#without being too straining on the daily

[marmorenshud]

actually am proud of myself for reading two books in 18 days (300 pages each) I think that's the fastest I've read apart from the time I was suicidal which is really not a standard to hold yourself up to. but particularly impressed since I don't have a commute anymore. might even finish one or two short books more (~100p) before april runs out which would be incredible. previously I've read about a book a month (but somehow still falling short of 12 a year goal) but if I finish this one today, I'll already be at half my goal before any of the major holidays.

[liveontelevision]

Quick Fix | Alastor X Reader

My first smut! This was harder than i expected 🥲 let me know what y'all think <3

Preview:

"You Asshole!! What were you thinking?? What made you think you could beat a fucking exorcist without an angelic weapon? Let alone, Adam!" You were pacing back and forth in the half lounge/half swamp room. The radio demon sat on the cushioned chair by the green-flamed fireplace. He seems completely unphased, not exactly angry or sad, just empty.

"You may be strong, Alastor, but know your fucking limits! Fuck!" You scolded him, looking in his direction every so often, hoping for some kind of response. Anger, guilt, anything.

•••

You became close with Alastor after appearing in the hotel just weeks before the battle on extermination day. After constantly complaining about being bored, the demon was finally sick of it. He let you sit in during his broadcasts, have morning tea with him, and eventually become a part of his daily routine. You were less whiney when preoccupied, Alastor told you, as a way to cover his enjoyment of having you nearby wherever he went. You became closer after time due to your constant questioning. He told you small things, like the type of jazz he enjoyed, specific whiskeys he liked while alive, and his plans for upcoming broadcasts.

He was too stubborn to admit this was anything beyond wanting occasional company. And you were too dense to really notice his soft blushes that would creep across his cheeks whenever you gave him a quick hug, or how he would lay his hand overtop yours when your arms were linked, or the occasional sweet smiles that he'd adorn while looking at you.

Putting the obvious feelings aside, you became incredibly concerned hearing that Alastor volunteered to take care of Adam during the upcoming war. You did what you could during the battle, mainly shielding yourself from oncoming attacks and leading exterminators to those who were equipped to land the final strike. Occasionally, you'd notice some small black and white stitched dolls running around and taking out exterminators that you didn't notice. One's that would've surely killed you. All you could do was shelter yourself from the slaughter after the shield cracked around the hotel. You didn't get a chance to even process everything until the battle had finally ended.

No one had seen Alastor for days while renovating the hotel, only appearing once the grand opening arrived. He was chipper and devious, like usual, acting completely normal (or however normal looks on a radio demon) around everyone. He would attempt to tease you, but you were quick to dismiss him, or turn your back, or simply walk away.

When chasing around Niffty one night, after she managed to steal your jacket with the smallest stain, you turn a corner and smack right into Alastor's chest. You hold in your gasp, straining your neck to look the demon in the eyes.

"Alastor! S-sorry, see, Niffty took my jacket and i think she went that way, so i starting running and-" your quick words were immediately silenced once you saw him hunch over, holding himself up with a hand on his knee, the other gripping tightly onto his chest.

"Alastor, what's wrong? Hey, talk to me! Al, please..!" You hovered around him, noticing a small stain of blood form on his suit. Your eyes were quick to well up with tears, assuming that wound was your fault. He lifted his head to see your sorry state and quickly stood straight. He acted as if he wasnt just hunched over in pain, "Come my dear, i assure you this has nothing to do with you. No need to worry your little head." He spoke sweetly, patting your head, as if the blood stain wasnt slowly spreading across his suit.

It didn't take long for you to question and pester him into letting you follow him to his room. Just for tea, he clarified. He routinely hung up his coat as he entered his room, taking a heavy seat in his chair. You refused to say anything in that moment. You had nothing to say to him. He needed to explain himself to you. You held your cup in your hands, watching him casually drink his tea, simply ignoring the large stain across his shirt. He finally let out a sigh, wanting to end this awkward silence.

"I seemed to have taken some damage during my battle with Adam. I was quick to make the right decision, and left the battle." He shrugged off the statement as if it were no big deal. "And clearly it was the proper response, I would hate to get in the way of Lucifer's battle." He hissed out the king's name, scowling at the thought of him finishing Adam off himself.

He widened his eyes in your direction, hearing the shatter of procelain. Your hands were shaking to the point that your cup fell off your lap. The sudden sound made Alastor's ears fall back for just a moment.

"Are you... fucking kidding me??" You shouted at him, standing up and huffing your arms across your chest.

"You Asshole!! What were you thinking?? What made you think you could beat a fucking exorcist without an angelic weapon? Let alone, Adam!" You were pacing back and forth in the half lounge/half swamp room. The radio demon sat on the cushioned chair by the green-flamed fireplace. He seems completely unphased, not exactly angry or sad, just annoyed.

"You may be strong, Alastor, but know your fucking limits! Fuck!" You scolded him, looking in his direction every so often, hoping for some kind of response. Anger, guilt, anything.

You felt a hand wrap its fingers around your wrist, pulling you to attention.

"Watch what you say, dear. You'd be a fool to question my strength, again." He spoke in a low frequency, making your heart thump. You quickly snapped away your wrist, looking at him with an unphased expression.

"Then show me. I want to see what he did." This was the first time you spoke so strictly towards him. It shocked him a bit. He groaned and sat back in his chair, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a poorly stitched together wound that trailed from his hip to his shoulder. You tensed your entire body, feeling and looking as small as possible. Of course, you weren't the best of friends, but it still tugged at your heart strings that he wouldn't tell you about this. And as much as you hated to admit it, seeing his bare chest did make you flush.

His head fell into his hand that rested on the arm of his chair, turning his eyes away from your direction. He didn't turn back to you until he heard a small hic. Your eyes welled with tears again, and trying to hold your breath wasn't working." I-I.. i'm so sorry, Alastor, i didn't know you got hurt. I was just.. I was worried... about you." You sniffled in between your words, wiping your eyes. You suddenly feel a hand on the back of your head, Alastor pulls you in, letting your head rest against his chest. Your heart raced, worried that you'd be hurting him more and simply embarrassed to be this close to him. You looked up to meet his eyed, his smile was geniune and sweet, again. A sight you haven't seen in days.

"It's healing fine, darling, our little collision earlier simply pulled the stiches a tad, not to worry." He placed a quick kiss to your head, something you were hardly expecting.

"Was it.. scary?" You asked softly, dewy eyes still looking at him, as he brushed his thumb across your cheek to wipe a falling tear. He held his breath at your question. There was an obvious response. He ruined his microphone, was humilated by a frat boy (Adam) and nearly died. But he would die all over again before admitting his fear.

"Not at all! I've taken much harder hits, i told you, you have nothing to worry about." He spoke quickly, repeating himself to imply an end to the questioning. You looked down at his wound, audibly wincing. Reaching your hand out, you lightly brushed your fingers against the barely scabbed slash. He was quick to flinch backwards at the sudden touch, but kept still after that. He told himself it was to help ease your nerves, but he was denying the fact that your cool hand seemed to ease his pain. You perked up, looking back to him, with a determined look on your face.

" I can sew! I do it all the time! It.. It wont be medical grade - not even close-  but youre falling apart here." You needed to help him somehow. Alastor was conflicted again, nervous at the idea of a more intimate touch, but.. still wanting it. Especially from you. He lets out a hum, and nods. Your eyes brightened immediately, making him smirk a bit more. "Okay! All i need is my little sewing kit, i think i left it in my room, let me get it-" you turned towards the door, suddenly becoming disoriented at the sigh of your own bedroom. You turned back to Alastor, who had sauntered over to your bed and plopped himself down on the side." O-Oh, sure.. this works." You let out a nervous chuckle, gathering some items before sitting next to him on your bed. As you got situated, Alastor laid his back against the bed, hands holding his head. He hummed a soft tune, trying to relax himself as much as he could in this situation. The scent of your room, your body so close to him right where you sleep. Where you would -

He chokes on nothing, before letting his gaze rest on the cieling.

"O-Okay, i know it's gonna hurt, so.. tell me if it's too much, i guess.." You try to warn him, slowly beginning to pull out the thick, coarse, thread that he had clearly used on himself. You cringe at the thought of him stiching up his own fresh wounds, but once you thread your needle, you focused quickly. You were very steady. One hand was placed on his hip, the other looping the bright green thread - the only color you had - through toughened skin. You tried not to get distracted but the numerous smaller scars that led across his entirety. Or by the raising of his chest as he breathed. The moment was so calm, Alastor clearly enjoying this sort of treatment.

"You're doing okay? Need a break? I'm just about halfway there-"

"Darling, what did i say about questioning my strength? If you ask agai-" you suddenly hit a specific spot that must have been especially tender.

"Yeah yeah, i know you can handle it, just making sure. And sit still!" You quickly dismissed his threat.

After a quiet few minutes, you gently tugged the thread, closing the wound as tight as it could be. The silence was calm, neither of you feeling the need to make senseless small talk. You finally sit up with your hands on your hips.

"Done!" You speak triumphantly, appreciating your handy work. Alastor took a moment to sit up. He hadn't fallen asleep exactly, but he sure wasn't entirely awake. He looks down and runs his clawed hands across the threaded wound, surprised by how clean it looked. You immediately noticed that he was surprised by the quality of your stitching, making you scoff and give him a teasing push." I told you i could help! It looks good, just thank me already." You scolded, rolling his eyes at his patronizing actions.

Alastor chuckles delightfully, leaning his body closer to yours.

"Thank you, dear." He spoke in a low tone, almost too close to your face. You attempted to turn your head away, but he was quick to take a hold of your chin and bring your eyes back on him.

" Is that what you want to hear? Hm? Or.. did you want me to repay you some other way?" He was clearly teasing, loving the absolute nervous wreck you were becoming.

"Yes, please." You squeeked out. The look in his eyes was confused, not exactly expecting you to give in so easily. Usually, you were so stubborn when he would treat you this way, but not seeing him for days on end drove you to nod in response to his question immediately.

"Hm. Well, since you worked so skillfully, i suppose you deserve a reward." He pulled you in, his breath heating the skin right by your ear." - And because you asked so nicely~" he murmured, making your face instantly hot. You took a hold of his face and quickly pulled your lips together, giving him no time to tease you any more than he already had. He swallowed whatever he was about to say and gave in to the kiss. He scooched closer, pulling you towards him by your waist at the same time. He pulled away from your lips to enjoy the breathless, flushed look on your face. The demon let out a low chuckle before taking your waist again and pushing your back to the bed, following along with the movement.

He found himself looming over your body, his hands on either side of your head.

"I'll be gentle, cher, not to worry." He spoke sweetly, quick to trace his hand under your shirt. He traced his claws up the center of your stomach and up to your chest, your top being pulled up along with his movement. It revealed a lovely dark red bralette with little structure and thin material, leaving very little to the imagination. He looked over you like he was ready to pounce. Alastor leaned down, locking your lips to his again. You parted your own lips, moving your tongue into his mouth. He flinched in surprise but did his best to conceal it. Your arms wrapped around his neck, running your hands through his hair, as you arched your back towards his body, longing to be closer. He shifted his position, since you had so rudely pulled him down by his neck, to sit atop your hips. The sudden sensation made you yelp into the kiss. Alastor forcefully pulled himself away and sat up to enjoy the desperate look on your face.

"My, my~ eager aren't we?" He teases, running his thumb across his wet lips.

"But you've done enough for me, my dear. Please, just enjoy the show." He had a devilish smile, pulling your bottoms and panties off you while he spoke. You clenched your fists onto the sheets, tensing from sheer anticipation. He moved off the bed and took a hold of your hips, gently palming them before quickly yanking your body to the edge of the bed. You yelped and sat up. "Alastor, be careful! I don't know if you should- i-if you should..." you covered your mouth, not finishing your sentence but desperate to not let out any noises, as he pulled your thighs apart, sitting in between them. He ran his lips across the softness of your inner thighs, leaving occasional bruises on the way towards your center.

He tantalizingly ran his tongue across your folds, somehow already soaked after the past few moments. He lapped up some of your juices, before flicking his tongue across your clit, circling the area immediately. The sharp sensitivity made you jolt, attempting to grab his hair, but accidentally grabbing onto one of his ears. He yelped, flinching at the sensation, but immediately flushing after. You couldn't help but giggle, hearing this powerful demon yelp.

He wasn't happy about being laughed at. He gave you no warning, before jutting two of his fingers into your enterance. You gasp, arching your back into his touch, hand still held tightly on to a combination of his hair and the side of his ear. He would never admit how much that fueled him. He curled his fingers slightly, but not entirely. And began to pump his fingers, but not as fast as you'd like. He knew what he was doing.

"Alastor..! Ahh-" you moaned out his name, grinding against his fingers. Powered by the sound of his name on your trembling lips, he pumped his fingers faster, placing his tongue back against your clit. The sensation when those two actions hit you, made you moan out even louder, your body squirming against his face. He took a hold of your leg and pulled it over his shoulder, to reach an even deeper spot inside of you. "H-Hold on, that's too much..! Al-Alastor i'm gonna cum, you h-have to stop..!" You quickly warn him, giving his hair another yank. He simply ignored any warnings you cried out, letting the feeling build until you lost control. You arched your back, your body convulsing as he continued to overstimulate your cunt. Your eyes watered, trying to squirm away from his grasp, but he wasn't done with you. He held onto your legs, refusing to let you get away for minutes.

"S-Stop! I can't.. mm- it's too much- Al p-please.." you start to beg, the orgasm becoming a slight pain in your stomach. He pulled away quickly, not giving you the satisfaction of letting you ride out your pleasure, which only made your breathing hitch. He went back in for a moment, running his tongue entirely across your folds, cleaning up the juices that were pooling on the blanket beneath you.

He pulled you back onto the bed, letting you catch your breath. He rested his head on his hand, humming satisified at your almost pained reaction.

"Well well.. was that too much to handle? Do you not have the strength to endure anything else?" He teased, faking a coddling voice. He swung his legs back over you, straddling you once again.

