her face is still deadpan, but her eyes flick away down to her notebook. It’s the only time you’ve seen her approach something resembling embarrassment or fury. You're sure the 'idiot' bit didn't help, but you were far too annoyed by her poking of you to not have poked her right back.

"Well...," Thornhill tries, "It seems the Ghost Orchid isn't the only carnivorous plant in here, today." But the class is too far gone to focus up again, sending you wary glances. They don't like Wednesday, but they like you even less, so it's confusing who they should root for.

You hold her gaze until the bell rings, finally breaking it to gather your things and leave as soon as possible. Her eyes are still on you as you go, and just before you exit the room, you can hear someone mutter "freak," under their breath. You tuck your books under your arm, and duck out into the hall.

===+++===

Fall was always your favourite time of year; for once, Jericho wasn't entirely unbearable. The leaves turned a warm orange and red, falling from the trees in abundant piles on the ground, and the air fermented into something crisp and especially breathable. You let it fill your nose as much as possible.

You sat on the lawn, listening to the birds flit about and the wind brush under the branches and hem of your jumper with a book in your lap and a frown on your face. It wasn't a good book- something the internet had said was incredible but had firmly left a bad taste in your mouth, and part of you wanted to put it down and turn to something more useful. But another part of you wanted to keep reading, like being unable to look away from a car accident.

The book was so engrossing in its awfulness that you didn't notice her watching you from afar or, more so, aiming in your direction. That was, until you turned the page, and her throwing knife whizzed past your ear and lodged itself into the tree you had been sitting against.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the noise, and you turned your head to the side, looking at the shiny, reflective silver. The letters W. A. stared back at you, engraved just below the knife's spine. You frowned, and when you looked back, she was standing over you, arms crossed and expression as deadpan as always.

You raised a questioning eyebrow, looking over at the knife and then back to her as if saying, 'What was that for?'

"Your attention was required," she replied dryly.

You rolled your eyes, dog-eared the page of your book, and placed it down next to you, pulling out your notebook and your pen. You wrote a single word.

dangerous.

"Believe me, if I wanted to hit you, I am entirely capable of aiming to kill," Wednesday said. Then, after a brief look around Nevermore's green, her eyes flicked back down to you. "I'm here on business."

You search her face for a moment, narrowing your eyes. They locked in on the small bandage on her forehead, and you nodded up at it, asking her what happened with the look on your face. Her frown deepened.

"I'm in the process of crushing a bee... and almost getting crushed by a gargoyle." You blinked, but Wednesday continued. "But I won't have to do either if you agree to my request."

It's hard to deny that her words massively pique your interest. Wednesday in general massively piques your interest, and you write down the thing you really want to know.

people say you eat human flesh...

You turn the page back to her, and Wednesday seems to process the words for a moment. She looks over at you, unimpressed by the allegation. "I don't eat it. My menagerie of pets do. And even then, that's nothing close to what Enid's said about you."

You stare up at her, then scribble a couple of words on the paper.

and what's that?

"That you're dangerous. That you’re somehow infinitely worse than I am, which I'm doubtful of," Wednesday says without missing a beat. "Enid won't say anything more, and neither will Xavier." She looks around again, over the green. There's a picnic of sirens by the lake, and a few of the werewolves are playing with a frisbee. She looks back at you. "I've been warned to stay away, and your propensity for being obnoxious has made that task fairly easy so far." You begin to write again.

so why are you here

"Because," she states like it's obvious, "I want to break out of here. And you're somehow the person to have gotten the closest."

and yet

i'm still here

You turn the page to her and jab the bottom bit several times with your pointer finger.

"Well then," she says, "help me succeed."

===+++===

“And how do you think that made you feel?” Kinbott asks, eyeing her various pages of notes to the left of you. Some of the other patients in Kinbott’s care had small, yellow folders, but you had a larger red one, with your name in highlighted block letters on the front. It looked like it should’ve had a top secret sticker in the corner, not that you weren’t appreciative about your records being sealed.

You erased the board, writing a single word.

seen

Then, underneath it.

idk, like i was really there?

Kinbott nodded. “You’ve said people often ignore you a lot. Why do you think that is?”

they’re scared. they think i’ll hurt them because they heard rumours about what i did.

i can’t blame them, really

She frowned, wrapping her hands around her knee. “But that’s not really fair, is it? When was the last time you’ve caused damage with your ability, (Y/n)?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment.

about four years

“And you haven’t made any sort of mistakes, right?”

well, no

“Then why should they be afraid of you?” Kinbott asks. She’s leaning forward, looking at you with her eyes softened. “You’ve trained yourself to silently yawn, you don’t cough, you don’t sneeze, you don’t snore. I think you need to trust yourself a little more, (Y/n).”

You shrug again, but don’t write anything down, so Kinbott sighs and sits back in her chair. “Principal Weems says that she has another little Harry Houdini on her hands?”

You write down Wednesday on your board. She nods. “I’m seeing her in a little while, actually.” It makes your eyebrows raise in surprise.

why?

Kinbott shakes her head. “You know I can’t share that. Therapy is private. It seems she doesn’t plan on staying, though. Wednesday has already tried to escape.”

i know.

she asked me to help her

Her eyes scan over the words and then look back up to you, warily. “You know better than to help her, right? Nevermore could be good for Wednesday. And I thought you were actually starting to like it here.”

You nod.

i already said no

it’s too dangerous, in the woods right now. with the attacks and stuff.

“Good. And please, tell Principal Weems if you learn of any plans in the future.” You nod again, much less committed, and Kinbott looks down at her watch. “I’m afraid our time is over, (Y/n),” she says with a smile. “I’ll see you next week.”

You write a quick thank you down and stand, shoving your socks back into your shoes and tugging on your jumper, tucking it underneath the collar of your shirt and fixing your Nevermore tie. Purple stripes was never your pattern, and Weems had long since given up on trying to make you wear the coat. She figured it probably made you less likely to run away.

Wednesday is sitting in the lobby when you get down the stairs, with a bored-looking Weems come to babysit. You send her a glance, and then give Weems a nod of your head in acknowledgment.

She beams back at you. “Ah, (Y/n). We’re here for Miss Addams’ session. If you want to wander around Jericho, we can take you back to the school when we're done, if you’d like.”

You send another look at Wednesday, whose face is just as deadpan and unhappy as before, and shake your head. You point at yourself and then mime walking with your two fingers. Principal Weems frowns, but gives you and okay, and you turn around to leave.

You can feel Wednesday’s eyes on you as you head for the school. You know she's annoyed by your refusal to help her, but you can't exactly tell her why you're refusing either, especially since you're lacking any evidence for your theory. So you just told her no.

===+++===

Even from deep inside the forest, you can hear the carnival. There's a Ferris wheel towering over the trees in front of you, and circus music blasts from a few speakers so that you can faintly hear it amongst the windy branches, leaves blowing along the ground and caressing your shoes from time to time as you walk through the dark.

You're looking for something, anything, indicating someone would've been there. Sheriff Galpin had found all sorts of hikers, recently, all almost unidentifiable, with how bloodied they were, but they had yet to find anyone with a hearing aid, so you were unsatisfied. It was believed he was on vacation, but you knew the old man went to his therapy appointments every single week. He hadn't missed a single day, so you failed to believe that theory. You didn't even know his name, really.

On a tree not too far from you, there was a claw mark sunk deep into the bark, and you looked towards it, at the pattern. The idea a bear was responsible for all the deaths wasn't exactly convincing, and looking at the claws, your doubts only amplified. You pulled out your camera, aiming it towards the mark, ready to snap a shot, when you heard footsteps pounding past you.

"Rowan!" called a voice behind you, and you froze, putting the camera down and flicking your flashlight off. The last thing you needed was word getting out that you were lurking in the woods. People thought you were scary enough.

But the words weren't directed at you. You listened intently, and then you heard the faint but panicked voice again. "Rowan," Wednesday says again, and the moment you realise it's her voice, you take off running towards it.

