#blubbering weeping sobbing like a baby
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darlingjmiller · 2 years ago
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“I won’t have peace. I’ll be worried about you all the time.”
“That’s just love.”
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rintoki · 10 months ago
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kaveh
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livwritesstuff · 7 months ago
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When Steve returns with Hazel from one of her evening dance classes, Hazel is crying.
Eddie hears it from all the way upstairs and she’s still crying when Eddie makes his way down to greet them and sees that Steve is balancing her on one arm as she sobs into the collar of his t-shirt, her little dance bag slung over his other shoulder.
Steve looks like he’s trying very hard to ignore Hazel’s ongoing weeping, which probably means that whatever she’s upset about isn’t exactly a new issue.
“Hazel!” Eddie exclaims, lifting her chin off of Steve’s shoulder so he can get a look at her face, “What’s wrong, baby?”
Hazel doesn’t manage to get out much more than, “Papa didn’t –” before she devolves into blubbering tears again.
“Papa?” Eddie repeats as he pulls Hazel into his arms, “What’d Papa do to my Hazy-Jay that's making her so upset?”
He says it all dramatic and grandiose because it usually makes Hazel laugh. Not today though, and Steve fixes him with a look that says please don’t make this worse than it already is, so…a swing and a miss on all fronts.
Oh well.
“What the hell happened?” he tried again, directing the question at Steve this time (and in his normal voice).
“Uh,” Steve starts, “Yeah, she’s all kinds of mad at me because I didn’t pull over and stop traffic on a highway off-ramp to let a family of ducks cross over to the reservoir.
Eddie blinked.
Okay, so maybe he can sort of understand Steve’s dilemma.
Hazel has always loved animals, but ever since she was tall enough to see out the windshield, she’d become somewhat of a wildlife protection sergeant in the way her eyes were always peeled for little (and not-so-little) critters that could be in need of assistance. It��s not like Eddie hadn’t been braking for animals before, but if there was a turtle on the side of the road, he probably just carefully detoured around it.
Not anymore.
Now they’re pulling over on the side of the road and helping it get across safely, which is fine, obviously. It’s just not always possible, like on the highway at seven o’clock at night.
Their four-and-a-half-year-old daughter might not be able to see the nuance there quite yet.
“So are they…” Eddie trailed off.
“Let’s change the subject, please.”
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anonsturniolo · 5 months ago
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Brattamer!matt x fem!reader headcannons ✧₊⁺
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who isn’t afraid to put you in your place, anytime, anywhere. You cop an attitude in the mall while he’s paying for your stuff? You’re in the family bathroom bent over his lap tears filling your waterline.
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who withholds attention from you until you’re a blubbering sobbing mess.
“Matt!” You cry, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. You tug on his arm, lifting a hand to his face when that doesn’t work. You turn his head so he has no choice but to look at you, “I-I’m s-sorry.” You hiccup through your tears, but Matt just looks at you.
Your frown deepens at getting no reaction from him, “P-please talk t-to me.” You whimper, grabbing his hand and holding it to your face, seeking comfort.
He waits a few minutes to let you let out a few more sobs, “You gonna be a good girl f’me?” He rasps, a small grin on his lips as your eyes shoot open and you begin to rapidly nod your head.
“I-I’ll do a-anything!” You desperately cry, shifting to sit on your knees on the bed next to him.
He rolls his shoulders, his dark and menacing gaze fixated on you, “Get on my knees.”
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who is very possessive over you. He doesn’t let you go more than 5 feet away from him when the two of you are out, sending glares at any man that looks at you for even a split second. You don’t think this is controlling though, he just wants to keep what’s his safe.
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who mixes praises with degrading phrases within the bedroom.
“Doing so good f’me.” He groans, watching his fingers thrust into your weeping entrance. Your hips buck as he slows his pace, pressing a hand to your hip to keep you flat on the bed.
“Trying to fuck my fingers into you faster? You’re such a slut.” Tears well in your eyes, but your pussy clenches around his fingers at his vulgar words. “Mhm, your pussy belongs to me.”
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who loves to overstimulate you, see how many orgasms he can give you until you’re using your safe word. The record so far is 9.
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who can give you a look that has you clenching your thighs and blushing heavily at the thought of what’s to come once you two get home.
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who fingers you at dinner with his friends because he thought you were being too friendly with the waiter.
“Matt.” You quietly mumble, doing your best to speak normally as his fingers stretch you out underneath the table.
Matt kisses his teeth, “This is what you wanted, remember?” He angrily spits at you, keeping his voice low. His thumb brushes your clit and your hips rock against his hand pathetically. “Shoulda kept your damn mouth shut.”
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who’s excellent at aftercare. He knows to baby you for a while after a rather heavy session in the bedroom. He never wants you to feel like he doesn’t love you to pieces. Matt always runs you a bath, sitting in the tub with you while he washes your hair and body. He dresses you and puts your hair in braids as usually do so yourself when you wash your hair before bed. He’s always mumbling praises and sweet things in your ears until you drift off.
♡ྀི brattamer!matt who goes absolutely off the walls insane when you surprise him with a tattoo on your ass.
“Close your eyes!” You giggle excitedly, and Matt does exactly that. You had snuck out of his room early this morning, and turned off your location to go to the tattoo shop 15 minutes away from his house.
He was livid when he woke up to you being gone and your location turned off.
“This better fucking be worth the punishment you’re about to get.” He grumbles from the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees. You roll your eyes while his are closed, knowing you’d get in even more trouble if he saw you do it.
You turn around so your back is to him, lifting up your tennis skirt on one side. You twist your back to peer down at it, admiring the tiny ‘M’ written in cursive.
“Open.” You slyly speak, watching his face. His eyes peel open, and immediately go to your ass. His jaw drops open in shock, his hands immediately going to your soft flesh of your back side.
“Are you serious?” He asks, a little too calmly for your liking.
“Mhm.” You hum, watching as he leans closer for a better look. His fingers gently brush over the tender skin, and you can’t help but think the pain feels so good.
“On all fours.” He finally groans, and once he stands you’re surprised to see the tent that grew in his pants. Let’s just say you beat your record.
brattamer!matt who secretly loves missionary because that means he gets to watch your face while he absolutely ruins you.
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sports-on-sundays · 1 year ago
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It kills me to see all the requested: nope! In your fanfics
How about, reader struggles to sleep due to the stress of her work & travelling so he comforts her and helps her sleep? I’ll take any f1 driver or barca player.
help me sleep / Pedri González
Summary: Pedri x girlfriend!reader
Warnings: censored cussing, sobbing, work problems, stress, anxiety
Requested?: YEs! yEs!!!!! YES, MATE, IT IS REQUESTED!!!!
Author's Note: First request, baby!!! I love you so much bestie! <3 I'm so happy you saw my subtle-not-subtle begs for requests 😭!!! And I hope it's okay I chose Pedri; the other day I was having major I-Miss-Pedri syndrome that we've all been having for the past however many months (I don't even want to think about how long it has been) so I decided as a tribute to my boy, the first request on my blog should be him.
I say 'tribute' as if he's dead or something 😭
I feel like I'm acting way too excited about this request for it to be normal, but that's okay! I'm happy, and I owe it all to you! Now, let's get into this-
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock went the clock on the wall. That stupid old clock that wasn't even set to the right time. You sat on the living room couch, at 2:34 A.M., dealing with work sh*t.
You walked in this evening, feeling ready to literally collapse, and was greeted by your boyfriend as the welcoming committee. It was sweet. He had bought you your favorite treat and flowers and everything and let you snack on it. Had a little snuggle with you. And the moment you stood up, telling him you had to unpack from your long work trip, he pulled you back down on the couch. "No way," he had said. "You're tired. Your bags can wait 'til tomorrow. For now, just relax."
And he really had convinced you. He really had. Soon after that, you had gone to your bedroom and gotten snuggled in together, and within minutes, you were fast asleep.
Only to wake up three hours later. You stared at the ceiling for a solid fifteen minutes, unable to fall back asleep as the stress of work and everything you hadn't gotten done and needed to get done crushed you.
Realizing there was no chance of you falling back to sleep now, you slipped out of bed as slowly as you could, as to not wake up your boyfriend, and quietly walked (or rather, stumbled, because of the extreme lack of sleep) to the living room.
And so now you sit on the couch, barely alive, feeling like a lump on a log but on steroids, dealing with work sh*t.
Suddenly, you get a message from one of your co-workers, though. Bad news... You click on it, and in the moment, with everything you've already gone through within the last seventy-two hours, this is enough.
You swallow, your phone slipping out of your hands. I'm trying so hard. How could my job be on the line? Your head falls into your hands, and you let out a angry groan, letting out quick, little breaths.
God, I can't do this. I can't do this anymore. I need help. Please, I need help. I just can't keep doing this any longer. I can't do this anymore.
Your eyes well up, and that turns into a tear. And that tear turns into another one. And those tears turn into crying. And crying into weeping. Tired, pathetic, pitiful weeping, until you're flat-out sobbing, unable to control it. The world spins as another glowing text comes in on your phone on the rug and your laptop shows more emails and the bags in the corner of the room are still full of your things from the work trip and and and and and...
Suddenly, strong, warm arms around your trembling body. You lean into your boyfriend's body, blubbering between gasps, "Pedri you weren't supposed to wake up... I know you're going through a lot too... I don't want to stress you out... I'm sorry..."
"Shhh," he soothes, rubbing your back. "Do you really think you're on your own? My love, we help and love each other. You can be vulnerable. I know it's hard. Don't you think for a second that I don't want to help you."
"This isn't your problem..."
"Your problem is my problem, because I love you," he mutters close to your ear. He gently closes your laptop and powers off your phone. "You don't need to worry about that right now."
"Pedri-" You grip his shirt, looking at him slightly manically. "Yes I do. I could lose my job."
His jaw tightens, but he says, "What you're doing is impossible. If you lose your job because it's too hard, then maybe you shouldn't be in this job. And it's not because you're a failure. It's because you're expected to do much more than anyone should be able to handle. If you lose your job, I'll be the first to support you until you can get a new one. Okay? But we don't even need to worry about that right now, okay?"
"But-"
Suddenly he takes your wet, tear-stained cheeks in his hands, and looks at you earnestly right in the eyes. "But right now, you need to calm down. Come on; why don't we go to the bedroom, okay?"
