#and they now know almost the full extent of it which is why they said this

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐚? | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one alcohol consumption and (to a greater or lesser extent) someone’s pretty eyes loosen your tongue and lead to a full-blown lecture on what you find most arousing about spencer reid.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, alcohol consumption, reader doesn’t know the meaning of shame (but we all knew that already) reader is clingy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2.4k

𝐚/𝐧: a combination of two requests <3 marathon masterlist

“...And then Reid said—” Morgan paused to take a sip of wine, the glass briefly hiding the smirk spreading across his lips. “This is calm. And it’s doctor.”

The intensity of the laughter that followed depended mostly on how drunk each person was. And considering the party was at Penelope’s—who always made sure her guests’ glasses were never empty—well, things got loud fast. For the past fifteen minutes or so, everyone had been racing down the wild slope known as remember when, with them constantly adding more and more stories, making it nearly impossible to stop.

That evening, Spencer—abstaining from alcohol—was quietly absorbing secondhand embarrassment on behalf of each of his friends, one by one. They were recounting stories about each other almost in rapid succession, and it was clear the spotlight was slowly shifting toward him. So he took advantage of his sober, high-functioning mind and made the reasonable decision to execute a tactical retreat. A moment to recharge his social batteries. Maybe he could track down Sergio, currently under Garcia’s care.

He had barely managed to sit down on the living room couch when something dropped onto his lap—and it wasn’t the familiar black cat. It was a head. But don’t go imagining any gory scenes—what happened was simple while he had settled into the corner, someone else had sprawled out along the full length of the couch, one leg bent at the knee, a hand loosely suspended in the air, and the back of their head now treating his lap like a pillow.

Completely caught off guard by this sudden, um, closeness—Spencer, who hadn’t even had the chance to properly settle into his spot yet—froze entirely. Contributing to his paralysis was the sound the woman suddenly made. A simple, melodic, not-at-all-mocking giggle.

“This is calm, and it’s doctor,” she repeated the story she’d just heard, tilting her head in an exaggeratedly playful way so she could lock eyes with him.

A small reminder—the head and neck of an adult human make up about 9% of the body. Nine percent of her was currently resting on his lap.

Confused, Spencer furrowed his brow, not understanding why she was quoting those words. Knowing her, he might’ve assumed it was to tease him—but her tone, along with the gentle curve of her lips, didn’t suggest mockery at all.

Suspicious.

She broke eye contact to stare up at the ceiling instead, shifting the rest of her body into a more comfortable position on the couch. She was drunk, and it showed. He’d never seen her like this before—during outings to, say, a club, she drank responsibly (thankfully), and it rarely showed on her at all. Apparently, a party at Penelope’s followed different rules.

She suddenly sighed—but it wasn’t a deep, unhappy gulp of air. It was more of a sound with a dreamy undertone. She gave a slight shake of her head from side to side.

“I love it when you act like a total diva,” she confessed.

He was sure he’d misheard her. He glanced briefly toward where the rest of the team was still chatting away—apparently too caught up to notice the two of them had slipped away.

“When I act like…who?”

She sighed again, but this time it wasn’t that pleasant sound from before. It was more impatient, as if she couldn’t believe he didn’t know something so obvious.

“Like a total diva. Sassy queen. Confident…what’s the opposite of a girl?”

He was getting lost in her drunken train of thought.

“Boy?” he suggested.

“Exactly, like a confident girl,” she muttered under her breath. She clasped her hands over her stomach, catching his gaze again. For her to do that, Reid had to lower his head, and the thought crossed his mind that he probably looked really unflattering from her angle.

Her mood was more than a little changeable—suddenly, she let out a groan of frustration, giving him no time to say anything.

“You’re a smart guy, Spencer Reid.”

The combination of slurred speech and unexpected seriousness left him unsure whether to take it as a compliment, a threat, or a prophecy. It also made it difficult to come up with a proper response, so he simply chose to watch her in silence—every shifting expression that drunkenly passed over her pretty face.

“Sometimes you just effortlessly shut down people who really, really deserve it, and it’s so…” she shook her head from side to side.

He was still lost, unable to pin down what exactly she meant. He swallowed and quickly asked:

“So…what?”

“I don’t know, attractive?” she mused, locking eyes with him again. For a moment, neither of them said a word. She was so close that he had to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady—there wasn’t much air in the stuffy apartment, and he didn’t want her to misunderstand and make some snarky comment.

“It’s one of the things I find hot about you.”

He forgot all about his resolution to keep his breathing steady and, thrown off balance, simply held it. But only for a second—because then the truth hit him square in the face.

She was drunk.

She was talking nonsense.

There was even a chance she thought she was talking to someone else.

So he decided to take it with a grain of salt. Not dismiss it entirely—absolutely not—after all, drunk or not, she was still the woman currently lying across his lap (in nine percent of her) (shut up, pragmatism), openly suggesting—okay, saying it outright, with all the subtlety of an elephant doing ballet—that there was something about him that was…hot.

Believe it or not, that wasn’t something that happened to him on a daily basis.

That’s why he couldn’t help himself—he had to pull her tongue a little more. He swallowed with surprising difficulty.

“Things you find hot”

“Yeah.”

“About me.”

“Mhm.”

“One of the things.”

“What?”

“You used the plural, which was either a slip of the tongue or a suggestion that there’s more. You know, grammar.” Oh no, he was starting his usual nervous rambling.

He looked at her uncertainly, ready to be met with some biting comment—but even though he expected it, it never came. Instead, she let out a gentle laugh.

“You’re funny,” she stated. He glanced at her stomach, at her hands folded there—she suddenly bent one finger, as if listing things.

“Usually not on purpose, but that’s just a side note. Oh, and I like that vest you’re wearing right now. The fabric’s nice. Also, the color matches your shirt.”

The topic of clothes completely took over her drunk mind for a while, and she started complaining to him about how her new shoes had recently given her blisters. Meanwhile, her bored hands found a new occupation—playing with, as she put it, the nice fabric of his vest.

She tugged on it harder, mumbling something under her breath.

He let out a questioning hum.

“I’d take you home with me,” she said louder in a thoughtful tone.

Not a flirty one, as one might expect—but surprisingly matter-of-fact, the way you’d declare something simple and true.

And maybe that was what made his mind shut off for a second, when he realized she wasn’t saying it just to embarrass him for her own amusement.

And if that wasn’t her intention,

then there was a chance

she actually

meant it.

Unbothered—which couldn’t be said about him—she held his gaze. The difficulty swallowing returned, so he simply decided not to do it, not until his throat had gone dry.

“If I had met you somewhere,” she added. Not as a correction, but as a continuation of her original thought, an expansion. But it was unnecessary—if he’d seen that in an essay, he’d have marked it as a poor attempt to tack on a few extra words. He knew exactly what she meant without it. That 187 IQ had to be good for something. Watching his reaction, she dropped her inquisitive look, amusement flashing in her eyes. And him. Spencer reflected in her eyes, allowing him to catch the pathetically confused but also yearning expression on his face—and try to get rid of it. “Would you have let me take you home?”

He felt like the space around them was just refusing to cooperate. Like every single molecule of oxygen had a pair of tiny, nosy eyes focused solely on him, giggling behind his back at how he couldn't manage to come up with a response.

And he was searching—desperately—for something. Preferably something dismissive, totally off-topic, confusing enough to mess with her tipsy brain so she’d forget what she even asked in the first place.

But it didn’t look like she was going to forget.

Her tone shifted. Where it hadn’t been flirty before, it now dropped lower, quieter, with a kind of muttered edge hanging off the end of every word.

Reid pressed his back against the couch, forcing himself to look at the wall across from him. The TV in Garcia’s apartment was on, but muted — not that he’d noticed. The only thing reaching his ears clearly was her voice, quiet in comparison to the laughter and chatter of their friends — and his own.

Though his own voice sounded strangely muffled to him, like it was coming from behind a wall.

Paraphrasing her own question, she was wondering if he’d let her drag him home with her if they met somewhere random — total strangers — maybe after slipping into one of those surprisingly decent conversations they sometimes, occasionally, managed to have.

Not an unrealistic scenario, actually. 

God, what was he even thinking — that was literally how they’d met.

So no, he couldn’t say no with a hand on his heart. Not that his hand was anywhere near his heart at the moment — for more reasons than just old memories. Because the thing was, Spencer Reid, abstinent by choice, was slightly tipsy—even though that glass, filled with nothing but juice, hadn’t touched his lips once.

Zero alcohol in his bloodstream, and yet his head was buzzing just a little, the room swaying faintly with every not-so-rare blink when he looked at her. A buzz making it hard to think, harder still to come up with some clever excuse to dodge the question.

Her lazy gaze still lingering on his face.

Well.

At best, he could just admit the truth—but only after forcing himself to snap out of the haze and exhale.

“No.”

He dropped his gaze back to her face, pulling it away from the muted flicker of the TV screen. He expected…he didn’t know what he expected. Maybe a doubtful raise of her eyebrows, that confident little smirk curling on her lips, like she was about to murmur something just to tease him a bit more.

But her expression hadn’t changed. It was unreadable.

“Why not?” she asked, in a tone that wasn’t just curious—it demanded an answer.

Spencer blinked sharply—the bluntness of her question hit him square between the eyes, snapping him out of it just a bit. Why not? That was easy. To him, personally, it was obvious.

He gave a small shake of his head, a barely-there shrug.

“‘Cause you’re very, very drunk,” he said. Her confused frown appeared instantly—so much for being unreadable. He let out a quiet snort. “And I’m very sober.”

“And what if you had a few drinks?” she asked, even before he could the last syllable of his last word

Spencer’s mouth fell open slightly, and she gave him a faint smile. Was she really going to make him go through every single possible scenario—literally every one—before he finally sighed and admitted yes, in these specific circumstances, the ones you just laid out, I’d go to bed with you?

He tilted his head back in defeat, the top of his head resting against the back of the couch.

 "Maybe," he muttered, with no intention of further explaining, though he wasn’t sure what he’d do if she kept pressing.

He didn’t look at her, but he could hear her snicker. After a prolonged four seconds of silence between them, he straightened up with a hiss. She poked him in the ribs.

"What about a drink?"

Her head lifted from his lap but stayed hovering above it as she casually leaned on the couch, slightly lifting her torso. Spencer tilted his head, watching her, still feeling the slight sting from that finger jab. She tilted her head too, signaling that she was just kidding. Or at least that’s what he assumed. 

A minute of eye contact passed, before Reid rolled his eyes.

“You’ve probably had enough drinks already,” he muttered.

She shrugged slowly, then flopped back onto her pillow. This time, though, she turned onto her side, her hair spilling over part of her face.

He spent a moment just looking at her face—eyelids drifting shut—himself oddly relaxed, hands loosely folded over his chest. He stood by his earlier assessment—she’d had enough to drink.

He wondered what their next conversation would be like once she sobered up.

If he were in her place, he’d probably turn into a blushing mess or flee the country altogether—maybe take a job somewhere in the Arctic Circle where she’d never find him.

But that was him.

They’d probably just move on like nothing happened. Maybe she wouldn’t remember some of the details. Like how he’d hesitated before reaching out and awkwardly tucked the hair away from her face, behind her ear.

“If you’re not feeling great,” he started, voice barely above a whisper, “Penelope won’t mind if you lie down in her bed for a bit. Might do you some good.”

For a moment she didn’t answer, and with her eyes closed, he figured she’d fallen asleep.

He was bracing for a sigh, already resigning himself to the fact he wouldn’t be able to get up until she woke.

Then suddenly, one eye popped open—almost accusatory.

“You kicking me out?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling for the umpteenth time during this conversation, though with a small smile drifting on his lips.

“How could I possibly,” he sighed.

 “Better for you.”

“Certainly.”

For comfort, she tucked her legs under herself, also adjusting the position of her cheek. He let her nap like that until the rest of the team showed up in the living room. Then he sat up straighter and…still let her stay exactly as she was, because everyone else was too drunk and too amused with themselves to notice or care.

He did stop twirling the ends of her hair between his fingers, though — that might’ve looked a bit strange.

[wonderjanga]

Why’s Cap Acting like an Asshole?

Thavma and Billy have been separated for about two weeks now.

Without Billy, Thavma is simply the Living Lightning. Sure it’s alive, but it doesn’t have morals, opinions, none of that. Instead, all of that is shaped by its host. So, without Billy, Thavma doesn’t really care for anything.

Though, that doesn’t stop it from trying to care about the stuff Billy does.

Thavma: *standing outside of a burning building*

Mother: “My baby! My baby is still inside!”

Thavma: *closes its eyes and takes the biggest breath, sounding so done because he does not want to help*

Baby: *wailing*

Thavma: *floats into the building to save the baby and anyone else with an annoyed expression*

To be honest, all Thavma wants to do is protect the Rock. And Billy. But mostly the Rock. The reason for this is because of the fact The Living Lightning was solely made to protect the center of Magic. It does not care for saving people, but it does care about eliminating threats to the Rock, which most of Billy’s villains are. If that ends up helping anyone but the Rock, that was an extra bonus.

Speaking of villains, like stated earlier, a few of them are threats to Magic. Such as Black Adam. In Thavma’s mind, that means he automatically has to be eliminated. No mercy.

That’s how Black Adam was greeted with the Champion actually trying to kill him and almost succeeding. He’s never seen the man so bloodlusted and silent during a fight before. He’s also never seen the man use the full extent of his abilities. In other words, Thavma is much more in tune with its own strengths and weaknesses and was whooping Black Adam’s ass with extreme efficiency. This is because while Thavma doesn’t have any morals and such, he still has memories from previous champions, and although they had different gods as patrons, their strengths and speed and all that were the same.

In short, this was a guy with about 5000 years of experience fighting a guy with over 100,000.

Anyways, the fight got so bad that the JL pulled up as Thavma was literally about to force Black Adam to say Shazam with MIND CONTROL MAGIC that neither Adam nor the JL have ever seen him use before.

Supes: *sounds disturbed* “Since when can you do mind control??”

Thavma: *looks over to them with a judgmental eyebrow raise cause why’re Billy’s little friends here*

Batman: “Captain, please step away from Black Adam.”

Thavma: *torn between protecting the Rock and not wanting to mess up Billy and the JL’s friendships*

Thavma eventually decided that when Billy became his host again, the boy might be upset about losing these people. The boy being upset could affect his ability to protect the Rock in the future and so he reluctantly stepped away from Adam.

Thavma: *steps away but does a little annoyed sigh reminiscent of a moody teenager*

Black Adam: *flies away, glancing over his shoulder every now and then*

Flash: *zooms over* ”Cap, buddy, what was that?”

Thavma: *really doesn’t want to talk to these guys at all* “Nothing. I must take my leave now. Good day.” *tries to speed walk away*

Flash: *wondering why he’s talking like that* “Dude, wait up!”

JL: *all follow after him kinda like ducklings*

Thavma honestly didn’t know how his host put up with these mortals. They ask so many questions.

GL: “Cap, you haven’t shown up to the last few meetings. What’s up with that?”

Thavma: “I forgot.”

Supes: “Forgot? I thought you never forgot things. You said something about the Wisdom of Solomon making it so that you couldn’t. Has something been making you that busy?

Thavma: “Yes.”

Wondy: “What is it? Some kind of villain?”

Thavma: “It’s nothing, and no.”

The “nothing” in question has just been it lounging around the Rock because that’s what it was made to do: protect the Rock. Being around it often is the easiest way to ensure that. The Champions not staying often was something Thavma always found idiotic. Why did they care about their villages or cities when their duty was to the Rock? At that thought, Thavma could only sigh and shake his head. Mortals.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Fear factor||Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Just as Lando finally warms up to Y/N’s pet snake, Slinky, he discovers that she’s added a new member to the family—a tarantula. And now, once again, he has to face his fears.

Word count—964

What pet next?

Lando had officially made peace with Slinky. It had taken months of patience (and a lot of bribing with kisses from Y/N), but he could now sit comfortably with the ball python slithering across his lap. Hell, he’d even taken a few selfies with Slinky, which Y/N had definitely saved in a folder labeled “My Boys” on her phone.

And now, here he was, lying on Y/N’s couch, casually letting Slinky curl around his arm as he scrolled through his phone. If past Lando could see him now, he would’ve passed out.