You find Rowan with his hand held up, crushing Wednesday against a tree, and before you can stop to think, you're rushing forward, shoving him in the back and pushing him into the dirt, where he struggles to catch his breath. The moment his hand splays out in front of him, Wednesday is dropped to the forest floor. You run to her, checking her over quickly for injuries, making sure she can run. When you find none, you grab her arm, hoisting her to her feet. You send a wary look over at Rowan, who's already trying to right himself and take Wednesday's hand in yours, pulling her deeper into the forest.

It isn't long before you hear him calling out. "Wednesday!" he yells, and you freeze, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her behind a tree. You push her flush against the bark and cover her mouth with your hand, getting as close as possible so that you hide better against the trunk. She seems too scared to comment on the touch, eyes wide and chest heaving from the running. You raise your other hand and press your finger to your lips.

"Wednesday, I'm doing Nevermore a favour," he tries again. "One massive favour. You're dangerous. My mother's seen it. I can see it. Anyone who knows you can see it."

Your eyes flicker to Wednesday's in confusion, processing his words. She's staring up at you, eyes dark and full of worry, begging for him not to find you. Any idea you had about her not getting scared goes out the window. She's just as human as you are. You send her a comforting nod, peeking around the tree trunk. Rowan's a few trees away, with his back turned, scouring the area.

You begin to back away from Wednesday, gesturing over your shoulder. If you both can sneak off and go back to the carnival without Rowan noticing, you can ensure safety. She gives a curt nod, letting you take her hand in yours again. You're faster than her, she knows that. You slowly pull her with you, quietly stepping away and towards the fair.

You only make it a few steps, until Wednesday steps on a branch.

The small twig cracks under her boot, and within an instant, Rowan whips his head around to you both, staring back at him like a pair of deer in headlights. He takes a few menacing steps forward. "There you are," he draws out in between wheezy breaths. His hand comes up, ready to crush her, but before he can use his ability, a large, hulking creature grabs him by the leg, whipping him around and down onto the ground.

You and Wednesday watch in horror as Rowan screams, and the creature rears up on its hind legs, coming down and smashing Rowan with its fists. You can hear the crunching of his bones and then the tearing of flesh as the creature's claws dig into the boy's skin. Wednesday's hand is still in yours, and she squeezes it harshly, small black fingernails digging into the back of your hand, pulling you down to the ground with her and then scooting back.

The attack is short but brutal, and you see bits of Rowan's chest go flying and pure red maw. The creature whips around to you when Rowan goes silent, staring at Wednesday with intensity in its big eyes. Then it scrambles off, tearing through the woods and into the darkness.

As soon as it's gone, Wednesday rushes forward in the leaves, going to Rowan's side. You clamber to your feet, watching the direction the creature went with wide eyes. When you turn back to Wednesday, you catch her shoving something in her pocket. You don't ask what it is, but you make a mental note to ask later.

"Please," she says, a bit panicked. Her fingers are coated in Rowan's blood. "Go get Weems."

===+++===

Another not-too-awful thing about Nevermore was the breakfast. You sat at an abandoned picnic table in the corner of the quad, finishing your eggs, when Wednesday slammed her hands down on the wood with a loud thunk. You jumped in your seat, startled by the noise, dropping your egg back onto your plate.

"What exactly did you see last night?" she demanded, glaring.

Your eyes widened at her tone. It was harsher than normal, and she wore her frustration on her sleeve. A few students at nearby tables sent you suspicious and wary glances. Over Wednesday's shoulder, you could see her roommate, Enid, staring at you.

Most important was Weems, who looked down at you from the balcony above. You composed yourself and looked back down to Wednesday, shrugging nonchalantly, as if to say you didn't know.

Wednesday gritted her teeth harder. "But you do know. We saw Rowan get eviscerated by that creature. You were there. So why did you tell Weems you didn't see anything?!"

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head at her, doubling down. This was no place to get into it. No place to tell the truth. You slid your notebook towards her.

i saw him this morning.

She huffed, stomping off. You knew exactly why you saw him that morning, actually. Weems had shown you her powers a time or two, and you knew that 'Rowan' was just her in disguise. But you also didn't know if it was something you wanted to share yet. You, too, had been a bit miffed at seeing Weems pretend to be Rowan, but you also knew Weems' powers gave her an advantage, and you were too loyal to take that away from her. You owed her too much.

The question of why still rang in your mind, though. Why was she so eager to cover it up? She had never at least lied to you, so this lie seemed out of left field.

You saw the fake Rowan several times throughout the day. Each time you did your best to let Weems know you knew, and she seemed wary of you, avoiding you at every intersection. You spent the night thinking, wandering around Nevermore, stopping in the library and pulling out several books.

Wednesday had shoved something in her pocket, something that Rowan had. Something about her dooming Nevermore, about being dangerous. You raked through all the books about prophecies, not finding anything of interest and giving up at around one in the morning. No books were missing a piece of paper, and no books mentioned Wednesday's name. You could find a few references to someone named Goody, but she seemed unimportant among the other Addams ancestors, having been dead for hundreds of years. You made another mental bookmark to look more into it, later.

You trudged back to your dorm, already regretting your choices, considering you had an 8 am class in the morning. The school was peaceful again, and as you climbed the stairs, you could hear the trickle of the fountain.

But the moment your shoe placed itself upon the landing, you froze. Your door hung open slightly, just cracked, and right in the way was the same hand you had seen on your first night. You straightened up, feeling more awake, and more annoyed, now.

You pushed your own door open, knocking loudly on the wood like it wasn't your own room, illustrating your frustration. Wednesday turned towards you, unimpressed. She had your journal in her hands, the other one not meant for your communication but for your theories.

It was open to the photo you had just taken, of the claw mark. Right above it you had put the photo of the deaf old man, and right on the photo of the claw mark, you had 'Rowan' written in red sharpie and underlined several times.

You crossed your arms, glowering at her. The hand scuttled towards her, stopping halfway. "So you were hiding something," Wednesday says. "You know that Rowan isn't Rowan. You know he's dead."

You silently swallow, crossing the room until you are right in front of her. Wednesday's eye contact is intense, and you look down at your own notebook, feeling her watching you as you take it from her hands. You can feel her breath fanning against your face, and she smells like pomegranate and fresh petrichor. You turn the page to the drawing you've made of the creature. It's a little off; some of the details are fuzzy regarding last night. But it's the creature as best as you can remember it, and Wednesday nods.

"That's what I saw, too. That's what I want to find," she says. "That's what you're going to help me find."

This time, you can't find it in yourself to refuse.

===+++===

this was the first episode and a bit of episode 2. i really liked doing the mute reader but boy is it hard to write communication without dialogue. it does so much heavy lifting for characterisation. can't wait to see where this one goes, and it'll probably take me two or three parts to get through the whole season, is my hope.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Beach Time Fun

Male Crab Drider Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, drugging, potions, oviposition, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, uncaring observers, public sex, somnophilia Word Count: 654

You dodged to the left, rolling in the sand to avoid a crushing blow from the monster’s massive claw. It was a crab drider. From the waist up it looked relatively human. Reddish skin, some naturally growing armored plates on its chest and shoulders, sharp teeth, pointed ears, and ghostly white hair… but human… ish…

What was definitely not at all human however was below the torso. The body of a massive crustacean. Complete with scuttling legs and huge claws all covered in the heavy armor of its shell.

Dodging those claws wasn’t enough, in the hands of his human half he wielded a tiny little crossbow with tiny little bolts laced with gods knew what.

He had been nicknamed The Beast of Bailey’s Bay. You had been contracted by the Monster Slaying Guild to stop him. He had not killed anyone yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Your blade seemed fairly useless against his shell and it couldn’t reach his human half. You darted away and tossed an explosive potion that would hopefully put his rampage to an end. A handy piece of equipment courtesy of the guild alchemist.

It staggered him but didn’t otherwise do much as he moved to block it with his shell instead of letting it hit his soft upper half.

For the first time since he had started his rampage he spoke.

“Haha, finally a human with some fight! You will be a fine incubator for my eggs! Not like the cowards who flee!”

At that, it was your turn to stagger.

“Wh-what the fuck!?”

He snickered and explained.

“I need a human worthy of the eggs of Kaelyx! Catch and release. I’ll let you go once they hatch. Don’t worry!”

