#I’m drawn to pathetic men

[memow-kris]

Guys don’t come at me but

[bruisedboys]

jealous finnick?

jealous finnick will be the death of me!!!!!!

finnick odair x fem!reader

Breakfast in District 13 is an unusual affair. Nothing like you’re used to, being from District 4. It’s the same every morning — boring grey oatmeal with either honey or berries, depending on the day. It’s only as you take your seat next to Finnick that you realise you’ve forgotten the very crucial toppings.

“Oh no, I forgot to get berries,” you bemoan. They’re definitely all gone by now, seeing as they’re in popular demand — the oatmeal served in 13 tastes like cardboard without them.

“Here, have mine,” Gale says from across the table. You open your mouth to protest but he’s already spooning a big heap of berries into your bowl. They bleed red and purple into your otherwise plain oatmeal. “I don’t like ‘em, anyway. Too sour.”

“Oh.” You smile at him, flattered. Gale’s been nothing but kind to you since you arrived in District 13. You haven’t put it down to anything other than friendliness. Though it’s possible you’re too enamoured with the blonde next to you that you’re completely oblivious to other men’s advances. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gales smiles back and shrugs. “No problem, Y/N.”

Next to you and unbeknownst to you, Finnick scowls. He hates that Gale’s so nice to you. Loathes it. He knows it’s because you’re a ray of sunshine who draws even the coldest of people in (believe him, he’s experienced it), but the fact that Gale gave you his berries before Finnick could even offer his makes his blood boil. 

Who does he think he is? Everyone knows you’re Finnick’s girl, he’s made it very clear. It’s the whole reason you’re here, after all — Finnick specifically requested you be picked up from home before the Quarter Quell ended, to prevent anything from happening to you.

Breakfast passes without further incident. If you notice Finnick’s sour mood, you don’t mention it. You’re leaving the canteen with everyone else when Finnick grabs your waist and pulls you to the side, into an empty hallway. He peers over your shoulder to make sure Gale’s good and gone, watching the back of his head with a glare that could kill, before turning his attention to you.

“Finnick,” you say, clearly confused at his sudden manhandling. “What’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Finnick says shortly.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

You squint at him. “You’re definitely mad. Why are you—?”

Finnick forgoes restraint and yanks you forward, pressing his mouth to yours before you can say anything else. His chest burns with molten hot jealousy, it climbs up his throat and pours into the kiss, hot and sticky. The heat ebbs though, when you kiss him back just as fervently, replaced by a fuzzy warmth only you can make him feel. It buzzes in his chest and down his arms, flares out his palm as he takes your face into one hot hand.

He pulls back just as suddenly as he’d drawn in. “You know Gale’s flirting with you, right?” He says abruptly, thumb pressed to your cheekbone.

You blink up at him, still dazed from his kissing. “What?” You ask, half laughing. “No, he’s not.”

“He is. He gave you his berries. I was going to give you mine.”

You raise both eyebrows. “He was just being nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.”

Finnick supposes he sounds quite pathetic. He doesn’t really care, not when your eyes go all gooey and you reach up on your tiptoes to push a curl from his forehead.

“Are you jealous?” You ask him softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Your breath fans over his mouth and your hand lingers at his throat. “You sound jealous.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “So what if I am? Just— have mine next time, okay?”

You smile at him, pretty as starlight. “Okay. But you don’t have to be jealous, you know? I only want you.”

Woah, Finnick thinks. “I know,” he says, too quick, his voice a notch too high.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you though?” You ask, definitely teasing now. He supposes he got off lucky, you could’ve done much worse finding out he’s so sickeningly jealous over Gale, of all people.

Still, Finnick narrows his eyes at you. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Your answering giggle is smothered as Finnick swoops in to kiss you again.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[majestyeverlasting]

Nello! I have a request/suggestion for a Bucky drabble-y something if you'd like it. Maybe he's on a mission or there's an attack and it's going *very* poorly for him but he gets saved by a sweet civilian who's probably hopped up on a LOT of adrenaline

𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 | 𝐛.𝐛.

A/N Thank you so much for this request, anon! Bucky isn’t on a mission, per se, more like he ends up making a certain situation his “mission.” 

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Summary After an unexpected and intense fight, you’re the kind stranger who comes to Bucky’s aid. Except, you can’t shake the pressing feeling that you’ve seen each other once before. [fluff, angst, firing of a weapon, 2.6k]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Darkness hangs over Hell’s Kitchen as the heavy beat of Bucky’s heart drums on. The high-pitched ringing in his ears nearly drowns out the trudge of his boots against the sidewalk. Each labored step sends another wave of pain radiating through his ribcage. By now, he’s far enough away from Nicolo’s Bistro to be seen, where police and ambulances are finally pulling up with glaring halos of red and blue, sirens wailing. 

As Bucky turns into a dingy alleyway, he finally allows himself to release the pathetic grunts that have been attempting to claw out of throat since the moment he left the establishment. The pungent smell of garbage rides on the breeze as he presses his back up against the cool brick wall, sliding down until he hits the pebbled ground. 

He can’t remember the last time being off his feet felt so good. That’s all he’d wanted upon entering the bistro earlier. To sit down and have a meal before venturing back to Brooklyn. 

𝟷 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚁

The table he’s given along the front windows gives sight to the evening bustle outside. There’s a dim ambience to that place that’s homey and charming. Basil and garlic linger in the air. A waitress with a long jet-black ponytail takes his order of carbonara and the house red. Just as she leaves, three men in fedoras enter, with hard eyes and strong noses. 

A wary feeling flutters in his gut. 

Rather than being seated in the main dining room, they’re escorted into the back by a worker. Nicolo, the broad-shouldered owner of the restaurant, is no sooner notified of their arrival. The look of dread that washes over his face is Bucky’s second clue that something is amiss. But there’s an eerie calm that follows.

Halfway into his meal, hushed, angry voices finally emit from the back room. The only reason Bucky can hear them is the serum’s heightening of his senses: 

Nicolo’s voice registers first, “Sobrini, please, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s well past time,” comes a gruff, thickly accented voice. “I invested in this shithole and haven’t seen anywhere near what I’m owed.” 

“It’s coming—please, there has to be a better way,” Nicolo reasons. “There are customers out there.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck.” 

That’s when a lone warning shot rings out. 

A few patrons jolt in shock, heads whipping around. You startle as you take a sip from your bubbling glass of champagne, sending the liquid running down your chin.

Bucky's on his feet in an instant, “Everybody out!” 

The moment you slip out of your booth, the confrontation spills out into the main dining area as Nicolo backs out of the room with his hands held up in surrender. All three men are stalking towards him, and the bulkier one—undeniably Sobrini—has a revolver drawn. 

“Now they all get to see your brains being blown out,” he quips.

 Bucky wastes no time rushing to the owner's defense, sprinting over to Sobrini, and using his vibranium hand to block a bullet when he pulls the trigger. Nicolo's face flushes with relief as he gratefully runs for the door, steering other frantic patrons out along the way. 

With Nicolo gone, the group of mobsters redirect their anger to Bucky and his daring boldness. 

“And who the hell are you?” Before Sobrini can pull the trigger again, Bucky disarms him with a few swift swipes and blows, bending the gun out of shape before letting it clink to the ground. 

“Mikey, Vinny!” Sobrini growls. 

Like two mad dogs given attack orders, the other men launch forward to gang up on Bucky. They’re stronger than he’s expecting—too strong. Super soldiers. Glasses and plates crash from the tables as Vinny, the taller of the two, kicks Bucky square in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. He’s quick to recover, promptly delivering his own series of strikes in retaliation. 

Heart hammering in your ears, you help usher the last of the patrons and employees outside. When you dare to look back in, Mikey has managed to get Bucky in a chokehold from behind. Only then do you notice the glint of his vibranium hand as he pries at the man’s thick forearm.

As Bucky coughs for air, realization dawns on you like a rushing tide. For a flicker of a second, he catches your eyes in the doorway before managing to free himself from the hold.

A second wind finds him as the brawl becomes a fierce three-on-one ordeal.

Nicolo pulls you away from the door for your own safety.

It’d been two years since Bucky’s last fight, and he hated that this made a part of him feel alive again. 

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃

Just as his eyes begin to flutter closed with exertion, he hears a soft, urgent voice that he thinks he’s imagining. It prompts him to remember that he’s seated in a dirty alleyway, propped against a wall. 

“Are you alright?” Your eyes dart over his bruised face, split lip, and bloodied knuckles. “Don’t close your eyes, stay with me.” You gently pat your hand against his stubbled cheek. Some of his long, dark hair is matted to the sweat on his face.

The only reason you knew where to find him is because you’d watched him stagger from the scene after neutralizing the three intruders in a feat of athleticism if you ever saw one. Your own hands are still buzzing with adrenaline. 

He manages to meet your gaze, but his bloodshot blue eyes never focus. You can see that he’s trying, which only makes concern swell in your chest all the more. 

“You need to go to the ER,” you say, brows furrowing. That seems to shake him a bit. 

“No…” he trails off, then coughs, wincing. “No doctors. Please.” 

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as if debating to heed his request. Looking out to the street, you see that nobody has taken notice of the two of you.

You then say, “Can you walk? My place isn’t far.”

•••

Climbing the stairs is the hardest part. Despite your offer to lean his weight on you, Bucky stubbornly relies on the railing for all four floors. By the time you unlock your apartment door and usher him inside, he realizes he’s made a mistake. He should’ve insisted he’d be fine, that after the initial shock wore off, his body would begin to mend itself back to wholeness.

Except, he can’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him so sweetly. 

As selfish as it was, it felt good to be on the receiving end of genuine concern. Nowadays, people just assumed he was okay because he was the Winter Soldier, and that’s what the Winter Soldier was supposed to do—dust himself off and get back up. Yet here you were acting like he was someone worth being taken care of.

He all but collapses onto the couch once lead him over to it. In the back of his mind, he worries about getting it dirty, but you don’t seem to care as you flutter out of the living room.

The air smells faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, and small decorative pumpkins sit on the windowsill. Pain pulses in his neck as he takes a better look around, but he does it anyway. The entire space is modest and cozy, clearly lived-in and well-loved. 

By the time you come back, he’s dozed off, thick thighs spread and chin tucked down to his chest. This happens sometimes—his body crashes into sleep to facilitate healing. It only occurs when he feels safe. Otherwise, the rush of adrenaline keeps him wide awake. 

He can just barely register the gentleness of your movements as you tilt his head up to dab away the blood with a cool towel. You continue on like that, cleaning up the wounds that broke the skin, which thankfully aren’t too plentiful. Occasionally, his eyes flutter open, but you never ask him any questions or force him to talk. A comfortable silence settles between you until all the dried blood is gone.  

An hour later, he wakes up, finding that he’s stretched along the entirety of the couch with a blanket draped over his frame. His pain has subsided immensely. As he sits upright, he notices that you’re curled up in the accent chair. A special news report drones low on the TV.

“All the men have been taken into custody,” you tell him. Bucky eyes flitter over your face as you speak, realizing that his mind is finally clear enough to welcome the whispers of recognition. 

He’d seen many people over the course of his long life, and your face was among those he’d never be able to forget. 

You continue as his heart rises into his throat, “They don’t know it was you who saved everyone,” you say, toying with the hem of your sweater. “If they do, they haven’t said your name.” 

The air goes dead silent for a fleeting moment.

“You know my name?” It’s a question he already knows the answer to. 

You study his face, handsome even with the bruises. “James Buchanan Barnes, the Asset, the Winter Soldier…” 

He swallows thickly, abruptly standing to his feet as guilt and shame churn in his stomach. “Thank you for your help, but—” 

“Please don’t go,” you insist. It feels like you’re staring straight through him.  

“I have to. I’m sorry.” He weaves towards the door, heat rising to his cheeks. 

The events of an afternoon from many moons ago come rushing into the forefront of his mind. First, a group of suited men barking orders as he listened with emotionless eyes. Then the glint of his metal arm wrapped around the neck of a S.H.I.E.L.D. contractor on Park Avenue. As the man strangled out pleas, your cries joined in, begging for the life of your friend to be spared—

Bucky thinks back to earlier when he was being choked, the sense of helplessness.

You stand from the chair but don’t follow after him. “Did you want to take a shower at least?” you offer, hope infused into your words. It only made sense considering the sweat and grime still lingering on his skin. 

The thought of a shower sounds too good. But not here, not now. He never should’ve come. 

—As the contractor had gripped at his Bucky’s arm for mercy, he remembered glaring over at you. The mask concealing the lower half of his face hid his snarl, but his glare could cut stone. Except, you weren’t made of stone. You were skin, and bone, and desperation. It ended up being your fear-ridden eyes that did all the cutting.

As if you were wordlessly pleading, please, you don’t have to do this. Like you could see that he was trapped inside the prison of his own being. 

But by the time his hold went slack around the man’s neck, it was already too late. His body slumped lifelessly to the ground. 

“I forgive you," you call out right as Bucky steps into the hallway and is seconds away from closing the door.

That stops him in his tracks and sends a chill through his bones.

“Please don’t go,” you say, much softer. 

•••

Tucked away in an old journal, was a list of amends Bucky was supposed to make. He’d managed to cross off all those names. But there’s no way he’d ever be able to account for every life he changed, every friend and family member he snatched away from people he would never even come to know.

