#pre!engine richard trager | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

outlustings · 2 years

Note

Nsfw alphabet for my pre!engine Ricky Boy? 😍 i loved Jeremys alphabet...but Rick would be freaking awesome 😍

Again i have to thank you for your incredible work you're doing here! 🥰🥰🥰

(my god sorry guys been going thru a little bit of stuff and haven't posted in almost three weeks yeesh.

my drafts are full of writing but nothing is coming together. like how do i combine angst and walrider sex smoothly and also keep all of my marbles. how.

anyhoo, have a rick alphabet thingy. warnings for dubcon elements, bdsm dynamics, rick being rick, the usual. love you anon.)

RICHARD TRAGER NSFW ALPHABET (PRE-ENGINE)

Aftercare | Rick likes to cuddle for a while, and then, if he's still awake, he's off to take a shower. Nothing too sappy, but not entirely cold either. He's the kind of man to talk about the pattern on the curtains after sex, with his groggy brain all fuzzy as he tries to stay awake and find something to talk about. Or he might start talking about his day, maybe an upcoming project. Just anything. He loves the sound of his own voice.

Body part | Rick loves a lovely, soft body and all of the statuesque curves he can grind his hips against or smother with needy kisses. Soft skin is all he cares about. He loves his hands, the way his bulging veins thrum with power as he holds a leash or pulls his partner's hair, he loves how well his fingers stretch his lover, how much he gets compliments on his hands.

Cum | Rick loves playing around with his cum, having it all over his partner's chest or face, dipping his fingers into it and making his fucktoy clean his fingers up, all the while he wears a maniacal grin as he drags his fingers on their tongue; "Look up at me, sweets, there you go - that taste good? You want more?" He loves marking his territory.

Dirty secret | Rick will want to fuck his partner in some dingy corner of the asylum, against old rattling medical equipment or an autopsy table, making sure that nobody would intervene through paying off the security guards. It's dangerous, taboo, filthy, and it makes his heart pound like crazy. He would love it.

Experience | He knows what he's doing, he's had some experience, but one wants to have sex for mutual pleasure, they'll have to give him a lecture beforehand. While Rick technically knows the ins and outs of sex, he's the kind of guy to finger you like he's trying to puncture his lover's spleen and then get all mad when they tell him to slow down.

Favorite position | Anything goes, but his favourite is having his partner pinned against the wall and fucking them while standing up. Whether or not it's just doggy with extra steps or some vertical missionary, he loves having sex against a wall, cornering his prey and fucking them against some sturdy support.

Goofy | His behaviour in the moment is definitely a mix of seriousness and on-brand silliness. Lots of jokes, lots of rambling. He doesn't like the silence, and he thinks it's funny to deliver some kind of joke-y little compliment when he's balls deep inside someone. Lots of sarcasm and teasing words, too.

Hair | Rick has thick, luscious hair, courtesy of his Italian heritage, and him pulling his underwear down will no doubt make his lover blurt out the old trusty: "Wow, Bush is back in office, huh?" (He will definitely have to spank his lover after that kind of an obscene comment. Tsk tsk.) Rick doesn't do a whole lot of trimming, he prefers the natural look on both himself and on his partner.

Intimacy | Rick hates "being romantic", but he can't change the way his eyes glint when he looks at his squirming partner, the way his expression softens as they tear up, the way he needs to press soft, sloppy kisses to their flushed cheeks as he slows down his thrusts in missionary, rubbing his partner's trembling leg up and down, shushing them, purring praises. Nope, totally not romantic at all.

Jack off | Rick doesn't masturbate a whole lot. If he wants to cum, he'll find someone to cum on. It's really that simple (to him). Even iff his partner teases him with nudes or dirty sexts, he'll cross his legs, will his throbbing boner away and wait until they get home and then he'll attack and punish them for trying to make him act up.

Kink | Voyeurism and slight exhibitionism. Suspension and other kinds of rope bondage, restraints of all kind, general sadomasochism. Forced orgasms. Doctor and nurse roleplay (duh). Surgery play, medical play, the likes. Cumplay. Abduction play. Cockwarming. The usual.

Location | Rick likes to fuck at work. I'm sorry, he does. But a bed is always a good alternative. Also, maybe a little date night at one of those kink mansions with weird torture and mirror rooms that you can book for a couple of hours - maybe something to spice up a boring old Thursday or something.

Motivation | Arguments and bickering gets him going. It's weird, but he loves fighting, loves to watch the struggle in his lover's eyes as he dives between their legs while they're still supposed to be mad at him. He also hates making out and cuddling because it makes him achingly hard and now he has to deal with the shame of lovey-dovey stuff making him aroused.

No | Rick is a kinky fuck. I don't think there's anything he would not try at least once. (And once we get to those post-engine preferences of his - oh, boy. That's going to be awful.)

Oral | Rick likes giving oral. He's definitely into making his partner squirm and cry out as they grind against his face. His face is his lover's throne. He loves it as much as he loves to give a good throatfuck after a long day, with him thrusting into his partner's mouth, hissing profanities and cooing about how good of a job they're doing. He loves oral. All of it.

Pace | Slow. Torturously slow. Rick is very meticulous and makes sure to leave his partner begging for more, for him to just get on with it as he savours every inch of his lover's body. He loves to take it slow, only descending into rough, animalistic fucking just as he's about to cum, and no sooner than that. Sometimes, when he's in a mood, or otherwise frustrated, he'll try to be slow, but can't - that's when he gets rough, slamming into his fucktoy with bruising force, only caring about his own pleasure.

Quickie | Rick likes quickies, but doesn't prefer them over slow sex. It's a nice stress relief every now and then, and he adores bending his partner over his desk and fucking them silly - then just nudging them to go on with their work day. Quickies are reserved for when he's feeling less patient than usual or when he's in a mood. Rough, heated hate-fucking is one of his favourites.

Risk | Rick likes a lot of risky stuff in the sense that his kinks can cause awkward ER trips, but he also is into more vague risks. If his partner is able to get pregnant, they should get ready for Rick toying around with the thrill of a little accident. Especially with a little bit of a CNC/begging element to it all. Makes him go wild.