“You’re not so bad, mate,” Lando muttered, giving Slinky a small pat on the head. The snake flicked his tongue in response, almost as if in agreement.

Y/N walked into the room, pausing to admire the scene. “You’re officially a reptile guy now.”

Lando scoffed, not looking up. “Let’s not get carried away. I tolerate one snake. That’s the extent of my growth.”

Y/N hesitated, shifting slightly on her feet. “…About that.”

Lando finally glanced up, immediately suspicious. “What?”

Y/N bit her lip before nodding toward the corner of the room. “I, uh… I got a new pet.”

Lando’s stomach dropped. “A new what?”

Y/N smiled nervously before leading him toward another glass enclosure—smaller than Slinky’s but still big enough to house something alive.

Lando stared at it warily, his brain already cycling through worst-case scenarios. “…Please tell me it’s, like, a fish. Or a gecko. Or literally anything that isn’t—”

She tapped on the glass.

A moment later, a large, very hairy, very eight-legged creature emerged from a hideout.

Lando screamed.

Not just a startled yelp. A full-on, heart-stopping, “this is the end” kind of scream.

He bolted backward so fast that Slinky nearly went flying.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

Y/N winced. “Lando—”

“IS THAT A SPIDER?!”

“She’s a Grammostola pulchra,” Y/N corrected, as if that made things any better. “A Brazilian Black Tarantula. And her name is Charlotte.”

Lando’s face was pure betrayal. “Oh my—why?! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

Y/N sighed. “Because I love spiders. And she’s gorgeous.”

Lando pointed at Charlotte, who was now sitting still, minding her own business. “NO. SHE’S A NIGHTMARE WITH LEGS.”

“She’s harmless,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “She’s actually one of the most docile tarantula species out there. They’re super calm.”

“‘Calm’ and ‘spider’ don’t belong in the same sentence!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping closer to the tank. “Come on, just look at her. She’s adorable.”

Lando did not look. “Nope. Nope. This is my villain origin story.”

After Lando calmed down (which took a while), Y/N sat with him on the couch, gently rubbing circles on his back.

“Okay,” she started, “I get that you’re scared. And I won’t force you to hold her or anything.”

“Good,” Lando muttered. “Because I was considering moving out.”

Y/N laughed. “But… maybe you could just sit with me while I handle her? See that she’s not scary?”

Lando side-eyed her. “You do realize I only just got used to Slinky, right?”

“I know. And I’m proud of you.” She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Which is why I think you can do this too.”

Lando huffed, but his face softened slightly. “…She doesn’t, like… jump, does she?”

Y/N grinned. “Not unless you startle her.”

“Great. That’s so comforting.”

An hour later, Y/N sat on the floor, legs crossed, with Charlotte resting in her hands.

Lando sat a very safe distance away, watching with a look of deep distrust.

“She’s so gentle,” Y/N cooed, letting Charlotte slowly walk across her palm. “See? Just a little fuzzy baby.”

Lando’s entire body was tense. “That is not a baby. That is a horror movie prop.”

Y/N giggled. “You said the same thing about Slinky at first.”

“Yeah, but snakes don’t have eight legs!”

Y/N let Charlotte continue her slow crawl, keeping her movements steady. “She’s just curious. She likes to explore.”

Lando squinted. “Does she know she’s terrifying?”

“Not at all. She thinks she’s cute.”

“Delusional.”

Y/N smirked. “Come a little closer.”

Lando’s expression screamed absolutely not, but after a long internal debate (and some very convincing puppy eyes from Y/N), he scooted forward.

Charlotte, seemingly unbothered, remained perfectly still in Y/N’s hands.

Lando hesitated. “She’s not gonna, like… lunge at me, right?”

Y/N chuckled. “She’s not a werewolf, Lando.”

Slowly, cautiously, Lando extended a single finger, hovering just above Charlotte’s fuzzy body.

Y/N nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

With a deep breath, Lando barely brushed his fingertip against Charlotte’s back.

The tarantula didn’t react.

Lando exhaled. “…Huh.”

“She’s really soft, isn’t she?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “…Yeah.”

For the first time that evening, he looked properly at Charlotte—not as some monstrous beast, but as an animal, just doing her own thing.

“She’s not as awful as I thought,” he admitted.

Y/N beamed. “That’s progress!”

Lando sat back with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But just so we’re clear—if she ever escapes, I’m moving out.”

Y/N smirked. “Noted.”

Lando side-eyed Charlotte. “And tell her if she tries to befriend me, I will scream.”

Charlotte, of course, remained unbothered.

A week later, Y/N walked into the living room to find Lando sitting near Charlotte’s enclosure, arms crossed.

She paused. “What are you doing?”

Lando didn’t look up. “Having a staring contest.”

Y/N blinked. “…And?”

“She’s winning.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you like her now, don’t you?”

Lando huffed. “I tolerate her.”

But when Charlotte twitched her legs, Lando muttered under his breath:

“Nice one, mate.”

Y/N grinned. Yep. He was officially warming up.

The End (…Until the Next Pet).

[adeepdeepslumber]

"stay with me, i don't want you to leave." - nagi seishiro

:x a relationship that was doomed from the start.

k. - cigarettes after sex

nagi seishiro never tried. he never tried at anything at all. be it studies, social aspects or even just living productively. all he did was play games, and laze around like there was nothing in the world better to do. despite not trying, he still did well for everything. soccer; he never bothered to make an effort, but managed to be the top scorer and carried his team to win the tournament in his hometown. studies; he never studied, slept in all of his classes. literally ALL. but somehow, he always managed to get the second highest grades in the school, the first being his best friend, reo. nagi never tried, but excelled at everything, that was why he'd expected everything to come his way, without putting an ounce of effort.

which is why he's so confused right now.

you, bold and daring, never one to shy away from confronting someone, stood at him, glaring. nagi thought you were a try hard. he hated try hards. why put in effort in things? he saw no point.

so why was he trying so hard to convince you to stay?

his hand gripped your wrist, holding you back from walking away from him. his white locks fell down his face, almost obstructing his view of you. nagi wanted to keep you in his sight, never to let you leave it. he doesn't know why he's trying so hard. holding onto your wrist like a string that if pulled away, lead the rest of the woven tapestry to fall apart. his orb of eyes stared at you, usually never had a spark, only with you.

a small frown formed on nagi's face, one that never bore any emotion.

"please, stay."

nagi said those words determinedly, without an ounce of boredom, which he would usually mindlessly speak out to have you by his side. this one was full of determination, no random muttering of "hassles" or any sighs, just pure hope and desire for you to stay.

you, on the other hand, stared at him with dismay. you tried to wrench your hand away from his, but no avail, his grip was tight. the face you loved, you still do, but you have to leave.

nagi and you were in a relationship for 3 years, and it was bliss at the start. but within those three years, you'd realized that nagi never tried. how foolish of you, to assume he would change since he'd told you he would. it's common sense that nagi never tried at anything, but you'd never thought it would go to this extent. most of the dates you went with him, wasn't even with him. you'd wait at the entrance of a restaurant, all dolled up, and seat at your specially reserved seat for two. you'd wait and wait, but nagi would never arrive.

frustrated and humiliated, you would sit in your seat looking your best for someone who didn't bother. munching slowly on the food, you would have eaten with him, black tears from ruining your mascara would slowly slide down your cheek. that's not all, unfortunately. when you arrived back home, nagi would be lying down on your shared bed with him, sleeping or playing video games. he'd completely forgotten about the date that you were so excited about. you wanted to convey your frustration to him, at least let him understand how betrayed you felt after that. but nagi always brushed it off, saying mere things such as "oh, i slept in." or "it was kind of a hassle anyway, we can do the date another time." never fully embracing your true emotions.

nagi would notice that you were angry at him, then coax you to forgive him by suddenly caring and being affectionate with you, just completely invalidating the anger you had every right to have. he always expected to get what he wanted without actually having to earn it, and you became a victim of it.

at home, he never cleaned anything, leaving all the work to you. when you came home after an exhausting day at work, you were faced with a messy home and a lazing boyfriend. but somehow, you always forgave nagi, since you couldn't resist his beautiful face staring back at you while he murmured insincere "sorries".

slowly, the feeling in the pit of your soul grew, and eventually you couldn't handle it anymore. you told him you wanted to talk, and you broke the words to him.

"i don't think we can do this anymore."

nagi's eyes finally lifted off his video game, and to you. a tinge of confusion was clear in his eyes, and you could tell he thought you were joking. his face, still void of proper emotion, started make it's way to turn back to his game, but nagi stopped it.

the silence engulfed the room you two once shared loving memories with, now filled with tension and disbelief. the silence made it's answer, and nagi finally looked at you, with pure emotion in his eyes alone.

"are you joking with me?"

his voice, monotoned, but was different from his usual, it had the feel of disbelief and sarcasm, as he didn't believe you were serious.

nagi didn't know what he wanted you to do in that moment, maybe a smile come over your face as you hug him, muttering that it was all a joke. but your face remained serious and stoned, giving no sign of a joke being played out.

your brows were furrowed, and lips were pursed, occasionally twitching to hold back the sadness you wanted to let out. nagi's eyes widened slowly, as he realized, you really weren't joking anymore. he straightened up, his hand making way to yours.

and that's how you found yourself in this situation.

nagi's hand grabbed onto yours, determined to not let you leave without a proper explanation. his usually dazed eyes stared at you attentively, bringing back a light into his eyes.

the face you love stared back at you, and you resist the urge to cup his face and give in to him, tell him that everything is fine, it was all a joke.

but you can't.

you don't want to be trapped in this endless cycle of empty promises and apologies, gaslighting and forgiveness though your heart tells you not to. this has to end.

"nagi, i told you already. i don't think this can work out anymore."

you grab his hand, and pull it away from you. it physically hurts you to say those words, but if you didn't, who will?

nagi lets your words sink in, a pain in his heart as you say it twice. what did he do wrong?

actually, nagi would be lying if he said he had no clue what he did wrong. he knew. he knew that coaxing you with affection would let you forgive him, he knew that he depended on you, but made it seem like you depended on him. he knew about those dates, but always brushed it off, he knew if he'd left the house messy and untidy, you'd feel obliged to clean up after him. he knew that if he gave you just enough love and affection, you'd stay.

nagi knew.

all those little actions that made you feel you had to stay with him and care for him wasn't just because of his laziness. he knew it'll make you stay. he knew he didn't need to try hard, or even try.

so why is he on his knees, begging you to stay?

nagi's knees hit the soft fabric of the rug in the bedroom, holding onto your leg. his face stared at you, what used to be a void of emotion, was now a collage of an uncountable amount of emotions altogether. all of which begged, just begged you to stay.

"stay with me, i don't want you to leave."

nagi's hand was on your thigh, and you face looked down at his. nagi's lips pursed, as if to hold back any emotion from coming out.

"please, stay. i'll change. i promise. i don't know what i did wrong, but i'll change. for you."

still, he played dumb. he'd lied, thinking that it could coax you to stay with him. you weren't dumb though, you'd used to push it off, but not anymore.

"no, nagi. i said it thrice, and i'll say it again. this won't work out."

your voice stood stable, however an audible but faint underlying feel of pity and regret could be heard. nagi's eyes widened like never before, and his mouth parted slowly. it stung to hear it four times, but he was persistent.

slowly, he stood up, holding your face in his hands, towering over you. he clutched your free hand tightly, a seal of his emotions.

"i promise, i'll really change."

this promise wasn't fully hollow, but there was barely any inch of sincerity. continuously, he spouts empty promises, but your mind has set already.

it hurt your heart so much to even tell him that the relationship that was once so full of love had come to this. it hurt you to see him beg on his knees, just for you to stay with him. but you couldn't take it any more.

you pushed him away roughly, his towering shadow over your face stumbled away. it pained you to see him this distressed. but you had to do it.

"nagi. this isn't going to work out."

you pushed your way through his body covering the door, as you made you way out of the bedroom to the entrance of the shared apartment now void of the love you two used to share. you knew nagi did love you, but you hated how he made it seem like he didn't, you hated how he always managed to get you to forgive him just by giving the right amount of love and attention. and you were done with it.

until he blocked the exit you were planning to make with his body once again.

"i'm sorry, i really am. please, give me a chance to change. you know i can't live without you."

then why did he always make it seem like he could live without you? like you were just an object to him.

you couldn't resist the urge, and you cupped his face one last time.

"nagi, i know that. but i gave you many chances to change already. if you can't live without me, then you should have acted like it. not just give me love and affection just so i forgive you, so that i can once again just clean up after you and take care of you."

somehow, you'd managed an apologetic smile, laced with spite, that he should have tried more. if he can try this hard to get you to stay, he should have tried harder to actually love you.

you push him away and open your apartment door.

"nagi, this is it. i'm done. goodbye."

with that, you turned to face him one last time. the face you love loved, stared at you with regret and despair. you managed a weak nod back to him, your face tinted with sadness, as tears slowly flowed down your cheeks, before you turned away and walked out.

nagi found himself back on his knees, staring at the entrance of the apartment where you had just been. his hands grabbed at his face, letting out a low groan.

he should have tried harder.

maybe then this wouldn't have happened.

he'd relied too much on you, and now you were gone.

he'd taken for granted your presence, the lack of warmth next to him already bothering him.

nagi never cried before. the last time he did was due to a big yawn he let out during class. no tears he shed bore any emotion.

so, for the first time in his life, a string of pearly tears full of regret welled up and slid down his cheek.

he begged for you to stay once again.

male manipulator nagi

K.- cigarettes after sex

a/n: i think im going to make a part two of this!!

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔈𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: A request that I received from a friend of mine. “Abby's first time going to a sleepover and Mike is stressed, you try to distract him which inturn evolves into him basically using you to forget about his anxiety.”

Tags: Part 12 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone as usual. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Mike is a perfect older brother. Sometimes too much. Lots of teasing and intimacy. Smut. Fluffy smut. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex. Riding.

Words count: 3000

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

The clock on the wall ticked past 11 P.M., but Mike's restlessness filled the room like a storm cloud. He sat slouched on the couch, one leg bouncing furiously while his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze flicked back and forth between the phone on the wall and the door, almost willing it to vibrate or swing open. Abby was out for her first sleepover and the unknowns of her new friends, their parents, their house, were eating him alive.

You knew how he got when his nerves took over, which was exactly why you were in his lap, determined to pull him out of his spiral of worries.

"You're gonna give yourself a heart attack," you muttered, your lips brushing against the stubble of his jaw as you peppered him with kisses, each one loud and insistent. His skin was warm under your touch, his body taut like a coiled spring.

He let out a low groan, somewhere between irritation and something far more carnal.

"It's not funny," he said gruffly, though his hands had drifted to your thighs, gripping them through the fabric of your pants as if grounding himself. "You don't get it. She—“

"She's fine," you interrupted, your voice soft but firm. You nipped at his jawline, smiling when he flinched and tightened his grip on you. "She's probably drawing some creepy animatronic with her new besties right now, not plotting her escape to Vegas."

"That's not—"

"When's the last time we had the house to ourselves?" you cut him off again, your lips finding the sensitive spot beneath his ear. Your tone turned teasing as you let your hips roll ever so slightly against his lap, feeling the hardness that was starting to press against you despite his sour mood. "I mean, no Abby, no interruptions…"

Mike's hands flexed on your thighs, his jaw clenching tight enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his stubble. "You're unbelievable," he muttered, his voice rough, though the way his hands slid higher up your legs betrayed his growing interest.

"And you're stressed," you countered, leaning back to meet his eyes. "Seriously, Mike, she's fine. You need to chill."

His brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to argue, but you silenced him with a kiss all teeth and tongue, a deliberate effort to pull him out of his head and into the moment. He groaned against your mouth, his frustration tangling with desire as his hands found your hips, holding you in place even as you continued to grind against him.

"You're the worst," he grumbled, though his voice was muffled against your lips.

"I know," you whispered back, your breath hot against his skin as you tugged at the hem of his shirt, sliding your hands beneath the fabric to trace the lean muscles of his stomach.

He didn't stop you. Instead, he pulled you closer, his hands slipping under the waistband of your pants to grab your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

You ground down harder, feeling the full extent of his arousal pressing against you.

