#[sits in a corner and cry......sobs....i love them..i love them a lot

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 2: Double Penetration

Summary: Your harmless little question about your boyfriends cloning ability lands you face down, ass up in the bed of the King of Hell himself. Warnings: DP, P in V sex, P in A sex, nipples, cum...lots of cum, clone sex, etc. MDNI< 18+. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @hazelfoureyes. THEIR KINKTOBER STUFF IS ALREADY FIRE. I mean who would expect anything less from the leader of the Horny Dear Cult TM.

It was supposed to be a harmless request, a simple inquiry you had for your boyfriend. You didn’t think it would land you face down, ass up on the king of Hell’s plush king sized bed; drooling and letting out incoherent praises at how good he was making you feel. 

It started with watching Lucifer preform a few parlor tricks to entertain the masses of the Hazbin Hotel, cloning a few apples to juggle with. While that in and of itself was an innocent act, it couldn’t keep you from wondering what else he might be able to conjure up and clone. This lead you to pulling him aside later that night and popping the question. 

“Luci, dear. May I ask you something?”

“Why of course my love! What is it?” He was simply beaming at you from across the dinning table, as if every syllable from your soft lips was a heavenly tune he couldn’t wait but to indulge in listening to. 

“About your magic act earlier—“

“Oh it was so fun wasn’t it! I am sure Charlie loved it!”

“Yes, yes. It was nice and I am super impressed but it left me wondering…can—what can you clone?”

Furrowing his brows together, Lucifer was somewhat taken aback by the inquiry. It seemed so simple to him to just clone something, the powers that come with ruling Hell seemed bland and denzinet considering how long he had been using them. Rising from his chair, Lucifer slid over to where you were sitting, propping his elbows on the corner of the table next to your spot. 

“Mhmm, I think close to everything. Ducks included. Oh I need to tell you about that time that I cloned 1000 rubber ducks for Charlie’s fourth birthday—“

“Lucifer, darling. I would love to hear that story but maybe another time? I have…another question.” Placing your hand gently on his forearm, you bring him back from reality. His eyes burning into yours with an intense curiosity, as you sheepishly smile and fiddle with a bracelet on your wrist. It was silver, adorned with a red and gold pendant; given to you on your one year anniversary as a sign of your boyfriend’s never ending love. 

“Can you…can you clone yourself?” 

And that is how you ended up as mentioned before. Face down, Lucifer himself laying under you, pounding into your weeping pussy as a clone of him matched his pace as it drove into your ass. Gripping the sheets, the pleasure was blinding; with every thrust you swore you could see Heaven itself and how God himself had blessed you with such a specimen of a boyfriend. 

“Fuck—Ducky, you’re squeezing me so tight!” Lucifer couldn’t help but shudder with every thrust into your cunt, its velvety walls wrapping around him in an inviting way that almost had him cumming on the spot every time. Slowing his pace below you, he took the time to suck on one of your hardened nipples; releasing a short cry from your puffy, lipstick ruined lips. 

“This what you wanted sweetheart? For me to take you like this….gosh you’re gonna take my cum so well. Gonna take it nice and deep inside both holes for me Ducky.”

A hot wave of pleasure coiled itself in your stomach, a taught line on the edge of breaking. It was unbearable…almost. Lucifer’s clone continued it’s relenting pace into your ass, occasionally coming to smack down or dig it’s nails into the soft supple flesh of your behind. 

“Come on sweetheart…cum for me—cum for us.”

Your body acted on command, letting out moans of sobbing pleasure as your release hit you like a freight train; squirting all over Lucifer. Not mere seconds later did he and his clone find their own high; cumming hard into your cunt and ass, the liquid gold seed seeping out of both holes. Gasping for air, you peeked your head down to see Lucifer’s eyes completely dialated and black; staring at the way your body soaked up his seed. Taking his fingers, he pushed some more back into your overstimulated hole with a smirk. 

“Think you can take us again sweetheart?”

[bi-writes]

I LOVED how you wrote ghost and badass!reader omg 🫶 If you’re comfortable, would you be open to writing protective boyfriend ghost at the pub? Some oblivious guy is creepy when ghost goes to get drinks. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into when ghost returns.

ill take any opportunity to write about my favorite lieutenant spilling blood for love (18+)

he has been gone for too long. your glass is empty, and the crowd is filling the room, and it's loud. you lose him, even the size of him is swallowed by how many people are moving around, and you sigh as you lean your head into your hands and wait for him.

you know he must hate this. the people. the noise. it's hot, too, and you know he'll complain a little about the stickiness of his mask when you get home.

you gasp when there's a splash of something against your back. you cry out in anger, and when you turn, there's two men cackling as they come into your space.

"ohhhh!" the lankier one giggles drunkenly, and his eyes make you uneasy. his hair is curling from the sweat along his brow, and the dark pieces of it fall in front of his face, drawing low shadows over him. he's the one holding the drink that just spilled down your back. "s-sorry, luv--" he hiccups, and you glare.

"fuck off," you snap, and it's then that you realize you've made a mistake. something ugly flashes across his face, and his friend notices, a bleach-blonde with an uneven haircut, and he whistles a little.

"oh, fuck, mate--she wants a fight."

you scoff, shaking your head. "if you aren't gonna apologize for spilling that shit on me, the least you can do is get the fuck out of here."

"oi, you got a fuckin' mouth on ya, lovie," the dark-haired one growls. you sit up a little straighter, brushing off some liquid that's spilled onto the table. they're cornering you, you realize, when the blonde one takes a seat across from you and the other traps you in the booth by sitting next to you.

"i'm not going to ask you again," you say firmly. "get your ass off this seat and move along."

"you're one of those, aren't you?" the one next to you gets uncomfortably close. "one of those feminists? that thinks men are useless, and that you're meant for something more than the fuckin' kitchen?"

you frown, your mouth opening slightly, and you shake your head, "excuse me?"

"you lot," he comes closer. "think you're hot shit. but y'r all fuckin' slags. only thing you're good for is opening y'r fuckin' legs."

you jump visibly when he grabs your thigh roughly, and you're about to react when a gloved hand finds the back of his head and slams it down against the wood of the desk.

you squeak when he cries out in pain, his nose pointing at unnatural angles, and blood splatters the table and the denim of your jeans. you lean back, but then those gloved hands grab the back of his shirt and yank him out of the booth, tossing him onto the floor. he skids across it, wet with spilled drinks, and he doubles over, coughing, cradling his face as he sobs.

you swallow hard when ghost finally turns his head back to the table. his chest is heaving, and he squeezes his hands in and out of fists when his eyes land on the helpless blonde that still somehow sits across from you.

"no--" he holds his hands up. "n-no, w-we were just--"

"just what?" ghost snarls, tilting his head to the side as he looks at him. you suck in a shaky breath, frozen in your seat, and you almost feel bad for the poor thing. but then you replay the words, the way they looked at you, how one of them put a hand on you. you relax a little, blinking, and you realize it must be acceptance.

you take a dog with you when you go out. it's not your fault people don't realize their bite hurts.

ghost takes a step towards him, boots heavy, and he runs. he bolts, running away, out the back door, and he leaves his friend to cradle his bloody face against his shaking hands all by himself. the crowd was quiet for a moment, but the mood softens when ghost turns away, letting out a low breath. people realize the show is over, and they shuffle back in place.

there is blood on the back of your hand. before you can touch it, a gloved hand reaches out and smooths his own over you, wiping it away. you sniffle, looking down, and he comes closer to crowd your space. you feel only warmth with him there, and your lip trembles a little.

"s-sorry, i--"

"wot are you apologizing for?" simon mutters. "apologizin' for those fuckin' twats, luv? don't want t'hear it."

he grunts, shaking his head, and he tugs on your arms, bringing you closer.

"c'mere," he tilts your head up, putting a few fingers on your chin and staring down at you. he narrows his dark eyes, and you smile, just a little, sadly. "was almost too late." he looks behind him, and you see a few feet away, there's two drinks spilled on the floor, glass shattered where he dropped them. "saw him put his fuckin' hands on you, 'n--"

you put a hand on his forearm, digging your nails in there gently. you shake your head.

"it's okay. doesn't matter." you laugh a little. "kinda hot."

you notice him raise a brow, and he tilts his head to the side, and he hums.

"oh, that right, luv?" he leans in, closer, and when he touches your hands, blood comes off on your hands. you smooth your hands against his own, gripping them firmly, and you look up at him as you smile knowingly.

simon would do unspeakable things for you. and that idiot was lucky to go home with his hands still attached. it should scare you that you know this, that you know this is a fact. it's dark, it's cruel, but it's yours, and you like the way it tastes in your mouth.

you like the way revenge feels against your tongue, the sound that love feels between your teeth. this love is fucked and raw, and it will tear you apart, but you can't wait for it, to feel it, the thin line between pain and pleasure. simon pushes the boundary between good and bad, and for once, the blood feels warm, and he paints you with it, and it's fucking poetic the way you look at him now.

pretty eyes, big eyes, eyes that tell him she's going to fuck you when she takes you home.

"yeah, big man," you murmur, and you feel something hot go through you when his eyes drop to your lips for just a second. just enough time for you to know he's losing his resolve. one thought about getting his hands on you, and he falls, and it's pathetic, but he's so fucking hard, he doesn't care. "it's hot."

and when he forces you to look in the mirror later, when it's dark and it's just the two of you, you realize there is blood on your face, and his hands are dirty with filth.

but when he goes to take the gloves off, you don't let him.

[dancingbirdie]

hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!

Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3

If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The Dark Sun

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.

None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 

It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!

Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.

Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child. 

Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices. 

The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name. 

Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.

So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again. 

***

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days. 

He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies. 

Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came. 

Tav’s tent. He was sure of it. 

Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves. 

Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong. 

Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects. 

Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace. 

They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance. 

Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence. 

Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply. 

Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart. 

“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear. 

“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.

Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek. 

Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned. 

Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face. 

“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling. 

“And why ever not?”

“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”

“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”

Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”

Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders. 

“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek. 

“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”

Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face. 

That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him. 

Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought. 

He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms. 

“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”

“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”

They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.

“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised. 

And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion. 

And he was not afraid.

[remushrts]

yours to keep (pt 2)

— pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

— a/n: part two for this ask!! more remus on a comforting mission with reader, i truly wish everybody had their own personal remus right now <3 take care babes

— warnings: mention of throwing up, overall angst but there's a lot of comfort to make up for it, reader is kind of numb

You feel like there's a ringing in your ears that just won't go away. It's this small thing, insistent, driving you insane. It's what you imagine would happen if a bomb dropped on the apartment complex right now, the world goes silent for a minute, and everything is out of focus. The words echo inside you over and over, and you don't know if you feel real right now. It can't be real, it can't be happening, it's all you can think of right now. You want it to stop, the entire world, but you know that, outside this apartment, things keep happening. It feels unfair that the universe keeps moving unaffected.

You're holding your head on your hands when you hear the door click softly, your breath shallow as you raise your eyes. Soft hazel ones meet them, but Remus doesn't say anything this time. He sits by your side, his leg barely brushing on yours, and lets you decide. Slowly, you melt on top of him like mush.

"Dove?" He calls you, still as a rock but comfortable as your favourite pillow. You think it's kind of amazing how he can be both at once, just when you need him to. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back. He doesn't even comment that you're wearing his sweater, over the same clothes you've had the day before. "Have you eaten, my love?"

Remus doesn't call you that very often, only when you're not feeling your best and he knows you're not with your head in the right place to really listen. You shake your head, you tried to, at least, but if you couldn't stomach two pieces of plain toast, you gave up on anything else. Strangely, you don't feel hungry, just empty.

"Okay, I'm going to make you something." Remus says, and you cling into him, your arms wrapping around his neck to hold on tight. It's more than you've moved the entire day, you think, but he just feels so nice to let go of now. He seems to catch it too, wrapping an arm around your middle to press you even closer. "Wanna come with, lovely girl? You can watch me cook."

You open a soft smile, not more than the corners of your lips curling up half an inch. His offer is good-natured, but you don't think you can, a thick layer of sadness growing into you like moss. You've been simmering in it the whole day. "I'm okay here, Rem." Your voice is small as you talk, and you think that's what you feel like now too. Small, like a child that can't understand what is going on.

He tilts his head, not fully believing you. You don't know if you can blame him either. He gets up, pressing a kiss against your forehead and murmuring the words against your skin. "I'll be back soon." He offers, softness overflowing in his voice.

He does keep his promise, and the smell that comes from the kitchen is familiar, earthy and rich. Remus holds a hot bowl of soup in his hands, a spoon for you in the other.

"You told Hope." You say immediately, but there's no accusation to your tone as you make grabby hands at the bowl.

"Guilty as charged." He smiles softly, pulling you back into his embrace. How could he not? Hope adored you from the moment he walked you past their cottage's door, and she was wiser than he'd ever be. So yes, he talked to her in the phone and swang by to get a pot of soup and some advice, hoping one or the other could soothe your aches right now. He presses his nose into your hair as you eat, his lips barely brushing against your ear. "Talk to me, dove, please?"

