#but boy does it make it easier to draw them and not having to dig for the perfect reference later

[inky-axolotl-gaia]

One of several Shadow studies/model sheets I’m making for myself. This take is modeled off of Yuji Uekawa's artwork of the sonic gang during Sonic Adventure 2, though of course with some touches of my own in trying to understand the character.

Feel free to use for reference material, and make tweaks to adjust to your style!

[catacombbee]

theory time. spoilers for sbg new episode 74

does anyone actually fucking trust Maverick rn? im so fr i don't trust him one BIT.

Alex i trust. Alex seems like he has good intentions (especially with him telling Aiden he wasnt supposed to tell them) but how much could he really help? it doesn't feel like he's very high up the totem pole yk. maybe we'll have like a- Alex sticking his neck out to help/save the kids somehow and dies for it, perhaps on accident

but anyway I DONT FUCKING TRUST MAVERICK AND YOURE DUMB IF YOU DO im kidding. im kidding you're not dumb. im kidding you're amazing and go drink your water rn pls

i have SO MANY THOUGHTS ON

1. the fact he's trying to get the kids to trust him

2. the fact that he went to BEN first of all people

starting with no. 1, i think he wants something. he so CLEARLY wants something. i don't TRUST THIS MAN he may be HOT but he is UP TO SMTH!!! what i don't know is what he wants from the kids. getting them on his side and trusting him feels like a way of getting more information out of them, and what could he possibly be digging for if not more information on the phantom realm?

Alex was asking Ashlyn about the fact that they all asked for ASL books at the same time and thus must have some way of communicating. i think they must know it has to do with the phantom realm (though they don't know that it's an entire separate dimension i think) and Maverick wants to know more about how they're communicating. with the promise that he will protect them from the rest of the government, which i think might just entail "keeping you for ourselves"

and how does he get the kids to trust them? making himself seem like a good option, and separating himself from "those who put them here." the government. the bad part of the government. and how does he do that?

well that's where we come to no. 2

they have cameras. they can watch the kids and how they're acting. in fact, they've been watching the kids for a while now. if i were to pick anyone to try and talk to to get on my side having observed them from a distance, maybe id pick Taylor or Logan. the others are stubborn or unpredictable in their own ways.

So why Ben?

Maverick is trying to draw several comparisons in Ben's mind, especially with using language like the above and like this:

What Maverick is trying to connect in Ben's mind is this:

The authority = The government that locked them up here

The government =/ Maverick and his people

He's trying to get into Ben's mind and say "Hey. We want the same thing you want: to get rid of this place." The way he calls them a bunch of pigs ALMOST makes me hesitate on thinking he's being insincere, but on the other hand would that phrasing not resonate with a jaded teenage boy who's been in trouble before?

Maverick went to Ben because he saw a way in through Ben. Even though Ben is violent and stubborn (right now. and towards the staff), he recognizes that he can use Ben's past as a way of leveraging himself to a higher status in Ben's mind. Besides, if he can get one of the more stubborn kids to crack first, he's got a much easier way in with the others.

Furthermore, this will lead to more observation. He must know the kids are communicating somehow, he just doesn't know how exactly yet. This part isn't Ben specific, but by talking to one of them, he then gives himself the opportunity to watch the rest more closely for any mention of things he's said to Ben. Evidence that they have some way of talking. A way of figuring out how they're doing so.

Maverick is using Ben's past to manipulate him into trusting him.

and im pissed off abt that

BUT THATS JUST A THEORY. A GA-

anyway though i just wanted to rant about this episode and how it made me feel cus im upset and i want to hug Ben. if you don't like my theory and/or have a different one please please reblog and yap about it (nicely) i LOVELOVELOVE hearing different opinions on headcanons and theories and such. OR BUILD ON MY THEORY! i like yapping pls yap to me okay bye

also ty @arcaneafterhours for giving me screenshots cus i can't screenshot. ilu

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part XVII – Part XVIII

They don't set out to become the kings of St. Maurice’s School for Boys, it just sort of happens.

Peter's not trying to be a king so much as be King Peter, not trying to lead so much as care for others, but it feels so natural to speak up, to step forward, to give orders and receive respect. He doesn't ask to be called ‘sir’, as the younger boys do when he scolds them, and he feels embarrassed when he hears other boys say, “Here comes His Majesty.” He's not the king of this school, he's not even Head Boy. He's just… Peter Pevensie. And yet, somehow, he knows he's High King Peter too, he remembers being that, and it lingers in his body and mind, sinew and soul altered in ways he cannot take back. He wouldn't take it back even if he could.

It's easier for Peter to see the little things in Edmund than himself: the way he laughs freer and brighter, even as he studies harder and deeper; the calmness with which he takes insults; the concern with which he addresses people in the wrong.

Peter finds himself instinctively turning toward the sounds of shouts and fists, finds himself leaping to either halt or join the altercations, depending on their nature. He's quick to see who's at a disadvantage, quick to pick a side if there's a clear one. Ed has similar tendencies, though he's sharper with his tongue, prefers to break up fights with some pointed words, and only the threat of fists, unless his brother is already embroiled.

Peter's ear seems specially tuned to his brother's voice, easily picking it out of any row, no matter how many boys may be shouting, and he is never surprised to discover Edmund at his side in the thick of it. They look after each other, guard each other's backs as much as possible, fight for each other when they must.

By the end of the winter term, they are both widely accepted leaders across the school, Peter on a level with Head Boy Wollers, and Ed as something similar among the lower forms, who consider him more accessible than Peter.

He picks out a pattern in the whispers: If you want protection, go to Peter; if you want clever ideas, go to Edmund. And it makes him smile, another echo of their kingship and the roles they'd taken while ruling from the Cair.

They stop bullies, and lift spirits, and it's all good, it's right, it's what Aslan would want, Peter's certain.

And then they go home.

Home for the Easter hols, home to Finchley for the first time since they left it in the autumn, when the bombing had only begun, and they sit silent on the train drawing them into London, dragging them out of the near-dream they suddenly know school to have been.

They have to change trains twice, because the lines are knocked out, and slow-rising tension crawls up Peter's spine, works knots into his shoulders.

It comes in flashes between the stretches of unspoiled land: the edge of a city bombed into jagged walls against pale sky, someone's kitchen gaping open to the air like a wound, a funeral procession down a country lane.

Closing in on London in the evening, the ragged grey look of everything increases, and silence settles in their compartment. They come into Tottenham Station minutes before blackout descends, and disembark into the brokenness of patched up walls, and boarded up windows. Their train is late, no one is waiting, they'll have to walk all the way up Tottenham Road to take the Tube from Euston. Even in the station their breath makes clouds before their faces.

Outside, the cab stand is empty, and they say nothing, hoisting trunks up to their shoulders, Edmund his shadow as he turns down the street. The edge of the heavy trunk digs into Peter's shoulder, it is deucedly hard to balance with his suitcase dangling from one hand, but he breathes, walks, one foot in front of the other.

It's hard to breathe, hard to see, they are walking through wounds, great gaping wounds bleeding fire and stone, city skin torn open to vital parts, and Peter does not know this London. He walks as if in a dream, slow and stunned, only the occasional knock of Edmund's arm against his reminding Peter he is in fact awake.

Halfway there, Edmund is forced to rest; he's smaller, not as strong as Peter, but his trunk weighs nearly the same.

Ed sits on his trunk, panting, and Peter says nothing, because there is nothing to say, just stretches his back, trying to stand tall, peering up into the blackout murk, searching for the sky.