"Uh- y- yeah," you get up, feeling terrible at how much a mess you are. Pedri walks to the bedroom with you, his arm around your shoulders the whole time. He fetches a damp rag and gently wipes your face with the cool towel. You shut your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as Pedri pulls the blanket up to your torso. You lean back, sitting upright on the blanket.
"Can I get anything for you?" he asks after he finishes, taking your hand gently.
You shake your head 'no'. "Just sit down. All I need is you."
He nods and slips onto the bed and under the blanket next to you. Straight away, you lean your head on his shoulder and clutch his hand in yours. "Y/n, you know that it'll be okay," he murmurs. Not even a question. A fact. You know that you'll be okay.
"But Pedri, what if..."
"No 'what if's right now, okay?" He pulls you closer to you, rubbing your shoulders. You sit quietly together for a while, before Pedri slowly sinks into a laying down position, pulling you down with him. You snuggle close to him, resting your head on his chest. When you yawn, he says, "You're tired. Anything I can do to help you sleep?"
You breathe gently. "Just... talk to me."
He nods and starts whispering. At first, you listen to the sweet little things he's saying as he gently strokes your hair, but soon you're too tired to comprehend them. Soon your eyes are fluttering shut, and your mind is switching from daytime thoughts to nighttime dreaming.
Within your dream, you feel a soft kiss on your forehead and Pedri's perfect sweet-as-honey voice murmur, "Buenas noches, mi amor."
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bobardo · 1 month ago
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and dont worry. i have sfw thots SOMETIMESSS so can i get this prompt innnn: “sender knows receiver has had a lot on their mind, so they hold them for a while to help them relax and hopefully open up” w/ art donaldson tysm <33 🍓
challenge accepted
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the mind is always a tricky place to be (tricky, convoluting, perturbing; a disturbing maze that's often times impossible to get out of—get through). it helps, then, when someone's there to help guide you—calloused hand pressed delicately to the small of your back, lips to your temple, soft, whispering words of encouragement, solace—through it.
y/n didn't always have that person—and sometimes it was difficult to remember that she did, now.
art tried hard not to let her forget it.
"y/n?" he utters, gentle, low, knuckles tapping quietly against the wooden door, locked, blocking him from getting inside. she's got the sink faucet running, but he knows the sound of her crying—has memorized the rattle of her shaky breathing, muffled beneath a sweaty palm and running water. he squeezes his eyes shut; he hates hearing her cry.
she'd locked herself in their bathroom nearly as soon as she got home from work, barely sparing art, cutting vegetables in the kitchen for their dinner (lentil soup), a single teary glance. he called after her and earned no response; let his cutting knife clatter onto the chopping board and whipped around to switch off the stove burner before chasing after her, but the door was already being slammed in his pretty, pouting face.
"can y'open the door f'me, sweetheart?" he asks, pressing his palm to the door, like he could somehow send her calming, reassuring wavelengths through the barricade. "please?"
he waits all of ten seconds (though his nerves drag it, suspend it to feel like ten minutes) before he hears the telltale click of the lock. he slips his palm down to the handle and shoulders into the washroom.
he stifles the tremble in his heart when his eyes meet her own bloodshot pair.
"oh, baby," he mumbles, arms open, awaiting her blubbering form. it doesn't take long—doesn't take much, just a sweet, sad little simper and the soft encouragement of c'mere, sweetheart, and she's rushing over to him, soft sobs getting buried in his linen shirt. "s'okay, s'all right, my love; let it out, baby," he soothes gently, calloused hand pressed delicately to the small of her back, lips to her temple, soft, whispering words of encouragement, solace, as he uses his free hand to turn off the still-running faucet. his hand slips from the handle back to her, up to the nape of her neck, twisting in the delicate baby hairs strewn along.
art carefully eases her out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, walks backward until his knees hit their mattress and sinks down to sit. his palms fit to the back of her thighs and he lifts her into his lap, cradling her to him. she shrinks—wraps her arms around his stomach and digs her fingers into the fabric of his shirt that clings to his broad back and nuzzles her congested nose in the space between his shoulder and chin, tucked into his neck—makes herself small in his comforting hold.
and he lets her weep. doesn't hush her, or urge her tears back at bay. no—he keeps his chin to the crown of her head and lets her tears soak his shirt, seep through to his skin, through to his bones, through to his marrow. rocks with her when a shudder forces through her hunched shoulders, pets at the pain etched in her temples. feels what she feels, how she feels it.
and still pulls her back from the haze of agony over her fragile—delicate, much like his own—mind.
she's snotty when her grip on the back of his shirt finally loosens, breathless and clogged up. her eyes are crystalline and bloodshot, but strikingly exhausted, and he thinks that’s probably what chips at the last piece of his breaking heart.
art frowns—feels a lump in his throat and a salient prick along his waterline—and noses at her tear-stained, puffy cheek softly.
her clumpy lashes flutter and graze his face as she shakes her head. not now, it says, and art understands; gets that trying to put feeling into words, give reason to emotion, is just too much right now.
so instead of asking "what's wrong?" he just whispers, "bad day, baby?" and the way her face scrunches back up is answer enough, never-mind the shaky nod of her head.
so, they stay like that for a good while longer—a mess of tangled, tear soaked limbs—until her stomach grumbles indignantly and reminds art of his forgotten soup. he carries her to the kitchen so she's not left alone while he finishes up dinner, and keeps her in his lap while they eat so she has something to hold onto, ground herself to—so he doesn't lose her, locked in her head instead of the bathroom, sobs muffled behind a gag instead of running water.
he takes her mind off her day with idle conversation that, on a surface level, seems simple and, yet, is incredibly, deeply healing to her rattled psyche. and by the end of the night, when they're both tucked into bed and curled around one another once more, all she can offer in return is a firm, lingering kiss to his forehead and a soft, "thank you, art."
he doesn't need thanking, doesn't want it, honestly. he smiles, anyway, and holds her close for the rest of the night.
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brandwhorestarscream · 1 month ago
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pleasepleasepleaseplease continue the d-16 sparkling fic it's not often that I see dee in such a vulnerable position it's the only thing that's been getting me through this week
Aw anon 🥺 I'm glad it's helped you get through the week. This isn't part 5, but an in-between mini-fic just for you ^-^ hope the days get better 💖
D-16 makes a soft, staticy noise of discomfort and rolls over. He's not used to sleeping lying down, but there's no recharge stations out here, and the only way to keep himself upright would be to lock his already-sore knee joints. Waking up to the sensation of falling followed immediately by the painful impact of the ground was not pleasant, so laying down was the only option.
Distantly, he can hear the others. Can hear their systems' idle humming. He wishes it was soothing, like it would be back home, but now he's just worried he'll wake them.
He grunts and rolls over again, time onto his side. It put uncomfortable pressure on his internals as the sparkling's weight followed gravity and nestled there, and he turns onto his back. The pressures lightens, slightly, but is now spread wider, pressing on everything and not just his toxicity screener. A ping shows up in his vision, warning that his qaste tank just jumped from 60 to 87%. He dismisses it because no, it didn't, it just feels like it did because of the unborn sparkling currently sitting on it.
Dee groans and rolls onto his other side. But now it feels like one of the sparkling's limbs is jabbing directly into his stomach, and he gags before he can stop himself. The silver mech scrambles into a sitting position, covering his mouth and squeezing his optics shut. Willing it down, no, no, don't purge, don't purge-
He hiccups, and burning bile hits the back of his throat. He leans forward, preparing to throw up- oh. Nope. It suddenly goes back down, leaving him with a nasty taste in his mouth. Dee shudders, and suddenly, his eyes sting. "No-!" The whispered hiss is paired with frantic scrambling to press the heels of his palms into optics, as if he could physically dam the tears back and keep them in. But it's no use, and a sob manages to claw its way out of his throat.
He stumbles to his feet and ambles away from the group. Primus, this really is the worst part: it's like his emotional regulation protocols have just completely vanished, and now his body's response to anything seems to be tears and waves of intense sadness. D-16 thinks he'd probably die of embarrassment if he woke everyone up with his blubbering all because he didn't throw up and the taste is awful and he can't sleep and-
He presses his back against one of the crystal trees and slides down to sit again, wrapping both arms around his knees and dropping his helm down. Muffling the sound of his sobbing as well as he can, he tries as hard as he can to pull himself together. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, it's not that big of a deal!" He flicks himself in the forehelm, hoping the pain will ground him. That just makes him cry harder. "Oh my Primes, stop!" He begs. "Please, stop, just stop, I just wanna sleep-"
This is miserable. He hates this. His optics itch. His joints are sore. The baby keeps sitting on all his organs and making him ache in all these weird ways and he's so hungry and everything is just way, way too much-
Something touches his shoulder and D-16 startles, jerking his helm up and flinching away. Above him, Orion's face is painted in sleepy concern, "Aw, Dee-"
His lower lip wobbles and he bursts into sobs once more, this time with renewed vigor. "I'm sorry-!" He bawls. "I- I'b sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, it just won't stop!"
"Woah woah, hey!" Orion drops to his knees to offer him a hug, and Dee all but collapses into his arms, weeping into his chassis. His EM field feels... scattered, is that the right word? Disoriented? It doesn't feel sad or scared, exactly, but rather guilty and tired and annoyed and uncomfortable. Orion hugs him securely, patting at his back. "Hey, hey, shh... shhhhh, it's ok! I-It's all gonna be ok, Dee, what's wrong? C'mon, shhhh, don't cry, I'm here. I'm here, ok? Talk to me, what's going on? How can I help?"
"I-" he hiccups, then sniffles. "I...!"
"You...?" Orion gives him a comforting squeeze. "You can tell me, it's ok."
"I can't sleeeeeep!" He wails, the words bursting out as if a dam has suddenly broken as he begins to ramble, sobs and wheezes interlaced with every other word. "I- I can't sleep and- and I almost purged but I didn't and now my mouth tastes gross and they keep kicking me and they were sitting on my fuel tank and I'm starving and I want rust sticks, and- and my back hurts and my knees hurt, everything hurts, and I can't stop cryi-i-ing! It's not fair!"