This reality weighs heavy on him as he stands in the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Faint knocking sounds at the door.

He clears the thickness from his throat, “Yes?”

“Special delivery,” you say lightly. “My neighbor had some clothes to spare.”

When he opens the door, your eyes flick to his torso, the bruising along his ribcage. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest, and a line of it that leads down from his bellybutton. It takes a second for you to register that he isn’t wearing his vibranium arm. Maybe it's because of the steady, broad way he’s standing there as if the limb isn’t gone at all.

He accepts the clothes, “Thank you.”

Bucky doesn’t close the door as he turns to set them on the sink. In the process, you notice there are old scars on his back with dark new bruises mixed amongst them. Before you can stop yourself, you step forward, brushing over his shoulder blades with tentative fingers. He straightens, briefly closing his eyes. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begin to back out of the room. “I have painkillers if they’d help.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“I’ll let you get dressed then.”

Moments later, Bucky finds you in your room seated on the side of your bed. Your startle, swiping at the tears beneath your eyes before turning to look at him. When he sees that you’ve been crying, he feels like the worst person in the world again, an awful feeling resettling in his gut. 

“I can go,” he says. 

You shake your head and pat the space beside you. 

Bucky lingers in the doorway until giving in. The mattress dips as he sits, making sure to leave ample space between you. Even then you can feel the warmth of his proximity, smell your body wash on his skin. Neither of you say anything for a while. 

“Why are you doing all this?” For such an imposing man, his voice comes out small. 

“Because I see you.” Bucky swallows, but his gaze remains on the floor. “I saw you eight years ago, and I see you now.” 

He realizes then, that if he truly wanted to, he would’ve left already. He didn’t know what he wanted, what more he was expecting. He’d already taken enough—your friend, your resources, your time. 

“You know what I believe?” Bucky waits for you to continue. “That you’re a good person,” you say solemnly. 

“You didn’t even hesitate back at Nicolo’s. You stepped right up.”

“It was nothing,” he lightly dismisses.

“Nothing?” 

Bucky looks over at you, and you raise your brows. “It was the right thing to do,” he finally says. 

“And you easily could’ve just walked away.” 

He gets your point then. The plates of his arm whir softly. 

“I was angry at you for a long time,” you admit. “Even though I knew who you were, the control you were under.”

“I’m sorry—”

“And the more time that passed, the more I realized my anger wasn’t entirely fair,” you say. “Life’s not fair. But staying rooted to the same spot doesn’t do anyone any good.” 

Bucky doesn’t pull away when you reach over and take his hand in yours, gently running your fingers over his bruised knuckles in a mix of sympathy and wonder. He watches as you flip his palm face-up, tracing the lines with a delicate touch. He feels it all the way up his arm, the gesture painfully intimate. Having seen each other at your lowest, most vulnerable moments has a way of knocking down walls. 

“Ask me why I’m doing all this again,” you say.

Bucky meets your gaze. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Outside, distant sirens wail into the Manhattan night.

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

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[serqphites]

thinking so hard abt overstim w victoria, being in her lap on ur sofa n js losing ur mind bouncing up and down on her strap thats js a lil toooo big

18+, mdni, overstim obvs, swearing, crying during sex, strap referred to as cock + dick, not proofread!

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

victoria couldn’t pull her eyes off of you, those big brown eyes you love gazing up at you with such awe, a look of pure adoration evident in her expression. her view was immaculate. there you are sat in her lap just where you belong, mouth agape as long whines are drawn out from the back of your throat, your cheeks reddening (not the only cheeks reddening either) as she watches you try your best to push yourself further than you ever have before. and it’s all for her? how did she ever get so lucky.

“vic- s’too much” poor thing, you’d tried so hard to be good for her. tried so hard to keep your complaints to yourself as your gummy walls stretched and stretched further than you thought was humanly possible.

she tuts and shakes her head, one of her hands that had previously been glued to your hip now coming up to stroke the side of your neck, her hand resting just below your jaw as she brushes her thumb across the warm skin of your cheek. “you’re doing so good, c’mon be good for me just like you promised” god her words are so fucking gentle, it’s such a star contrast to what her dick is doing to you, practically touching your cervix.

you try your best to disagree with her. try so hard to tell her you don’t think you can do it. but the words crumble as they leave your throat, fading into a whimper that escalates into a cry. of pleasure? pain? victoria can’t tell. hell, you can’t tell.

tears begin to fall from your now open eyes as you look straight up, head rolling back with another elongated whine. “hey-” victoria’s grip on your neck tightens, her hand tugging your face down so she can look at her girl. it’s a sight for sore eyes, mascara staining your fucked out face. “i can stop, just say the word” her hips slow down, her strap thrusting into you at a much slower place. she’d be lying if she said you hadn’t spooked her a little. sure she knows you’d use your safe word if you really needed to, but she also knows that after an excruciatingly long day of listening to white men speak down on her, all you’re going to want to do is make your woman feel good.

letting out a shaky breath, you shake your head and lean forward into vicky, panting into her neck as you nuzzle close. she lets you go at your own pace, rolling your hips onto her girth and picking up your pace before you’re back to bouncing on her like your life depended on it.

“feel s’good vic- fillin’ me up with your- nnghhh” the claps of your ass against her bare thighs are enough to have victoria moaning your name by accident, it’s so quiet you actually miss it. but that’s probably just down to being so humiliatingly cock drunk on her.

pathetic noises fall from your lips as a placeholder for proper words, thank god your vicky always know exactly what you need. she nods wordlessly, her hands trailing down your body until she reaches your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before she’s pulling you down even deeper onto her with each bounce.

that does it for you, a loud cry of pleasure leaving your mouth through pants as you come undone for her, coating her strap with your cum. “gooood” her praises are stretched out (like you), her hands remaining on your ass while she helps you to roll your hips and ride out your high.

the aftercare you received after that was so good, you just couldn’t help from returning the favour by eating her out like a wild animal.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

anyways look how beautiful she is i’m acc soaked

[nakahras]

𓇼 ˖° dimples • multi character

synopsis • you’re surrounded by stupid men with cute dimples, it’s a tragedy

warnings • all: lower case intentional, fem!reader • chuuya’s: intoxication (alcohol), slight spoilers for stormbringer

wc • 4.4k

a/n • writing for characters other than chuuya and dazai (even tho i snuck both of them in there 💀) was refreshing. i had sm fun with all of these

ada: kunikida (wc 767)

it’s been almost eight hours of torture and you’re not even close to being finished with the mountain of work this stupid sack of bandages and bones has let pile up. it’s been especially bad this month, he usually tries to keep up the first week or so but from the looks of it, with this month that wasn’t the case. the worst part of it all? you don’t even get to leave the office until the brunette has all of his backed up work completed and at the rate you’re going you’ll both be here for the rest of the week. you wish you were exaggerating but you don’t think you are. last month atsushi was stuck in the office for a full 32 hours. the poor boy didn’t speak to dazai for almost a week after that, having had his fill for a lifetime.

your eye is twitching and your head is throbbing. you’ve been stuck next to dazai for almost eight whole hours due to having literally drawn the short straw. each month all the detectives, excluding ranpo since he’s just as bad, draw straws to help dazai catch up on his neglected paperwork and unfortunately this month was your turn. 

you let out another long sigh, at this rate you’ll pass out from the breathing exercises before you finish all of this work. your glasses are propped low on your nose, index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of it in irritation. dazai is currently humming his double suicide song and leaning dangerously far back in his desk chair. 

just as an idea stampedes across your mind, kunikida, not even looking up from his laptop, speaks up. “if you keep leaning back in that chair, you rock-for-brains, you’re going to fall and hit your head. god knows you don’t need to take any more damage to that screwy brain of yours.”

you can’t help but to let out a snort as you look over to see obvious offense on the brunette's face. it’s rare that kunikida’s outlandish comments towards dazai surprise you anymore, but it’s almost as if the blonde had read your mind. you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling further when dazai gives you an accusatory glance before directing his attention back to the senior detective.

“awww are you worried about me, kunikida-kun? that’s so sweet of you. i’m not clumsy enough to fall from leaning back in my chair like this though. i’ve mastered the art!” as if to demonstrate, dazai leans way back, far more dangerously than he had previous to this conversation. 

without thinking you lean over and push on dazai’s chair, knowing the only result being him tumbling to the floor. “oh, have you now.”

in the split second before his demise, the brunette looks at you with an expression of utter betrayal. it’s like it happens in slow motion, you watch the betrayal flash into horror and then finally acceptance settles in his features as the back of his chair hits the ground and dazai clashes with the floor. a loud crash resounds across the office and everyone is too stunned to move let alone make a noise. not even a moment later dazai is groaning and lets out a pathetic whine. 

before he can open his mouth to complain verbally you’re both startle by a loud chortle coming from behind you. your eyes widen at the foreign noise falling from the usually stoic or angry blonde. you watch in wonder as his lips are stretched into a rare smile and his flushed cheeks display deep crevices. they’re dimples, you’ve never seen kunikida smile this widely, so you’ve never noticed them until now. something in your stomach flutters at the sight and you can’t help but to smile at him in astonishment. 

when kunikida settles down, clutching his stomach, he’s still smiling as he removes his glasses and wipes the tears from his eyes. as he places the metal frames back on his face his gaze seeks you out and when it settles on you his face is one of shock to find you already staring at him in amazement. you watch him closely, scrutinizing his expressions to see if you really never noticed the signs of dimples decorating his cheeks before. 

kunikida clears his throat awkwardly and composes himself. “what is it?”

you let out an airy laugh and shake your head while offering him a reassuring smile. “it’s nothing really…i just never noticed before, kunikida, but you have dimples. you should smile more often, they suit you.”

pm: chuuya (wc: 1.1k)

you hardly ever drink, if at all. the most you’ll have in a sitting is a glass of whatever’s offered to you. you usually sip at it slowly, nursing that one drink for the rest of the night. 

…but tonight…

tonight is certainly different. you’re celebrating the close defeat of fyodor and the decay of angels with the armed detective agency of all people. the surprising collaboration had bonded so many of your people together that it was only right to celebrate as one. the defeat was, after all, all of yours. 

despite the celebratory mood, you currently find yourself in a predicament. as one of the port mafia’s physicians it’s easy to fly under the radar at an event much like this one, but the ada’s doctor took a special liking to you and has been feeding you shot after shot of saki to shoot with her. at this rate, you won’t even be able to see straight enough to hook yourself up to an iv before passing out after this. you don’t even want to know what kind of headache you’ll have in the morning if you can’t stay hydrated.

you need to find a reason to excuse yourself before you’re roped into taking your sixth shot of the night. 

you scan the vicinity, everything blurring at the edges. your eyes zero in on the one person you’ve actually wanted to speak to all night. you haven’t seen him since he came back from europe. you missed him. the thought makes you cringe internally at the involuntary thought. you wonder how much you look like a love sick puppy because suddenly yosano is leaning in and whispering, very indiscreetly might you add.

“oho! am i keeping you from a special someone? go on, i can find another drinking buddy…” the woman doesn’t even give you a chance before she’s waving the bottle of saki and zeroing in on the blonde with glasses whose name you never bothered to learn. “kunikida! come here!”

you take a breath and try your best not to stumble over to where the ginger is observing something to his left, clearly amused. when you get about 3 meters from him, his head snaps over to you and his small smile stretches into a bigger fond one. his eyes soften and he reaches out to steady you.

god, you almost forgot how truly gorgeous this man is.

“looks like you had too much fun with the agency’s doctor there.” the second his smile widens you’re a goner, your mind becomes even more foggy and your legs wobbly.

you smile proudly at chuuya and you think you must look ridiculous because he lets out a chuckle that puts his single dimple on full display. “were you keeping tabs on me, chuuya nakahara?”

your words are a little slurred, even though it’s not very noticeable, they still come out more jumbled than you previously thought they would. if you had the decency you’d flinch at it but your inhibitions are a little scarce right now. you don’t even have the decency to feel embarrassed. 

what’s even worse is chuuya catches the way your eyes scan his figure, gaze lingering on features that should be left for a private setting. you’re absolutely shameless and you’re not even that inebriated. your ogling is put to an end when your eyes meet his own again. his grin wide and smug. 

once again, you’re consumed by how stunning he is.

“i was…been waiting all night for that doctor to leave you alone. it’s been a while, doll. how’ve you been?” chuuya reaches out to straighten your hair by tucking your loose strands behind your hair, you don’t miss the way he lets his hand linger before pulling away and letting his arm drop back to his side.

you hum contentedly and shrug. “i’ve been overworked and worried. but…i’m glad it���s finally over and you’re back. i’m glad you’re safe.”

trying to change the subject, you hone in on the small indent that’s settled on his face from smiling so much and chuuya gives you a confused look but he doesn’t question you just yet. 