Stamina | While Rick likes to take it all slow and go on fucking for hours, his refractory period is super long. He'll be knocked out as soon as he cums, so his lover should get ready for one, long, sloppy session a night and then sweaty cuddles.

Toys | Rick likes to use toys on his partner, making them cum until they cry is what he's into, but he doesn't own too many toys himself. Maybe a modest cockring, things like that.

Unfair | Rick is extremely unfair, with hours of edging and lots of teasing, ruined orgasms and the like. He loves to see his partner squirm, loves to make them cry in desperation as he holds all of the power over them. He loves to tease, loves to give his partner permission to cum, grins like a madman when his fucktoy finally gets to release around his cock, milking him.

Volume | Rick is actually pretty vocal, lots of grunting and moaning on his part, he's loud. Little noises resonating in the back of his throat as he bucks his hips up into his lover's mouth, curse words spilling from his lips as he laughs and groans as he chases his pleasure.

Wild card | Rick wants to get pegged. He won't admit it easily, but the very thought of it makes him painfully hard.

X-ray | He has a long cock, with a thick head that feels awfully good when he pushes it in slowly. Almost 8 inches when full and throbbing. Slightly curved, with sensitive veins running along the shaft. Uncut.

Yearning | Rick is a horny bastard. Always. He's always ready to go, always yearning for his partner, always looking for the next opportunity to get his dick wet. His sex drive is very high.

Zzz | He's the kind of guy to bust a nut and, like I mentioned before, get knocked out pretty much immediately. He's very groggy after having orgasmed, all sleepy and mumbly, his energy drained. Kind of adorable. Especially when he dozes off and starts to snore.

#outlast #the murkoff account #outlast x reader #outlast fanfiction #not sfw #richard trager #richard trager x reader #gender neutral reader #pre!engine richard trager

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sn4pozu · 11 months

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fugly little class doodles i made waiting out a maths exam, excuse the wheezer cats i was bored HEEHEE

#outlast #outlast fandom #richard trager #leland coyle #outlast fanart #pre engine outlast #doodle #i fuckig hate math #no moar math pleeks

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notlickingstamps · 2 years

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DNA

DNA - What was your Muse's home life like?

Before the unending isolation in Mount Massive, Rick lived in an open floor-plan studio refurbished from an old mill. Upper floors, probably the third. He kept a variety of teas in his cabinets, and his favorite place in the flat was the kitchen. It was the cleanest room of his home.

There was always order. Specific things had specific places, A vase filled with twigs and red ferns near the door, the couch pillows each had a partner they nestled up against in the crook of the couch's cushions. Not a picture frame was ever out of place. In Richard's eyes, his home was the one thing he knew he could control, and he felt content in that thought.

He preferred to not have company over, unless he felt desperately alone. More drugs for him, he justified. The rare occasions he'd have someone over were the quiet, late nights when everyone in the city was asleep. He needed to feel some sort of connection to what he was, after all. Drugs can't mend a person-sized hole in your heart. As life before the engine had it, Richard could never hold onto one person for long enough. He was too messy, she was too loud, he wanted too much cocaine, they wanted to 'Fix Him'--- the list of Not Right People didn't seem to have an end for Rick. Eventually, his days began to bleed together during the florescent blindness of the asylum, and his home became a sore memory of another love lost.

As sore as the more recent memories were of Richard's apartment, the home he shared with his family gushed like a stuck pig if he poked it, and he abandoned that light before it could die out first. He remembers only the fun he'd made with his sister when they were children. That haven is half of the reason he has any concept of his current self at all. A treehouse he and his sister made of twigs and rope felt sturdier than the insured, two-story home his parents owned at the end of a cul-de-sac.

He blocks out the recalling of them, but often will have nightmares of terrible arguments his parents would have, and the terror would take form of the subject they'd fight about; another man or woman usually overbearingly affectionate towards Rick and his sister, a devil or dead man with coins over his eyes and gold nuggets falling from his sleeves, whipping sounds would crack and disorient Rick, blind him, even... It wasn't ever alright.

A horrid memory will creep its way into his mind's eye from time to time, when he and his sister found a lake that buoyed a corpse towards them, all bloated and foul. He dared his sister to touch the corpse, and after her crying and refusing, he pushed his sister onto the corpse. He vividly remembers how he felt when he did it. Frustrated, cynical, bitter. His sister would crawl back onto her feet after getting soaked and pushing the corpse's head into the murkiness below the water, and like a light switch, Rick snapped into the reality of what he'd done. Tears flooded his eyes, and he grabbed his sister up, apologizing profusely. The relationship would never be the same, but she expressed forgiveness the night Richard left his parents' home.

That night was muggy. Cicadas and beetles chirped outside, hiding the back door opening and closing. Rick woke his sister up, and took her to the treehouse they made together. The tweens shared a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, as Richard told her his plan of leaving, and he swore. He swore he'd find her and whisk her away to another treehouse he'd make just for them. He kissed her on the forehead, and they hugged for a long time. It was the last time they would share a bottle of whiskey. This, he reminds himself, I will always remember.

#hc #headcanon #hc: rick trager #richard trager hc #;pre-engine #;hc #;memories

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somniculosusmonsoon · 1 year

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HEYYYYY❗❗

Sorry I died, I did look at the requests and most of it was for richard trager, he seems very popular wow !! However I seemed to have the worst artblock ever and drew only one shitty drawing. Crying and sobbing. This specific one was pre engine trager very epic

I'll draw more of him I promise ❗❗

Tyforthepeoplewhorequested!!

Also new years 2023 lesgoo

#outlast #fanart #richard trager #doodle

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s1utforvampires · 7 months

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my only problem with the murkoff account is that pre engine rick doesn’t have long hair and isn’t old af. if richard trager doesn’t look like a judge in salem in 1692 condemning a woman of witchcraft i DO NOT want him

#he is old TO ME #crusty ass #outlast #richard trager #rick trager #he defo would have those fucking old man ass glasses as well #variants #the murkoff account

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normanbateswife · 1 year

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Underground Lab

Richard Trager x fem!reader

Warnings: trager, pre engine trager being a sleaze and an asshole and charmingggg <3, readers also kind of an asshole to match his energy, heavy insinuation to smut. plotless.