His words are never an imposition, but you bite your lip. You don't mean to cry, get your tears mixed up with soup, but you don't think you can hold anymore. Remus carefully picks the bowl from your hands and sets it down on the coffee table. "I'm so sorry..." You sob quietly, your hands are shaking before you know it, but then they're over Remus', and he's coaxing you into his lap. "Remmy, I don't want any of this to be happening anymore, I'm so tired..." You mumble, not even sure he can hear you.

He can, his touch tightens on you lightly, a much proper hug now. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping your tears. You feel the scar that traces the side of his hand. "I know you don't, baby..." He whispers, stroking your hair.

"I shouldn't be crying now..." You say, trying to pull away from him, but he knows you too well, his arms keep you right in place. He knows what you mean, it's been a couple days since you last visited home and heard the news, but you couldn't feel anything back then. It feels like you're only coming to your senses today. "I'm sorry..."

"Shhh, what are you apologising for, uhm?" His hand cups your chin lovingly, driving your gaze back to his, your eyes shining with tears he wishes he can take all away. You're the bravest person he knows, loveliest too. You, from all people, didn't deserve to be going through this. He kisses your wet cheek. "You can cry if you feel like it, dove, it's not a crime."

You hiccup a laugh, barely a sound, but the smile through your tears is unmistakable. "You swear it's not?" You joke back, he kissed the tip of your nose.

"Absolutely, my love. And if it is, they'll have to go through me." The promise is soft, tender as he presses his forehead against yours. Nothing feels too close right now, nothing feels overwhelming or too terrible. It just feels like Remus.

[authorsofghosts]

You're... him? | Horseman!Gambit x Reader | Pt 2

Author's Note: We were a little over welp with the response on this fic !! i'm really glad you all liked it tho !! again, @genderqueerbarbie777 beta read. you should follow them !!

Summery: After you're kidnapped by The Horseman of Death, and your former lover, Gambit, you're taken back to Apocalypse's hidden base. You witness the little respect Apocalypse has for his horsemen, unable to do anything as you fight against your bindings. Now though? You're alone with the former shell of your man, his hands on your cheek, whispering...

Themes: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Previous Relationship, Betrayal, Choking (the bad kind), Crying, Cursing, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks (R's), R's a mutant/x-man (no powers described), Violence.

Word Count: 2k

prev pt. , next pt.

The rest of the Horsemen and Apocalypse leave the room, leaving Gambit huffing on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, eyes locked on yours. You feel the need to run to him, wrap your arms around him, things you would do for your Remy. But you couldn't, not with the bindings that held you down. "Remy?" You finally mutter, his head perking up at the sound of his name.

"Cher?" He laughed, standing up slowly. He walked towards you, the limping creature that looked and sounded and acted and even smelled like Remy. You couldn't be sure, your mind still in a daze from the last two scenes of your own personal movie. Is this really him?

You tense up at the man's gaunt hands holding your cheek. He notices your shudder and stops himself from laying your foreheads together. "I'm sorry... I had no choice, mon amour." His voice is hoarse, whispering with his head laying against the metal that you laid, binded against. He sobs slightly, true tears forming from his eyes. You watched one fall down his cheek before he speaks again.

"I had ta... 'f I didn't, I don't know what they'd do to you...?" He looked at you, his black sclera and and pink irises gaze from behind his white hair.

"Rem- you..." You choked on the his name, fighting with what your brain says and what your heart says. You know if you were free, your hands would be all over him, trying to see if he felt like Remy. Because there was nothing beside the strange new look of him that told you this wasn't the love of your life.

"Remy, dear?" You cooed out after finding him asleep in a corner of the library. He didn't even stir, clearly out of it as he drooled on the wooden table his head decided was a perfect pillow. You walk around to him, putting your hands on his shoulders and slowly wrapping your arms around him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

This made him jump awake, looking at the state of your arms tangled around him and how close you were to him. He blinks, realizing he had fallen asleep in the first place. "An' true loves kiss wakes da prince" he mumbles out, grabbing your chin and placing a soft kiss against your lips. "How are ya, mon amour?" He smiled, pressing your foreheads together.

"Better now that I've found you, dear." You smile widely, tightening your grasp around his shoulders and slumping against the back of his chair. "Come on, we're needed in the War Room." You say, nuzzling against his neck, trying to wake him up more.

"Alright, alright, cher, I get it..." He groans lowly, sitting back into you and stretching, his arms caging your head in place most definitely on purpose. He places another light kiss on your cheek before lowering his hands, using them to stand up. "Let's go den, ya?"

"Cher? What'd you say?" You snap back to the present, the ghost of your lover still there, still having the silvery skin and locks. His hand comes out to hold you again, your head jerking back at the cold touch. The face you made told Remy everything, slowly retreating backwards as his looked at you. "I-... I get it, petit... Gambit ain't like how you remember, ya? This is," he gestures to himself, "a lot ta take in."

You look at him, instinctively trying to step towards him, but the metal around your limbs stop you, tightening around you can they detect a struggle. You choke, making his eyes dart from the floor back to you. You laugh through the pain, watching as he looks over the panel you're strap to, brain working overtime to try and figure out how it works. He quickly looks at you, touching the metal around your neck.

This causes it the snap open, allowing you to breathe normally once again. You slowly turn your head toward Remy, eyes half lidded. "Go." You rasp out.

"What? What do you mean go-" you quickly cut him off.

"Before they come back to get you, dummy." You watch as he sits up, shoulders rolling back as he clears his throat. He shoots down a loving look at you before walking away. You realize what you've just done, something you would have done before his...

As soon as the door closes, you're met with darkness. The lights completely go out, leaving you alone, in a room, strapped down to some kind of metal board. It was cold, and on top of the darkness, it was terrifying. You decide to focus on your breathing.

You weren't afraid of the dark, per say, but what could creep up to you in it. In your room, it was fine. You knew what every square inch of it looked like. But now, as a hostage, you're shaking as you stare into the dark, empty room. Shapes of things you'd only barely seen before warp, turning into unrecognizable things.

In... and out. In... and out.

You reminded yourself, closing your eyes so you didn't have to try and make out your surrounds. Your head fell back against the metal, actually able to relax without the collar like metal from before. You quickly remembered the words of Apocalypse; "Your powers are useless with the bindings you're in". But he had said that when your had the neck latch on... would it be less painful to try now?

You'd try anything to get out of the dark room, your mind racing at ways you could free yourself with your powers. As soon as you moved the slightest muscle to use any of them, however, a jolt of pain ran through your body from the metal around your wrists and ankles. You scream out, eye shutting tighter.

"So what you're saying is... you found me with this?" You ask Charles, looking at the helmet of Cerebro around his head in the War Room. You can't help but chuckle at the thing, it looked so silly. But if it did work, it was amazing.

"Yes. This silly machine is how I found most of the mutants I take in." Charles responded, eyes narrowing as he repeated the word you used to describe Cerebro in your thoughts before smiling. "It's quite amazing, isn't it?"

Your mind races with questions, and you can tell Charles hears every single one as he smiles at your curiosity. Before he can pick a question to answer, someone else walks into the War Room. A tall man with auburn hair wearing a long, brown trench coat. He looks at the two of you, raising an eyebrow.

"Who's da new kid?" He asks, his Cajun drawl a little shocking. You studied him further, noting the strangeness of his eyes; black sclera and rose colored irises. He held a desk of cards between his hands, fidgeting with them, shuffling and flipping through them without even looking.

You quickly look at Charles, who nods. You introduce yourself and the Cajun smiles widely. "Nice to meetcha. Name's Remy Lebeau, but da X-Men calls me Gambit."

You wake up, panting. If the X-Men knew you were missing, wouldn't they be looking for you? Would the Professor be searching for you with Cerebro? You couldn't think of an answer before the door slide open and the lights blinded you for a few seconds.

"Ah, you're awake. That's good." The distorted voice came out of Apocalypse's mouth, guttural and as intimidating as always. He saw your neck binding was off, brows furrowing with anger. He didn't bring it up, though, thankfully. "You're going to tell me more about your fellow mutants." He said deeply, walking towards you threateningly.

"T-the X-Men? Don't you already know about them?" You ask, which made the man laugh. You tensed at the menacing sound, leaning back into the panel you were against instinctively. "What do you want?"

"I want to know about all the other's relationships with your dear 'Gambit'. Your-" he grabs your chin, tilting your head up to look at him "-love?" Your eyes widened as he stares down at you, his expression nothing but pure evil.

"Why? Y-you should already know that? He won't tell you?"

"Ah, no, Death is... still secretive, much like the real thing, yes? He's kept his smart mouth and mystery from his previous life." Apocalypse sighs as he turns his back to you, only to turn his head to meet your eye. "He remembers you fondly."

Your heart pounds in your chest at those words. Fondly? If he had such sweet memories of you, that means that he was still your Remy. He was still your Gambit, your love. You accidentally let out a nervous laughter, which intrigues the sinister man in front of you. "So you do love him still?" Apocalypse chuckles, "What an unnecessary emotion."

Your face burns at the question. Did you love this version of Remy? Or just the ghost of what he used to be before he...

"Do you not?" He cuts off your thoughts of the past. Your eyes look at him as he stands in front of you, looking down at you like a kid with a magnifying glass over an ant hill.

"I-I..." You stutter, the looming feeling of dread making you swallow the words as your eyes meet the terrifying. "I did." You finally spit out.

"And now? Do you not appreciate what I've done? I brought him back from the dead!" He laughs down at you, punching the metal right next to your head. You turned your head, closing your eyes in fear, causing the man to laugh again, "You don't like what Death has done to himself... his new look, is that it?"

The image of Remy burns into the back of your eyelids, his ghostly pale skin and silvery hair, the same black and pink eyes he had in life... The black body armor under his brown trench coat, the chain collar around his neck, matching chain bracelets that have a few links that hang off of them. It hurt just thinking of him.

"I love Remy Lebeau. That.... that's not Remy. Not my Remy." You sob out, a lone tear rolling down your cheek. You open your eyes, gasping as you see him standing behind Apocalypse. Your expression makes the latter howl with sadistic laughter.

"I told you, Death, they're weak! Everyone else but us, they're weak and will never understand our mission. Forget your pitiful life before. Then maybe we can get something done, properly, for once." He says before leaving. Your eyes are wide as you see Remy there, frozen at what you had said. You see his black and pink eyes shine with the tears in them, threatening to fall.

"Not... yours, cher?" He says, a slight chuckle as the tears pool onto the sunken orbit of his face, rolling down his cheeks. "What do you mean? Last I checked, I was Remy Lebeau, dearie." You shaked at the anger in his voice. You couldn't respond, watching his fists curl and uncurl as if debating on doing something in his head.

"I know that!" You cry out, tears steaming down your face as you sob, "I-I watched you die, Remy! I set a rose on your coffin as it was lowered into the ground! Every part of me wants to believe it's you, it does, I just-... I can't handle that." You open your eyes to look at him, his face unreadable, something you were only used to when playing poker with him.

"Mon amour..." He murmurs, looking at you. He goes to wipe your tears from your face, stepping ever so closer, but stops himself, hand turning back to a fist. He turns to the side, still looking at you softly. "Didya say you loved me 'cause ya liked da way it sounds?"

Before you can answer, his narrowed eyes leave your gaze, turning around to leave. But before he reached the door, everything starts to shake. His anger subsides immediately as he jumps towards you, an instinctive action to protect you.

The room around you is filled with a bright, red light, the door falling down and figures appearing in the smoke.

[tinytinyblogs]

🩵💕love love LOVE the 'out? I don't think so' series and was wondering if you would do a yandere ot8 x reader fic or headcannons or something where they have kidnapped reader and reader tries to escape. What will skz do when they catch them in the act? What kinda precautions would they take in the future and would they punish you for escaping? Sorry this sounds like an interview😅

Where do you think you're going, darling?

Running away doesn't seem like a good idea, because in the end, they will always come after you.

⚠️ Yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, Kidnapped and a lot more⚠️

ChanMin, BinHyun, HanLix, SeungIn

💬 Thanks for the request, darling. This is going to be a series that I'll post once a week. I hope it meets your expectations. If there are any shortcomings, I apologize deeply.

Stray Kids Masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan rarely rested; his obsession drove him relentlessly. He took his twisted sense of responsibility seriously, especially when he dragged you to the place he believed you belonged—his captive. But that night was different. After countless sleepless nights fueled by madness, he finally crashed into a deep, haunted sleep. That was your moment. Heart pounding, you crept through the suffocating silence, every step a prayer that the floor wouldn't betray you. The door loomed ahead, and with a final, trembling breath, you slipped through. You ran, adrenaline pumping, terror biting at your heels as you hid, desperate and trembling. The next morning, Chan awoke, disoriented from the depths of his deranged dreams. His eyes fell on the ajar door of your room. A chill ran down his spine as he pushed it open, staring at the empty space where you should have been. His eyes widened, then narrowed with a cold, simmering rage. His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. And that was the moment he snapped.