He feels pathetic and small, carrying on in Orion's arms. He knew mood swings were a bitch, but he didn't think it'd be possible they could hit this hard. Everything feels like such a big deal, and nowadays his emotional cortex mashes the big red button to trigger a meltdown at the drop of a hat.
Orion is a saint, letting him cry and blubber out all his stresses, rubbing his back the whole time and gently shushing him. Encouraging him to, "Let it all out, you'll feel better after."
And, blessedly, he's right. A few kliks later he begins to wind down, still huffing and wheezing, but the tears finally slow to a trickle.
"...there," Orion pulls back just enough to wipe his face. "All better?"
D-16 sniffles miserably and sags against him, helm dropping onto his shoulder. "No," he pouts. He still won't be able to sleep with all the discomfort, and they have to leave in a few megacycles. Orion seems to catch his meaning, and hums. Laying down to sleep is foreign for him, too, and none of the positions seem like they'd be very comfortable with a little weight tucked in his gestation tank.
"Here," he shuffles them around, putting his back to the crystal trunk behind them. He spreads his legs and pulls Dee flush against his chassis, both arms sliding around him to gently brace both palms on his belly. It's still small, only semi-noticeable, but has potted out nicely and is just the right size for him to cradle in his servos. "I read in the Archives once, having someone hold it can help." He begins gently rubbing across the expanse of his baby bump, carressing it in wide, soothing circles.
Dee melts into the ministrations, and for the first time all night, the sparkling stills. No fluttering around, no kicking, just peace and quiet. "Ahhh..." he heaves a sigh of a relief and nuzzles into Orion's chassis, pressing a kiss to the underside of his throat before tucking his helm beneath his chin and settling in. "That's good... thanks, Pax."
"Anything for you, Dee," Orion presses a gentle kiss to the top of his helm. "Sweet dreams."
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tomasweetheart · 2 years ago
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I'VE LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU THAT HURTS
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matsukawa issei x m!reader (pronouns aren't mentioned but the intention is still there), established relationship
warnings: angst, really poor body image on mattsuns part including negative mentions of weight, hurt/comfort, cussing, use of pet names (baby, honey, pretty boy), matsukawa is referred to as mattsun and issei, the friends mentioned are not the seijoh four
notes: i projected a bit oops
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mattsun had lost track of time. all he knew was that the light illuminating from his laptop hurt his bloodshot eyes, and if the soft sounds from it weren't the only thing keeping him sane, he would slam it shut in a heartbeat.
he doesn't know how he ended up in this position, really. he's not typically a sensitive guy, he's normally nonchalant, laid back. he walks the world like nothing can hurt him.
but then he thinks about what his friends said.
it was playful, at first. little jabs at his personality that he could rebuttal with ease. teasing them about their flaws, adamant on avoiding striking any nerves.
he just wished they would be as careful as him.
what got to him first, was the mention of his eyebrows. how they were too thick, that they didn't match his face.
which then led to the conversation about his jawline, how it was too triangular, too uneven.
and even though those comments hurt, he took them and bit his tongue. for his own sake. just shake it off, he thought, they're just joking stop being such a fucking baby
it was fine, really.
until they started talking about his weight. how he was too skinny, too tall, too boney. how almost nauseating it was that they could see how his ribs poked through his skin.
yeah, that's what got him.
from practice to home was a blur to him, but he remembers how he stormed to his room. how he sat in his own silence for a moment or so, before his body racked with violent sobs.
he cried. he cried until there was no more air in his lungs, until the sobs got caught in his throat. he gripped his hair and broke down for what felt like an eternity.
and even now, hours later, the thought of everything that happened makes him want to start sobbing again.
but he can't. the lump in his throat sticks there, not daring to move.
he really thinks he's fucking pathetic. to let such words get to him, he knows he shouldn't care. he knows they meant no harm. he knows they were just jokes. he knows he's not that bad looking.
right?
well, he guesses there must be some truth to their words if they poked and prodded at it. he guesses there's some truth if he's allowing himself to be this affected by it.
he doesn't hear you softly open the door to his bedroom.
you had grown worried, you tried to contact him over dozens of times within the past few hours, only to be left on delivered.
at first you were mad, you figured he was just ignoring you for makki or something unimportant, but once oikawa had told you that issei had left the gym in a sulk, you had just grown to be worried.
you slowly made your way towards him, the soft blue glow of his laptop being the only source of light in the room.
when you tripped over his sneakers is when he finally noticed you.
slowly, he turned from his laptop to face you. the cacoon of his blanket covering most of him. that's when you finally got a good look at his face.
his eyes were bloodshot, and his tears from earlier left stains of trails down his cheeks. the dried snot under his nose, his tussled hair and cracked lips showing his distress.
god, you swear, even like this he looks so beautiful.
"issei, baby, what's wrong?" you question, crouching down next to his bed. you reach your hand out, lightly stroking his face.
tears slowly begin to fall from his eyes again. you wipe them away gently with his thumbs.
the gesture alone sends him into another fit of sobs, you wrap your arms around him, rubbing circles on his back as you let him weep into the crook of your neck.
"i can't fucking . . . i'm so pathetic i'm sorry . . ." he blubbers, god he can't believe himself right now.
"nonono baby you aren't pathetic, you're allowed to cry. you're allowed to be upset," you reassure him, "take your time. i'm not going anywhere."
you two stay like that for a few minutes, issei composes himself the best to his ability, before sitting up and letting what happened fall from his lips in a hurry.
your face contorts in anger as he continues, not with him, of course. you couldn't believe what he was saying, what kind of friends were these people?
once he finished, you allowed yourself to speak.
"issei," you began, "what they said about you was absolutely ridiculous."
at first he's taken aback by your words, but then you continue,
"you are one of the most gorgeous boys i have ever laid my eyes on," you said, "your eyebrows aren't too thick, they fit your face perfectly. your jawline is perfect too, and even if it is asymmetrical, most peoples are. it's not uncommon and it certainly does not make you ugly."
you take a deep breath, cupping his hands in yours. giving him a reassuring squeeze before picking up again once more,
"and as for your weight," you began, "i just . . . the fact that they even felt the need to comment on that disgusts me. there is nothing wrong with your weight, as long as you are healthy that's all that matters. whether you be on the bigger or smaller side, as long as you are healthy that's all that should matter. ever. don't listen to the utter bullshit they spew because it's not true. you're a beautiful boy, you're my beautiful boy."
he starts crying again, but this time out of a warm feeling bursting in his chest. he pulls you in for a tight embrace, and you squeeze him just as hard.
"i love you so much." are the only words he's able to mutter before he falls asleep on your shoulders.
you then softly close the lid to his laptop, crawling under the covers with him and placing a kiss on his forehead.
sleep well, pretty boy. is all you can think before drifting off yourself
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a/n: i just want to remind you guys that you are beautiful no matter what and you deserve good things. likes, reblogs & comments are appreciated!
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planetharrie · 1 year ago
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⋆.ೃ࿔*:・Waiting from Home
In which Harry comforts Lucille after she finds out some terrible news about her sister.
Warnings: Contains very slight mentions of vomiting.
⭐️
When Harry received a dazed call from his girlfriend in the early evening, (barely) explaining she was in hospital, he all but pounced from the sofa he was sunken on.
He’d messaged Lucille just after 7 P.M that night, wondering about her whereabouts,
‘Hey, where are you? Dinners ready :) x’ was his message and he balanced his phone on his thigh, Lucille’s contact open so that he could read her message when it came through. Her iMessage bubble popped up, Harry watched the three little dots fade in and out as she typed before they disappeared all together.
He frowned and picked up his phone, ready type a second message to prompt her to reply, when a banner notification popped down. Lucille ICE read the caller ID and Harry’s thumb automatically pressed accept.
“Hullo, Lovie. Is everything oka—” Harry was interrupted with a sniffle and muffled sob, “Luce? Wha-What’s wrong? Talk to me—”
“Harry—”
“Yeah, Baby. ‘M here, are you alright?” Harry sat up and leant his elbows atop his knees and clutched the phone tight to his right ear. He was met with broken sentences and blubber as his girlfriend attempted to explain the situation from the other end of the receiver.
Usually, Harry would have the patience to allow others to cry and calm down a little before speaking, but in this case, he was so concerned he was getting slightly frustrated with the incoherent responses.
“Lucille, Love, I’m here. Just try and explain—”
“Hospital—I’m i-in the hospital.” Lucille muffled another sob before sucking in a deep breath, “Harry, I—”
Harry was on his feet in an instance, his left hand frantically feeling his joggers’ pockets for his keys. “Fuck, Luce. Do you need me? I-I’m coming, Love—”
“No! No, i-it’s okay. I’m in the,” she took in a shaky breath, her speakers going distorted for a second. “I’m in the waiting room. It’s Sam.”
Harry slowed down, his hand hovering over the front door handle. “Sam? As in your sister, Sam?”
“Yeah! Oh god.” Lucille’s voice broke, seemingly still in shock that it’s her own sister that’s in A&E; she honestly hadn’t processed it until Harry had asked. She began weeping again and Harry’s heart shattered. His eyes trail up to the ceiling as he blinks back his own sympathy tears and swallowed the anxious burn at the back of his throat. He sucked in a short breath and lowered himself to sit on one of the bottom stairs; he had to stay calm, collected and supportive for Lucille.
He found it almost challenging to hold back his own flurry of tears; hearing his wife sob through a speaker, alone in a cold and bare room alone was fucking torture. Knowing he couldn’t simply scoop her up, hold her, kiss her head, whisper caring and comforting words into her hair. Knowing he couldn’t make her feel safe at that very moment made him feel sick. And not only that, but his sister-in-law was also in a bad way; he didn’t know any details but Sam was very important to him too. They were close, basically like biological siblings. She was important to Lucille so she was vital to Harry.
“Alright, Baby, it’s alright. . . just take a deep breath for me,” Harry listened to her regulate a couple of breaths before coughing and a taking some more. “That’s it, Luce, well done. You’re going to be okay. .”
She hummed into the mic and sniffed.
“Now, do you need me to come down to St John’s? Is that where you are?”
Lucille began nodding but quickly realised Harry couldn’t see her. Now she felt stupid. Her emotions were high and beyond regulated and her face crumpled with tears streaming again. She couldn’t focus on a thing, and after not replying to Harry for a good 20 seconds, she got spooked when he spoke again.