“y’know, you only have one dimple and i think,” you reach up and poke at the small crater in his cheek. “it’s the cutest thing ever.”

a fit of giggles falls from your lips and chuuya swears that somehow between when you walked over and now you had time to sneak in stealing his heart. something in his stomach flutters and his hands twitch, begging to hold onto you. chuuya tilts his head back, effectively making your hand fall from his face and downs the rest of his wine.

you watch in amusement, enjoying the way your words have clearly affected him. maybe drinking as much as you did wasn’t such a bad idea after all. you never would have said something like that to the world’s strongest ability user otherwise. you’ve harbored affection for the ginger since doc, your mentor, was still alive. you can practically hear albatross in your ear, teasing you for your, at the time, small crush. 

you’re brought out of your melancholy thoughts when chuuya’s gloved hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls you into him. you stumble and fall into the gravity manipulator. you let out a noise of complaint, ready to voice your qualms but it all dies on your tongue as it goes dry when you notice the tantalizing look on chuuya’s face.

“you’re callin’ me cute? you?” chuuya leans in, he’s so close you can smell the faint scent of wine and cigarettes on his breath.

you swallow thickly and look away, face now flushed from more than just the alcohol. “what d’you mean by that…”

the ginger leans in impossibly closer, his lips now brushing yours but before he can even say anything, an airy and teasing voice is calling out for the executive. 

“chuuya! i’ve been looking all over for you, don’t tell me you were avoiding me? and here i thought we had patched things up back at the prison.”

chuuya’s brown eye twitches as his head turns to find a tall brunette with a simpering smile. it takes you a moment but you realize this is someone you know, someone who you haven’t seen or heard from since you were 18, dazai osamu. you aren’t exactly in the mood for a reunion, your face still flushing from what just transpired between you and the executive.

you try to escape but chuuya’s grip on your wrist only tightens. a clear nonverbal for you to stay put. despite suddenly feeling stone cold sober, you have a sneaky feeling you’re still going to be missing that iv tonight.

guild: mark twain (wc: 738)

this standstill is agonizing, you’re so bored. you’ve been stuck on the moby dick for what seems like ages and yet you still haven’t been given an assignment by francis. you feel useless, like you’ve just been twiddling your thumbs — hell, even poe has had a role to play in all of this. 

it’s so incredibly frustrating.

you sit on the floor of the sunroom, you thought basking in the sunlight might help your mood. you thought wrong. you’ve been sulking for the last hour, maybe longer, just huffing and puffing as if someone was there. you let out another sigh and dramatically flop to the ground and onto your back as you hear someone approaching. 

you look up to find a pair of sandal clad feet far too close to your face for comfort. you grimace and quickly sit back up to get away from the offending appendages. you previously had wanted some company, at least then it would be less agonizing. but you’re filled with dread when you decide your mood is far too sour to be entertaining anyone at the moment. 

you glare at the ginger looming over you.

“get those dogs away from me.” you cross your legs and your face twists further in annoyance when you’re met with an amused expression.

a chuckle falls from his lips as he plops himself on the floor next to you. “someone’s in a cheery mood today.”

you roll your eyes and contemplate ignoring the young man altogether. of course you’re in a shit mood, you’re bored, you’ve been bored since you got to japan. you’re not even allowed to explore the area. you tried sneaking out but that damn priest caught you and tattled. you almost lose your temper just thinking about it.

“hey,” your internal rage is halted by mark trying to capture your attention. “where’d ya go just now?”

you let out a groan and flop back onto the floor. usually mark has a knack for fishing you out of your own thoughts but you don’t think even he can help today. you’d asked permission again to go explore and once again francis denied you. you feel like a bird, caged in, wings clipped so you’re unable to fly. being cooped up like this is driving you insane and you think mark can sense it because he stops pressing and lays down with you. 

you both lay in silence for a bit and your tense muscles finally begin to relax. maybe this wasn’t so bad, basking in the sun alone was sad, but having someone to do it with…it’s nice. you’ve suddenly forgotten why you were so worked up.

the peaceful moment only lasts a few moments. a familiar and mischievous voice rings close to your ear and you start. “he’s been worried about ya, y’know?”

“tom?!” both you and the ginger cry out in unison.

you sit up and look over at mark incredulously. he’s never accidentally activated the boys before, his control always being pretty impressive actually. your lips part slightly as you notice the embarrassed pout that stretches his lips down. the frown bringing out the dimples on his cheeks, making them far more apparent than they are when he smiles. 

it takes a moment but tom’s words sink in, when they do you let out a snort that has mark giving you a mortified look. tom is perched on your shoulder, snickering along with you. mark glares at the small apparition and releases his ability cutting off his snickering. 

you look over to mark with a smug grin. “so, you’ve been worried about me, huh?”

you let out a chuckle as the ginger groans. suddenly your sour mood melts away and you’re left with a sweet aftertaste. your grin is wide and reaches your eyes, making them crinkle at the edges. your chest feels lighter, a weight that’s been sitting in your rib cage since departing the states finally being relieved and you have mark twain to thank for that. you watch as his frown stays clearly plastered on his features. you shake your head at him.

“ah, c’mon, mark. y’know i’m only teasing you. although i should do it more often, that frown brings out those adorable dimples of yours even more than a smile does…”

mark offers you an offended side eye but he can’t hide the blush that dusts the apple of his cheeks at your words.

hunting dogs: tachihara (wc 1k) 

“tecchou could be charming… if it weren’t for his strange…quirks.” you snicker at jouno’s quip, never missing the chance to insult the brunette. 

you hum, a smirk stretching at your lips. “okay, mr. ‘i like to piss people off for fun’, you’re just as bad.”

the blind man turns his head towards your voice and scowls in your direction. your smile widens, pleased with ticking him off. playing his game better than him is always so exhilarating. jouno always gives you some of the best reactions . 

your captain belts out a hearty laugh. the older man himself had started this conversation. apparently he’d been shot down and came into your meeting room with his ears drooped and tail between his legs. charm. that is the subject at hand, which of you have the most charm. it started with fukuchi insisting on his “boyish charm” despite his age. the man is clearly in denial but trying to convince him of that is pointless, you would know, you’ve tried. 

jouno hisses, “as if you’re any better.”

“i am. why do you think i’m the member fukuchi sends out for negotiations, my dear jouno?” you snicker when the pale man turns his nose up at you and clicks his tongue, knowing you’d won.

it’s been a while since all of you had been summoned together. despite the bickering you’re excited to see your colleagues altogether in one room. you’re especially giddy to see a certain redhead who’s been undercover with the port mafia for almost 2 years now. you’ve missed 2 of his birthdays, he must look older now. you wonder just how much the young man has grown since the last time you saw him — as a boy. you were still young too, you still are, younger than him at the very least. not by much of course but it’s enough to make you the second youngest member of the hunting dogs. 

the last time you saw tachihara, the two of you fought. you begged him, pleaded with him to not take the assignment with the port mafia. it was dangerous and you knew about his personal grudge against its leader. but he didn’t listen, he made a promise to you, though. he promised to come back to you in one piece. 

you impatiently wait to see if he kept his promise. 

you’re pulled out of your thoughts by fukuchi. “ah, we almost forgot about the other two. what do you think of teruko.”

you and jouno share a look. teruko has never been the most agreeable…and that’s putting it lightly. her attitude is arrogant at best. sure, when she loves, she loves with her entire being but that’s a rare instance and it takes time to get there with the girl.

“why don’t we skip over her and move on to tachihara…” jouno looks almost pained at having to avoid the topic altogether.

luckily you’re both saved by the meeting room door opening and 3 other figures walking in. you sit up straight, watching as tecchou strides in first. your breath hitches when a smaller figure walks in with another larger one. you can feel the look jouno is casting your way, knowing well he felt the way your heartbeat began to race, the way your breath caught in your throat, and the way you tremble with nerves. 

you were right. he does look older, but most importantly he still looks just as handsome. maybe even more so than before. you also notice he’s grown into his uniform, unlike the baggy uniform he wore the last time you saw him, this one fits him perfectly.

instead of greeting everyone else (you suppose this wasn’t the first meeting he’s had with the rest since infiltrating the port mafia) tachihara dives right into the conversation you were having previously.

“what about me?”

you don’t miss the way the ginger’s eyes scan the room and light up the second they meet your own and you don’t miss the way he makes a beeline for the empty seat next to you. “our captain here, believes that he still has a boyish charm about him…”

“...ah…uh huh… so old age has made the geezer delusional then?” tachihara grins proudly at you, a dimpled smile on full display, as he claims the empty seat as his own.

you let out a bubbly giggle, unable to contain yourself and nod. “i’m afraid so!”

“hey!” the older man whines in a way that’s reminiscent of teruko. “i am not old.”

jouno and tecchou chime in while teruko and your captain argue against why you’re all wrong. you watch them all with a fond smile and a warmth in your chest. you’ve missed this, missed them all. having michizo next to you made it all feel complete, like you’re whole again.

the ginger leans in cautiously, watching for any hesitation on your part, but he won’t find any. “what about you? what do you think? am i charming?”

you study his face for a moment, all the previously soft edges of his face have smoothed out, only leaving sharp features. even his eyes are far more calculating than they were before he left. one thing that hasn’t changed though, his boyish smile. the indents in his cheeks give way to his young age. for once you're happy to see that some things never change. 

apparently, your conversation wasn’t a private one as fukuchi chimes in. “it pains me to say but you have the most boyish charm out of all of us, even greater than mine - but only by a little.”

you chuckle at the stubborn man’s words and tachihara follows suit. the soft rumbled noise he makes is deeper and that’s when you realize, it’s not just his laugh that’s gotten deeper — his voice has a certain gruffness it didn’t have before. it’s subtle but it’s soothing, much like a lullaby.

you wink at the ginger and respond in a teasing tone, “fukuchi is right, tachihara, your boyish charm could get you out of all sorts of trouble. it’s definitely those cute dimples of yours.” 

doa: nikolai (wc: 837)

you don’t even remember what you just said. or where you are. or what you two are even doing here. all you know is that nikolai is sitting in front of you laughing like a madman. it’s not one of his usual forced cackles, no, this one is possibly the first genuine laugh you’ve seen from him. his real laugh is far lighter than the crackled and loud noises that slip past his lips when he plays his little games. you find yourself trying to memorize the sound, much preferring this laugh to the previously mentioned one.

his face is relaxed too. the twisted grin he usually wears has melted away into a bright smile that reaches his cheeks, making the most stunning little indents in them. nikolai truly is gorgeous and you find yourself thinking he’s even more beautiful when he lets himself relax. his uncovered eye sparkles as he wipes away the tears that built up from his fit of laughter. 

you’ve always thought that nikolai himself is just beautiful in general but when he’s like this? you can’t help but to stare.

and of course, the clown notices. “whatcha staring at, chickadee?” 

it’s teasing, a lilt in his voice that’s just a little too cheery. your attention, which was previously zeroed in on nikolai’s isolated features, focuses out and onto him as a whole. his head is tilted to the side, staring at you curiously.

you’re suddenly acutely aware of the fond smile that’s plastered on your face. you gather your bearings and turn that smile into a frown, crossing your arms across your chest, you stubbornly look away. you let out an exasperated puff of air.

“nothing.” your voice comes out deadpanned. 

nikolai prances his way over to you, standing on his toes and leaning in. you swear he has no sense of personal space, you doubt he even knows the meaning of it. your lips immediately curl up in discomfort and you lean away from him, trying to create as much distance as possible without actually stepping back. your attempts are futile, though, his tall stature and freakishly good balance allows him to follow you. 

the white haired clown lets out a snort. “ah, come on, that answer’s no fun!”

“it wasn’t s’posed to be, gogol.” your expression is uninterested but internally you aren’t as confident in your ability to keep your composure. 

nikolai dramatically pouts at you and straightens back up, doing a little twirl that you think is quite ridiculous. but that’s nikolai, ridiculous and unabashed. you straighten up too and watch him wearily. his sheer amount of energy seems to drain your own, sucking the life out of you the longer you’re around him. his eccentricity is something that you’re still not accustomed to.

nikolai perks up and you almost wince knowing you’re not going to like whatever thought it is that just lit him up like a lightbulb. 

“let’s play a game then!” you can’t help the way you eye him suspiciously. “we each tell the other our favorite things about the other. we’ll start with favorite feature!”

“no.”

“yes!” 

your eye twitches at how quick he is to reject your refusal. the twitching intensifies when he starts humming the jeopardy theme and prancing around you, clearly waiting for your approval. you decide you’re gonna be bullheaded on this one — or, at the very least, try to be.

“absolutely not.”

nikolai let’s out a foul buzzer noise “absolutely! c’mon. i’ll go first-”

“nikolai. no.”  

there’s now a dull pounding in your head and you’re starting to think that maybe conceding is the best option to get him to stop.

“nikolai. yes!” his grin is wide and you can tell he’s caught on to your waning perseverance.

you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, a sign of you accepting defeat. “if i tell you, will you stop bouncing around like that and calm down?”

“cross my heart and hope to die!” his tone is cheery, sing-song and light. 

you know — you know — you’re going to regret this later but you could care less at this particular moment. anything to give you a sliver of peace. 

“fine…your dimples, they’re my favorite feature of yours, they’re…mesmerizing…”

you look away embarrassed at the admission, missing the way nikolais face softens for a moment. then he winds up again, like a toy soldier that just had its key turned to the max. he’s moving around you with twice the amount of gusto as he was before his promise, practically vibrating. you scowl at him, displeased.