Chilly, twilight air hangs heavy with smoke and dust, sharp, angry smells that send memories flickering through Peter's head like a faulty film reel at a picture—smoke above trees, smashed stone walls, reek of blood, red streaked down Rhindon's silver blade, giant's club smashing down on Edmund, shout burning in his throat, Erah's face coated in scarlet dried to rust, stern sorrow for destruction, Ed's pale but smiling face…

“Peter? Pete!” Tugging at his sleeve, and he starts, looks over into his little brother's worried eyes. “Are you alright?”

“It's wrong.” Peter waves a hand around them, ember broke to flame in his chest. An old woman limps past, head down, torch pointed at the ground to see her way. She doesn't even glance at them. “All wrong.”

And he reaches for Rhindon, but finds nothing, his hands are empty, he's in his school uniform not armour, he's a boy alone in the streets of London–

The air-raid sirens blare.

Fear gives them strength, and the world blurs until they tumble down the steps to the underground station, trunks and all.

Packed in with the hundreds of others sheltering there, they surrender the preferred positions on top of their trunks to older folk with bad knees, and huddle beside them on the cold concrete platform, Edmund pressed close enough for Peter to hear his whisper: “I wish we'd never come back.”

A little boy with a sticking plaster on his chin is squirming in an older girl’s arms, querulous with his need for the toilet, and an old milk bottle gets passed over.

Peter is trying not to breathe too deeply, the reek of the sweaty, fearful crowd nearly enough to make him gag. He doesn't know if Ed means back from school or back from Narnia, but he agrees with either.

“I hate bombs.” He rests his head against Ed's, sticks his nose into his brother's hair that still carries a hint of Yorkshire moor mist, closes his eyes. “Rather catapults, or even a dragon.”

The fire in Peter’s heart burns there, gnaws at his breastbone, his lungs. His hands keep clenching into fists, before the ache of his muscles catches his attention and he forces himself to relax.

The ground beneath them shivers, the lights flicker.

A baby cries, a dog whines, someone begins to sing, and Peter feels as if the concrete roof has already caved in on him, he is trapped, squeezed, he can't move, he can't do anything.

Oh, for a sword, an army, for Aslan! But Peter can't imagine the great Lion in all His beauty here, in this dingy foul smelling crowd. He closes his eyes again, wraps an arm tight around Ed.

Ed sings softly with the others: Abide with me, fast falls the eventide…

It's after 11 by the time they drag up the steps of their home, and no light escapes at any window, they cannot tell if anyone is even there. The girls have been delayed letting out thanks to a suspected case of the measles, and sometimes Mother works very late…

A light is on in the kitchen.

In the front hall, Ed drops down on his trunk, wordless, but Peter halts one step into the living room.

The fire in the hearth has burned down low, but there is enough light for him to see the woman lying across the sofa, still in her factory overall, so heavily asleep two boys blundering in with their luggage could not wake her.

Behind him Edmund starts to speak, but Peter turns, grabs Ed’s arm to tow him in his wake as he fumbles blindly into the kitchen.

He thinks his heart is breaking.

He sees the table set for three, supper gone cool, everything waiting for them, she must have fallen asleep waiting, and Peter… he thinks he's going to cry.

He doesn't.

His voice sounds odd and crackly as he tells Edmund, “Go and wake her gently. I'll reheat the soup.”

Peter comes awake in his own bed, sometime early morning, perhaps when he usually rises to go out to the stables, but he lies in complete darkness, listening to mother quietly moving about the kitchen, the door shutting behind her as she leaves to catch her bus to the factory…

And then he hears the air raid sirens very faint and far away, somewhere to the west, and he doesn't know why exactly but he is crying.

He rolls over to bury his face in his pillow, muffle the sobs, but they break out hard and fast, like the wild fire in his chest has become a bird beating its wings against his ribcage, and there is no escape, there is nothing he can do. He is nobody here, nothing, he doesn't count. He is small and trapped, and wild for open sky and the woods and the great moor rolling away and a fresh horse under him.

He thinks of the boy with the sticking plaster, the girl with the glasses, the great jagged wall that had once been a bakery! he suddenly remembered, with the most delicious cinnamon stickies one could imagine. And Mother, oh, Mum, it's not fair, you shouldn't have to work like this, it's all wrong, wrong!

He is weeping, broken open with a kind of hopeless fury for the pain around him, sobbing in the dark.

A patting hand finds his head, his shoulder, and Peter catches his breath, feels Edmund's weight dipping the mattress, a fumbling offer of comfort the way he knows Peter receives it best, and Peter… Peter cannot bear it, he flinches. Sob strangling in his throat, and he jerks back from the touch, curls away from the loving warmth of his brother, covers his mouth with a hand.

He does not want to be seen or heard, not like this, so wrecked and vulnerable, so weak and useless.

Hasty, fierce, he swallows the heaving, stamps out the fire, chokes down the tears, wrestling his body into a trembling, sniffling quietude.

“The only place you're useless is in the kitchen making tea.”

He stiffens at Edmund's hard-edged words, unbalanced by the wondering of how much he may have said aloud, or how much Ed might have guessed.

Edmund stands, moves away. “Come on, it's nearly six, and I'm starving—let's get breakfast.”

And then he's gone, creaking down the stairs, and Peter lies still, a few more tears making their way down the side of his face to the pillow. There is a cold space at his back, he is empty inside, hungry and weary in equal measure.

He does not understand. Any of this. Or so he tells the shadows.

He only understands that it hurts.

Next

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 3 Tatarigoroshi pt. 11

There were spoilers for the games Deadly Premonition and Siren in this post. But since I felt it was kind of a pointless digression I got rid of them.

I wonder if there's some sort of deeper goings-on happening in Hinamizawa. Keiichi is flip-flopping really hard over how he feels and why he killed Teppen.

Earlier, while committing the deed, he kept saying that he wasn't doing this for her. That he wasn't motivated by her despair, or that he felt anger towards Teppei, but here he is now consoling himself that everything he did, he did for her sake. I don't like the implication that by the end of this he'll confront Satoko and try to guilt the small child by claiming it was all for her. Keiichi digs a new hole for the body, and summarily dumps it in the hole before calling it a day. Having sufficiently killed himself by digging TWO body holes in one day Keiichi almost rides his bike into an on-coming car.

It's no good! Keiichi you're done. You had a good? run, it's time to just turn yourself in boyo. Keiichi proceeds to internally argue with himself over the fact he should probably kill Takano. Which, yeah, sure, good luck with that. Even if you weren't loopy and didn't just sprain your ankle I doubt you could take Takano. She seems wily.

Perhaps the most perceptive Keiichi has ever, and probably will ever be.

Seriously, even if she didn't come across him in the dead of night, in the rain, with a shovel near the forest she would probably be able to solve he murdered somebody. Somehow everyone, everywhere in Hinamizawa knows at all times of the day or night what Keiichi is up to, and they somehow have access to his internal monologue. Are they also reading the visual novel?

Even without the immediately forthcoming events I think everyone who reads this could reasonably assume Takano knows what Keiichi did. If for no other reason than the fact that Keiichi brought up that he wanted Teppei dead, and does she happen to know who calls the shots on the Oyashiro killings. Wouldn't take a master sleuth to put this one together. If this were a Poirot or Sherlock Holmes tale it would be a short one put in a short story collection with the other ones that weren't especially brain teasers.

I wonder why she feels the need to just basically confess to Keiichi that she condemned Tomitake to death (which, RIP)? Just for the thrill of it? Because he wasn't there to scare with the gruesome history of Watanagashi and the implements in the ritual storehouse? Did she just swipe the bike to make it so the cult could get him easier? Or is she somehow involved with the cult as well? If so, how come she winds up part of the Oyashiro sacrifices as well? Is it a drawing lots type of arrangement, and despite her service her number came up and nobody likes a welcher?