“Luce?—”
“Yes, it’s St John’s Hospital. B-but no, you’re okay. I’m okay. Y-you don’t have to come, Harry.”
Harry frowned and shuffled on the step, “Are you sure? Lucille, I hate the thought of you there alone.”
“I’m not. Well, I won’t be; I think my brother-in-law is on his way, so Luke will be with me.” Lucille explained, her voice far more calm and understandable. “I’ll be okay.”
Harry sighed and rubbed his face, staring at the gap between his feet. His heart physically throbbed at the thought of his wife sat alone with her own thoughts in a silent room. He wanted to be there. But Sam’s partner, Luke, would hopefully be there soon. He was a great guy and Lucille felt safe with him.
“Okay, i-if that’s what you want, Love. I’ll come pick you up then?”
“No; I’m going to be here a-awhile, Harry. I don’t want to keep you up, you have work and—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Lucille. I don’t care about work, right now. All I care about is you and Sam. I’ll stay up for how ever long you need.” Harry’s voice was short. He hadn’t intended for it to come out so sharp and impatient as it did. “Sorry. I’m just worried, Love.”
There was a slight pause on Lucille’s side before she audibly swallowed. “I know, Harry. Look—Luke‘s just arrived. He’s messaged me to met him at the entrance. I’ll be okay. I’ll get a taxi home.”
“Lucille—“
“I’ve called Stacey, I think she’s going to come keep me company; don’t worry. I better go ‘cause Luke’s waiting. I love you. .”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and reluctantly accepted defeat. “I love you too, Luce. I’ll see you later.”
Then the call ended. Harry dropped his phone to the step bellow him and he rubbed his face until it went red. This was sick; he felt like such a shitty, useless husband not being at his wife’s side. But he reminded himself that this is what she wanted and he must respect that.
She has her brother and best friend with her ,
she has a her brother and best friend there,
her brother and best friend are there, she is not alone. .
Was what Harry had to rhyme to himself for the rest of the night to calm his anxiety. He refused to go to bed. He refused to get changed into his pyjamas. He refused to eat the food he made for the both of them. He refused to continue on with his evening, their evening, without Lucille.
So he sunk into the sofa, put his ringer on as loud as possible and stared aimlessly at the flicker of the TV for the remainder of the night.
At around 11, later that same night, Harry woke up to his phone ringing; he must’ve dropped off to sleep at some point.
His eyes squinted, adjusting to the blue light streaming at him from the telly and his phone. The caller ID once again had Lucille ICE flashing at him and he sat up.
He accepted the call and blinked. “Lucille?”
“Hello, Harry?”
“Who’s this? Stacey?”
“Uh—yeah, hiya, it’s me. Look Harry, I’ve just rung a taxi for Lucille. She really needs to come home.”
Harry frowned and sat up even straighter, “I offered to come collect her but she said no.”
“Yup, yeah she told me but she’s stubborn as fuck.” Harry nodded to himself, “anyways, she’s not in great shape. Her eyes are bloodshot and she was practically falling asleep in the chair. She refused to eat and drink anything. She really needs to come home.”
“Yeah, of course. Thanks, Stacey, I’ll look out for the car. Um,” Harry paused and recollected his thoughts, “did—did you hear anything more about Sam? Do we even know what happened?”
Stacey sighed, indicating it wasn’t great news. “Hit ‘n run basically. There’s not severe injuries, thank fuck, but she’s got a few broken bones, concussion. .”
Harry ran a hand through his hair. It sounded awful but he was relieved that no catastrophic injuries took place. A hit and run, how terrible. .
“Jesus. .”
“Oh, that taxis here. Luce, cmon stay awake for me, time to get you home, Babe.” There was a groan and some muffled movements coming from Stacey’s call. “Gotta go, H. She’ll be with you shortly, bye!”
Harry tossed his phone to the side and stood up. His blanket fell from his upright body and crumpled to the ground. He picked it back up, deciding he’d wrap Lucille up in it when she arrived home to keep her warm.
In the 20 minutes it took for Lucille’s taxi to arrive home, Harry had got the bedroom and bathroom ready for her. He’d made the bed all comfy, with a few of her collected Jelly Cats sat up waiting for her. He’d turned on only one lamp so that it was dim and cozy; Harry did not want to overstimulate or overwhelm her.
In the bathroom, a bath had been run with lavender-scented bath salts scattered in the warm water. Lucille’s pink flannel and matching towel were folded neatly on the closed toilet seat along with her pyjamas. Harry figured a quick warm bath would make her feel better; it would relax her a little bit before bed and she’d hopefully feel a little better within herself with clean hair, a clean body and—ultimately—a clean(er) mind.
As Harry went to shut the bedroom blinds, he spots a black taxi pull up onto the driveway, it’s headlights seeping in through the windows. Harry bounded down the steps and jogged out to the car.
He went to the passenger-side window and tapped on the glass. The driver rolled down the window.
“Hey buddy,” Harry handed him a folded £20 note. “cheers mate.”
Harry shuffled sideways and opened the rear door. Lucille sat behind the driver, her head slumped against the door, eyes fluttering shut. He knelt a knee on the seat and reached in for her, scooping his arms under her knees and around her back.
“Cm’ere, I’ve gotcha. .”
Lucille cradled in his arms, barely awake. Harry kicked the car door shut gently and thanked the driver once again through the passenger window and hurried them both inside.
⭐️
“Everything’s going to be okay. .” Harry cooed softly to his wife as he gently washed her face with a damp flannel. Lucille was slumped against the side of the tub, her small hand being used as a pillow to protect her head from the hard porcelain. “You’re going to be okay, Lovely.”
He ran the flannel across her forehead and looked down at her eyes. They were distant. Almost like there was nothing behind them; no thoughts, no emotion. The flannel was dunked back into the bath water before it trailed softly over her pale shoulder and down her arm.
Her naked body was curled up against the side and her long hair trailed down her back, wet after Harry’d washed it.
He took his eyes off Lucille for the first time in a little while to squeeze out the excess water from the flannel and drape it on the edge of the tub. Harry’s attention is back on his wife in an instant and he reaches over to cup her shoulder. His green eyes scan her pale features, searching for something; anything,
He hummed and copied Lucille’s position, using his left hand as a bony pillow for his cheek as he rested it on the bathtub. His finger softly rubs her damp skin and begins to hum a song softly.
Her eyes slowly wonder up to his and Harry gives a small smile, reaching up to stroke her cheek.
“Hi there.” He whispers. Lucille blinks slowly and Harry took that as her way of saying hello back. “Are you hungry, Darling? Do you want some tea? Toast?” His whisper continues but he notices a slight shift in her eyes. They went from content and sleepy to a slight panic-like glimmer. She began sitting up, her face looking flustered.
“Harry—“ she choked out as she used all of her strength to life her chin over the side of the tub, where she suddenly coughed and vomited onto the bathroom floor.
Harry’s hands immediately went to her back and forehead, supporting her weight so that she didn’t slip and fall. He rubbed a small circle on her back to coax anything else up. Lucille coughed over the small puddle of, well, nothing. It was mainly water. She was left panting, her eyes wide like saucers as she realised she’d just been sick.
“Oh, it’s okay, Luce.” Harry cooed, stroking back her wet hair. “let’s get you out of here, hm?”
10 minutes later, Lucille is tucked in in bed; wrapped up in her favourite pyjamas and the quilt tugged up to her chin. Harry is laying next to her, on top of the duvet, soothing her hair back and waiting for her to drift to sleep.
It had been a long, difficult and scary night for the both of them but especially Lucille. The best thing for her was rest. Harry figured he’d try getting her to eat in the morning. He then remembered he still had the bath to drain and the small puddle of vomit to clean up but that could wait.
The stress-induced vomiting had honestly scared him; the fact that she only threw-up maybe a mouthful of digested water made Harry feel sick himself—he hated the thought of his wife not being able to eat anything because she’s so sick with worry and anxiety.
“You’re so strong, Lucille. I hope you know that. Your sister is strong too and she’s going to be okay.” He whispered to her, despite her being fast asleep. He listened to her breathe, soft and faint snores coming from her nose.
Getting tired himself, he left the bedroom and went in to tidy and clean-up the bathroom before climbing back into bed—for real this time. Harry leant over and pecked the softest kiss on his wife’s forehead, not wanting to wake her before cozying down himself and letting his body drift into a slumber.
⭐️
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pandorapromises · 9 months ago
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would anyone like to read a cut excerpt from the lo'ak x reader fic i'm currently working on?? i had to take it out cuz it wasn't working with the setup or tone i had planned like, this was turning out comedic and not angsty
"Oh, for the love of Eywa!" you cry, bursting into tears. This man, your muntxatan, is so, so hopelessly stupid and so stupidly sweet. He makes you want to tear out your own hair until you're bald.
You also want to bury your face in your hands but you can't because they're slimy and sticky with fruit juices. You're forced to rub your eyes with the back of your hand while Lo'ak scrambles to figure out what he did wrong.
The way your name flows out of his mouth sounds like it's him who's in pain, not you. "Please tell me why you're crying," Lo'ak begs, scooting closer to you. "What do I do? Huh? Tell me, what do I do?" His hand is warm upon your back and somewhat comforting but the tears and sobs do not stop pouring from your eyes and mouth.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Lo'ak lists off every thing he can think of that might be upsetting you. "The baby? Is it being a menace again?"
The laugh that bubbles out of you comes out choked and makes your belly bounce like you're crying harder instead. This is when you realize that Lo'ak has never seen you cry before. But it's too late; now he knows his muntxate** is an ugly crier.
"Is it… the hormones?" he tries again.
"I don't even know what that is??" you croak, the tears leaving wet tracks on your cheeks. Lo'ak tends to speak in a confusing mess of Na'vi and English. Sometimes, like now, you have no idea what in Eywa's name he's talking about.
"Nevermind, forget about it. Just tell me what's wrong! Was it me? Was it something I said?" Lo'ak insists. "Whatever it is, I am very, very sorry and I will never do it again."
You take a deep, heaving breath that rattles your chest and leaves you hiccuping. Tears still fall from your eyes, blurring your vision, but at least the worst of the sobbing is over. In spite of your throbbing headache, you take another breath and get a grip on yourself.
The first thing that comes out of your mouth is, "No, I'm s-sorry."