"I told you darling, even in my weakened state, you underestimate my strength." He gloated, wickedly smiling down at you. His pride let him go on like this for a moment, before you took the collar of his unbottoned shirt and yanked him to face you. You went on and pressed a heavy kiss onto his lips, immediately pushing your tongue back into his mouth, feeling the dampness that you caused on his chin. You went on like this to the point of him melting into your grasp, letting out small noises into your mouth. Once you were satsified, you pulled him back. Looking at him with sweet doe eyes.

"Alastor? Love?"

you pulled him closer, never giving him a chance to reply, lips pressed against the side of his head.

"Ruin me~" you let out in a silky voice. You released his collar letting him jolt up at the sudden boldness, looking into your eyes that had a lust he never expected to see.

He cleared his throat then shook the surprised look off his face.

"If you insist, Love.."

He tried to play off his growing excitment, but the way he hurriedly took off his trousers, immediately leaving his throbbing cock against your opening, was a clear indicator that you said all the right things. He barely gave you a chance to prepare, before thrusting his hips until he was completely inside of you. Even trying to play off the intimidating and strong act, you could still tell he knocked the wind out of himself. He was quick to begin moving, starting slow to let your discomfort melt away, then setting a hasty rhythm after. His claws dug until your hips, just enough to draw a trail of blood that ran down your thigh. The sight of it drove Alastor even crazier.

He began to lose his strength as he started to reach his orgasm. He fell forward, immediately biting into the flesh of your neck to anchor himself. You let out a stiffled yell, the combination of pain and overstimulated pleasure driving your body to cum almost instantly. You hold onto his back, nails scratching his skin. You could feel him shiver in response. He only went on harder trying to achieve his own high, which was quick to follow yours. He held your hips flush to his as he came inside of you, then after holding that position for a moment, he thrusted his hips into your already full entrance. You let out a pathetic whimper as he sat up, looking down and appreciating the mess of bruises and bites he managed to leave on your soft bust. He licked his lips, taking in a bit of the blood that seeped from those very wounds.

Alastor almost immediately stood up, coming back composed as ever. He delicately cleaned you up, before laying back down onto your bed, next to your still heaving body.

"Asshole, give me a second.." you managed to mumble at him, wiping tears from your eyes. You finally get a chance to look at him, seeing his devious smile. "Okay! Fine! I get it, youre still as strong as ever, get over it!" You yelled, knowing thats what he wanted to hear.

"Of course I am, cher! But.. i'll be more careful from now on, so you won't constantly pester me about my wounds." He spat out, clearly meaning to reassure you, even though he sounded pained to give in to you like that. You smile and give him a quick kiss before your eyes trail back down to his chest, half the fresh stitches ripped open. You roll your eyes before getting up to grab your needle and thread again.

"Oh my! I suppose you'll have to fix me up again! Be more thorough this time, dear. i'll have to thank you for this repair, as well."

[bunji-enthusiast]

I'm so sorry if I filled up your request box! I'll try and slow down the requests 💀

But, think about this, Catnap and Dogday both being clingy towards Smiling Critter! Reader 👀✨ perhaps they're both acting this way due to the Reader spending less time with them, part of it due to the Playcare getting busier and busier with new orphans coming in. The other Critters also felt a left out but not as much as Catnap and Dogday. The reader indulged them in their clinginess but oh my Prototype, the reader suddenly has to get transferred to the game station??

For what reason is up to you along with the rest of the idea, I wanna see what you can cooked up 👀✨

Good luckkk 👀✨👍

Alternative For Two

Note || I love a challenge! I hope this lived up to your expectations 🤞

WC || 1,279

Sypnosis || two clingy little boys desperately trying to get your attention once more, but what happens once they learn of your sudden transfer?

More often than not, you were quite distant. Indifferent to hanging around the other Smiling Critters, on a daily basis there always seemed to be more and more orphans coming in and out of Playcare. So you were busy tending to them as much as possible. 

Then there was DogDay and CatNap, they were also playcare attendants but they had a particular clinginess to hanging around you–you always indulged in affections for them. They were absolutely fluffy, and you didn’t mind putting aside some time for them.

Yet as of late, you were busier and busier with each passing moment. Well, not always could your time be occupied, by mandatory state regulation you had to have breaks from time to time. 

CatNap and DogDay were a little worried, being a little more clingy as time passed. You had wondered before why they were behaving this way, you just had been busy is all. There are many orphans to take care of and tend to.

“This is interestin’.” You murmur, seeing official paper of transfer right in front of your very eyes. You truly didn’t expect to see something like this today, but your only biggest problem is how you would tell your friends you are being transferred. No less the reason being it is for it. 

Especially with having two particularly clingy friends of yours at the hip, always vying for your attention for some odd reason.

Perhaps, you thought, that you could distance yourself for a while. Long enough for every single one of your friends to start getting detached from you, you weren’t going to be able to see them as often as you would anymore.

Even more-so, management had only just now decided to transfer you to game station of all places? 

“Crazy, if you ask me.” Another voice broke you out of your thoughts, “I thought Mommy handled the station?” KickinChicken, one of your many friends. He was more keen on keeping secrets more than anything, inquiring about the girgaum of information management that had been passing lately. 

You nodded, setting the paper at your side. “You're right, I suppose they needed more hands? There have been more and more orphans coming into both the game station and Playcare as of late.” You cross your arms, tapping your foot as you think about it more clearly. 

KickinChicken shrugs, not even a hint of amusement shining through his expression. “I dunno, but I really wished you could stay here with us.” 

You too, wished for the same condition. “Oh but, I feel bad for DogDay and CatNap too.” You mutter, your voice clearly not being masked as your strained emotions shined through. KickinChicken laid a hand on your shoulder, rarely had he been the one to reassure someone, but this was right now.

“When’s all said and done, they’re your friends.” Your yellow-feathered companion nodded without a shadow of doubt betraying his unwavering confidence, “I’m sure they’ll understand.” 

KickinChicken was right, they’re your friends you had reminded yourself–with an affirmed nod. “I guess you’d be right, I shouldn’t be that doubtful of them.” You spoke slowly, letting out a fluctuating groan once more. 

“Well,” He began after the time had passed, very awkwardly. “You’ve still got time and things to do here, right? Cherish it, y’know.” KickinChicken removed his feathered hand from your shoulder, taking a step back from you. 

“Anyway, I gotta go take care of some kids.” He waved, a silence filled the air before he finally decided to elaborate, “A group got assigned to me.” To which in turn you nodded, he prompted a step of hesitance–then left you alone with your thoughts. 

You sighed once KickinChicken left, your shoulders slumping as you were practically left in a defeated state.

Ah, why did the gift of existing have to be so complicated?

All the children in the room with you were right as rain, everything was going smoothly. You just didn’t expect such a sudden surprise from behind when a mysterious figure hugged you from behind, you yelped and turned around to see who it was. 

“CatNap!” You utter without missing a semblance of a beat, looking up to see his beady white eyes interlocking with yours. 

“Very… distant.” CatNap mumbled, audible enough for you to hear, no one else is close enough to hear your conversation. You raised a brow at what he had meant, blinking at him in confusion for a few moments to discern the meaning behind his words. He relaxed his hold on you, then sat down.

Finally, the cogs in your head had adjusted correctly, “OH! I’m just… pretty busy.” You nodded, “You know how it is with all the new orphans we’ve been taking in lately.” CatNap’s head lolled about as if he was heeding your words, considering them. 

“No kidding!” Another interjected, your head turned to figure the source of the new voice, it was DogDay! How surprising it is they are both with you now and again. “But I’m glad we can help them, they aren’t alone as we aren’t either Angel.”

DogDay nodded, proud of his statement. CatNap stepped sideways a little bit to make room for the sunny dog who was now sitting down next to CatNap. 

“I suppose this is an intervention or something?” You inquired, your brow raised with a quirk as you set down the box of toys that you had held steady in your hands. DogDay raised his hands, slightly flailing about as if a blush of embarrassment bloomed across his brightly orange-yellow face. “Not at all! We just like spending time with you.” DogDay replied, CatNap nodding along at the dog’s words as he spoke.

Your tense expression eased up, still not letting up on the fact you felt a ball of anxiety forming in your gut, about ready to cause you to burst into tears. About any emotion really. A sort of darkness overshadows your own heart in this very moment, allowing you to stay still and remain calm. Whatever your feeling right now was most likely untrue or unnecessary.

“Well alright, mind helping me with these then?” You heaved a heavy breath as you picked up the box of toys, gesturing to the other ones you had at your feet. 

DogDay and CatNap looked to where you had pointed, then nodded, already making movements to take one each and follow you behind. “So, I was wondering… maybe you want to hang out with the rest of us later?” DogDay wanted to ask what was up with you, but he didn’t want to probe you for answers, thinking it to be rude. Merely only asking a silly question.

“After this? Sure!” You grin, beaming with excitement at the prospect.

They really wished you would have stuck to your promise, you weren’t one to make and break promises just like that. DogDay was happy to hang with you again after some time now, as was CatNap (in spite of being a very tired cat). 

“We just now know of this?” DogDay’s voice trembled, holding the official paper that would notify you of transfer.

It had seemed you were whisked away to be transferred earlier to the game station then expected. Only KickinChicken knew of this, which was the only way to tell CatNap and DogDay about your predicament.

KickinChicken frowned, shrugging as his foot kicked away a stray plastic pebble. CatNap was remaining quiet, even more eerily than usual–that wasn’t normal. “M’ sorry, I assumed [First Name] would’ve told you beforehand?”

CatNap shook his head, DogDay’s fabricated lips pursed, his expression contorting to that of a defeated state.

You were really gone.

[howtofightwrite]

If someone was shot through the thigh (Nothing major hit, clean entry/exit wounds if logistically possible, how long would it take before they could walk without an aid of some kind? I'm counting hobbling and limping as walking.

Follow Up Question: Any idea what kind of med care that would need without getting a hospital involved with it?

So, this is one of those times where the answer really is, “it depends.” While you can't walk off a gunshot wound, getting shot in the leg might not actually stop you from walking or running, though this comes with a caveat that you're not going to make it especially far. Though the answer to, “how far?” could easily be, “as far as adrenaline will carry you.” This includes cases where the bullet fractures the bone, but doesn't completely shatter it. Though, those cases are going to be extremely unpleasant (for obvious reasons.)

Actual recovery times will vary wildly depending on far too many factors, and you can end up with chronic pain that never heals. Best case, you're looking at a couple weeks before the wound heals, most of the time you're looking at a few months, and lingering pain could last for over a year (if it ever does go away.)

While this is an unusual example, the warning about not aggravating a wound still applies, and trying to hobble around after getting shot is a fantastic way to inflict more harm on yourself. Figure it will take roughly ten weeks for the meat to properly heal up, and while you might be somewhat mobile before that time, it's probably a good idea not to overly stress it before it has fully recovered.

As for medical treatment, most of that is going to be packing it with gauze and (ideally) getting dosed out of your gourd on antibiotics. Gauze is easy, and the only real concern there is keeping you from leaking blood all over the place (while also providing some protection against future infection. The gauze needs to be changed, at least, daily, and the wound will need to be packed with gauze (so, not just wrapping it around the leg.) Getting the latter without a hospital is going to be a lot harder these days. The rise of antibiotic resistant bacteria strains means that these kinds of antibiotics are kept on a much shorter leash today. Unfortunately, it's also kinda critical for the whole, “not dying,” thing.

It turns out that the whole part about a bullet being hot enough to sterilize itself is a myth, so any bacteria on the bullet, and of course, any bacteria that gets into the wound itself after the fact, will have a very easy path to infection. Deep tissue wounds like this are a hugeinfection risk, and these are the kinds of infections that can easily turn lethal.

Of course, a doctor will be better able to assess whether the injury was actually a clean through'n'through, or if something was nicked. A bullet can easily graze an artery, leading to persistent bleeding that will kill the victim without surgical assistance, but won't be fast enough to look worrying. It's just when it doesn't stop after several days of bleeding, that they might realize this is very bad.

So, again, they could potentially be on their feet immediately after being shot. How long it would take them to recover is a lot harder to assess, and if they did insist in walking around, that could make things much worse.

-Starke

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[midnightarcheress]

and they said speak now

it's no use, i just love you. pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader cw: nsfw bits. angst (with comfort?). sad yearning simon. sad yearning reader (in denial). enemies to... something. reader is part of tf141. no use of y/n. part 1 | part 2

Simon hasn’t heard from you since that catastrophic day. 

the day he turned your life upside down. the one in which he ruined your wedding, blurted out a hushed love confession, and broke your heart by spilling the truth about your ex-fiancé. the day he watched you walk away in a tear-stained wedding dress, without the certainty that you would ever come back. 

how much time does someone need to process all of that?

the following weeks felt like years. the days were unbearable, drowning in paperwork in a frantic attempt to keep his mind from sulking on his actions, possible by the strange lack of assignments during the period. did the terrorists take a break? his other option - admittedly the one he would spend most of his time doing - was staring at the ceiling of his quarters for hours as his body created a permanent indent on the mattress, a perfect tailored grave for his crestfallen soul.

the nights were even worse. he kept dreaming about you. sometimes it was warm, you snuggled in his arms, back pressed firmly against his chest while you fidgeted with the fingers interlaced with yours and he planted kisses on your shoulder, your neck, your cheek. sometimes it was ugly, your eyes shooting daggers to his heart and your enraged voice piercing through his eardrum in another daily fight, taking a toll on his mind like a frightful PTSD flashback.

sometimes it was erotic, his eyes savoring the view of your bouncing tits and beautiful flushed face whilst he pounded every inch of his cock in your tight cunt, filling the room with your pretty moans and pleas as he guided you to your third orgasm. sometimes it was horrifying, hearing your agonizing screams and watching you being repeatedly shot while he tried to rush to your position, without ever actually moving his feet, only adding your body to the long list of people he had failed to save. 

no matter the scenario, it would always end with Ghost jolting awake to heart palpitations and heavy breathing, struggling to get a hold of himself. as much as your presence would drive him to madness, your absence managed to make his brain spiral. went down an endless rabbit hole and missed every chance to grasp the flimsy rope of reality.

he thought about calling. almost did a few times, glaring at your name on his contact list but never pressing the button, especially after nights out in the pub with Soap. “what ye gonna do about it, Lt? think the lass is gonna give ye a chance?” but in truthfulness, he didn’t know what to say; no words were enough to describe how guilty he felt and how sorry he was. he just needed to hear your voice. know that you were okay, or at least, alive and breathing.