You made a disgusted face. You weren’t going to help this abomination reproduce, that was for damn sure. Or so you thought…

You reached for another potion of explosion, this one actually slightly stronger than the one you had used before. You tossed it and it hit square on his belly. But instead of an explosion there was a cloud of pink and purple that enveloped the monstrous man.

The alchemist had mixed up the ingredients in the potions. Instead of an ignis toadstool she had used a prattlepuff mushroom. Inadvertently this had created a potion of explosive, and permanent, desire.

Kaelyx no longer wanted just an incubator, he wanted a permanent mate to fuck damn near daily and take care of until the end of their days.

The beast wasn’t visible within the cloud. But his eyes were not those of a human and he could see his target just fine. You felt a sharp pain in your neck and slumped over into the sand before losing consciousness.

The next thing you were aware of was being naked from the waist down and being pounded into the ground with a massive slimy cock writhing around your insides. You were too groggy to resist, your limbs were like jelly, and your thoughts were muddled.

“Ah, my love, sorry I just couldn’t wait! You feel so good around me cock! You were built for it~”

You tried to respond but all that came out was a series of lewd moans as you orgasmed from the treatment. He grunted, groaned, and filled you up with a natural lubricating fluid before filling you up with dozens of eggs, swelling your belly.

You lay there panting beneath him and as the drug wore off and post nut clarity kicked in you noticed that beachgoers had formed a crowd and were all watching you while either masturbating or recording you with magical devices.

As Kaelyx drug you off to his burrow under the sand they waved and thanked you for getting the crab to calm down and leave. Your pleas for help falling on deaf ears as your fellow humans got back to their lives and favorite beach activities.

[ateliersss]

Her Protector

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: Still new to life on Yautja Prime, you’re struggling to find your place among a clan that sees you as fragile, unworthy and unfit to stand at the side of their great leader. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 2.399 Before the Blooming Family series

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The twin suns hung high in the muted green sky, casting long, slatted shadows over the structures of the Yautja village. The heat was ever-present, thick, and clinging, but you had begun to grow used to it, at least enough to walk without fainting from the oppressive humidity. It wasn’t Earth and it never would be, but you were going to learn how to survive here. Slowly but surely.

You adjusted the thin, breathable shawl wrapped around your shoulders, gifted to you by Mi’ytiar, one of the only things keeping the sun from baking your skin. The radiation of the sun on Earth wasn’t too bad, but two suns from a whole different galaxy? You needed to be careful until the healer — Cahrein, was it? — could tell that the injections of whatever fluid mixed with Mi’ytiar’s blood was working and changing your DNA enough to resemble theirs.

The path you walked was carved from dark, volcanic stone, well-worn from centuries of passage. Around you rose towering buildings of unfamiliar architecture: jagged and elegant at once, built from obsidian-like minerals and striated metals that caught the light in rainbow sheens. Some of the dwellings loomed high like watchful sentinels, others sat low and wide, mouths agape with open-air entrances that revealed cool darkness within.

You passed a fountain shaped like a clawed hand holding an orb, the water bubbling up from between the fingers in rhythmic pulses. It was the centerpiece of a communal square. A few Yautja sat or stood in clusters nearby, their heavy bodies draped in netted armor and dark leather. Their gazes followed you, some openly staring, others more subtle, turning their heads just enough to watch you pass. You felt their eyes follow you. Not openly hostile but not kind, either. But some didn’t bother hiding their disdain, mandibles flexing in sharp, irritated twitches, shoulders squared in subtle posturing.

They didn’t like you here. Not yet.

It had been weeks since you had arrived. Mi’ytiar’s clan had offered no formal welcome. All you had gotten were wary glances, cautious bows, and far too many muttered words in their thick, guttural tongue when they knew you couldn’t understand. The earpieces you wore had been ready for use since yesterday and they worked perfectly. Now, you could hear the snide comments about your presence.

“Soft.”

“Useless.”

“Pathetic.”

You didn’t let it falter you in your stride and you kept your head high, despite everything about you was screaming outsider: your body being half their size, your plain and colorless skin, your plain and colorless eyes, your fragile bone structure and your barely-there muscle mass.

Younglings scuttled past you, chittering with excitement and curiosity. One youngling, barely up to her shoulder, clicked inquisitively and sniffed at you as it ran past. You smiled nervously, lifting your hand in a small wave. Its mandibles flared open in what you hoped was a grin before its older sibling barked a reprimand and yanked it away.

Well, at least the younger ones were tolerant enough…

Their parents would hopefully follow soon after.

After all, you weren’t officially Mi’ytiar’s mate yet. Not by their standards, at least. That bond had to be consummated, sealed through combat or ceremony, or whatever passed as marriage in this world. But Mi’ytiar called you his mate anyway, boldly and proudly. As if that alone should be enough. It warmed your heart and made you all soft inside when you thought about the way he had purred those words. When that ritual or whatever it was would be over, you could only hope that the tension would lift and stop from crushing you.

Around you, the village lived and breathed in a rhythm you hadn’t yet learned to join. Yautja sparred in the distance, heavy thuds of bodies striking against training pillars. Merchants from other clans displayed their wares — exotic meats, intricately carved bone jewelry, and tools you couldn’t name — all arranged with almost ceremonial precision. You passed what you assumed was a forge, the reek of molten metal and burning oils flooding your senses. Even that had its own brutal beauty: firelight reflecting off the polished fangs of a mask in progress, its metal teeth bared in a permanent snarl.

You stopped to watch for a moment, fascinated. The forge master, a hulking female with scarred tusks and a single, blazing red-orange eye, glanced at you with a curious frown. Then, she turned away without a word. There was neither hatred nor warmth. Just dismissal.

With a sigh, you moved on.

Each step deeper into the village pulled you farther away from the relative safety of Mi’ytiar’s home, your only sanctuary on this planet. Out here, without him at your side, you felt the full weight of isolation. You didn’t have the predictable order of Earth cities to cling to for orientation. This place pulsed with danger, history and contempt.

You reached a narrow side path between two larger buildings. Your intent had only been to circle the village and then slip away through passages like this so you wouldn’t be stared at on your way back home. But now, after catching a glimpse of your new life? You were tired of being afraid to explore, tired of having to hide away when you wanted to embrace the culture, the everyday life of your new home. Mi’ytiar had told you that the market was once every three months and you refused to let their dislike towards you hinder you from giving into your curiosity.

Your fingers trailed along the edge of a smooth, metal outcropping on one of the buildings. Its surface was warm from hours under the sun. The path ahead was unfamiliar, but it didn’t matter. You would turn around and walk home the way you came: through the market under the watchful eyes of every present Yautja. You would think after three months, you would be old news.

Three months.

Three months since Mi’ytiar flung you over his shoulder. Three months since he carried you out of your hometown and to his ship. Three months since it touched his home soil. You remembered stepping out of the vessel, the heels of your black leather Oxfords pumps echoing through the landing platform as you hesitantly left the ship by its metal ramp. You felt dizzy and weak with your first inhale, but Mi’ytiar, standing tall and strong beside you, placed a hand on your back between your shoulder blades.

The first night in the clan leader’s abode had been suffocating. Everything was too large, too loud, too alien. You couldn’t sleep. Not until Mi’ytiar curled around you like a shield in the vast bed made for someone twice his size. Unfortunately, even then, sleep only came in fragments. So, instead, you looked at him in the darkness, his massive form half-illuminated by the low red glow of the ambers of the fireplace circling the bed. He had brushed your cheek with the back of his clawed finger — so gentle, so reverent — and purred into the silence. It had reminded you of how he had touched hours ago in that alleyway.

A part of you had longed to return to that moment. Not for the terror or the pain, but for the clarity. Back then you weren’t an alien in his world but a woman amongst slaughter, but at least you were alone with him.

He was your rock, indeed. Mi’ytiar hadn’t wavered once in the following days. He called you his like it was the law, like nothing else mattered, and you fiercely held onto that. Even now, when you took a deep breath and stepped out of the side path. Heat slammed into you like a wall, oppressive and dry, swallowing your breath.

You crossed the square with purpose, ignoring the stares until you couldn’t.