Lo'ak frowns in confusion, scooting even closer. You're practically sitting between his legs with his hand squeezing your shoulder. "Sorry for what?"
Your hand flies to your chest, accidentally smearing sticky fruit juices all over your skin. "Sorry that it's me-e," you blubber pathetically through ugly, wet sniffling.
Now it's Lo'ak's turn to stare at you blankly with no idea what in Eywa's name you're talking about.
For some reason, this upsets you even further. "Stop pretending!" you hiss tearfully. "Don't--don't act like you don't know, Lo'ak…"
"Wh-what?" Lo'ak can only blink in utter bewilderment. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can, a loud, boisterous voice interrupts him, calling your names.
"Hey, forest boy!" Aonung shouts over the noise of the celebration in the village. He's standing on the walkway above the water with a waving Spider at his side.
"Are you guys coming to the party or not?!" Spider yells, his voice easily heard even through his rebreather.
Lo'ak rolls his eyes in exasperation and mutters to you, "Hold on, let me get rid of them." You think he's about stand and go talk to them but instead, he simply bellows over his shoulder as loud as he's able, "We're busy!! Go away!"
The sudden volume makes you jump in your own skin and where taking deep breaths failed, being startled succeeded. No longer are you a weeping, hiccuping mess.
Aonung and Spider look at each other, Spider shrugs, and they promptly return to the warrior's dance.
"Okay, so what were you saying?" Lo'ak says as he turns back around.
You shake your head and try to stand up, shoving his arm off in the process. But with your big belly, it's near impossible to do alone. You are a stubborn woman though. You push Lo'ak's hand away when he tries to help you and through the sheer strength of your will, you rise on your own two feet.
Lo'ak chants your name, each time more desperately than the last, as he stands as well. "Please, tell me what's wrong, I can help! I can fix it!" he pleads.
You resist the urge to tell him to quiet down but with the warrior's dance raging on the other side of the village and practically everyone there, there's no one on the beach to witness your breakdown.
Trying to get a handle on your racing thoughts amidst a headache is difficult and even worse with Lo'ak forcing you to look at him with worried hands. "Lo'ak, please, I'm sorry but--"
"Sorry about what? I don't understand!" Lo'ak snaps. Both pairs of eyes widen at his sharp** tone, neither one of you expecting a reaction like this from him. "Shit. Sorry. Look, look at me--" He cups your cheek and gently turns your gaze back to him. "Listen to me, okay? I can't fix it if I don't know what it is. So please, tell me what is wrong so I can make it better."
For one tense moment, all you can hear is your quick, shallow intakes of breath and the heavy drumming of the warrior's dance in the distance. You can feel, down to your bones, time slowly stretching until every blink is as long as an eclipse. Lo'ak's eyes bore into yours until the bright amber of his irises is all you can see. You know you should be saying something, anything, but how can you form words when your mind is at a standstill and refuses to move?
Lo'ak solves this problem for you. Without speaking further, he releases his hold on your shoulders and carefully wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warm chest. He is mindful of the babe in your belly and embraces you from the side, cradling you as tightly as he can without hurting you or your child. Then when he presses his lips to the top of your head, warming the spot with his breath, all you can do is let go and melt into him. It's like being carried by the current of a river, an unseen force that is only felt.
No one speaks for a while. There is only Lo'ak's warmth, the drums, the People's song, and the sea.
But just as you feel your eyelids getting heavier, Lo'ak whispers against your hair, "Will you get in trouble if you don't finish peeling the fruit?"
Your eyes snap open. "The fruit!" you gasp.
Lo'ak chuckles as he follows you to inspect your progress and offers, "Uh, maybe you take this half and I take that--"
"No," you interject, waving him away, "you start taking the finished ones to the Tsahik**. She will be needing them soon."
Your muntxatan nods obediently and with a grunt, lifts the heaviest basket onto his shoulder. But instead of leaving right away, he hesitates, watching as you kneel back down on the sand to finish your work.
"What is it?" you ask as you start hurriedly peeling what you have left.
"Did you know…" Lo'ak falters, fidgeting in place. "Did you know that you're really… beautiful? Even with all the…"
Your hands instantly freeze in mid-motion. You and Lo'ak simply stare at each other, equally wide-eyed.
"Even with all the what?" you inquire, a little breathlessly.
Lo'ak clears his throat and nearly drops the hefty basket on his shoulder when he takes one hand to try to gesture something. Thankfully, he is quick to catch it and doesn't drop any of the fruit but you're still left with unanswered questions.
"Even though I'm pregnant and bigger than Payakan?" you ask half-jokingly. You try to continue peeling but your hands are slow and shaky.
"Yes," Lo'ak answers, a little too loudly. Then his eyes widen even further. "Wait, no! No, that's not what I--" He squeezes his eyes shut while his ears flatten against his head. "Don't say that. You are not bigger than Payakan." Then he opens his eyes and looks at you intently. "I was going to say you're beautiful even though you're crying and your eyes are all red and splotch-y."
When you don't speak or respond, Lo'ak
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darlingjmiller · 2 years ago
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ajdgsggwvbuwb thank you love
went for a job interview at a dog groomer/daycare place and it went really well so I might have a job next week!! wish me luck!!
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droughtofapathy · 9 months ago
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"Welcome to the Theatre": Diary of a Broadway Baby
The Notebook
April 25, 2024 | Broadway | Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre | Evening | Musical | Original | 2H 20M
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In the moment, sitting there in the theatre with tears streaming down my face at the wonderous performance Maryann Plunkett has gifted us, I liked the show a lot more than I did two hours later. The Notebook is at its strongest with Darian Harewood and Maryann Plunkett as Older Noah and Allie, respectively, at the center. Their love is so moving and heartbreaking. In contract, the young couple is charming and sweet in that puppy love feeling they give. The middle couple is...weaker, and the young and middle Allie seem to have little connection and consistency. This makes for a stronger first act, and a duller second that soon ramps up to a blubbering frenzy in the last few scenes.
I am a crier. I go to the theatre and I want to leave having sobbed through several tissues. Shows that create such immense emotional reaction are my bread-and-butter. This show had me weeping. But there's no catharsis to be found. No rejuvenation, no joy amidst sorrow, no relief. Only intense sadness that left me with a throbbing headache two hours later. In this way, the show feels like a manipulation. Like a purposeful endeavor to force audiences to tears, but offer nothing else beyond that.
The score is fine. It's nice, it's pleasant, and there's at least two songs that are wonderful. But it doesn't grab you by the throat and leave you forever changed. And it also sounds tonally identical throughout, so that's... At times, it feels like a high schooler's audition book, full of power ballads that end on a rousing belt, but little variety, little musical complexity, little...anything.
This is a romance musical, but it never approaches anything more profound. The romance itself is about as believable as you'd expect. I have many questions: namely, why these young kids are so enamored with one another to the point that ten years later, they haven't grown up and gotten over their little summer love fling. The love is so much deeper in the older couple, to no surprise. Noah's dedication to Allie, her final night where she's granted that last lucidity before it all ends... They are such good actors, and I'm glad they're being put forward as the leads, as they deserve.
Verdict: A Lovely Night (but kind of mad about it)
A Note on Ratings
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pony-central · 1 year ago
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Crying TV Tropes That Apply to My Comic Characters
Berserker Tears - Sick Boyfriend started crying these while breaking up with Sick Girlfriend upon discovering that she never really liked him.
Bleed 'Em and Weep - in the Lost Media comic "Confronting Yourself", Sick Boyfriend started to cry once he unintentionally murdered his Anti-self
Crocodile Tears - Sick Boyfriend once did this to convince his teacher to let him skip his final two exams in school. This plan of his worked. DrugFriend also picked up this skill when he was convincing his dad to let him go Trick or Treating when he was five
Cry Into Chest - "Confronting Yourself" had SBF sob into his mums chest. The same thing happened at his 17th birthday party. DrugFriend also cried in Sick Boyfriend's chest after being fired from his job at FFFFE
Cry Laughing - Sick Boyfriend usually sheds tears of laughter whenever DrugFriend is called 'Drugsy Wugsy', often wetting himself afterwards
Crying a River - once Sick BF cried a fountain of tears because he had developed stage fright at the age of nine. Boyfriend is also no stranger to doing this
Crying at Your Birthday Party - see "Cry Into Chest". Sick Boyfriend once cried at his 17th birthday party upon waiting for his dad to show up
Crying Critters - the Lost Media comic called "Pet Daze" had Mrs Snickers crying once she was sent back to the pet store she came from
Everybody Cries - so many times where multiple people cried. One mega example is when Sick PonyCentral was crying over the possibility of dying to Nathan's demented father, as seen in Love at First Bite The Sequel. This caused Naughty PonyCentral to cry, and Boyfriend also started crying as well. Another example is when 95% of Parodies Town were crying over The Titanic movie
Heartbreak and Ice Cream - it was shown in VoreTober that Sick Boyfriend was crying and eating strawberry ice cream
Inelegant Blubbering - Sick PonyCentral, Sick Boyfriend, DrugFriend and a variety of characters do this, most often followed by sniffling
It's OK To Cry - in Mother's Day Mayhem, Freund tried desperately to hide his tears from PonyCentral during a therapy session. It didn't take long for him to burst into tears on the spot
Manly Tears - James Matric (Panchito Boyfriend). Whenever he sees a sad movie, he sheds a single tear
Men Don't Cry - heavily subverted.