From that day forward, he became a relentless hunter, his every waking moment consumed with finding you, dragging you back into his nightmarish grip. You had escaped his grasp, but you had awakened the beast within him. Now, he was coming for you, and nothing would stand in his way. Chan was a smart guy—you knew that well, which was why you were haunted by an uneasy feeling as you sat in the corner of the room where you were hiding. Yet, as if manifesting your worst nightmare, he appeared. He stood there, no smile on his face, observing you with cold, calculating eyes. He closed the door and walked closer, squatting down to your level. "You know, darling, it wasn't very smart of you to run away," he said, his voice more menacing than ever. Those were the last words you remembered before everything went dark. When you finally awoke, you were in a dimly lit room, Chan sitting not far away. The scene felt eerily familiar, like déjà vu—the same sinister feeling you had the first time he kidnapped you.

Even in the darkness, his eyes felt like lasers burning into your soul. "You scare me, you know that?" His voice dripped with a chilling mix of anger and relief. He took a deliberate, menacing step closer, then sat on the bed where you lay, utterly vulnerable. "It's not so nice of you," he hissed. He gripped your hand with brutal force, his fingers digging in painfully, as if trying to meld his fear and fury into your flesh. The intensity of his emotions—terror, rage, relief—poured out, overwhelming you. You couldn't hold back the sobs; crying was the only thing you could do. Through your tears, you noticed the sinister changes in the room. The window was now fortified with thick iron bars, turning it into an impenetrable cage. The door was covered in multiple locks, each one a new barrier to your freedom. The room had become a twisted fortress, a stark testament to his obsession with keeping you captive. For several agonizing days, he kept you tied to the bed, the ropes cutting into your skin, a constant reminder of your captivity. His paranoia and rage transformed your existence into a living hell far worse than before. Every day, he would stand over you, his eyes burning with a mistrust so intense it felt like a physical force.

He made it clear with every look, every word, that he no longer believed a single thing you said. His touch, once merely controlling, now turned brutal. He gripped you with a force that left bruises, his actions driven by a volatile mix of fear and anger. It was as if you had unleashed a monster within him, one that thrived on anxiety and dread. He couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened if he hadn't found you. Every terrible scenario played out in his mind, feeding his obsession and deepening his madness. He stopped sleeping properly, too consumed by the thought of you slipping away again. When he did sleep, it was right beside you, his body a constant, oppressive presence. He kept one arm draped over you, fingers twitching even in sleep, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go. The room became a fortress of his making: the windows barred with thick iron, the door secured with multiple locks, each one a testament to his desperation to keep you contained. You felt his breath on your skin as he slept, each exhale a reminder that you were never alone, never free.

His nightmares became your reality, his fears and anxieties shaping every moment of your existence. He would wake up in a panic, shaking you awake just to make sure you were still there, his eyes wild and frantic. And through it all, you cried. Your tears were the only outlet for the terror and despair that consumed you. But even your cries seemed to fuel his madness, making him grip you tighter, hold you closer, as if your pain validated his twisted need to keep you under his control. His love had turned into a prison, and his obsession, your endless nightmare.

Minho

That day, Minho's arrogance reached new heights as he seemed to believe you had succumbed to his control entirely. He underestimated your resilience, assuming you had resigned yourself to the grim fate he had imposed upon you. But in the moments when he was absent, when the oppressive weight of his presence lifted just slightly, you saw a glimmer of hope—a chance for escape, however slim it might be. Clutching the hairpin you had managed to keep hidden since your last captivity, you meticulously worked at the lock with trembling hands. Each click of the mechanism felt like a victory, a step closer to freedom. Finally, with a soft snick, the door swung open, and a rush of adrenaline surged through your veins. You moved swiftly, silently, every instinct screaming at you to flee, to put as much distance between yourself and Minho as possible. The hallway stretched out before you, a dark labyrinth of uncertainty, but you pushed forward, driven by sheer determination. As you ran, the memories of past escape attempts flooded your mind—the fear, the desperation, the agonizing uncertainty of what lay beyond the confines of your prison. But this time felt different. This time, you refused to let fear paralyze you.

With each step, you felt a surge of defiance, a newfound strength coursing through your veins. You were no longer the helpless victim Minho had made you out to be; you were a survivor, fighting tooth and nail for your freedom. The hairpin remained clutched tightly in your hand, a symbol of your resilience, your refusal to be caged. You used it to overcome every obstacle in your path, picking locks, jimmying windows, anything to put distance between yourself and the suffocating grip of Minho's control. And as you finally broke free from the confines of his lair, you vowed never to look back. When Minho returned home, plastic bags dangling from his hands, he dropped them unceremoniously to the floor the moment his eyes locked onto the front door. With a sense of urgency, he rushed inside, scouring every corner of the house in search of you. But his efforts were in vain; you were nowhere to be found. His frustration boiled over, his hand clenching into a tight fist as he slammed it against the wall with a primal scream. Blood trickled from the wound, but he hardly noticed, consumed by the overwhelming sense of failure.

He became consumed by the hunt, forsaking sleep and sanity alike in his relentless pursuit of you. He tracked you tirelessly, driven by a desperation that bordered on madness. Each passing moment without you felt like an eternity, a torment he couldn't endure. Failure was not an option; he couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. And then, one fateful night, as you lay sleeping, unaware of his presence, you opened your eyes to find him sitting beside you, his gaze fixed on your slumbering form. There were no words exchanged, only the weight of his silent observation hanging heavily in the air. "Do you sleep well?" Minho's voice was as cold as ice as his hand grazed your cheek, leaving a chilling trail in its wake. There was no warmth in his touch, only the stark reminder of his possessiveness. "Are you sleeping well without me?" he asked again, his words laced with a bitter edge. It was almost as if he couldn't fathom the idea of you finding solace in slumber without him by your side. His grip tightened on your chin as he continued, his voice a venomous whisper in the air.

"I can't sleep when you're away. It's time to go home, darling, back to where you belong. And I swear, this time there's no way out." The determination in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, a premonition of the ordeal to come. He dragged you back to the place he called 'home,' though to you, it was nothing more than a prison of your own making. As he threw you into the room with no window, the darkness enveloped you like a suffocating embrace, leaving you gasping for air. With a roar of frustration, Minho unleashed his fury upon the room, his hands becoming weapons of destruction. Objects shattered against the walls, the sound of breaking glass echoing through the empty space. He didn't care if his own hands bled in the process; all that mattered was his need to exert control, to assert his dominance over you. You cowered in the corner, your body trembling with fear as you watched the chaos unfold before you. The air was thick with tension, every breath a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere of fear and despair.

After what felt like an eternity, Minho's rage began to subside, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he surveyed the wreckage he had caused. Slowly, he approached you, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his own anger. With a brutal grip, he seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "If you ever run away again," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice, "I swear, I'll break your legs, darling. I hate the thought of hurting you, but if it's necessary, I will." The threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over any hope of escape.

[writerpey]

Little!Jayce with Caregiver!Mel & Viktor Headcanons

As a fandom, I know we’re big on little Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx and Viktor more than Jayce. I love every one of them, but hear me out on little cutiepie Jayce! No spoilers for season 2.

Jayce isn’t necessarily afraid to be vulnerable around Mel and Viktor — obviously he seeks comfort from Mel when he needs it and isn’t afraid to weep tears of sadness and joy at Viktor’s bedside. But when he’s little he feels a deep sense of guilt, especially after he takes on his role as a councillor. Like he’s not allowed to regress because there are responsibilities are piled onto his shoulders and he’s a grown man, and who would ever understand

In comes Mel. Jayce regresses around her first because she makes it so easy, with her tender touches and tendency to cradle his face and look at him with such warmth in her eyes that it feels like he’s staring into the sun.

At first he’s small without telling her. They lay on her bed together as the sun sets, Jayce’s head in Mel’s lap and her fingers carding through his hair. It’s a typical pattern for them, a safe space they love to come to and rest quietly in one another’s presence. However, Jayce finds it difficult to hold all of his emotions in and winds up sniffling in her lap one evening, hiding his face in the soft fabric of her dress and quickly dissolving into sobs of relief and embarrassment when Mel tells him that it’s alright, sweetheart. You can cry if you need to.

Mel takes very good care of her boy. She slowly chips away at this new, vulnerable side of him and learns a lot about little Jayce by treating him gently. For one, Jayce is much more sensitive when he’s little, both physically and emotionally. He doesn’t like wearing his stuffy senatorial clothing, and especially hates the high collars of many of his usual shirts and jackets. A way that Mel can tell Jayce is close to regressing or needs to be small is when he tugs at his shirt collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat and practically itching to flee whatever room he’s in.

Emotionally, Jayce is quick to look down on himself and is oftentimes teary. If Mel tells him not to touch her painting while it’s drying after he’s caught curiously poking the canvas, a deep pout will appear on his face and he’ll apologize and go sit himself down in the corner of the room. ‘M sorry, Mel. Didn’t mean to be bad.

He also gets embarrassed very easily, quite unlike his adult self. He has a hard time shaking off his internal adult monologue that tells him there’s something wrong with acting the way he does. He struggles with asking Mel for food or toys and oftentimes prefers to listen to her read out loud rather than participating in a child-like activity. Jayce will hold onto her hand while she reads to him and grows easily frustrated when she has to let go to turn the page.

Viktor knew Jayce was regressing months before he directly found out. Viktor’s incredibly smart and very sharp, so it wasn’t any less than completely obvious to him when he picked up on the way Jayce would skitter away to Mel after a long day or grow too quiet when they worked on the newest Hextech formula together. He was hesitant to bring it up to Jayce, though. Viktor figured that if Jayce wanted him to know he’d say so. Besides, Viktor respects Jayce far too much than to pry in his personal business.

They ended up being forced to confront Jayce’s regression during a late night at the lab. Jayce had fallen asleep at his desk, softly snoring as Viktor quietly tinkered with a new Hextech prototype. However, Jayce’s gentle breathing turned into the smallest sounds of distress — these were common for Viktor to hear, after all, Jayce started having stress dreams about the same time he became a councillor. Viktor glanced over at Jayce, brow furrowing, concerned about the other in a way he didn’t typically show from day to day. His brow furrowed even deeper when Jayce woke with a start and glanced around the room with wild eyes, like he didn’t know where he was.

Then, a soft and scared Mel, left his lips, and Viktor immediately identified what was going on. Jayce had been feeling small even before he fell asleep, and waking up without being in his normal environment with Mel made him regress further. Viktor had never seen him truly regressed before, and everything about Jayce’s body language made him seem so much smaller and unsure than he usually was.

Jayce, you’re here in the lab. It is alright. Viktor reassured him as best he could, despite being very unsure about how to speak to Jayce. The little’s ears went red immediately as he realized where he was and that Viktor was talking to him, and oh no, that Viktor knew he was small when he was supposed to be big. He couldn’t help but to burst into tears of embarrassment, his crying only making him even more upset. Viktor’s oh dear didn’t help matters much either.

Viktor managed to calm Jayce down by simply sitting quietly and allowing him to get all his tears out. Once Jayce’s sobs had slowed down to sniffles, Viktor got up and gently squeezed the little’s shoulders, meeting his eyes. He murmured that everything was quite alright and that they could go and find Mel together. Jayce nearly knocked Viktor down with the force that he threw himself at, wrapping the smaller man in a hug. Viktor wheezed and then chuckled, patting Jayce’s back affectionately as they parted. He knew it was time to see Mel when Jayce’s next action was to tug at the high collar of his shirt. Come on, little one, Viktor remarked, as the pair went off to wake Mel in the middle of the night.

<3

[alooseknot]

Satoru and Suguru, but through Megumi’s eyes?

I’ve thought about this a lot lately, let me explain:

“I.

Megumi is 7, and he wakes up from the same nightmare for the third night in a row. He plods along the hallway, his arms wrapped firmly around his middle, and reaches up to turn the knob on Satoru and Suguru’s door.

The darkness of the room seems to seep out into the hall as he takes a few timid steps into the room. He’s noticed immediately, of course, by the two men in the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks immediately, his voice slurred with sleep. Megumi can see him looking at him as his eyes adjust to the low light. Of course, Satoru’s eyes don’t need to adjust, so he knew it was him. He also sees Suguru, who had initially startled awake as well, lie back down, almost immediately asleep.

“Can I sleep here?” Megumi asks, whispering.

Satoru pats the bed next to him, scooting over to let Megumi settle in the middle. Megumi crawls into the bed without another word.

Satoru curls on his side, facing him, and stretches an arm out above Megumi’s head. He ruffles a hand through Megumi’s hair, then buries his hand into Suguru’s hair.

Megumi’s eyelids finally grow heavy again in the warm, safe darkness surrounding him, and he falls asleep to the sound of their even breathing.

II.

Megumi is 10, and he hears the front door open and the door to the hallway bathroom slam. He’s sitting in front of the living room TV playing video games, and he turns around to see Satoru hanging up his keys. He smiles softly at Megumi. Suguru must have been the door-slammer, then.