Keiichi, dude, I know you're in the depths of your paranoia cause she knows what you did, but she is giving you an out. You should really just accept the offer and take it.

Oh come now, why would you want to kill such a nice lady?

Then in the TIPS section someone calls in a mysterious oil barrel fire deep in the mountains. Only, gadzooks! A b-b-b-b-b-corpse?! Also Ooishi, Kumagai, and a new police character named Komiyama talk around the dead body of Tomitake, and are surprised that he's the one who wound up back in the mud, and not Teppei who they were so sure would be the victim. Boy, won't their faces be red?

[im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons]

Day 7: Humiliation

Warnings: none

Rating: E

Pairing: Jimmy x Raylan x Tim

Jimmy will be the first to admit that he doesn’t understand it. 

He likes it when the boys are sweet and gentle with him, when Raylan heaps on the praise or Tim fucks him slow, peppering his mouth and jaw and neck with kisses. He likes being held, likes sleeping in between them, likes waking up cradled against Raylan’s chest with Tim pressed against his back.

It’s just… that’s not all he likes. 

Tim is the one who finds out. Jimmy crawls into his lap one day, angling for a few kisses and maybe a little bit of a distraction, and Tim chuckles against his neck and says, “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Jimmy freezes, blushing all the way down to the roots of his hair. There’s an apology halfway to his lips, a sorry for bothering you that he knows his voice would crack around – but then he registers Tim’s tone, the way it’s soft and easy, almost dripping with fondness. 

Tim’s teasing, and it shouldn’t make heat coil low in Jimmy’s stomach, but it does. He doesn’t quite manage to bite off the whimper that rises in his throat, and Tim is too observant not to notice the sound he makes and the flush on his face and the way he went from interested to hard as a fucking rock.

“Yeah?” Tim asks, a smile slowly spreading across his face, and Jimmy just blushes harder. “Is that what does it for you?”

Jimmy swallows thickly. “Sometimes,” he says carefully, when he’s sure his voice will come out even. “Just… sometimes.”

Tim’s smile softens around the edges, losing its teeth and making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Okay,” he says, like it’s that easy. And – maybe it is. Because that’s that. Tim doesn’t bring it up again, doesn’t push unless Jimmy asks him, with heat already bleeding down the back of his neck, to get a little mean.

(Tim is the one who brings Raylan in on it, though, and Jimmy still hasn’t figured out how to thank him. Because now, when he asks, he gets them both.)

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to wanting, to asking, but it does get easier. Especially when what it gets him is so damn good. Tonight, he’s got them both – Tim’s behind him, fingers digging into his hips, and Raylan’s in front, crouched down so that he can rest his elbows on the bed and look right in Jimmy’s eyes. They like to keep him between them like that, and Jimmy revels in it, loves the feeling of being wanted by them both. 

Tim’s fucking him, short, sharp little thrusts that make Jimmy keen, and Raylan’s got two fingers pressed into his mouth, fucking past his lips just hard enough to make Jimmy wish for the real thing. Like he knows, Raylan laughs under his breath, curling his fingers to pet over Jimmy's tongue. “Slut,” he says affectionately, and Jimmy whines around his fingers, his cock jerking between his legs as his ears burn. “You need this, don’t you? Not happy unless you’re getting it from both ends, are you, sweetheart?”

Jimmy closes his eyes against the sharp bolt of pleasure he feels, shame and arousal mixing in equal measure. Behind him, Tim groans, ducking his head to press a chain of biting kisses along the nape of Jimmy’s neck. The change in angle makes stars burst on the edges of Jimmy’s vision on Tim's next thrust, and Raylan pulls his fingers back just in time for Jimmy to moan, loud and unhindered.

"Always so fucking eager," Tim says, and Jimmy's gone on the soft note of awe in his voice. "Fuck, baby, you were made to take it."

Jimmy bucks his hips uselessly, trying to get a little friction, but all it does is make Tim's grip tighten as his rhythm falters. He's close; Jimmy can feel it, the way he's chasing his own pleasure, almost like he's just using Jimmy's body to get himself off. And the thought… the thought is enough to have Jimmy's balls drawing up tight, his cock spilling precome over the sheets underneath him. 

Tim mutters a harsh, "Fuck," at the way he tightens, and when he leans back abruptly Jimmy whimpers, feeling Tim come not in him but on him, marking him with each slick, hot pulse. The marking itself is more Tim's kink than Jimmy's, but when he feels Tim fingers dragging through the mess as he admires his work, that makes Jimmy clench around nothing, makes his cock throb. And it makes him squirm when Tim sighs, says, "He's so pretty like this," talking about him, above him, even while his come cools on Jimmy's skin.

He only notices he's crying when Raylan makes a low, pained sound, reaching up to cup his cheeks. "Too much?" he asks, thumbs brushing away the tears, and his voice is so tender it makes Jimmy ache.

Carefully, he shakes his head. It's not too much. He's a little overwhelmed, a little desperate, but that's part of what makes this good. Raylan smiles, leans down to kiss him – and swallows the sound Jimmy makes when Tim wraps his fingers around his cock. 

It doesn't take much at all to finish him off. Raylan nips at his lip, his fingers curling over Jimmy's jaw, and Tim tightens his grip until it's just fucking right, and Jimmy comes hard. He all but sobs into the kiss as Tim strokes him through it, each touch dragging it out until his knees are shaking from oversensitivity. 

Steady fingers comb through his hair, and Jimmy's eyes flutter shut. He feels light, floaty, drifting a little on the catharsis of it all. He can, because there's nothing left for him to do, no more for him to take. 

Raylan draws him forward, uncaring of the mess, more than eager to give Jimmy the comfort he craves, after. “Easy, now,” he murmurs, letting Jimmy all but collapse against his chest. “We’ve got you, baby.”

Jimmy feels Tim press a kiss to his shoulder, feels him curl in close, one hand resting gently on Jimmy’s thigh, and he knows without looking that the other is wrapped around Raylan’s waist. Together, they all but cocoon him, and it's warm and reassuring and perfect. 

find this fic on AO3 here:

[heymrspatel]

Macy's Tag Game Tuesday Wednesday Thursday: Fandom Edition ✨

i was tagged by @celestialmickey @metalheadmickey @tanktopgallavich @suzy-queued and @gallawitchxx thank you loves!

your name: julissa. hi!

your age: 11,998 days old - i used an excel formula for this 🤘🏼

your first fandom(s): harry potter. *sigh* fuckin' 😒🙄😤 you know? but boy was i obsessed with it!

your current fandom(s): shameless! that's it. i might dip my toe in other stuff but nothing has quite had me in a grip like shameless in a while.

how did you first get into fandom? reading books and being obsessed and talking to my friends about it and making little drawings and then googling on the family computer until i stumbled upon a woooorld of like-minded people!

how long have you been engaging with fandom spaces? god i want to say like 20ish years now? wtf... i've just always been into something even if i wasn't active online. there was a period of time where i got overcome with life changes and starting my career where i didn't have it in me to BE online for much. but i was still very much into stuff! i've always made stuff just for me or had posters and little collectibles. idk who i am without fandom honestly. i was on tumblr for years in multiple fandoms before taking that break! then came back and lurked until you all drew me out of my little shadow.

how often do you read fanfics? asdlfkj it used to be every day, now i'm amazed if i do a couple times a week. that's sad 😔

top 3 characters from your current fandom(s): ian, mickey, lip

have you ever written a fic for a fandom? if so, shout it out! oh god no

have you ever drawn fanart for a fandom? if so, drop a link! yes! i'm currently in a slump but hi yes. you can find them all here on tumblr orrr here is my ao3 for easier browsing!

share a personal headcanon that you feel very strongly about: oh no someone just slapped down an uno skip card. next question!