My Eyes Are Leaking - most of the characters are subject to this trope
Ocular Gushers - Sick Boyfriend whenever he's reminded of DrugFriend in the remastered version of "A Boy Gotta Work". Sick PonyCentral also does this in LAFB TS after she found out that Sick Patrick was held hostage by Mr Files
Prone to Tears - Sick Boyfriend, based on my AU of him. He will resort to crying in distressing situations. DrugFriend and Sick PonyCentral also tend to start crying at the drop of a hat, and it also doesn't take much to cause Naughty PonyCentral and Nathan to cry as well. In fact, everyone in the PonyCentral universe, including PonyCentral herself, will all start crying for different reasons
Puppy-Dog Eyes - happens whenever begging is optional
Running Away to Cry - DrugFriend after he got fired from his job at FFFFE
Single Tear - James Matric (Panchito Boyfriend). See Manly Tears for the explanation
Tears of Awe - in "Love at First Bite Part 7", Naughty PonyCentral cries these after giving birth to a baby girl. In the bathtub. With the water still in the tub. It's a miracle that the baby survived
Tears of Fear - Sick Boyfriend whenever he sees a needle. Or gets scared of lightning
Tears of Joy - Sick PonyCentral once she sees her newborn baby girl for the first time
Trying Not to Cry - Freund whenever someone asks him about his mum
Your Makeup is Running - whenever Sick PonyCentral cries, her mascara spills down her face
Unable to Cry - Steven Graphite, AKA The DoodleBob Boyfriend. Makes sense since he is a sentient 2D drawing
Tasty Tears - Benedict Gumballs. He is a sentient Popsicle, so his tears are blueberry flavoured
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amazinggraciegurl · 3 months ago
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Expect the Unexpected (Chapter 8: Blank)
Thursday December 3, 2020 (Present Time) 7:43 pm
Raven struggles desperately to not succumb to the panic ripping at her chest. She takes deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth. In, out. In, out. She glances over at Apple, whose knuckles are white, as she grips the steering wheel. Raven squeezes her eyes shut, fighting off the tears that prick the backs of her eyelids. She needs to keep it together. She's been a blubbering mess the past couple days. She's fully relied on Apple, her best friend, for comfort and support. She’s noticing, though, that the situation has taken its toll on her as well. Though the girls did get some rest today back at Apple's house, Apple must've not slept well. Dark bags lie below her bright blue eyes. She’s been stifling yawn after yawn the whole drive. Raven lets out a shuddering breath as ghastly images are conjured in her mind. Dexter's pale, bloodied face, eerily illuminated by the harsh glow of a fluorescent light. The memory of her father, his pale, lifeless figure lying in the decorative wood coffin. Raven standing before him, tears rolling down her cheeks. Apple's soft hand in hers, squeezing tight. Dexter’s arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
Raven whimpers as she fails to block the image from her mind. Apple glances over at her. “Hey,” she soothes. “It's okay, Raven. Everything is going to be okay. I just need you to stay calm right now, okay? Just breathe. Deep breaths.” Raven nods, letting out a trembling sigh. Apple takes a hand off the wheel, reaching over and giving Raven's hand a tight squeeze. “You're okay, sweetie,” she murmurs as Raven slowly gains her composure. “You're okay.” She draws her hand away after a moment, placing it back on the steering wheel. Raven leans back. Breathe, she thinks to herself. I just need to breathe. Keep breathing. Deep breaths.
XXX 7:56 pm Raven's heart pounds, crashing against her ribcage like a sledgehammer. She races down the hall, the white walls a blur on either side of her. Apple and Darling rush behind her, hand in hand. The girls approach Dexter's room. Dr. Pine is standing by the open wooden door, gazing down at a clipboard. He looks up as he hears their footsteps. “Dr. Pine," Darling breathes. “How is Dexter?” “Girls, before you enter, I must warn you-” “I’m sorry!” Raven exclaims. “I need to see him!” She darts past Dr. Pine, dashing into the dimly lit room. She scarcely registers the vicinity is occupied by many others-Dexter’s parents, Daring, Rosabella, Briar, and Ashlynn. Dexter is sitting up. His face is still scraped, marred by bloody cuts, but his glasses are on. His tousled brown locks cover his forehead. Raven gasps. Tears of relief stream from her eyes. “Dexter!” she shrieks.
She surges forward, scrambling to his bedside. She sits next to him, gently wrapping her arms around him. She presses her face against his shoulder. The scent of antiseptic fills her nose. “Baby,” she chokes out. “I love you so much! Thank God you're alright!” She chokes out a sob. His arms slowly envelop her. He holds her lightly, not with the same intensity and warmth that he usually embraces her with. She weeps into his shoulder, the fear and anxiety of the past twenty four hours draining out of her in tiny, warm droplets on the sleeve of Dexter's gown. He pats her back. Raven is so overwhelmed by joy that she doesn't even consider how weak the hug is. She pulls away after a few moments. She gazes at Dexter, at his pale face, his blue eyes, dark as the night sky. She reaches out, stroking her thumb over his cheek. “Dex,” she breathes. “I love you. I couldn't stand the thought of living without you! I-” She stifles another sob. Through her blurry eyesight, she notices an apologetic expression spreading over Dexter's face. He takes a shaky breath. Raven places her hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong, baby?” she whispers. “I-I,” he stutters. “I-I’m sorry, I just-do I know y-you?”
Raven's hand goes limp, collapsing onto her lap. The wind is knocked out of her, as if she's been punched in the gut. “Dr. Pine!” Darling exclaims, her voice shrill with fright. “Wh-what is he talking about?” Raven's trembling hands cover her face. A hand rests on her shoulder. “That's what I was going to tell you girls,” says Dr. Pine, his tone somber. “Dexter has suffered memory loss. We don't know how extensive it is yet. We’ll have to run some tests-” Raven's heartbeat, thumping against her skull, overpowers all the background noise. She clutches her head. An arm wraps around her shoulders. "Breathe, sweetie," Ashlynn whispers. "You've got to breathe." She can't be here right now. She can't look at her boyfriend, his eyes cloudy with confusion. She can't stand the sympathetic expressions on everybody's faces.
She jumps to her feet, running out of the room as fast as she can. “Raven, wait!” Apple yells. Raven is already gone, dashing down the hall. The world is an overwhelming blur of color and sound as she rushes down the stairs. She trips on the last step, falling to her knees on the tile floor. “Are you alright, miss?” a voice worriedly asks. Raven scrambles to her feet. The physical pain is a fuzzy sensation, compared to the fear and grief simmering in her chest. The wind pushes against her, whipping past her ears, as she runs outside. Through misty, unfocused eyes, she sees a bench in the distance. Her legs burn as she rushes toward it. She drops onto it, wrapping her arms around herself as the bitter cold air slices through her. She looks down, her shoulders heaving as each breath she takes grows harder to summon. A thin layer of snow sparkles on the pavement.
The worst thing that could possibly happen to Dexter has occurred, and there's nothing that Raven, or anybody, can do to stop it. Raven would do anything for Dexter. She would bear any amount of pain, fight any evil, withstand any curse. She'd die for him. She'd fucking jump in front of an approaching grenade for him. Now, though, when Dexter needs her the most, she's helpless. She wishes, more than anything else, that she could reach inside his head, flick a switch on his brain, and he'd remember her. He'd remember all the memories--happy, exciting, romantic, and heartbreaking that they'd shared. It breaks Raven, shatters her heart like glass, that he may never remember the adventures they've experienced, the challenges they've faced, the seemingly eternal days of pure bliss where they’d lay in each other's arms, every kiss meaning more than the last. Those days can't be over. They just can't. She draws her knees to her chest, burying her face between them as her head spins. She can't breathe. Every image of Dexter is more painful. She really can't breathe.
She doesn’t know how much time has passed when warm arms suddenly surround her. She gasps raggedly. She slowly lifts her head, and through blurry eyes, sees Ashlynn and Briar sitting beside her, holding her close. She drops her head onto Ashlynn’s shoulder, trying to breathe in the scent of mint that the girl always emanates. But her throat is too tight. “I can’t breathe,” she croaks, the panic pressing on her chest. “You can, sweetie,” Ashlynn murmurs, gently rubbing Raven's back. “Just look and tell me what you can see.” Raven’s bleary eyes ache as she squints at her surroundings. “Snow,” she whispers. “It’s snowing.” Delicate flakes, soft as fairy dust, are drifting down through the sky, landing lightly on the girls. “Good, honey,” says Ashlynn. “What else?” “Lights,” Raven replies. “Christmas lights on the houses across the street.” “Wonderful!” Ashlynn exclaims. “Keep going, baby.” Raven names everything she can see as her eyesight gradually returns to normal. The cars in the parking lot; the trees in the distance, blanketed with snow; a man helping an elderly woman cross the street.
She isn’t sure when she starts breathing again, but eventually she registers the even rising and falling of her chest. “You did so good, sweetheart,” Ashlynn praises. “So good.” The girls descend into a comfortable silence, just watching as the snow swirls through the twilit sky. When Raven's body begins to quake with shivers, Briar gently speaks. “Do you want to go home, sweetie?” Raven’s heart pounds at the thought of going back into the hospital, back to her boyfriend who hasn’t the slightest inkling of who she is. She shakes her head quickly. “Yes,” she says, her voice shaking. “I can’t go back to the hospital! I can't!” “It’s okay, sweetie,” Briar soothes. “You don’t have to. Let’s go back to me and Ash's place and just relax. Sound good?” “Yeah,” Raven agrees. “Sounds good.”
XXX 8:37 pm Briar’s and Ashlynn's house is medium-sized, elegant, and cozy. The style is modern and adorned with many flower-themed decorations. "I'm sorry that Willow's toys are everywhere," Ashlynn apologizes. "I forgot to tell her to pick them up before taking her over to Hunter's." "No problem," Raven replies. “Here, make yourself comfortable,” says Briar, leading Raven over to the carnation pink couch. Raven sits, slumping back into the soft cushions. “There you go,” Briar murmurs. “Now, would you like something to eat?” “I’m not hungry,” Raven replies, looking down at the rose-patterned couch cover. “How about a nice cup of tea?” Ashlynn asks. Raven shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll make us some tea,” Ashlynn decides, going off to the kitchen. “You want to watch a movie?” Briar asks. “Sure,” Raven replies, figuring there’s nothing better to do.
There’s a gaping hole inside her where her heart used to be, and the emptiness makes her feel like a different person. A cold, soulless person, no more alive than Dexter was in his comatose state. Briar frowns, the concern in her eyes unable to touch Raven, to make her feel any semblance of regret for how she’s worrying her friends. “Why don’t you get some jammies on first?” Briar suggests. “You can borrow some of mine. They’re in the bottom drawer of my dresser.” “Okay,” Raven agrees, the effort of standing up harder than it’s ever been. Rifling through Briar’s dresser, she manages to find one pair of pajamas that aren’t pink; they’re a glossy black. In the bathroom, she stares at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles ring her dull violet eyes. Her face is even paler than usual. She tries to feel anything, to summon any of the emotions that she used to take for granted; but every second she feels emptier than the last.