Megumi hears retching from behind the bathroom door. He stands up to go check, to help. Satoru shakes his head no—not unkindly, but definitively. “I know you’re worried, but he’s okay. Just a hard mission. I’m going to go help, okay? Just giving him a second. Everyone needs a second sometimes, yeah?” Satoru fills the electric tea kettle with water and flicks it on.

“If you really want to help, you can fill this mug up with water when the kettle beeps. Not all the way to the top, just most of the way,” Satoru says, taking a mug down from the cabinet and slicing up a chunk of ginger, throwing the slices into the mug.

Then, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Megumi stands by the kettle, taking his post seriously, waiting patiently for it to beep.

III.

Megumi is 15, and he isn’t supposed to be home yet.

He rounds the corner next to his bedroom door when he hears them.

“He loves him, Sugu. And I don’t—I don’t know—I mean, can I save him?” Satoru gasps, clearly crying.

“I know. Breathe. This isn’t your fault, you’re doing what you can. You always do,” Suguru murmurs in response, and Megumi hears the bed creak as he shifts his position.

“Megumi will never forgive me if I have to kill Yuji. Never, Suguru,” Satoru’s sobs are muffled now, likely against Suguru’s chest.

“Satoru, let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Hell, if we get to it. You don’t know that it’ll ever be relevant,” Suguru’s voice is soothing, softer than Megumi is used to hearing it.

Satoru doesn’t respond, and the next thing Megumi hears is Suguru’s gentle plea : “You have to breathe, Toru, come on, count with me.”

He walks away from the door.

IV.

Megumi is 16, and he isn’t sure what woke him. His phone screen tells him it’s 1:27 a.m. Maybe Satoru finally made it home from his mission.

He ambles out of his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just to make sure.

He hears hushed voices before he rounds the corner to the living room. Unsure why anyone would be up that isn’t Satoru, who likely wouldn’t be talking to himself, Megumi is suddenly on alert. He slides his back against the wall, peering around the corner to see who’s there.

It’s Suguru.

He exhales.

After seeing Suguru’s face, however, he feels like his sigh of relief may have been premature.

“Do you want to take a shower, maybe?” Suguru murmurs, standing in front of Satoru where he sits on the couch, pulling off his boots. Satoru places the shoes next to the couch and lets his forehead fall against Suguru’s abdomen. Suguru is quick to wrap a hand around his head, threading his fingers through the hair that isn’t matted down under his blindfold.

“I just want to sleep,” Satoru sighs, and Megumi immediately notices how weary he sounds. His clothing is, as usual, clean and untouched, a byproduct of Infinity, but wherever he’d been had clearly taken a toll on him. Suguru massages Satoru’s head at the temples.

“Come on, I’ll turn off the lights and start the water,” Suguru whispers.

Satoru nods, inhaling shakily.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Suguru breathes, sitting down on his heels to rest his forehead against Satoru’s.

Megumi, suddenly feeling the weight of his intrusion, creeps back to his room as quietly as possible.

V.

Megumi is 17, and he hears Satoru and Suguru arguing in the kitchen. He pulls out a headphone to listen, pausing the music he’d been listening to while doing homework on the living room floor.

“I just don’t feel like it, Satoru. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“No, because you never ‘feel like it’ anymore! You’d think I was asking you for a miracle, not to literally just go out for the evening.”

“Well, you never ‘feel like’ doing anything I want to do either. When’s the last time you sat and read a book with me, huh?”

“That’s different, Suguru, I’ve never done that. You know what I’m saying, and you’re purposefully ignoring it.”

Suguru doesn’t reply.

“Things are bad again, aren’t they?”

Suguru still doesn’t reply.

“Please talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. I just want to sleep. You go out. Invite Shoko; she’ll appreciate it.”

“I want to help you, you asshole. Stop pushing me away.”

“I don’t want your help, Satoru.”

Satoru laughs harshly at this.

“Yeah, well, you sure as fuck need it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Are you kidding me? You’re just content to rot, going to work and then coming home and sleeping your life away? Or some other fucking mindless activity? It’s not normal, Suguru. It’s not healthy. And I’m not just going to sit by and watch you do it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Suguru raises his voice, which catches Megumi off guard. He never yells.

“Nothing about this is normal, Satoru. My life, our lives, me. I’m not normal. Do you think I like this? Feeling fucking hopeless, not having the energy to do anything, fucking sitting on the floor in the shower because it’s too much to stand—“

“—Suguru, listen—“

“—Don’t interrupt me.”

They are silent for a few long moments.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says, raggedly.

“No, I’m sorry, I said I wanted to help and I’m definitely not helping,” Satoru sighs.

“I—Satoru, I—“ Suguru tries, then stops.

“Things are bad again,” Suguru settles on, his voice breaking.

Megumi doesn’t hear Satoru reply, just the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

Satoru only speaks when Suguru starts crying.

Whatever Satoru says to him is too soft for Megumi to hear.

[bonesxbows]

Surgery of a Hope (Astarion x Reader)

My Masterlist

Someone dared to try to lay a hand on you and Astarion finds out. He leaves Gale to comfort you while he goes and "takes care" of it. Or alternatively, Astarion is trying to show you he loves you in one of the only ways he knows how; by killing.

(WARNINGS) - mentions of sexual assault/assault (depending on how you look at it), but does not go into a lot of detail - crying/breakdown - trauma responses

If you have any triggers relating to assault or past assault please be careful reading this. I have not personally experienced what is written here but it is loosely based on trauma of my own and the goal was to write something to act as a comfort for myself and whoever else needs to read something like this. But please tread carefully, I didn't write this with the intent of triggering anyone.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and I hope reading this can help someone else like writing it helped me :) Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

-

You sat on the ground inside your tent, nestled in the corner of the fabric, your knees pulled up to your chest. You were slowly rocking back and forth, replaying the traumatic events of the day in your head. Your body was present, but your mind was lost in its own little world, your eyes glassed over. You didn't notice Astarion barge into your tent, a bubble of excitement coming with him.

“Darling! I've been waiting all day to have a moment with you all to myself. I-” His sentence and his body stopped dead in their tracks when his eyes finally found you, a sad little ball of limbs shoved into the corner. His voice startled you out of your daze. He walked closer towards you and reached out a hand, but you jumped in response to him approaching and shuffled yourself deeper into the corner, as far away from him as you possibly could get. He frowned. He recognized your fear, he remembered acting like you were doing now once before and that worried him.

“Astarion, wait. I…wait. Please, don't come any closer.” You spilled out your words quickly. Your eyes were glued to his outstretched hand, wide like a gnoll staring down a wall of fire, and tears started to pool underneath them.

“What’s wrong my love?” He hated when you cried. He was getting better at learning how to comfort you but he still got nervous about making it worse. His frown deepened but he respected your request and instead knelt down where he was, keeping his distance from you.

“I…um…” you stumbled over your words, your mouth becoming dry and thick, like someone had shoved cotton down your throat. You tried to blink away the tears but they were now two hot waterfalls running down your face.

“It’s alright, you can tell me. What happened?” You looked like a scared animal and it reminded him too much of how he used to feel. He was concerned, but he was also angry. He had a feeling he already knew what had happened to you and the thought of him being right made him burn with rage inside. You took a shaky breath and did your best to speak coherently.

“Someone…um, someone tried to touch me earlier when we were in town. I…I tried to stop them, tried to fight them off. Some things were said and…and…” Your story ended there as the sobs racked your body aggressively. You buried your head in your arms, wrapping your hands around your shoulder to try to comfort yourself as you rocked back and forth, crying and screaming and sobbing loudly. Astarion swore he could feel his undead heart shatter. He could do nothing but sit there and watch as you poured out your emotions. He knew from experience that if he tried to comfort you it would only make the situation worse, but he felt helpless just sitting there and doing nothing. So he reached over and yanked your blanket off of your cot, folding it up haphazardly and placing it between the two of you, nudging your foot with the fabric, doing his best not to touch you.

You poked your head up slightly, eyeing him. You saw the blanket, your blanket, and how Astarion sat back on his heels, a comforting smile on his face. You unfurled a hand from your cocoon of limbs and reached forward slowly, grabbing the blanket tentatively, as if even the soft material would snap back at you as well. But it didn't, so you pulled it into your lap on top of your knees and buried your head into the comfort of it, sniffing the familiar scent of Astarion’s cologne that had rubbed off on it from his constant nights spent in your tent with you. You used a corner of it to wipe away your tears and tried to focus on steadying your breathing. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Astarion and he nodded his head.

“Do you think you can manage to remember who it was, my love? Can you tell me what they looked like?” he asked you softly. He wanted to reach out and grab your hand in his, but he stayed still for now. He would not touch you until you were ready and asked him to, no matter how much he wanted to. You began to shake your head furiously.

“No. Astarion, no. It was nothing, really. You don't need to do anything. It was my fault anywa-” He cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

“Do not even finish that statement darling. None of this is your fault. None of it. Do you understand? Now, what did they look like?” his face was like stone, serious and deadly. It didn't scare you, not anymore at least, but you knew trying to argue with him at this point was futile. You were so confused and upset you did not know what the right thing to do was so you trusted Astarion and told him everything you could remember. You watched as he took off his jacket and moved closer to you. But he stopped just before he got too close.

“Is it alright if I touch you my sweet?” He asked before he did anything and you nodded, although slowly. He leaned forward to drape his jacket over your shoulders and pull it up over your neck. Your fingers fumbled at first but you grabbed it and pulled it as close to your skin as you could, relishing in the warmth and comfort radiating off of the velvet fabric.

“Stay here, alright? I’ll tell Gale to accompany you here inside of your tent so you don't have to be alone. I promise I’ll be back before morning.” He leaned forward again to kiss you gently on your forehead and you didn't jerk away this time. He smiled warmly at you but his ruby eyes shone with anger and malice. He began to stand up and head for the entry flap of your tent.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You jumped from surprise and began to reach for him but stopped abruptly when his jacket began to fall off of your shoulders and instead quickly grabbed it again and pulled it back up around you. You were afraid to be alone, even with Gale. You only felt safe around Astarion. Your sense of security was so shattered you were hesitant to trust anyone except him. He turned back around before he left.

“Promise me you'll stay here with Gale.” no, you wanted to go with him, wherever he was going. You wanted his warmth and to be in his arms with him by your side protecting you, no one else.

“But I-” he cut you off again. He was not looking for any arguments tonight.

“Promise me, my love.” there was no arguing with the look in his eyes and there was no changing his mind about whatever he had set his mind on doing. “I promise.” you choked out, trying not to cry again at the thought of him leaving you right now.

“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can alright? Then I’ll stay with you for as long as you need.” You watched him leave, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to flow. You gripped his jacket even tighter and breathed in the smell of his cologne again, it was an even stronger scent on his jacket than on your blanket. A few moments after Astarion left Gale walked in, smiling sympathetically. He somehow juggled a bowl, two mugs, and a stack of books in his hands without dropping anything.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. You didn't give an answer and watched as he sat where Astarion once was just a minute ago and placed all of the things in his hands in front of him, between the two of you.

“We don't have to talk if you'd rather not. But I thought you might like a distraction while Astarion is away. My time is yours.” You looked at him and he looked sincere, but you were still a little wary. But this was Gale, someone who had stuck by your side from the very beginning and had been nothing but respectful and helpful ever since. You gazed over what he had brought with him, there was what appeared to be stew in the bowl and the two mugs were filled with tea and still steaming. The books were ones you recognized, titles you had once borrowed from him and had told him you had enjoyed immensely. Books that you knew, that were familiar, and there was comfort in familiarity. He knew this. Gale was your best friend, he was the second person to know just about everything about you. You were grateful that his memory was impeccable and that he had remembered all of your favorite things, especially at a time like now.

“What kind of soup is that?” you asked. The tears had subsided, for now. He was glad you were up to talking, it was going to be a long night for him if he had to sit here in silence the whole time.

“Vegetable and sausage. And that’s peppermint tea, with sugar, just how you like it. I've also brought your favorite books, but I can fetch something else if reading isn't up to your liking currently.” He stole a pillow from the pile off of your bed and propped himself up against the side of your tent, still an agreeable distance away from you. Astarion must have given him the details of your jumpiness and sensitivity to touch right now. You couldn't help but smile just a little.

“The books are alright for now, Gale. Thank you.” You reached forward for one of the mugs and chose one of the books from the stack as you did so.

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else, alright? Im not going anywhere until Astarion gets back.” you nodded and took a sip from the mug, the tea warming your scratchy throat on the way down. You opened the book to the first page and Gale did the same with his own book.

Eventually the warm tea, familiar story, and comfort of Astarion’s scent lulled you into a sleep. Your body was exhausted from the day’s events and the extensive crying you had done earlier. Gale had stayed with you the entire night, within arms reach just in case you needed him, even when the rough ground began to irritate his old human body. He had even lit the candles in your tent after the sun had set just so you would not be in complete darkness if you woke up in the middle of the night.