You sometimes wondered if the people who built Mount Massive knew how to make a floorplan that made sense. Walking through the long hallways always felt repetitive. They looked the same until you were on the other side of the building, in a completely different ward.

You looked down at your clipboard, your shoes making light clicking noises on the ground. You had to consciously take each turn deliberately, otherwise you would get lost. No matter how many times you left your office, you were bound to get lost one of these times and you had no interest in seeing first hand some of the stuff you were signing off on. Not unless you had to.

You took a deep breath as you walked into the elevator. The doors started to shut but were halted by a hand sliding between them. The doors reopened, much to your dismay. Jeremy Blaire revealed himself with a smirk, sliding in beside you.

“Jeremy,” you said, nodding your head once. He gestured to the button you had pushed. U. The underground lab.

“What are you doing all the way down there?” he questioned and pushed the button for the male ward.

“What are you doing going to the male ward?” you questioned pointedly. You tried to avoid Jeremy where you could. He liked to hear himself talk and you were usually too busy to listen. In theory, he ran this place. In reality, it was anything but him. He just evaded the press and any kind of actual prosecution.

“Visiting the patients. I like to be hands on.” You rolled your eyes.

“Who warrants your attention today?” He cleared his throat and looked down at the papers in his hands. He squinted, pretending it was hard to read.

“Martin…Arch..Archimbaud,” he spelled out. You hummed under your breath.

“Fantastic finger painter. In theory. I’ve never seen his work.”

“Is he the one that caused problems when we discontinued the art-”

“Yeah.” The door opened to the male ward. Jeremy took a step forward but stood in the door when it didn’t shut.

“You still on for that barbecue? Rick said you were busy with work. It would be a shame if you missed it.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’ll be there, I’m sure he’ll drag me. Go to work. Say hi to Martin for me.”

Jeremy nodded, gesturing with his file as a mock goodbye. You let the door shut as he walked away. As you descended, you felt your stomach drop. You hated the underground lab. You hated being there. You hated thinking about it. It made you face your own guilt, not to mention your own mortality. But times called for you down there on occasion and you needed to be there. Not to mention, you weren’t allowed down there for obvious reasons. Women stayed at least on the floor above. Just in case.

The elevator door opened. You stepped forward into the white sterile atmosphere. It always felt like you were in a completely different place. It made you long for the comfort of your desk, something you knew.

“Took you long enough,” Rick Trager said, emerging from the cafeteria. You rolled your eyes.

“I had a job to do.”

“Don’t you always.” You let out a soft sigh and he put his hand on the small of your back. You cursed yourself for letting his touch make you shiver. All of this carnage and you still managed to find a completely human angle. Love. Or, at the very least, lust.

“Is that your way of yet again telling me to take a break?” you questioned. “Because I do your job better than you do. You better watch your back,” you joked dryly.

“Why do you think I called you down here?” he slurred. He gestured to the engine as the two of you came upon it. It wasn’t currently processing anyone aside from Billy.

“Is that you asking for help Richard Trager?” you questioned, smiling slyly.

“Don’t act like you have the upper hand here.” There were a couple of other workers around the room, noses stuck in their computers. He sat down on the control panel, barely even glancing to make sure he hadn’t hit any of the buttons. “I like involving you. It’s entertaining.”

“Bored of golfing with Jeremy already?”

“He doesn’t look nearly as good as you do,” he promised, looking at you through his glasses sharply. You rolled your eyes.

“What is it I’m doing here again Rick?”

He glanced out the window at the body of Billy Hope. He looked as dismal as you remembered him. You tried not to look .

“Need you to process the date from Billy here,” he pointed with his thumb.

“Don’t you have, I don’t know, a whole room of people for that?” you questioned dumbly. “What am I doing here?”

He let out an annoyed sigh and stood up straight.

“Can’t I just make an excuse to see you?”

“Trager.”

“Oh don’t call me that. Only the patients and my subordinates get to call me Trager.”

“Does that make me an equal?” He chuckled.

“You’re cute.” You kept seeing the engine out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t like being down here and clearly there was no reason for you to be. You grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room. He followed suit, watching eagerly as you opened up one of the laboratory rooms. There was only one man in there and you gave them a pointed look. They left without you having to say anything, packing their things silently. It must’ve been the combined look that you and Trager were giving him. The door shut swiftly behind the employee and you crossed your arms.

“Begging for attention is beneath you.”

“You think too highly of me.”

He took a step towards you, cornering you between him and the island table. You put yourself in this situation. You knew him. You knew what he would do. You just so happened to want it too.

“You coming to the barbecue?” he questioned, smirking a bit.

“I cannot believe you’re having a barbecue.”

“Jeremy’s having a barbecue with some executives.”

“I’m not an executive.”

“You’re an executive’s…how should we phrase this…”

“Slut? Whore? Toy? Or can I say girlfriend?”

He cupped your cheek and kissed you with his whole chest. You pressed yourself against him.

It was the annoyingness in his voice, the smirk on his lips, the sleaze in his step. What should’ve made you hate his guts made you want to pull his hair. He lifted you up onto the counter, knocking over what could’ve been important information and likely dangerous samples. You hooked your leg around his waist and pulled him even closer, if that was possible.

When you tried to pull away he tugged on your lip, pulling it out sloppily. You hadn’t even bothered to lock the door. Anyone could come in at any time. The excitement made your stomach warm.

“Answer the question Richard,” you hummed, not letting him kiss you again even though he was lunging for another attempt.

“I like whore. Has a nice ring to it, don't cha think?”

“Mmm wrong answer!” The game you had going with him could last forever. You knew that. But you liked it. You slid off of the table and around him. He scoffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who needs a label.”

“I’m a girl who has work to do Rick. And other guys to fuck.” You opened the door, leaning against the side of it. His jaw set in annoyance. You had trapped his jealous noncommittal ass. “I’m going back upstairs.”