“you promised you would knock that off, you clown.”

the said clown gives you a pleased grin and sings out again. “i lied!”

you cannot believe you let him trick you like that, your ire making your skin crawl. or maybe that’s your embarrassment prickling at your skin and making it flush. you try not to let your mind linger on it too much as you let a response fly out of your mouth.

“then die.”

[crheativity]

GENERAL LILIA LEARNING HOW TO LOVE!

(love you romantically specifically)

IT IS ILLEGAL THAT HE DOESN'T HAVE ANY FICS IN YOUR MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: Might be OOC ? Unsure. All very cute though! 

COMMENTS: OOOOO I LOVE THIS IDEA!! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get to writing this specifically, but also just anything for Lilia. I love him but the stars were not aligned I suppose. I hope this makes up for it, sorry if it’s short!

You were like the sun to him.

Bright.

So bright that you were almost blinding. You radiated an unfamiliar warmth. You were able to set him on edge so easily - just one glance at you and he’d have to look away.

It was infuriating.

He was the famed General Lilia, the Dragon’s Hand, the Running Rampart of the Verdurous Moor. And yet, you seemed to be the first opponent he’d faced that had beaten him without even drawing a weapon.

You, a human, who was so weak and pathetic, he was willing to bet you couldn’t even lift his Magearm. 

And yet he felt himself drawn to you.

More and more he found it impossible to look away. More and more he found himself dependent on you, on that uncomfortable warmth. 

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

He didn’t understand any of this. He didn’t understand you and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

But when you’d held his hand and compared the sizes, or when he’d watched you serve the most delicious food he’d ever tasted to his men, or even when you’d hide behind him after Baur had been particularly loud, he’d felt this odd feeling in his stomach. Like the frogs or bugs he’d eaten had come alive, although that surely would’ve been impossible. 

He first guessed you had lied about being magicless and that you’d put some kind of spell on him. He ruled that out quickly - he was a Fae, he knew what magic felt like. But then, what was he feeling? And how could he cure it? 

He looked over at you, sitting on the grass, preparing the camp’s food with a smile on your face. The light of the sunset seemed to strike you, basking you in pure light.

His throat felt tight. His heartbeat rang in his ears.

He tore his eyes away, forcing himself to stare at the grass, his hands, anything.

And yet he found himself looking at you again.

Maybe this is what those humans called love…?

He shoved that thought out of his head. He couldn’t love. He was incapable of feeling any love. All he had was positive regard for his allies and hatred for his foes. That’s what drove him. He couldn’t feel that way.

Could he…?

Maybe, he thought, gazing your way, with a whole lot of luck, you can teach me to understand.

But not now.

Not yet.

But one day.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[sinsandsweetness]

dom rick bending reader over his knee for being a brat? maybe even rickyl

cw- impact play, mean!dom!rick(?)

“This isn’t even fair,” you whine, face pressed into the rough couch pillow next to you. Your torso is splayed over Ricks lap, knees brushing the hardwood floor.

“Not fair, huh? Daryl said you were bein’ a brat, sweetheart. And you know what happens when you act up like that.”

“I wasn’t,” your words are drawn out. Ricks hand smoothing over the soft flesh of your ass. The action already has you bracing yourself for impact. He’s just warming you up.

“Are you sayin’ that he’s lyin’? Is that what you’re tryna say, baby?”

You look over your shoulder and meet eyes with the bowman, leaned back into the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Palm freezing over his groin when he sees you looking. Clearly already stirring in his jeans.

“No, no, I just-”

A quick sharp sting to your ass cuts you off.

“Ouch,” you flop back to your original position. Face pressed to the pillow where you can easily muffle your pathetic little cries.

“Just what, baby?” Daryl’s voice drawls from across the room.

“Didn’t meant to- ah” another smack jolts you do reward. But you know better than to complain. “I didn’t mean to lip off, okay. I’m sorry, Dare. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

You can’t see them, but you’re sure they’re sharing a look. Debating between themselves wether or not you’re to be forgiven so easily. So soon.

Another hot blow to your ass elicits a moan this time. The tender flesh starting to feel all tingly and numb. It hurts, sure. But for whatever reason, it’s also turning you on. From Daryl’s angle, he can see an adorable little wet spot of arousal on your panties.

“Pretty sure you said that last time, no?” Rick chuckles, rubbing sweet, gentle circles over your skin. “Just a few more, baby. Gotta stick to the rules. You misbehave, you face the consequences. Just how it goes, doll.”

Tears fight their way to your lash line as your ass takes another few rounds of sharp, jolting pain. Smoothing his palm over the red handprints in between each hit.

You can actually feel your arousal now. A needy, messy, wetness spreading under the cotton fabric of your panties. Ricks fingers dipping down to drag along damp cloth.

You whimper as his large fingers brushing over your clit.

“Alright, angel. Worst part’s over. Now you just have to make it right. Gotta make it up to Daryl, sweetheart. You ready to do that for us? To be a sweet little thing and ask for forgiveness?”

You nod into the pillow, your agreement taking the form of a drawn out moan. Your completely submissive reaction and the slight tremor in your thighs has both men holding back their smiles.

Oh you’ll make it up to them, alright. It’s not like you have much of a choice.

[aeolianblues]

The weirdly life affirming thing about fandom and some of the adoration that comes with it, particularly as pertains to real people, is that fans will love all the parts of you. That what is deemed ‘marketable’ by the press release and everything else they left out. If you come from something, fans will keep it alive. A Sam Fender fan away in Nebraska, USA will learn the Geordie dialect to accurately write Sam Fender x reader fanfic. They will keep alive a dialect declining even in Newcastle. As long as someone knows it, it lives on. The more people into it, the more beloved it becomes; it has a resurgence, it carries on. A Kneecap fan in Indonesia whose third language is English decides Irish Gaeilge can be their fourth. The Eurovision fans decided they can learn all of Finnish after being drawn to one song about piña coladas (and the super endearing Käärijä!)

Fandom is so much more than some base lowly shit to be embarrassed about that people like to reduce it to. It’s a powerful mode of culture. It’s so much more than about writing ‘your silly little stories about your pathetic men’; fandom is the reason American Blur fans flew thousands of miles overseas to be at Wembley last summer. Fandom is checking your IG stories after that gig and seeing that other well-loved musicians also have the same story as you because they were at that gig too. It is months later hearing Grian Chatten from Fontaines D.C. say that part of their new song was inspired by going to that Wembley show, and knowing exactly what he meant by that.

It is about shared cultural moments, it’s about the realisation that nothing is ever strictly in the past, and that we are sharing and creating culture in the now. I don’t know where I’m going with this, I was just struck by the connection between culture and pop culture. Don’t let people tell you they’re different worlds, I suppose

[ohtobeleah]

Continental Breakfast // Mickey Garcia

Summary: When the Daggers disperse back to their respective states and postings—Mickey Garcia goes home to the wife, the best friend and the significant other that is to this day, the greatest continental breakfast around.

Warnings: Pure Fluff & Smut. Minors DNE. Mickey Fanboy Garcia x F!wife reader. Female Receiving Oral. Mickey simp Garcia. Early trimester pregnancy.

Word Count: 4.1k

Author Note: Plot who? This is just Mr Simp Garcia reuniting with reader wife after the Dagger Mission. This also proves I’m capable of doing good things. I’m not just my angst. And shout out to @mandylove1000 because this is all the fluff you’re getting

The sun had barely risen over the horizon, the thought had yet to cross its mind as the clock beside your bed ticked over in the silence of the early morning darkness. 

Your bed had never felt warmer, more inviting, more comfortable or more peaceful than it did in the moment as a gentle morning breeze crept in and carried the long burlap drapes that stretched the length of your window with it. 

In the quiet of your bedroom that had yet to be blessed with the light of day you sank a little deeper into the mattress with a hum that resembled something of a purr. Your lips curled up into your cheeks as you felt yourself being drawn into a warmth that rivalled Venus itself. Mickey Garcia ran hot like a furnace, his skin radiated a heat that made you tremble but brought you solace all at once, his very aura drew you in like a moth to a flame. You were unable to break the trance his smile cast on you or the spell his laugh had you under. 

“S’early —“ Strong arms drew you into Mickey's chest as he pressed himself up against the swell of your ass. The satin nighty that adorned your curves had been the only thing separating your skin from your husband’s. “Go back to sleep.” You exhaled a drawn out sigh that earned you a few butterfly-like kisses to your shoulder as you sunk deeper and closer into your husband's warm embrace. “You Government owned men with your ridiculous internal alarm clock’s piss me off.” 

Mickey chuckled as he trailed a gently hand across your stomach—with intent behind his movements, he slowly crept down your satin clad stomach up to your hip and stopped to play with the slightly frayed hem that kept your body wrapped up like a present sitting pretty and poised under the tree on Christmas morning. All for him. You were his wife, Mrs Mickey Fanboy Garcia. His best friend, the love of his life, his better half and significant other. You were Mickey's internal present that kept on giving, no matter how many times he unwrapped your layers, you would still make him feel like that giddy high school teenager who got to see your boobs for the first time in the art supply closet. 

“Six weeks away from you made me a crazed man amor.” There was a morning husk so prominent in your husband's voice as he peppered your supple skin with delicate kisses you couldn’t resist. With heavy eyelids and a whimper that resembled something meekly pathetic you rolled onto your back as Mickey carefully hovered over you. The same strong arms that once held you close in the early morning light that had begun to creep into your bedroom now trapped you entirely beneath him, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. “Im starved—“

“Good thing breakfast in bed is always an option then Lieutenant.” You couldn’t miss the way the corner of Mickey's lips pinned to go cheeks as he leaned in and over to kiss the junction of your neck. Coaxing whimpers and soft moans from you as your legs spread wider and wider at the mere thought of your husband's next move. 

“I missed you so much.” Mickey had come home just after eight pm. His entire body ached as he sunk into the warmth of the bath you had run him full of epsom salt and rose bud bubble bath. If you hadn’t been sitting behind him stroking his length lazily beneath the water whispering sweet nothings in his ear— Mickey was sure he would have fallen asleep and drowned in the moment. He felt like he’d been on his toes for six weeks straight. The minute he was dismissed from Mirimars special detachment he was heading home to you in Seattle, where his guiding light lived. Where his heart always felt fullest. “Missed you so much it felt like a lifetime had passed.” 

“You’re home now.” You reached out to cup your husband's cheek as he kissed the pad of your thumb that trailed across his bottom lip. Deep brown eyes stared down at you with a hunger so prominent it made you throb. “You’re safe baby, at ease.” 

Mickey had been so tired after your bath late last night that the minute his head hit the soft, almost otherworldly pillow, he was out like a light. His body had given in and thrown in the towel. You’d expected nothing less as you crawled in beside him. Knowing that by the lines that had become a permanent fixture upon his face that he’d been through a lot. That he’d given his all and he’d done his very best. 

He was your TopGun. 

“You look so pretty underneath me right now it’s insane.” Mickey had dreamt about you every night he was away and fantasised about how you tasted whenever he was alone. His fist could never amount to the pleasure you brought him. Like two puzzle pieces from the same puzzle you and Mickey Garcia shared an unconditional love that was as unambiguous as Payback's cynical eyes had ever seen. “Bet you taste so sweet at this hour.” 

As Mickey's words dripped from his lips he sunk a hand between your legs, with no panties stopping him—he traced a delicate finger between your folds and watched from above as your breathing hitched in your throat. He collected your arousal from your core and soon enough you craved his touch immediately in minute he pulled away. 

“Mick—“ 

“How do you taste Amor?” It was a question that made you question your own intelligence as your husband watched you part your lips so you could kiss the tip of his finger. You could taste your arousal on his digit as you took him in further, sucking on the nimble digit like you would suck on his throbbing length. “Sweet enough for me?” 

You did nothing but hum in response as you moved your hips against your husbands, the feeling of his raging erection pressing against the cotton of his boxer briefs made you quiver underneath him. 

“Good thing I was in the mood for something sickly sweet this morning huh?” 

“Well are you going to do something Miguel?” You asked through battered eyelashes and a taunting tone as you reached between the pair of you to softly palm your husband’s hard on. You could feel the wet patch that had formed in the cotton of his boxers as he rocked his hips into your touch and dropped his forehead to yours. “Or are you just all talk?” 

“I wonder if that attitude of yours will still be there after I’m done with you.” All Mickey Garcia ever wanted was to be king in your story. All he ever wanted was to l know who you are, he wanted your heart to be for him and only him. Mickey wanted you to sing to him softly in the afternoon sun of summer evenings so he could run in the dark. Your love was internal and pure, conjured only for him and designed specifically for him. 

“Guess you’ll find out won’t you?” You tilted your chin to take Mickey's lips hostage with your own as you hummed at the taste of him. Mickey swiped his tongue across your bottom lip as he begged for more, grinding his clothed cock against your dripping core. Your legs could not have been any more open if they tried. “Fuck—“ 

“I’ve got you.” Mickey mumbled into your mouth as he began to trail kisses that felt like sparks against your skin down your neck and collarbone. “I’ve got you Amor, I’m home.” As Mickey met the satin of your nighty he pressed his face against your stomach and mumbled against the fabric, his strong inviting hands held your hips in place against the mattress. “Avert your gaze, little one.” 

You were barely even showing, but it had been a welcomed surprise just four days before Mickey was being called back to TopGun. It made the mission all the more difficult, he wanted to be a part of it—but there was no option not to come home to you. To your growing unborn child. 