-

You were never a heavy sleeper, but now you were even more anxious in your sleep after what had happened. A dull thud had woken you up and you heard the sound of water splashing. Your eyes fluttered open quickly but your heart calmed down when you saw the back of a familiar white shirt and white curls in the candlelight. Astarion had returned at some point, before morning just like he had promised, but his back was turned to you and he was knelt in front of your washing bucket.

“Astarion? Is that you?” you asked groggily. Your voice was thick with sleep but you were wide awake, grateful that he was back already.

“Go back to sleep darling, it’s alright.” he spoke sweetly to you like always, but he stayed with his back to you, working something onto the wash board inside the tub.

“Where have you been?” you sat up, blinking away the remaining sleep in your eyes and trying to focus on what he was doing. A part of you already had a guess of where he had been for the last few hours but you asked anyway, not wanting to believe what you knew was already true.

“No where you need to worry your pretty little head about, everything’s alright.” he told you, but you were too curious now to go back to sleep. Astarion hated chores, yet here he was scrubbing laundry in the middle of the night. You stood up quietly and padded over to him, still holding onto his jacket around your shoulders. You leaned over his shoulder and observed. He was holding on to a different white shirt than the one on his back currently, scrubbing furiously as the soapy water turned pink. Now that you were closer you also noticed the way the candlelight shined against black spots in his hair, a stark difference against his bleach white curls. You frowned slightly, accepting your previous conclusion as the truth now.

“Is that blood?” you asked. You already knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him.

“No.” he tried to deny the obvious, though he already knew you wouldn't believe the white lie.

“Astarion.” you said sternly, gently warning him to tell you the truth this time.

“Alright maybe it is. But the bastard deserved it.” he stopped scrubbing and so you sat down on the ground behind him. He turned to look at you, abandoning the shirt in the dirty water.

“What did you do?” your voice was calm. You didn't mind he had taken matters into his own hands, in fact you were secretly grateful.

“I taught him a much needed lesson my love. He won’t be hurting anyone ever again.” his lips turned up into his signature killer smile. He was proud of himself for the kill, as per usual. You wanted to thank him, say something, anything, to convey how relieved you felt, but the words got caught in your throat. His smile faltered a little when he noticed the pool of tears forming in your eyes, but he knew you were okay from the small smile that was stuck on your face.

He dunked his hands back into the water to wash the rest of the blood off and then dried them on his pants before outstretching a hand to you, silently asking for yours. You obliged, placing your hand in his. He brought it up to his face and placed a gentle kiss on your knuckle. You couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up from his gesture, the smile on your face growing despite the tears that started to flood your face. You were safe. Even after all that had happened, you were safe with Astarion.

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Overstimulated- Jay, Kelly, and Matt

Summary: Your day didn’t turn out the way you had hoped, ending in you snapping at your boyfriends.

Warnings: descriptions of panic attack, LaNgUaGe

——————

It’s been a while since you’ve been this overstimulated. You made specific changes in your life in hopes of avoiding this moment. Your three favorite people are sat, in stunned silence, after you just got up and snapped at them. You never snap. All of you joke about how you are the most chill person in this relationship. Today, you’ve had it.

It was suppose to be a peaceful Saturday morning. All of you were off, which was a rare occurrence for a Saturday in and of itself. The original plan was to sleep in and then have a lazy movie day. Of course, that got derailed when one of your UCs called for an assistant, dragging you out of bed at 0745.

Then, your mom decided to call and bicker about your relationship with the boys. She started the conversation like she had thought about it and was finally on board with the relationship, but she quickly exited that ship before she blew it up right in your face. It had made your day much worse, but after you had a good cry in the parking garage of your building, you had felt a little better.

Now, you were just upset that nobody could agree on a movie. All you wanted was to finally watch a movie with your favorite guys, but they wouldn’t stop arguing over who had the better movie idea. Now, your popcorn was cold, your favorite snacks were still left untouched, and you were pacing the living room while shaking your hands out and attempting to even your breathing.

Kelly had to be the one to break the silence. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been pretty crabby all day.” Kelly shot at you, no real heat behind the words, but that didn’t matter in your state.

“What’s a matter with me? You really wanna fucking know?” You asked, stopping to yell as you spoke directly at him, seeing Jay shrink a bit in the corner of your eye. He’s never seen you like this. None of them have, but he can tell something isn’t quite right. “My day was ruined when I got an early morning wake up call, then my mom laid into me about our relationship, again. All I wanted was to have a nice movie night and eat junk and then go to bed and start over tomorrow but you guys won’t just pick a damn movie and hold me!” You shouted, tears threatening to spill.

“Well baby, I’m sorry, but we didn’t know any of this. You gotta tell us these things. We can let you pick the movie and just go about our night. We are sorry we made things worse.” Matt said, always the fixer, but that just upset you more.

You shook your hands harder, closing your eyes and trying to focus on breathing through the sobs that were threatening to escape. “I-I can’t. I love you guys, but I can’t right n-.”

In your panic, you hadn’t seen or heard Jay get up and approach you, bringing you into his arms. You immediately stopped when you smelled his cologne and buried your face into his neck. You were still trying to be strong, but it was hard with Jay’s lips next to your ear, a hand running through your hair and the other running up and down your back.

“Shhhhh baby.” Jay whispered calmly. “Follow me. If you need to cry, cry, but you need to breathe.” Jay coached, slowly rocking you back and forth as you let out a sob into his neck. “There you go. I have you now. Your safe.” Jay soothed, kissing the side of your head.

The other two wondered off as Jay continued to consol you. They grabbed some wet cloths, Jay’s army hoodie, your favorite blanket, your anxiety meds, and some tissue. When they got back, Jay was sat back on the couch, you sitting in his lap, wrapped around him like a koala.

“Think she got overwhelmed. That’s a lot to happen in a day, especially when you try to do it all on your own.” Jay explained, still caressing you.

The other two nodded, sheepishly handing over their items like apology gifts. Jay ended up helping you clean your face before you allowed Matt to slide the hoodie over your head and Kelly to toss the blanket over you and Jay.

“We didn’t mean to upset you further sweetheart. I’m so sorry I snapped back at you in the moment. I should have noticed something was bothering you with your change in behavior.” Kelly said, sitting on one side of Jay.

“And I’m sorry for being overwhelming with how badly I wanted to fix it. I know what overstimulation feels like and I also know that it doesn’t really help when someone tries to reason.” Matt said, lightly rubbing your arm.

“And I’m sorry for yelling.” You said, sitting up slightly and playing with the strings on the hoodie. “I was really frustrated this morning and then my mom just really made me overwhelmed and sad. I just got way too overstimulated and I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry for taking it out on you guys.” You said, not looking up.

Jay gently tilted your chin up. “Hey. You know that we still love you. We all have bad days and snap when we don’t mean to.”

“Us more than you.” Kelly added in.

“So, we totally get it. Just please tell us how you feel next time. Okay?” Jay asked, wiping the fresh tears from your eyes.

You nodded, allowing Matt to help you blow your nose.

“Now, what do you say we watch Y/F/M, eat all these snacks, and then turn in early. How does that sound?” Jay asks, helping you adjust in his lap.

“Sounds amazing.” You whispered, getting comfy as Kelly began the movie.

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

@starset21

@mrspeacem1nusone

[cosmal]

oooh hurt comfort jamie requests!!! how about james with a reader who calls him in the middle of the night because she went out with friends (they’re not very good friends) and they left her and now she’s lost and maybe a little drunk and a lot upset and james is like ?? understandably very angry @ her friends but he sucks it up to go find her? maybe a lil comfort at the end where he tucks her into bed :’)

it’s okay if not though!!! thank you for sharing your writing with the world, you are so talented! <3

lost

summary you call james drunk and lost when your friends ditch you on a night out.

content james potter x fem!afab!reader

note this is kinda sucky sorry

James hikes himself up onto his elbow in the dark, the only light comes from his phone that's buzzing on his bedside.

He scrubs at his eyes that feel as dry as his mouth does and blindly reaches for his phone. He misses it the first time and almost drops it once more before he swipes to answer.

He assumes it's Sirius, like it usually is this time of the night, and grumbles a, "What the fuck do you want?"

When he doesn't get some smart-ass comment in reply, just the tiniest hint of a wet sniffle, he freezes in his awkward position.

"Hello?" he says in replacement of his harsh welcome. His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"James?"

He can just hear it, the small sound of a voice he knows just as well as his own.

"James," you hiccup this time.

"Sweetheart, you okay?" he frets. His arm aches for him to get off of it. It shakes under his weight.

"Sorry." Your voice is half a messed-up syllable away from a slur. "Sorry for waking you up but I don't know what else to do."

He sits up off his cramped arm to swing himself over the edge of the bed. "What's the matter?"

"I'm a little lost," you say. James gets up to look for his shoes before he knows what he's doing. "I was out with everybody and I'm not sure where they went." This time he thinks you're definitely crying. He freaks even more.

He wedges his phone between his shoulder and his ear to squeeze his shoes on. He ignores the laces and shoves them on until his fingers sting. He doesn't care because all he can think about is you drunk and lost on some random corner.

"Do you have any idea where you are?" he asks and ignores the anger that starts to swell in his stomach. This isn't the first time your friends have ditched you but he's sure it'll be the last.

"The Commercial Hotel," you ramble off. He can hear you trying to hold your breath to hold back your bouts of sobbing tears. He wants to find your friends and give them a mouthful but he'd rather you in his arms instead.

"Right, well stay there, sweetheart. Don't move, I'll be there as soon as possible," he promises, keeping the phone to his ear the whole time.

It takes James less than five minutes to get to the hotel. If he wasn't so worried about you, he'd call Sirius to brag. He pulls up and finds you up ahead in the gutter. He forgets about everything other than you.

You've got your head in your knees and you don't notice him. He catches where your sparkly dress is riding up your thighs and his stomach twists. He's thankful he got here when he did.

He crouches down and can hear your cries. "Sweetheart," he says. The ground is cold and it smells awful. He really wants you up and in his car.

You lift your head from your knees and sniffle. Your makeup is smudged and your lips are stained pink. You're an image, despite how upset you seem.

"Jamie." You try to crack a smile and fail. You really are happy to see him but the feeling of being abandoned overrules everything.

James encourages your face away from your shoulder and pushes his fingers into your hair. He wipes away the dampness from your cheeks with his palm and frowns. "Can you stand for me, lovely?"

"They left me," you mope, closing your eyes. The last of your tears drop down from your eyes and bunch your sticky eyelashes into triangles. James desperately wants to kiss them away.

"I know, angel. They're awful," he says and tries to keep the harsh tone from his words. You wrinkle your face because he's an awful tell.

"What does that say about me?" you mumble and try to pull your face from his hand. James stands and outstretches his arms for you to grab onto.

"Nothing," he grumbles, "You're nothing like them."

With shaky hands and even shakier legs, you let him help you onto your bare feet and try to ignore the spinning in your head and the tightness in your stomach.

You tip forward and James stables you with a hand on your shoulder and an arm around your back. "Hey," he says firmly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, biting down into your bottom lip, "Sorry. Just really wanna go home."

"C'mon, then, lovely," he smiles, bending down to pick your heels up where you'd thrown them into the gutter.

He straps you into the passenger seat of his car and worries for a moment you might throw up all over his dash. He finds a bottle of water in his footwell and puts it in your lap, hoping for the best.

The entire drive home, much longer than the way over, he can tell you're trying to talk to him. Trying your best to sound thankful for your helpful boyfriend when all you want to do is fall asleep.

When he manages to wrangle you into his bed. After you tripped in his driveway, and in his sitting room. He worried you were going to throw up twice before he changed you into a pair of pyjamas and got you under the covers with a bowl on floor.

You're almost asleep when you say, "Thank you, Jamie," quietly. Sheets pulled up to your chin.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Get some sleep, yeah?"

You manage to convince him to get into bed with you before he can even manage to make a bed on the floor. Almost sleeping until the sun comes up before your hangover ruins it for you.

[addisonnie]

you, me, & mary-jane

summary: dealer!ellie comes in clutch in more ways than one.

warnings: make-out sesh, cursing, terrible breaking bad references

a/n: surprise! another ellie fic because i refuse to do the schoolwork that i desperately need to finish! wooooooooo dealer ellie is yum. i actually kinda hate this! enjoy! oh god also listen to “meddle about” by chase atlantic while you read if you would like. ellie=chase atlantic okay bye

part 2 —> part 3

There are several things in life that you can live without. Weed is not one of them.

You’re huffing and borderline growling as you dig through various stash locations in your room. Closet, empty. Under the mattress, nothing but crumbs. In every single pants pocket? Zero. Zilch. Not one lush green nug was found.

What could be chalked up to a literal war cry left your lips as you sat on the floor with your head in your hands, “this is it. This is the end.”

Dina’s head poked up from the side of her bed, “what are you whining about down there?”