“Wait,” he seethed. It was painful. You could see it. You tried not to smile. “Come to the barbecue. As my date.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. More of a demand.”

“I’ll see if the executive above me will give me the time off,” you said, shrugging. He rolled his eyes, smirking. You shut the door behind you as you left and smiled triumphantly. What an asshole. You were probably in love with him.

You were about to enter the elevator when he caught up to you.

“I’ll join you,” he decided.

You stepped inside and watched with quiet delight as the doors shut behind him and he pushed the emergency halt button. This time you let him kiss you.

#this is shitty my love trager you deserve more than this #richard trager x reader #outlast imagines #richard trager x fem!reader #richard trager imagines

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lumierexfics · 3 months

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I loved what you wrote for Eddie!! I’d love it if you wrote something for Trager with a female reader!

Chat Log Name : I’ll give you very special attention

Chat log description: You have known Richard Trager since his fall from grace.

USERS : Richard Trager, Female! Reader

!! CONTENT WARNINGS : Trager is OOC, Canon-ish behavior of Murkoff. !!

Pre-mount massive Trager

Trager always had his eyes on you even if he was constantly inviting your coworkers to extravagant dinners that you could seemingly only dream of.

Multiple of your coworkers complained to you about feeling exhausted after being invited by Trager or waking up in the car ride home with closed incisions that they seemingly gained during the date but they couldn’t remember how they gained it. He got close, a bit too close for his own liking.

He knew that it wasn’t your fault, it was simply wrong place and wrong time. His eyes that once dissected every single movement and breath that you marked in his memory finally decided to look away. After all, it was just a harmless joke that Murkoff took seriously. He heard your voice trembling; repeating the same words like a broken record about how you didn’t need a voluntary stay in Mount massive but it was disagreed by more higher ups that you did. Nobody enjoys listening to a broken record.

He heard the commotion from his office, seeing how you were almost going to step a foot outside before being held back by guards and falling to your knees due to a dosage being injected and wheeled away in a gurney and restraints.

Mount massive Trager

Trager followed the bloody footsteps, the blood was fresher since it still had the red in the color. It seems to be—he looked back in boiling frustration, scratching his scarred scalp and sucked in a breath and returned to his patient that seemed to scream for his attention. So desperate, so needy for him.

He finished ‘discussing’ with the patient and decided to follow the once fresh footprints that lead him to the elevator lobby where he never expected to see the face of the broken record staring back at him and carrying the body of a rusted bucket filled with a mixture of blood and pieces of skin, fingers, and a scalp. You still wore the uniform that had been given, scars on your forearm from the morphogenetic engine.

He somehow managed to get you a room that was somewhat clean and didn’t have the occasional screaming patient from down the hall. You sat on the mattress with the rusted bucket still on your lap and looking at the cracks in the tile that soon soaked up with your blood from the cuts on your soles.

He couldn’t seem to spill any words to you and he finally got you here with him.

“I remember when you took me on a date.” You smiled. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

“I n—it was,” he replied. “You in that outfit and the candlelights.”

Your eyes looked around the room but the constant screaming of a patient echoed throughout the hall and seeing him pinch his temple before excusing himself to deal with a patient.

Trager grumbled back holding the bottom of a broken alcohol bottle that still had enough for a small amount for two people. One for you and one for him but his somewhat heart dropped seeing the door of the room open. The homemade shears rested in his hand, his eyes scanned the room with the cracked glasses.

Rusted bucket turned over and revealed the inner contents of shards of glass, rocks, and dried leaves. You were nowhere to be found, you must’ve left the room but he knew the insides of his section. He heard your laughter echoing from the other side of the hall, leaving the broken bottle bottom on the cracked floor and running towards your laughter only for it to fade each time he got close to it; every time out of his grasp.

He panted, finally stopping the chase and hearing your laughter fade away down the hall. He walked the way back to the room where he left the broken bottle bottom only to see the contents of the rusted bucket and the bucket itself was gone.

#outlast x reader #the outlast series x reader #outlast Trager x reader #richard trager x reader #Outlast rick trager x reader #dr trager x reader

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kawareo-main · 2 years

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I am playing a game called "how much Outlast fanart can I sneak into my portfolio and can i get accepted into college with it".

Current works include:

- a painting inspired by the Morphogenic Engine

-Mount massive itself as a landscape

-a few Eddie inspired figure sketches

-Richard and Jeremy just chilling in a night club

-a lot of stuff inspired by the style of the Outlast comics

-personal favorite, a closeup painting of pre-engine Trager's ass for which my teacher told me to make it "perkier"

#shes a shitty teacher tbh but that comment was funny #since my mom said the same thing #shitpost #manass #outlast #outlast whistleblower #jeremy blaire #eddie gluskin #fanart #richard trager

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zsatuka · 3 years

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More Trager!

Wanted to post it to insta first but then I realized the background is transparent, aka the background randomly becomes gray

Why insta, why? 💀

#outlast #outlast fanart #outlast the murkoff account #the murkoff account #richard trager #rick trager #outlast trager #pre engine trager #pre asylum trager #dr trager #outlast fandom #tags everywhere

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tragersimp · 2 years

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yeah

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le-liel · 1 year

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I'm sorry Jer... not sorry.

#rick trager #team rick #pre!engine richard trager #outlast #richard trager #outlast whistleblower #jeremy blaire #the murkoff account #rick and jer

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outlustings · 2 years

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Outlast 1 boys reacting to a pregnant reader? And maybe them as dads? your blog gives me life

(i am too lazy to do my uni essay. the next logical step is to write 5k words of horror video game characters being dads i guess.

includes miles, chris, the twins, rick, eddie, jeremy, frank and for some reason DENNIS!

includes graphic childbirth scenes - why????? idk???? just because????? and mentions of drug use because frank is frank.

also are they phantom pregnancies? is your greatest joy just a figment of your imagination, a continuation of your insanity bleeding into your reality? are you too, depressed, like the writer is? muahaha...

enjoy!)

MILES

"I'm - I'm gonna be a dad?" he gripped the steering wheel with such tightness that you thought he might break it. You nodded, smiling as tears prickled your eyes.