no one really knew how you were, where you were, or when you’d be back; Price only stated that you extended your honeymoon leave for an indefinite amount of time. despite being your captain, he wasn’t going to question your necessity for serenity, after all, he was there when your life crumbled apart - one minute Simon was quiet on his seat, the next he was standing in the middle of the church, twisting the team’s perception of your strained relationship and leaving their jaws in agape.

while Simon deteriorated in remorse, already grieving the lost possibility of you ever being his, you made use of the no-refund policy of your honeymoon trip. a week in an all-inclusive resort by the beach, enjoying the crystal clear waters and the too-many-to-count cocktails to numb your achy heart that almost made you wake up in different rooms a few nights.

still, the only thing the hotel didn’t include on the menus was peace. as much as you tried, your mind kept reliving the wedding over, and over, and over. the memory of Ghost standing up and daring to violate your sacred moment, the sight of his wide eyes when he confirmed your doubts about your then-partner, the troublesome twinge in your chest as he begged for a chance to love you - a relentless feel you’ve been carrying everyday.

seven days at an alleged paradise were not enough to cleanse your spirit. the light waves of the ocean cradling your body couldn’t soothe your distress, as the deep end seemed to have a higher draw on you, luring you to a darker place where you could wallow without shame. misery loves company, i guess. 

despite your best efforts, the following weeks were equally bleak. while you managed to maintain your focus out of your own life during the day, the dark blues of the nightfall outlining the nature’s silhouettes seen from your flat’s balcony only brought back the daunting awareness of duty. you couldn’t hide forever. it was time to be back.

your footsteps echoed in the base hallways as you made your way to the conference room, anxiety pooling on your insides and almost making you empty your stomach right there and then. in a way, it was nice to finally be back at work, fingers itching due to the need to hold a rifle and unload an entire cartridge at the first target that comes into sight. in another, you were dreading the idea of coming face to face with your friends after that disastrous day and, more importantly, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Ghost.

your frame on the doorway interrupted Price’s speech during a long awaited briefing for the team’s next mission. the atmosphere in the room suddenly got heavy, crisp air filling your lungs as four pairs of eyes glanced in your direction, taking your unforeseen arrival with the same shock as if you were a mythical creature.

“good to have you back.” the captain said, gesturing to you to join the reunion.

with a silent greeting, your legs made their way to a seat around the table, avoiding the prying looks as much as possible but ultimately failing. their watchful gaze dawned on you like cars slowing down next to an accident site, everybody stopping to see the wreckage and pity the poor life stuck in the rubbish. 

but there was one set of eyes in particular that never shifted. without even facing him, you could feel Simon’s glare boring into your figure, urging you to turn your head in his direction, pleading for an ounce of awareness. his heart was beating rapidly for the first time in weeks, your presence being enough to send him to an overdrive and to turn Price’s words into white noise in the background.

in the milliseconds in which Simon looked away, you were gone. the briefing didn't last long and you decided not to linger around after it ended, fleeing the room in a hurry to avert any conversation. he was hoping for an opportunity to check on you, to talk, to explain. to pour out his feelings once again, without the pressure of trying to stop you from getting married, wishing that the time you spent apart was enough to earn at least some compassion from you. 

running away from him again almost made you feel like a coward. you had always been able to stand toe to toe with Ghost, rebutting each of his snarky statements with even more venomous remarks, not caring if it would ever truly affect him. he didn’t act like it did. but in that moment, you couldn’t shake the anxiety that dominated your senses.

after years doing it, you knew that working out was a great stress-reliever and you didn’t hesitate on heading to the training room. focusing on a repetitive task that exerted your body to maximum was the easy way out of the teetering breakdown crawling its way to the surface. the sound of dull blows on the punching bag ricocheted in the empty area as you cleared your brain of any thoughts regarding him. it had been a while since you exercised, but instead of getting tired, each punch only gave you more energy, the sting on your fists only fueling your anger to the brim. 

“careful there.” the gruff voice filled the nearly silent room and made you startle, quickly snapping your head towards the entrance. Ghost’s tall frame was leaning on the doorway, eyes carefully watching you as you furrowed your brows at him.

he takes a few steps in your direction, easing his way into your eyesight like a stray puppy who just wants a home. you simply choose to ignore him and go back to the punching bag, pushing aside the desperate need to ignite that fire again, to feel the fireworks bursting your chest the same way it did when his warm tongue swirled around yours.

“can we talk?” he asks, searching your eyes for even a hint of compassion but being met with nothing but a cold silence, “please?”

“no.” 

your tone is harsh, grating his ears as you keep your stance, landing countless jabs in the sack. Simon is quiet, observing the intensity of your moves and how you don’t flinch despite having sore knuckles at this point. probably imagining it’s my face, he thinks, glancing around the room until his gaze falls on the sparring mat, getting the gears of his brain turning.

“let’s fight then.”

that stumps you and makes you raise your eyes. “what?”

“if you don’t wanna talk, let’s fight. we’re good at that.” he says, already stepping on the mat and stretching his arms, preparing himself for the match.

“i’m not gonna fight you, Ghost.” your eyes roll at the proposition.

“scared of getting your arse beat?” he teases, reminiscing the way he’s used to treating you. he knows you never back off from a challenge, especially coming from him, no matter how insane it sounds. you’re aware of his size and how easily it’d be for him to break you, even with your skills in single combat, but you can’t prevent your blood from boiling at the mocking undertone of his question. 

without another second of doubt, you follow him to the mat, making small jumps to get your limbs loose and your blood circulating. his attentive gaze never leaves you, happily taking in your rage over the recent apathy with a pleased grin plastered on his face, the first genuine smile he has in days. at least it’s something.

the first move is his, throwing a quick blow at your head, which you swiftly avoid by stepping back. you’re determined to not let him win, your competitive side always overruling your better judgment. but you are even more determined to not allow him to let you win. 

grunts and thuds fill the air as you exchange blows, each strike hitting harder than the previous. “i’ve missed you.” he says, lunging forward to kick your side. you roll your eyes in annoyance, but it’s truly exciting to finally have an adrenaline release in your organism, even if it means confronting the emotional turmoil threatening to spill out of your throat. 

“when?” you ask, retaliating his kick with a jab in his midsection.

“when what?” his head tilts to the side, not understanding your question for a second. 

his ears perk up as the sound of your screams muffles the gunfire around him. you had managed to disarm the soldier on top of you after being stabbed in the stomach, but the gushing laceration in your abdomen was getting the best of you, blood pressure dropping as a bullet pierced through the man’s skull.

Simon rushes to your side as soon as the lifeless body hits the ground, seeing your blood pooling on the concrete. “bloody hell.” he mutters, quickly applying pressure on the punctured point. your eyes roll as the pain increases, making you struggle to stay awake.

“don’t you fuckin’ dare die on me! keep your eyes open, come on,” he urges, gently tapping your cheeks to keep you conscious while he blasts the comms requesting an urgent medevac, “yeah, just like that, you’re doin’ so good for me,” he coos as your blood stains his ungloved hands, “no no no, come on, please, stay with me, you can’t-”

you use his moment of distraction at your advantage, landing an intense punch on his jaw. he stumbles back a couple steps, already sensing the metallic taste on his tongue. at that, the suppressed anger he’s been keeping under covers during your missing weeks comes to top, hot magma erupting like an exploding volcano. he aims for your stomach. your legs. block your arms. you dodge it barely, but he keeps going. 

“the time you almost died in my arms,” he finally answers, gritting his teeth. he’s an enraged man, tackling you to the ground and firmly gripping your hands, pinning you to the mat. you grunt at the movement, heavy breathing hitting his neck as he leans even closer to your face. “you can’t tell me that you don’t feel it too. it’s there. everytime we’re together.”

Ghost’s masked face hovers over yours as you struggle to breathe. you don’t hear the shots around you anymore, only Price’s voice in the comms telling him that evac is two minutes out. you glance at your surroundings, barely processing the sight before falling unconscious again. 

your brain shuts down, but somehow you still feel his touch. despite the adrenaline and his familiar roughness, the hand stroking your cheek carries a tranquilizing softness you didn’t expect. a light at the end of the tunnel that guides your way back to the living plane.

your eyes flutter open in the medbay, after feeling a sharp pain on your ribs. Ghost is sitting on the chair near the bed, unaware of your awaken state, looking out the window. his face is still covered, but you catch the slight twitch in the corner of his eyes - you’ve noticed it always happens when he’s too focused on something. you wonder what goes through his mind at the moment. yours can only recall the cracks in his voice as he held you in his trembling arms and pleaded you to stay awake.

“i don’t,” you lie, glaring at his hazel eyes. of course you feel it. the fucking fire that scarred you from the minute you had your first fight. the flame that etched his initials on your chest and marked you forever as his, even if you can’t fathom the idea of belonging to a man like him, “get off me!”

your restless squirms help you free yourself from his grasp, pushing his bulky figure to the side while simultaneously striking multiple punches on his chest. and he just takes it. he indulges your wrath, blissfully accepting your blows with nothing but tenderness. your vision gets blurry as you break the remains of his armor, stripping him of the faint defenses still guarding his heart.

he feels the power of your hits weaken when a teardrop rolls from your cheek and falls on his face. not enough to put out the wildfire devouring his soul whenever you’re near, but enough to turn it into a peaceful bonfire, whose cracks soothe your aches like a lullaby. he takes your wrists in one hand while the other reaches for your face; loving eyes, once so cryptic, gaze at the storm behind yours, signaling that it’s okay. it’s okay to feel it.

you sink into his burly arms, bathing in the heat radiating from him. for the first time, you don’t see Ghost, the shadow that haunts your nightmares and the shell of a broken man, you see Simon. the faceless man in your dreams, the one who understands you by one look, the one that fuels your deepest desires - it being a hunger for love or for lust - and still inflames all of your anger.

“come on, love,” he says, pulling up to his feet and extending his hand in your direction.

your knuckles are hurting, partially from the blows on the punching bag from earlier, partially from your rampage against his body. you take his hand and he guides you out of the mat, sitting you on top of a table. furrowed brows meet his half smile, as he positions himself on a chair in front of you and starts tending your bruises. 

“i guess it has always been there,” he says, delicately holding your hands and cleaning the drying blood from it, “the feeling. buried way underneath. i didn’t understand it in the beginning, you’d drive me so insane i couldn’t even look at your face.”

you recall your first encounter with Ghost, feeling the tension of his icy glare penetrating your bones, freezing you on the spot. but somehow also feeling your chest filling with a warmth you’ve never had before. the missing puzzle piece finally returning to its place.

“i know you feel something. the intensity is there, in each bloody fight, everytime we're together, in or out of the field. i’m electrified whenever your hand brushes against mine. i’ve been dull for so many years of my life, and then you came-”

“Simon.”

your sudden interruption makes him stop talking. he raises his eyes from your sore hands to your irises, seeking for a hint of recognition. “this could never work,” you say, letting out an exhausted sigh “you know that.”

yes, he knows that. but he is also not one to evade conflict, especially with you. he doesn’t care how much trouble it’d be to make a relationship with you work. doesn’t care if you wanna change everything about him, put him in a tiny little mold where he obeys your wishes and barks at your command. hell, he’d gladly wear a collar if it meant having you as the one pulling the leash. he’s tired of concealing his emotions behind the persona. he wants you to see him for what he is underneath the pain, the trauma, the rage. only Simon. 

the man who craves your proximity, your presence by his side as he lays down to sleep and every morning when he wakes. your sweet scent, your soft skin, your sparkling eyes. the one who craves your touch, reaching for every inch of his body and bringing him closer to the heaven gates in a way that no religion could. the image that feeds his most terrible nightmares and his brightest - and most obscene - dreams.

“we clash all the fucking time. as much as i hate to say it, we’re too alike, too stubborn, we’d repel each other like magnets, we-”

“yes,” he interjects, leaning closer to your face, “we are too alike. that’s what makes us good. tell me i’m not crazy. you irritate me so much because you always know what i’m thinking. what i’m feeling. my weaknesses are all at your display even when i don’t show it. you know exactly which buttons to push and which to leave alone.”

the skull balaclava covers most of his face, but you don’t mind, his eyes are the most important part. they’re familiar. you know every crease at its corners, the place of every single one of his lashes, the nuances of the color. you’ve studied them several times, trying to decipher the enigma of Ghost. you’ve gotten good at it, so his words are true. you know him. know him too much to consider the idea of being together, because the mere possibility of losing him would maim you forever. 

“we're too similar because we’re two sides of the same coin. each side with its singularity, markings, engravings, but still part of the same thing, destined to be together, intertwined. two flames meant to combine, to heat each other, become one,” the faltering in his voice surprises you, but you don’t see it as a sign of bad faith. his vulnerability is a breath of fresh air after years of unbreakable security, “can’t you understand it?”

silence.

Simon senses his defeat with your hesitance. there’s no use. he goes back to patching up your hand, finishing the bandages as if it’d seal the wounds he opened on you with his actions. years of pent-up aggression planting the doubt of his true affection for you, and there’s no one else to blame but him. is there really no use at this point? the muscle inside your chest is beating loudly, threatening to burst out of your chest, but the logical part of your mind is still screaming to take back control. it’s a worthless tug of war. the brain may be astute, but it can never outsmart the strength of the heart.

“Simon.” he doesn’t dare to gaze at you, even with your saccharine voice tempting his eyes, too adamant to give more of himself in a seemingly hopeless situation. your hands move from your lap to cup his jaw, forcing his head upwards to meet the smile on your lips. it’s small, timid, soft. laced with something he’d never seen on your face but filled with the confidence you always exhibit. love.

“so,” you breathe deeply, “what now?”

took me so long omg but i think i'm finally happy with it. hope you like it. was listening to 'no use i just do' by hayley williams when i got to the end and i feel like it sums up a bit of the feelings.

also, if you see an error, no you didn't. my brain is all mush now.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 danny headcanons and/or facts that i wanted to expand on but didn't have the motivation or inspiration to write a ficlet about. Ultimately most of these are ideas that already exist in canon clone^2 but are only now being expanded on/explored/stated specifically.