Four Yautja — all much taller than you but no match to Mi’ytiar’s — stepped into your way as if you were in theirs. They were built like ancient statues, chiseled from fire-hardened stone. The one in front wore half of a broken Xenomorph crest strapped to his shoulder, his mandibles twitching in something that might be a smirk. One spun a bladed disc lazily between his claws, the sharp whistle of metal singing through the air, while another clicked his mandibles, low and guttural. He said something you didn’t fully catch, but the tone is unmistakable — mocking, crude. His eyes crawled over your body and he tilted his head as if examining a thing, not a person. The others chuckled at whatever he had said.

The Yautja, who hadn’t drawn any attention to himself yet, stepped to the side and started circling you. He stopped behind you, close enough that the heat of his body burned against your arm.

Around you, a few market-goers paused to watch, but no one intervened.

Of course, they didn’t. This wasn’t their business. You weren’t their kind, not one of them. You were just their leader’s little pet.

Even though your mouth went dry and your heart hammered in your ears, you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t run, wouldn’t show fear because that would only prove what everyone thought about you already. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of making yourself seem like prey by running away and practically inviting them to chase after you.

Prey.

You refused to give them that.

“Move.” You said, quiet but steady.

The biggest of them clicked his tusks together and tilted his head mockingly. “Weak thing.” His eyes slid over your body slowly, insultingly. “He brought back pet.”

The others laughed — a coarse, barking sound that drew more stares from across the square. But still, no one interfered.

The one with the darkest scales leaned in, close enough to catch a whiff of your scent. “Little thing. Tight. Bet she squeal.”

“Soft skin. Pretty noise-maker.” The thickest growled, accessing the little skin that was showing between your clothes.

Your stomach dropped and bile rose in your throat — fury, humiliation, fear — but you wouldn’t shrink away from them. Not even as your knees threatened to give out under the weight of their disgusting remarks. You had faced worse than taunts. You had endured months of cold stares and whispered insults. You didn’t let yourself cower, despite this being out in the open, direct and sharp-edged, instead of muttered disapproval behind your back.

“He become bored and you be passed-”

The words got stuck in his throat and you frowned as their posture changed. They either looked frightened or got into a defensive stance as if they expected to be attacked. Their whole behavior switched in a second and only when you turned around you knew why.

Mi’ytiar stood there, his body tense with lethal aggression. His fingers flexed, his lower mandibles twitched, and a guttural growl broke the sudden silence that had stretched across the market. His eyes wandered from one Male to the other like a predator deciding who to kill first.

A roar followed.

It wasn’t a war cry, wasn’t a challenge, but a warning. It tore through the square like a shockwave. It was primal, raw and laced with something deeper than rage: domination. The kind that froze blood and made his warriors bow down to him in submission.

Before you were able to blink, he moved.

The first Male barely saw it coming. He was lifted up by the throat and thrown into a stone pillar with enough force to shatter it. The bone-crushing sound was sickening and it seemed enough to not make him get up.

The next was grabbed by his mandibles, one of the most sensitive parts of a Yautja’s body, and with another roar that tore deep from within his chest, he ripped them apart to leave a gaping hole where his mouth was. Cartilages snapped and blood sprayed in thick arcs across the stone. The Male screamed or tried to, but it came out a gurgle through the ruined mess of his face. He collapsed, twitching, not dead but a broken beast.

The third and fourth moved together, flanking, trying to close in from either side, foolishly thinking that Mi’ytiar, even outnumbered, could be bested.

Mi’ytiar spun and his foot, high and fast for a kick, collided with the left Male’s chest. He flew back, breath coming out ragged and irregular. He fought to get up, but one look of Mi’ytiar halted him in the attempt.

The fourth slashed with a wrist-blade at Mi’ytiar, who ducked, grabbed the warrior by the waist and lifted him into the air, twisting mid-motion with an inhuman snarl. He slammed him down, headfirst, into the ground. He sidestepped the clumsy grab for his leg and drove his claws into the Male’s gut when he leaned over him. It was slow as it was not intended to kill — not yet, at least — but to humiliate. Like they had humiliated you.

The Male howled and his claws uselessly scrabbled at Mi’ytiar’s forearm, but he simply got up on his feet, letting the feet of his opponent dangle pathetically, before he ripped the body apart. Blood splattered and rained down on him, dousing him in neon green.

The silence that lay down on the square like a blanket was deafening. The Yautja who had looked at you in disdain an hour ago avoided you now completely. No one dared to move, no one dared to speak.

Mi’ytiar ignored his people when his eyes finally, finally, found yours. They softened in an instant as he closed the distance between you with steady steps, his long legs eating up the space that separated you both. The hands that had torn someone apart only seconds ago now lifted up to cup your face with such gentleness, such care. His thumb stroked your cheek and he bent down to nuzzle his forehead against yours.

At least now, no one would dare to look at you if it wasn’t with respect or kindness. He had made sure of that.

Masterlist: here

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[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

astarion ancunin hcs {pt. 1}

once he's comfortable with you, he adores non-sexual physical intimacy

playing with his hair will calm him down almost instantly

he's protective and possessive, so he'll keep a hand on you at all times, usually on your back

loves when you initiate any kind of physical contact

always asks to do something before he does, in either a sexual or nonsexual context

he's easily jealous and can sometimes get very possessive; for the first time in 200 years, he has someone who genuinely loves him and he hates the possibility that he might lose you

that possessiveness is obvious when he marks up your neck with bites and hickeys

if he feels like his place in your relationship is threatened in public, he will not hesitate to touch, hold, or kiss you in front of whomever is making a move on you; after some bearing of fangs, whoever it is usually scuttles off very quickly

he definitely feels very undeserving of you and your love and has his days when he's convinced you're going to leave him for someone better when you get the chance, or that he's keeping you from; that insecurity lasts for a very long time

constantly buries his own feelings, so you have to coax them out of him and teach him how to set boundaries and stand up for himself

astarion absolutely LOVES bathing together; he can be very vulnerable with you without sex being expected when you bathe together and it absolutely helps him regain some control and bodily autonomy

he loves gifting you things: jewelry, clothes, weapons, little knickknacks he sees that remind him of you

his elven ears are so sensitive and he absolutely will whine involuntarily when you brush your fingers over them (either on accident while you're touching his curls or on purpose)

speaking of which, astarion loves having his hair played with, it's a huge comfort to him (and another form of physical touch that isn't inherently sexual, so it's one of the ways to ease him back into being intimate and physical)

sexually, he's very switchy; some days he wants to be in control and giving you all the pleasure you deserve, but other days he's more than happy to let you take the lead and love on him

he loves staying up late to have deep talks and watch the sky (sun or moon and stars, it doesn't matter which to him)

cuddle this man. all the time. he's absolutely a cuddle bug. if you don't cuddle him while you go to sleep, he'll be very huffy, and you'll wake up to him curled up around you anyway

he also likes to be the little spoon sometimes, once he's comfortable with you seeing and being wrapped around his back

he will sew everything for you instead of teaching you to do it; he likes being useful in some little way for you (inspired by @aethes-bookshelf's post here because I saw it and went "you are absolutely right")

he commonly speaks to you in Elvish whether you understand it or not; it's absolutely a comfort to him, especially when you start picking up words and understanding some of what he says

contrary to the performances he puts on, astarion is a very gentle lover when he can finally be comfortable and genuine with you. he's quieter, softer, he takes the time to learn you and himself, he lets himself enjoy it; he learns to become a taker, not just a giver

he likes to hold you, however he can, and at the very least always be touching you. an arm around your waist or shoulders, a hand on the small of your back, holding your hand or twining your pinkies together. he can't be touching you, he's standing so close to you that he could be touching you if he moved a centimeter more

he likes to hug you randomly; one of his favorite ways to do it is to come up behind you while you're cooking or talking to someone or looking at yourself in the mirror to get ready so he can surprise you by putting his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder

astarion has a habit of kissing your neck whenever he can, sometimes it's a way to let you know he's hungry, other times when he wants to be intimate, other times just to remind you he loves you

on the same hand, he doesn't always say 'i love you' but instead makes it known through his behavior around you (and the fact that he's constantly looking at you like you are his whole world, because you are)

on the nights when you can't sleep, he reads to you until you drift off because he knows you find his voice soothing