Leaning your head back onto the wall, you sent Dina a harsh glare, “you and Jesse smoked the last of it! And I’m flat broke, too!”

She sat up fully in her bed, eyes wide and crazy, “bitch! Don’t pin this on us! You said it was fine.”

“That was last night! This is today! Today I just want to smoke my silly little bowl and enjoy my silly little high.” You groan and knock your head against the wall a few times.

Fishing your phone from your back pocket, you open iMessage. Hopefully your plug isn’t busy right now. Last time you bought from him was in the parking lot of his youngest child’s soccer game. Maybe buying from a 40-something father of three isn’t always the best idea—at least he won’t rip you off?

Hey. You busy?

Tom usually responds right away. His clients doubled as his friends (you being his ex-babysitter) and he always loved to provide for them.

Who is this?

Well, that’s strange. Tom definitely has your number saved. And, Tom definitely knows who you are.

Don’t play, Tom. I want to buy!!!!

You watch the text bubbles pop up and disappear in the bottom corner of the screen a few times, showing that he’s typing out a response and deleting it over and over.

This is his wife. Don’t text this number again. He is married. And he does not sell what you want to “buy.”

You could really cry at this moment. Like, honestly and truly sob. A long huff leaves your lips and you knuckle at your eyes aggressively. Fucking bullshit. Tom’s wife was always kind of a bitch, to be fair. But you didn’t think she’d ever pull a Skylar White on you. What does a girl have to do to get some weed around here?

“Do you know any other dealers? I just got told off by Tom’s wife.” Dina laughed from her bed.

“My name is Skylar White, yo. My husband is Walter White, yo.” You couldn’t help but laugh, “that’s exactly what I was thinking!”

She sits up in her bed, hanging her tanned legs off the side, “here. I have mutual friends with this girl, think her name is Ellie? I heard she sells. Good prices too.”

Dina tosses her phone into your lap from where she sits and allows you to send the contact to yourself.

Hey. Is this Ellie?

———

Ellie takes a couple hours before responding.

It depends on who’s asking?

Your professor drones on about some random Shakespeare play and you can’t bring yourself to pay attention while you read over Ellie’s text.

Dina gave me your number, I heard you sell?

Man. I really hope you’re not a cop.

You chuckle at her text.

Not a cop. Twenty year old girl over here. I love One Direction.

That sounds like something an undercover cop would say.

Ellie made a good point. You scroll through your camera roll trying to find a recent selfie before landing on one you took a couple days ago. You’re clearly high in the picture, so maybe Ellie will take the hint.

Here. Proof. Not a cop :)

Pretty.

She sent her address in a separate text and informs you to meet her there around 7pm when she’s done with her night class. Your professor excuses the class and leaves the remainder of students to pack their things. 5pm. Usually you smoke before going to pick up. Clearly, that’s not an option today. What does one do while they wait if they have no weed?

———

Nothing. One does absolutely nothing if they have no weed.

You knock on Ellie’s front door and wait a few beats before stepping back from the doorway. The lock clicks before the dingy wooden door opens inward,

“Hey!”

Oh, damn. She is fine.

Her auburn hair is short and rests about an inch above her shoulders. It’s pulled slightly up into a bun and several short strands curl lightly along the nape of her neck.

“Hey! Ellie, right?”

She smiles, “that’s me.” The door is pulled open wider and she beckons you to come inside. A botanical tattoo swirls along her forearm and you find yourself staring at her awkwardly before you step into the house.

She tugs off her flannel and slings it over the back of a woven couch, leaving her in a fitted white tank top.

You suck in a breath, “how are you?”

How are you? Really? Who says that to a drug dealer?

She chuckles and slouches into the couch, patting the open spot beside her, “pretty good. How about you?”

“Honestly? I’m suffering.”

She laughs fully this time, “that bad, huh? Your dealer die or something?”

“God, I wish. His wife responded to my text and told me to fuck off, basically. That he doesn’t sell what I buy.” Ellie cringes and shakes her head, her lips pressed into a tight frown,

“she Skylar-Whited you? That’s pretty fucking rough.”

“That’s exactly what I said! Call me Jesse Pinkman, I guess.” Ellie shook her head again and leaned forward to grab a small mahogany box.

Her long fingers opened the lid and scrounged through the container before she happily hummed and held up what she was looking for. A joint was pressed between her fingers and she quickly snatched a lighter off the coffee table.

After she placed the box back on the table, she leaned back into the couch and stretched her arm along the back of it, her fingers barely grazing your shoulder. Ellie turned to face you and held the joint to your lips, “open up.”

Your face flushes as you do what she asked—demanded. Her fingers place the joint onto your awaiting lips and she quickly lights the paper, still holding the joint to your mouth.

What is this girl on? You can’t help but feel as if this is strangely intimate. Tom never held a joint to your lips! On second thought, it’s probably good that he didn’t.

You inhale and she pulls the joint to meet her own mouth as she watches you exhale.

“We can smoke this and then I’ll grind up some for you.” She passes you the joint this time.

“Oh—you don’t have to. I can take the nugs. I don���t want to trouble you.” You pass it back.

She smirks, the joint hanging from the side of her mouth, “no trouble at all. Happy to do it.”

“Is that what you tell all of your clients?”

Another smirk, “only the pretty ones.”

The joint is placed back into your fingertips and you are very glad, this way you can explain the extreme blush creeping up onto your cheeks as just you being overly high. Ellie has somehow moved closer to you, her thigh is pressed up against yours and the arm she has outstretched across the back of the couch skims the back of your shoulders. A chill rakes through your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Here, take it.” The hand she has resting behind your head snatches her discarded flannel and drops it into your lap.

“Oh—thanks.” She hums in response.

———

Ellis is funny as hell. Each sentence that escapes her plump lips makes less sense than the last,

“would you rather be trapped in a locked room with a gorilla, or with…with a shit ton of cockroaches?”

She’s sitting opposite you on the couch, her back leaning against one armrest. One of her legs is bent and squished against the back of the couch, her other is sprawled off the edge of the couch. Bit of a man-spreader, this one. Your back is pressed to the opposite arm rest and your legs are stretched outward, resting softly in her lap.

Again, weirdly intimate.

“Oh. Fuck, probably the roaches? Just step on ‘em. Yanno?”

She gasps and latches onto your sock-clad feet, “sickening! Me and that gorilla are gonna be friends.”

You squint at her, “you gonna sell him some Mary-Jane?”

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’ and passes you the remainder of the joint. Your fingers skim over hers and she blushes a bit, nudging your finger with hers.

“Hey—so how much do I owe you?” You immediately regret ruining the moment the second the words pass your lips.

“Well, flattery works with me—“ you cut her off, “oh yeah? I would’ve kissed you earlier, had I known that.”

She flushes, “you can—um. You can still kiss me. If you want.”

And, just like that, your eyes turn into hearts and start beating rapidly. You surge forward and press your lips to hers, smiling into the kiss when she flicks the joint out of her fingertips and grabs your cheeks, pulling you closer.

Her mouth melds to yours and immediately has you panting like a bitch in heat. She moves one of her hands to pinch at your hip, grasping and probing at you until you wind up straddling her lap. You press your chest into hers and squeak when you feel her hand push your hip down, effectively grinding you down onto her. A strangled whine leaves your lips as she pulls away and begins kissing down the column of your throat.

Her mouth is wet and firm while she sucks and nips on any naked skin she can find, moaning when she feels your fingers card through her hair. Your hips continually rut into hers and she quickly sets a different pace, gripping your hips and dragging you forward and back on her lap. Ellie moans when you grab her hair and pull. Her face is removed from your neck at the force of your tug and she pants to catch her breath before opening her eyes to meet yours.

“How’s free sound?” She gives you a crooked smirk and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

“Sounds like I’m ripping you off, Ellie.”

She groans and throws her head back onto the couch, “I love the way you say my name. And it’s not ripping me off, babe.”

And you’re blushing again. Babe. She called you babe.

She continues, “think of it as a little sampler. Free shared joint, some ground up weed, and some Ellie.”

You grab her cheeks and squish them together, “only if you swear this sampler is offered to me only. Can’t have anyone stealing my deals.”

She brushes your hands off and smirks again, “like I said earlier, pretty girls only.”

“You said ‘girls’ plural.” She laughs.

“I’ve got three clients. A grown man named Joel, one of the sociology professors—don’t tell anyone I said that. Then you. And I’m a lesbian, so…” She trails off at the end of her sentence and looks down at your lips again, hands splayed across your thighs.

You kiss her again. It’s short and chaste and it leaves Ellie chasing your lips for just one more. Two more. Three. How’s five sound?

She presses kisses to your puckered lips over and over, “all,” kiss, “the weed,” kiss, “you can,” kiss, “dream of.”

Ellie finally pulls away to fully look at you, “I mean it. You can have all the weed you want if you keep kissing me like that.”

————

When you finally clamber off of her lap and detach her hands from your hips it’s almost one in the morning. She sighs while she watches you stuff your ‘goody bag’ into your purse, slipping your shoes back on. Her fingers beckon you back to the couch and she taps your right leg until you bend it and rest your foot on top of her thigh. You were planning on walking home with your shoes untied, but Ellie’s nimble fingers quickly double knot each of your shoes; She presses a kiss to each of your knees before letting them straighten back out.

Her hands find your hips again—shocker— while she walks you to the front door. A kiss is pressed to your lips one last time and she gives you a firm squeeze when you lean in to hug her.

“Come back soon. Fuck that guy, I’m your new dealer for life.” You smile and step outside, “okay.”

She definitely tied your shoes too tight and you make a mental note to fix it when you’re out of her eyesight. As you’re walking down the sidewalk that leads you to campus she calls your name,

“Get home safe, yeah? Text me when you’re back!”

You will definitely text her.

[lovelytsunoda]

twelve fractures // pierre gasly

summary: the four times that y/n leclerc almost called pierre gasly, and the one time that he gave in and called her

tell me, if I were to smile now, in the dead of the dark, would it even exist? i fantasize about those nights you sewed your lips to mine there were shortcuts into heaven through your eyes

pairing: pierre gasly x leclerc! reader ( brother's best friend ).

warnings: age gap ( reader is arthur's twin, which makes her 22 and pierre is 27 ), loss of virginity via a one night stand with pierre, hella angst, pierre is a little toxic at a few points in here. consumption of alchohol. descriptions of and allusions to sex. mentions of ferrari struggling in 2022. lots of miscommunication.

authors note: i hope you guys are ready for pain bc i think this one might hurt y'all a bit.

the first call.

she sat at the booth in the corner, her phone case warm against her hand as she stared numbly at the contact in front of her.

pierre 🍐. the contact photo was of the two of them when they were kids. the gaslys had always been family friends of hers, they grew up together.

so falling in love with him should have been inevitable.

y/n leclerc reached for her tumbler again, downing the last of her third glass of the night. she was well and truly drunk, and she was counting down the minutes until she was drunk enough to call pierre gasly and say all the things she wished that she had told him sooner.

tell him that she was sorry for making shit weird after that night in japan.

"what are you doing moping in the corner?"

she looked up from her phone, frowning at her twin brother as arthur leclerc slid into the booth next to her.

"the fuck do you care? you got into formula two, you should be celebrating."

y/n had never been the athletically inclined sibling. arthur and charles were thriving in motorsports. nobody was quite sure what lorenzo was doing but it seemed to be working for him. y/n just had half a draft of a manuscript sitting on her laptop that she was too scared to finish.

because she never finished anything. never saw it through.

"come on, y/n. you know that i can tell when something is wrong. how much have you had to drink?" arthur frowned, pushing the empty glass away as y/n shut off her phone, hoping that her brother wouldn't notice who she was about to call.

"can we leave, arthur? are you sober enough to drive me home?" her voice was quiet, broken as she looked over to where arthur should have been celebrating with the other prema drivers.

this had never been her world. what happened after japan should have just proven that.

a flash of panic shot through arthur's veins. "are you okay?"

"not really." she didn't trust herself not to cry. "just take me home, arthur."

once she was safely inside arthur's ferrari, her first tear began to fall, dragging a thick mascara trail down her porcelain cheek as she rested her head against the window, the grease from her hair staining the window.

"i hoped that if i got drunk enough, i'd finally have the guts to call him." she said quietly, the radio humming softly in the background with the kind of song she would have hated if arthur hadn't liked it so much.

"call who?" arthur asked, stopping at a traffic light and reaching for his sister's hand.

"pierre. things haven't been right between us for a long time."

arthur frowned, but he didn't say anything. he wasn't sure if there was anything for him to say. he never had been the sibling who dealt with emotions the best. that had always been lorenzo's job.