Because I'm procrasinating cfau and passively thinking about clone danny and damian again.

1 - As he's liminal, Danny generates his own ectoplasm. He generates it at a slower rate than the casual ghost but faster than the average liminal. It's what gives him an ecto-signature and results in him triggering his parents' weapons and ecto-sensors.

The ectoplasm he generates actually has a use, and he tends to burn through his supply while he's fighting because of all the physical energy he spends + the use of his scary eyes requires (albeit really minor amounts of) ectoplasm to use. It also has health benefits, as using his ectoplasm keeps his heartbeat steady and lessens the risk of his arrhythmia flaring up due to all of his physical activity and adrenaline.

It does happen occasionally that he uses up more ectoplasm than he can replace, and this has the expected negative effects on his health as all that adrenaline and stress catches up to his heart without a buffer to mitigate it. He carries a canteen full of diluted ectoplasm with him in order to give his system the boost it needs in order to stabilize itself, which he can usually tell when he needs due to excessive fatigue/chest pains/dizziness/other arrhythmia symptoms he gets that means he's low on ectoplasm.

2 - Danny's arrhythmia is a form of bradycardia (which is a slower heartbeat) -- what type? Unspecified / Unknown thanks to it being ectoplasmic in nature.

3 - In that same breath, Danny also has to burn that ectoplasm off in some form or another because if he doesn't it builds up and causes him the same issues as if he was too low. It also causes him to become more emotionally volatile, restless, irritable, overstimulated, etc, which the stress of that then makes his heart condition worsen. If too much ectoplasm builds up, it'll cause a physical electrical shock/shortage. This is rare however, and usually is the equivalent of giving someone a painful static shock. At best it makes the lights flicker or technology fritz out for a few seconds.

While it doesn't have much effect on the physical world, it does expend a good chunk of ectoplasm. Think like dumping out a heavy bucket of water that you've been carrying for a while, or getting into a hot shower after being outside in the cold for hours. It's emotionally draining but very relieving.

4 - Danny can replenish ectoplasm or generate ectoplasm faster by resting, eating, consuming other ectoplasm (fastest), fulfilling his interests / doing things that makes him happy, or by being exposed to high amounts of ectoplasm in the area. He can also rapidly generate it by being in a volatile emotional state, but that drains ectoplasm almost as quickly, and runs the risk of causing flare ups in his arrhythmia.

5 - this is actually canon to the au but I figured it wouldn't hurt to expand more on it / clarify / confirm, but Danny post-Damian has chronic pain in his hands from the nerve damage he sustained. He has daily physical therapy exercises he's supposed to do that he does in the mornings/evenings and whenever his hands hurt/feel stiff. He wears compression gloves in his day-to-day life and gets Sam and Tucker's help to brainstorm ideas about how to make compression gloves for Phantom that can include his knuckledusters. His grip and hand strength is weakened.

He has bad hand days where his hands hurt more than usual. This can happen at random, but is more common after he's overused/strained his hands either the day before or earlier in the day. His fingers stiffen up for similar reasons, and he gets tremors. It's happened before where (for example) he's braiding his hair and unbraiding it, only to need someone else to finish the braid because his fingers stiffened up and don't want to work like he wants them to.

Massages, heat, pressure, etc. helps soothe the pain, and since Danny's a fidgety person his friends and family can usually tell when he has a flare up because any hand movements he was doing prior ceased/slowed suddenly, or he starts massaging his hands / stretching out his fingers.

Damian very stubbornly insists on massaging his hands for him when this happens, he has a lot of intense guilt for being the reason for Danny's chronic pain so he wants to alleviate it in anyway he can.

6 - Danny has what I like to call "Bruce-isms", a word I came up with just now that means he has Bruce Wayne mannerisms that come from the fact that he's still Bruce's clone. A Nature vs. Nurture thing. His Bruce-isms include the Bruce Grunts Of Ambiguous Tonal Meaning ("hm", "hrm", "hn"), his workaholism, his paranoia (on a milder scale), etc. They're small, relatively non-defining things that are quirks but don't make up his personality.

He's got what Sam and Tucker like to call "Bruce Wayne Moments" which are essentially Bruce-isms but only ones that Danny and his friends are aware of considering they only know Bruce as Brucie Wayne and not Batman. "Bruce Wayne Moments" include Danny being clumsy, doing something air-headed, being oblivious, etc. It's not a common joke among the three of them since Tucker and Sam know that Danny's still pr sensitive to the whole clone thing. So they only bring it up when he's done something stupid but hilarious.

7 - while clone^2 focuses more on Danny and Damian's relationship and Danny helping Damian develop his identity beyond just "Damian Wayne's Clone", Danny still suffers from his own identity crises. He sometimes gets jealous of Ellie and Damian for being "lucky" that they always knew they were clones, rather than finding out later in life.

He's aware that this is not fair to think and that Damian and Ellie both have their own struggles as clones, but he can't help it sometimes.

He tries not to think about it too much, but when things get too quiet or when he's not busy, Danny can't help but wonder how much of himself is things he's learned on his own and come from him, and how much of it comes from being Bruce Wayne's clone. He has to stop and count how many things are unique about him specifically when he starts to emotionally spiral. It's not rational, but it's not supposed to be.

As a result Danny kinda, hm, clings to his identity as the Phantom, just a little bit? He thinks it's one of the few things that he has autonomous control over as "Danny Fenton", rather than it being a result of him being Bruce Wayne's clone. Because Bruce Wayne isn't a vigilante! Right? Right?

Consequently this becomes one of the reasons that Damian keeps mum about Bruce Wayne's identity. The original reasons were because Danny asked not to know much about the LoA beyond what Damian already told him, and Batman was technically "apart" of the LoA, and secondly because he just didn't want Danny to get involved with Batman and co and Danny knowing about Bruce Wayne's identity could potentially cause that.

But as time goes on Damian kinda notices like, just how being a clone is affecting Danny even if he hides it from Damian pretty well. He can't really comprehend what it was like for Danny to grow up thinking he was normal like everyone else only to find out he was a clone, but he does see the hurt it's causing his brother. And he does notice that Danny was holding onto being Phantom quite a bit, and figured that if he found out Bruce Wayne was also a vigilante, it would hurt him beyond belief.

8 - So Danny's creation has been kept relatively,,, mmm,,, vague? considering I've been struggling for a time how I could plausibly have his creation happen without Bruce finding out about it immediately. And my conclusion is that around the time Danny was created, Bruce met up with the Fenton parents again for some reason or another -- checking out their tech under the guise of wanting to catch up with them.

And I can imagine that, due to being close friends in college, the Fentons literally just outright told him, "Hey we wanna 'nother kid but don't want to go through the risk of pregnancy again, so we're gonna make a clone of one of us instead"

and in true Bruce fashion, he mentally went "wow i should learn Everything And Anything About This Thing Specifically. Just In Case." and outwardly went "woah cool! ahaha how does it work"

and since the Fentons consider Bruce a close friend and are also incapable of Not Talking About Science, turned and went "OH WE CAN SHOW YOU" and showed Bruce their entire cloning process up to and including how they (safely) extracted the DNA they were gonna use. of which they already had. they were gonna just extract Jack's DNA a second time as an example, but it was Bruce who said "hey you should try me instead" in order to gauge how exactly safe this was and if there were any symptoms he would need to recognize in cloning.

so with his consent they did, and then showed him how they were going to use the DNA to make a clone without actually going through the process. Without prompting from Bruce, the Fentons went "we're gonna throw your DNA away though since we don't want this lying around and because we have no use for it" and visibly showed him that they were disposing it.

Bruce came to the conclusion that the Fentons weren't planning anything nefarious, they just really wanted another kid, and (reluctantly) left afterwards. The mixup comes when Maddie, surprisingly, misplaces the cartridge with Jack's DNA in it and while they could have always gotten another sample, it was better and safer to just try and find the original before that.

Jack finds Bruce's in their disposable. In his excitement, he forgets that it was Bruce's DNA, and manages to get it out safely. Maddie wasn't looking when he found it, and in her excitement also forgot to ask where Jack found it. They used that cartridge instead.

When they found out they used the wrong DNA, Danny was already about year old and while Jack and Maddie are morally dubious, they're only morally dubious towards ghosts. Danny was their beloved human baby, they would never do anything to him.

That being said, they were still horrified when they found out, and really, they genuinely did consider reaching out to Bruce to tell him. They thought it was something he deserved to know since it was his DNA that got used instead, and they felt awfully guilty after he trusted them enough to let them draw DNA from him. The only reason they hadn't is because, at the time, Bruce had been really busy with something in his public life and they didn't want to bother him during such a stressful time.

So they were going to wait, and in Fenton-like fashion, forgot to tell him. When the subject came up again sometime later, they assumed they already told Bruce and went about their day.

[shamrockqueen]

маленькая сучка

“malen'kaya suchka” - Little Bitch

Pairing : Soldat Bucky x captive and complacent Reader

Warnings : rough sex, dirty talk in Russian, Deep throat, cock sucking, Dubious Consent, Loss of virginity, R18

Word count : 2525

AO3 page link

It was hard to remember when and why you had joined Hydra, nor whether or not you had been kidnapped or tricked into entering the facility, but ever since it had begun, you were to be broken, molded, and shaped for your single purpose.

You had been made to sit on your knees since last night, and since then you have sat unmoved. It left you dozing in this uncomfortable position with your knees held firm as your head hung at your shoulder from exhaustion. This is how he found you, ridged and yet limp. This was unacceptable.

The hard, fast crack echoed throughout the small cell, bouncing off the smooth concrete walls as his palm collided with your cheek. It knocks out the last few ounces of strength that had to hold your body up, and you hit the floor quickly. The cement is cold against your bare skin compared to the hand mark left on your face, which would redden and swell.

You had grown numb to the abuse a long time ago and said nothing as you pushed up on your hands to right yourself back onto your knees. You know better than to stay on the floor after being knocked down. He didn’t like it when you acted weak.

You strained your neck upward, letting it crack from its former stiffness as you took in the sight of him. The soldat. A man whose body was torn and twisted before being put back together along with his mind, going as far as to replace pieces of his body with machinery.

You don’t know how he’d lost his arm to warrant the metal one he has now, and you never dared to ask again after the first time. You stopped trying to give him sympathy not long after meeting him. It didn't matter what they had done to him, as it wouldn’t excuse anything he'd done to you thus far.

From the very beginning, he was your tormentor, your capturer, and your god. Anything and everything you did on a daily basis was dictated by the Soldat and oneone else. You were his gift, a soft and mailable woman to be sculpted as he chose. Falling asleep without permission was a punishable offense, and that first hit surely won’t be the last.

"Ty malen'kaya suka. (You little bitch) No one told you to sleep." His voice is low and hoarse, as he wasn't interested in filling the room with the sounds of screaming just yet.

"I’m sorry." You mummbled only to receive another blow; this time it was backhanded towards the other side of your face, and you fought all of the muscles in your knees not to hit the floor this time. Your sore knees faltered and your upper body swayed, but through your struggle, you succeeded in staying upright.

"nepravil'nyy (wrong)" His voice rose only a little.

"Mne zhal'. ser..(I’m sorry.sir..)" you answered back automatically. You should’ve known better than to let your tongue slip back into English; only he was allowed to talk in that way. It had been difficult to adjust to at first, but over time, your Russian did get better, even if it was only to follow commands and respond to them.

"Uberi svoyu zadnitsu s nog. (Get your ass off your legs). On your knees, now." His voice was only loud enough to be commanding, as you weren’t deserving of any real anger.

You straightened up as he had asked so that your full weight was on your knees and shins alone. You made your back rigid, leaned your head back, and waited for further instruction. You were never allowed to fall behind, nor could you go too far ahead. So, you stood stock still as your knees screamed from having to continue holding you up.

"otkryt' (open)" His voice smacked back off every corner of the room, and you didn’t hesitate to unclench your teeth to open your mouth nice and wide, just as he preferred.

This particular task had become something you became better at with much mandatory practice. But, in spite of the hours of being made to choke him down, there were times that you would still make mistakes, so it wasn’t unexpected when he ran his metal fingers along your lips with misleading gentleness before digging them into your skin to clamp down hard on your face.

He leaned down towards your face to hammer his point in with each graveled word that rumbled from his chest. "Yesli ty vospol'zuyesh'sya svoimi zubami, ya slomayu tebe chelyust'. (If you use your teeth, I will break your jaw.)"

You gave a brief "da ser (yes sir)" before opening your mouth back up as he leaned away again. His hand loosened from your face as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip to show him that naughty bottom row of teeth, a few of which had a metallic sheen similar to his fingers.

That had been the last and only time you’d ever bitten him. It had been a dangerous lesson to learn, as it had cost you four of your teeth. All of which were quickly replaced without the benefit of anesthesia.

He undoes the buckles on his pants as he squares his hips in-line with your face. Your eyes don’t leave his as you stare at one another.

Giving him oral relief upon his arrival was a given, and this time would be no different from the last, for now.

He spit into the palm of his hand as he pulled his long member free from his clothes, giving it a few pumps to harden it until it stood tall and hard.

The tip entered first, pressing against your tongue before sliding over it.

"lizhi, moy kotenok (lick, my kitten)" He growled down at you.

He only used the pet name when you were being good, acting as a trigger word to help spur you further because where there was praise there wouldn’t be any punishment.

So you did as ordered, pulling your head back and flicking your tongue out over the pink tip as you slickened his cock with your saliva.

"Sosat' (suck)," he pushed his hips toward your open mouth, letting his cock slide along your tongue and further into your mouth.

You closed your lips around it, easing him into your mouth as you did as ordered. You started out slowly before you began to bob up and down on his shaft until it slid deeper down your throat when his hips followed your pace. But, his need was to go faster, deeper even.

The Soldat's metal fingers snapped onto the back of your head to push you down on his cock, far enough that your nose was tickled by the dusting of his pubic hair. Your throat enclosed around him, almost swallowing the head of his cock as he shucked your face up and down onto him. It filled the once tensely quiet room with the echo of you breathlessly sputtering and sloshing on his member.

You’ve grown accustomed to holding your breath for however long he needed, but it was often too much. The tears had forced their way out as they rounded around your reddened cheeks as the air in your head grew thin.