“You’re such an idiot—“ You laughed softly as Mickey sank lower and lower as he sent you a look so full of love it was hard to hold a grudge of any kind against the man who loved you so tenderly. But Mickey knew that time was going to take him, he knew that day was going to come. He just wanted the devil to hate him enough before he did so. He wanted to love you in all the ways he could while he had a chance to. 

“But you love me for it, don’t you mama.” 

With gentle but firm hands, Mickey spread your knees wide as he sank to his chest between your glistening core. He was spellbound—entranced by the way your beauty captivated every part of him. There was a part of Mickey that wondered if he’d ever stop feeling like the giddy schoolboy who lost his virginity with you in the tent the two of you had shared one night during spring break in the backyard of your parents' old place. 

“So pretty Amor, so gorgeous—“ Mickey whispered in the warm morning light as it crept across your room. The sun had started to rise just as Mickey peppered your inner thigh with marks that would linger for days on end. “How’d I ever get so lucky?” 

“Patience was always your strongest virtue.” You whined. “But it’s never been mine Miguel.” You reminded your love drunk husband as he sent you a smile that could have ended world wars and started them all at once. “Please do something—“ 

“All you had to say was please, Amor.” Mickey loved it when you’d say his government name, besides his Abuela you were the only person on planet earth that could get away with it. He was Mickey to all, Fanyboy to most and Miguel to you and only you. “Smell so fucking sweet.” 

“Oh god—“ You trailed your fingers through Mickey's dark curls as he licked a stripe up your core to collect all your nectar. His dark lustful eyes never left yours as he swallowed all you could give him. “Yess—“ Heavenly praises fell from your mouth as Mickey enjoyed his continental breakfast, a taste of you and only you he’d never get tired of devouring. His jaw would ache before he ever gave up being between your legs—he’d happily die eating you out. You’d be his last meal if he was ever sent to death row. “Oh god I missed this.” 

“I can guarantee I missed it more.” Mickey mumbled against your core as he sucked against your throbbing bundle of nerves, he watched through hooded eyes as you let your head rest against the pillow and arched your back, sighing in pure pleasure and relief as he worked you over just the way he knew you liked. “That’s its Amor give into me, missed you so fucking much.” 

It never took you long to let go of all that was worrying you, all that plagued your mind, all that stressed you out on a day to day basis, when you were with Mickey. His energy gave you life and his presence protected you from harm. 

“Such a pretty little pussy.” Mickey moaned as he pulled away to spit against your core, he took one single digit and swirled the newly added moisture around before he pressed inside you, coaxing his finger up against your velvet walls. “I know you like that Amor, let me hear you.” 

You had a special power over Mickey Garcia. Everything he held dear resided in your eyes. You were the only one he ever loved, the only one forever on his mind. 

“Yesss—baby, like that right there, right there.” You were giving in, giving yourself over completely to Mickey who lapped away at your core and curled his digit tenderly into your velvet walls. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way you arched your back—the way your hands came up to squeeze at your breasts over the silk of your nighty. “Baby—“

“Such a sight.” Mickey snickered against your dripping core as he added another nimble digit to your entrance, revelling in the way you stretched around him, oh so tight. “Love your beautiful pussy mama—fuck you taste so sweet.” 

For six weeks Mickey fell asleep to the thought of being between your legs again, thinking of the life he would soon have with you and your unborn child. He was so excited to be a dad—he couldn’t wait. But the news was kept under wraps, he kept those cards close to his chest. Neither of you had told your parents, your extended families, your friends or co-workers. The news that you were expecting was just news that the two of you wanted to bask in together for a little while longer. 

“Ohhh yes—!” Your grip tightened in the curls that fell without rhyme or reason on top of Mickey's head as he ate you like you were going out of style. His eyes were on you as his nose pressed against your pubic bone and his fingers filled you perfectly. “Mickey, fuck feels so good!” You squirmed against the mattress under the immense pleasure Mickey's mouth brought you as he gave all his attention to your clit. Those sensitive nurse endings that bundled up to create a pleasure pit, all for him to tantalise and tease. “God I’m getting close, so close baby.” 

“Are you Amor?” Mickey teased as he pumped his fingers inside you as he pulled his mouth away from your core. “Is that so?” Mickey Garcia knew how to take his sweet sweet time with you. He knew how to stop and smell the roses, he knew how to enjoy the journey and not just the destination.

“Don’t stop, god please don’t fucking stop Mick—“ 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to slow things down, take my time and make you unravel bit by pleasurable bit.” He teased as his fingers came to a mere agonising halt inside you. “We don’t wanna rush this, do we Amor?”

It was invigorating, pure ecstasy invaded your bloodstream as your husband came up to press his lips against yours from where he’d been perched between your legs. Hovering above you as he kissed you oh so deeply and with enough love to knock the wind from your lungs as you tasted your sweet sweet self on his tongue. 

“I love you so much.” Mickey mumbled as he trailed his lips down your neck and worked a single palm over the strap of your nighty. His raging hard on pressed against your core as he bucked his hips to reveal just an ounce of the pressure. This moment wasn’t about him though, it was all about you. “Missed you so much, thought about you every second of every day.” 

“If you really loved me you’d make me cum—“ You teased through a whine of your own as Mickey’s palm fell against your exposed breasts. He pinched softly at the hardened bud of your nipple as he finished trailing languid kisses up and down your neck. 

“Is that so?” Mickey asked with a raised eyebrow as he watched you pop your chest further towards him as he played with your nipple. “Such a needy little thing aren’t you?” He teased as you exposed your other breasts—your nighty now fell around your midsection almost completely forgotten as your husband saw yet another opportunity to drive you insane. “Patience really wasn’t your virtue huh Amor?” It felt otherworldly as Mickey wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked a kind of pressure that had your core ignited into flames. Like a hive mind your body ached for him. He couldn’t touch you everywhere all at one like you craved for him. 

“Mickey—!” He could hear the desperation in your voice. “Need you, need you so bad.” Mickey could easily blame your desire on the pregnancy hormones that were ravaging your body and brain, but he’d be doing a disservice to the teenage version of himself that sat in geography class pining over the girl who alway sat beside him if he did so.

All Mickey ever wanted in life was you. 

“Guess you could twist my arm.” Mickey rolled his eyes as he popped your nipple from his mouth and trailed those same languid and soft kisses down your stomach, settling where he belonged, between your thighs. “What do you say?” 

“Please—“ With so much need faced in the lines on your face and in the irises or your eyes, how could Mickey say no. So he said nothing at all as he went back to giving you exactly what you wanted. His mouth on your pussy, lapping away at your nectar that leaked like a faucet that hadn’t been properly turned off. “Oh god yess—that’s it Miguel, that’s it baby eat my fucking pussy.” 

It was truly an honour to devour you like this, to witness you unravel and let go of yourself. Mickey in all honesty could do this all day—but listening to your pleasure filled moans echo off the sunkissed walls as warmth slowly began to fill the bedroom that had once been shrouded in darkness was too tempting to not give in and give you what you wanted. What you needed from him. That orgasm you deserved and craved.  

Mickey held your knees apart when you tried to close your legs around his head. He lapped away at your core like it would be his last act on ear as you felt that all too familiar feeling start to bubble under the surface. 

“Oh yesss! Please Mickey, please make me cum.” The way you asked with such need had Mickey sucking your clit and curling his digits so perfectly the way he knew you liked with such passion and such fire in his actions, that he had you seeing stars. For a split second you forgot how to breath when he looked up at you with dark eyes that told you he wasn’t anywhere near finished with you, that this was just the beginning of a day full of intimacy after six agonising weeks apart. “Yes! Yes! Ahhhh fuck!” 

“Cum for me Amor—“ Mickey coaxed you closer to your high, he could tell by the way you tensed and jolted at his touch, how you reacted when he pumped his fingers inside your dripping core as he lapped at your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Cum on my face baby, don’t hold back on me.” 

How could you ever hold back when your husband was between your thighs, eating you out like he was a starved man in search of nutrition that would sustain him for days on end. You couldn’t focus on anything else but the feeling he brought you, the ever looming orgasm that was about to wash over your entire body like a tsunami—threatening to take you victim yet again as you trembled and quivered and jolted under his touch, his expert tongue. 

“Oh fuck!” You balled your fists into the white linen that lined your mattress as the coil finally wound up just enough to have you tittering on the edge of satisfaction. “Oh fuck Mickey, baby—yesss! Ahhh I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—“ 

It was heavenly after six stressful weeks worrying about your husband. Sure you’d given yourself an orgasm here and there. A few times a week if you could be arsed to do so. But nothing could compare to the orgasm that Mickey Garcia could bring you—nothing compared to the love he had for you that showed in every touch, every moment, every mere second he spent attending to your needs. 

“Ohhhhh Mickey fuckkk—“ As you arched your back and rode out the blissful sensation that overcame you entirely, Mickey watched through dark lustful eyes. He couldn’t not. You clenched around his digits hard and trembled against his tongue as your pussy fluttered and thanked him for his service. 

“You’re a vision.” Was all Mickey had to say as he watched you ride out and come down from the highest peak of your orgasm. “You’re so beautiful.” Mickey would spend the rest of his life reminding you how beautiful you were inside and out. He told you every day. 

“Holy shit I feel like a whole new woman.” You sighed as you relaxed into the mattress, Mickey wasted no time as he mounted you once more, trapping you between strong arms and exposed chest. “Feel like I should return the favour.” You cooed as he kissed you once more with the taste of your orgasm on his tongue. It drove you manic– completely insane as you reached between the two of you to pull back the elastic of his boxer briefs. 

“I'd never say no–” Mickey mumbled into your mouth as you slowly but surely worked your palm over his hardened length. He was rock hard, straining against the fabric of his briefs as he bucked his hips into your hand to aid you in the process. “Fuck–” 

“I think it's my turn to enjoy my breakfast don't you think baby?” You teased as you pressed the pad of your thumb against Mickey's swollen tip. He oozed pre cum at the thought of your mouth on his cock. Warm and ever so inviting, made for him and only for him. “Switch with me?” 

“Yes ma’am.” It never took much to get Mickey where you wanted him. He was after all just a mere mortal man with needs and desires. With ease you were pushing him down onto his back, straddling his waist as your hands roamed up the valley of his chest. The tufted of barely there chest hair drove you crazy– Mickey knew it too. “I'm all yours Amor.” 

“I know.” You replied with confidence riddled in your early morning smile as you rocked your hips back and forth slowly a top your husband. “You've always been mine, always will be too.” You drove Mickey insane as you pinned his arms above his head and kissed his neck harshly, just enough to leave a few marks in your wake. “Gonna make you feel real good.” 

“I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that.” It made you feel powerful, that you had such a hold on your husband, the father of your unborn child, your best friend. “God Amor, if you keep grinding on me like you are, I swear to you, I'm gonna cum.” It had been so long since Mickey had felt your gentle touch, your loving hold. Six weeks away from you felt like a lifetime and then some. “Not gonna last long at all.” 

“S’okay, we’ve got all day.” You teased as you slowly but surely slipped Mickey's length, his erect and throbbing cock inside you, the plan had been to suck him off but this was just too perfect. Watching him wither away underneath you as you took him in inch by inch. “Cum inside me baby, I know you want to.” Mickey had to grit his teeth and clench his jaw to keep himself from busting then and there. He was a goner. “Feels so good.” You sat up as Mickey's hand flew to your hips, helping to guide you up and down his slicked cock with intent to milk him dry. “Fuck–” 

“Ohhh ahh fuck, baby, baby, holy shit I’m gonna cum–” To absolutely no surprise Mickey was stilling you as he sat up and wrapped you in his arms. He came so hard it damn near hurt as you rocked your hips in his lap as he spilled inside you. Recreating the same moment that had surely gotten you pregnant in the first place not ten weeks ago. “Fuck fuck fuck oh my god–”

Your bed had never felt warmer, more inviting, more comfortable or more peaceful than it did in the moment as you fell into a heap of twisted limbs with your husband, completely spent. 

“For the record Amor, you have always been and will continue to be, my favourite breakfast.” Mickey sighed as he kissed your cheek and held you close to his chest. He missed this, missed you, missed the way you raked your fingernails up his chest and down his side–leaving goosebumps in your wake. 

“Consider it continental Miguel.” You replied softly as you thought about the day ahead–spent wrapped in the sheet of your bed with your husband. “It's the most important meal of the day.”

**************************************

[iluvzaddies]

run rabbit run (4)

pairing: yandere!childe x reader

warnings: unhealthy behavior/relationship, violence, nsfw

inspired by: episode 8 of the hbo series “the last of us”

summary: you are out of food as well as medical supplies, so in order to save your father, you take matters into your own hands. you unexpectedly run into a young master in the forest, who is after the same rabbit as you. since he is persistent on getting the rabbit, you make a bargain with him. he develops a liking to you and decides you are his new personal little rabbit.

note: hey, loves! sorry for the long hiatus. i lost motivation to write, but i’m back now! here’s chapter 4 of run rabbit run. it’s a little rushed tho and my writing hasn’t really improved :(

“then, give yourself to me.”

your breath hitched, feeling both disgusted by childe’s wet kisses on your neck and embarrassed because you were not the only people in the room.

the sound of a gun’s safety turned off and childe immediately pulled away from your neck.

your father was on his feet, his left hand clutching on his stomach and his right shakily holding a pistol, which he somehow managed to grab ahold of while childe was getting too close for comfort. “leave my daughter alone, you son of a bitch.”

you couldn’t stand to see your father in that state, but neither could he stand to see his own daughter being harassed by the man he was working for– well, the man he used to work for.