you’re trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. what episode, clip, or scene are you showing them? 3x05!!!!!!! they're digging up bones. child services is coming. fiona is screaming about gay dads. lip is ghetto married. debbie is going to drown a bitch in the pool. carl needs to know where the gay weiners go. first kisses. gunshot right in the ass. ian can explain this!

and finally, what does fandom mean to you? ooooh it's about community and acceptance and creativity and support! cheering each other on and being absolutely unhinged without judgement. it's everything? especially now. it's weird to think about? but this space literally gave me my best friends and i don't really understand how that happened, but it did and i am just so grateful. i feel accepted and loved and it's beautiful.

i'm feeling really tag shy but imagine me zooming by you and dropping a bouquet on your lap pls 💐

[fictionturnedherbrain]

The Scarlet Pimpernel (BBC, 1999)

Episode 3, A King’s Ransom, or The Kidnapped King

I decided to dig out the DVDs and rewatch the less than popular 1990s BBC adaptation of The Scarlet Pimpernel books at a remove of some years and hopefully with a more objective review! However, I still haven’t recovered from the first episode and probably never will, so I decided to skip to the third instalment, which is a take on Eldorado.

Once again, Percy plans to rescue the Dauphin, who is randomly in an orphanage instead of the Temple, but the snag this time is that someone has beaten the League to the prize and run off with the young King Louis XVII, demanding a ransom from Robespierre, who for some reason wants the boy alive. The Incorruptible enlists Chauvelin’s help to recover the national hostage, while Percy and Marguerite stage a very public separation and she returns to Paris incognito to help the League achieve the same goal.

The good:

I must admit that I love the theme tune by Michal Pavlicek, and even bought the soundtrack on CD. The little ditty that the Dauphin is taught to sing at the orphanage – First we kill the King, then we kill the Queen, Send them both to the guillotine – is also annoyingly catchy.

There some neat ‘kisses with history’ in this episode, including Suzanne Bertish playing the Chevalier D’Orly, based on the real life transgender spy and swordsman, Chevalier D’Eon, and a national auction of émigré property and possessions to raise money for the Republic and the French Army.

I also like that Marguerite is shown to be an active part of the League – yes, she helps out in a couple of the original stories, and she is identified as a League member, but mainly her role is to wait and worry. The crazy plan to stage a public separation makes absolutely no sense, and neither does Chauvelin’s lovesick trust that she really has left her husband, but watching a brief glimpse of Marguerite St Just, toast of the Comedie Francaise (or Theatre des Artes, just to be awkward) is fun.

And I will take any nod to the original stories I can get, so bonus points for the League disguised as soldiers rescuing the Dauphin’s physician just before the real thing arrive to arrest him!

The not so good:

Along with stripping Percy of his disguises – Percy wears a tricolour sash and rosette over his own clothes and calls it a day – and drawing out the lazy love triangle from the 1982 film/Broadway musical, the motto of this series really is, ‘Screw that, we’re doing things our way!’ Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette and their two surviving children were lodged in the Temple from August 1792. The Dauphin was removed from his mother and placed with the Simons in July 1793, where he eventually died in 1795. So why the hell is the Dauphin now in the ‘Egalite Orphanage’? And also, why does Percy take the flaming uncrowned king of France back to England with him? Do the Blakeneys adopt him, or something? Let Austria have him, as planned. Far easier.

Speaking of the love triangle. Even assuming that Sir Percy would stage a screaming match with his wife in front of all their friends and a very convenient French spy – ‘Be silent, you damn French hoyden!’ is not how I ever imagined Sir Percy addressing his beloved Marguerite – I would expect Chauvelin to be more than a trifle suspicious. He even challenges Robespierre, while simultaneously blowing his only protection – ‘Why do you trust her when you know that she is the wife of the Scarlet Pimpernel? Blakeney – is – the – Pimpernel!’ – but doesn’t stop to wonder if Marguerite might just be in cahoots with said Pimpernel. It’s a weird subplot that both intrigues and irritates me.

And speaking of the Pimpernel. Richard E Grant’s portrayal is the laziest take on the character to date. Never mind the lack of disguises, he spends most of his time in Paris being measured for new clothes by Planchet the tailor, sitting around in frilly shirts while members of the League – mainly Sir Andrew, Planchet and another guy called Mazarini in this series – report back to him. Where is Sir Percy the micromanager of Orczy’s books? Nor will we talk about his advice to Marguerite, back in Paris and working with both Chauvelin and Robespierre, when she asks him how far she should go: ‘Only as far as the bedroom door. A woman on her back is a distinct disadvantage.’ MON DIEU, Percy would never!

And dear lord in heaven, he’s just Sir Percy, not Percival! If Marguerite doesn’t know that, perhaps they should call it quits.

The ugly:

Elizabeth McGovern, bless her, was not the best choice for Marguerite. Not only does she look older that her character in Downton Abbey ten years later, but her English accent really grates on the ears – ‘Passy!’ – and I had to laugh when Suzanne Bertish’s character told her, ‘Diction, Marguerite, diction! Lips, teeth, tongue!’ Why on earth didn’t they let the American actress speak naturally and pretend that she sounded different because Marguerite has a French accent – or you know, cast a French actress? She also has zero chemistry with Richard E Grant. Not a trace. The reunion kiss between Percy and Marguerite outside the theatre in Paris is the most awkward mashing of lips I have ever seen on screen. (I did enjoy Chauvelin’s double take at her guilty look afterwards, however!)

The dialogue. A sample:

Chevalier D’Orly: I’m proposing to kill you!

Percy: That’ll be interesting, I’ve never been killed before.

Also, all of the icky ‘flirting’ between Chauvelin and Marguerite: Perhaps we were never friends. But we were lovers. I have the memories to prove it. And then he’s actually gutted when he finally figures out that ‘the separation was a sham’.

I nearly forgot about the main fault of this episode: It’s one and a half hour long and about twenty minutes of that runtime is a tedious swordfight. That was the longest recap ever!

Honestly, compared to the first episode, this wasn’t too horrific – as a random historical drama. For fans of the books and the film adaptations, the treatment of Sir Percy and Marguerite – and even Chauvelin, who looks more like Gerard Depardieu playing Danton – still hurts. Sir Percy pimping his wife out to her ex (‘so the last piece is in place’ – ‘and such a pretty piece!’), relying on ‘the faithful Andrew’ to do all the work for him, and questioning a witness in public BEFORE agreeing to get her out of Paris and then being surprised when she is murdered. Marguerite somehow being accepted by the French public after running away to marry an English baronet – ‘Go back to England, you traitor!’ – when some random in the audience bursts into a round of La Marseillaise (and nobody knows any of the words). She stole that trick from Yvonne in Casablanca. Marguerite’s appalling lack of subtlety while spying on someone and then ransacking their dressing room when they leave – check for the maid first, Margot! Chauvelin getting in a snit with Robespierre and then casually announcing that BLAKENEY IS THE PIMPERNEL.

Other than that, though: 3/5

And I might cap the episode if I can figure out how!