he likes tucking his head into your neck and shoulder when the two of you sleep (which he finds out he actually likes doing every now and then)

the first thing astarion does when he wakes up is pepper you with little kisses on your shoulders, collarbones, cheeks, and forehead

when he's nervous and with people he's okay with knowing that, he'll reach for your hand and touch your fingers to calm down and ground himself. if you wear a ring or multiple rings, he'll play with those

astarion loves it when you call him by a nickname, either a shortened version of his name or a pet name. if he's fed recently and had enough blood, his cheeks will turn this adorable shade of pink when you call him "Star" or "my love" or something similar

how he wakes up from a nightmare changes constantly. the worse the nightmare, the worse his reaction when he wakes up. sometimes it's just a little gasp and his eyes flying open, sometimes it's a yelp and tears, sometimes he's crying before he even wakes up; but every time, his biggest comfort is to cling to you until the panic fades and then curl up in your lap (you've learned to light a candle or summon lights with magic when he wakes up from a nightmare; the shadows make him feel worse)

when you fall asleep outside of bed, he picks you up and carries you to bed and tucks you in—all without waking you

if you are injured at any point and there is no certainty that you'll pull through, he panics. he stays at your side the entire time, even if the smell of your blood is driving him mad, and holds your hand and talks to you, often begging you to wake up, to come back to him, to stay with him; more than once, you've woken up to find him with tears streaked down his face

every time you wake up from an injury and he realizes it, either because he's watching you or because you say hi to get his attention, he smothers you in kisses

once he's no longer starving, he likes to feed from you very slowly, to take his time and enjoy your taste; now that he's promised food, he doesn't feel the need to rush. feeding becomes very sensual, intimate, and personal for the two of you after that

he also loves leaving bites and drinking from you in places the others won't see; it makes him incredibly giddy to know that you let him bite you in places only he will ever see

if he's taller than you, he loves to kiss the crown of your head whenever he can

he will sew up your injuries whenever you need his help with it, even if the sight and smell of your blood makes him salivate

he loves touching your body to see how you react and lets you do the same to learn his own likes and dislikes

matching. outfits. he loves it, loves seeing people realize that you wear the same material and colors and realize what it means. he's very smug when people come to the realization that you're together

he frequently gives you his shirts to sleep in

if you are apart from him for any amount of time, expect to be tackled with a hug the minute you are reunited again

when you have the time, he likes to just lay in bed with you and relax together, half-asleep and cuddling and sometimes mumbling to each other pt. 2 coming soon

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; male!reader

sukuna loves to pull his boyfriend down onto his lap.

whenever you guys are out at a party, he wants everybody to know that you're his. he's staring at you with the most smitten look ever as you push your glasses up your nose, his hand resting on the small of your back. his fingers find their way under your shirt and the touch sends shivers up your spine; you squirm on top of his sculpted thighs and a dark chuckle falls from his lips, followed by a tease.

"stop movin' s'much, pretty boy." he presses his palm against your skin and your whole body lights on fire. and then he's leaning in closer and his lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks. "or m'gonna pop a boner and m'gonna make you take it all the way right here and now, yeah?"

and then he bites down on your earlobe, his hot saliva coating the most sensitive part of your body in front of a room full of people. you push at his chest, feeling flustered because of his actions but freeze up when you feel the growing bulge poking at your ass. the thought of him already getting hard, the thought of him going through with what he said is making you burn in the best way possible.

using his other hand, sukuna cradles the side of your face, pulling you even closer so he can trace the sharp edge of your jawline with his tongue. he can almost hear your adam's apple bob, the excitement running through your veins and he can't help but push you even further.

"oh, but you'd like that, huh?" he spreads his legs a little wider, his hard-on now even more evident. his scent is intoxicating – it's so strong and addicting, you can't get enough of him. you already feel so dizzy so when you make eye-contact with some random guy across the dark room just when kuna's hand falls from your cheek and down to your own bulge. your lips part in surprise, a quiet gasp spilling from you before you can even think about stopping it.

the other man can't take his eyes off of the sight and it makes you so much more embarrassed, so you seek solace in sukuna's neck. you paw at his chest like a needy puppy, tugging at his shirt and begging for more. you feel so hot all over – his touch, the unfamiliar eyes, the tense air around you, it's all just so much.

but while you're hiding in the crook of your boyfriend's neck, panting into his skin as his hand keeps massaging your cock through the material of your pants, sukuna scans the room.

there's this weird sense of desire to show you off and keep you all to himself at the same time. the idea of taking you right here and now is heavenly but the idea of other people getting to tease the pleasure on your face, the expressions that are only meant to be saved for him are making him sick to his stomach. he'd rather have you cockwarming him in secret than to actually let others know what's going on. he wants you all to himself.

sukuna's always known for having an intense stare, so when his gaze meets the stranger's, it's not a surprise the man almost drops his drink before scuttling off. he tastes blood as he thinks about punching him in the face for even taking a look at you, for having the guts to think about you. his boyfriend, his lover.

a low growl bubbles up from his throat when he feels you lick at his neck and the stranger fades from his mind within a second. you need his attention way more than some random loser. and who's he to deny you of anything? he might be harder than a fucking rock just from having you sit on his lap like a good boy but fuck, does he want to suck you off just about now. to show you how much he cares, how much he's willing to put his own needs aside to focus on yours instead. you are everything to him and he's not afraid to let you know that.

[redbowedblogger]

The thought of mer!prowl having to teach Jaz to hunt in @keferon 's post apocalypse ponyo au. Just like he probably had to teach his little brothers. Jazz not knowing what or how to eat. So I did a thing

"Prowl.”

“What-?” Prowl was frustrated. This whole damn mess was going on for far longer than he had ever feared. He needed to get back to his pod. His family. Those fragging humans and their twisted sense of “mercy” had almost trapped him in a life of servitude and solitude. All over a little damage to his melon, nothing a proper mer healer couldn't fix, but clearly beyond their limited medical knowledge. And then everything changed when the wave had hit.

Calling it a wave felt a bit misleading. A miles high flood of oceanic rage that all but wiped the human city off the coastline and allowed for his escape. Their escape. This poor strange mer he had met in that box of stone and steel and glass. The one who had weak fins and an iron grip and no memory of the ocean. Jazz, who had been so excited to meet him.

He had been useful enough at the start. Practically hauling prowl along the dry rough pathways before they could reach the floodways proper and swim away. And it was handy to have one person with functional echolocation as they swam through the worst of the wrecked buildings, But after that he had unfortunately become quite the nuisance. Flighty and distracted by every flashy bit of detritus in the water, startled by fish a quarter of his size, and the talking. Relentless jabbering about everything and anything, occasionally bursting into one of those strange human songs, their tones and rhythm poorly suited for an aquatic environment. Prowl didn't really know why he had continued to let this stranger swim with him. Perhaps it was a debt of gratitude for helping him survive and escape. Perhaps it was his sense of duty, this jazz was ill equipped to survive on his own and had almost perished the first time they had hit a rip.

Perhaps it was because he was the only company in these waters that wasn't a bloodthirsty mutation, a shambling wretched gasping thing that was not mer not human not fish but some horrific combination of the three with their gangly limbs, razor claws and rows and rows of serrated ripping teeth.

And his singing was really good, when he chose the right song.

“Prowler I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat?” jazz asked, his posture meek as he floated neutral in the water.

“Of course there is. Just grab something and let's go. We are losing daylight and i'd like to find somewhere safe to camp before it gets dark.”

Dangerous things swam in the dark waters.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, thoroughly confused.

“Jazz we are surrounded by fish right now. Pick one and let's go.” prowl gestured to the schools of shimmering fish surrounding them. They were swimming through what had once been a park, the vegetation on the trees now replaced with algae and budding coral growths, the streetlights crusted with barnacles, and what was left of grassy fields struggling to survive as crabs and rays scuttled among the waving green vegetation grazing.

“Yeah that. How do I know which ones are good to eat? And how exactly am I supposed to just ‘grab one' they are all wicked fast.” Jazz pouted.

Prowl closed his eyes and counted to ten, digging deep for the well of patience typically reserved for only the youngest pod members before facing the mer behind him.