Mike cursed under his breath, his resolve cracking as he shifted beneath you, his hands deftly tugging your pants down your hips. The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but his touch was warm, almost searing, as his fingers slid between your legs.

"Shit," he muttered, his voice low and rough as he dipped his head to kiss along your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You're so—"

"Yeah," you cut him off, your voice breathy as you fumbled with his belt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked to free him.

The moment his cock was in your hand, heavy and hot and already leaking, he let out a deep groan, his head falling back against the couch as his hips jerked involuntarily.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you stroked him, your movements slow and deliberate. "You're so fucking eager."

"Can you blame me?" you teased, your voice laced with heat as you leaned in to kiss him again, swallowing the guttural sounds he made as your hand worked him with a steady rhythm.

The first press of his finger was slow, the stretch intoxicating. His fingers moving faster, lips capturing yours again as he prepped you thoroughly, slicking you up and preparing you for what’s next to come.

When you were finally ready, your skin slick with sweat and your body trembling with anticipation, he guided you into position, his cock pressing against your entrance as you braced yourself against his shoulders.

"Take your time," he murmured, his voice softer now, though there was a tension in his tone that betrayed how badly he wanted you.

You nodded, biting your lip as you began to sink down onto him, the stretch both overwhelming and addictive. He groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he watched you.

His head tipped back against the couch as you slowly sank down onto him, and for a brief moment, he couldn't breathe. The heat, the tightness, the sheer, overwhelming sensation of you wrapping around him had him teetering on the edge already, his fingers biting into your hips as he forced himself to stay still, to let you adjust.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he closed his eyes, every nerve in his body alight. He felt you trembling against him, the way your body pulsed and clenched around him, like it was trying to pull him even deeper. His hands smoothed over your thighs, gripping tightly, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a soothing rhythm to keep himself grounded.

But then his eyes opened, and when he looked at you and saw the flushed heat on your face, the way your lips were parted as you panted, the slight furrow in your brow as you worked to take all of him with that unfiltered want mixed with the faintest hint of pain as you adjusted was enough to drive him out of his mind.

He tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against yours. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, a quiet rasp that didn't match the burning desire coiling low in his belly.

You nodded, biting your lip as you wiggled slightly, sending a shudder through both of you. "Just…big," you muttered, your voice shaky, your breath warm against his face.

He chuckled softly, though the sound came out more like a groan. "Take your time." He said, his tone laced with something teasing, though his chest tightened at how fragile you sounded.

His gaze flicked past you for a moment, catching on a piece of paper half-finished made by Abby, the bright colors smudged slightly where she'd pressed the crayons too hard. The sight sparked a sudden, stupid thought, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out.

"Do you think her friend's mom has enough papers for her?"

You froze, your forehead still pressed to his as you blinked at him, your expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

"Mike," you said, your tone incredulous but low, strained from the stretch of him inside you. "Are you serious—" You trailed off, biting back a laugh as you rested your head against his cheek, his stubble scratching against your skin. "Can we maybe not talk about your little sister while I’ve got your dick in my ass?"

It took a second for your words to register, but when they did, his eyes widened, and he groaned, his head falling to your shoulder. "Shit. Sorry. Fuck, I—"

"It's fine," you interrupted, snickering softly as you nuzzled into him. "Just…focus, yeah?"

"Yeah. Focus," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He tilted his head, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I'm an idiot."

You were about to say something but he cut you off with a sudden upward thrust, his cock burying itself completely inside you. You gasped sharply, your words dissolving into a hiss as you clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured, his voice hit your ears like a low hum, rough and frayed at the edges, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he spoke, the huskiness of his tone vibrating straight through you.

It wasn't the overconfident dominance of someone trying to prove a point. His words carried the weight of his exhaustion, the kind of bone-deep weariness that clung to him. That rasp in his voice, that almost lazy confidence was enough to leave you breathless.

You swallowed hard, unable to stop yourself from clenching tightly around him in response, which drew a low, throaty groan from him that only made the moment more intense.

You started to move then, rocking your hips against him, finding a rhythm that made both of you moan. His hands dropped back to your waist, guiding your movements, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust upward to meet you.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he watched you. His hand slipped between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.

Mike's grip on your hips was almost punishing, his fingers digging into your skin as you rode him, the couch creaking beneath the weight of your movements. His head was tipped back, lips parted, breaths ragged as his dark eyes stayed fixed on you.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained as if speaking took all the energy he could spare.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut and flushed, his length throbbing inside of you as you clenched tightly around him.

His hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you down harder onto him as his hips snapped upward to meet yours, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room. You could feel how close he was, the way his rhythm was faltering, his movements growing more frantic as he chased his release alongside you.

And then the phone rang.

The sharp, jarring sound cut through the haze of pleasure like a slap to the face, breaking the intimate barrier you'd both built so painstakingly. Mike froze beneath you, his gaze snapping toward the phone on the wall.

You let out a frustrated whine, your hips still grinding against him in a desperate attempt to regain his attention.

He didn't respond, the sound of the ringing filled the room, relentless and intrusive and you felt his body tense beneath you, his grip on your hips loosening slightly.

"Mike," your voice insistent as you leaned forward, your hands framing his face. You forced him to look at you, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Stay with me."

The plea seemed to snap him out of his daze, eyes refocusing on you as his hands tightened on your hips again. "Shit—sorry," he muttered, his voice low and rough, but before he could fully immerse himself back in you, the ringing stopped.

For a moment, there was silence, then, the voice of Abby's friend's mother crackled through the answering machine, her tone calm and measured as she left a message.

You couldn't make out her words—didn't want to, frankly—but Mike stilled again, his gaze flicking toward the machine as his jaw tightened. He made a muffled sound against your lips, a low groan that was equal parts annoyance and worry, and you could feel him pulling away mentally even as his body remained pressed against yours.

Your hands clutched his shoulders as you moved against him again, desperate to keep him with you. The friction was almost too much, the intensity of your own need clawing at you, and when he groaned again, this time louder, deeper, you thought you'd won.

But then he was pulling back, his movements abrupt and clumsy as he shifted you off him. "I'll be right back," he muttered, his voice laced with apology as he grunted softly, pulling out of you.

The sudden emptiness was unpleasant, your body protesting the loss as you stared at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "Are you serious?" you managed to whisper, your voice raw and incredulous.

He winced, his hand braced against the couch as he stood, his other hand adjusting himself awkwardly. "I just need to make sure everything's okay," he said, his tone almost pleading as he glanced toward the phone.

You shifted on the couch, wincing at the dull ache in your lower half from how deep Mike had been before the damn phone decided to ruin everything. With a sigh, you brought your knees up to your chest, your arms crossing defensively over them as you watched him pace to the phone on the wall.

His posture was stiff. Partially from the erection he was still sporting and partly from the mix of irritation and worry etched into his expression. You caught the faint tremor in his voice as he answered the call. "Yeah? This is Mike."

You leaned back against the couch with a huff, your head falling against the cushions as you glared up at the ceiling.

The conversation blurred into a series of muffled words as you tuned him out, your frustration and wounded pride making it hard to care.

When he finally hung up and turned back to you, his expression softened. His lips curved into a small, sheepish smile as he walked back over to the couch. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and tentative. "Abby's fine. She passed out with a crayon still in her hand together with her friend."

You hummed in acknowledgment, refusing to meet his gaze. Your arms remained crossed over your chest, your eyes fixed stubbornly on the ceiling.

"I think that woman caught up on what I was doing." He groaned in defeat as his voice dropped into that awkward, self-conscious tone you loved while he ran a hand through his hair.

You finally turned your head to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow.

"I sounded like I'd just run a marathon," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if he could erase the memory. "She was definitely trying not to snicker." He trailed off, his eyes flicking to you briefly before looking away again.

You kept your gaze stubbornly fixed on the ceiling, your arms still crossed as Mike kissed your shoulder, the stubble of his jaw scraping softly against your skin while one of his hands rested on your knees. "Hey," he murmured, tilting his head to catch your gaze. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad? No," you replied, your tone clipped as you shifted your legs to make it harder for him to hold them. "I'm just thinking about how I'm going to sleep on the bed tonight. Alone."

He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly in disbelief before he let out a soft laugh. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that."

"Like what?" you shot back, your voice unintentionally sharp as you finally met his gaze. "Like someone who was left high and dry because you had to go full 'big brother mode' right in the middle of—“

"Okay, okay," he cut in, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he chuckled, the sound warm and rough. "I get it. I suck."

"You said it," you muttered, your arms tightening around your chest.

Mike let out an exaggerated groan, leaning forward to press his forehead against your knees. "You're killing me here," he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk with this?" He gestured vaguely at his still prominent erection.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite your best efforts. "I noticed," you quipped. "Pretty hard to miss when you're waddling around like a penguin."

He laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded, and the tension in the room eased slightly. His hands slid up your thighs, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your skin as he looked up at you with those dark, tired eyes that always made your heart skip a beat. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured.

You pretended to consider it, tilting your head as if weighing your options. "I don't know," you said, your tone light but teasing. "I'm pretty comfortable here, actually. Might just call it a night."

Mike's lips twitched into a grin, and he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. "Come on," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't do me like this. I'll be good. Promise."

You hummed, your arms still crossed as you feigned indifference, though the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed you. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," you muttered, your voice trembling slightly as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

"I plan to," he replied, his voice thick with promise as he leaned in to kiss you, slow and deep.

Mike's thumb brushed over your thigh as his other hand wrapped around your still throbbing erection, his fingers stroking the length with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. His hand was warm, his grip firm as he tugged, squeezing you just enough to make you groan softly despite your earlier resolve to play stubborn.

Your resolve cracked under the weight of his touch and you finally uncrossed your arms, threading your fingers through his hair as you pulled him closer. "You're lucky you're cute," you muttered against his lips, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as he pressed you back against the couch, his hands gripping your waist as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss while slowly easing you down onto the couch. His fingers curled around your thigh, pulling your leg up and wrapping it around his waist as he settled between your legs. The weight of him was grounding, his toned stomach pressing against your aching length, the happy trail there tickling you while his own erection nudged insistently at your entrance.

His hand drifted down, positioning himself with careful precision, and the heat of him pressing against you made your breath catch.

"Mike—" you started, your voice breaking on a gasp as he pushed forward, his cock breaching you with a slow, deliberate stretch that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He groaned low in his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he slid deeper.

Your head fell back against the couch, your lips parted as you sucked in shallow breaths, your body trembling beneath him. "Move," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

Mike didn't need to be told twice. He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss as he began to move, his hips rolling with a steady, unrelenting rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. His cock filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was almost overwhelming, and the friction with each thrust had you gasping against his mouth.

"Fuck—" you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his with every desperate breath.

He groaned in response, his movements growing more frantic as he buried himself deeper, each thrust harder and more insistent than the last.

The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the relentless rhythm of his hips was too much, and yet not enough. You clung to him, your nails scraping down his back as you arched into him, your own arousal trapped between your bodies and smearing against his stomach with every thrust.

Mike's hand slipped between you, his fingers wrapping around your cock once more as he stroked you in time with his movements. The combination was devastating, the pleasure building so intensely it left you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as you teetered on the edge.

"Close," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around him, pulling him even deeper.

"Me too," he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace faltered, his hips stuttering as he chased his release.

Your body tensed, your release spilling between you as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him.

Mike wasn't far behind. The way you tightened around him and the look of pure ecstasy on your face drove him to his peak. He thrust into you one last time, his body going rigid as he came, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he filled you completely.

Mike collapsed against you, his weight comforting as he pressed lazy kisses to your neck, his lips warm and soft against your flushed skin.

"Still mad at me?" he murmured, his voice teasing but tired, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair as you shook your head. "Not anymore," you admitted, your voice warm with affection.

"Good," he muttered, his lips curling into a small smile against your neck. "Because I don't think I could survive round three."

You laughed, your chest heaving with the effort, and pulled him closer, your bodies tangling together as the heat between you slowly gave way to a comfortable, drowsy warmth.

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter five

Synopsis: You can admit you are not very good at hand-to-hand combat. It has not really been something you needed to be good at until now. However, the worse you appear, the more suspicious your long “training” sessions with Cecil are starting to seem. And with each failure, Rex is getting more and more smug.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Chapter: 5/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Blood, Descriptions of Violence

Note: If you ever see me hating on the "pinned to the ground" troupe, kill me. That's not me. Also shoutout to the several youtube videos I had to watch on how to fight. you guys are life savers.

“I knew I was good, but I didn’t realize I was quite this good.”

Rex was completely destroying you, last you checked this was a “training session”, not a fighting tournament. He obviously did not have that same memo though. As you looked over at him, he was shifting his weight back and forth from leg to leg, his fists clenched in front of him. There is no way this is actually boosting his ego more. The cocky grin on his face told you it definitely was. You cursed Cecil in your head, putting you directly in a metaphorical arena with someone who has enhanced strength and durability. As far as you know you do not have either of those to the extent most people with powers did. And just because your body can heal the bruise forming on your ribs extremely quickly, does not mean you cannot feel it.

When you had walked in earlier you were met with complete silence. Rex was sitting, no, he was lounging, in the training room. Waiting. Cecil must have told him the plan for today, which you were secretly grateful for. You could feel the tantrum that would have come if you had walked up to him and said “Hey! I know you hate my guts, but that old guy with the receding hairline-? What am I saying? That hairline is no longer receding, it’s receded. Yeah, you know the one, he wants us to train together. What was that? You think I don’t deserve to be here? What was that? You think I am making a fool of myself? What was that? Die, die, die? Well, I hear you, Rex! And guess what, I agree full-heartedly! Thank you for blessing me with a fragment of your precious, and I mean precious, time!”

Ugh.

Instead, you had given him a polite smile, opened your mouth to speak, and were immediately interrupted with: “Yeah-Yeah I know, let’s get started.” Which is the most amicable interaction you have ever shared up to this point.

He was wearing a grey tank top, and his hair was pulled back loosely. As much as you disliked him, you had eyes. He was surprisingly toned without the suit on, it almost made you feel self-conscious. But then it made you feel a little panicked. You have supposedly been “training” with Cecil the past few months, or did they not know that? They did not have your records the way you had theirs. So maybe you could get away with saying that you had not been training for as long, and that’s why…you were completely and utterly inexperienced? All of a sudden it was starting to feel like Cecil jumped the gun in introducing you to the Guardians. If you were able to use your other abilities you could completely freeze Rex in place, but then what? You had no idea what you would do that could truly give you the upper hand. Although after keeping him in place for a while, you would eventually heel over and become a personal blood sprinkler.

But you can’t use your other abilities, to these people you were just a healer. And Cecil had reiterated to you last night that you cannot let them even get an inkling that you can do more. So here you are, holding your ribs with one hand, and sweat dripping down your brow.

“You know, I am not sure how effective this is if you’re landing every punch as hard as you can.” You winced standing up straighter.

“I’m not hitting you as hard as I can.”

You glared at him, taking a breath so that you did not immediately snap back. Be the bigger person and all that, nonsense. “Well, how about just not hitting me at all while you’re still showing me the basics. I feel like that should be implied actually.”

“The basics?” He put his hands down. “Do you not know anything about hand-to-hand combat?”

A very telling silence fell between them. You almost wished he would make fun of you, instead he just stared at you.

“Shit, so you really are just a healer huh?”

Basically yeah. “I mean, loose on the ‘just’ okay buddy.”

“So, I’m your babysitter for the day.” There it is, the familiar snark.

“Well usually babysitters are paid, so not even that.” You gave him an almost apologetic look to try and cover your sarcasm. You straightened all the way up, your ribs fully healed from his earlier hit.

“Goddamn it.” Rex ran a hand over the back of his neck looking at the ground in thought. “No chance I can just go fuck off and we tell Cecil we trained anyways is there?”

“Don’t think so, no.”

“Right… yeah no I figured.” The look of sheer disappointment on his face was a very telling sign he in fact, did not figure.

You put your hands on your hips now at a loss for how to progress this forward.

“Basics then?”  A hand ran over his face in surprisingly quiet frustration.

“Basics.” You echoed.