[anoseforrottenapples]

"What, were they that bad? I'll have you know, I'm perfectly capable of coming up with my own terrible quips -- no handbook necessary! And I'm not saying that to brag." Mary laughed a bit louder, drawing the attention of a few of the other PTA moms who were not used to hearing levity from the somber woman. “I’m not quite sure that admission is the victory that you seem to think it is, Mr. Tallmadge. Still, we all have to have something we need to aspire to, I suppose.” The man teasingly seemed to dig his hole deeper, but the twinkle grew in her eye. “Baking is both an art and a science, Mr. Tallmadge. Attempted by many, mastered by few. And the role of a taste tester is important too… how else will we ever know if we created something decent? Of course, you would have to be a critical taste tester if you wanted to help someone grow. You cannot just blindly agree that everything tastes wonderful.” Her request for assistance with the cakes brings a prompt, if somewhat misguided reply. "Well, I don't have six hands, but I did stack plenty of plates on my arms when I was a bus boy, In other words, I'm your man. Er...to help. If you're not quickly regretting that decision." “I’ll warn you now—each cake is a two-handed job. I do not want you even attempting to stack them on your arms, understand?” her warning was tempered with humor. “I made several of them, and I want to see them reach the sale in one piece—not be upended because you decided to show off your unique skills a bit too hastily.” As amusing as it was to discuss the cakes, and her desire to see them survive the trip from the kitchen, they could not avoid the more serious topic regarding her son. Having to dwell on Thomas’s unfortunate situation, Mary’s eyes darkened slightly, and she looked toward the floor for a moment. There had been so much loss in their family in the last year or so… Benjamin’s attempt at a light quip regarding the honorifics only prompted a small smile to cross her features for a few seconds before fading again. “It does have a nice ring to it… but do busboys ever really make it up to being knights?” "Change can be hard, and for a boy of Thomas' age, shutting down might be his own way of protecting himself. I wish I had all the answers, but as someone who's no stranger to grief, I hope it's not an overstep for me to say that all of this is normal. And with a boy as smart as your son, I'm sure he'll come around again...he just needs the right timing and patience."

“I know it’s normal, Mr. Tallmadge,” Mary sighed quietly. “I’ve had all the talks with the therapists, and doctors who assure me that it is just a phase, and he will outgrow it. That he will resume his normal activities in time. Still, that does not make it any easier for me to deal with right now. Your advice is well-intentioned, I know… but believe me, I’ve heard all of it before. Thomas will start behaving like a child again… I know this. It is just difficult to keep going until that time comes.” "I wish I could've done more. And if it isn't inappropriate for me to offer, maybe I could tutor him after school sometime? Or take him to the park? As someone who didn't have a mother growing up, I know how important a father's presence can be. I-I'm not saying I could be a fill-in, I just...it's been proven that children with a positive same sex relationship -- specifically, between a child and an adult -- can be very powerful and impactful in a positive way for their growth. But if you would rather I not intervene, then I won't say another word about it. I promise." If it had been any other man, Mary would have dismissed Benjamin’s offer without even thinking about it. However, Thomas had already formed a connection with this man, and had done well when he was in Benjamin’s class. There was also something inherently trustworthy about that man that subtly assured her he meant no ill will toward Thomas or herself. If he had been interested in twisting Thomas toward something horrible, she doubted he would choosen to have such a conversation here in full view of the whole bake sale team. “Thank you for that thought.” Mary inclined her head toward him. “I do think Thomas would benefit from having relationships with an uncle-type figure… but until I know you better, I do not want you going anywhere alone with Thomas. I think he would love to have you help him with his homework at the kitchen table though.” Mary set the boundaries carefully, intending to make sure they were ones she enforce easily. She might be open to the idea of his assistance, but she was no fool. She would accept Benjamin’s help on her terms, not in any other way. “I’ll talk to Thomas when I get home tonight, and see what he thinks of that idea. If you give me your telephone number or e-mail address, I will be able to reach out to you with his answer. And, if he is agreeable, we could plan something out between us. Does that sound reasonable, Mr. Tallmadge?”

"Sorry, uh...that sounded much more charming when I was rehearsing it in my head, Perhaps I should've made a more 'bake sale appropriate' joke? How about this one: 'are you bread? Because I knead you."

“That one’s a little better,” Mary inclined her head toward Benjamin as she continued arranging the goods on the table. “But where are you finding these lines? A joke book from the 1950s?” In a way, the teacher’s attention was charming, and even welcome. Despite her looks, Mary received little notice from the men in this town. It seemed she had scared most of them away by not being a pliant, adoring woman hanging on their every word. Maybe she would have been more suitable to that role when she was younger, but with a murdered husband, a grieving father-in-law who had outlived his whole immediate family, and a young son, she had enough on her plate without throwing a man’s ego into the stew as well. She was only interested in a man if he could help. If he was going to add another burden to her plate, Mary would rather he just stayed away. Mr. Tallmadge actually considered her question, however. "Two hands, both ready and eager for assistance. I guess I'm technically supposed to be helping everyone, but you presently seem to be the only one without an aide." “Very well then.” The twinkle was still in Mary’s eyes. “I do need some help moving cakes out here. I have six of them that are still back in the kitchen—can I enlist your aide in that?” Benjamin’s second admission softened Mary’s reactions slightly. "I promise I didn't mean anything by it...I guess I was hoping for a smile. Thomas barely talked last year, so I thought...w-well...how is he doing? If I'm allowed to ask?" “You are allowed, and thank you for asking, Mr. Tallmadge.” Fixing a few trays of cookies, she gave his question some serious thought. When she finally answered, her tone was softer. “Thomas is doing well enough, though he is still quiet. He has always been quiet though, so do not read too far into that, sir.” A silver tray was tweaked a bit straighter as she thoughtfully added. “I think Thomas was happier last year when he was in your class. He certainly learned more… but that could just be because he is getting older, and it is no reflection on his teacher. Still…” She trailed off and sighed. It was hard to explain her son’s attitudes and moods to someone who did not know them well… but who could expect Thomas to be a happy, well-adjusted child when he had already experienced so much loss at such a young age? “I think you took more of a personal interest in Thomas then his teach is this year, and you brought him out of his shell a bit more. As I’m sure you can imagine, the last few years have not been easy on Thomas, and has aged him far beyond his peers. He is still having trouble making friends with the other children, and I think adults are not sure how to handle him. You actually took the time to speak with him, and pay some attention to him. It helped.”

[spicy-tomato]

have some sub!techno since its what seph wanted for her birthday :))

It had taken a lot of convincing for him to let you try this out. Normally he was a power top but with his heat quickly approaching and your lack of attention until he lets you try it, he caved. that's how you ended up with him tied to the bed below you, whining and begging for you to touch him. You had been edging him for a while at this point, slowly stroking him, spreading his precum over him. As he was getting close, he started whining and buckling into you grasp before you pull away, causing a loud whine to rip from him as you stand up to get the strap. You get it and put it on, moving over to him and spreading his legs and grabbing the lube from the bedside table and setting it next to you before putting your fingers to his lips before pushing them into his mouth. He immediately starts to suck on them, whining around them as he arches into the air, begging for any kind of stimulation. After a while you pull your fingers out, a line of drool trailing from his mouth to your fingers. You pop the cap on the lube and put a generous amount on your fingers before teasing his entrance with one, slowly pushing in. he lets out a loud whine as you start to shallowly thrust inside him, babbling about how he needs more. 

“Want more my prince? Want mommys cock?” he nods and starts to fuck himself agaisnt you, begging for you to add another finger. You do with a smirk, stretching him out and getting him ready for you. After a while his moans and whines start to grow louder before he lets out a particularly loud one, signaling you found his sweet spot. You start to move your fingers quicker, hitting his prostate with each thrust, causing him to babble out pleas to cum before he does, coating his lower abdomen. You pull your fingers out before putting some more lube on your hand, coating the strap before placing at his entrance. “Ready for more? Ready for me to fill you up?” Luckily his heat caused him to need more than just one, making it easier for you to overstim him. You push in slowly as he lets out a string of curses below you. “Look so pretty around me, so full and needy. Want me to fuck you? Aww such a cute little whore.” he nods and arches his back, trying to fuck himself back onto you. You smirk and move to put a hand around his neck, choking him slightly as you start to thrust at a relentless pace, causing him to let out a silent scream of pleasure. You keep going as he tugs at his restraints, wanting, no needing to touch you. He tugs harder, causing angry red marks to bloom on his wrists as you ram into him. Within a few more minutes he starts to come undone again, coating his stomach yet again. You dont stop, if anything you go faster causing him to throw his head back. With how strong he is, he manages to break his restraints and tugs your hand from his throat, pulling you into a heated kiss. He lets out a loud moan into the kiss, causing your hips to stutter before resuming the pace you were at. His eyes start to fill with tears 

“T-to much...s-so good” he whines out, digging his sharp nails into your shoulders and drawing a bit of blood 

“Give me a color love?”