The Soldat's strong, steel-like demeanor cracked as he grew closer and growled, "Fuck..takoy khoroshiy kotenok (so good, kitten)" down at you.

He first cums in your mouth before pulling out to paint your face and then your breasts with spurt after spurt of salty, sticky seed. It’s all over the space on your cheeks that still stung from the last time he hit you, and the soft tip of his cock tickled your neck a little as he coated the rest of your skin.

You don’t even know if he took pleasure in sights like this, as his expression never changed. Yet, if you dared to look carefully enough, you could catch a glimpse of his pupils swelling as they drank you in.

You straightened up on your knees, waiting for another order. Usually he would just have you stand and clean yourself up at the sink in the corner of the cell. Yet, as he walked around you, he pulled his undershirt from his body before tossing it to you with a gruff "wipe off."

His cock was still hard and dripping with what was left of his seed, before he stopped to stand behind you.

The muscles of his thick thighs strained as he steadied himself, and his heavy boots hit the cement hard with each step.

You did as first instructed and wiped away his spendings from your face and breasts before setting the clothes on the floor by your side, and you waited until another order was called out.

"Bend forward, on your hands," he called out from behind you.

It was a new command, and you followed as best as you could, bending yourself over and pressing your hands to the cold floor. When his knees dropped behind yours, you knew it was time for a new form of conditioning. Especially as his hand slipped between your thighs to spread your knees apart.

You had assumed it was only a matter of time until you would be completely broken in, but that realization did nothing to steady the unease buring into your stomach.

At least he had the forethought to warn you as the cold metal of his thumb brushed along your now exposed core.

"My budem ispol'zovat' eto otverstiye, a takzhe. (We will use this hole as well.)" he said as his head tilted at the sight of his fingers moving effortlessly through your dewy folds. He wasn’t one to play with his food, but he didn’t expect you to already be wet. It was a hidden shame that you would greatly ignore, but it would prove useful now.

His fleshy finger entered you first, feeling your pristine core wrap tightly around it. You have to hold your breath once he pulls his digit away, only to push two inside. You were nowhere near ready for this, having been unbroken before being given to him, but you stood firm on your locked joints as your knees dug into the hard cement floor.

His hand leaves your body as he aligns himself with you, and you suck in a deep breath when you feel the head prod at your core.

The Soldat leaned his body over yours as his metal arms snaked under yours. His teeth were dangerously close to your skin as he gritted out a graveled "kak dolgo ty mozhesh' derzhat' svoy golos, kotenok? (How long can you hold your voice, kitten?)"

He never asked you questions anymore, speaking only in absolutes as he bent you to his commands.

Would this be a challenge? Were you allowed to not accept it?

You could feel him push on the bubble of pressure that had built up in your lungs as you held in a cry. He was only halfway inside as your walls fought to push him out.

He ground his teeth as he growled out a gruff "tugoy (tight)" against your neck as he quickly tore you open on his cock.

His flesh hand slid under your other arm to meet his metal one, before they both slid over your neck to lock his arms over your shoulders for leverage as he pulled your upper body off the floor and drove the rest of his cock inside of you.

You felt every ounce of air being forced out of your lungs, and your knees slid along the floor as you were no longer holding your own weight, but you didn’t scream. Even when the tears started to bubble out, you didn’t make a single sound aside from your own labored breathing.

When he started to pull himself from your core, you had to bite your fucking tongue as he dragged his cock along your newly torn walls. When he thrusted back into you, you couldn’t hold your voice in anymore. Your cries were made to echo throughout the room as your body jolted with each of his movements.

He pulled himself out of your soft, wet heat until the tip was all that was left inside. You wailed through your teeth as his grip on your entire upper body tightened, and a low growl was heard from him as he pressed his lips to the back of your neck. "Tvoya pizda vsegda budet pomnit' formu moyego chlena. (Your cunt will always remember the shape of my cock.)"

He brought his hips forward to collide against your ass with an audible slap, his steely cock slamming into the back of your cunt hard enough to send a louder cry past your teeth. You were lifted almost off the ground, leaving your knees to only graze the floor.

The damn had broken, and as a thin rivlet of blood trailed down your thigh to drip to the cold floor, your pained voice bounced and echoed around the both of you. It made you dizzy as the pain began to numb your body, and the tickle of something hotter blossomed in your core as he drove himself into your aching channel.

Even the cries melted into something more unnaturally flowery, something sweeter and more pleasing to him. When he felt your core twist and squeeze around him, he knew what he was starting to do to you.

He turned his head to take the shell of your ear between his teeth and growled into your hot skin, "Davay, Kotenok, krik. (Come on, kitten, cry.)"

You didn’t expect to melt around him when his voice vibrated through your skin. Yet, just as he demanded, you cried out into the small and sterile room.

You tightened around him until you felt every ridge, and every muscle of his cock as he tore along your inner walls until it made his cock begin to throb and twitch within you.

The Soldat's loud voice boomed over you with "Konchi dlya menya, kotenok. Konchi na chlen svoyego soldata. (Cum for me, kitty. Cum on your soldier's cock.)" and it set your body on edge to the point that you were screaming and squirming in his tight, immovable hold.

He wound that tight little spring hidden in your belly until it finally snapped apart all over him, making you cry out in a broken, "Nyet, Nyet!"

His climax accompanied yours, making you feel it as he filled your core full, as you twitched around him.

He untangled your limbs from his as he set you to the floor with uncharacteristic gentleness.

The shock of the cold floor felt like it nearly burned your skin as you tried to catch your breath. He was still on his knees above you as he let you have a moment's rest when he slid his metal finger along your forehead to wipe away the stray hairs that clung to your sweaty skin.

⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️

@lizatill inspire this Fic With this post

Want more Bucky? Then check out Bucky’s masterlist!

[sinsmockingbird]

Rahu's... huge. In all aspects. She's tough and rough, extremely strong and merciless. Compared to quite petite chief she looks almost like a wolf or even a bear whereas the chief might remind someone of a rabbit chased by a dangerous predator... Though, this predator is hers.

Rahu knows nothing about being gentle and affectionate, she doesn't know any appropriate ways and reasons to express her feelings. She doesn't even know what she feels! So she startles when on a mission you grab her arm and squeeze it in yours. Her breath hitches when on the way home you nuzzle against her like a cat, resting your head on her chest. Rahu's head's spinning when you kiss her for the first time and your kiss is something... Different. It's not a bloody and painful sacrifice she's used to making, it's soft, tender and warm. And addicting. She wants more, she wants you to kiss her more! Kiss her good morning and good night, before heading out to the battlefield and when she returns, during dinner and meetings, she's always here to feel your lips, to put her palm on your nape (is she gentle enough? or is she hurting you accidentally? she doesn't mean to, so if so please be patient...), she's determined to leave with your lipstick all over her.

She used to estimate your body as weak and helpless but now she considers it quite... suitable. She can hold you with one arm, it's no problem for her to just throw you over her shoulder and head to the destination carrying you like that. You're still quite fragile in her opinion, so her hands tremble a bit as she undresses you for the first time. No matter how much you encourage her to be harsher with you, she just... Cannot. At first, at least. Her hands are shaking, she's panting and waiting for you to let her do something. She won't do anything without your consent. Though, after a while she'll get used to it... And she'll be ruining this petite body daily and nightly, caressing it afterwards with all her affection and love.

She loves you, that's something to never doubt. Loves you more than anything. She's not asking much in return for her love, though. Just for you not to die too soon. No, you're not allowed to do that. Just... Don't. Please, don't leave her.

Ugh, ughhhhh! This is so fucking good I literally have no words, anon. People are def. delivering on giving me Rahu stuff because I'm not normal about her! This is so good I just need to add my thoughts onto it!

CW: Smut under the cut!

RAHU WAS nothing but cautious when with you for the longest time. Cautious with her kisses, cautious with the way she held you, and especially cautious in the way she touched you. She didn't want to hurt you whatsoever, you meant too much to her that she couldn't live with herself at the thought of doing something that hurt you.

But overtime, she became more comfortable with you, with having you in her hands. She learned what your body could and couldn't take so she wasn't as afraid of accidentally pushing over that without knowing. Becoming comfortable with you also comes an addiction for her -- an addiction to kiss you, to feel your body against hers and hear your beautiful moans.

Rahu needs you often, she needs you in her arms and under her so much. Almost every night she can't stop her hands from clinging to you and exploring your body, whimpers of needing you slipping past her lips. She won't do anything too extreme though, not until you give her verbal consent to continue.

And once you do she's touching you in all the right places, kissing every inch of your skin and pleasing you to her hearts content. Your pleasure goes above hers always, a reason why she wants to touch and taste you first before she even thinks about relieving the strain in her pants.

And once she makes you cum with her mouth, she'll free her huge, throbbing cock from her pants. She's so desperate that she's whining and sloppy with her next movements as she tries to push herself into you. She'll fail the first few times, instead rutting against your thigh until you guide her to your weeping cunt.

She's so relieved at the feeling of you wrapped around her length. She'll be sure to start gentle, to let you get adjusted to her huge size -- because she knows you need time to adjust to it even after all this time. But once you tell her to go rougher, she doesn't hesitate like she used to, knowing your smaller body can handle her.

So Rahu will fuck into you so deeply, losing herself more and more in her pleasure as she nears her climax. She can't stop, bot until she's filled you up with her seed. Even then she sometimes wants to go another round, and those are the times she'll cuddle you and fuck you gently, letting you rest while getting her needed relief.

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 6 - Relationship Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about 6 in a romantic relationship.

I was struggling soooooo hard with another 6 request so I had to get this post out of my system fist before tackling that one

Okay, first of all! I don't see 6 as the type of person who would be that interested in having a relationship, at least not beyond what is expected of him as the leader of Apeiron. It's the least of his priorities as of now.

Part of it is largely due to his responsibilities--he knows that he cannot afford to show any sort of favoritism, and he is much too thoughtful to force someone he cares about under such pressure, simply because he harbors feelings for them. It's very ironic that the one thing that defines his entire life and existence is also what keeps him from seeking any deeper relationships. 6 knows more than anyone that the loneliness of his title would be extended to his partner, and so, he has no actual firsthand experience in romantic relationships other than what he might've studied while in reclusion.

Of course, this isn't to say that he's entirely inept when it comes to socializing or all sorts of relationships. He is the best at being 6 for a reason, as much as he dislikes it.

We know that he loves his people, if his devotion to his role of leader is anything to go by. And he clearly cares about his friendship with 210, 37 and Sophia, as strained or complex as these dynamics may be, as he makes sure to retrieve the crown that they made for him each and every day that it's stolen. He loved his aunt Alma too, she played a big role in his upbringing after all.

So 6 isn't a stranger to love, but he is very passive about it.

To describe 6 as "passive" could be seen as an insult, especially after what his character event showed us in relation to his struggle against fate, but I think there's a key difference to the passive nature that is presented between 6 prior to receiving the Revelation and after he settles in as the new leader. His initial lack of action was fueled by resignation, a fear for the inevitable fate his bloodline carries. But now, he knows that refusing to act is sometimes necessary to maintain the harmony within the island, this is why he's described as a mediator. Love can happen, but there's no reason to upset the precarious balance he maintains by indulging in romance.

On the subject of 6 developing a crush.

6 is an extremely introspective man with a very good grasp on his own feelings and thoughts--even more so now that he's obtained the Revelation! If he has a crush then trust me, he knows. He notices the fondness he has for you the moment those feelings start blooming in his chest.

And he's not going to do a single thing about it.

He's not going to act upon any of his feelings. He's not going to let anyone find out, for the sake of maintaining this perfect balance. His behaviour remains the same, no signs of being flustered whatsoever. There are no fleeting glances, no hands brushing on accident. He doesn't stare at you from afar, wondering if you could ever love him, pining and yearning for your attention.

That doesn't happen, not in public.

Just like every other detail about his life, his thoughts of you are kept private, for him to ponder on whenever he's alone in his room, meditating. The outside world has no business bearing witness to these feelings--you are special to him and so, he keeps the memory of you safe and sound. 6 is much too mature to actually pine and yearn, but he does like to wonder and explore other possibilities, another life in which he's not burdened by fate, in which he's given the choice to find his own soul number for as long as it takes. Another life in which he can openly confess without fearing for what might happen to you should you accept him.

I like to think that these little fantasies help him tolerate the stress of the daily routine, it's something nice that gives him solace. When he's alone, his existence isn't defined by a number nor the history of his family, he can just be at ease and dream of better things.

I want to stress the fact that he wouldn't confess, no matter how strong his feelings are. Even if you happened to reciprocate, 6 would always prioritize the stability of Apeiron and turn you down for your sake and everyone else's. 6 would actually prefer to be close friends with his crush.

On the subject of dating 6.

I like to think that for 6 to start considering the idea of courting you, you have to actually debate him.

Not a battle of attrition like the debates 210 insists on having, but a fair and honest discussion to give him proof and solid arguments that could help him ease into the idea of dating someone for love, rather than duty. Something like this would really ease 6's mind, being able to get to know you better through the way you defend yourself and the love you hold for him, as well as weighting the public's reaction. Two birds in one stone. If you manage to do that, then there's no reason for him to object.

I don't know what I like the most out of these options though, the idea of 6 choosing to give a proper confession in private to finally share everything he's kept to himself, so that you may accept all of him at his most honest and vulnerable. Or him not confessing, choosing to invite you to his study and enjoy a moment of respite in absolute silence, knowing that there's nothing keeping you two from being together. So whichever floats your boat!

When it comes to actually dating him, not much would change.

6 understands that there's been a considerable shift in his life, but his lack of experience and solitary lifestyle would lead him to continue with his routine--if you want to see him, then you'll have to seek him out like you've always done. He's more than content knowing you're aware of his feelings and wouldn't really seek to change anything else, so it's entirely up to you to communicate and discuss what you'd like out of this relationship. He'll be more than glad to listen and accomodate you as much as he can.

You taking the initiative in this might also fuel him to share the things he'd like to do! Again, this passive nature doesn't come from shyness, but duty. I can see him being open to anything and being very direct about his own needs, as long as he can continue to separate his personal life and time with you from his time outside and his responsibilities.