Rex stepped forward then hesitated, “Wait, if I teach you any of this will it even do you any good? Or would you get immediately torn apart or some shit?” Strong vote of confidence. But he had a point. If you were up against the likes of people like the Mauler Twins, were you expected to try hand-to-hand combat? There was no way you would win, even with support. And if the likes of which you were up against did not have human blood there was no controlling them either. At least for now, you still were getting nowhere with the Viltrumite blood and that was only one species.

“Uh, I’m not sure.” You said honestly, straightening up a bit. “At least then I will be dead, and you don’t have to worry about it I suppose.”

“Hey, I wasn’t worried about you I was worried about my own wasted time.”

“Glad for the clarification.”

Rex finally fully made his way over to you, standing at your side. He was quiet for a bit, seemingly in thought about what to start with. Which you had a hard time believing he could deeply think about anything.

“So- uh… I guess always be aware of your surroundings, you can get backed into corners quickly in combat-” There was a much more awkward tension in the room now as he obviously recited what could have been textbook self-defense 101.

“Let’s assume I know that much, how about some actual techniques.”

“God, nothing makes you happy, does it?” You raise your hands at his outburst, trying not to laugh. “Are you left or right-handed?”

“I don’t see how this is-”

“Left or right.” He cut in, gritting his teeth. After telling him, he gestured for you to have the corresponding foot forward. You bit the inside of your lip in irritation but followed.

“Your stance is important, if you don’t do it right-”

“I’ll be unbalanced.”

“You’ll look like a dumbass.” His lip twinged slightly, and he moved behind you. Using his foot, he pushed your feet apart for a wider stance. A little close for your liking. “Your feet should be a little wider than shoulder-length apart, shift your weight to your toes. You’ll be able to move faster.”

You do as he says, testing your weight from side to side with a slight bounce.

“Stop fucking moving.”

“Sorry-”

“You have to hold your arms up like this.” Before you knew it, he was positioning your arms. His fingertips felt oddly warm on your skin. If he wanted to, could he make your entire body explode from this contact? That’s one way to die. You bit back any argument and let him pose you to his liking. You clenched your fists loosely (after he got on you about using up spare energy for nothing, but he did not seem to have a problem with using up spare energy to yell at you, so who really needed training).

“Hold your elbows in, you have to protect your sides, vital organs… blah blah” He quickly slipped back into his indifferent attitude but for a second he seemed to be enjoying this. Maybe it felt good for him to impose his superior knowledge on others, you can’t imagine it happens often. “Anyways, basically this is how I was able to get you earlier.” You subconsciously rubbed your side, and he hesitated for a split second.

“Okay, keep your shoulders somewhat up.” He stepped out from behind you and quickly took his place in front of you. “Hit me.”

“What?”

He sighed, dramatically throwing his head back, “I didn’t say it that quietly, hit me.”

You hesitated, not because you thought you might hurt him, but because you knew he was doing this so you would make a fool of yourself. “Why don’t you just quickly show me-”

“Goddamn it, HIT ME!”

Your dominant hand came crashing into his nose surprisingly hard. So hard you wondered for a moment if you just broke your knuckles. Losing your form, you immediately stepped back, holding your hand in your secondary hand. The pain of your body immediately trying to heal it striking through you. “Fuck!”

“FUCK!” Rex echoed, holding his hand to his nose and tilting his head back. “Why did you go for the face first you dick!”

“You told me to punch you!” God your hand hurt.

“I said to hit me not fucking punch me in the face!”

“Well, I’m sorry! Your face is just too irresistible for me to miss the opportunity!” You hissed back, feeling your middle finger pop back into place. After a few seconds more, the pain subsided, and you stood straight up again, turning to face him.

Rex was glaring at you, blood trickling from his nose down his face. If you were feeling nicer you might have offered to heal it for him, but his dark look was not making you feel generous.

“Back to it then?” You gave a fake smile and returned to your earlier position. He ran his tongue over his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment before sniffling and also returning to his position.

You went to hit him on his chest, and he quickly deflected you, a little harsher than necessary. What a baby.

“Again.” He spat.

You went again, and he deflected it just as easily. “Why weren’t you this good at blocking when I hit you earlier?”

“Shut up. Again.”

You used your non-dominant hand to try faking Rex out, which worked. He went to block it, and you nailed him in the side. Not as hard as before, not that it would matter, since he can definitely take a punch much better with his torso than his face. Rex simply nodded, returning his eyes to your stance.

“You should twist your leg with the punch, it adds much more force.” He walked to your side, his hands brushing over your thigh to your calf. His touch was surprisingly gentle for how bad this entire interaction seemed to be going. After twisting your leg, he stood up straight and gave you a demonstration.

“You have to twist it as you punch, use the brute of your force from your back.”

“Okay.” His nose was still bleeding and now you were starting to feel bad. He was still training you even after you did that to him. It was almost sweet. Or he was just too full of himself to be the first to give in, either could be true. Most likely the latter.

“And I want you to try this after you land that hit.” He demonstrates another move, his arm making a hook-like motion in front of him. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You steadied up your stance again, bouncing back and forth on your toes. He returned in front of you and posed himself. He did not say anything this time. No ‘hit me’, no annoyance at your moving, he just watched and waited. His eyes trailing over you. He must be checking your stance.

You repeated your fake-out move from earlier, then went to hit him with the new move he showed you.

“Keep your arm closer to your body, or you’ll dislocate your elbow.”

You nodded, not having the concentration to come up with a quip to throw at him. You repeated the move again but with a second fake-out. Rex winced slightly as your fist made contact with his elbow. Ideally, this move would probably work better if you were aiming for his face.

“That was fuckin’ good!” He exclaimed with a smile, genuine excitement generating off of him. You did not know he was capable of smiling in a way that did not reflect cynicism and sarcasm. It was almost alarming.

“Thanks?”

“Do that again.” He returns to position, and you follow suit.

__

After several more demonstrations and Rex purposely tripping you to ‘show you that your stance was bad’, you were both working up quite the sweat. And worse you were starting to become aware of his blood. You could feel it beneath his skin with every punch. This was not something you usually experienced, but from all the excretion and fighting it was starting to feel like you were actually needing to win.

Rex was talking about something now, but you were struggling to pay attention, your body willing you to get back into formation.

“With your size, a tackle could be good to know. You’ve got some dick who’s towering over you-”

“Some dick meaning you?”

He ignored you and continued. “You have to be able to bring them down to your level if you are able.”

He stops for a moment to fix his hair, stray pieces had been slowly falling out throughout the session and limiting his visibility. Your eyes trailed down to his face, the blood had dried now, and you were tempted to get him a wet cloth or something. But your body was still screaming at you to fight. So, you stayed put.

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he finished putting his hair back up and you found yourself looking forward to where he usually stood. Now you were overthinking it, did you look away too fast? Was he thinking you were weird for staring at him? Weird for looking away outside of the set time for it not to be weird? God, can he please just stand in front of you so you can punch him? You really needed to punch something.

Which felt a little redundant since that was all you had been doing for what must have been nothing short of ages.

Finally, he was back in front of you, and you immediately took a swing.

“Woah, the fuck are you doing?” He gave you a quizzical look, after taking a step back from your attempted hit.

“Practicing.”

“Were you not just listening? I want you to try out tackling.”

“Oh, okay.” You lowered your hands feeling a bit embarrassed. You wiped the sweat off of your brow with the back of your hand, then tunneled your focus on Rex.

He gave you an odd look but continued forward with his demonstration.

“Okay, you have to stand tall up until one of the last moments, or they’ll know what you’re trying to do, and the whole maneuver will be spoiled.” He stood up straight, stretching his back, preparing himself for the inevitable. “I’m going to come at you, you have to go for my knees and try to take me down.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You sure you got that?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” That came out a lot harsher than you meant it to, you just really needed to hit something.

He furrowed his brow at you but did not say anything. Almost immediately he headed towards you. You jumped back, somehow a little startled even though he just told you what was going to happen. You missed your window; he was going in for punches now. Trying to deflect the best you could, you got yourself into position to tackle him.

Rex’s fist collided with your shoulder and knocked you off balance. “Fuck!” Without leaving any time to waste you were back on your feet. Sweat was dripping down your brow. And Rex was looking very concentrated. You went in to hit him, he deflected, you went to tackle, he hit. This was not even training anymore; he was trying to wear you out.

Your lip curled slightly with frustration. And you finally took a deep breath, focusing your thoughts. Rex leaned in the way he was going to hit, even with cop-outs. You had started to notice the pattern, if you used it against him, you could break his balance.

He leaned slightly to the left, swung left, left, left, right, right.

You swung left, hitting his ribs. He grimaced, taking a step back. And then you sprung forward, grabbing his legs and pushing him down,

You were both panting.

His face was flushed, and from how hot it was you were sure yours was too. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes you were not able to be read. You could feel his chest heaving underneath you. As much as he was trying to wear you out, he must have been wearing himself out too.

“I got you.” You said between breaths, what you needed more than anything right now was some water. Have you ever realized Rex had green eyes? You did not see green eyes much anymore.

He did not immediately respond, the rise and fall of his chest still apparent to you. He was very firm; he probably had a lot of muscle from years of being a professional hero. Your hands were digging into his shoulders. You could feel him tense slightly under you, feel the shift in his blood.

For a millisecond his eyes slid down your face, and you wondered…

“You’re not meant to stay on top of the person once you’ve taken them down.” His voice rang out dryly. His eyes met yours with half-lidded mild annoyance.

“Ugh. Nothing’s good enough.”

“Plenty is good enough. Just do shit right.”

You got off him, offering him a hand up which he briskly refused. He stood for a moment with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. He walked over to the corner of the room and grabbed something; it looked like a belt.

“One more go.”

“Seriously?” You almost whined, you needed a break badly.

“Yes, fucking seriously.” You missed that one moment of actual happiness he portrayed earlier, wondering if you would see that ever again.

“Fine.” For hopefully a final time for the day, you fell into place. Rex immediately went back into action; this time he was keeping his distance. Every time you caught up with him, he quickly got away. “Dude, what is this?” You said unimpressed, and then you saw it fly out of his hand. He was throwing small discs at you. There was no way-

Before you could even finish the thought, it ignited in a small explosion, sending you back.

“Rex, what the fuck are you doing!”

“This is actual combat training Nurse Joy. Catch up.” You grit your teeth, you had already learned a lot for one day, did you really need to have mini-explosives thrown at you too? You did your best to avoid them, a few singed your shirt, and you could definitely smell burnt hair. How many of those did he have? Should you wait him out?

Each explosion left a little cloud of smoke. You just needed to get close enough that it would affect his sight. Slowly you made your way closer, still trying not to get hit. Even with the smoke in front of you, you knew exactly where he was. You already had that neural connection.

After bidding your time on the last one you finally jumped forward through the smoke. His arms immediately came up to shield his face, but you weren’t going for his face. Your fist made direct contact with the left side of his chest. A mild headache immediately irrupts in your head. He should have let you at least have a water break, before pulling all of this.

With a groan, suddenly Rex was backing away, a confused, and angry look on his face. One of his hands was over the place where you punched. You almost wanted to call him a wimp, say something mean, and then you saw the bruise. It was reaching above his tank top.

Fuck. You had manipulated his blood. Not to heal.

You had made it burst in his blood vessels. That’s why your head started to hurt.

You blinked, trying to regulate your breathing at what you had done as you watched him pull his shirt up. Your hand quickly came up to cover your mouth. The immediate impact zone looked horrible; you could practically see the blood pooling under his skin. The wound, although under the skin, was spread out like ripples. The top of it reached up to his collarbone, and the bottom two or three inches above his navel.

“Rex, oh my god.” You took a step towards him. He did not seem to be registering your voice, his hand ghosting over the wound.

He finally looked at you and lowered his tank. “Well, seems like you’ve had enough training to me.” His voice was much more fridged than before. You did not even know you could be doing worse than you were this morning when it came to him.

“Please, just let me heal it, that’s what I am here for right?” You desperately wanted to fix this. Not just because it was unexplainable and was sure to raise more eyebrows about you, but because you wanted to help him. As much of an asshole as he was, you did not want to actually hurt him, he just taught you a lot of valuable things. Hell of a thank you!

“It’s fine Nurse, I’ve got it.” He looked at you with an unclear expression. It felt a lot like disgust.

“It’ll be quick-”

“Just fucking-!”

“I’m so sorry! Please just let me-”

“Just stop!” Rex held his hands out in front of him and backed away, you did not follow this time. Everyone at the hospital whoever refused your help flashed in your mind. It almost made you want to cry, even around other people with powers you were not trusted. It was easy for people to put faith in superheroes when there was nothing they could do about the situation. If they do not see you as a necessity, you’re just a freak. You just did not realize that those of your own kind would see you that way too.

Rex stormed off to the exit of the training area just as Rae was walking in, bumping into her. She exclaimed but he unambiguously gave her a glare and continued out.

“What was all of that about?” Rae glanced over to where Rex had been standing moments ago.

You sighed, rubbing your neck and looking over at her. “I think I’m just going to ask Cecil for a gun or something if I have to fight.”

Author's Note: I might need to slow down soon with releasing chapters, finals are coming up and I don't think my professors will take "I had to write fanfiction" as an excuse for late assignments 💔. But then I will have a lot of time with summer. I want to get this out as fast as possible cause I hate waiting for updates as much as the next person. I hardly plan ahead so were experiencing this at the same time haha

divider credit: @/ saradika

Chapter six

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—   KEEP THE LIGHTS ON

SUMMARY : “Hi!! First time requesting a fic so if this is dumb.. well yeah. A fic where Dean and the reader are about to do it (😏😏) and hes very focused on her thighs/hips area and she's got stretch marks there and he traces/kisses/grabs them? It's rough, intense, and passionate? 😳😶 okay love you and your writing byeee 🏃‍♀️” — anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), smut, as always unspecified skin colour and weight (lol), 

WORD COUNT : 2.0k

A/N : close your eyes song title. I loved this request as soon as I got it, and that’s why it didn’t take long! I’ve seen some stretch marks are lighter than the skin and others are darker than the skin and also that they feel like grooves so, I hope this is okay! *insert Scott Pilgrim and the L-word scene bc I can’t say ILY* AND HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY Xx

You’d never been so comfortable and confident with a man before. Comfortable with yourself. Confident in your own skin.. Every insecurity you had in every other aspect of your life, sex-releated or not, flew out the window because you knew Dean. 

He had a way of making you feel beautiful all the time. Either with his facial expressions when you caught him staring, his words when you were alone, his actions at any chance he had to get his hands on you. He was very expressive, wordlessly so, and gesticulating. 

You had to get to know the real him to understand him and, you know… he’s complicated. He’s guarded, but beneath all that there’s a soft centre to him, like a brownie. And overall, he’s sweet and good and soft. Perfect. Like a brownie. 

Eventually, getting a read on him gets easier, but not entirely easy. Which is why he was currently taking your breath away with his lips moving down your neck and his hands tangled in your hair as he guided you down the hallway to his room. But only after admitting he’d been wanting to get you in his bed for years and you’d be damned if you let your fears and worries get in the way of getting your first taste of him after pining for him almost as long as he’d carried a torch for you. 

You had to be stupid to believe that Dean was shallow and cared only about a woman's appearance or attractiveness. You never thought you weren’t enough all those times Dean left with or hit on any women but you. All you thought was that he simply didn’t see you that way, which was only half of the truth. He wanted something more than one night with you and he just didn’t have the guts to tell you so. 

But tonight, after a sleepy hangout at the Dean Cave, after watching a variety of movies that Dean liked—movies he excitedly wanted you to enjoy as well when you said you’d never watched them before. And then going to the kitchen to get more snacks for the next film… 

Well, you don’t really remember what led to it, maybe you said something in your exhausted state. Or maybe he did. You had a feeling that if you made the first move and confessed something you wouldn’t have in the right state of mind, he’d hold it over you and tease you about it—if everything went well. 

Or maybe it was just a buildup of every little thing that the two of you shared with each other and all the history and all of everything else that you were. 

Now that you had his mouth on yours, quick and firm and desperate for attention and for a taste of you… You had a feeling making your stomach flutter. To some extent, the two of you were very aware of each other’s feelings and still decided to do nothing about it. 

What a waste of fucking time. 