"Yup."

Miles let out a shaky sigh, then ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, smiling weakly before bursting into airy, light laughter.

"Babe, that's so -..." he swallowed, turning his head to you, nearly pouncing on you as he hurriedly leaned over to the passenger seat to embrace you, "That's awesome! When?"

"When what?" you giggled against his neck as he held you tight, rocking you clumsily. Maybe you should've told this after you got out of the car.

"When will - you -... holy shit! Like, give birth?"

He was stumbling over his words, his eyes wide and excited. Adorable, you thought, ruffling his hair as he buried his head into your chest.

"I don't know, maybe June," you shrugged, "We'll see."

Miles nodded, leaning back to take a good look at you, his face red and his hair messy, his eyes glistening.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" he blurted out, grinning so wide you thought his cheeks would split. A single tear rolled down to his sharp jawline.

The cold autumn air nipped at your nose as you sat on the park bench, your discarded mittens resting on the the bump of your belly as you held the small digital camera in your numb hands. The ground was covered in little piles of leaves underneath the stirring gray sky ablve Denver. You filmed the park, panning your camera to capture the old maple trees and the distant playground. Miles always liked these little clips you took, you thought. He stayed up for hours on end editing them into little movies that he would proudly present to the two, soon to be three, of you.

A small toddler girl ran from one edge of the frame to another, brown hair spilling in wisps from her beanie as she cackled, being chased by a hunched over Miles who was roaring theatrically.

"I got you!" he snatched your daughter to his chest, raising her up above his head and she squealed in delight as he spun her around in the air.

You laughed, ending the recording on a frame of Miles pressing a kiss to the child's cheek, holding her to his chest as she tried to squirm away.

"Mommy!" she yelled and you waved at her, shoving the camera into the pocket of your jacket.

"You wanna go to mommy?" Miles turned his head to you and grinned, "I'll race you."

He set your daughter to the ground and she started running, waving her limbs all about, stirring up flurries of red and gold leaves with her pink rubber boots.

Miles jogged behind her. You stretched your arms out and she bumped against your legs. You chuckled.

"Daddy's slow, isn't he?" you stroked her cheek as she turned her face to her father. Miles panted when he reached the bench.

"You won," he nodded to your toddler and swept strands of hair from his perspiring forehead, grinning at you, "Are you cold?"

"A little," you shrugged as your daughter climbed up on the bench, huffing with effort, clinging to your arm.

"Wanna grab a hot chocolate on the way home?" he gestured towards the other side of the nearby pond where the city's skyline collided with the heavy clouds, "I think it's gonna rain soon."

"Hmm," you hummed, stroking your belly with one hand while trying to keep your daughter from climbing over the back of the bench with your other hand, "My feet are tired, Miles."

"I'll rub them when we get home," he reached over to grab the girl from your grip and held her to his chest as she giggled, stirring in his arms.

"Fine," you smiled, "You better keep your promise."

Miles nodded, adjusting your daughter to his hip and reaching an arm to help you get off the bench.

"Pissing off a pregnant lady? Not on my bucket list."

"Miles!" you hissed, "Language!"

He grinned.

"I'm sorry, babe."

CHRIS

"You're kidding," his mouth was a thin line, his eyes fixed on yours, "Is this a prank?"

"No, not at all!" you shook your head with a laugh, "I'm pregnant. I swear. Took the test this morning," you flashed him a grin and grabbed the test from the edge of the sink, showing him, "See?"

Chris bent down to look at the test, still looking suspicious. Then his eyes widened and he smiled, letting out a laugh.

"Woah! Wait," he grabbed your wrist and his other hand shot up to his cheek as his mouth hung open, "Wait, I'm gonna be a father?"

You nodded, laughing.

"You need to sit down?" you patted his shoulder as he looked absolutely gobsmacked, leaning against the sink, his eyes fixed on the bathmat as he tried to process the news.

"Actually, yeah," he mumbled and sat on the toilet, burying his head into his hands for a second before looking up at you with the widest smile imaginable.

"You're pregnant," he huffed out a shaky laugh, taking your hand, "You're really pregnant."

You sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his left temple as you stroked his back soothingly.

"You're so amazing," he breathed out, "A baby? What the hell...?"

You giggled.

"I know, this is crazy," you muttered against the collar of his uniform shirt, "But I think we'll be fine."

"Yeah," Chris sighed, placing his hand on your cheek and stroked it with his thumb, "I think so too."

You rocked your son in your lap, stroking his platinum hair between pats on his back, a towel slung over your shoulder.

"He ready?" Chris muttered, outstretching his arms.

"I got a few good ones out of him," you sighed, lifting the gurgling and cooing baby by his shoulders and placing it in his arms, "But I don't know, we'll see if he goes to sleep."

Chris nodded and left you to fold the dry towel back into the linen closet of your small bungalow's bathroom. You rubbed your temples, tiredness stinging every muscle in your body as you dragged your feet to follow Chris to the bedroom.

His large form was bent over the crib, the back of his t-shirt lifting up slightly as he placed the boy into his bed, his head brushing against the hanging stars of the mobile. You walked up behind him and tugged on his shirt.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome," you yawned, "Is he going to sleep?"

"He's not putting up a fight," Chris straightened his back and looked down at you as you reached over his side to stroke the infant's cheek. His eyes were already close. You didn't know how Chris did it. He had a pacifying effect on your son whereas with you, he only seemed to be as rowdy as a three-month old can be.

You smiled tiredly. Your eyes skimmed over the little embroidered shooting stars of his blanky, the pastel yellow giraffe resting near his feet and the washed-out, dusky pink pig toy that he had wrapped his tiny hands around, squishing it against his chubby cheek.

"He loves your piggy," you leaned your head against Chris' shoulder.

He nodded.

"They're matching," he pointed one thick finger to his pink romper, smiling gently.

"Oh yeah," you laughed, pressing a kiss to your boyfriend's upper arm, "Unintentional on my part."

"My three little pigs," he squeezed your hand gently, "One," he patted the head of the stuffed pig, "two," he pinched his son's toe, "three," he kissed your temple, his lips soothing your headache as the two of you stood over the crib in the soft hue of the nighlight.