Overall, dating 6 is a very calm experience! He never got the chance to know himself without the pressure of the Revelation, but he enjoys getting to know you instead. While most of the time he simply asks you to sit with him and relax, he puts the effort into finding time to spend with you, even if it's just walking together from one place to another before both of you must tend to your respective duties.

On the subject of his partner not being from Apeiron.

The way I see it, 6 is a little more lenient with certain aspects--unlike 37, for example. I don't see her capable of being in a romantic relationship with an irrational number, and getting to trust someone from outside who isn't specifically aiming to adapt to the scriptures will take a long time, but 6 is a little more flexible under the proper circumstances.

I believe this is the case because of his Bond: Morning voice line!

...One should never parcel off the loaf, for it's a violation of the scripture. But we are not on the island. So, please enjoy the freedom.

So the moment this pressure of responsibility is lifted from his shoulders, I think he would be open to the possibility of his partner being literally anyone. Because of the Revelation, I don't think 6 is blinded by faith like other members of Apeiron are, if else he's burdened by the contradictions and paradoxes that are natural in the world.

Not sure how he would feel with a human partner though! Chapter 05 only says that humans and mankind as a whole are dismissed entirely as "imaginary numbers," forbidden on the island, and there's no specifics on how they feel about mixed arcanists.

Round of cute things.

Literally just a round of cute things that 6 would do or enjoy because I don't know how to incorporate them onto the post in a fancy way.

His crown was made to keep his hair out of his face, but we can see that it's not doing a very good job lol. I think 6 would really find it charming whenever his partner tucks his hair behind his ear so they can get a look at his face--he's much too used to hiding and keeping to himself, so wanting to be seen by you is a pretty new experience. It's also a very casual and innocent gesture, so whenever he feels like getting you to pay attention to him (more than often as a way to excuse himself out of some other conversation) he will allow his hair to drape over his face hoping you'll notice.

6 isn't big on public displays of affection. Just sitting next to you is more than enough for him--but if he happens to notice you get lonely or make cute eyes at him, he will scoot close until your shoulders bump into each other. If 6 is feeling particularly cuddly, he will hold your hand.

But behind closed doors, 6 is very partial to kissing the top of your head or your temple. It's a very gentle kiss, he doesn't even pucker up, just closes his eyes, gently rests his lips there and hums to himself. And he could stay there for a long time if you let him.

If 6 is feeling restless for whatever reason, I can see him asking you to read something for him, so he can concentrate on the sound of your voice and nothing else. It's very soothing to him. He prefers that you read something he can tune out, as opposed to telling him something he'd like to pay attention to--like your thoughts or how your day has been.

Oh! Also, I don't see him as the type to want matching accessories or material things like that, but if you were to give him a gift or something to match with you, he would specifically ask you to keep it simple--nothing gilded, nothing shiny, nothing that is easy for seagulls to steal. Something like a little string bracelet, if possible in your favorite colors rather than his--it might be just a small fragment in a world of matters, but it means so much to him.

Also also, 6 does notice a lot of your gestures or expressions, the little things about you that often go unnoticed. The way you might scrunch your nose, tilt your head, fiddle with your hands, tap your feet--anything.

[love-toxin]

pls share some Ken crumbs our siren-lover nation is dying 💔🥹

your word is my command <33

(cws: kidnapping, drugging, forced transformation, obsession, manipulation/psychological torture, medical procedures)

"Open the tank."

The man with the red hair looks down on you, but he's not really seeing you. His eyes are glazed, almost fish-like in their opacity. They stare ahead like they're only coincidentally focused on you, but that doesn't make you feel any better when you're...like this.

You can't remember the last time you wore clothes at this point. It feels like you've spent your whole life in this tank, shivering and half-soaked with water that only comes up to your knees. He's only had it filled that much because he's prepping your body for more. Whatever that means.

Either way, the sound-operated unit responds to his smooth, cool voice, and the top of the glass containment slowly starts to slide open. The tank is only about ten feet by fifteen, just barely enough for you to move around without bumping your arms, but it only feels smaller when the top opens up. You cower in the corner like an animal; you're too scared of your kidnapper's touch to feel any differently. Ken reaches his arm down as he steps up on the platform, moving to offer you something. But you don't want it, you don't want anything from him, and you splash away in the foot or so of water in a panic as you rush to get away from him. He sighs as if it's just an everyday occurrence, and you're only being a passive menace.

"It's time for your medicine, darling. Come here."

You muster up only a few syllables. "G-Go away." Your voice trembles, but it doesn't deter Ken in the least.

"Take your medicine. I won't say it again."

Oh. He's starting to get impatient. Your hands shake. You don't want to see him angry--he gets cold and scary when he's angry. You ponder your options for a split second, but in an anxious jolt, you lunge forward to grab the pills from his palm and swallow them without thinking. Phew.

A smile splits Ken's face. He's proud. Proud. Pride isn't something you're used to, but you'll take it where you can find it. He reaches further and gently ruffles your hair over the edge of the tank.

"That's it. That's my good dolly. There, there...so good." The patting lasts for too long. It grows possessive, uncomfortable in the strength with which he gains as he strokes your scalp...but it ends sooner than you think and he finally steps back to give you space. As the top of the tank slides back, he crouches down in front of the glass and taps it to get your attention. He's got those dark bags under his eyes, and his hair is nearly falling out of its long braid, but he looks happy. Just tired.

"I love you, you know. You're going to be so happy with me. I promise, like I said, I'll let you out of the tank once the procedures are over." He presses his hand to the glass, each crease in his palm and every knuckle of his fingers practically glowing against the sterile window into the rest of the lab. "Soon, very soon, you'll be like me. We can...find our own path together."

As Ken talks, he reaches into his doctor's coat and pulls out a small vial--inside are the pills he's given you daily over the last week or so, which he dumps two of into his hand. Holding them up for a moment, he shows you their shape and size, proving to you that these are the same. And then he pops them into his mouth with a sip from his water bottle on the table full of surgical tools. As he wipes his mouth, the strain in his demeanor becomes more apparent, but he brushes it off like an expert to shoot you another disarming smile.

"I love you. Love you, love you, love you...and when your transformation starts, I'll be right here with you. I just have to-" At that very moment his pager goes off, and he sighs and hangs his head just for a second. Just long enough for you to creep closer towards the glass, lured by his sweet words. He pulls the little device out of his pocket and glances at it before tucking it back in. Without looking back, he stands and steps down from the platform with your tank to head towards the door of the lab. "I'll be back, sweetheart. I won't leave you alone much longer, I promise."

With that, the lights shut off, leaving you in darkness save for the glow from the edges of the tank where he's set up bioluminescent lights for you. It's too quiet without him, with only your own thoughts and the dim outlines of the laboratory furniture to comfort you. Aside from a myriad of medical equipment, there's only a small bed on the floor that's quite messy and a cooler full of instant foods for the microwave it sits on top of. Ken's spent so much time here since he brought you that he practically lives here under the hospital, though he promised to bring you to his home once this...procedure is finished.

Now the sleepiness is setting in. You glance around to find a comfortable spot to rest, though it leads back to that same mossy mound of pillows that Ken has lined the tank with for comfort. You settle down atop all of them, hoping not to get water up your nose as the drugs lull you towards a deep, heavy sleep.

Maybe, when you wake up in several hours, you'll finally start to notice the scales growing in that Ken told you would come up. Those and the little slits in your neck that flutter open when the water touches them, which is a feeling you'll have to get used to with time. But little do you know, Ken's going to see the fruits of his labour cropping up very, very soon, regardless of how frightening the transformation will be for you when it happens.

But even so...he's going to be so, so happy.

[earthnashes]

MORE GARGYOLES AU BAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I'm holding watch parties on my community discord for the Gargoyles; we're still on Season 1 but even then it's really helping give me some contextual clues I need for building the AU into something more sustainable. I'm super excited to get into Season 2; we'll be finishing off this season next Thursday before we continue on! :)

But ye! For this drawing; an experiment that went a little outta hand, but I'm glad it did. I really like the look of it; giving it some level of polish without resorting to coloring. I've always liked this sort of effect but rarely do I ever do it myself, but I think I'll have to do it more because it was far less time consuming to do! :>

So ye! More lore and brick work is being laid out for the AU, and once again I've written a short story to go along with the art!

For those of you who'd rather skip though, I placed it under the "Keep Reading" line, and for context for everyone here are some AU notes along with a TL;DR summary of what's happening here:

-AU explores the concept of "what if Demona was set onto the path of Redemption?"

-TL;DR for this image: Takes place a few nights after this. Demona confronts Elisa after her talk with Angela. To everyone's surprise it doesn't go south.

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

By all accounts Elisa thinks she should've expected this.

Especially with the life she's chosen for herself: top-rate detective with the highest arrest rate and cases solved on the force. In direct contact with Gargoyles-- literal living legends-- on a daily basis and what that typically entails, from revenge plots to sudden trips through the very fabrics of time. Enemies from all and every side, from supernatural to plain old human to the not-so-human and zealous occult.

And traveling Central Park alone in the dead of night? By all accounts, she should’ve expected this. Yet she still wasn’t prepared for the ambush.

One second she's halfway through the tunnel under the bridge. The next? Shoved face-first into grimy, soggy stone.

The taste of iron is sharp on her tongue as her teeth cut painfully into her lip on impact. It distracts her just enough before she finally zeroes in on the claws closed tight around the nape of her neck, another set digging hard into the leather of her jacket at her pinned wrists, easily piercing the material and biting into skin. She barely has time to gather her bearings before a familiar voice is hissing hot against her ear.

"You are not as clever as you think, detective."

Elisa's heart nearly beats out of her ribcage. "Demona," she breathes, alarmed but by no means surprised. It's been months since the last attempt the she-demon's made against her. Once again, Elisa curses allowing her guard to fall; she should've known it was only a matter of time before Demona struck. No matter how long this sudden bout of tremulous peace has gone.

"What do you want."

"That's exactly what I want to know," Demona drawls, pushing Elisa further into the rough stone. There's a seething sneer in her voice. " What are your intentions with Angela?"

Elisa pauses, her unease giving way to her confusion.

"What?"

Demona responds by gripping tighter, the tell-tale rumble of a growl behind her words. "You know damned well what I mean. It's no coincidence Angela has come to me so freely. Not if it meant lowering my guard; you're up to something." The gargoyle shoves Elisa none-too-gently against the stone again, her threat stark and clear. "And I don't take kindly to the thought anyone using my daughter like she's some sort of plaything--"

"--I'd never--" Elisa starts, offended, but she barely gets a word in before she's cut off with her own agonized grunt. Demona's bodily grinding her into the wall, the rough scrape of stone chafing at the skin of her cheek. She can barely breath with how hard the gargoyle pins her, straining for breath as Demona snarls at her, long teeth clacking dangerously close to her eye.

"Liar!" She barks, and Elisa hears how her tail cuts through the air as it lashes. "It's all you humans are ever good for! Weave empty words into pretty things, only to strike when your back is turned. Angela told me herself what you said, and your words ring hollow. You and I both know you don't believe any of it. What's your game?"

"So Goliath is right, then?" Elisa huffs in lieu of an answer, stilling herself and going mostly limp in Demona's grasp. Her common sense screams at her to struggle, to find an opening and break free... but her gut tells her stay put. Her father always told her to listen to her gut when it spoke, and it's never steered her wrong before. So she breathes in as much as she dares and forces each of her muscles to relax, to appear as little a threat as possible in her position.

Not too hard to do considering the circumstances, but it takes several breaths for her heart to stop trying to burst from her chest. Nor does it really erase the glower overtaking her face.

"Is that it? Angela shouldn't be anywhere near you. Shouldn't be allowed to choose for herself and that it was a mistake to even try to talk to you?"

"By the moon we glide under, I despise you, detective!" Demona hisses, and Elisa doesn't need to see her to know her eyes have begun glowing hot red. "I'm no fool; you view me a monster. You have absolutely nothing to gain from encouraging her to see me. Nothing. So why? What do you want with her?"

"Is it really so hard to believe I care for Angela?"

"Yes." Yet there is some degree of hesitance in Demona's voice when she says it, something Elisa nearly doesn't catch. As if the she-demon almost believes her own answer, but not entirely. There's enough evidence with Elisa aiding her old Clan-- never truly for her own gain -- that brings question to her conviction. "Humans don't do anything unless they gain something in return. You are either after her, my life, or something else." Demona allows Elisa's arm free to rake her claws against the stone of the bridge. It gives way easily as if nothing but dirt, leaving deep divots in a clear display of a threat. "Do not make me ask again."

"Then you're right," Elisa replies easily-- or as easily as her position allows-- and of all the responses she could've gotten Demona doesn't expect that. It's clear in how much she loosens her hold on Elisa in apparent surprise, no longer choking her so much as simply holding her in place now. Elisa's instincts flair then; demand she elbows the she-demon in the belly and get distance, yet even still her gut urges her: stay put.

"I do have something to gain. Angela's happiness."

Elisa doesn’t expect her words to have any real effect. Readies herself for Demona to snap at her again. Force her against the unforgiving stone, have her taste her own blood again, maybe even work up the nerve to inflict the bodily harm she always threatens. This is probably the closest she's gotten in a long while.

But Demona does… nothing. Simply a presence behind her. One simmering with barely held anger and confusion and the weight of her own paranoia. But still as stone—listening-- all the same.

Stay put.

Elisa takes in a shaky breath.

"She's miserable, you know. When the clan speaks ill of you," She breathes quietly, surprising herself with the gentleness in her own voice. "Goliath explicitly forbids her from ever trying to talk to you. He thinks you're a lost cause." It’s not hard to think of Goliath’s demeanor in those moments; regret, sadness, guilt, traces of betrayal and anger whenever he speaks of his ex. He's long since given up on reaching out to Demona.

"And maybe I did too, once. But now, I--"

The look on Demona's face when realizing who Angela was flashes through her memory. The shock, quickly replaced with unbridled joy and hope. Something Elisa was unsure Demona could feel up until that very moment.

"--you could've left us to die by Thailog's hand. You could've ended all of humanity with just a press of a button. But you didn't."