Still, something about waiting made this much more intense. Your skin ignited at his touch when his fingers snuck up into your shirt. Your flesh became warmer and warmer after each rapid heartbeat, excitement from his wet, breathy kisses. The air in your lungs failed to escape correctly, failing to reach the full capacity of oxygen the more thrilled you became. 

You wanted to devour him whole. But all you could do was kiss him back with as much passion and fervour as you possibly could. Your palms smoothed up scarred skin, flushed and warm and taut. Your nails scratched and your fingers tugged at anything of his that you could hold onto. 

When you got to his room, he’d made your head spin more than it already was from his kiss when he pushed you into his bedroom door to shut it. 

“Sweetheart,” he moaned against your mouth and your breath audibly hitched. The sound of his voice, the way he spoke that pet-name to you made your stomach clench and your clit throb. Or maybe it was the way he pinned your lower body to the door with his hips and the way he held your gaze when he flexed his hand beneath your shirt, his fingers spread across your ribcage.

His other hand moved back up to your cheek and his thumb brushed against your cheekbone. Your lips parted at first when he did that and your eyes searched his curious eyes longingly, but he seemed to be on his own mission. You bit your lip anxiously instead as you attempted to maintain eye contact, your cheeks burned when his green eyes dropped down to your lips. All you could feel was his erection pressed into your soft skin through the flimsy layers of his pyjama pants. 

And then his cock twitched. 

It was driving you crazy.

Being this close to him felt like a chemical reaction. You bubbled as he came into contact with you and you could probably evaporate into nothing if you were just a reactant. You never thought you’d feel consumed entirely by a person as if they were a reagent. You’d be embarrassed if it were anyone else but Dean who made you feel this pathetic. 

Your eyes reacted faster than your body when Dean dove back down to capture your bottom lip. He sucked on it softly and rolled his hips into you and you breathed shakily against his mouth at the combination of pleasant sensations that occurred simultaneously. 

You buried your fingers in his hair and then you felt his own gripping your hips tightly. God, you wished he’d dig into you and mark you permanently, but instead your thoughts ran through the imaginary engine of a plane and turned into smithereens when his tongue entered your mouth.

He lifted you up and his hands slid roughly from your ass to your thighs. You clung to him and kissed him hard, pouring yourself wholly into the kiss until he drunkenly stumbled to his bed and dropped you into it. All the while, he was still completely attached to you and getting more desperate now that you were as malleable as dough in his expert hands.

He pulled away from you breathlessly, lips parted and wet and red and perfectly kissed. His cheeks puffed a little and he had a tiny smile that shined mostly in his eyes when they fluttered open. You thought you’d be sucked right into his dilated pupils as he admired you beneath him, but he went right back to your neck and your cleavage while his hands pushed and pulled away at your clothes to get you naked.

For the fraction of a second, your body snapped out of the trance he’d placed you in when you felt his fingers trace and dip gently into the marks on your skin. The magic was gone only for a few moments when you opened your eyes to him between your bare legs, he looked up at you in surprise. Surprised at your reaction.

“What?” He frowned at you. The cute pout made your eyes brighten and your body relaxed once more as you smiled down at him. 

You were hesitant and he was patient. And then his expression mirrored yours, smiley. But he was so soft, with those crinkles at the corner of his eyes, and those dimples above his pillowy lips. He didn’t even make a big deal out of it and that made you release a soft breath and with it, the tension disappeared from your body. 

“Are you sure?” You asked him, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip. He lifted a brow at you before both brows came together in amused confusion. He slowly pulled himself up your body and shamelessly dropped his hips at your centre, practically grinding his covered erection against your bare, wet core. 

You inhaled sharply and he smirked at you. He slid his forearm up beside your head to balance his upper body above yours and continued to brush his thumb against the lines you were more than familiar with that resided at your hips. 

“Wanna hear it explicitly, is that it?” He murmured, his tongue dipping out to pull his lower lip into his mouth. Then he planted his teeth on the shimmering, plump flesh. What a journey. 

You were amused when your eyes flickered back up to his and you pulled your own lip between your teeth. He was cocky and maybe it didn’t help that you were a mess beneath him, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“I’m gonna fuck you hard in my bed,” he told you. Your eyes widened slightly and you breathed unevenly as he rocked his hips against your heat. “But first, I’m gonna memorise every inch of your body and I’m gonna make you wait ‘til I’m satisfied. And only then,” he whispered, dropping kisses along your cheek and jaw, “I’ll give you what you want.” 

You licked your lips and allowed Dean to move lower to pepper kisses along your breasts until he slowly made his way back down between your legs. Part of you wanted to whine when he brushed his fingers over your stretch marks again, but there was something about how casual he was about them that made you want to see where this was going.

“What do I want?” You grinned down at him just as his lips made contact with the lines in contrasting colour to your skin. He smirked and looked at you through his lashes. His warm breath tickled your thighs when he chuckled and you shivered, bumping his bicep playfully with your knee. 

“Me, I hope,” he answered, almost bashfully. He buried his fingers into your hips and pulled at your skin, following the lines that decorated your body while keeping his eyes on you. You squirmed as he continued to touch and mouth at your stretch marks. “But mostly, my dick.” 

You laughed, “what?” And Dean nipped at your hip, along a few lines on either side of your body and your body shuddered pleasantly. 

“You asked what you wanted. I said: me and my dick,” he recapped for you playfully. You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help smiling. Dean went from playful to sexy and dragged his lips down your pelvis. Your hips wiggled in anticipation and your breath became shallow, but Dean only breathed against your soaked cunt. “If… all ‘a this proves anything.”

The warm air slipping between his lips aroused you to the point of wanting to pull his face between your legs and trap him there with your thighs. You felt yourself turn hot at his words, both from embarrassment and from lust.

“Dean, please,” you begged with a whiny laugh. 

Instead of replying with something witty, he swirled his tongue around your entrance with a moan. You felt his spit and you held your breath when he flatted his tongue and dragged it up to your clit. You closed your eyes and arched your back when he sucked and flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit. 

And then it was all gone and your body became loose once more. You opened your eyes to Dean pulling his shirt over his head, exposing the freckled skin you’ve always wanted to kiss and mark with your mouth when you patched him up on hunts. 

Before you could get your hands on him, he got out of bed and pulled his pants and boxers down his legs swiftly. He barely gave you time to see, to admire what you came to accept as the prettiest cock you’d ever seen. 

“I told you,” he smirked, slipping between your legs and lowering himself on your body to kiss you. “I’m takin’ my time.” You groaned in protest against his lip, but eventually every complaint you had on taking it slowly dissipated from your mind as he pushed and pulled at your body in ways you didn’t think you’d liked until he began working your body. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but dammit… Sex with Dean was better and more satisfying than the sex you had with any other man. 

You couldn’t tell Dean that. Never. It’d go to his head. Rightfully so, but still. All you could think about is the embarrassment he’d cause you to feel by reminding you, every chance he had—with that smug smirk of his—about how good you said he makes you feel. Better than any other man. 

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[skeletonsloverockcandy]

Man, each year I get to it, I love the May 5th entry and what it means. I take something new from it each time. Like last year I noticed the sacrifices and efforts the Driver and the other passengers made to try and save Jonathan, a stranger to them, by showing up early, by giving him gifts, by blessing him, despite the danger that puts them in. Especially when Dracula, as the driver, points it out to the Driver of the first coach, what he was trying to do, and scares him by pointing out what he said (despite it being heard far out of normal earshot and over the sound of horses galloping).

This year though, I notice that, but I see some of the smaller details too. Like how the mountains are full of blooming fruit trees, and how we are so used to the “gothic” aesthetic we almost forget it’s Spring. How Jonathan takes notice and comfort in the view, despite the growing unease he feels because of the people around him. He is trying to distract himself from how scared he’s getting based on their warnings. Warding him from the Evil Eye.

"No, no," he said; "you must not walk here; the dogs are too fierce"; and then he added, with what he evidently meant for grim pleasantry—for he looked round to catch the approving smile of the rest—"and you may have enough of such matters before you go to sleep."

I also take notice of this from the driver, as it’s almost a morbid gallows humor that he clearly knows to expect the wolves, and knowing what happens later, I’m sure the people here have a horrible fear of them, knowing what Dracula can do…and what he does to that poor mother later.

There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one.

We also get here what might be our first indication that the Count can control the weather to an extent.

They were driven by a tall man, with a long brown beard and a great black hat, which seemed to hide his face from us.

All I can imagine is Dracula in a fake beard now lol.

"You are early to-night, my friend." The man stammered in reply:—

"The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied:—

"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift."

But God, this must have been terrifying for the driver and the passengers. What would Dracula do to punish them for trying to escape him? Would he dare make an example in front of the Englishman right now, or would he grant them mercy to say nothing else as Jonathan is unsuspectingly led to his doom, so they think.

"Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.")

The strange driver evidently heard the words, for he looked up with a gleaming smile.

It feels like they’re all in on some sick joke that they know the punchline to, but Jonathan doesn’t, so with the dramatic irony, it feels like we the readers are the same peasants, trying to do anything to save or warn Jonathan but it’s already too late.

I also notice how quickly Dracula tries to shift the power dynamic with Jonathan, and have him doubt his sanity so soon, and he’s not even in the castle yet.

He drives him in circles to try and disorient Jonathan and make him feel even more lost, also keeping him out for far later and making Jonathan question if he’s dreaming or if what he’s seeing is real. I’d also bet more than anything that wine he offer Jonathan on the coach that Jonathan didn’t end up taking was drugged. Because it’s far easier to disorient an unconscious passenger in the dark than it is to disorient a conscious passenger. But he still does a pretty darn good job.

Then there’s the blue flames, which Jonathan doesn’t know how to react to as they seem supernatural and he doesn’t know how to rationalize it yet, so he takes it as if he’s dreaming.

This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences. I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.

Jonathan also has already felt the fear and nerves associated with the supernatural and superstition after what all of the townsfolk have told him, and later he tries to brush this off and rationalize again, try not to get too scared, but a part of him already realizes something is wrong.

Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road—a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear.

I also want to point this out, as it’s right before the wolves surround the coach, but it’s the second time a “dog” has been mentioned howling in the night, and with this evidence, I bet Dracula uses the wolves as a threat to keep the peasants and townsfolk in line, as he can’t munch down on everyone. But it shows how powerful he is and what a threat he poses. I wonder who the wolves kill in the night.

Also how Jonathan, as an Englishman where there were no more native wolves, can’t even imagine that’s what they were and thinks they are dogs.

And it makes sense now that earlier when Jonathan was getting out his good ol’ polyglot dictionary, how the two words mean the same thing.

"vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire.

As Dracula, as we see later, can transform into a wolf himself, and so there is probably less distinction between the two in this culture than we have tried to establish in the modern day.

Once there appeared a strange optical effect: when he stood between me and the flame he did not obstruct it, for I could see its ghostly flicker all the same.

Ah, I wonder if this is an early indication that Dracula cannot be depicted through traditional means? Like how he can’t be seen in the mirror. Certain lights just, pass through him.

I shouted and beat the side of the calèche, hoping by the noise to scare the wolves from that side, so as to give him a chance of reaching the trap.

We also see Jonathan taking an active and proactive approach, in this manner trying to be helpful and aid his (what he assumes human) driver. With these sorts of actions already, I can see signs of the man who will pick up a shovel to try and do what needs to be done. Who takes a knife and vows action, not hesitating.

He is polite right now, he’s on business. He doesn’t know what’s coming. But regardless, that person is still in him, and he’s capable of taking great action and doing great things for the sake of survival and doing what he thinks is right.

And Dracula commanding the wolves to stop as the driver, and the cloud passing overhead, I feel is like a subtle display of power and threat to Jonathan. He’s still playing pretend, but when Jonathan does figure out he was the coach the whole time, and he plays coy, the Count knows Jonathan will remember this threat, and it feels that much more sinister.

Jonathan still questions and thinks he fell asleep, as he doesn’t see how he’d have missed the approach of the castle otherwise, but I think he was awake because it was dark, and the count was intentionally taking him a winding and confusing path under a lot of fear. Though if he did fall asleep, I’m that much more terrified about how Dracula was driving him about, now secure in the knowledge that Jonathan would be thoroughly isolated and lost.

And the thing that nearly gives Dracula away twice as the driver is the strength of his grip on Jonathan’s hand, also lacing a subtle threat.

through these frowning walls and dark window openings it was not likely that my voice could penetrate.

Well this is just scary knowing how trapped Jonathan becomes later, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear the outside world, and how the outside world might not be able to hear him, and how he’s already acknowledging that.

The time I waited seemed endless, and I felt doubts and fears crowding upon me. What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?

He already is expressing doubts and fears, he isn’t ignorant of what situation he might be in, and it’s only later when he tries to rationalize with the count and is given the comforts manipulation of food and sleep, that he tries to dismiss these fears and take the Count at his word.

Was this a customary incident in the life of a solicitor's clerk sent out to explain the purchase of a London estate to a foreigner? Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!

Okay, this is just really cute. Mina said You passed the Bar, you Deserve to call yourself a Solicitor Jonathan <3

Also explains a lot that Jonathan is a fresh faced baby lawyer who just passed the bar and needs this assignment. He’s probably hoping that after this pay day he can marry Mina and have enough for them to start making a life together. Also says a lot for Dracula’s strategy to him to get someone young, inexperienced, and unfamiliar with the area, who might be seen as “expendable” so that Jonathan’s sudden “disappearance” might go unremarked by those in charge (though Mina would notice).

I began to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if I were awake. It all seemed like a horrible nightmare to me, and I expected that I should suddenly awake, and find myself at home, with the dawn struggling in through the windows, as I had now and again felt in the morning after a day of overwork. But my flesh answered the pinching test, and my eyes were not to be deceived. I was indeed awake and among the Carpathians. All I could do now was to be patient, and to wait the coming of the morning.

Again, those early signs of doubt and fear from Jonathan, showing his unease already at the situation. We did not deserve to be clowning on him so much when this book club first started. It’s not his fault he’s not genre aware 😔 I’m sorry Jonathan.

And when Drac does show up to open the door:

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" He made no motion of stepping to meet me, but stood like a statue, as though his gesture of welcome had fixed him into stone.

I wonder if he’s like that because he needs to be invited into places to be there, so if it’s almost like a supernatural hold of importance for him to offer the same thing. Almost like a subtle joke or curse with the knowledge that after Jonathan enters, he won’t be allowed to leave of his own will

holding out his hand grasped mine with a strength which made me wince, an effect which was not lessened by the fact that it seemed as cold as ice—more like the hand of a dead than a living man.

I also like how all the clues are there, and since Jonathan has written them down and taken note of them, the expression on them must be some of the things he’s piercing together about his own fears as well that he’s afraid to voice aloud or in his journal, because if he voices his suspicions, they might become more real to him.

The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking

See? He knows what’s up, he’s just afraid to say it.

I also didn’t pick up that Jonathan’s room is octagonal for some reason. I wonder if there’s any reason for that or symbolism with the 8 sides?

Also the letter from Mr. Hawkin’s feels very ominous in retrospect knowing what’s coming and how Dracula will treat Jonathan:

"I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters."

I feel like Dracula knew to take advantage of that, and also this feels like him basically reading the menu for an ideal victim once his business is said and done, so I get shivers, brrrrr.

Hitherto I had noticed the backs of his hands as they lay on his knees in the firelight, and they had seemed rather white and fine; but seeing them now close to me, I could not but notice that they were rather coarse—broad, with squat fingers. Strange to say, there were hairs in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point. As the Count leaned over me and his hands touched me, I could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal.

I also like that while Jonathan is describing Dracula, he notice his hands. And I am also struck with how little it is brought up that he has hair on his palms, and I can see the more wolf-like nature of this vampire mythology. I wonder if Bram Stoker intended for werewolves and vampires to be the same thing in his novel? They are certainly compared and have similar powers and weaknesses, so it’s possible I guess.

Also Dracula has corpse-breath lol. Nasty.

I saw the first dim streak of the coming dawn. There seemed a strange stillness over everything; but as I listened I heard as if from down below in the valley the howling of many wolves.

Ah ha! Also the first foreshadowing we get for the importance of dawn and dusk in the novel, as we know later how important timing becomes for our protagonists, so seeing its affects already make me smile at the recognition of the signs so early.

"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added:—

"Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter."