"i gave him everything, arthur. my time, my energy." she paused, covering her mouth as she felt a sob wrack her body, mascara tears dropping onto her fingers. "my virginity." she managed to cough out. "and he's been avoiding me ever since."

arthur paused, stopping the car in the shoulder of the empty monte carlo street, flicking on his hazard lights before he undid his seatbelt and leaned over the console to wrap his baby sister in his arms.

they may have been twins, but arthur was born exactly three minutes and forty-five seconds first, making him the older brother by default, and that was a job that he took very seriously.

he knew the weight of that statement more than he should have. while arthur and charles, and god, even lorenzo, had been sexually adventurous from the moment they turned sixteen, their sister didn't see life like that. she had barely even dated. she hadn't gone on her first date until she was nineteen years old, and there had only been three dates with him before she got scared and broke it off.

arthur knew how big a deal it was that she had felt comfortable enough with someone to give up that part of herself, to feel that vulnerable.

"when did that happen?"

"suzuka." she swallowed, reaching into the glove compartment for a box of tissues. "and it's not that i didn't enjoy it..."

"he didn't know he was your first, did he?" arthur said softly, tracing circles on his sister's shoulder as he held her. "let me guess, you got scared, and you shut down. maybe he was too rough with you for your first time. i was always scared that this would happen, i just never thought it would be with pierre gasly of all people."

"except i wasn't the one who stopped all contact when things got weird. that was all him, arthur. he was gone by morning and things haven't felt right since."

she sat there in arthur's arms, the hazard lights on the cherry red ferrari blinking in the dark night air as she thought about japan. how distraught pierre had been after the race, when he called her and said that he didn't want to be alone. she had shown up with a box of pizza and a case of japanese beer.

she thought about how she had ended up with his lips on hers, her bra thrown over a lamp. her fists clenching the sheets as pierre took her from behind, moaning his name until her throat was dry and her voice was hoarse. how aroused she had been when his large hands spanked her, leaving a red mark on her ass.

how the bed had been cold and empty when she woke up the next morning, pierre gasly's arms no longer around her.

she wasn't quite sure if she had been okay since.

the second call.

she had finally done it. taking the pain she felt after what happened with pierre, she hunkered down with her laptop and she finished her manuscript. every emotion, every shred of anger had been poured out on the pages, the words written in times new roman scribbled across the page.

and now, she was standing in the middle of waterstones, in the middle of london, stacks upon stacks of her book surrounding her.

and with the phone in her hand, her thumb itched to press the 'call' button next to pierre's name. he had been the number one supporter of her novel when she started writing. he had wanted an advance readers copy signed sealed and delivered to his apartment in milan.

she'd been watching the doors all night, hoping that he would walk in.

and she hated herself for being disappointed when he didn't.

his name had made it into the acknowledgments. trying to keep her brothers' careers separate from her own, all her acknowledgments had been done with initials. CL. PG. AL.

"you should be enjoying your party, y/n. is everything okay?" charles asked softly, passing her a glass of champagne. "you're waiting for pierre, aren't you?"

y/n coughed, trying not to let on to her older brother that he was right. "who told you?"

"arthur. you know that he can't keep a secret for shit."

"i didn't want you to know, charles. he's your best friend. i feel like i'm forcing you to choose sides."

charles shook his head, pulling his sister in for a hug, despite her protests. "there aren't any sides to choose, y/n. he's always going to be my best friend, but you're my sister. and the way he's been acting is unreasonable. in fact, if he had the nerve to show up tonight, we'd probably both end up in the drunk tank."

“but he should be here, charles. I probably wouldn’t have ever entertained this fucking fever dream without him.” she said quietly, resting her face on her brothers shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I want him back, even if he doesn’t want me. why can’t I move on?”

"it's okay, y/n. it's okay." charles soothed, smoothing out his baby sister's hair. "being emotional is a strength, kiddo. one day, you're going to find someone who loves you back the same way that you love them. and if he hurts you, i'll break his knees."

y/n chuckled. "all you would need to do is put him in the car with mattia on the radio."

charles groaned. "don't even start! i'd break my own knees if it meant our strategy team pulled their shit together."

the third call.

the sun was setting over the sand and the palm trees in abu dhabi as y/n and her brother sat in the paddock, drink glasses in hand, sunglasses pulled over eyes. the paddock in abu dhabi had always been one of her favourites.

the last few months had been good to her. her book had made it onto the new york times' bestseller list, and she was trending on booktok. she had gone out with her high school best friend, taking a week in austria to just exist without expectations.

she finally felt like she was in a good headspace. her stomach didn't hurt when she thought about pierre gasly, and she didn't feel like crying when she thought about suzuka.

she was finally okay.

she looked out from the patio of ferrari's hospitality suite, her sunglasses on her forehead and her skin toned pink from the sunset, and that's when she saw him.

pierre gasly was walking through the paddock, his snapback on backwards and the top three buttons on his linen shirt undone. he looked every bit as good as he had when he was leaning over her, the metal of his cross necklace cool against her breasts as he kissed her.

"y/n." lorenzo said softly, poking her in the shoulder. "try not to think about it. you've made so much progress, don't let it all come undone now."

but she was in a much better place. now, instead of sobbing or yelling down the phone, she felt ready to have a proper conversation with the man who took every part of her and shattered it when he waited until she was asleep to slip out of the hotel suite.

she went inside the cherry-red building, ordering a hot chocolate before pulling her phone out of her back pocket and circling back to that same damn contact.

pierre 🍐.

and this time, she called him.

and he didn't answer.

even though it shouldn't, it stung.

she hung up without leaving a message.

the fourth call.

it was christmas eve, snowflakes falling past the windows of pascale leclerc's monaco home. all of her children were gathered in the living room, the lights on the christmas tree dialed up to full intensity as charles filled the small glasses with eggnog. in the living room, lorenzo and arthur were already buzzed, singing 'fairytale of new york' at the top of their lungs, arms over shoulders.

"charles, let me help." y/n insisted with a chuckle, taking two of the glasses from her older brother.

"i've got it, y/n." charles insisted. "go have fun with arthur and lorenzo!"

y/n snorted. "they're drunk, singing christmas carols at the top of their lungs. i think i'll take a hard pass on that one."

charles laughed. "fair enough. okay, you take three glasses and i'll take three, meet you in the living room?"

"sounds fair."

charles took the first few glasses and slipped out of the kitchen, leaving the last three on the island for y/n to take. as she reached for the first glass, her phone, which was sitting facedown on the counter, buzzed twice.

pierre 🍐: merry christmas y/n! sending my love to you and the family.

her heart skipped a beat as she read the message. the first communication with any feeling since that night in japan.

y/n: merry christmas pierre. can we talk?

she should have waited for him to text her back before she called him. the dial tone rang once before she was forwarded to his voicemail, the iphone buzzing again in her palm.

pierre 🍐: i can't talk right now, y/n. i'm with my family.

fucking fine, then.

she shut her phone off, grabbing one of the small glasses of eggnog and downing it in one gulp.

and the time that he called her.

it was saturday night in bahrain when pierre finally called her. he'd screwed up in qualifying with his new team, and he would be setting up at the very back of the grid the following day for the race.

she was already halfway back to her rental car when pierre called her, the keys to her bmw dangling from her fingers.

"we need to talk. there are some things i need to tell you."

"that's an ominous way to start a phone call, gasly."

"now isn't the time for jokes, y/n. i'm serious, we need to talk about suzuka."

"why now, pierre?"

"because i hurt you, and i'm sorry. charles told me what's going on with you."

charles marc herve perceval leclerc, you son of a bitch.

"fine. you can buy me dinner while you're at it."

the air was icy in the restaurant as pierre and y/n sat in the corner booth. neither wanted to be the one to speak first. drinks had been ordered and delivered while y/n worked out what she wanted to say to him.

how hurt she really was.

"y/n." pierre started slowly. "i'm so sorry about japan, and everything that happened after. i was acting like a jerk, and i shouldn't have shut you out like that."

"so why did you, gasly?" y/n said softly, picking at the pasta dish in front of her.

"i didn't leave you in bed that morning. i went to buy us coffee. i swear i left you a note on the bedside table. you were exhausted and," he hesitated. "when we were lying in bed together, you mumbled something as you were falling asleep, i don't even think you knew what you were saying. but you said 'that's one hell of a way to lose your v-card'. knowing that i treated you like that for your very first time, that i was the first person to have touched you like that. . . i don't know, i think a part of me was ashamed."

"i didn't see a note, pierre. there was nothing on the bedside table when i woke up. just think about how i felt for a minute, would you?" y/n scoffed. "i got vulnerable with you, i let you do things to me that no man had ever done before. i let you spank me, for god's sake!"

"keep your voice down!" pierre hissed, overtly conscious about the eyes on him throughout the resteraunt.

there were some things that the general public just didn't want, or need, to hear.

"and you never thought to call? never thought to check in with me later?"

pierre shook his head. "when i got back, the note was under the bed. i wasn't sure if you had read it and cast it aside, or if it had gotten blown off the table by the door or something. i just assumed that you didn't want to talk to me again."

"and then i texted you at christmas."

"and then you texted me at christmas." pierre nodded. "can we start over, y/n? i really like you, and it kills me to know that i fucked up."

y/n reached over the table, taking his hand in hers. "we really are shit at communicating, aren't we?"

pierre laughed. "so i've been told."

y/n laughed, withdrawing her hand. "hi, i'm y/n leclerc, nice to meet you."

pierre smiled. "what are you doing?"

"starting over."

"hi, y/n. i'm pierre. it's lovely to meet you too."

[steddieas-shegoes]

light of my life, pain in my ass

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'christmas' rated e cw: interrupted sex, mention of dom drop tags: established relationship, mishap with christmas lights, dom/sub, dom eddie, sub steve, hurt/comfort, they take care of each other

is this based on a semi-true event that did not happen to me but that i do bring up as often as i possibly can to the people it did happen to? maybe.

"You cannot be serious." Steve's voice went from high-pitched, breathy, whiny to serious.

Eddie wasn't panicking. He wasn't.

But he was getting there.

"Just. Stay still for a second." Eddie's usually steady fingers were shaking as he tried to untie the Christmas lights holding Steve's wrists to the bed.

Steve tried, he really did. But the lights were getting hotter, and one of his hands was going numb from how tight the wire was wrapped around his wrist.

The panic was setting in when Eddie let out a huff, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'need scissors.'

"You are not using scissors!" Steve tried to sit up in bed, but wasn't able to hold himself up and his head hit the headboard hard. “Dammit.”

He felt tears spring to his eyes.

It was too much at once.

Eddie cradled his face in his hands, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”

Steve cried.

He felt so stupid.

“You’re not stupid. Look at me.” Eddie didn’t give him much of a choice, his fingers gripping his hair roughly. “It was my idea, wasn’t it? And I’m the one who tied them too tight. It’s not your fault.”

Eddie kissed him again before going back to his task.

“Eds?” Steve sniffled. “Probably should unplug them.”

Eddie froze.

“Shit.” He smacked his own forehead before getting up to unplug the Christmas lights from the wall socket by his bed. “Sorry.”

Steve had enough sense to recognize the way Eddie was dropping just as much, if not more, than he was.

“Eds, love. Take a deep breath.” Steve watched him breathe in, then out, closing his eyes for a moment. “That’s good. Another one.”

Steve felt the lights loosen around his right wrist, not all the way, but enough to slip a finger through and tug to loosen it more. Eddie worked quickly then, almost tearing through the electrical wire to get it off of him.

When he did, Steve immediately reached for Eddie, seeking comfort and to comfort at the same time.

But Eddie was already turning his attention to his other wrist, laser focus that Steve couldn’t possibly distract him from.

Steve had to let him have this.

Eddie crashed before, dom drop he'd called it, and the only way out of it was for him to be so focused on Steve's care he couldn't think about what happened until after they were both stable.

Eddie's focus paid off, the lights falling from his other wrist.

Steve wrapped Eddie in his arms, whispering against his hair as he shook with a sob he'd been holding off.

"I'm okay, you're okay. No one's hurt. We're fine. I love you so much."

He repeated it until his voice was hoarse, until Eddie had calmed into a stillness no one would believe he was capable of. Steve knew he could fall asleep like this if he stayed still long enough, almost hoped he would so he could recover before they talked about it.

But eventually, Eddie's breath hitched and he sat up slowly, blinking down at Steve.

"Hey, baby," Steve smiled, full of fondness, love, everything Eddie needed. "Back with me?"

"Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?" Eddie kissed the corner of his mouth. "Let me see your wrists."

Steve showed him, let him see the faint red lines that would disappear by morning, let him kiss them.

He looked over at the Christmas lights coiled on the ground, glared at their frayed wires where he'd tugged on them a bit too hard.

"I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for. We're both okay. We learned a lesson." Steve shifted and then let out a groan as the vibrator in his ass clicked on. "Fuck, Eds, turn it off."

Eddie sat back and started feeling around the bed for the remote control, eyes going wide when he couldn't find it.

"Shit. Okay. Um." Eddie looked at the floor, then stood up and checked under their pile of clothes thrown on the floor. "It's gotta be close. Are you sitting on it?"

Steve's answering glare was enough for Eddie to shake his head and lay down on the floor to check under the bed.

"Just take it out of my ass!" Steve whisper-yelled.

Eddie moved quickly, carefully, not wanting to cause any actual pain.