“did you just curse my mother?” childe scoffed, not an ounce of playfulness in his tone. “oh, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

your father pulled the trigger.

childe summoned his weapons again and skillfully cut the bullet in half.

you gaped at the scene.

your father tried to pull the trigger once again, but this time, his gun was cut in half.

he stumbled back, hitting the shelves, furniture falling onto the ground, smashing into bits and pieces. at the impact, more blood seeped out of his wound and he began coughing out blood.

childe strode towards him with malicious intent. he placed the tip of his weapon under his chin, bringing his head up to look at him in the eyes.

“you’re a pathetic fool.” he taunted. “going against a harbinger like myself? not a smart move. since you are no value to me and you refuse to hand me your daughter, i’ll have to dispose of you now.”

your father heaved out. “before you kill me, i’d like to say a few words to my daughter. tell your men to unhand her. i want this to be between us only.”

childe sighed and rolled his eyes. “fine, hurry up. no funny business.”

the second the pyro agents’ grip on you loosened, you wasted no time running towards your father.

“f–father…” you sniffled.

“my sweet, smart, talented girl. i will always love you. never forget that. you’re the greatest gift one could ever receive and i am proud to call you my daughter.” he caressed your cheek and you leaned your cheek against his warm palm, which would soon turn cold.

you shivered at the though of it.

he said he was proud of you. how could he be proud of someone as weak as you? someone as useless as you?

“i’m sorry. i–if only i was strong enough, i could–“

“stop it. there’s really no way out of this situation, (y/n). don’t blame yourself.”

“that is enough chit-chat, mr (l/n).” childe interjected.

he snapped his fingers and you were back into the arms of the pyro agents.

“no, i beg of you to let him live! i told you i would go with you willingly!” you begged.

“i’ve already made up my mind. and he’s already dying anyway. don’t worry, my rabbit. i’ll give him a quick and easy death.” childe’s gaze shifted to the pyro agents. “take her outside…” he dismissed with a wave. “…unless you want to watch?”

“no.” you whimpered, violently shaking your head.

and so, you were brought outside and you were faced with a carriage.

it wasn’t like one of those plain, wooden carriages. the carriage was black and had intricate golden patterns, drawn by four beautiful gray horses.

the pyro agents’ shoved you in the carriage and shut the door.

“shit! fuck! fuck!” you ruffled your hair in frustration, lowering your head, letting your tears fall onto the red velvet carpet.

you had to do something.

‘if i can’t save father, i should save myself.’

think.

think.

think.

a light bulb went on in your head.

you decided that you were going to hijack the carriage, while childe was still in the cabin and the pyro agents’ were standing around, waiting for their master’s next order. it was a better idea than trying to outrun them in the cold weather.

you slowly opened the door, the other door. luckily, carriages had two doors.

you snuck towards the driver, quiet as a mouse, and then made your move. you climbed up the seat, pushed the driver out and flicked the horses’ reins.

you made it.

you escaped.

…for now.

(part 5 coming soon)

taglist:

@elernity @whydoisworld @nebusokuxp @victoria1676 @esthelily @coolforeal @hnhshh @lady8vampire @sunniisyde @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @yummyberry @katthehatt @lynvrie @dreamlessnight @bluerskiees @haikyuusboringassmanager @scarasvision @hudiebutterfly @ieathairs @kazusbby @vvyeislazzy @ursinaw @fantasy-enthusiast @weepykisser @cryoarchoness @docosahexaenoic-san

[contentloadingandstuff]

Comfort After A Nightmare - Male!Reader x Lumine

CW: None.

Her steps echo through the damp, dark hallways. 

A maze. She always hated those. Dirty, rotting, forgotten with little to no treasure to be found. This time, her pursuit was not motivated by any prize however. 

Her eyes follow the trace of white pages, trampled into the muddy floor by undiscernable footsteps. On them, the sketches you showed her countless times. Her face, drawn with the most meticulous of details covering them. Always smiling, always kind. A sparkle in her eyes, the only colored part of the image was mocking her, and the small heart on the corner of the page laughed at her efforts. At how stupid, worthless, idiotic she is. 

She lost you. First it was Aether, then it was you. Two of the most important men in her life, gone. She can't help the tears. How pathetic. She can't hold even her dearest ones close. 

The filth stains her stocking, the mud sucks her feet deeper in, making her lose her balance. She trips, her hands doing nothing to break the fall. Her face lands in the black, maggot filled grime. 

Where she belongs. 

"Stupid… S-stupid! Worthless! Dumb! D-dumb…!" 

She raises to her feet, without her shoes. She doesn't have time to go back for them. The trail of ripped pages is dragging on, but the paper grows more… yellow by the second. Tattered, old. Sharp rocks cut her feet, blood mixing with the puddle water, but she powers through the pain and speeds up. 

Lumine makes a turn, and comes face to face with a wall. She steps back in disbelief, but quickly turns back. Her eyes land on cold, unmoving stone. She snaps around in every direction, but all she can see is the same barrier. Surrounded by her shortcoming, walls she can't climb over. 

"No, no, no…" Her cold prison has no compassion for her, only silent mocking. 

Everything goes dark, making Lumine jump. She lifts her bruised and soaked hands to feel her surroundings. Much to her confusion, she doesn't feel the walls anymore - just lightless void. She makes a few hesitant steps forward, careful to maintain her balance. Out of the darkness, the pages emerge, forming a steady trail. Lumine follows it without hesitation, stepping over the more and more frequent yellowed pages. 

Until she sees you. 

You’re lying there, amidst a pile of your drawings, back turned towards her. She disregards her safety and rushes to kneel beside you. Your outfit, so ingrained in her mind, is stained with dark, red blood. 

“Y/N? P-please…”

Lumine gently grabs your shoulder and tilts you sideways. Your eyes, once full of light, full of life, are now white, as is your skin. She chokes back a sob. The blood on your hands and cheeks is long dry. 

If only she would have been faster. 

“Y/N…” She grips your lifeless body tighter, cradling it in her arms. Hot tears stream down her cheeks, washing little bits of dry mud from her skin. “I’m s-sorry…”

Failure. Failure. Failure. That’s what she is, a failure. She barely even spent time with you. She wasn’t there to ease your worries, to hug and cuddle you when you were struggling. And yet you were always beside her, ready to help. And she?

She wasn’t even there to comfort you during your last moments. 

Your body blackens, durning with a red flame - just like those of the many monsters she killed throughout her travels. This time too she is the murderer, the perpetrator. A failed partner, a disappointing lover. 

Lumine sits among your ashes and weeps. 

“Lumine.”

She jolts awake, instantly sitting up. Her heart is racing, her arms shooting out to assess her surroundings. Lumine is breathing rapidly, the remnants of the dark maze still clouding her mind. She quickly registers your hands on her shoulders, warm and firm. Safe, secure, real. 

“Y-Y/N…”

She drops her head on your chest, sobbing quietly. You pull her body closer to yours. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” Gently, you rub circles into her back. “That was just a dream.”

She embraces you, nuzzling her head into your frame. “I’m sorry… I’m s-sorry… I… I s-should spend more time with you, I should b-be home m-more.. I should b-be…” 

She tries her best to explain, to promise that she won’t fail you. That she won’t let you down, she won’t fail, she won’t be such a pathetic excuse of a girlfriend. 

“Please, Lumine. Don’t say such things.” You keep your voice as gentle as you can, and lean back on the bed with her. 

“B-but…”

You turn her tear-soaked head to look at yours. Her golden eyes are filled with sorrow. “No buts. I love you, Lumine. Nothing will change that.”

She sniffles. “I… I can’t lose you too, p-please… stay…”

You pull her closer into your embrace, caressing her blonde hair with your fingers. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Lumine. I’ll be here. For as long as I can, I will support you, no matter where your journey will take us.”

“C-could you… promise me? P-please…”

You smile. “I promise.” 

Thanks for reading!

[reinadelvudu]

It’s nice to see a fan of Gambit who can speak facts on the relationship and poor writing with Romy. I love Gambit but since his solo’s he’s very meh. Rogue, I prefer her with Magneto. It was healthy and they were equals unlike how she treats Gambit throughout comic history. At some points it’s like she doesn’t even like him let alone love him but the writers enjoy her being this big bad boss girl wen actually she’s very jaded and vicious to Gambit. Them both being hot and southern doesn’t mean they fit because they don’t.

Gambit needs someone who actually likes him as himself and lets him be himself. She has him on a choke chain and it’s bleugh! Let him go. It makes me sad to see what he’s become in comic and it’s bleeding into the tv series, he has no self respect at this point. No one would stay with someone who has done nothing but push them away and be jealous and spiteful to them for so long not to mention all the things she’s done to him in canon between Antarctica, her taking Raven’s side when she tried to seduce him as a Foxx and basically made him out to be a p*do and the time she put in a report for the Avengers about not trusting him.

It makes her look jaded and borderline manipulative throughout Romy, it’s opened my third eye and kinda makes me resent her when she’s with him. The difference between her attitude to Gambit and her attitude in a relationship with Magneto or even Deadpool or that one time with Johnny Storm shows she only clings to Gambit because it’s familiar. They’re no good for each other and after all this time I don’t even think they could be friends which is really sad. They could have been great friends and badass wing men for one another. Not to mention the whole Irene thing? Omg that was so gross. She didn’t even know him and hated on him because of Raven. I LOVE Irene and Raven, love them together but the trauma Gambit went through over the years at the hands of Raven. No way he could look at Rogue and not feel sick, I would.

Rogue is a better character when she’s not involved with anyone at all especially a love triangle. Marriage doesn’t suit her in my opinion, I feel like all the times she’s been more focused on saving the world and being an X-woman shows her growth beyond the fear of never being able to touch and “love” someone. You can be loved and have love outside of relationships and sex. Personally I’d love to see her as an asexual. Her struggle as a young pretty woman who should have men fawning at her and does have that, her trying to fit into the normal box would mean a lot more if it turned out actually, she didn’t want it at all. She’s happy having platonic love even after she gets control of her powers would have been a powerful metaphor. She stated in the Krakoa era she didn’t want children so why not give her an arc where she’s living her best life without a man. After all these years it would be a good to see her as herself for once.

Romy has been drawn out too long to a point it’s spoiled both characters for a lot of genuine fans and not the people who know nothing of the history yet have the most to say. Like ship who you ship but let real dedicated fans have the last word on things that decide what happens in canon. I’m so meh about Romy when I used to adore them. It’s time for a change and I’m glad the Savage Lands it’s getting a second shot, now give Gambit his second shot. Give him his solo or another relationship with someone who actually likes him. Who doesn’t try to put his personality and vices in a box at the back of the closet. Rogue has made him pathetic and that’s sad because he was such a funky guy before her. Marriage should have made him flourish, instead it’s taken all his good points and made him the class clown. Why doesn’t he smoke anymore? Why doesn’t he play poker? Why doesn’t he have a life outside of his wife but she can do what she wants when she wants.

Gambit has a whole history and life away from the X-men and Rogue that’s been swept under the rug to showcase Rogue. He has a loving family in New Orleans yet the new Uncanny X-men hasn’t shown them once despite them literally being on the doorstep. It’s a bad look when they’re doing a comic about Gambit going to Raven and Irene’s wedding after all the abuse he’s suffered from them yet Rogue has no interest in his family, people who genuinely love Gambit. It’s giving Isolation. It’s giving he’s in a bad relationship and his friends and family are being ostracised. It’s giving Rogue is kinda sorta abusive to him (sorry not sorry). At this point I’m gonna go ahead and say Gambit’s family have a whole ass ban on Rogue being in their house. That would make sense. Even when he was exiled and would be killed going back to New Orleans he still made time for his family. His dad and Mattie Baptiste should be recognised as big time characters in his life. I think his brother is dead??? But he has a sister-in-law who Rogue accused of being one of his “women” in a a comic o can’t remember which one and she corrected her asap. I wish we got more of Gambit’s life outside of being Rogue’s accessory.

Romy shippers made me bitter about Romy. I think we all need a break from it, the characters have been almost damaged beyond repair while they’re shipped together. Solo comics and an end to a ship that never really worked would do them both good. 2025 should be anti Romy era. Give the characters some life again.

Ohhh God, I read you and…. how hard it is to be a Romy fan! So hard! I don't like rogueneto at all. Apart from the age, they have many important differences, and I find them very boring together. They don't have any sparkle at all. It's undeniable that if you put on the scale all the good and all the bad that Rogue has done for Gambit (intentionally or not), it will lean towards the bad. And it's undeniable that with Remy it's the opposite. He has done much, too much, for her. It's always thanks to him that the relationship keeps going and that makes my blood boil because it doesn't have to be that way, it's not fair, it's not right. In spite of everything, in spite of me, I will never be anti Romy. I think they are good together, as teammates, friends and as a couple. They have many things in common, a chemistry impossible to ignore, but above all they have that special ''something'' that, for better and for worse, makes them work.