THE TWINS

"Congratulations."

The deadpan delivery made you a little nervous. You thought you could see slight smiles on both of their faces in the flickering light of the cell. You felt a little annoyed, you had expected a far greater reaction. Maybe you were hoping for too much. You adjusted yourself on the bunk.

"That's it?"

"We're happy," the taller man said, "But you seem to be avoiding something."

"Which one of us is it?" his brother completed the question, kicking a stray pebble. You stared at them. You couldn't believe it. Why did they have to overthink now, out of all the situations in the whole wide world?

You clicked your tongue.

"Does it matter?"

"Only if it matters to you," the shorter man reached up to scratch at his head, ruffling his dark, spiky hair. You watched his hand, wondering for a fleeting moment if the baby would have the same kind of hair. Rough and thick. But smooth in your hands.

"It really doesn't," you squared your jaw, "I don't care. As long as the both of you are here with me. Don't leave me."

Maybe they heard the crack in your voice. They both turned their gazes to you, their eyes soft as they watched you from the shadows. You slumped forward, resting your elbows on your thighs. Then you heard the soft sound of their feet hitting the floor and two masses plopping on the mattress on either side of you. A warm, large hand rested on your shoulder.

"You're ours, forever," you heard the taller man grunt in your ear, "We will protect you."

"Our lamb, our dearest," his brother whispered, placing his hand on the slight curve of your belly. You leaned into his touch, revelling in the squish of their bodies pressed against you, shoulder to shoulder. You closed your eyes, relief washing over you.

You pressed your sweaty forehead against his bicep, your throat raw from screaming as you felt a fantastic emptiness below your ribcage as the wails of your newborn filled your ears, its purplish skin glistening with mucus and blood as you wiggled your fingers at the hands that held the baby above your abdomen.

"Give it to me," you sobbed with intense relief as the balding, taller man, your other partner, placed the baby in your arms, where his brother settled his own hand underneath the child's head, bringing it closer to you, shushing the infant with a low, gentle voice.

Your vision was blurry.

"What is it?" you grunted.

"A boy," he muttered in your ear, placing the child on your heaving chest and you wrapped your arms around your son, as tears rolled down your cheeks and you panted, smiling at your baby, only choked sobs coming from you.

"A boy!" the other man called out over his shoulder to the crack of the door, wiping his bloody hands on your thighs. The congregation hooted and hollered behind the door and you distantly heard Father Martin singing praises to the Lord over the rushing of blood in your ears.

"Oh, bless!"

"It's like Christmas!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up!"

You laughed tiredly at the voices behind the door but your laugh turned into a screech as you felt a burning sensation in your loins. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" the taller twin furrowed his brows as you shoved your son to his brother's arms, gripping the sheets underneath you and spreading your legs again.

"I think there's another one coming, fuck!" you bellowed, propping your body up on your elbows. The taller man ducked between your legs and you felt his hands and you saw and felt white hot iron spill all over you as you screamed, his brother's fingers intertwined between yours and you growled as you heard another wail join the chorus of terrific noise rattling inside your head.

You felt your lungs swell and everything hurt but you saw, at the end of another umbilical chord, another baby. Twins. You should've known.

"A girl," her father muttered, grinning to you as she reached her tiny fists to pound at your chest and you stroked her back and the world behind the door ceased to exist as the brothers looked down on you with tender eyes, holding their fruit in your tired, sweaty arms as you rocked them senselessly and breathed deeply, smiling at everything in the room before you slumped back on the shorter man's chest and closed your eyes, feeling two pairs of arms wiping you down and heard low muttering.

"You did so well, you did so well."

Your head spun.

RICK

"No way," Rick held your shoulders at an arms length, his fingers digging into your flesh as he shook you gently, "No way you're pregnant."

It was almost frightening how wide his eyes were.

"Yes, I am," you gave him a slight smile, testing the waters. A silence fell between the two of you. Your heart beat like crazy. He was never this quiet. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, underneath those luscious greying curls.

Then, a wide grin flashed on his face. He huffed through his nose, straightening his back and he pulled you into a tight hug.

"Pregnant!" he exclaimed, letting out a breathy chuckle as he leaned his head back and fixed his eyes on you, his hands sliding from your shoulders to your cheeks, "We're having a baby!"

"Yeah," you nodded your head, laughing.

Rick leaned down to kiss you on the tip of your nose, squishing your cheeks gently as you pressed your hands on his chest, rubbing circles on his skin through the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt.

"Oh, you sweet thing," Rick sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, "You're too good to me."

You poured a handful of cereal to a shallow plastic bowl and set it in front of your daughter who was fiddling with her bib, tracing the stitches with her tiny fingers. You tickled her tummy and cooed at her before straightening your back and looking at Rick, who was making pancakes on the stove, flour and pieces of eggshell all over the counters.

He had insisted on making you breakfast since it was your birthday. Usually he took you to a restaurant on your birthday but after the birth of your daughter he wanted to stay home as much as possible.

You eyed his apron. A honeymoon gift from a colleague, or so he had claimed. "My meat is hand rubbed, well seasoned, aged to perfection and always hot". Rick always wore it when he was making you a little romantic breakfast. Never in the neighbourhood barbecues though.

"You're gonna have to get rid of that apron," you gestured towards his chest, holding back your laughter.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," Rick looked down and sighed, then straightened out the fabric of the front, "When she learns to read, I'll throw it out, okay? I'll part with my dear apron for your sake."

"No, you're good. If she's got your brains, it'll take ten more years," you smirked, pinching your daughter's cheek as she babbled in her chair, fingers dipped into the dry fruit loops in her cup.

"O-ho-ho!" Rick laughed dryly, turning his grinning face to you, eyebrows high, "You want to insult your personal chef now! I'll make sure I burn yours," he scoffed and waved the spatula at you like a medieval weapon.

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind as he turned to the stove.

"You know I only say it because it's true," you grinned against his shoulder and reached up to kiss the nape of his neck. He shuddered.

"Ticklish!" he warned.