 “green s-so green” you smirk and keep going, causing him to cum again before you pull out. 

“Dont think youre done now bunny, still havent made me cum.” he whines and nods as you move to sink down on him, letting out a loud moan before starting to ride him, scratching down his stomach before dipping your fingers into his cum before showingg them into his mouth. He moans and sucks them clean, causing you to let out a moan as you ride him slowly before he fills you up, tears streaming down his face at this point. You move off of him and lay beside him.

“Now come clean up the mess you made baby, good boys clean up after themselves”

[intheticklecloset]

Middle Seat (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

This idea was sooo cute and so much fun to write about! Thank you so much for the suggestion and your incredible patience, as this is the FINAL PROMPT I had to fill! I'm all caught up as of this fic! Thank you again, and enjoy! ^^

~

“Move it, nerd!” Bakugou shouted over his shoulder at Deku, who was hurrying to catch up. The bus that was going to take them to their off-campus training grounds for the day was about to leave, and they were the last two to leave the dorms. Everyone else had already boarded.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Deku panted, sprinting the last few steps to the doors, nearly bowling his friend over in the process.

Bakugou turned around and punched his arm. “Get a hold of yourself, idiot.”

“S-Sorry, Kacchan.”

Once on the bus, the two stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to find a place to sit. Most of the seats had been filled already – all but one in the back. Bakugou strode toward it and plopped himself down next to Todoroki, who had claimed the window. Deku wandered toward the back as well, hoping to find another open spot, but no such luck.

The bus started moving, making him lose his footing and nearly fall in the middle of the aisle.

Todoroki poked his head around Bakugou. “You can sit with us, Midoriya.”

“Like heck he can,” the blonde snapped. “You and I barely fit as it is.”

“Because you’re taking up so much room. Just move over.”

“I’m not getting all buddy-buddy with that loser.”

Todoroki huffed out a sigh. “Fine, then you take the window seat and I’ll sit next to him.”

Deku was about to suggest that he could just stay standing, but then he remembered this bus ride was supposed to be almost half an hour, and he didn’t want to stand up for that long. He also didn’t want to sit in the aisle. So he waited quietly while his two friends swapped places, Todoroki scooting over enough for Deku to mostly be able to share the seat.

“Thanks, Todoroki,” he murmured gratefully, offering a smile.

“Of course.”

Bakugou grunted, shoving an elbow into Todoroki’s side. “You’re squishing me, icy-hot.”

Todoroki grunted right back. “Deal with it.”

“Don’t tell me to deal with it.” The blonde grabbed onto his side with intention then, digging deep, forcing the half-and-half hero to let out a surprised squeal and jerk away from him, sending Midoirya into the aisle once more.

“Boys!” Aizawa snapped from the front of the bus. “You’d better not be fighting back there.”

“W-We’re not, Mr. Aizawa,” Deku called back. “We promise!”

“Move over,” Torodoki hissed, moving back to his previous position to allow Deku back onto the small bus seat with them. “It’s only a half an hour. Next time get onto the bus faster so you have a better seat.”

“You think I wanted to be late? This nerd is the reason I was running behind.”

“Why’s it my fault?” Deku protested.

“Guys, don’t do this now,” Todoroki grumbled, getting irritated with them both, “or this is going to be a long ride. Just try to get along, okay?”

Deku was content to do as Todoroki asked, but of course, Bakugou was not. He pinched the icy-hot’s side again. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Todoroki bit his lip to keep from squealing again, but he couldn’t help the smile on his face. “Stop doing that. You know it tickles.”

“Yeah? Well, if it gets you to move over…” The blonde pinched him again.

Deku was nearly toppled into the aisle once more, but desperate not to fall out of his seat and incur Aizawa’s wrath, he did the only thing he could think of instead. He pinched Todoroki’s other side. “Kacchan, please just try to deal with it. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Bakugou jabbed his ribs. “And I don’t want to get flattened against the window.”

“The seat’s only so big.” Deku mirrored his friend’s actions. “We’ll just have to live with it.”

“G-Guys,” Todoroki huffed, giggling quietly into the palm of his hand. “S-Stop, that tickles!”

“Does it, now?” Bakugou smirked, seeking out his side with renewed purpose and vigor. “Guess it sucks you volunteered to sit in the middle then, huh?”

“Nohohoho!” Todoroki pleaded, giggles growing louder. He slapped his other hand over top of his first one. “Dohohohon’t!”

Deku smiled. This scene had quickly gone from frustrating to advantageous, and he was enjoying every second of it. “I’ve heard you’re really ticklish, Todoroki. Is that true?” He also drilled a bit harder now, aiming for his friend’s ribs.

Todoroki tried to fold himself over in an attempt to escape, having nowhere else he could really go. His giggling was becoming frantic. “Y-Yehehehes, it’s true! P-Plehehease don’t—”

Enjoying himself as well, Bakugou found the hollow of Todoroki’s underarm and scribbled, smirking when the half-and-half hero threw himself against the back of the seat, one hand trying to push him away while the other stayed clamped firmly over his mouth. Even so, his laughter was unmistakable.

“Wow, you really are ticklish!” Deku giggled, squeezing at his hip while aiming for his other underarm at the same time.

Todoroki was frantically stomping his feet on the floor now. “Plehehehehease dohohohohohon’t!” he cried, doing his best to keep his voice down and failing miserably. “Nohohohoho! It t-tihihihihihickles!”

“Heh. This may not be such a bad arrangement after all,” Bakugou observed, grabbing the hand that was covering Todoroki’s mouth and pulling it away, holding onto the wrist firmly. “Go on, let it out. Let the whole bus hear how ticklish you are.”

Todoroki let out a distressed whine. “No, plehehehehease, I’ll do ahahahanything! Just stohohop!”

Deku grabbed onto his other wrist and moved even further down to squeeze at his thigh, grinning all the while. Todoroki tossed his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth desperately against the flood of laughter that threatened to burst forth. He shook his head, struggling against his captors.

“Nohohohohoho, no – AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Finally, he couldn’t hold back anymore, his hysterics unleashed in a wild screech of laughter, drawing the attention of everyone on the bus. “NO MOHOHOHOHOHOHORE!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Several of their classmates cooed at him playfully.

“Aww, he’s ticklish!” said one of the girls.

One of the guys added, “Listen to that laugh! Dude, I’ve never seen him smiling so big.”

Todoroki was flushed with embarrassment, but he couldn’t stop laughing. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! MEHEHEHEHERCY!! GUHUHUHUYS!!”

“Get him, guys!” someone shouted.

“Tickle him good! He’s always so serious.”

“You could take it a little easier though, maybe?”

Deku observed Todoroki carefully, worried he might be distressed about this situation. To his surprise, he found that his friend actually seemed to be enjoying himself, despite the dark red blush on his cheeks.

“Well, would you listen to that?” Bakugou teased, lifting his arm above his head. “They want more laughter!”