[decaydanceredacted]

i NEED to make pre-hiatus pete cry like i need oxygen. i need to bind his wrists and force him onto his back and play with his nipples until they’re raw red and he’s whining with it, as i tug on his hair and suck bright bruises into his neck. i need to eat him out until he’s huffing out pathetic breathy little pleas and his thighs are shaking around my head, breaking off to press teeth marks into his thighs and murmur about how wet he is for me and how tight his pussy is. i need to slip a ring around him, to huff wet breaths over the pink head of his pretty little cock as i press cruel fingers into his sensitive perineum and he whines for me to touch him, to fuck him already. i need to manhandle him onto his front, knees drawn up towards his chest, and slip four fingers into his needy hole, drawing it out, stretching him out and feeling the hot cavity of his body around me. i need to press against his prostate until he shakes with it, until he begs me to stop, cries that he’s ready and he just wants me to fill him up so badly, please, please, please. i need to spank him hard for his impatience with my fingers still inside him, hands leaving angry red marks over his ass and the insides of his thighs, hearing him moan, loud and drawn out and pretty as he clenches around me. i need to finally, finally, press into him, to feel the heat of his beautiful bruised ass against the front of my hips as he adjusts to the stretch. i need to pull his cheeks apart to admire the way i fit into him, to run my hands along his sides, brushing against his puffy nipples and hearing him moan at the contact. i need to hear the shake in his voice as he begs me to move, see him sag against the mattress, already high on just the weight and heat of a cock inside him but hear him whine high in his throat and push against me like a bitch in heat as i start moving. i need to tell him how good he feels, how perfect he is for me and watch the wet hang of his mouth as he tries to respond, only for it to turn into a moan when i grab his hips and start really fucking into him. i need to brush my fingertips over his womb tattoo, distended slightly from the silicone mass of my cock inside him and feel the wet spot on his skin from the head of his wet, swollen cock as it arcs toward his stomach. i need to feel the way he shudders around me and yells like he’s in pain when i pound into his prostate, hitting it over and over and over as he breaks beneath me. i need to whisper into his ear about how he’s such a good girl for me, that i’m going to breed him so well, that his pussy feels so good around me and he’ll never need his useless little cock again. i need to hear him murmur his assent, cockdrunk, mindless and barely coherent, whimper that yes, he’s a good girl, he needs me to fill him up and keep him like this forever. i need to feel him shake and cry as i unfasten the ring and allow him to come, tell him it’s okay, that he’s been so good for me, that he can let go now, and watch his back arc and his shoulders tense as his orgasm rocks through him. i need to dig my nails into his thighs as i fuck him through it, need to come while i’m deep inside of him, a vibrator to my soaked pussy, and watch the sag of his open mouth against the pillow as he whines high in his throat, overstimulated but still such a good hole for me. i need to stroke his hair and kiss the nape of his neck as i pull out and untie him, to massage his reddened wrists and straining thighs, to mouth at the gape of his wet hole and tell him how perfect he was for me, how well took his spanking and how beautiful he was as he came. i need to hold him as he shudders through the last of his tears, to feel the cooling wetness of it on the pillow he’d been muffling his desperate noises into. god bless pathetic men <3

.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

(hi sorry yes I'm writing this trope again bc no one can stop me. I need Margim hurt/comfort like I need air ok. she's literally everything 2 me. I'm normal about them. I'm sooo normal about the traumatized berserker lady and her soft healer husband <- *lying*)

------

Blades cut, bones crack, orcs and men die screaming.

There is horror in the familiarity of it all, how readily it comes back, the sick feeling in my stomach, the deafening noise, the smell of sulfur and death, little rivers of blood before my feet, dripping from the hands of this monster they call the Executioner of the Pit. There is horror in how, almost, natural it feels to be here. How the life I built for myself in the north now feels so distant now, like a foolish dream, one that I have now awoken from and found myself back in the Pit of Thorzhaf.

At some point, I wake up from that nightmare. It does little to help. Ah, so it’s going to be one of those nights.

I sit up and rub the sleep away from my eyes with shaking hands. I shouldn’t expect to get any more of it now anyway, not when my sleeping mind has seen fit to torment me so every time I close my eyes. The house is mostly black, with only a dim trace of light emanating from the dying embers of the firepit, but I can still see clearly enough that it is my home in Lhan Tarren. I turn to see Celeair sleeping soundly in the bundle of blankets next to me, I’m relieved I did not wake him.

I can hear the rain outside, I try to find it comforting, for there was no rain in Mordor. The sound is usually a boon in quieting those memories, yet I do not think anything will drown them forever. Especially not tonight. 

I take deep, steady breaths, like Celeair told me to, but my heart still thrashes in my chest like a caged animal.

I know I am not in Mordor, I know I know I know, I am safe here, but the memory is so strong now, it drowns out all other sensations. I listen to the rain, I still hear screams. I grip the blanket with white knuckles, trying to feel its softness, but I still feel blades beneath my skin. A low rumbling of thunder becomes the uneasy murmurs of Orodruin, for a moment I can taste ash in the air, feel its heat on my skin.

This isn’t working. Unnamed and irrational terror grips my heart once again, and it will not let go so easily.

I consider waking Celeair. He could help. I want to let him hold me again. I need his soft voice and gentle hands to drive away this… this madness.

But my throat tightens and my hands tremble, my eyes burn with uncried tears. An all too familiar fear seizes my heart now. I could not speak without my voice breaking, I feel weak and pathetic. I cannot let him see me like this. I stand up, quickly and quietly as I can, and head outside. 

The rain pours down in heavy, loud sheets. The cold water shocks my skin as I walk further out. That’s good. Cold is good. It’s far away from Thorzhaf. I lift my face to the black sky and let the water wash over my face, quenching the burning in my eyes. The rain is loud, everything else seems quiet. Finally. I stand there for a long while, letting the rain be the only thing I feel, hear, and think as it soaks through my hair and clothes. I finally feel like I can breathe again.

I do not know how long it's been, but I guess I should head inside soon, although I am reluctant to leave this cold reprieve, everything I came out here to escape is all too likely to come back then. Maybe I can stay out a little longer.

I thought I heard someone say something, that’s odd-

“Margim…?” Celeair’s voice almost makes me jump, how long has he been out here? I see him standing nearby with his cloak drawn tightly around him, straining his eyes to see me in the darkness.

“Yes, I’m here,” I answer quietly, barely being heard over the rain.

“Are you alright?” A rhetorical question, for he already knows that the answer, if not an outright ‘no’, is most certainly not ‘yes’. I think that normally— and I will fully admit my point of reference for ‘normal’ is shaky at best— most people do not stand out in thunderstorms in the middle of the night when they’re having a good time. Suffice to say, I’m in no position to lie to him. But I hesitate, the worry in his eyes fills me with shame. “I… do not know,” I mutter in response.

He steps forward and gently takes my arm in his hands, “let’s go back inside,” he says softly, “I think this rain will do little good for either of us.” he takes a step back towards the door, and I wordlessly follow him back into the house. 

He wastes no time in stoking the firepit and providing it with fresh logs, and soon enough the room is lit up with an inviting orange glow. I stand nearby, half expecting an interrogation as to the reason I was seemingly trying to catch my death of cold, but Celeair asks nothing of me. Instead he just sits down in the small pile of furs near the fire, leaving plenty of room for me beside him. 

“Well, you’re not going to get very dry over there” he looks at me expectantly, but I can still detect concern in his voice. Reluctantly I sit down next to him, the heat from the fire feels soothing, and I try not to let it remind me of anything else.

“...I’m sorry,” I murmur, “I did not mean to wake you.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he says plainly, stretching out his hands to the fire to warm them “Truly, I think being awake is the least of my concerns at the moment.”

“It was only a nightmare, I did not mean to trouble you over it,” I look away from him, ashamed “I just… needed to clear my head.”

“You know, you don’t have to worry about waking me up next time, if you think it could be of any help. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I know… I wanted to but I… I don’t know why I couldn’t," the words come haltingly from me "It’s just… I felt so weak, on the brink of shattering, I couldn’t… I didn’t want you to see me like that.” my brow furrows in frustration, I make it sound like a matter of wounded pride, but that is not what I’m trying to say to him. I am not a prideful woman, I think there is little for me to be proud of. It’s just that Celeair is not a fighter, he knows not how to wield a blade nor has any desire to, so to a large extent he relies on me for protection. I don’t like letting him see me so weak. I want him to feel safe around me, like I can protect him from all harm, but how can he when I cannot even protect myself from myself? When I can be broken by a mere memory? I hate the thought of anyone seeing me in such a state, especially him.

Celeair reaches for my hand and gently holds it, his fingers slotting perfectly between my own. He says nothing, merely offering a simple gesture of comfort as he sits in thoughtful silence.

“In my line of work I see everyone at their lowest,” he says quietly after some thought, “rendered helpless by sickness or injury. I’ve tended to everyone from the common man to the mightiest of warriors, and never thought any less of them for it,” he gives my hand a gentle reassuring squeeze, “because no one is untouchable. You aren’t weak for being hurt.”

“I certainly don’t feel very strong either,” the slight tremble in my voice betrays that fact all too well.

“No one does, not when they’re in this much pain." his thumb gently bushes mine in a soothing motion, "It’s nothing to be ashamed of, especially after everything you’ve lived through.”

I just look on into the fire, not knowing what to say. I know he’s telling the truth, I know he is the last person in the world who would ever think less of me for even a display as pathetic as this, but it still feels pathetic nonetheless.

And, I do not think it’s just that… the thought of allowing myself to be so broken, openly, for someone to see -even someone I trust as much as Celeair- just feels so wrong. Terrifying, actually. Weakness and fear go hand in hand for me, where one is the other follows closely behind. If I am weak I am afraid, weakness meant death in Mordor, and it is an instinct that is not easily unlearned. I know that no harm will come to me here, but my heart never seems to believe it. 

“I am not ashamed, I’m just afraid.” I finally croak out, wishing my voice would not so readily betray the fact that I am on the brink of tears. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to bury the sorrow welling up in my eyes. To my credit, after a few shaky breaths, I manage it.

“Is there anything I might do to help?” he asks.

I pause in thought, I don’t know if there’s anything he can do to make this go away, but… “a hug couldn’t hurt,” I reply sheepishly.

Swiftly but gently Celeair puts his arms around my waist and pulls himself close to me. I instinctively return the hug, wrapping my arms tightly around him desperate to feel his warmth.

…and forgetting that my clothes have not yet had time to dry. “Oh. Now I’ve gone and soaked you too…” I mumble apologetically.

“Oh noo, how horrible,” he says with a soft laugh, laying his head on my shoulder as he snuggles closer to me, completely undeterred by my sopping wet clothes “I suppose we’ll simply have to huddle for warmth then, nothing else to be done about it.” I cannot help but smile slightly at his words. It’s a good thing he doesn't mind, because I do not plan to let go of him anytime soon. It's hard to think about much else when I'm holding him like this.

Everything is finally quiet again.

[the-ellia-west]

alrighty!! tw for gore, violence swearing and death

Kris held Katlyn’s hand, as she smiled weakly at him. Blood was pouring from her wounds, and she didn’t look like she had long left. Kris felt hot tears streaming down his face as Katlyn gently cupped his face in her hand.

“Katie… don’t leave me… please…” His voice broke. Katlyn just smiled.

“Do what I couldn’t, huh Krissy, honey? Get out of here. I love you so much…” She managed, before her grip slacked, and her eyes glazed over. Kris let out a strangled sob, still gripping her hand desperately. He shut his eyes, tears streaming down.

“Katie?! Katie! Please, please… this can’t be happening…” He wailed, pressing Katlyn’s hand to his forehead.

Kris felt a hand grip his shoulder harshly.

“C’mon now, kid. Time to go back.”

He didn’t respond, still sobbing as he held Katlyn’s body close. He felt the grip tighten.

“Weapon. Now. Or will I have to force feed you the pills again?”

Something inside Kris snapped… and he turned around, the tears slowly thickening and shifting in colour from transparent to the left one turning cyan and the right one turning hot pink. Kris’s eyes disappeared, the sclera turning pitch black, as his right eye turned cyan with a dark pink cross instead of a pupil, and the left one turned bright pink with a navy blue cross. His mouth stretched into a large grin; his teeth suddenly sharper as black liquid trickled from his mouth.  The two mafiosos backed away slowly, reaching for their guns.

“Such loyal puppies~! Forever listening to the Boss… I’m sure he’s sooo grateful~” He teased, before suddenly lunging at them. It was only too late that they noticed the machete in his hand, before one of the mafioso’s head was rolling on the ground. Kris grinned even wider, blood splattering on the floor and on his face, approaching the second one. The other backed away in fear, pointing the gun fearfully, his hand trembling. Kris grabbed him by his collar, before driving machete right through his chest. The man only had a split second to scream, before going limp as the machete was pulled out. Kris felt the blood gushing out of it, covering his hands. It felt warm… the metallic scent filling the air. He laughed, the unhinged sound filling the quiet streets.

“The loyal puppies didn’t even whimper! Haha~ how disappointing!” He screamed, grabbing the decapitated head by its hair and grinning, “Such tasty treats! Hahahaha!”