Steve sighed with relief when the vibrator was buzzing on the sheets instead of inside him, his eyes closing as his head fell back against the pillows.

"The battery might die soon," Eddie supplied. "I hope."

Steve started laughing. He opened his eyes and shook his head. "This night went horribly wrong." His laughter got louder, more hysterical.

Laughter bubbled out of Eddie next.

"Not sure I can ever look at Christmas lights the same way," Steve finally gasped out between peals of laughter. "Why did we think this would be a good idea?"

"Because it's always a good idea tying you to the bed and keeping a vibrator in you?" Eddie smirked, dodging Steve's hand swatting at him playfully. "I was feeling festive."

"How about next time you feel festive we decorate cookies?"

"Can I lick frosting off your-"

"Eddie!"

"I'm just asking!"

Steve shook his head, but couldn't stop smiling into the kiss he planted on Eddie's lips.

"Maybe."

Eddie pumped his fist up and down. "It's not a no!"

A sudden knock on the door interrupted them.

"Just found this remote on the floor by your door, boys!" Wayne's voice called through the door. "I ain't askin' questions. Just remindin' you I'm stayin' down the hall and would rather not know what this thing is for."

Eddie and Steve stared at each other with wide eyes before bursting into more hysterical laughter.

"Tomorrow, when Wayne goes back home, you can tie me up the old fashioned way and maybe not lose the remote," Steve winked. "Might even let you fuck me."

"I'm honored."

"Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas, Stevie."

[missstolensweetheart]

the hottest tears you've ever cried ⚭ ☆ 🌧️

thecar!prof!Alex turner x prof! reader

warnings: angst (kinda)

Summary: Alex shows up at your doorstep at 3 am begging for you to take him back during your divorce.

You looked at the clock in the corner of your home office it read 3am. You rubbed your temples, frustrated by the almost non visible dent you’ve made in the stack of papers you have to grade that was sitting on the corner of your brown wooden desk lit up by the dim light of your lamp.

Usually you would be grading with Alex; keeping each other company. Your eyes pooled with tears when you remembered how he made you coffee or tea or literally anything you wanted and how he’d keep one hand on your knee rubbing it gently while carefully reading over the stacks of papers.

Your phone Buzzed which ultimately made you jump. “Who the hell is texting me right now?” You mumbled to yourself. Your heart dropped when you saw Alex’s contact.

3:01am

“Open the door”

“Baby please”

3:02 am

“Don’t leave me out in the cold”

Your legs shook as you walked to the front door of your big home. You reached a shaky hand out twisting the door nob. And sure enough Alex was on the other side, his face lit up with a look of relief, love, sadness, anger, basically all of the above. His eyes were red and puffy. His hair was messy. He clearly hadn’t shaved in a minute as the shadow of his stumble was very clear.

“Hi” he broke the ice first.

“Hey” your lips quivered as your voice broke.

You stared at each other for a minute, getting lost in the spark that was once there.

“To be quite honest I don’t know why I’m here.” His voice was sad and empty, you had only ever heard that voice one other time and that was when you two got into a really nasty argument but that was years ago.

“Would you like to come in?” A part of you knew it was a stupid idea but the other part was curious.

“I- uh yeah sure” you stepped aside so he could come in. His movements were awkward almost like this was his first time in the house, even though you two previously shared it.

“Would you like tea?” You managed to finally say as you closed the door.

“Yeah, sure” he smiled awkwardly

“Lots of sugar right?” You smiled warmly, breaking the tension. He smiled back. “Yeah.”

You nodded your head and quickly walked to the kitchen. As soon as you were out of his sight you let a few tears fall but you quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of your sweater. You put the kettle on and leaned against the counter taking a few deep breaths to gather yourself. It didn’t take long before the water was ready. You grabbed your mug then his.. his mug had his initial on it. a rush of memories came back to you, long talks during the evening, grading papers together at three in the morning, making his and your coffee in the morning, everything.

“You okay?” His voice startled you. You dropped his mug.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry” you immediately panicked picking up each piece of glass. He rushed to your side subconsciously.

“It’s alright love ive got it” he picked up the pieces. “See it’s alright” he looked at you with a warm smile which immediately dropped once he saw your panicked face and tears. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back. You let your emotions go, sobbing loudly.

“Shh love I’ve got you. It’s alright.” You quickly calmed down and looked up at him, noticing he was crying too. You wiped his tears with your thumb, He grabbed your hand which shocked you a bit, he studied it for a moment. his thumb ran over your wedding ring. You didn’t even realize you were still wearing it. He broke down resting his head between your collar and jaw, it was your turn to comfort him.

“Shh” you ran your fingers through his hair and cried with him

“Take me back..please baby…. I need you.” His voice was shaky and even cracked. It pulled on your heartstrings. You can’t lie, you missed him like crazy. You don’t even know what happened between the two of you. One moment you were perfectly fine and happy the next you were arguing 24/7 and staying at friends houses just to take a break from each other. The truth was lack of communication you were both guilty of it but neither of you wanted to admit it. You didn’t think it could ruin your marriage to the point of divorce but it did.

“Let’s talk about this in the morning.” You thought it was the wisest decision because after all it was 3am and you were both sleep deprived. He sat up quickly, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah yeah uh I’ll be by tomorrow whatever time works for you”

“I was thinking you could stay the night” you knew it was a risky move but you needed him to stay.

“Yeah I can grab some blankets and sleep on the couch” he nodded

“I mean you can sleep in our bed if you want, it's still technically your bed.” your voice shook, you never could have imagined asking the love of your life to do as little as sleep in the same bed as you but here you are. You could tell he was hesitant.

His big brown eyes locked with yours “okay” he nodded softly.

You stood up reaching a hand out for him to grab, once you helped him up you both stood there for a moment almost unsure as to what your next move would be.

“I uh i'm going to go get ready for bed” you broke the silence.

“yeah of course of course ” he flashed a nervous yet reassuring smile.

You turned around quickly, shuffling to the stairs and making your way up them. Alex decided to wait a few minutes before following you, taking the time to compose himself. He made his way up the stairs. A specific photo caught his eyes, one you two took 3 years ago in the fall. It was supposed to be a cute photo shoot but soon turned into a complete mess when it started raining and Alex fell in mud dragging you down with him. He smiled softly at the photo, staring at your mud covered outfit and wide smile, god he misses that smile. He sighed, snapping out of his thoughts and making his way to your shared bedroom, you were already in the shower when he got up there. He grabbed some pj pants from his dresser ,quickly changing into them before sitting on the bed waiting for you.

You quickly finished your shower, moving on to doing your night time routine. You thought about the time you made Alex do a face mask with you and it became a weekly thing, you smiled at the thought. Once you finished up and got into your pjs (underwear and alex's shirt that you stole a long time ago) you opened the door of the bathroom that was in your bedroom. Alex's eyes shifted to you scanning your body carefully, you felt your cheeks get hot. You walked over to the bed and crawled in, rubbing your legs gently against the cold sheets, Alex did the same. You faced each other. Both fighting the urge to reach out and hold each other, one of you failed to resist. Alex reached a hand out to your hip, his finger traced on the bottom hem of your shirt before slipping under it onto your bare skin. A small gasp escaped your lips when Alex's cold hand met your warm skin.

Your eyes met his lustfully, you broke your gaze by looking down at his lips missing the feeling and taste of them. Alex took that as his cue and leaned in…

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

pt 2?

[moonspirit]

Pregnant Annie headcanons ft. some Papamin Propaganda #12:-

requested by @leitouris

Atleast some of this is a repeat from my earlier papamin posts, but nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

When Annie first finds out she's pregnant, she spends a lot of time wondering how to tell Armin. She has many options: surprise him? Give vague hints? prepare a candlelight dinner? or spend an evening at the beach in the sunset where she'll look into his eyes and say, "You're gonna be a papa..." ?

But you know what? She's not really very good at the "planning romantic things" bit. Still, she wants to make it special, so she settles for dropping hints here and there. Because he's so SMART right? Surely, he'll figure it out?

Turns out Armin is very DENSE when it comes to things like this.

He says: "What's this, Annie? Why are you giving me a picture-book for babies?"

And he says: "Annie, why is this towel so small? It's like it's meant for babies... oh haha, I get it, it's very good for cleaning corners!"

Annie becomes incredibly frustrated and ends up spending an hour throwing darts on a picture of Reiner's face to calm down.

One day, however, she comes home to the sounds of loud crying and sobbing. She finds Armin in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, her positive pregnancy test clutched to his chest.

And he says: "Anniiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee, y-y-you're pregnant??? And you didn't tell me?? I'm going to be a dad?!"

How can the world's smartest man also be so stupid sometimes?

So the pregnancy reveal is a disaster. Of course it is. They're both idiots.

Anyway.

As her body changes, slowly, Annie also begins to feel incredibly uncomfortable and a little insecure. She was always so sure and certain about her body before, in her size and strength and speed. Things are not like that anymore; she's gaining weight, sometimes her back hurts, a lot of the times she feels sick and slow too.

But every time she feels awful, Pieck begins to talk about her baby; about who it's going to take after, what the baby will look like, etc., and it makes Annie feel better. Armin also tells her how beautiful she looks and how lucky he is to be with her. How she's a great woman and that she's going to be an amazing mother. Every night. Every night when she cries, feeling scared, he's there, combing her hair and whispering into her ear until she falls asleep.

The morning sickness is BAD. Nausea and vomiting and revulsion to certain smells. Everyone, Armin especially, tries their best to make things easy for her. In this time, Armin learns to properly cook! (Jean teaches him).

Months pass, and as Annie's belly swells, she can no longer wear her usual clothes and has to resort to loose, flowy, comfortable dresses. Armin's very happy with this! It means he can see Annie in pretty floral prints and fluttering hems!

Whenever the others drop by (Jean, Pieck, Connie & Reiner), they always end up fighting with each other over baby names. Pieck has the best ideas, Reiner has the worst ideas, Jean hates everything because he only likes fashionable names, and Connie's the only one with normal suggestions. Aruani watch them loudly argue in the living room, bored and tired of the noise.

(Secretly Armin has a loooooooooong list of girl baby names that he hides from Annie).

But Pregnant Annie is soon glowing. With happiness, with excitement, with some wonder and bafflement that still lingers even after the first trimester. It's hardly believable that there's a new life growing within her. A bit of hers, a bit of his.

She cries a lot.

Late nights are spent in their dim bedroom with the windows open. On the bed, leaning against the headrest, Annie cradles her swollen belly while Armin, laying by her knees, his chin propped up by a hand, talks. He talks a lot to her and the baby in that soft, smooth voice, of everything and anything. He tells the baby she's going to love the world, that she'll love the sea, that she'll love the sky, that she'll love her mother the most.

"I love you both so much," He murmurs, holding Annie in his arms and stroking her hair. "From the ends of this earth to the moon and beyond."

(You see, Armin's very certain it's going to be a baby girl).

When Armin's not around, Annie too, talks to her baby. Quietly, a little awkwardly, but she talks. She tells the baby, "Your father, he talks a lot doesn't he? He's really looking forward to holding you in his arms... he told me that when you were sleeping last night. You're going to be a curious troublemaker, I can tell."

Baby kicks a LOT. Armin jokes that it's all Annie's genes - great lower body strength and powerful legs.

LOTS AND LOTS OF ARUANI KISSES AND CUDDLING.

When they go shopping for baby clothes, Armin very conveniently ignores the boy-section altogether, much to Annie's annoyance. He's desperate to be a girl dad, pls don't blame him.

All that said, Annie's pregnancy cravings are outrageous and awful! She wants all the strangest combinations of food to ever exist! Fish and ice-cream. Tons of plain sugar and soup. Ice and pickles. These combinations will kill an ordinary person, but she's a hungry mother-to-be, what can you say? Armin's very scared sometimes, but humours all her cravings anyway. Midnight trips to the nearest convenience store and ice-cream shop? He'll do it.

But her favourite pregnancy food is steamed sweet potato :3

Everyone is HELLA protective of her. EVERYONE. Armin most of all, because he's hopelessly panicky and over-protective, but when he's not there, Reiner and Jean are fussing Annie over the smallest things like she's incapable of doing shit by herself. Pieck says: "Why are YOU guys so scared? Annie's the one who's pregnant, not you!"

When Mikasa's around though, she's hovering behind Annie like some dark force from the underworld.

But still, the pregnancy isn't easy. There are scares, like sudden bleeding and several emergency hospital visits. But Aruani get through them, somehow.

What makes the final trimester bearable is Connie, the resident jokester. He cracks so many bad jokes for Annie one morning and she laughs so hard and her water also breaks.

...

EVERYBODY PANIC!

Aruani baby is eventually born to a cheering, tearful crowd.

Armin breaks down crying when he sees his baby's tiny face and tinier hands.

Mama Annie is relieved, sweat clinging to her forehead, out of breath and exhausted, but when she reaches out to hold her newborn in her arms, she realizes with a laugh, that indeed; those big blue eyes are definitely those of a curious troublemaker's.