“You're a mer. We are the top predators of our natural environment. Everything is good to eat. Well, most of it. Watch me.” Prowl instructed as he swam off a few clicks. His echolocation was still trashed and would be until he could get back to his pods healer, so he would have to hunt by sight. Spotting a fish he liked he swiftly maneuvered around the school, herding them towards an algae covered statue to separate them. With a powerful flick of his tail he changed direction to head the stragglers off and turn them towards the branches of a tree. With another casual turn he isolated the one he wanted and with an effortless burst of speed; caught it in his claws and ripped its head off with his sharp teeth.

Jazz was in awe. Prowl moved so fast! The speed and grace in his turns as he effortlessly put the fish exactly where he needed it.

“Woah! That was slick, man I mean slick. How’d you do that?” Jazz asked with an excited shout and a backwards roll. Prowl finished the fish with a roll of his eyes.

“Everyone can do that. You can too, I know you have the agility for it. It's no harder than those silly dances the two legs made you do.”

“I don't know…”

Prowl sighed. This mer, This clever, happy, sociable mer, had been deprived of nearly every aspect of life prowl took for granted.

No open waves to surf.

No territory to call his own.

No pod to care for him.

He couldn't even hunt his own food.

They had enough time before they needed to bed down for the night.

“Here let's practice.” Prowl offered as he flicked another fish from the herd. Except this time, instead of decapitation he clipped one pectoral and half of its tail fin. As he let it go the fish wobbled back into the school, its progress hampered. When the others zigged it tended to zag.

“Catch the fish. Use any trick you can think of. Flips, rolls, dives. Whatever. Just remember that sight hunting is all about focus. Don't take your eyes off your prey for a second. Catch the fish and you will eat.” Prowl instructed.

Jazz hesitated for a moment. Then the hollow call of his stomach galvanized him to action.

Jazz bolted after the lamed fish and something began to sing in his veins. That feeling started deep in his bones and radiated up to tingle just under his skin. It electrified every muscle in his body from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose. He had never felt so at ease in water. He could feel the movement of the currents and somehow he knew exactly how to play off it. He dove and twirled and the fish scattered in a fluttering cloud of silver. A flick of his tail and he separated the other half of the herd.

He smiled as zeroed in on his target.

This felt good.

This felt right.

This felt fun.

The taste of silver fish in his mouth had never been so sweet.

[hyunnie04]

somethin' stupid

"and then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you."

yang jeongin x reader, fluff | m.list

wc: 1.2k | happy birthday innie ♡

“i'm not really interested… i'm sorry.”

you watch jeongin as he rejects yet another girl. you feel sorry for her as she stands awkwardly in the middle of the quaint cafe, fiddling anxiously with the ends of her shirt.

thankfully, the establishment was relatively empty, save for a few people discretely listening in. she goes on to nod and ramble on further until she had noticed your presence.

"-oh, i didn't realize you have a partner. sorry." her eyes dart over towards you, blush wildly painting her cheeks. she was already gone by the time you could correct her, scuttling away and leaving a trail of gossip in her wake. jeongin watches her leave, pursing his lips.

"you could've let her down easily. the poor girl was shaking..." you voiced out, stirring your iced americano and watching the ice melt bit by bit.

jeongin sighs and takes his seat across from you, taking a sip out of his own cup. he brushes your comment off and starts to talk about a different topic altogether, returning to his smiley demeanor.

you knew how jeongin was. he didn't hesitate to say no whenever someone would just come up to him, asking for his number. it happens more often than not, professions of love seemingly happening out of no where.

you were also used to it, getting stopped so frequently whenever you went out with him. dozens of people that had tried to ask him out only ended in disappointment.

he was seemingly disinterested in things like love. the topic had always eluded him, if you didn't know him any better you could have said he was uncomfortable with the idea. but you didn't pry, he must have a pretty good reason. it was understandable too, his line of work didn't exactly allow it anyways.

despite this, you have admired him in silence ever since the beginning. the feelings that had festered inside of you were kept bottled up until they threatened to spill over. and they almost did, but friendship mattered more and shot down the idea before it could ruin everything.

admittedly, there are days where you just want to explode, to confess and just get it over with. you were a hundred percent positive it would end just the same for you. the preconceived notion of him not liking you in that way, you don't think you could handle it. thinking about being rejected so coldly sends shivers down your spine.

the iced americano that sits in your hands start to sting after a while, but you pay no mind to it. the firm grip you had on it reminds you, mulling over the interaction you had earlier as he rambles about another topic. little things like paying for your coffee and bringing you other small items even if it was his birthday had in short, confused you.

maybe you're misinterpreting and just imagining things. but the way jeongin is adamant that he pays for your order every single time, or the way his hand brushes against yours more often than not and how the warmth of them lingered, says otherwise.

you also notice how he didn't correct the girl's assumption about you two.

the wind dishevels his hair upon stepping out of the cafe, rays of sunlight peaking through the leaves start to dim in the afternoon. the two of you walk for a while, kicking pebbles and rocks in comfortable silence. your head is still occupied with thoughts of him.

another thought comes into your mind amidst the internal chaos, "i almost forgot! i still need to buy you a cake." it had completely slipped from your mind, forgetting why you agreed to go out in the first place.

"it's okay, really." he laughs as you tug him along the sidewalk. you need to do something else to distract your mind and fast. jeongin jogs beside you, keeping up with your pace. it seemed like you weren't taking no for an answer and stopped right in front of a pastry shop.

"is this what you were talking about?" he hums with a grin, leaning down to browse the lines and lines of delicious looking cakes displayed in the glass casing. you made no move to go in just yet, letting him choose silently. his hair, still disheveled and tousled from the wind yet ethereal all the same.

"what if i said i liked you?"

the abrupt stupid question escapes your mouth before you could catch it. his face slowly contorts into an expression, one you could not decipher right away upon hearing it. his back straightens up as keen eyes start to focus on you.

"j-just a hypothetical! i was just really curious because of earlier and it's not serious or-" you wave your hands in front as if to physically wave it off.

"-forget i said anything." you turn your head away, voice becoming tiny and unintelligible. you could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of your head. jeongin says nothing as the tip of your ears burn a bright crimson.

you've done it now, y/n.

"hey," he nudges your side with that eye-crinkling smile you've come accustomed to.

"did you ever wonder why i keep rejecting them?" jeongin now had his hands in his pockets, a small pout forming on his lips as he pops his own query to you, staring back at the glass casings.

you said nothing, unable to respond with a reply or conclusion that would most likely be accurate, you've already embarrassed yourself in front of him today.

jeongin flicks your forehead and scoffs, “that's because i like you, idiot.”

"it was always you." his eyes were downcast, looking everywhere but yours.

you have gone unresponsive at this point. incredulous eyes stared back at him as you feel your throat dry up. it was because of you? were you dreaming? you must be.

"w-what? really?" you say quite densely whilst rubbing the sore spot on your forehead. he laughs, finally turning to you. "yes, i'm serious."

the wind blows harder this time, removing the locks that obscured his beautifully dimpled face. jeongin's eyes are still trained on you with such longing that you don't recall ever seeing on him, ultimately reminding you that this was indeed real.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for you to say those words." you breathe out in relief, one that you weren't even aware of holding.

the proximity between you two sends electrifying shocks, the mere presence of each other is enough to fluster. "i like you too." the words finally make it out of your throat.

you two burst in abrupt laughter, the tip-toeing around the situation suddenly feeling silly. a mixture look of understanding, relief, and love is shared between you two, smiling like love sick fools.

jeongin starts to drag you away by your coat, mimicking how you did to him earlier. "ah! wait, but your cake..." you see the establishment grow smaller and smaller as he drags you away.

"we don't need to worry about that now."

"can i at least buy you a present?" you reply, picking up your feet and walking alongside him. he has a wide grin on his face as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "got my present right here."

you mousily stop in your tracks as a deeper shade of crimson blooms across your face. the two of you walk side by side upon your recovery, pinky fingers now intertwined shyly around each other.