“Tickle, tickle,” Deku dared to tease, blushing a little himself.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Todoroki begged, shaking his head, kicking the floor. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAHAN’T!! IT TIHIHIHIHICKLES!! MEHEHEHEHEHERCY!!”

“Tch, whatever, icy-hot.” At last Bakugou let him be, and Deku followed his lead. “Just be thankful we can’t reach your feet like this.”

Another chorus of coos went up from their classmates, along with some scattered applause and general shouts of encouragement.

Todoroki groaned and sank down in his seat, blushing furiously but still smiling wide.

“You okay?” Deku asked him.

He nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” Then, with an added giggle, he covered up his face. “I’m so ticklish. It’s almost unfair.”

Bakugou scoffed. “At least you like it.”

Deku and Todoroki both looked at him. “But…don’t you like it, too?”

“Shut up!”

[ticklishfiend]

Of o were to give you a lee Deku fic, I’d say something where Todoroki is obsessed with giving Deku raspberries especially on his tummy. He’s super ticklish there and Todoroki thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. 💖💖

A/N : okay while i was writing this i got carried away and wrote lee!todoroki instead bc i completely forgot that i LITERALLY ASKED FOR LEE!DEKU PROMPTS...i’m an idiot and i sincerely apologize LMAOO i hope you enjoy it anyways but i WILL be writing a lee!deku in the very near future so don’t you worry lol

So Comfortable (My Hero Academia)

Lee!Todoroki / Ler!Midoriya

Summary : Todoroki and Midoriya are cuddling in bed when Midoriya decides he wants to feel Todoroki’s heartbeat under his hoodie. When he realizes his boyfriend is a little sensitive, he can’t help but take advantage of it.

Word Count :  1905

REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! MWAH <33

... 

Todoroki breathed in the comforting scent of green apple shampoo, his nose nuzzling into the mess of curls snuggled underneath him. The boy with the power to control fire had never felt a cozier warmth in his life, the back lying against his chest substituting as the best blanket in the entire world. One of his hands held onto Midoryia’s front protectively, while the other was laced with the green-haired boy’s own scarred and calloused fingers, though to Todoroki, nothing had ever felt softer.

Everything felt so right. So perfect. So comfortable. The bi-colored boy hadn’t known real comfort in so long, and somehow this shorter, timid kid he had only met a little over a year ago now had brought more comfort into his life than he had ever truly known. He felt safe close to him, which to most people wouldn’t mean that much. But to Todoroki, closeness meant everything. He wasn’t going to let just anybody be this close to him, and he wasn’t going to be this close to just anyone. Midoriya had managed to wiggle his way into Todoroki’s comfort zone, and the previously-thought cold-hearted boy hoped he never, ever made his way out.

Todoroki felt the mess of hair under his nose move, tickling his face slightly, and he looked down to be greeted by Midoriya looking right back up at him with a small, relaxed smile.

“Hey,” Midoriya spoke gently, his thumb caressing the top of Todoroki’s hand.

“Hello,” Todoroki smiled a little awkwardly, but Midoriya knew he was sincere either way. Midoriya shuffled a bit under Todoroki’s protective hold, repositioning himself on top of the boy’s body completely, but this time with his stomach down on the other’s so he could look right up at him.

“You’re nice to look at,” Midoriya smiled dopily, his head tilted slightly. Todoroki chuckled, not being able to help the small blush on his cheek from the most endearing compliment. He looked at his partner with the utmost fondness in his eyes, bringing his hand up to stroke a thumb over his cheek.

“Right back at you,” Todoroki’s words were laced with a smile, Midoriya humming in response. The green haired boy leaned down to nuzzle his face into Todoroki’s warm chest, his cheeks smushing against the firmness of his muscles created by years of training.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Midoriya’s words were muffled by the fabric of Todoroki’s hoodie. He brought his face down lower towards the boy’s stomach, Todoroki gasping slightly when he felt Midoriya’s hands creep underneath the fabric and onto his sides, worming their way upwards towards his chest. “Wanna feel it with my hands.”

His hoodie was now pushed up towards his lower ribs, pale tummy on display as both of Midoriya’s hands rested over the spot on Todoroki’s chest that concealed his heart, which at this point was beating harder than it had the whole afternoon. Midoriya smiled down at his belly, nuzzling his face into it’s pale, taut expanse. Todoroki let out another small gasp at the strange feeling, his hands moving up to gently tangle into the mess of green hair.

“Midoriya, what are you doing..?” Todoroki’s words were soft from fluster, his eyes a little wide at the odd display of affection. He couldn’t help the small tinge of smile on the corners of his lips, however, as the boy’s nose felt just ticklish enough to ignite that nervous flame in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re just so cuteee,” Mirodiya cooed into his belly, bringing his hands down to hold firmly onto Todoroki’s sides to make it easier for him to continue his playful nuzzling. The dual-haired boy choked on a small giggle, squeezing a little harder on the boy’s hair. He could feel Midoriya’s lips smile against his tummy, a blush creeping up from Todoroki’s neck to paint over his cheeks and ears. “Does this tickle?”

Todoroki let out a huff of air, embarrassed and oh, oh so flustered. “Um, a-a little, yes,” he mumbled out in a stutter, his partner chuckling in response.

“That’s adorable,” Mirdoriya hummed, kissing right above the boy’s belly button with an intensely gentle softness that made Todoroki feel like he could combust at any given second. The freckled boy didn’t just stop at his one kiss however, oh no. He started peppering them with that same softness all over the boy’s tummy, and Todoroki was helpless to the small and obviously flustered titters that escaped from the softest parts of himself he didn’t even know he had before meeting the boy.

“Ah- M-Midoriyahaha-” Todoroki breathed out the smallest of giggles, which only pressed his partner on further, his gentle lips now journeying over towards his left side, the ticklish feeling making Todoroki choke out a real giggle this time. “It tihihickles!”

“You’re so ticklish, it’s too precious,” Midoriya smiled brightly against the boy’s skin before lifting his head up to gaze at his face. Todoroki’s cheeks were painted with the most delightful blush, a dopey smile taking over his features,making Midoriya genuinely feel like the single luckiest person on the planet to be able to see such a stoic boy from this perspective. 

“Have you ever had a raspberry, Shoto?” Izuku asked with a tilt of the head and a mischievous smirk. Todoroki blinked.

“Like...like the fruit?” Shoto asked, his brows a little furrowed in confusion, Midoriya just chuckling at his response. “I don’t understand, why are you laughing?”

“You’re just cute,” Izuku said, enjoying the blush and pout Shoto gave him. “I’m not talking about the fruit, Sho. Here, I’ll just show you.”

With that Midoriya leaned back down towards his partner’s tummy, drawing in a rather large breath, expanding his lungs as much as he could, before pressing his lips back down on the soft skin of Shoto’s belly and-

“PPPBBBTTTHHH~!” Midoriya blew hard onto his tummy, his partner letting out the loudest surprised squeal he had ever heard before cackling as Izuku continued placing smaller raspberries all over the expanse of Shoto’s sensitive tummy.

“GAHAHAHA! IZUHUHUKUHUHU! NAHAHA! WHAHAT IHIHIS THIHIS?!” Todoroki screamed, kicking his legs out behind Midoriya as the mischievous boy began kneading at his oh so sensitive sides, throwing Shoto into an entirely new wave of cackles as he now gripped tightly onto the boys shoulders (though he wasn’t pushing him away, much to Midoriya’s amusement).

“Raspberries, silly! Do they tickle?~” Izuku asked, blowing more ticklish raspberries all over his sensitive tummy and sides, even travelling just far enough upwards to blow one right on his bottom ribs, making the writhing boy underneath him jerk hard with a scream.