"Oh, are you now?" you giggled, skittering your fingers up to his armpits and he squirmed with laughter, your daughter squealing in her chair, clapping her hands together at the show.

"No, stop, honey, the stove is on," Rick laughed, "Please - have mercy!" he turned to you and grabbed your wrists, giving you a grin, wrenching your hands off of him.

"Can you behave?" Rick cocked his head towards your daughter who was still giggling. His laugh always made her hyper.

"No, and your pancakes are burning," you grinned and gave him a quick, sweet kiss on the lips. He kissed you back tenderly before registering your words and swearing under his breath, whipping his head around to face the stove. Your daughter giggled again and Rick's eyes flickered to her and his face softened.

"Daddy's a klutz, isn't he?" he cooed to her from across the kitchen, "Daddy should feed this to the neighbor's dog, right, princess?"

She laughed again in and jumped up and down in her chair. You saw Rick mouth an "awh" before turning back to the stove.

You licked your lips. How many kids did he say he wanted again?

EDDIE

"Yes, yes!" he bellowed, as he took you by your waist and lifted you several feet into the air, spinning you around while you pounded playfully on his chest with your fists, laughing as tears streamed down your face, "Finally! Oh, I love you, I love you!"

He pressed you to his chest which shook with emotion as he breathed in the scent of your hair. You stroked his broad shoulders, stifling your own sobs by biting your lip and pressing your head into his chest. A warm silence filled the air as Eddie pressed soft little kisses to the crown of your head, muttering softly. You felt him rock you gently to the tune of the old radio.

"My darling. The mother of my children. I can't believe it."

"She's beautiful, just like her mother," Eddie whispered to you as the both of you stood over the improvised cot, watching your newborn daughter wiggle inside the many layers of blankets you had managed to find in the vocational block.

Eddie bent down to his daughter, his eyes glistening with adoration and tenderness, stroking the curls of soft black hair on her little head. She whined, leaning into his hand.

"She's got your eyes," you sighed and massaged his shoulder, leaning down as well, your nose mere inched from the little bundle in the cot.

"Really?" Eddie murmured, rubbing the pinkness of her skin softly, "I thought they were yours, darling."

"They might change," you whispered, curling your finger under her chin, "Newborns often change a little bit. My hair wasn't this color for sure when I got out of the womb," you smiled at your groom as his massive frame covered the baby as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Another little grunt spilled from her lips and she screwed her eyes shut, kicking at her covers tiredly.

"Well, I'll be here to see if something changes," Eddie nodded, straightening his back and placing his chin on the top of your head, "You should go rest, dearest."

You looked down at the dried streaks of blood running down your legs and chuckled.

"I should go get a bath."

"I'll come with you," Eddie said, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your waist with his hand, almost needily.

"What, and leave the baby here?" you looked up at him.

"Oh," Eddie blushed a little bit, "Yes, I -..."

"Almost forgot?" you giggled, bending down to pick up your daughter, cringing at the pain in your loins but being flooded with oxytocin almost immediately after your skin touched hers.

"No!" Eddie blurted out defensively.

You turned to him with your newborn daughter in your arms.

"Take her," you said softly, standing on the tips of your toes, placing her in his arms, "Mind the head. Just like that."

Eddie gasped softly when you placed the child onto his hands for the first time. He looked at the stirring bundle of rags and pink, wrinkly skin and smiled, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

"She's tiny," he sighed, "Our baby. My god," he sniffled a little bit, exhaling deeply. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, stroking his forearm. The legacy he had always wanted. Here. Finally.

JEREMY

"Wait, what?" he lifted up the rickety plastic test that you had placed in front of him with his morning espresso, fixing his steely blue eyes on you "What's this?"

You just smiled, sipping your tea.

"What is this?" he repeated, wiggling the pregnancy test at you. Then something clicked.

"Are you pregnant?" Jeremy's voice was shaky, still hoarse from sleep as his eyes flickered between you, your stomach, and the red lines on the stick of plastic.

You nodded into your mug.

He leaned back on his chair, his face blank for a moment. Then he threw his arms up, his eyes much brighter, all tiredness washed away.

"You're pregnant!" he yelled, exasperated, his face melting into a smile, "I fucking knew it!" he rushed over to you in less than a second, his coffee cup clattering loudly against the marble of the countertop as he slammed it down, freeing his hands. You laughed as he wrapped his arms around you, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose as he kissed you, bitter coffee lingering on his lips.

"I'm home!" you called out from the hall, pulling the door shut with a heavy thump, kicking off your boots. You could already smell the scent of some microwave meal from the kitchen mixed with the scent of Jeremy's cologne. The distant jingle of a kids' show. You shook off your coat and started walking towards the living room, leaving your shopping bags on the doormat, fancy tissue paper rustling against sturdy bags with even fancier logos printed on them.

"Hey," you peeked your head in through the open entryway of the living room, the lacquered surfaces of sleek black furniture reflecting pastel colors from the massive plasma TV on the opposite wall. You could hear light snoring coming from the designer couch. You smiled and walked over to your husband, leaning down on the outside back of the couch.

He was sleeping in an upright position with your son curled up in his lap, Jeremy's feet slung over the glass coffee table. A bad habit. Stray crayons and colouring books littered the expensive carpet. Your son let out a whistling huff from his nose and shifted on his father's lap.

"Jer," you whispered softly, brushing your fingers against his hair, leaning over from behind him to place hover your chin over is shoulder, "Jer, wake up."

Jeremy jolted awake, looking around him in a few milliseconds of tired panic, spotted you and smiled.

"Hey, honey," he sighed, "We were just watching..." he narrowed his eyes at the television, "Super-d-... Wait, Super-dog and friends? Yeah. That."

"I see," you kissed his cheek, resting your chin on his shoulder, looking down at your son, "Had fun colouring?"

"He stole my pen," Jeremy pointed to the floor where a crudely drawn stick figure with too many fingers smiled with empty eyes beside a sloppily coloured Winnie the Pooh page. Some scribbled text on the bottom. MY DAD WORKS ATT MERKOF.

You chuckled.