[sukunahs]

TIME PENALTY! - f1!sukuna

pairing: f1!sukuna x reader

summary: Sukuna is on the warpath after being given a time penalty in his most recent race. Luckily his cute girlfriend is waiting in his drivers room to help him let off some steam.

word count: 3.6k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, established relationship, piv, blow job, dacryphilia, spanking

authors note: if you want more f1!sukuna I wrote some headcanons for him! (pt1 / pt2 / pt3)

To say that Sukuna was pissed was an understatement. On the contrary, he was absolutely fucking livid. 

The race should’ve been his. Right now he should be up on that podium, shaking hands with whichever lucky rich person they decided to bring out that week to present the trophies. 

Instead he was in the stewards office, listening to them drone on about how they won’t be retracting the 10 second penalty that they’d bestowed upon him. He obviously hadn’t taken the news all that well, and had been politely informed that if he continued to use offensive language towards the stewards he would have drivers championship points deducted for it.

This late in the season in a championship where he and Gojo were separated by only a handful of points he knew that he couldn’t afford to lose more. So now here he was, thoroughly declawed and politely entertaining the foolish decisions of the most tiresome men he’s ever encountered. 

Sixth place - that’s his finishing position after the time deductions. He crossed the finish line in first, but allegedly he impeded Gojo on some corner and wrecked his race, allegedly Gojo would’ve won if that hadn’t happened. 

Yeah fucking right. 

But the stewards have always hated him, and in comparison they’ve always adored Ferrari’s golden boy, so of course this would be the outcome. Gojo was being given a free win, a free 25 points, whilst Sukuna was only receiving 8. 

Eight fucking points. 

This put Gojo just five points behind him in the championship race. It fucking sucked. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes in the last few races of the season. There was absolutely no way that he was letting that pretty boy take this from him. 

Sukuna was on the warpath by the time he was released from the stewards office, his own team well aware that they should stay out of his way for now - his temper was not to be reckoned with. 

There was only one person brave enough to deal with him when he was in one of these moods, the only person that he wouldn’t irrationally lash out at on sight. And that’s who he was desperately seeking out as he made his way back to his drivers room, taking no notice of the fearful Red Bull mechanics that scuttled out of sight at his approach. 

He slammed the door open so hard that the handle likely left a dent in the wall.

His eyes swept the room, instantly honing in on you. His pretty little girlfriend, all curled up on the couch playing some cute farming game on your nintendo switch. You looked sweet, his hoodie draped over you, keeping you warm. Your hair was a little disheveled on one side making him wonder if you’d taken a nap during the race - usually that would’ve frustrated him, but today was not his best performance. 

The TV was on, still playing the coverage from today’s race. They had moved on to the media segment now, taking all the driver’s thoughts from the race. He was meant to be there right now, but the media could get fucked. Not appearing was probably going to get him in more trouble with the stewards, but it would probably just be a fine - as long as they didn’t touch his points he couldn’t care less. 

“Turn that shit off.” He growled as Gojo appeared on the screen, excitedly yapping about how it was a tough race and how pleased he was for the stewards giving out well-deserved penalties. What a fucking asshole.

You did as asked, grabbing the remote and turning the screen off. You were looking at him with big eyes, clearly unsure on what to do. Usually you’d jump up and hug him, but something in his demeanor must’ve been holding you back. He supposed that this was probably the angriest you’d ever seen him, and you were likely figuring out in your head how to avoid pushing his irritation any further. 

“Kuna…” You whispered. 

Whatever you were about to say next was cut off by him stalking across the room, grabbing you by your hoodie and pressing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. He felt you tense beneath him for a moment before your hands found their way to his messy pink hair, raking through the soft strands as you deepened the kiss. 

He was on you in a second, pinning you down against the couch as he kissed you with fervour. You were so soft and pliable beneath him, his hands already sliding beneath that oversized hoodie, feeling the warmth of your soft skin.

Your hands were on him, gripping at his biceps through his long-sleeved compression shirt. He hadn’t had a chance to remove his racing suit yet, the bottom half of the fireproof material still sitting on his legs, but he knew you wouldn’t mind - you’d told him several times how hot he looked in it. 

He pulled back for a moment as his hands went to the hem of your red hoodie, pulling the article of clothing over your head. You raised your hands above your head compliantly, making his job as easy as possible. That’s what he loved so much about you, how you were always looking out for him, thinking about what he needed. You always knew when he needed to let off some steam after a race without a word of question or hesitation. 

He took a moment to admire you. With your hoodie discarded across the room it was clear that you felt a little exposed under his gaze, eyes darting around about his face anxiously. He could never understand your nervousness, not when you looked like that. You were wearing a set of red lacy lingerie that he’d bought you a while ago, the pair that he loved the most, the lace doing an excellent job of highlighting every curve of your beautiful figure. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He buried his face into your neck, sucking at the exposed skin, making sure to leave red marks in his wake. 

Leaving those marks all over your neck was one of his favourite things to do - after all the time that the two of you had spent sneaking around before going public with your relationship, he felt like he was making up for lost time in proving to the world that you belonged to him.

Meanwhile, your hands were sliding beneath his compression shirt, nails scratching at his broad back, bringing him as close to you as he could. “Take this off–” You mumbled. 

He pulled back with a slight chuckle, pulling the shirt over his head and flinging it across the room. He caught the way that you boldly checked him out, eyes flickering down to his toned abs. “Needy today, are we?” 

You ignored his teasing, pulling him back down against you. “You’re the one who wants it, Kuna.” That statement was a mistake, because it had Sukuna pulling back from you, a sharp smirk sitting on his handsome face. 

“What was that sweetheart? Are you telling me you don’t want it?” He teased.

“That’s not what I-” You let out a little whimper as his hand slipped into your panties without warning, fingers brushing against your folds as he gazed at you with a quizzical look. 

“Because you’re dripping down here.” He purred. “So I guess that makes you a liar.” 

You pouted up at him, squirming a little as his fingers started to lightly circle your clit. He loved having a reason to put you in your place at the best of times, so he certainly wasn’t letting you get away with a statement like that when he was already in such a foul mood. 

He was quick to pull his hand from your panties, maneuvering you so that you were laying across his lap. He ran his hand gently over your ass, appreciating the way that your panties accentuated the curves. 

“Kuna-” Your voice came out a little unsure, and he was quick to cut you off as he brought his hand down against your ass. You let out a little yelp, your whole body jolting at the impact. Before you could protest he was bringing his hand down again and again, adequately punishing you for your transgressions. 

“Please-” You whimpered softly as he drew his hand back once more. Your body was trembling. “I’m sorry.” 

He ignored you, letting out a quiet hum as he brought his hand down once more. His free hand found its way into your panties once more, grinning as he found you even wetter than before.

“Aww, does my precious little baby get turned on when I treat her rough like this? Bet you’d love it if I lost more races huh?” Another hard slap had you yelping out in pain, Sukuna’s hand quickly moving to soothe the reddened skin, his touch easing the sting a little. 

“Nooo.” You whined pathetically. He enjoyed the offended edge to your tone as you denied his allegation - it was cute. Of course you didn’t want him to lose races, he knew how excited you’d get for him when he won, how hard you’d kiss him when he got out of his car. 

“Mmmm, I don’t know…” His hand still soothing over your reddened ass. “Not sure I believe you, princess.” 

“Please–” You whined, your voice cracking a little as you looked back at him. Tears were staining your cheeks and it made his cock jump with desire. “I only ever want you to win, I promise.” 

“Yeah? Show me how much you mean it.” He dragged you off his lap, placing you down on your knees between his legs. He stood to shimmy off his fire-proof suit and boxers before sitting back down on the couch, admiring you beneath him. He liked having you at his feet like this, your cleavage, still clad in that pretty lingerie, looked particularly appealing from this angle. 

You got straight to work, your soft hands running gently over his cock before bringing it to your mouth. You gave it a couple of kitten licks, but Sukuna was quick to tangle his hand in your hair and shoot you a warning look, he was in no mood to be teased. 

Parting your lips you took him into your mouth, sinking yourself down the length of his cock with ease. He remembered the first time you’d ever sucked his cock, how long it had taken you to get comfortable having all of him in your mouth - you’d come a long way since then, practically an expert as you hollowed your cheeks and started to bob your head up and down his length. 