When she comes out, Briar and Ashlynn are sitting on the couch, each nursing a cup of steaming tea. “Hey, Raven,” Ashlynn greets. “Your cup is on the coffee table.” Raven sits next to them on the couch, grabbing her cup of tea. “Thanks, Ash,” she says. She takes slow sips, aware that she’s being watched by Briar and Ashlynn. She knows they’re expecting her to burst into tears at any second. There's a box of tissues on the coffee table that wasn't there before, she notes. The thought of crying, though, feels foreign to her right now. Moments of silence pass before Briar speaks. “What do you want to watch, Raven?” Raven thinks for a moment. “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” she decides. “Good choice,” Briar says, turning the TV on.
As the movie starts, Raven puts her tea down, leaning back against the cushions. With Briar’s and Ashlynn’s warm bodies beside her, their steady breathing, her eyes begin to grow heavy. The last thing she remembers before she drifts off is Harry running towards the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, half expecting to hit the hard stone wall. Raven knows that he makes it. That against all earthly physics, he appears on the platform. Her last thought is--will she make it? Or will she slam into the wall, ending up bruised and bloody on the floor?
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xgoldxnhour · 1 month ago
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Resignation. The acceptance that pools in her eyes is one of defining defeat. Even after months, each day doesn’t feel real. How she can’t fully invite peace to wash over her without a longing sense of melancholy. The freckles that dot those plump little cheeks, constellations of DNA strung together by an old fireplace. Her dreams encompass creaky floorboards and perpetually open windows. A home grown and harbored by longing normality. Perhaps another fleeting couple might find it on their journey, push through its barricades and bear the fruit of the Silases labors. Love may love again.
Her focus wanders, enraptured by pounding waves and children’s laughter as Aurora catches a figure in the distance and points. “Dada.”
Eloise’s heart swoons at the word, nose against her daughter’s cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart. Say it again. Say dada.” Though the baby’s gaze is tunnel visioned, pointing off in the distance once again. And when Eloise finally turns her head toward where the compass points. At first, her breath flutters, halted and ripped away—assuming the apparitions and daydreams of his memory have returned. But the ghosts that hide behind corners and doors usually are mere glimpses and statuesque. Like a corpse in a casket. But this—figure—this phantom limps, almost like a walker and continues toward them in a wake of trickling blood. Her shock sheds into fear, wondering how one could’ve gotten passed the perimeters. No, it walks with purpose, rushed and determined, unlike the groaning bellies longing for its next meal. Its mouth opens and she swears she hears her name.
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“Sam?” Her call is quiet, only a whisper of great lament, fearful that calling its name might force it away. Her mind plays tricks yes, but never for this long as a blink usually brushes it away. Aurora bounces in her arms, pointing toward the figure as he no longer walks in haze. No, it’s him. Her Sam, beaten and battered—but alive.
The next few moments feel like snapshots, one second paused and watching and the next—sprinting. Sand kicked behind her as she nearly trips over uneven terrain, her heart clawing toward what demands to be returned. “Sam!” She screams practically bloody murder.
They nearly collide as tears and sobs flows over, immediately reaching to touch his face. Full, physical. Bones, muscles, and blood. All in front of her as she can barely form words. “Oh my God…I didn’t—know. I waited—and—didn’t know. I thought. We—we should’ve stayed. If I knew—Oh my God, Sam.” She blubbers and swallows, gulping down sobs as she reaches to hold his face so delicately, her other arm still wrapped around Aurora. “Am I dreaming?”
Red hair, longer than she last remembers, similar to their long winter at the farm—and a face freshly shaven with prickle hairs barely forming. Eyes like sapphire, as blue as the icy backdrop seas behind. Every memorized feature in zoomed focus finally resets into its pure form. Despite the carnage before her, much like their first day together after escaping in similar visage, caked and bloodied, her lips press against in such longing bastion, tears, weeps and all. Finally. Every dream, nightmare and prayer have waited for this moment. A reunion given far closer than she could’ve imagined. As the moon has finally returned to the sun.
At some point, the routine becomes clockwork, as if this abode had been theirs the whole time. Early morning light cascades through sheer linen, though they don't cast the same winding lines and curves as the laced ones at home. Home, she wonders if wayfarers have pushed through barricades and have found refuge in their home. A farmhouse suffocated in grief and hazed memory. Glimpses in every room, cloaked in every inch, every door frame, every floor board. The morning light flashes images of skin pressed in desperate alliance, lips interupted by fierce tongue, glowing smiles and intrepid laughter. The mornings where he would envelope her entire face with kisses, fingers exploring caverns memorized and branded. The tossing of escape only leading to more bristles of growing beard, loving lips and exploding eruption of laughter. How their world, veiled in dread, somehow echoed with laughter. Memories of exploring the thrift shop that displayed staple pieces that they carried on for those coming years, worn thin or bleached from sunlight. Recalling old, childhood memories with besmirched embarrassment and styles that were considered fashion back then only riddled the two into bellowing cackles that lead to streaming tears. How she heard his laugh in her dreams, which probably led this collision of boasting memory. How everytime she hears their daughter laugh, she thinks of him.
Tears well, curled up in a bed far too big for one until her blinding course down memory lane is broken by the sound of soft, awaking cries. The first night they moved in, the crib stood against the wall near the door, but every night since, it now remains right beside the bed. Eloise sits up, wiping away tears as she bends over to peak into the crib--and their she is, a gift of memories and adoration all woven into a single, glowing tapestry of blonde and stormy blue eyes. She gasps at the sight and reaches inside to lift Aurora into her arms. A year and three months and it feels like she's grown so much more in the passing weeks--or perhaps it feels that way as she experiences it alone.
"Hi there, sunshine. Good morning." She kisses plump little cheeks as the cries slow into sweet little coos. "Yeah, good morning, lovebug. Did you sleep good. Oh, come here." Bringing the baby close, she merely holds her in a lulling rock, though more for the mother than the child as the tears dare to spill again. Another kiss laid in her hair, she finally sits up properly. "You hungry, baby girl?"
Coming down the stairs, half an hour later, all dressed and half fed, unveils the truth behind 'it takes a village'. Everyone's already up and running, discussing supply runs, and covering techniques for the gardens growing nearby. Apparently artichokes and spinach love the foggy coastal climate that Montauk has to share, but many of the others need solid upkeep of organic soil and row covers to keep dry.
Thankfully, Bodevan was crazy enough to save a handful of his chickens and a handful of trucks filled with food made for trade during the attack, while a small team went back to scavenge what was left of the pantry and weapons as they stayed at the farmhouse for the week. Apparently, it was a bloodbath, but everyone took what they can in order to make whatever came next as close to home as they could. Minus the large loss of population, the group trudged along toward the coastline and made due. Pantry/inventory back up again, a water filtering station over fire, and a plethora of candles, lanterns and a gas stove with plenty of matches, the group makes due without power. There wasn't enough room for the farmhouse generator and felt unfair to take away what wasn't rightfully theirs.
With Aurora on her hip, El makes a few spinach omelets for everyone with their rationed amount for the morning, handing her off to Carl from time to time as he and Judith kept her company in the kitchen. Maggie came in, a few months pregnant but hungry nonetheless as El hands her a plate.
"You okay?" Maggie asked, sitting down at one of the bar stools.
"Yeah, of course." Her brow furrows, but attempts a light response, wondering if Maggie had heard about her little night swim.
Maggie opens her mouth to speak until the rest of the party begins to peel into the kitchen for breakfast, popping a forkful of egg instead.
The days are quiet once again, much like the farmhouse as walkers rarely make it down this way. Even in the cool breeze and warm jackets, El stands at the shore, fingers held by Aurora's tiny little fists as they are running away from the water. Far enough for the water to barely cover her ankles, El lifts up Aurora as the wave breaks and spills over the sand. Aurora screams and cackles in laughter as El holds her close with budding sweet kisses. "I gotcha!" El exclaims, ignoring the numbness of her feet from the cold water and biding wind. The breeze is crisp, but both bundled warm enough where it's merely chilly. Some of the other kids are chasing each other down the shore with seaweed or building architectural masterpieces in the sand. No one's bothered by the weather and enjoying the coastal breeze and sticking sand. For some, much like Aurora, it's the first time they had seen a beach and want to drink it's tranquil bloom until there's nothing left.
Aurora's arms hold tightly around her mother's neck, cheek to cheek as she watches the water recede back into the swirl of the ocean, only to do it all over again.
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"Dada would've loved this place, huh, Ror?" El hums, looking longingly toward the crashing waves, what was once a whirlpool toward her demise is now just waves, a cooling prospect of what could have been.
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goldentsum · 4 years ago
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━  pretty submissives.
CHARACTERS: miya atsumu, miya osamu, sakusa kiyoomi, and suna rintarou
WARNING: smut, 18+ content, bdsm, sex toys, pretty subs who cry, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mommy kink, hard dom! reader, soft dom! reader, lingerie on males, maid outfits on males, degradation, praising, anal play (male receiving), oral sex, handjob, riding
AUTHOR’S NOTE: seeing the “doms” become subs and cry makes me so excited! sub! male characters supremacy!!!
part 2 - tsukishima, kageyama, oikawa, kuroo
— atsumu ♡
• a brat and a masochist 
• likes it when you go hard on him. make him cry. hurt him. atsumu likes it. he loves it even!
• when you manhandle him, not giving a fuck about how loud he is and just chasing your own pleasure, using him, makes him whiny and it triggers his orgasm! 
• slap him, spank him, mark him, degrade him, he’ll cum untouched!
• atsumu’s a cocky little shit outside of the bedroom, telling people how dom he is but you both know who moans like a little bitch when spanking sessions goes a little harder than usual. 
• his expressions are the best! his usual cocky smirk turning into a lewd face. eyes rolling back to his head, mouth wide open as drool trails down his chin, and a delicious red blush on his cheeks. the way he shivers and trembles under you is breathtaking. 
• if you overstim him, he’ll cry and scream, jerking violently on the bed. he becomes really sensitive, even more sensitive than normal, and he comes way too quickly but he recovers fast so dw~
• sub! atsumu is super fun to play with especially when he’s being a brat about it. 
• but your aftercare makes him super soft! he gets really cuddly afterwards! clean him up though or he’ll whine about it in the morning. 