Elisa doesn't mention the sudden lack of schemes against all of mankind. She doesn't mention the abrupt disinterest in attacking the Clan. She doesn't say anything about how--even after all this time, even now-- she is still alive, when Demona has had ample chances to rid herself of her. Elisa is no slouch: she's proud enough to admit she's held her own against Demona a fair number of times. But there were times where only her keen eye and years of training caught the very slight hesitance from Demona when she was all but helpless.

"I don't think you're a lost cause," Elisa says unwaveringly. Nothing in her voice gives way to any underlying uncertainty she has. To the questions she burns to ask—why? What changed? -- but won’t. Not yet. "I have my reservations. But I don't think it's anyone's place to make that decision for Angela. Nor do I think it's fair to rob you of the chance to prove to her you're more than your past."

Elisa hesitates for just a second before she says clearly into the silence of the night, compelled by Demona's uncharacteristic show of restraint: "...I-I don’t think you’re a monster."

I never thought you to be.

The thought comes unbidden, and it catches her off guard at how honest it is. She doesn’t put it to words, only remaining in place and holding steady. Waiting.

Demona still doesn't say anything. Doesn't really do anything at first, but there's a very clear shift in the air, subtle as it may be. Elisa's instincts are no longer in overdrive, no longer in high alert of danger. Somehow  --even in Demona's sharp grasp-- there is no more danger to be aware of.

It's in the way the gargoyle's silence turns contemplative and not a raging storm cloud. In how she suddenly doesn't dig so hard in Elisa's jacket, tucking the tips of her claws safely against the leather and not into delicate skin. The intent is no longer there.

Demona mutters something to herself, low enough for Elisa not to hear what she says, but even with her keen senses it still manages to surprise the detective when the gargoyle simply... moves away.

It's by no means gentle. She abruptly drops the human without any sort of care, allowing her to crumple under her own weight when she finally touches ground after several minutes being held aloft. But the principle still stands.

Demona let her go.

"…I don't believe you," She grunts in a voice filled with scorn, but the usual bite is missing. Elisa allows herself a moment to rub at the scratches and welts those wicked claws left behind. She clears her throat before she chances a glance at the gargoyle and finds her back turned to her.

"I'm not asking you to," Elisa says softly. She eyes the gargoyle warily. "And I still don't trust you. But I do trust Angela. She saw something worth her time in you; the least I can do is support her... and be there if it blows up in her face."

When Elisa finds the energy to stand, she musters up a warning glare at Demona, stance cautious but no less filled with promise. "Don't make me regret it."

The threat behind it is barely veiled, and it must be the right thing to say, because Demona only barely casts a glance her way. Her eyes are hard to read. And despite it, Elisa can see the smallest hint of something in them when forest green sweeps over her, foot to face, the faintest upturn to the corner of her mouth.

"Then we are on the same page."

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

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

For some extra context:

-Demona is referring to how Elisa told Angela that she does actually believe Demona isn't pure evil, or a threat to her. Elisa doesn't trust Demona at all, but she recognizes that something has shifted in the gargoyle, and she knows she would never hurt Angela, so she sets aside her own doubts and encourages Angela to seek her mother out. I have plans to draw and write this interaction in the future so we have more context in this regard!

-Elisa strikes me as the type to be able to see things in varying shades of gray: Goliath isn't wrong in his reluctance to allow Angela near Demona, but she honestly doesn't think her heartless or a completely lost cause. Especially after she learns some of Demona's past

-Demona would never admit this, but she does actually respect Elisa. Much to her chagrin. Unlike most humans whom she barely bats an eye toward, she sees Elisa as her equal in prowess and intelligence, and she hates that she does, but she'd be a fool if she ignored it.

The further I get into the show I'll expand on this idea, but that's it for now. :)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for the way I’m handling my friend’s request?

🌸🌸🌸 to find this

So I (27X) have this friend (24F) I’ve been close with for a while. She’s very sensitive and that’s not a bad thing. But she does often react to very basic things with panic such as worrying about being a little late to an agreed meet up time with other friends (like. I’m talking even a minute or two late), slight changes in her dog’s behavior like him napping when he’d normally be asking to go outside, restaraunt orders taking a little too long, stuff like that. Usually when that happened I’d do my best to steer her away from the panic and her immediate “this means something really really bad” and offer alternate reasons things might be happening and it did seem to work most the time. Ironically for being so concerned about mundane things, she also seemingly isn’t worried at all about things most people are, like giving strangers very serious details about her past, burning a candle directly on top of a piece of paper, walking alone through a known sketchy apartment (like cops are there daily, they found a body somewhere on the complex at one point) complex’s parking lot as a shortcut home, being interested in very dangerous hobbies. I swear she also has a creep radar that just is not quite functional, every guy that’s come in to my job when she’s been there (she doesn’t have a job and sometimes hangs around since it’s a shop that’s super slow, right near where she lives and I’m often working by myself) that has set off massive red flags has not set off any alarms for her. Usually when she’s doing something I recognize as possibly dangerous like that I have previously tried to advise against it.

However, about 4 months ago I’d noticed she’d been getting a little strained towards me. After much gentle prodding, since she has trouble communicating issues with people, she finally admitted that she feels like I’m coddling her, or babying her since I’m older than she is, when I give her those advices, or that I’m ignoring her concerns when I try to help with her panic. She asked me not to anymore and it did seem like if I continued anyways it would affect our friendship further.

So I’ve done my best, I haven’t given her any advice on what seems like a dangerous situation or anything. It was fine at first, as much as I felt bad she was runing into some problems by doing stuff I’d have previously advised against, but her slight frostiness did go away. But, in the last month or so I’ve been noticing she’s been saying things to the effect of “I thought you’d have something to say about that” or “Oh, I was hoping you’d know what to do” and stuff like that.

But, I haven’t reacted to any of it yet. She asked me not to and as I said she has a lot of trouble openly asking people to do things, which is something I found myself bothered by at times since I do struggle with “hints” and prefer things said directly to me. This time it’s gotten so obvious that I can tell what she wants me to do but even knowing I’ve still not given her any advice or alternate solutions, hoping she will just come out and tell me that she changed her mind.

Here’s the AITA part— AITA for doing that? Should I just take the hint and start advising again? As much as I’d like her to learn to just be honest with me about what she wants from me as a friend, I’m genuinely worried about her getting into a dangerous situation if I don’t start advising again since I don’t know how long that will take. A little bit ago she went home with a guy she just met without telling anyone. It worked out fine, but the idea of that really startled and concerned me. I’m worried if I don’t start stepping in again something bad WILL happen.

What are these acronyms?

[strawbeerossi]

heyy can i request a oneshot where spencer and fem! reader used to date but broke up because of maeve and when maeve💀 they try again? it could be angsty and the happy (or not) ending is totally up to you!

You sure damn-diddily can!

I didn't end it with them being together but I did leave it up for interpretation! I can't resist writing hurt/comfort blurbs and/or one shots.

A Shoulder To Cry On

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: A few days after the death of Maeve, Spencer enlists in the comfort of his ex girlfriend.

Content Warnings: Mentions of death, mention of a past explosive argument, sobbing, hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 0.9K

Navigation || Masterlist || Join my taglist || Make a request

The sound of the phone ringing was stirring Y/N out of her sleep, the woman groggily reaching over to grab her cell, not paying too much attention to the contact. Regardless of who was calling, this had better been important.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” 

The familiar voice woke her right up, the woman tiredly sitting up while rubbing her eyes. “Spencer?” His voice sounded strained, as if he’d been crying uncontrollably. That was never a good sign.

“Please come over. I know we haven’t talked since.. Fuck, since the breakup but I need someone who isn’t a friend from work.” 

The breakup in question was only a mere eight or nine months prior, the root of it being someone who Spencer started reaching out to because of migraines that had him fearing the absolute worst.

Those talks began to get more regular, upgrading to daily phone calls between Spencer and Maeve. She seemed like a nice girl, don’t get Y/N wrong. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend talking daily with another woman to the point where all he could tell his current girlfriend about was the friend he talked to on the phone.

It had begun to grow old, making her upset when they could barely talk about their days without Y/N hearing about Maeve and all the things she did.

The breakup was fuelled by a massive fight, the couple upgrading to yelling at each other for the first time in the course of their relationship, words being said that could never be taken back and a promise of Y/N never talking to her ex boyfriend again.

Now here she was, quickly grabbing her keys after sliding on her slippers to go straight to Spencer’s apartment. There was urgency in his voice, enough to make her run out to her car wearing the nightgown she’d fallen asleep in with a pair of pink bunny slippers.

Truly a fashion icon.

Thankfully, he still resided in the apartment that they once shared. It was a ten minute drive but that didn’t bother her at all. As she was parked in the complex’s parking lot, she was hurrying into the building. She didn’t even wait for the elevator, running up two flights of stairs before landing on the familiar doorstep. 

She noticed a ton of baskets outside the door, no doubt from his teammates for whatever tragedy had him shutting the world out. “Spencer?” Her voice was soft, a sigh leaving her lips as she heard the locks clicking from inside. She was bringing in the baskets, placing them by the door.

The sight of the man in front her made her heart shatter in her chest. 

He looked so defeated and sleep deprived. She was thinking that maybe he and Maeve broke up? That could explain why he was heartbroken.

“What happened?” Her hands were cupping his cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears as they didn’t seem to stop soaking his cheeks. “M-Maeve.” He whispered, letting his ex girlfriend lead him over to the couch as he was seated. His body was violently shaking, almost collapsing against Y/N’s chest as she was sitting beside him.

She held the male close while slowly rubbing his back, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “Shh, I’m here. It’s okay..” It brought back memories, when she held her boyfriend when he first started at the BAU and the hard cases hit him like a train. He cried in her arms after the especially hard cases, the man getting to the point where he was gasping for air from the sobbing he was doing.

She sat there for hours, just running her fingers through the male’s short hair while listening to him pour his heart out to her and explain the situation. 

She may not have liked Maeve in the past but nobody deserved to die the way that she did, much less in front of someone who loved her and who she loved. The broken man in her arms felt soothed having the woman who cared so much for him there.

“I’ve missed you so much..” He finally whispered after hours of laying in her arms, his eyes closing as he was clutching her shirt as if she’d disappear if he let her go. “I know we ended on a shitty note but I wish I didn’t leave the way that I did.” Y/N admitted while kissing the top of Spencer’s head slowly. 

“I’m just glad you’re here now. You always know how to calm me down without talking to me like I’m made of glass.” His voice was low, laced with drowsiness from his uncontrollable sobbing for the past couple of days. He felt comfortable, safe. 

‘I know, Spence. I know. Even though you look extremely fragile, I know you’re not.” She smiled, her nails scratching at his scalp. “Why don’t you go lay down?” She suggested, the brunette tilting his head to look up at Y/N, almost similar to a puppy from one of those sad commercials.

“Will you stay? I don’t wanna be alone.” 

“Yes, I’ll stay. Go lay down, okay? You need rest.”

“Will you.. Will you lay with me? Please?” 

There were a few moments as a kiss was being pressed against his forehead. “Yes, I’ll lay with you. Come on.” She spoke softly, watching Spencer nearly roll off the couch before she grabbed his hand, following him down the familiar hallway.

“Thank you for coming over. Even if I don’t deserve it.” Spencer offered a tight lipped smile, looking back at Y/N as she offered a soft smile.

“Shut up.” Her words were soft as her hand rubbed his back. “I’m here for you and you deserve to have someone here more than anyone else. Besides, I know that you’d be there for me too.”

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭...

Thinking about the Patient!Ettore x Psychiatrist!Reader fanfic chilling in my google doc...

Tw: Talk of: DubCon, Smut, Oral Sex (f and m receiving), facefucking

Word Count: 712

Next Part >>

Mainly thinking about how much Ettore adores his new psychiatrist...

He enjoys the little smile you give him when you first walk into the room. How you’re always so polite and kind to him even though he's unstable. How you always look over him as if you're checking him out. The way you "innocently" touch his shoulder before sitting down. How you always lean forward slightly and he can get a small view down your shirt.

He likes how you bite your lip while writing and wishes he could do it himself only until he breaks the skin the tiniest bit, just enough so a pinch of blood would paint his lips a blush red, how you'd look up at him while he does it with doe innocent eyes.

Oh, how he wishes he could darken those eyes.

He commits the small sounds you make while listening to him talk in memory for later but gets lost in them imagining what other sounds you can make.

What do your moans sound like? Could he make you moan? Do you want him to make you moan?

He notices how you cross your legs or press your thighs together when he stares at you for too long. Or how you fidget with your pen when he tries to ask you questions about yourself.

He thinks of how it would all start. Part of him wants to take you without permission and wants to see the fear in your eyes while the other part of him wants you to want it and to beg him for it. He'd initiate it quickly not giving you a chance to fight back.

He imagines you on your knees in front of him taking his cock down your throat till he hits the back. How you'd cry pretty tears while he'd fuck your throat. How fucking gorgeous you'd be all teary-eyed, swollen-lipped, hollowed cheeks and his cock in your mouth. He knows you'd gladly swallow his cum and give him that same cheeky smile you do when you sneak him an extra lollipop.

His thoughts travel back to your thighs and how his head would feel between them as he kisses his way upwards. He knows you'd be a squirmer and would enjoy it all the more, his arms already holding you from trying to move away.

He watches your face as he slowly eats you out angling his face so his nose rubs on your clit while his tongue does its work. He likes the way you grind against his face and hold onto his hair to keep him in place as if he'd ever stop. Eventually, he's adding fingers stretching you out for later. He'd overstimulate the fuck out of you until you're begging him to let you cum. He'd stop just before saying he wants you to cum on his cock.

He loves the way your mouth hangs open as he slowly pushes himself inside of you, inch by inch until he’s balls deep. He's mesmerized as he watches where your bodies join together, focused on that white ring forming around the base of his cock. He would try to wait for you to get used to his size but that would fail quickly and he'd start ramming into you at a relentless pace. He'd wrap a hand around your throat to hold you still and put a leg over his shoulder.

As you'd get louder he would lean down and put his fingers in your mouth telling you to "shut the fuck up". He would leave bites and hickeys on your neck and you'd bite into his shoulder to stiffle your moans. He'd whisper over and over how much of a good girl you’re being for him how you’re taking him so well and that he's proud of you. The praise sends you over the edge cumming around him squeezing him so hard you pull his release out of him and he cums deep inside of you.