And ah, an iconic line. Though I just get second hand angry and uncomfortable at Dracula’s insistence that he’s a “hunter” 🤢. God I just hate him haha.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

And literally Day 1 of being in the castle and Jonathan is already questioning his sanity and piecing things together he’s afraid to even voice in his journal. This is the second time in as many days he has already wished that those around him find this journal and laments should anything bad happen to him. It creates the impression of one who knows they’re walking into danger but must go on anyway.

But I love Jonathan so much, and I definitely really like the May 5th entry, and it does so much work to set up what happens later.

[bittersnsweetz]

ohhh my god i just realised why i love narumitsu so much, despite the obvious (mutual pining, slow burn, one-sided enemies, to friends, to distant friends, to close friends, to lovers all that good stuff)

its BECAUSE they have a shared emotional journey that is so narratively satisfying to me that as im typing this im barely able to contain my stimming

phoenix defends miles, so convinced he can save him and is almost blinded by that fact because he knows edgeworth as so good and so pure and he totally definitely absolutely would never willingly hurt anybody and then he ghosts him for a year which phoenix obviously interprets as yet another person abandoning him, leaving phoenix to pick up the pieces, and that whole time phoenix is beating himself up because wow this is just like when he put all his love on the line for dahlia and it turns out she was just using him this whole time and the absolute mess of emotions that arises when edgeworth comes back, alive, with no apology whatsoever.

and then two years later phoenix loses his job and edegworth is trying so hard to help and be there for him while also juggling his prosecutor job and the challenges that arise from adjusting to a new justice-driven mindset, but phoenix is already closing himself off and refusing to talk about it because hes stingy and secretive and edgeworth has seen the stingy in passing but never to this extent, where he can tell that phoenix NEEDS someone but apparently that someone isnt going to be him. and he's on call with him one night and he hears trucy for the first time and hes mortified because so many complicated emotions and questions arise from that alone: "wright are you sane" "wright are you seeing someone" "wright why didnt you tell me about this so i could help you" and i do think edgeworth gets overwhelmed by all this at once, the secrecy, the daughter, the friend who visits phoenix every now and again, the lack of healthy communication. and suddenly everything that he thought theyve worked so hard to build together has come crashing down and theres nothing phoenix will let him do to help

and its the shared parallel of the initial proposal to help "let me defend you"/"let me be there for you" being completely rejected and the repeated efforts to do so being met with a sudden shift (prosecutor miles edgeworth chooses death/i have a daughter and a new friend who helps me now) and how its so difficult for the both of them to realise at the time that its for their sake that they're doing it, that neither of them are doing this to hurt the other intentionally (although for phoenix i definitely think theres spite involved, but not to the degree to which edgeworth ends up experiencing what he does emotionally), and the idealisation that gets completely shattered by reality

just. UGH. the full circle that is them, after everything is said and done, finding closure in each other again, however non-linear that journey is, and, this is important, CHOOSING to still stay with the other through anything and everything that comes to pass, and truly SEEING the other behind their professional masks. Seeing them entirely and not just the attractive parts. im rabid.

[mi-co-uk]

coming clean

blue!reader x saviour!matt

─── blue readers past has caught up with her just in time to rescue her when she needs it the most - childhood best friend and saviour matt wants to help every step of the way.

WARNINGS: descriptions of bruising, implications of DA/DV, interactions with someone @bus!ve, fear - panic attacks, language, vague mentions of SH, self hate. the series itself will contain heavy angst , fluff and smut 𖦹

I've never written a fic before so any feedback and support is appreciated !

p.s im dyslexic lmao

2.1k words

pls enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

prev parts: intro / 1 / 2 / 3

CHAPTER 4 - "kiss it better"

MATT'S POV

my ears were ringing with a mix of frustration, fear, confusion and anger- the guilt sets in as soon as I realise she sees my anger. I breathe deeply before responding.

"you went back to his house?" I said lowly, a slight hint of irritation creeping in unintentionally.

she slowly nods taking a small step back away from the kitchen table and towards the sink. I know it's not specifically me that she's scared of but now all my emotions are wiped other than my regret.

I relax my hands holding them by my sides in a more open gesture to before- taking a step back to give her more room (despite already having almost 3 meters between us).

she's still gripping the whiteboard and cries softly as she wipes off her initial message and begins writing a new one.

'I just went to get my stuff , I'm really sorry'

she holds it up towards me, refusing to make eye contact.

"look, its- it's okay. it's just not safe. did anything happen? are- are you like, okay?"

she sniffs, her sobs subsiding as she nods but still stares towards the kitchen table.

how could nothing have happened?

"I'm not trying to yknow be right or anything I just wanna make sure you're okay. you um- you don't have to say what happened but, did he see you? did he hurt you?" I try my best to be careful with my phrasing, not wanting to make matters worse.

she doesn't answer me. her hyperventilated breathing switches to a complete lack of it. fuck.

"it's okay- it's okay." I try to kill the silence while still trying to get a grip on my train of thought. "I can get you bandaids or um bandages a-and some ice if you need it?"

my eyes scan around her frame frantically trying to see any indication of blood, bruises, scratches- just anything. which is made difficult by her baggy clothes- my clothes.

she finally looks up at me momentarily, before moving her attention back to the whiteboard.

'ice please'

she's sat in the fetal position in the corner of the couch. I walk over holding an ice pack, wrapped in a cloth. I sit beside her before handing it over- taking note of her hesitant expression.

"what's up? you okay?"

her eyes gesture towards her thighs. I feel awful.

"oh um- I-I can give you some space I'm sorry - it's okay" I get up and head towards the kitchen table, sitting down and facing away from the sofa- partially.

she tugs down the sweatpants I let her borrow - way too big for her but she's comfortable. on the first morning she was here, I let her scroll on various clothing websites so she could pick out some stuff she liked. she only picked the essentials- I'd already offered for her to wear my clothes which i think meant she didn't see shirts or pants as essential, feeling too guilty to ask for much. while my heart feels warm seeing her in my clothes, it quickly gets shot down when I think about why. she wears them with the strings pulled and knotted tight around her hips aswell as cuffed at the bottom of the legs.

I peer out the corner of my eyes- it's hard not to. in the moment I try to rationalise it by saying that I'm looking to see any serious damage to her, but the real reason for this (and probably everything I'm doing) is my pent up feelings for her. the curiosity gets interrupted when she's finished tugging them down and I can see the full extent of her bruising.

oh my god.

her skin has large red and purple blemishes- the newest ones. not only these but there's scattered bruises indicating various ages- blueish ones, yellowish ones, brown ones. some I can tell are from someone's fingertips. there's also some scarring- clearly intentional ones. knowing her history, it's hard to tell if they are hers or his.

she places the covered ice pack on the largest of the new bruises. I watch as she gently moves her finger across the other bruises, wincing when she goes over another red one.

I shouldn't have looked but now that I know she needs another ice pack I have no choice but to get her one. I dig around in the freezer for a bag of frozen vegetables, wrapping that in another cloth. I grab some pain killers from the cupboard and water out the refrigerator, heading in her direction while averting my eyes from her legs.

she looks up at me with her wide eyes- seemingly not embarrassed.

I begin to pass her the medicine and water but she taps the space next to her. I place myself down, holding various items to help her. she doesn't seem uncomfortable - the closest thing to a positive emotion I think she could get right now. she removes the cool from my lap and places it on her other leg, trying to get a comfortable position that also holds up both packs. I watch her with undoubtedly sympathetic eyes while I try to think of ways to cheer her up.

READER'S POV

I hope matt doesn't see less of me.

he's leant back on the couch next to me. I think one of the hardest parts about being around him is the fact that I really want to be. its so easy to be around him - I feel comfortable, safe and there's a third feeling I try desperately to bury down.

the scattered bruises have begun to cool down, finally dulling the burning ache. I lay back on the couch, relaxing my body, exhaling loudly. I turn my head towards matt, seeing him already staring down at me. he looks calm. I flicker my eyes back and forth between his. he does the same, quickly flicking towards my mouth for a quick second but immediately darting back to my eyes as if with regret. I shuffle closer, burying my head in the crook of his neck and gripping his shirt to relax into him further. his arm reaches across the side of the couch and around my waist. the embrace is the most comforting I've had for years.

I think back to last night. seeing him again. having to kiss him again - feel him again. it was horrible before but knowing now how gentle and simple love could be now, all of the time, it felt even worse somehow.

he was stood in front of the stairs when I opened the door. I didn't expect him to be awake. I had hoped desperately that he was asleep.

"where y'been." he spoke roughly.

my entire body feels like I'm being stabbed by millions of tiny needles. my fight or flight going off the radar. I push my back against the front door.

"y'ignoring me or still not talkin'?" he steps closer and I'm frozen in fear. he reaches towards me - his fingertips brushing over my neck where the bruise still sits.

"a week is pretty fucking long. I was worried about you."

his fingertips start to increase their pressure on my neck.

"yknow you left me right? abandoned me? had me hurting myself, all worried and shit."

he reaches behind me and locks the front door, maintaining eye contact.

"ya with someone? someone take you?"

his thumb caresses my cheek.

"I never meant to hurt you." liar. "yknow that?"

he leans his head down pressing his lips to my cheek, slowly trailing down to the bruise on my neck as his grip on me tightens a little. "it's been so long. I needed you." he continues in-between the kisses. "say something,"

he physically detaches himself from me completely, staring me dead in the eyes with a look void of emotion. "you're serious?" I nod at him, mt finger indicating towards my neck. he sighs and heads towards the couch. "cmon" he mutters as he walks. I walk over slowly, trailing behind him and watching as he scrambles around for some scrap paper and a pen.

this isn't the first time I'd ran away. the first time I ran to a hospital - begging them with my out of control bloody nose to not let him find me. I couldn't bare it anymore. I hadn't been able to bare it a long time before that. they assured me he wouldn't get in. they promised me. then there he was, walking in as if he owned the place and stood by my hospital bed; whispering sweet lies about how he'd be better, how he loved me and how he didn't mean to. it was bullshit and I knew it. but I can pinpoint the exact moment I gave in.

he caressed my hand with his thumb - the way he used to when we were better. I watched as tears brimmed his waterline and I watched as he covered his face with his palm, quietly sobbing. thats when my guard - my resistance dropped. "i-i can go if you want. I can go and I'll never see you again. b-but know that I didn't mean to. I really never meant to hurt you. please believe me." he weeped, holding my palm with both his hands as if pleading for me to love him still. I still can't tell who was more pathetic in that moment.

I'm sat next to him now as he slides the paper and pen across the glass table towards me.

"go on. write something." I tap the pen against it, not knowing where to start. "tell me what you're here for" he encourages, eyes full or faux sympathy.

there's always these moments that made me feel like I could be okay. the weekend I left, we'd almost had the most perfect day ever. he was off work, decided I'd been good enough to head to some stores. there was an adorable vintage store where he bought me my favourite band CDs and he even let me stock up on snacks in the house. he was smiling. he was happy. and that meant I could be happy. but then we ran into nick and chris. he wasn't happy at all after that. he felt threatened.

my heartbeat begins to thud louder than my thoughts, unsure of any excuses i could make that wouldnt get me into trouble. my eyes flicker toward his - a new idea sparking in my head on how to keep relatively safe and get what I need to. a stupid idea. his eyes peer into mine and I take the opportunity to gently press my lips to his. he relaxes into me, gripping my hair to deepen the kiss. i think it's the first time I had ever kissed him first. I went from being a nervous teenager, too shy to initiate anything, then to who I am now and not having a choice in the matter. my hands hesitantly are placed on his shoulder while his hands move to my hips - digging into my skin. he didn't question it. probably too taken aback with what happened to try and interrupt it with questions.

I woke up alone, naked but he'd at least taken the time to cover me with a blanket. a note was on the paper in front of me.

'@ work. help yourself to anything. I'm really glad you're home and I'll try to get off early. love u.'

fuck you.

I stand up immediately, rushing to put my clothes back on and running up the stairs to the bedroom. I grab a bag and pack it with the items I deem most vital. panties, bras, my notebooks, my sketchbooks and pencils, some old polaroid photos I'd somehow managed to keep all these years. there's one more thing I need. I root around all the drawers in a hurry. pulling them out, scurrying through them and closing them again.

where.

I pant heavily, hands gripping my face to try and ward off a panic attack. I check one of the drawers off the closet. lifting out various items.

got it.

I put everything back in, desperately trying to keep everything as neat as it had been previously. I run down the stairs, still hyperventilating from pure terror. I push open the door, taking large strides away from the house and ignoring the fact that I'd left it unlocked. the fear sets in deeper. I start speed walking - faster and faster until I'm sprinting up the street. it's a relatively simple journey to matt's house now that I know where it is. I memorised the streets names on my way down to ensure I could get back to him. I kept running, stifling sobs as I went.

the house was quiet when I got back, im grateful that they all tend to sleep until late morning. I slowly creep into matt's room, finally breathing at a regular pace. i cautiously bury the bag under the bed - my passport secure inside it - before slipping into my sleep clothes. I don't bother leaving the room, convinced that he's deep asleep and not wanting to make further noise and draw attention to myself. i slide under the covers on the opposite side of the bed to matt, I struggle to bury down the emotions I'd been putting off.

I'm done. I'm done. he's gone.

gone. he's gone.

it's over.

but as usual I can still feel his hands on me.

the hand I let him put on me.

and I fucking hate myself for it.

𐙚🧸ྀི

a/n , I tried to be really careful with this, this is a topic personal to me so I think I'm okay at knowing certain triggers and the right way to talk about this topic but if anyone has a criticism in my way of talking about it , please tell me so I can do better <3

alsooo matt stuff very very soon !! this is probably the last part of just setting up the scene

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ - mi

tags: @pair-of-pantaloons @oopsiedaisydeer @corspebridedelrey @faiyaz555 @izzylovesmatt

(let me know if you only want to be tagged to certain fics of anything I don't mindd)

[girlactionfigure]

"From the River to the Sea"

@Daniel_Sugarman

In this thread, I’m going to go into some detail about what the phrase “From the River to the Sea, Palestine will be Free” means to many Jewish people. You may not agree, but I hope that it may enlighten those who simply don't understand the almost visceral reaction to it.

🧵 

2) For the benefit of a number of students at some of America’s most expensive higher education institutions, let’s start by clarifying - the river is the River Jordan, the sea is the Mediterranean.

3) So what do those chanting it mean? When asked, a bunch of them will say they want a single state in this area in which all people can live together in dignity and equality. Sounds great, right? Who would argue with that? 

4) That claim is somewhat muddied when one particular version of that chant is used in Arabic, as has been heard and seen at various protests - من المية للمية / فلسطين عربية “From water to water, Palestine is Arab”. But let's leave that aside for the moment. 

5) Note that the protesters are not calling for Israel to be *changed* into what they see as a free and equal society. For them this can only be achieved by Israel being *ended* and replaced by Palestine. 

6) Objectively, you can say that the reason for this is that the protestors believe that Israel (and Zionism) is fundamentally incompatible with what they see as equality and freedom for all, which is why for them it has to go in its entirety. But... 

7) But there is a significant degree of ambiguity as to what the end result *actually* means. And it’s that question mark which is why so many Jewish people see this slogan the way they do.

8) Because Jewish people have lots of different examples of what happens to Jewish communities who are minorities in countries in the MENA region. They get destroyed. I'll give you some examples. 

9) Egypt. 1948 - 75,000 Jews. 2024 - 30 Jews.

10) Lebanon. 1948 - 9,000 Jews. 2024 - 20 Jews.

11) Syria. 1948 - 15,000 Jews. 2024 - 4 Jews.

12) Yemen. 1948 - 55,000 Jews. 2024 - 1 Jew.

13) Iraq. 1948 - 156,000 Jews. 2024 - 1 Jew.

14) Iran. 1948 - 150,000 Jews. 2024 - 8,750 Jews (under the strict control of the Iranian regime).

15) Libya. 1948 - 40,000 Jews. 2024 - No Jews.

16) Algeria. 1948 - 150,000 Jews. 2024 - 150 Jews,

17) Tunisia. 1948 - 105,000 Jews. 2024 - 1,500 Jews.

18) Morocco. 1948 - 270,000 Jews. 2024 - 2,000 Jews.