“i-it’s too much-!” atsumu cried, your hand still stroking him. the mess from his earlier orgasms makes it easier to stroke him back to hardness. his thighs quivered at the intense pleasure, sensitive from the past orgasms. 
you smirked down at your boyfriend, loving the way he tremble and weep. his face was a mess, drool on his lips and chin and tears running down his cheek, his nose red. atsumu gasped when you placed the bullet vibrator against his spent cock, the intense buzzing making him shriek. 
his moans are so cute. so pretty and loud. 
your eyes admired his bruises and hickeys. his inner thighs red from your bites, chest covered with scratches, and his neck with your lovebites. 
“have you learned your lesson, tsum?” you hummed absentmindedly, still running the vibrator along his length while you other hand squeezed and massaged his cock’s swollen and red head. atsumu whimpered, hips thrusting. 
“y-yes! please! i-i can’t come again! it hurts!” he whined, squirming on the bed. new set of tears running down his cheeks from the pleasure. 
“hmm~ give me another one then i’ll believe that you’ve learned your lesson” atsumu moaned at that and let his head plop down back on the pillows, eyes closing from your actions. brows furrowed, mouth opening again to let out series of broken moans. 
you removed the vibe making atsumu sigh in relief, breath stuttering a bit. he panted, chest heaving.
you snickered at the fucked out expression on him. the calm moment quickly dissipate as he choked on a moan when you wrapped your lips around his cock, tongue swiping at the swollen head and your hand massaging the prominent vein that run along his cock.
“aAAH-!” raspy moans escaped the male, hips jerking as you started to bob your head. atsumu hics as his lips trembles
if anyone asked you what was your favorite moment was with your boyfriend, it was definitely when he’s like this. when he’s your little slut. 
— osamu ♡
• a soft princess~ <3 
• he will do anything you ask. model a piece of lingerie? he’s already wearing it. show you how he touch himself? done. lay on your lap for his spanking session? he’s there. asap. 
• osamu is a obedient baby but he still gets a little playful at time, testing your dom side. 
• but when you turn hard dom on him, he’ll cry. in anticipation and in excitement. 
• if you deny his orgasm, he’s gonna cry. even if it’s only one orgasm, he’ll whine and tells to you that he has been a good boy. only a good boy. no bad boy! 
• a crybaby!! 
• he’s already sensitive normally but if you deny him his orgasm, he gets really antsy and get really sensitive making him squirm and pout. 
• if you degrade him, he’ll be really pouty and teary! only praises for baby samu! 
• tell him how pretty he is. praise how well he fucks you. tell him that you like it that he’s your obedient little princess. he’ll be putty in your hands~
• if you bring food in the bedroom, licking it off him. he’ll get really shy! also, if he sees the food outside the bedroom, he’ll probably remember what you did and get hard pft 
• samu loves the feeling of your tongue on him!
“tsk. you’ve been really bad, princess” you scolded, watching osamu whine. a pretty laced collar on his neck, his body shivering as you massaged his prostate. 
“n-no! ‘m good-!” he whimpers out, hips grinding down to your fingers. you spanked his ass, gripping the red flesh. osamu gasped at the impact, eyes rolling back to his skull. 
you thrust your fingers in his ass, his tight walls clenching down. your other hand went to his balls, cupping it tightly. osamu mewled, tongue sticking out of his mouth. his body shuddering when the tips of your fingers brushed again and again against his prostate. 
“really now? you don’t remember that you were being a brat earlier when mommy had to work?” 
osamu sobbed, toes curling when your fingers quickened. his teeth biting down his lips. he sniffled and stared up at you, eyes teary and red from being denied his orgasm 3 times now. 
“’m sorry, w-wanted mommy’s a-attention!” he confessed, body quivering. you stopped making him whine at the lost of pleasure. taking your fingers out of him, you climbed on top of him. 
leaning closer to him, you kissed his lips. he chased your lips, desperate for your affection. osamu opened his mouth, an invitation to slither your tongue in. you hummed in appreciation and entered your tongue in his cavern, playing with his tongue. 
the male moaned against your mouth as you swallowed his pretty moans. his body violently jerked, surprised at the pleasure, when you started grinding your clothed pussy on his sensitive cock. he cried, trying to make you quicken your slow grinding. 
you moved away from his lips, his gasps echoing in the room as he quivered under you. your lips trailed down to his neck, sucking on the soft skin. 
“you wanted mommy’s attention? you have it, princess~” 
— sakusa ♡
• a touch-starved baby! 
• please handle with care :( 
• pretty boy gets embarrassed really easily so please tone down the teasing. but i don’t blame you if you want to try. he gets really red, the contrast of the red on his pale skin and dark hair is stunning!
• stare at him while you pleasure him and he becomes more responsive, your eyes makes him squirm! 
• loves it when you suck him off, admiring his body. do not degrade or he’ll be really hurt about it and might not do anything for a longgg timeee
• any form of physical affection makes him really shy and he’s really embarrassed when he pops a boner because of it! even if it’s the most innocent touch, a sudden boner will pop out of nowhere. 
• when you overstim him, his pretty dark eyes gets shiny with tears and turns half-lidded as he blubbers incoherent words.
• if you give him gifts, lingerie and/or collars, he would react strongly at first! getting shy and being a tsundere but as soon as he wears it and you praise him, telling him how he looks so good, it’ll make him super happy! 
• please wash him after the fun though, the gentle atmosphere contrasting from what happened earlier makes sakusa soft. he loves your hands. running up and down his body, caressing the skin that no one but you gets to touch. 
water splashed against the large tub as you rode omi. his breath getting more uneven and hitching when you clench down at him. 
sakusa hid his warm and red face at the crook of your neck, he can’t look at you. if he does now, he feels like he’ll cum just from the way you look at him with pure desire. 
you run your fingers through his wet dark locks, massaging his scalp. sakusa moaned against your wet skin, lips biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to muffled the loud moans that was threatening to escape him. 
“don’t hide your pretty moans, baby~ let me hear you” you whispered, hips moving faster, loving the way sakusa’s large cock hits your sweet spot dead on and the way the tip reach so deep inside you. 
the dark-haired male whined, hands gripping your hips as his legs shook. he panted against your neck making you shiver when his hot breath hit your cold skin. 
you let your hands rest on sakusa’s wide shoulders, using it to help you move up and down on his cock. you hummed in satisfaction when you hear his moans getting louder and you tugged his hair, making him look at you. you looked at him in awe and lust. 
he’s so pretty. his dark eyes half-lidded as it gleam with tears and lust. lips red from the earlier biting. the red blush across his cheeks and neck was absolutely delectable. 
“you getting close, omi?” you whispered as he nodded, whining, brows furrowing. you leaned closer and started littering his neck with bites, breaking the skin. 
sakusa moaned at that, hips thrusting up making you moan when his cock grazed your cervix. you licked the column of his neck then slid your tongue into his open mouth. 
he kissed you back with a hint of timidness, still a bit shy. he let you take the lead with the kiss as always. omi loved the way your dominance oozes out of you but still maintaining this certain softness that makes his heart full. 
omi gasped into the kiss when your fingers pinched his nipple, rolling it sensually. you broke the kiss and looked down at him, a lazy smirk on your lips as your hips rolled. 
“you’re so pretty, omi~” 
you loved the way his body reacts with praises. his eyes rolling into his head, head threw back, and mouth open. you trailed one hand to his lips, fingers going into mouth and played with his sleek tongue. sakusa moaned against your fingers, sucking and working on your fingers like a good baby he is~ 
— suna ♡
• a pillow princess! 
• he loves it when he just lays there, letting you do all the work, as you work him into his high~
• suna loves it when you dress him up, caressing his skin. 
• lingerie and maid outfits with cat ears are his faves! thigh high socks are also his go to! 
• and when you praise him, cooing at him about how good he looks and your fingers playing with the bell on his collar makes his heart skip a beat
• suna also has a masochistic side! all soft sex aside, he loves it when you fuck him hard. use him for your own pleasure, remind him of his place. also after sex when he looks in the mirror, seeing the bruises you give him rises a weird satisfaction in him
• he would let you do anything! just talk about it with him before actually doing it. 
• pretty boy looks good in dresses! his small waist is amazing! 
• i said it once and i’ll say it again, he’s a pretty pillow princess! 
• he loves the way you stalk towards him, eyes dark and filled with lust. it makes him squirm with excitement, waiting for your next move.
• fucking him while his ass is stretched by a butt plug that’s attached to a tail, his maid outfit messy and covered with his cum, and his bell ringing every time you fuck him would make him so dazed and fucked out! 
“what a cute kitten you are, rin~” you cooed, fingers trailing on his bruised back down to the crack of his ass then to his ass where the tail hang. you grinned and pushed the plug deeper inside him, marveling at the way his body arch and his whines getting louder. 
the skirt of the maid outfit was bundled up on his waist, showing his pretty ass to you. you then tugged a bit at the tail, suna whimpering at the way the butt plug drag against his walls. 
you then turned him around, manhandling him to the way you like. suna looked up at you with dazed eyes, his thick cock standing proudly against his stomach, the now soiled lacy panties pushed down to his thighs. 
“fuck, you’re absolutely gorgeous” you praised. suna moaned when you held his cock, stroking him as you positioned yourself up on his thighs and lined him to your folds. 
the male gulped at the sight of you and relished the way you slowly sunk down to his length. your moans mixing together, savoring the stretch of suna’s dick and the way your walls sucked him in. 
once he bottomed out, you panted on top of him and your hands on his chest, touching the soft fabric of his outfit, steadying yourself. 
“p-please move... please..” you heard after a little bit, you gazed down at him and smirked. hands fondling his chest, admiring the way his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped and the way the bell on his neck, rung. 
“want me to move, kitten?” suna nodded, opening his lips to slur out pleads. how can you deny the cute kitty when he moans so prettily for you so you started moving, clenching down on his dick. the way his cock felt was amazing as always, filling you up so good. 
suna moaned when you started going faster, his hands gripped at the blankets beneath him. he laid on the mattress, moaning like crazy, letting you ride him to oblivion. 
you cooed, panting a bit, as you admired him. you reached down and tipped his chin towards you. he opened his fucked out eyes to gaze at you, a blush coating his cheeks. 
“you should see yourself right now, baby boy. you look absolutely delicious~” 
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