When it's all over he would smile knowing you're walking out of here with his cum dripping out of you and your panties soaked just from him.

As you pack up your stuff to end the daily session Ettore is snapped out of his fantasy. Small beads of sweat from how real it felt to him, his cock straining agsint his scrubs fully hard. And only one thought plagues his mind.

He has to have you.

a/n: ....so that was my first time ever writing one of these. But also my first time writing anything on tumblr! So if I missed anything like a warning or maybe if someone has a recommendation for formatting please tell me! And id love feedback ive never done this before!! Thank youuuu!

(The crazy thing is I have a whole story chilling in my Google Docs about this...)

[marvel-ous-m]

Been thinking about modern AU Elementary School Librarian!Eddie and Substitute Teacher!Steve.

Eddie, who doesn’t really know how he ended up working at the school. A series of events that made him luck out, he supposed. He had always loved books, and practically lived at the public library in between working at the shop and sleeping. He had gotten to know the librarians there over time, had familiarized himself with the Dewey Decimal System from browsing the aisles, and had begun to explore different genres of books after finishing his sci-fi/fantasy bucket list. One evening, while he was curled up on one of the couches in the corner, re-reading The Hobbit for the hundredth time, a little girl with fire-red hair and her front two teeth missing ran up to him and begged him to read to her. He had glanced around the room for a moment, searching for the girl’s parent, but came up with nothing. At a loss, he decided he might as well read to her.

They got through three books that the girl- Max, she had said her name was- had picked out. By the end of his time reading to her, a small group of kids had crowded around him, and a couple of parents were on the outskirts of the makeshift circle smiling at him, clearly pleased that their kids were enjoying “story time”. One of the librarians noticed too, apparently. As Eddie was leaving to walk back to his apartment that night, he was slid a printed-out job posting for the librarian at the elementary school. Eddie never really saw himself as a ‘kids’ guy, but reading to them had been the highlight of his day, and they had all said he’d done the voices well… maybe this would be a good thing. Certainly better than the muscle strain he had almost daily from fixing cars.

So he submitted a resume. He got a letter of recommendation from the librarian who slid him the job posting, and somehow, even without having any certification past his High School Diploma, he landed an interview. They had been desperate, apparently. It was a tiny school in their tiny town and they needed someone to fill in. After only fifteen minutes, he got offered the job- pending results of a four week job shadow with the retiring librarian they were trying to replace and background checks. Two months later and he had become a well-established faculty member at the school, ‘Mr. M’, who did the best monster voices (according to the kids), decorated the library to make it look like it was out of a fairytale (with the help of the art teacher and his now-best-friend Robin Buckley), and even filled in for the music teacher on occasion. It was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Roughly three years after he was hired, he finds one of his lunch breaks being interrupted by Mrs. Harrington’s 3rd grade class. She had always been a bit of a bitch, but she never operated off-schedule. Eddie put his lunch away and observed as the kids flooded into the library and ran around, all finding a book to read or an activity to quietly play with. Will Byers (one of his favorite kids- not that he had favorites, but he totally did) ran up to him, holding watercolor markers and giving him puppy dog eyes. Eddie sighed and rolled up his sleeve, then helped Will sit on his desk so he could reach Eddie’s arm better. Will had asked about Eddie’s tattoos at the beginning of the year, wondering why there wasn’t any color on some of them, and then had been determined to color them in. And Eddie? Well, he couldn’t say no to the kid. Plus it was pretty adorable to have his ‘metal’ tattoos covered in washable marker.

“Will! Did he say you could do that?” Eddie looked up at the exclamation, surprised to come face-to-face with somebody who was definitely not Mrs. Harrington.

“Wait- who are you? Do I need to get the security guard?”

“What? No- no, I’m Mrs. Harrington’s substitute. They sent an email out about me I think? I’m- her son, actually. But you can just call me Steve. Or- probably Mr. Steve in front of the kids? I’m still kind of new at this- my mom called me last week and said she needed to stop teaching for a while because she needed to go on my dad’s business trips with him, she’s always been a bit suspicious of what he really does on the trip, and since I just got my teaching certification she figured it would be best for me too be her substitute- and shi-oot, shoot, I’m totally over sharing right now- it’s just the kids begged me to come here and they weren’t doing our math activity so I kinda panicked-“

“Whoa, alright, slow down big boy.” Eddie chuckled under his breath, then grabbed a sticky note and a pen with his free hand and scrawled out his number. Once he was done he handed it to Steve with a smirk. “I’m absolutely terrible at checking my email. So there ya go- the first number is for my cell- teaching these rascals can be a handful, especially with Henderson and Mayfield in your class, so feel free to text me anytime. We can talk about school or… other things.” Eddie let his eyes take in the man in front of him- and damn, this guy was hot.

Steve blushed, stuttering as he spoke. “A-and the second?” Oh shit, he wasn’t just hot, he was cute too. Eddie suddenly wanted to make Steve this flustered all the time.

“Second number is my extension for the phones here, if the kids get to be too much I can come down the hall for a visit and get them focused while you take a break. They have library time on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1pm to 2:30pm.” Eddie smiled at him, softer this time. “I’m sure you’re doing a great job. They’re just antsy because of the change- but I think they’d like anybody more than your mom- um, no offense.”

“None taken, she’s a bitc- um, a not super nice lady.” Steve coughed, smiling nervously. “Still getting used to kid-friendly language.”

Eddie shook his head fondly. This was certainly the start of something very interesting.

[sunnynwanda]

Under the influence: Part 2

Part 1

As per popular demand, couldn't leave this one without a part 2 :) I hope you'll like it!

Warnings: suggestive? perhaps, enemies with benefits, jealousy.

Villain was never the smothering type. They weren't needy, clingy or possessive. They never got attached and certainly were not one to get jealous. They would be pegged as indifferent and detached, if anything. They hated feeling suffocated by unwanted attention and trapped in endless power plays, so they distanced themself enough to make their stance clear. In other words, Villain didn't do relationships.

But this time was different. Their night with Hero evolved into something they were not anticipating. At first, the whole enemies-with-benefits situation seemed like a good idea. Both of them needed an outlet from their daily lives and struggles - and what better way to do that than fucking out the built-up tension? And it worked well. Too well, if they dare say.

Hero's birthday was three months ago, though it felt much longer than that. Their days went by in a grey haze while the nights blurred into something akin to a nightmare. They met up once or twice a week. Those were the only days that Villain remembered clearly. It felt like they were constantly drunk, only sobering up for the few hours that they spent in Hero's bed. Always in secret, of course. Hero had a reputation to uphold - being seen so much as talking with Villain would be a disaster. Publicity mattered more.

Which was the exact reason for Hero's official date today. And no, Villain did not give a damn about the arm candy that hung onto Hero like their life depended on it. If their sweet smiles and exaggerated giggles made Villain sick in the stomach, it had nothing to do with Hero. Villain despised public displays like that, simple as that. They knew the annual reception was coming up - and Hero needed someone to take. Again, for publicity. The few dates they had sparked discussions, which was what their PR team was building drama for - a red-carpet moment.

Villain huffs, annoyed that Hero cancelled on them for the ditz they were fake dating. Yes, they had every right to date whoever they liked. It's not like Villain had any claim over them or anything. But it still stung. They tried to convince themselves that it was their pride, but the dull ache of their chest spoke otherwise. They slammed a hand over their heart, willing it to shut up.

"I thought you had plans," Hero's voice interrupts their inner monologue rather harshly.

Villain whips around, eyebrows rising. "What are you doing here?" Hero shrugs, sitting down on the cold concrete of the roof Villain was occupying. "Though you had a date?"

Hero nods, mind absent as they trail their eyes over Villain's forced smile and strained jaw. "I did. It ended."

"That soon?" Villain cringes when the question comes out, flooding their throat with rising bile. They intended it to sound sarcastic. It's pathetic how badly they fail to control their emotions.

Hero chuckles, oblivious to the tribulations of their archnemesis. "Took some pics at the bar and walked them to their door."

They don't understand why Villain even wants to talk about something this insignificant. They'd prefer to be kissing them by now, like they always do on this roof.

"That's barely even a date," Villain comments, their voice bitter with something they've not deciphered yet. It's neither jealousy nor anger, the taste more reminiscent of... disappointment? They don't know.

"As long as it counts with the press. Wouldn't wanna waste my whole evening," Hero replies, eyes trained on the city lights. After a moment of silence, they turn to face Villain. "Do you have time? I know I cancelled, but I'm here now."

"What, your contract doesn't cover sex?" Yeah, definitely disappointment. They pray Hero won't question it. "I don't have time, though. I've got places to be and people to rob."

"Hey, are you mad at me?" Hero finally seems to be using their brain, but Villain is nowhere near being happy about it.

They curse under their breath and attempt to salvage the situation by acting dumb. "Why would I?"

"I- you seem off and..." They stop mid-sentence, stepping back into the shadows to avoid being seen when they see a reporter crossing the street.

'Course, publicity over everything," Villain bites their tongue a little too late. They shouldn't have said that. They have no right or reason to feel hurt. And yet they do.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hero steps towards them, about to get hold of their hand, but Villain withdraws it.

"Nothing," with that, they leave, deserting Hero on the cold roof.

Hero is left lost in thought. They keep replaying the conversation to try and make sense of what happened but fail to see the pattern of their behaviour, albeit unwilling, that caused the change in their dynamic with Villain. They are exhausted from the constant role they are forced to play, and Villain is the only escape they have - or, had, as it seems they will now be deprived of it, too.

Hero was in despair. Between patrolling the streets, constant nagging for interviews, fake dating and not seeing Villain other than for battle for two whole weeks, they felt overwhelmed and utterly helpless. It was too much - everything happening at once, urgent demands after pressing requirements after persistent responsibilities. They felt like a caged animal and had no one to blame - all of it was their fault. Thus, Hero was losing their sanity, and the one person that had the ability to ground them wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Another thing that was entirely their fault.

And if all of that was not enough, they had to attend the stupid reception that the mayor was hosting.

"Just my luck," they mumble, struggling with their hair, as their fingers tremble with unreasonable irritation.

They know it's not a big deal, they've been through the same kind of event a dozen times before. Today wasn't gonna be any different. They'll have a glass of ridiculously expensive champagne, force a smile here and there, nod and look invested when someone talks, take pictures for the press and leave as soon as they can. Even if their mind races back and forth, not allowing for a moment of quiet.

Needless to say, by the time their car stops in front of the city hall, Hero is on edge. They are attacked by flashing cameras and a billion questions fired at them as they walk through the doors, ignoring everyone. A glass is pressed into their hand as they enter, the mayor appearing by their side in a matter of seconds. The evening proceeds as predicted until a painfully familiar voice invades their wandering mind.

"Where's your date?" Hero attempts to turn but a firm hand prevents them from moving.

"Villain." The sigh of relief that escapes Hero is audible even over the music. The can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of their lips. God, they missed that voice. "I came alone."

"Hm?" Villain quirks an eyebrow, rounding them to stand face to face to their beautiful yet miserable archnemesis. "How come?"

"You're talking to me now?" Hero looks at them with barely contained contempt. They want to yell at Villain for ignoring - better yet, abandoning them. But that would imply admitting they were in pain.

"Excuse me? I've talked to you plenty." Villain tilts their head, lying through their teeth, but Hero sees right through them.

"No, you have not," their voice is scornful, eyes fixed on their fingers gripping the glass until their knuckles turn white.

"What, did you miss me?" Villain knows it's a poor attempt at mockery when their heart is leaping up their throat.

"I did," Hero admits, as if it's perfectly ordinary for them to say. In their mind, it is. "Why do you look surprised?"

Villain shakes their head, flabbergasted at the path their conversation has taken. The music grows louder as people start flooding the dance floor. "Why would I?"

"Don't give me that bullshit again," Hero pleads, their gaze searches Villain's face for answers but upon not finding anything, they stretch their hand towards them, opting for a different route. "Dance with me?"

"What?" Villain meets their eyes, their expression incredulous. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Perhaps I am," Hero leads them to the center of the room, ignoring the immediate stares and whispers. They are done with hiding. "I've missed talking to you," they murmur into Villains ear as they draw them closer by the waist, "and holding you."

Villain can't breathe, their lungs contracting in their chest at the feeling of Hero's palm against their back. "Did someone spike your drink again?"

Hero shakes their head no, prompting Villain to focus on them. They notice everyone's attention and their manager freaking out in the corner.

"Hero, people are watching." Villain can't tell if Hero is sound of mind at this point, but they still try to reason with them.

"So?" Hero winks before dipping them back. It's an act of rebellion, Villain assumes, barely suppressing their smirk. Fucking finally.

"There are reporters," they point half-heartedly, amusement creeping into their voice.

Hero lets out an exasperated huff but when they speak, their tone is firm and determined. "I don't give a damn about reporters. I need you."

"But what about..?" Villain's question is cut short by Hero's lips pressed against theirs. Their lips part at the suddenness of it, and Hero uses the opportunity to slide their tongue into their mouth. A few gasps and a shriek of horror escape the guests but Hero couldn't care less.

When they pull away, Villain's eyes remain closed to keep all of the spectators out of their mind. "Your public image is in shambles now."

Hero shrugs, an ecstatic grin stretches their lips when Villain meets their gaze. They recognise the familiar dangerous sparkle before Villain can utter the words. "Kiss me again?"

"Right here?" They question, stunned by the request because it was Villain - the same Villain that was disgusted by public sentiments. Villain's eyes go blank again, just like they did in Hero's kitchen when they assumed their advances were unwanted. Hero shakes their head frantically to stop their assumptions from forming. "Yes. God, yes."

Hero barely manages to get the words out before capturing Villain's mouth with theirs in a starved kiss. They feel famished, ravenous as they swallow Villain's every gasp. Suddenly Villain doesn't hate PDA anymore. They allow their arms to snake around Hero's waist, holding them close as they resume swaying to their own rhythm. Hero cups Villain's face and drags their lips over their jaw, before leaving a soft kiss under their ear. "Let's get out of here."

Part 1

Masterlist

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