19) The anti-Zionist narrative is that this mass Exodus was the fault of the Zionists, who created Israel. No Israel, goes the refrain, and all those communities would still be there.

This ignores a very simple point. 

20) In every single one of these countries, to a greater or lesser extent, Israel’s independence was followed by significant repression of local Jewish populations.

Every one. 

21) Remind me, what’s the way to describe holding members of an ethnic or racial group responsible for what other members of that group may have done elsewhere?

22) By doing so - oppressing the local Jewish population via pogroms, repressive laws, denying Jewish people full citizenship, confiscation of land and property - these MENA countries made a more effective argument for Zionism than Israel ever could have done by itself. 

23) What that said, very clearly, was that Jews as a minority in a MENA country lived there strictly on sufferance. That at any time they could be deprived of everything - including their lives.

This had been clear pre-Zionism too, but the reaction post-'48 put the seal on this.

24) Which brings us back to now. The one-state Palestine being dreamt of is one where, at best, Jews will be allowed to live as a minority. 

25) I put it to you that the experience of more than half of Israel’s Jewish population - descended from those who had to leave MENA countries, means that they *know* what the end result of such a Palestine will be.

A land without Jews. 

26) This, by the way, given most Israeli Jews now are descendants of MENA Jews is also why the “post-colonial” depiction of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as some sort of “white vs brown” battle is so utterly brainless. And that’s before we discuss Israel’s many Ethiopian Jews. 

27) I’ve gone on too long, I know, but just one final point. If the anti-Israel protestors really wanted to assure Jews - all Jews - that there would be a real future for Jews in their hoped for future one-state Palestine - they would be doing their best to engage with Zionists. 

28) They would be saying “Zionism is an ideology built on numerous examples - in MENA and in Europe - that Jews are, in the long term, only safe in their own country. Let us show you that this isn’t necessarily the case. Let’s talk. Find common ground. Try for friendships.” 

29) Instead Zionists are told they are Nazis. The same age-old antisemitic conspiracy theories about Jewish control are applied to “Zionists”. “Zionists” are excluded from the Community of the Good. 

30) Congratulations! 

You’ve just proved every single Jewish Zionist’s point for them - and you’ve helped create new ones. In a very similar way to those MENA countries post 1948. 

*Thread ends* 

[loo011]

A long ass deep dive on why Jackson wasn't happy after the Reds apology

Welcome to my Ted Talk on why Jackson would feel empty after the apology despite seeming like he was very much moved by it

•I'll try to keep this analysis strickly before the apology [chapters 78-79] which in other words mean that Harry's role as exer's father won't be included in the jealousy[first] section of this post.

So first of all Jackson's feelings about exer are OBVIOUSLY complicated and that is especially shown in s3 where he can't tell if he cares about exer or want him to suffer and I, liu took it upon myself to deep dive into his emotions and explain it in 3 points

1) jealousy

He's both jealous of- and over exer

A) his jealousy of exer

Nobody discards exer after finding out the truth. They all support him despite of his previous actions and lies and I think Jackson is very bitter about this

He's bitter that after everything exer's done he's still very loved and supported

Now Jackson is obviously loved and supported too by the people around him but they don't know the full story about what happened at Halloween and what he said to exer before exer almost told the whole school about his magic

They don't know how much Jackson really pushed exer and Jackson doesn't want them to know because he knows he's horrible for these things and doesn't think he'd be as loved and supported if they found out

And that's a major reason why he would be so jealous of exer

B) He's jealous over exer

Exer is well loved and supported his friends know about his magic and are helping him very well, he's doing perfectly fine emotionally and mentally and doesn't need Jackson's help

If you pay DEEP attention you might notice that Jackson to an extent weirdly is protective of exer specifically for some reason that is probably magic related

The story doesn't acknowledge it and it can be glossed over and chalked to him being nice in s1, manipulative in s2 and start of s3 till he finally admits it with himself that he doesn't want exer to suffer

In s1 Jackson is basically following exer like a lost puppy, he constantly asks exer if he's ok only to be pushed away every time

And again that can be chalked to him being nice but his breaking point being that exer refused his help rather POLITELY before turning rude because of Jackson pushing him to accept his help

And then when he asks exer if he's fine after seeing him cry despite them fighting for like 2 weeks only to be bitter when he sees the group hugging and comforting exer and he responds in the pettiest way possible which is to kiss brenda- and look exer IN THE EYES WHILE DOING IT?

Of course there's the factor that he's lowkey obsessed with people liking him but he honestly doesn't need to genuinely care for exer if he just wants to get along (i.e., liked). And it is rather specific that this was the scene that really made him step to his lowest level

But hey, this is s1 Jackson it's not like he'd still care about exer after their fight, right?

He probably feels a bit guilty in s3.

I mean, it's not like he's going as far as to let himself get hurt for exer's sake don't be silly!

Oh look, he's doing exactly that!

2) he feels invalidated

The reds forgave exer, Pamela forgave exer, everyone forgave exer for all of his actions and think Jackson should hear him out EVEN his new friends -the detention kids- think that he should hear exer out

And here's the thing, Jackson has always been secretive about his own emotions and feelings, he's used to bottle up so his feelings aren't a burden to anyone else

Ever since day1 he never want anyone to know that he was stressed

So picture this. You're used to not tell others about your feelings but when you feel safe enough to talk about them to someone (the detention kids) and they (semi) side with the person who's caused you these negative emotions in the first place and tell you that you should hear him out.

When Jackson told them that he doesn't like the reds because of something the first response he got was a "we met them and they seem nice"

Now Jackson was kinda wrong in how he acted with the reds (and especially Brenda)

but the dikds don't know that; they don't know the reds and their relationship with Jackson they only talked to them like twice so that comment feels....disrespectful and discarding to Jackson's personal experience

It doesn't feel like the dikds are telling Jackson to hear exer out because it's good for him it feels like they're saying this because they like the reds and want to be friends with them from how fondly they speak of people they again don't know

Jackson realizes this and use it as a lie when he tells them why he chose exer to work on that project together

His friends want to befriend the people he dislikes, pamela already befriended the people he dislikes

Everyone wants to be friends and are constantly saying or hinting at it to him

The only thing standing in the way is HIM and his emotions

Suddenly his feelings that he JUST started feeling safe enough to explore are burdensome to others

He doesn't feel safe enough to explore his emotions because everyone are making him feel like he's just being difficult and making a deal out of nothing

3) he misses exer and thinks it's one sided

Now this ties with the section on his jealousy over exer

Jackson thinks about exer more than he likes

Be it anger care or longing, exer is on his mind more than he thinks he should be. While exer? Exer is doing perfectly fine, he has his friends and all the support he needs and there's absolutely no reason on why he'd ever think about Jackson smith

We know this isn't true and exer misses Jackson badly too but these two are so dysfunctional they don't know they both care and miss each other more than anyone would ever really know

Jackson feels upset when he sees how much better exer is with his friends while exer too feels bad when he sees Jackson happy with Elijah

(and much less obvious when he meets the dkids at cup o cat)

To Jackson and literally everyone else the reason why exer cares about him so much is some petty guilt

To everyone else the reason why Jackson would think about exer alot is because he's hurt by him

They don't consider that there are other factors

It's hard to think about someone who moved on from you; It makes you feel like your experience (and in that case, friendship too) wasn't all that important and you're silly for thinking about them so much still

And with the previous notes this only makes it more confusing for Jackson

[azaharinflames]

For me I don’t think Lou is some little uwu that needs defending. However I do not see how you can have someone you know getting heinous death threats and just…..say nothing? I’ve seen random people on the internet defend their moots better than this show defends their actors. Idk I know if I had a coworker who was getting harassed, I would be saying something but maybe that’s not everyone. As well I have been feeling this way for a long time with how the reoccurring love interests get treated on this show so it doesn’t start and stop with Lou.

Hi, Nonnie! Thanks for the ask.

I have to agree with you, which is why I say I won't lie and say I like how no one said a thing.

There is a part of my brain, a bit more cold-minded, that tries to remind me that we don't know the full extent, that perhaps the support was shown in real life and that maybe even Lou didn't want the hate to be brought up. At the end of the day we don't know, and I don't want to assume. And I also remember what they always say about not bringing attention to the hate, because that's like fueling the fire almost.

However. I think there comes a time where there needs to be an exception to the rule. A line that, if it's ever crossed, it should be brought up.

Sorry for putting yet another example, but in the Percy Jackson fandom, there is a pretty good one. When they cast Annabeth, previously described in the books as a white, blonde girl, and the actress was Leah Jeffries, a young woman of color (back then a young teenager), the outrage was insane. Leah is literally perfect as Annabeth, yet she was constantly attacked (and still is). And you know what? They stood by her. The author of the saga continually defends her and his choice to have her play Annabeth.

And it's not about race in this particular case, but we're talking about harassment, being called slurs, and being sent death threats, for God's sake. I understand not wanting too much attention on the issue, I understand not wanting chaos, but I also think many, many lines were crossed.

And I believe that if nothing is done in these cases, the only thing they're achieving is cultivating a very toxic community and environment. A warning in the IG comments does next to nothing. Moderating does next to nothing. And it's like you said, it isn't just Lou, they've done this to nearly all LIs, and they will continue to do this until the show ends.

911 should've called out this issue long ago, in my opinion, and I think now they're at a point where they honestly don't know what to do about it because they've let it grow too damn big.

Anyway, sorry for ranting again. My inbox is open for anyone who wants to rant, vent, or discuss something <3

[traintrainingmontage]

Edward Appreciation Essay: The Choice to Be Kind

I was hoping to have this done as a 50-follower (and birthday!) milestone, but as always, life's chaos has gotten in the way. However, it IS here just in time for the Thomas TV series' 40th anniversary!! Happy Birthday, Thomas!! With that milestone in mind, let's get to it.

In much the same vein as my Skarloey Appreciation Essay, I'd like to point out something that I genuinely love about Edward, and that is his conscious choice to be kind, even when he's been mistreated by others. There's plenty of kind characters--Percy immediately comes to mind, as well as Henry (although his kindness varies depending on the depiction), Toby (to an extent), Duck, the Scottish Twins, and others. However, for Edward, kindness is one of his defining traits, especially a kindness that not only bolsters him in the face of adversity from outsiders and "friends" alike, but is a quality that he chooses to feed and fall back on, even when so many others would give in to their less generous inclinations. Please note that although I'm celebrating the anniversary of the TV series, this analysis is primarily based off of the Railway Series, since it's what I'm most familiar with. I'm also not going to focus on famous stories, such as Old Iron and Edward's Exploit, for this particular analysis.

I think there's a lot to be said for Edward's forbearance in terms of dealing with people being rude to him. He's not interested in getting even with other engines or rubbing their misfortune in their faces. He doesn't even ignore them! Instead, he continues to be kind and to be friendly, greeting everyone he sees and helping out those who need help, and in the end, continues to come out on top by choosing to not hold a grudge the way so many others on the railway do.

What motivates this particular choice, though? I'm hardly the first to speculate on why Edward is the way he is, and others have done and will do far deeper analyses on this point than me, but nonetheless, I'll offer a few ideas. In the context of the TTTE universe, I think that part of Edward's kindness simply stems from being old, wise, and experienced. He's seen engines come and go, and his class replaced and was replaced by another. The engines that are so proud of themselves now will find themselves in his wheels eventually. Plus, it's quite likely that Edward knew of engines who were replaced and eventually scrapped; back then, it wasn't the terrifying thing that it became later in the series because it followed the idea of engines simply living out their full and natural lives. Scrapping and modernization became such threats because even engines who hadn't lived out their service lives were being withdrawn and scrapped, and an early death is much more terrifying to engines than death itself.

But Edward's experience aside, he's well-versed in yard politics. If he causes trouble, then that won't make him friends with either other engines or the management. Edward has, in a sense, been abandoned for being a shy steamer, and unlike the others who are here on trial, this is his home now. They may be being rude to him in his own home, but whining and whinging will get him nowhere, and he's learned that lesson well from watching countless upstart engines be put in their place or live long enough as kings to eventually lose their crowns. He knows he's older, that he's almost lived up to the end of his expected service life, so all he can do is put on a brave face and do his best to prove that he's Useful still.

Outside of the book's context, Edward's character feels very much like an ideal of the upstanding Christian, which makes sense given Awdry's profession. Edward consistently turns the other cheek when people are cruel or rude to him. He stands up for himself through his deeds rather than giving in to anger. And that's a very important lesson to teach young children; being good and kind individuals leads to much better outcomes down the line. Edward feels like an intentional role model by which Awdry could deliver these stories to his son, and keep him as an interesting protagonist who taught important lessons about the importance of being kind and persevering through and despite adversity from both one's friends and family and outsiders. Many of us see Edward as a role model, as someone to aspire to, for this very reason.

The first example of Edward's kindness comes up in the very first story of the Railway Series. The coaches ask Edward to "not bump and bang [them] like the other engines do" (Edward's Day Out). And Edward obliges! He comes up to them "very, very gently" and takes them along. They're so grateful that they say they're glad he's the one who took them out. At the end of the story, he does have a moment where he tells the other engines: "I'm going out again tomorrow[;] what do you think of that?" (Edward's Day Out). Admittedly, this could be seen as slightly snarky, but I think it's moreso coming from a place of genuine excitement and wonder, like "Wow! Finally! Finally, I got to go out, and tomorrow, I get to do it again!" It doesn't feel malicious so much as wanting to share his joy with the others, mostly because he falls asleep right after. If he actually cared about their opinions or being right, he likely would have stayed up to hear them.

In the next story, Edward helps Gordon up the hill, and naturally, is not thanked by Gordon himself, but rather, his driver decides he'll ensure that Edward gets a nice new coat of paint in thanks for his hard work. It's quite clear though that Edward didn't help Gordon out of any expectation of a reward, or even a thank you. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and the driver noticed that. But an even better example of Edward's kindness being notable is in the next book.

After Henry is shut up in the tunnel for being vain, Gordon teases Henry about it, and Edward does not. This is pretty significant because it's rather likely that Henry was one of the engines teasing Edward in the first story:

It's quite likely that that's Henry on the left, there, with Gordon being on the second to right, next to Edward. Plus, looking at all of their smiles compared to Edward's distress, it's clear that Edward is the butt of the joke and everybody's laughing. Thus, it makes it all the more satisfying when Henry and Edward work together to pull the express, and Henry is rewarded with a new coat of paint. He wants a blue and red one, as then, he says, "I'll be like Edward" (Edward, Gordon and Henry). It's just delightful to see how Henry, who had also been unkind to Edward, now strives to be more like him due to acknowledging and seeing the kindness and grace that Edward has shown him even when Edward truly didn't have to. Edward, I think, is much more interested in making friends than remembering faults, and seeing this happen is just proof that his efforts are starting to bear fruit. What he's been doing matters. His kindness has begun paying off. And I think that this is more than enough to prove to him that his efforts AREN'T in vain. That choosing kindness will work. Edward has never been one to shy away from hard work, and this proves that it's both working and worth it.

Now, there's also times when Edward's kindness doesn't particularly help the recipient, and such an example comes in the form of the tale Thomas and the Trucks. Thomas wants to do something other than shunt, so Edward offers to let him take some trucks. However, Thomas doesn't know anything about trucks, and disregards Edward's advice about managing them. Perhaps it was irresponsible of Edward to allow Thomas to take the trucks--it could very well be a lapse in judgement that came about from wanting to do a favor for a younger colleague. However, I would also argue that Edward may not have known that Thomas had never dealt with trucks. When Edward offers, Thomas gives an enthusiastic yes. Plus, Edward clearly takes trucks to and from Barrow (he mentions that he's "got some trucks to take home tomorrow" in Thomas and the Trucks) and in the context of the story, it sounds like Edward isn't always at the same sheds that Thomas is at. Thus, he likely just didn't know that Thomas had no experience with trucks, and did indeed think that he was doing Thomas a solid. The Fat Director not being mad at Edward for his role in the mess also supports this; if he really felt Edward was at fault in any way, he wouldn't have given him compliments.