"You guys are too cute," you rubbed his shoulder, "Wanna take him to bed? I brought some wine."

Jeremy stretched before wrapping his arms around your son, lifting him up carefully against his chest.

"He's gotten big," he remarked with a strained voice.

"Four years go by pretty fast," you hummed, stroking your son's red cheek with the back of your hand.

"Feels like yesterday."

"It really does."

"You haven't aged a day," Jeremy's eyes flicked to you and he smiled tenderly, "Gorgeous," he added.

You winked.

"Get him to bed, I'll go open the wine."

FRANK

"Huh?"

He finished licking the edge of the joint, his mouth hanging open slightly as his eyes fixed on your face.

"I'm pregnant," you repeated, slightly louder, "So you better not light that," you gestured to his hands.

Frank blinked at you, his face blank.

"A baby? We're gonna have a baby?"

The corners of his lips dipped down. For a second you thought he might burst into tears. Then a strained roar came from him as he jumped up from the dingy couch and jumped up to you, gripping your hands and leading you around the living room while jumping up and down in a frenzied dance, laughing with tears in his eyes.

"We're gonna have a baby," you hugged him tight, joining his feverish movements as the two of you jumped up and down like idiots, the creaking of the floorboards below you making you laugh, "We're gonna have a baby!" he yelled.

Someone pounded on the wall from the next apartment over.

"You're sure?" he stilled, panting, lifting his hands to your cheeks, "You're definitely sure?"

You nodded.

He kissed you, his scraggly beard scraping against your skin, his bare chest pressing to you.

"Oh, angel, I -... I have to..." Frank breathed against you, his eyes widening again, "I have to call my mama!"

You threw your head back and laughed as he vaulted over the back of the couch, skidded on the floor with his hole-speckled socks and dove into the bedroom in less than two seconds. You down, taking his joint from the floor between your fingers and shoving it in between the couch cushions. For safe keeping. He would need it in a few months. But from now on he had to smoke outside.

"Mom, mom," you felt a little hand smack your shoulder and you buried your head deeper into your pillow. You woke up in a jolt.

"What is it?" you groaned, your eyes crusty with sleep, "What's the time?"

"It's six a.m," you heard your daughter's giddy voice. You could tell from her voice she was grinning ear to ear. No emergency. Probably. Then you realized that her voice sounded kind of muffled.

You moaned. You still had an hour before your alarm would go off. But it seemed like your alarm was here. With lots of effort, you rose up and rubbed your eyes.

Your daughter was standing by your bedside, a sheet draped over her like a veil and a latex skeleton mask on her face. It was way too big for her. A silence filled the room. Then you could hear her breathe in deeply.

"I'm Santa Muerte," she whispered dramatically.

You stared.

"You're what now?"

Her shoulders slumped.

"Da-ad!" she yelled over her shoulder at the open door of the bedroom, "Mom doesn't know who I am!"

"Mom what?" you heard Frank's voice from the kitchen. They were both so loud.

Your daughter inhaled, ready to scream louder but you shushed her.

"Of course you're -... What's with the costume, baby?"

She shrugged, peeling the mask off of her face, giving you a gap-toothed smile.

"It was my idea," you heard Frank say as he appeared in the doorway, and to your surprise, was carrying a tray of food, still clad in his sleep attire. Faded boxers and an old band shirt.

"Oh, angel," you smiled at him tiredly, "You shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he grinned behind his beard, "Happy mother's day."

You had forgotten.

"Oh, yeah," you mumbled as he set the tray on your nightstand and leaned in to kiss your cheek as you propped yourself up on your pillows.

"I wanted to scare you," your daughter grumbled and reached for a slice of toast but Frank snatched her wrist.

"Mom first," he said sternly, then his face twisted into a quizzical expression, "Why'd you want to scare mom? I thought you just wanted to perform some metal or something. The mask was mine," he added to you as you giggled into your slice of bread, swiping crumbs off the sheets.

Your daughter shrugged again.

"Thought it would be fun."

Frank opened his mouth to protest his involvement but you just laughed, ruffling your daughter's long black hair.

"Weirdo," you took another bite of bread and offered the rest of it to her as she scooted up to sit on your legs. Frank sat on the edge as well, taking your hand, rubbing his thumb on the cheap ring he'd bought you ages ago, eyeing the way the gold glinted in the dim light of the bedroom.

"Don't even think about replacing it," you warned and shoved a piece of toast in front of his mouth and he smiled before taking a bite.

DENNIS

"W-well I'll be goddamned," he grinned, enclosing your hand in both of his, lifting the bundle to his lips and placing a tender kiss to your fingers, "Y'all hear that? Me, a-a daddy? Shit..."

You laughed, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek as he cradled your hand in his grip, so softly, like he was holding a baby bird.

"Don't get all soft on me, Dennie," you giggled, "You're going to make me cry."

He shook his head.

"D'you think th-they'll like him?"

"Who? The baby?"

He nodded, his grin twisting into a solemn look, his dark brown eyes fixed on yours, glimmering with intense happiness and even more intense worry.

"I'm sure they will," you whispered and stroked his cheek, "All that matters is me and you right now, okay?"

He nodded again.

"Hey, lil' guy," Dennis cooed, stroking your son's tiny, pink and wrinkled face with his index finger as he wailed and screeched in his arms, "He's sure g-got a pair o' lungs on him," he turned to you, chuckling as you held your arms open, as you tried to ignore the searing pain between legs. You were flooded with a need to hold your newborn. Hold them both. Your Dennie and his little boy.

"Give him to me," you sighed with a weak smile, "And get us a rag. We need to clean him."

Dennis placed the newborn onto your chest and he writhed against you as you rocked the child, shushing him gently.

"Careful, he's slippery," he cocked his head, flashing a wide toothy smile as he eyed the two of you, "They thought I didn't have enough man in me," he sighed.

"We shut them up," you winked at him and he nodded, reaching over to the side table, retrieving a torn piece of cloth and placing it in your outstretched hand.

"We showed 'em."

(screaming and crying and sobbing and shitting into my pillow rn because i can never be a baby mommy for fictional insane men)

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