He threw the head aside, causing it to roll along the road. He ran his thumb along the blade of the machete, licking off some of the blood, the maniacal grin never fading from his face.

This spectacle had drawn a small crowd, with people emerging hazily from their homes, only to see the bloody scene in front of them. Kris turned his head, staring at all of them.

“Always watching, naughty naughty~ Did nobody ever tell you it wasn’t nice to snoop?” He cackled, throwing his hands up as if in a show, “I suppose I’ll have to teach you!”

Within minutes there was pandemonium. There were multiple dead bodies littering the streets, some missing heads, others missing arms and legs, some having bullet holes through their heads and chest. Men, woman, children, it didn’t matter. They all lay dead on the streets at the road was painted red with their blood. Kris stood in the middle of the carnage, soaked in blood and still grinning. His machete was coated in blood, and his gun was nearly empty.

“Snooping is bad… but I don’t think that’ll be a problem for any of you!” He screeched, his eyes wild with anger and insanity. He cackled, gripping his head in his hands.

“Puppies, puppies, puppies! Weak, pathetic little puppies! All dead, nice and dead and buried! That’s all you were good for!” He crowed, “All dead! Buried underground like good puppies! Good little obedient puppies, dying for their boss!”

He fell to his knees, still laughing madly and gripping his head, his hair poking through the gaps in his fingers. Soon though, the laughs melted into sobs, as he curled up on the road, tears streaming down his face.

“No… why…” He wailed, staring at his blood covered hands, “What have I done…?!”

“…What the fuck…?”

“Xoran… that wasn’t me… or you…?” Kris managed to choke between sobs.

“No… Kris it was both of us.”

“What?”

“I don’t… know what happened… but I think we must have fused somehow… and brought out the worst in each other.”

“…Oh my god…” He held his hand to his mouth, feeling bile rising up, “What have I done…?!”

First of all: ✨️Slayyyy✨️💅

Second of all: Absolutely Fucking Terrifying, fantastic Job

Third of all: AMAZING ENDING

Fourth: Your narration is spot-on and hits hard, this is beautiful and if You don't get published so I can read this whole thing I will cry.

[takeyourcyanide]

Quiet Time

Ao3 link

fandom: soul eater

characters: spirit albarn, franken stein

word count: 2 051

tags: age regression/de-aging, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, domestic fluff, caregiver!spirit, little!stein, men crying, crying, out of character, (mostly out of character)

summary: Stein approaches Spirit in one of the DWMA’s restrooms, on the verge of tears and desperate for some sort of relaxation and comfort.

notes: I am considering making a collection of short agere one shots in which they are just existing together sort of like the end but likely longer

here have an absolutely pathetic stein

Spirit felt his soul billow out of his body, jumping out of his skin and nearly shrieking. He whipped his head around, away from the cheap paper he was drying his sopping hands with, to meet whatever was tugging weakly on his sleeve.

“Nee’ quie’ time, p’ease,” Stein’s racing eyes were fixed on the grime-ridden tiles, his breathing awfully labored, his trembling voice not above a whisper. He did not let go of Spirit’s sleeve, even as he turned fully around.

The weapon’s chest heaved with a sigh of relief. “It’s just you! You scared me,” he exhaled a soft chuckle. “Quiet time?”

Spirit had noticed that the younger had grown increasingly more stressed and unstable over the last few weeks, and he had, too, noticed him purposely attempting to repress the headspace that would subsequently surface, as there were always tell-tale signs. He had been just waiting for the pot to boil over, though he was hoping it’d happen in the safety and privacy of their apartment and not in one of the academy’s dingy restrooms.

Stein nodded, murmuring a small “p’ease,” as he nuzzled his face as deep in the crook of Spirit’s neck as it could possibly go, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

‘Weird and concerning,’ he thought to himself, eyes narrowing as he checked a box off in a sort of ‘mental checklist.’ Even when regressed, he didn’t typically initiate any sort of physical contact - at least not so outwardly.

“Stein, we only have one class left until the day is over and we can go home. I need you to stay big enough to walk on your own and make it through. Do you think you can do that for me?” He begrudgingly avoided calling him some sappy pet name… however, he couldn’t help but pat him rhythmically on the back, scanning the room a few times before reciprocating the hug.

Stein shook his head, a drawn out and bratty groan leaving his lips.

Another check.

“I think you can. You’ve stayed big enough to speak a little, haven’t you?” Forgiving any egregious mispronunciations. “Come on, just another forty-five minutes or so and then we can go home and relax,” he drawled, beginning to sway the both of them from side to side, hoping to Death it would only provide him with a tiny bit of comfort and not push him farther down in his headspace.

“Why na skip? You a’ways skip!” Stein’s chest stuttered with each shallow breath he took as though he were sobbing, his bottom lip jutting out. Spirit would have to be an absolute idiot not to recognize that he was on the cusp of quite the meltdown. “P’ease..”

Check.

“……Stein, sweetheart… how long have you been feeling small and bad and not telling me?”

He felt the shaky grip on his shirt somehow become even tighter as if he were afraid of being ripped away from Spirit.

“Tha’ o’vious?… Dunno. …Long time.”

“Can you tell me how long?”

“Hard… Maybe monf.”

‘That figures.’

Stein rested his cheek against his clavicle, peaking out from his neck with a glassy gaze. “Mad?” He questioned, brows pinching at the sigh that racked the weapon’s frame.

“No, darling, I’m not mad,” he tucked his overgrown bangs behind his ear, nails brushing through his hair and over his scalp. “But you know that isn’t good for you.. makes you all fussy. And you don’t want this to happen in public bathrooms, do you?”

He shook his head as his lips began to quiver.

Check.

“Then why are you repressing it?”

“Don’ wan’ be small,” the tears swimming in his eyes found it gravely difficult to actually roll, and instead took it upon themselves to merely blur the boy’s vision. “Na feel nice.. an’.. an’ happen too much… an’ pat’etic… an’ no contr..t’ol over it. Ma’es me na.. um.. can’t do nothin’… i-incomp..tent… na safe… ‘s dumb… ma’es me needy.”

Spirit rubbed soothing circles into his spine, gently leading him over to a more secluded section of the restroom; an empty area beside the stall farthest away from the door. With a grimace on his countenance, he slid down the outer wall of the black stall with Franken in his arms, sitting on the nasty floor, and positioning the male in his lap.

‘The things I do for him…’

“Hey, darling, do you think you could sit up and look at me?” And yet another long, bratty whine sounded by his ear. “Feeling a little clingy, huh?-“ possible check. “-Well, it’ll only take a minute, okay?”

Stein, more than a little apprehensive, rose and sat himself properly on his weapon’s thighs. His shoulders were tiredly slumped, his lips stuck in a petulant pout. Spirit could see that the little patches underneath his watery eyes had darkened significantly over a fairly short period of time, his complexion just as concerning as his behavior. He even looked thinner. Not that he hadn’t noticed these things at all before, but the more he analyzed his appearance, the more he could visualize the depth to which they went - especially under the fluorescent lights of the restroom.

He knew Stein would likely say he wasn’t his to take care of or would stubbornly deny needing anyone (even though Spirit had told him over a year ago that he’d take on the role of a caregiver for him whenever necessary), but that did not prevent guilt from sparking within him, quickly blossoming into a roaring fire.

“Thank you, love,” he delivered a chaste kiss to his forehead, cupping his rosy cheeks. “I need you to understand that no matter how often it’s happening, you need to tell me, okay? You’re not too needy, it isn’t dumb, you’re not incompetent - or any of that, okay? And if it’s happening a lot and isn’t feeling very good then something is probably bothering you, isn’t it? What’s been bothering you, sweetie?” He had an idea of what was bothering him; tell-tale signs.

“Uh-“

The bathroom door swung open.

They both froze like two deers in the presence of oncoming headlights, bolting upward. Spirit dusted off his pants, Stein attempted to straighten his posture, pawing away the tears staining his visage. Even if they were not seen and weren’t to be seen, Spirit leaning against the stall and Stein leaning against the wall for leverage, they pretended to simply be two very normal friends cutting class and conversing… wordlessly conversing.

Spirit shuffled over next to Stein, discreetly grabbing ahold of his hand, his thumb tenderly caressing the cold skin. “You’ve done good so far at staying a little bigger than usual… you’ve done great at using your words. Do you think you could continue doing that for me until we get home? I’ll take you home after that person leaves, okay, baby? But you need to keep your mind sharp, even if it’s a little fuzzy right now,” he brought his lips down right beside the younger’s ear, voice soft and encouraging.

The meister nodded slowly, as though he thought the rustling of his hair might be audible enough to alert the stranger.

“When we get home,” he was hoping to be a calming distraction. “You can have all the quiet time you want. I’ll keep the lights nice and dim - I’ll keep most of them off, even. We don’t have to turn on the tv or anything loud at all. You can play with your toys and color, or we can cuddle the entire time if that’s what you want.”

A scowl paved its way onto Stein’s face at the sound of a flushing toilet, his extremities fidgety and restless. His hands flew to cover his ears, glaring at the source of the sound.

“Alrea’y can’t wait to leave.”

\ (•◡•) /

“You holdin’ up over there?”

Stein looked to be on the verge of tears as they shuffled down the gargantuan stairway, his mouth forever stuck in a petulant little pout. He was rubbing his collarbones in a repetitious motion, gnawing on his inner cheek in much the same light.

“Too bright,” he complained, squinting through the abhorrent and abrasive afternoon sunshine. “Wanna be home.”

Spirit grabbed ahold of his hand gently as to avoid startling the younger. “I know you do. …We’re almost there.”

\ (•◡•) /

The very moment they walked through the door, the fragile glass slipped from his hands and shattered.

Stein’s shoulders began to quiver just as his lips did, abundant streams of warm tears soiling his visage. He brought two clumsy fists up to his eyes, as pitiful whimpers escaped him in spite of his best efforts.

“Aw, come here,” cooed Spirit with outstretched arms and empathetically pursed lips. Stein took the bait immediately, practically harpooning himself at the scythe. “I know, I know…”

In between pathetic hiccups, a quiet request left the meister; “Up?” And he was given precisely what he wanted, as Albarn hoisted him up and into his arms, swaying back and forth and shushing him.

“It’s okay. …I know, baby, I know,” he’d repeat, running his nails along the expanses of his shivering spine. “It’ll be okay.

…Do you think you could tell me what’s so wrong? What triggered you?”

Stein shook his head from where it rested in the crook of his neck, humming a negating “mm-mm.”

“Just not feeling well today, huh? That’s okay, that’s just fine. We all have those days, okay?”

He began moving towards the sofa, chucking his keys on the kitchen counter and grimacing at the subsequent and loud clanking sound.

“We’re gonna go ahead and sit down, okay? You okay with that?” Stein nodded. “Good…”

He groaned as he plopped down, his knees wailing with the weight of another. “There we are,” he ran a hand through the meister’s hair, scratching away at his scalp in a tender fashion. He continued to speak near-meaningless sentences, perhaps word salad, for he figured the sound of his voice could act as something of a grounding tether for Stein, something to focus on and distract him from the turbulent amalgamated mess that was his mind.

“It’ll be okay, you’re here with me now. You’re safe, I’ve got you. You don’t have to worry about a thing, okay, sweetheart?”

Unfortunately for Spirit, the bastard seldom experienced any such warmth. Thus, his efforts only lead to the little crying harder.

“T’ank y’u,” he murmured into the collar of his shirt, sniffling pathetically. “T’ank y’u, Spiwit.”

“Aw, Sweetie,” more cooing. “There’s absolutely no need to thank me for anything, all right? I just want you to feel better.”

His chest heaved with another quiet sob. “T’ank y’u anyway.”

“Of course. …You think you wanna get out of your clothes and change into some comfy pajamas?” He nodded once more. “Let’s go, then.”

\ (•◡•) /

“All right,” drawled Spirit to nobody but himself, pulling the boy’s day clothes off and replacing them with a woolen onesie.

Stein fussed a little, a few lonesome and leftover tears rolling down his cheeks. He froze, however, when a few particular words left Spirit’s mouth:

“Aw, look at you! You look so cute!” He mused, mesmerized by the rabbit ears attached to the hood of the onesie, by the bunny tail attached to the back.

Stein felt smaller immediately, a certain warmth and fuzziness ensnaring his heart, as he thrusted two grabby hands Albarn’s way.

With a titter and a soft smile, knowing what the younger was requesting, he spoke under his breath. “Of course, dear.”

\ (•◡•) /

Soon, they found themselves back in the living room, Spirit sitting perched upon the couch, Stein sitting in the floor with markers and a coloring page. The page and art supplies themselves were lying atop the coffee table.

Every once in a while, Stein would shove a paper in front of his face with a blank and yet expectant expression, awaiting his praises to be sung.

“Spiwit!” He exclaimed, paper in hand. “Look!”

“Wow,” he began. “That’s…”

It was a picture of a cat, which Stein scribbled red and brown all over. “Kitty!”

“I know it’s a kitty, but did you… uhm..”

“Meow!”

He seemed to be so happy about it, Spirit couldn’t get too lost in feeling disturbed. He was gazing at him with such beady eyes, he couldn’t say anything other than, “That’s wonderful! Good job, baby.”