I think that a lot of the fandom also sleeps on James and the Top-Hat and Troublesome Trucks as great James and Edward stories. While it's true that James the Red Engine is often considered one of W. Awdry's worst, there's still some good moments to be gleaned from it. In the first story, James and Edward double-head a train as James has to get used to working on the railway. He gets steam all over the Fat Director's new hat and immediately wants to run away from his problems, urging Edward and his coaches on so that he can outrace consequences. He gets so overzealous that he accidentally overshoots the station, and he and Edward have to back up. Despite this, and his worsening mood, Edward is encouraging, getting them both up Gordon's Hill, and even tells him a story that causes him to laugh so hard he gets hiccups. Of course, James has to deal with the Fat Director's anger in the end, but it's clear that working with Edward, at least for a little while, brought him some comfort and relief. In Troublesome Trucks, when the coupling snaps on some of James's trucks and he has to figure out how to proceed, Edward offers help, but James refuses, wanting to do it himself. Edward then offers him encouragement throughout it all, and when James finally succeeds, is rewarded for his efforts by the Fat Director. This is an excellent start to James and Edward's friendship, which continues to deepen with time and makes their relationship in future stories such as Old Iron feel that much more organic. James comes onto the NWR as having messed up, by having a fiery debut that lands him in a field, and as seen in other stories, suffers from Gordon and Henry's derision as a result. It's my opinion that with this foundation, Edward's kindness is keenly felt and appreciated, even subconsciously, and pays off in dividends as the series progresses.

From the earliest point in their relationship, Edward is encouraging and kind, seeing James's attitude as a deep, genuine desire to do well and fear of being unable to live up to expectations. Edward knows those feelings! He's felt them keenly himself! And this is another reason why he chooses kindness: Edward has developed a keen eye for people (and engines). He has a good sense of how they're feeling, and why they may be acting the way they do. He can empathize with a lot of what everyone's going through, and that also makes it easier to choose kindness. After all, none of these engines are truly bad people. They can be arrogant and stubborn, but that comes with youth and prestige more than anything, and Edward has seen plenty of that smoothed away with time.

The last example I'll give is that of Edward and Skarloey in Skarloey Remembers. Edward knows Skarloey well, from bringing him passengers way back when, and seeing him looking worse for wear in an open-sided shed, stops to talk to him. He invites Skarloey to talk about his line and just reminisce for a while, because he knows that's what the other needs. Not to mention that he and Skarloey are on the same page about a lot of things; it's nice talking to a fellow older engine who just gets it. It's also very telling that Edward was chosen to introduce Skarloey and the Skarloey Railway; he's the best listener and it makes sense that he would have history with Skarloey. Just by listening and being invested in other engines' lives and things that they care about is he able to make genuine and meaningful connections with other engines, because Edward has learned that by listening to people, people will generally start also listening to you. It's another subtle expression of kindness that helps him connect with others and be part of their lives, and I get the sense that's really what Edward wants.

Part of Edward's idea of feeling Useful is not being lonely. He knows what loneliness is. He felt it when the Furness abandoned him on Sodor by selling him for cheap and essentially telling him to not bother coming home. He knows the shape of loneliness from staring at the other engines coming and going, never being chosen, his boiler cold. And so, when he sees other engines at their lowest, at their loneliest, when they feel foolish and without any support, he extends his kindness. He extends his empathy and support. He has been there, and wouldn't wish the same on any other engine. And he has seen how kindness pays off--perhaps not in the short term, but always in the long run. Edward's wisdom comes from one who has seen and experienced too much, and has worked hard to receive the love that he has. The world may be cruel to humans and engines alike, but that's what makes Edward's choice to be kind all the more meaningful--his kindness is given freely and rewarded handsomely, in ways both big and small.

Edward reminds us of what it means to be at our best. And it is that which makes Edward stand out for so many of us, 40 years on, as the kind of person we want to be some day.

Happy birthday, Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends, and a very, very happy birthday to you, Edward <3 Dry rails, and good running!!

[akirathedramaqueen]

Did the crowd's hatred outmatch Blitzø's?

Christ on a stick indeed, Blitzø.

This question, which our beloved imp had kindly raised himself, has been bothering me since the 'Apology Tour' came out.

I've seen plenty posts speculating on this topic, and it's not going to be a super unique take, I admit, but I would still like to think aloud about what that party really symbolizes.

Is it the true extent of Blitzø's tendencies to hurt anyone who dares to reach too close? Or was it exaggerated by Verosika?

Let's see what evidence we have on hand and make some assumptions about what that could mean.

A quick note of appreciation before be begin: I sincerely admire the amount of work done on detailing the crowd at the Halloween party. Just look at the progress in animation they've made since the 'Queen Bee' episode! From animating three-four people max to drawing almost each character separately, and giving basic movements to many of them.

(tumblr, your 10mb gif restriction sucks ass. I struggled to show just how good these animations are with such a limited size)

Wow, my hat's down, I am in awe.

But okie, let's go.

The avoidance

It would be silly to deny that Blitzø has issues forming meaningful, deep connections. He is afraid of affection, of love. We've seen this with Stolas. We've seen how hurtful, brash, and aggressive he becomes when offered vulnerability and feelings, how deep his distorted view of the world runs. During the Full Moon tryst, he is so terrified that he is completely deaf to what has actually been said, and he lashes out violently, scorching everyting along the way.

We also know Blitzø is extremely horny and finds comfort in sex, while being too scared of emotional attachment and craving it just as much. Given this, is it really surprising to see more people affected by his demeanor?

Take Verosika, for instance. He dumped her by running off after she confessed her love, leaving her to pay for a hotel room, stealing her car, running three Rings to Wrath, and maxing out her credit card on shitty horse riding lessons.

Then there are some people we don’t know who are visibly destroyed by their time with Blitzø. We know nothing about them, but simply observing their distress and Blitzø’s reactions is enough to draw conclusions.

We can endlessly sympathize with Blitzø. We understand what he has been through, why he behaves the way he does, and how much he still suffers. However, this does not give him a carte blanche to ruin the lives of those around him. The show does not glorify him as a poor, misunderstood figure—instead, it poignantly exposes how insensitive he has been to other people's feelings, and shoves it in his face immediately after he damages another relationship that, as we know, he actually held dear.

I mean, from some points of view, even Dennis, who only made out with Blitzø, could justifiably be deeply offended and scarred by his insults...

...

...

...

Wait... fucking DENNIS is here?

The hatred

Okay, something doesn’t add up. This was supposed to be a party for those whose hearts were broken, not for whiny bitches who couldn’t handle one little insult that’s quite common in Hell’s environment!

Ugh, thanks, Dennis. Now we need to untangle the other side of the mess, because it’s clearly not so one-dimensional anymore. But fuck you still, you fucking suck (affectionate <3 you actually slay).

So, what’s going on? Let’s take another look at the crowd.

For starters, Tex, baby, what are you doing here? Didn’t you say her beef ain't yours? Why the fuck are you involved? Did she pay you to be a backup for Stolas and passionately repeat 'motherfucker,' referring to someone who arguably did nothing wrong to you?

And aren’t those succubi and incubi from Verosika’s Spring Break entourage? Lads and lasses, did Blitzø fuck up your bleeding hearts too, or are you just hanging out at the same places as Verosika?

Fucking Wally selling hate merch? Blitzø, look at me—do you remember him in your bed? Or, maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t give two shits and is just capitalizing on a quick profit opportunity?

Blitzø doesn’t remember everyone from that party; he admitted that at the very beginning of our discussion. He recognizes some of them though, but doesn’t act particularly sorry...

As much as I’m willing to believe and admire Blitzø’s stamina to fuck that many people, I don’t think he’s had enough weekends in his adult life to meet, charm, have intercourse with, and dump all of them. The math just isn't adding up.

But he never questions whether the crowd was genuinely hurt by him or if they just came as someone’s friend or to participate in a thrilling experience of hating on someone they might not even know. Hey, those piñatas, darts, and fire pits look quite fun, don’t they? It almost seems like they don’t care about the implications—literally bullying someone and taking joy in it.

So, could Verosika be a little too obsessed with building the image of Blitzø as an irredeemable, ruthless, and atrocious imp, to the point of letting just about anyone in to exaggerate the extent of the real issue? Perhaps even doing it quite intentionally?

What the actual hell?

Before you get lost in my elaborate attempts to make my point, let me draw three conclusions from what we’ve seen.

Conclusion one: Both statements are true.

We’ve learned that not everyone in the crowd was hurt by Blitzø. However, even if we narrow it down to just the confirmed cases—six in total (Stolas, Verosika, two crying demons, and two demons Blitzø acknowledged before insulting them again)—it’s still a significant number. It’s enough to start questioning Blitzø and encourage him to change, as this harmful tendency leads to nothing good. For Stolas's sake and for his own, too.

Conclusion two: Blitzø entirely belongs to this party.

His spiky, insufferable attitude he shows to others is actually, from some point of view, this:

He is so adamant that he doesn’t deserve love that he deems all the affection shown to him as a lie. So he pushes away, snarls, insults, and attacks. Because how dare you love such a monster? This can’t be true; this is wrong!

It is himself whom his hatred is directed toward.

He should be an honorary guest at this party, a fucking star invitee. No one can fucking beat him in the craft of hating on himself.

And the crowd, which he didn’t even attempt to challenge, is just a showcase of what he thinks he is. It represents what he actually isn’t, considering we’ve proven that some of the people there have nothing to do with him. It’s an exaggerated, untrue reflection of his worst ideas about himself.

Conclusion three: Verosika's obsession with bullying Blitzø is unhealthy.

Yes, even considering her good intentions to help those who suffered because of him.

Just as the crowd reveals Blitzø’s extent of self-loathing, it also highlights her inability to move on and the persona she has created for herself. She is wholly engulfed in it.

While we now understand her point of view and where she is coming from, it doesn’t excuse her for organizing the bully party, stalking Blitzø and his partners… Seriously, how invested do you have to be to learn about the breakup after just one night? Or to even know who your ex of 5+ years (allegedly, we don’t know for sure) dated to begin with?

Lady, you need to put away your booze and get yourself together. He acted horribly, no doubt, but the effort you’re putting into trying to prove he’s a motherfucker just isn’t worth it.

This isn’t the solution. People are either still hurt or just enjoy hating on Blitzø, but they are simmering in hatred nonetheless.

They are not healing, and neither is Verosika.

A closing note (yay?)

TL;DR (should be at the beginning, really, but who cares): Everyone in this show needs some fucking therapy. Mental health sucks ass in Hell (wonder why?). And bullying also sucks. Don’t be bullies. Thanks.

Okay, class, put away your notebooks and put down your pencils. The homework will be to find some anti—and... why the excited, shimmery eyes? *gasp* No, don’t bully them. Have you learned nothing from what I've said? Move on. Block them. Because #stolitz will be canon, and nothing will change that, so let them whine somewhere else.

Thanks for your attention! <3

[sister-of-hitoshi]

Begging on my hands and knees for a Warumono san x small chubby reader who has body image issues PLEASE- like he doesn't understand why humans feel so saddened about their bodies sometimes, or why they think skinny people look so attractive???((I'm going off the idea that for his alien culture, it's very much akin to Sparta types of likes and stuff, ie: everyone wants to be the strongest in order to serve their planet and help.))

To my lovely anon, this is my first ever ask!!! Thank you so much for having faith in me with your request (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) I hope it's alright ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Sending loads of love your way<33

...You love me more??!!

Genre: Slight angst, fluff

Character: Warumono-san/Mr villain

Warnings: Body image issues ahead! Please love yourself <33

It was a regular day-off date at a nice cafe.

A regular day of admiring this tall and handsome man who had taken pity on your state a few days back and started to temporarily date with you.

Yes.....That's what you explained to yourself. There could be no other explanation.

It was just another day.

Another regular day of self-loathing.

You were never happy about yourself. At your home, you had even put some translucent sheets over your big wardrobe mirror as some sort of barricade which deterred you from seeing your full figure. You didn't care if you couldn't properly see which dress was more flattering on you, it was better than seeing your ugly, unflattering self. Yes...ugly.... unflattering...

"...There's no way that this hot guy would actually be in love with me." You muttered to yourself absent-mindedly, the other half of your brain busy admiring his sharp feautures. You were never going to believe that he was actually in love with you. You knew your place.

But what you didn't know was the extent of Mr hot guy's love for you.

For he was even willing to choose you over his lovely pandas.

Even though it had only been a little while, he became so open to you about almost everything- well everything except for his job and identity which were classified information. You were so soft to hug, just the right size for him to squeeze his chest when patting your head or booping your nose. You were just way too adorable. So much so that imagining you in a panda onesie was enough to make him cough up whatever food he was having at that moment and roll on the ground back at his home.

Right now at this quaint little cafe, as both of you were lost in thought about the other, you didn't fail to notice how his face suddenly became all serious as he scrunched up his brows.

Well it looks like even he's disgusted now.

He was about to say something when you beat him to it.

"I'll excuse myself to the washroom."

You didn't wait for his response and hurried away.

"Of course", you said to yourself. "Of fucking course."

You loved him so much, you were so scared that he was actually going to bring up his disinterest in you at the table, so you excused yourself first.

Your fist slammed beside the sink.

A coward. That's what you were.

"I knew it from the start... that's why I didn't try to love him too much but...what can I do when he's so good with me?..." You bit your lip hard, the air felt nauseous. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Why did he have to be so attractive and kind..."

It seems even your tears were mocking you, for they were fat, full of the weight of your misery.

"I hate myself, and I love him, and I hate that he has to date such a miserable looking person like myself"

With tears rolling down your cheeks and you using your hand to wipe your face to no avail, you turned around to leave the washroom and fetch some tissue papers from the dispenser. Seems like you couldn't even wipe off these ugly tears.

But before you could even comprehend it, you were swiftly hugged by strong, large arms.

"Y/n....what happened?"

A man with his familiar deep, soothing voice, voiced out his worry. This made you cry harder.

Mr villain felt akward, he didn't know how to comfort his favourite earthling who was crying like this infront of him, so he did what he thought calmed him the most when he was feeling stressed. He hugged you and patted your head.

"Oh it's nothing....But it's okay if you want to stop now....I know we are together only temporarily and I know too that...you don't really like this ugly unflattering thing that is me-"

"Y/n what are you saying?" He shook you by the shoulders. This was one of those very rare times when he was swiftly losing his composure. But he knew that he needed to comfort you right now. You are his top priority.

"You're my favourite. I love you..........even more than I love pandas"

Wait- wait what?

"No no- wait- pandas are your favourite, even a kid who sees you for the first time will get it... And you're telling me you love me more??!!"

You fake-gasped and started laughing a bit, finding it really absurd but more unbelievable.

He was glad that your tears that stopped now, and that he had internally taken snapshots of your face and saved them to his memory. He means- you looked so adorable even when crying. His poor heart could only take so much.

Deciding now was the best time, he confronted you.

"I heard everything Y/n."

His deep voice ran through your being, making you shiver. Your immediately became tensed. He noticed this. He only held you tighter.

"I really love you a lot, and I love hugging you too. Why would the way your body looks really affect my love? I love you for who you are"

You immediately looked up at him, and the sincerity in his eyes was enough to break all the bars of negativity that were caging you in.

"I appreciate that you like me too, so please accept that I love you, both you and your body, and I want you to love yourself the way I love you" He continued to look at you through his bangs, until he suddenly turned away from you.

"Iloveyourcuteness"

"Hmm? What was that? Can you please repeat it?" You were trying to lighten up the situation now, so you playfully pleaded him with those big doe eyes that always made him kneel and pull on his bangs even he even thought about them.

"I love your cuteness... you're adorable. The perfect size for me to hug and p-perfect for a kiss-"

You brought him down by the shoulders and kissed him on the nose.

He became so blushy, his eyes became glossy, he was so awkward and genuine, your love for him grew tenfold, while his for you grew manifold.

It seems that everything that you had claimed to know about your situation was entirely wrong. But this was a wrong that felt right.

___________________________________________

"So why were you scrunching up your brows at me and making a serious face back then? I thought I had offended you...haha, sorry if that's the case though" you said, looking at him bashfully while scratching your cheek.

"You don't need to be sorry, it was just me trying to imagine you with a panda costume...sort of"

"Oh."

The response did little to conceal your vibrant blush. You internally screamed and kicked your feet, he was soooo cute being all mumbly and blushy, you'd definitely make it a point to surprise him with it later, heheh!

Well looks like you'll have to say 'bye-bye' to those sheets now.