“Good girl.” He praised, gently patting your head as he watched you. Your tongue flicked along the bottom of his shaft, drawing out a deep groan from him. You’d gotten so good at giving him head that it was almost frustrating, always building him up to release so quickly. 

He thought he’d have the willpower to hold on a bit longer today with his mind so occupied with post-race anger, but he’d forgotten how relentless you could be. Your hand reaching out to squeeze gently at his balls as you continued to suck him off had him letting out a low growl of your name, but what really sent him over the edge was the way that your gaze flickered up to him, those pretty eyes of yours filled with desire. 

“Fuck–” He cursed out as he came in your mouth, watching you with satisfaction as you swallowed his load, a small trail of cum and saliva dripping from your lips as you pulled away from him with a quiet pop. 

He wasted no time in reaching down and pulling you into his lap, his cock already hardening again at the feeling of your panty-clad pussy pressing against his crotch. Bringing his lips to yours, he groaned against your mouth at the taste of himself on your tongue. 

Unclasping your bra, he flung it across the room to join the rest of your clothes. One of his hands came up to squeeze one of your breasts tightly as he continued to kiss you with fervour. His free hand snaked down between your bodies and into your panties, gathering slick along your folds for a few moments before carefully pressing two fingers into you. His mouth swallowed up the sound of the tiny little whine that left your lips at the intrusion. 

Even though he’d fucked you many times, he always found himself surprised by how tight you felt around his fingers, how intensely your body would tremble when he rubbed the pads of them against that spongey spot inside you. 

“Sukuna–” You whimpered as you pulled away from his lips, your hands bracing on his shoulders as he moved his fingers more quickly inside you. 

“You like that, baby? You gonna cum for me?” You nodded at him desperately, clearly struggling to find the right words with his thick fingers moving so deep inside you. Grinning impishly, he waited until it seemed like you were right on the edge of cumming before pinching your nipple, sending your orgasm crashing over you with greater force than you were expecting, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you cried out his name. 

You clung to him tightly for a moment, his fingers moving languidly inside you now, letting you ride out the wave fully. Once your body finally stilled, no longer jolting with aftershocks, he lifted you up and pulled off your panties.

Placing you back down on the couch, he positioned you on all fours, back arched so that your pussy was completely exposed to him. He gazed at you in that position for a moment, admiring the red handprints that he’d left across your ass, and the bites that littered your neck and shoulders. You twisted around to look at him, your eyes wide and glossy with need.

“Please, Kuna-” You begged softly. 

“Yeah, yeah. Be a good girl and turn around, I’ll give you what you want.” He promised. 

You turned away from him and he positioned himself behind you. He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your folds, teasing your opening for a few moments. He chucked each time it got caught on your clit, liking the way that you jolted with each contact. 

“Kunaaa-” You whined softly, a hint of annoyance in your tone. He loved to tease you like this - he absolutely adored seeing that sweet little look of frustration you’d get. Sometimes you’d even tell him off, and that was the absolute best thing you could do because it gave him an excuse to thoroughly put you in your place, fucking you until you were completely incoherent. 

“What’s up, baby?” He asked, unassumingly. 

“Stop messing with me.” He laughed openly at that, continuing to run his cock along your folds, one of his hands resting on the reddened skin of your ass. 

“Yeah? How about you tell me how bad you want it?” You snapped your head back to look at him, frustration and annoyance evident in your gaze as you shot him a mean glare. He smiled pleasantly back at you, it took all his willpower not to burst into laughter at how serious you looked. 

“You said you’d give me what I want.” 

“And I will.” He confirmed, pressing the tip of his cock ever so slightly into you before pulling back out again. “If you tell me how bad you want me.” His actions had an involuntary whine falling from your lips. 

“Please Sukuna.” You waited, probably to see if that was enough for him, but when he offered no reaction you continued to speak. “I need you so bad. I’ve been waiting the whole race for you to come back here, thinking about how good you’d fuck me. Please.”

That was more than good enough for him as he sank his cock into your pussy, filling you to the brim in a single thrust. He let out a contented sigh at the familiar feeling of your tight, warm pussy wrapped around him. You braced yourself against the couch, letting out a moan at the feeling of his cock stretching you out. 

“You feel so good, baby.” He praised as he started to thrust, his hands resting on your hips as he pulled you back against him, his hips snapping against your ass with vigor as he filled you up over and over again. You were letting out cute little whines, body trembling under the weight of him. 

Sukuna was so familiar with your body at this point that he had no trouble hitting that perfect spot inside you that had you crying out his name. He loved seeing the way you’d claw at the fabric beneath your hands to try and stay upright. 

In his desire to be even closer to you he pushed your whole body down onto the couch, his cock still buried deep in you as he lay on top of you, prone bone. His weight was so heavy on top of your smaller body, but this position always felt so good, his cock able to reach so deep inside of you. 

He was moving a little slower now, grinding his hips slowly against your ass, enjoying the feeling of being inside you so intensely that he never wanted to pull out. Leaning forward he tilted your head to the side, planting a sloppy kiss to your lips before speeding up his pace one more, rutting into you and desperately chasing his release. 

“Fuck, princess–” He groaned, panting hard against your ear. You were squirming a little, the intensity of the position making your brain short-wire. He could hear your breathing speeding up, a telltale sign that you were close to your release. 

“Gonna cum for me baby?” He asked. You weren’t able to respond, your face buried into the couch cushion beneath you, drool seeping from your lips at how good it felt to have his cock inside you like this. 

He slid his hand beneath you and softly started to rub at your clit, the additional stimulation causing you to tense beneath him. He felt your pussy clench around his cock as you let out a cry of his name, your body convulsing as your orgasm washed over you. 

Satisfied with your reaction, Sukuna began to speed up, skin slapping hard against skin as he fucked into you. He could hear you whining beneath him, overstimulated from your orgasm, but he didn’t let up. 

“Come on sweetheart, just take it for me.” He ordered, his voice coming out strained from how good he felt in that moment. A few more thrusts and he was cumming, spilling his seed deep inside you and collapsing on top of you. 

You let out a pathetic little whine of protest, trying to tell him that he was too heavy to lie on top of you like that - but he paid you no mind, revelling in the comfort of your warmth. The two of you stayed like that for a while, his fingers tracing idle lines on your bare skin, the room only filled with the sound of your soft breathing. 

It took a bit of time for Sukuna to convince himself to pull out, not wanting to go out and face the world again, keen to just stay lost in your presence - but the team would want to debrief with him at some point and he couldn’t put it off forever. 

He staggered to his feet, admiring your tired body spread out on the couch. Cum had started to seep out of your pussy, trickling down your thigh. You always looked so pretty after he’d fucked you, marked with evidence of him, looking so much like you belonged to him that it made his heart soar. 

You looked up at him with tired eyes. “Feel any better?” You asked quietly. 

“Mmm, much better.” He said. Grabbing his hoodie from the floor, he draped it over you. “Stay here princess, I’ll be back soon.” 

He headed towards the door, his frustration already returning at the thought of the scolding that he’d likely receive from the team principal - not just for the penalty and aggravation of the stewards, but now also for skipping the talks with the media that he was supposed to go to. Its all so fucking troublesome. 

“Sukuna.” Your soft voice pulled it from his thoughts. 

“Yeah?” You were sitting up now, gazing at him with a look that he could only describe as pure adoration. How someone as rough around the edges as him had someone as sweet as you looking at him like that he’d never know. 

“You know that you’re the best, right?”

He raised an eyebrow at you quizzically, a little caught off guard. “Oh? In general?” 

You rolled your eyes at him, but a cute little smile spread across your lips. “I meant at racing, but yeah.” He barked out a laugh and walked back over to you, planting a sweet kiss on your lips.

He was already well aware of how good he was at racing, he was already a two-time world champion after all. But somehow hearing those earnest words from your lips made it feel like the weight of today’s shitty race had been lifted off his chest. 

What did it matter what the team principal had to say? What punishments the stewards wanted to inflict on him? He was the best, and win or lose he got to go home to you, the woman who looked at him like he held the whole world in his hands. 

“Thanks princess.” 

He’d win this year’s drivers championship, and then he’d show you just how much your support meant to him.

© sukunahs