“YEHEHES! IT TIHIHICKLES!” Shoto cackled, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His body instinctively tried curling in on itself, folding forward until his own nose was nuzzling unintentionally into Izuku’s messy curls. “PLEHEHEHEASE!”

Midoriya chuckled. “Please what, Sho?”

“I DOHOHON’T KNOHOHOW!” Shoto shook his head frantically through his laughs as Izuku moved his hands downward to squeeze and knead into the boy’s hips. Shoto bucked at the sensation, throwing his head back against the pillow in mirth, digging his heels into the bedsheets behind Izuku.

“Aw, you don’t know? Does that mean you like it? You don’t want me to stop?~” Izuku teased, before inhaling sharply and blowing another torturous raspberry into Todoroki’s tummy, making the boy scream out another fit of high-pitched cackles.

“NAHAHAHA! NO TEHEHEASES! YOU’RE SO MEHEHEAN!” Todoroki babbled around his laughs, his giggles becoming more frantic. Midoriya thought it might be time to give the boy a breather, slowing his tickles down to just his nails tracing teasing little shapes into Shoto’s sides and on the bottoms of his ribs. Todoroki absolutely melted into a puddle of breathy giggles, his grip on Izuku’s shoulders still just as tight. Izuku rested his cheek onto Shoto’s tummy, looking up at his partner’s ever-flushing face with the utmost love in his eyes. 

Todoroki finally calmed down enough to open his eyes and look down at his partner, who was still lightly tickling at his sides enough to keep him on a giggly edge.

“Sohoho that’s a raspbeheherry?” Todoroki asked, his face suddenly scrunching up in a clenched smile, his eyes squeezing shut as Izuku found a particularly sensitive spot right on the backs of Shoto’s lower ribs. Todoroki arched his back a bit, frantic breathy giggles escaping his throat as Izuku’s fingers stayed on that one torturous spot. He teasingly traced shapes into the area, smiling as he realized just how sensitive the boy under him truly was. “Izuhuhukuhu! Nohohot thehehere, ihihit-”

“-Tickles?” Midoriya asked, Shoto just nodding his head through his snickers and titters. Izuku just chuckled, moving his fingers back down a little to tickle at a less sensitive area and calm his partner down a little. “So sensitive. I could do this all day.”

“I don’t thihink I could survihihive,” Todoroki snickered before finally bringing his hands down to stop his partner’s torturous and wiggly ones at his sides. Izuku pouted a little as he was forced to stop tickling until Shoto laced their fingers together and looked the boy in his eyes. “Kiss me? Please?”

Izuku just smiled, his heart overflowing before melting through his ribs. He nodded, bringing his face up to meet Shoto’s lips in the middle. He dissolved into the kiss, feeling as if he was melting into Shoto’s face with how jelly-like he felt. He unlaced his fingers with Shoto’s to cup at the dual-haired boy’s cheeks, his thumb caressing at the scar he thought brought out Todoroki's eyes. 

Once their interlocked lips parted, they both looked into each other’s hazed over eyes. Midoriya brought his face down to gently nuzzle into Todoroki’s neck, leaving tiny kisses wherever his lips could reach. Todoroki’s shoulders instinctively tried bunching up at the ticklish sensation, his giggle fit coming back, this time much softer and much breathier. 

“Really? Ticklish here too?” Izuku smiled into his neck, leaving peppered kisses again on purpose this time just to hear the boy giggle. He felt him nod, and he knew they boy had to be blushing.

“Cahahan’t help ihihit,” he giggled, scrunching up so much his cheek smushed into Izuku’s head. Then he felt Midoriya draw in another big breath, and before he had the chance to do anything about it, Izuku blew another fat raspberry, this time into the boy’s sensitive neck.

Todoroki screeched, shoving his heels into the bedsheets and grabbing at the boy’s shirt for anything to brace himself with. “GYAHAHA! QUHUHIT! YOU’VE MAHAHADE YOUR POHOHOHINT! I’M TICKLIHIHIHISH!”

Izuku pulled himself out of Shoto’s neck with a wide grin, kissing Todoroki’s nose before laying his head back down onto the boy’s chest, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt. “M’sleepy…”

Shoto chuckled with a shake of his head. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re just so wiped out from nearly killing me just moments ago,” He snickered before placing a kiss on top of the boy’s head. Izuku giggled with a nod.

“You know it,” Izuku yawned, and before Shoto knew it, the boy was snoring on top of him. Todoroki just smiled down at the boy, thumb caressing over his freckled cheek. 

“I love you,” Todoroki whispered to the sleeping boy he knew couldn’t hear him, gently laying the blanket beside him over him and his partner’s sleeping frame.

Todoroki was finally truly comfortable, and he only had one person to thank.

...

A/N : thanks for all the support i’ve been getting recently! sorry this is kinda short, i’ve been having a lot of migraines recently so i haven’t felt like writing much, but i’ll be getting to more of those prompts soon! hope you enjoyed! much love <33

[spinchip]

The Skirt

Pairings: background jaya Wordcount: 3700 Warnings: ask to tag Summary: Zane gets caught admiring a skirt at the store, but he knows the rules. Boys aren’t allowed to wear that stuff... right?

It’s a sweet, simple sort of thing, where it lays across the mannequins thighs. It’s a high waisted skirt in pale pink, long pleats that fold nicely. It’s paired with a tight white long sleeve shirt tucked in, and a gaudy hot-pink trench coat, and a pair of beige booties. The outfit is nice- the jacket a little much for his own personal taste, but cute in it’s own way. He glances down at his own hips and back up, imagining how the skirt would look against his skin. He reaches out and touches along the bottom of it, feeling the smooth fibers, wondering not-seriously if they had it in his size- not that he would buy it. Not that he should even be thinking about buying it, or how it might look on, or how it might feel-

Nya rounds the corner of the aisle he’d lost himself in.

Zane jumps away from the fabric as if it’d bitten him, nearly knocking over a rack of expensive sunglasses, a hot flush of shame crawling up his throat. He clenches his hands at his side and tries to play it off by switching focus to a pair of aviators with black frames. He can see Nya as she wanders up in the reflection from the lenses, looking between him and the mannequin’s outfit he’d been examining, an inquisitive tilt to her lips.

“Zane? Do you… like this?” She reaches up to smooth out the pleats of the skirt, ruffled by his own hands.

“No.” He answers right away, not giving an inch. He fumbles to pick up a pair of sunglasses just to be doing something with his hands, and doesn’t say anything more. He knows he’s tense, but he can’t help it.

“I don’t know. I think it’s kinda cute.” She hums.

It’s… a trap, or something. Zane can’t figure out how she's trying to box him in, and it’s making him anxious, “You should buy it if you like it.” He tries, setting the glasses back with firm hands, tracing the frames of another pair.

“I don’t think the pink would match my complexion,” there’s a pause, then she tries, “It would look really good on you-”

“I do not like it.” He cuts her off, lacing his voice with steel, shoulders hunching. He strides away from her without glancing back, he doesn’t want to see the look on her face, he doesn’t want to know if she was laughing at him. She’d laughed at him before, in his pink apron, and she'd called him cute then too.

Her voice had been filled with cruel edged mirth, “He’d looked so cute in it!” as he retreats from their food fight, an unfamiliar feeling he’s learned was embarrassment welling up in his chest, making his processor hot. He threw that stupid apron away. He announced his hatred towards pink over and over again. He didn’t need to lose all his progress with a moment of weakness.

He did not like how it felt when his friends laughed at him.

The others are trailing around the store at their own pace, and Zane is lucky only Nya caught him- and even then, he has plausible deniability. Except now she’s lingering around him, he can see her out of the corner of his eye, so he sticks strictly to the mens section- folding a pair of jeans over his arm and a pale blue turtle-neck he thought would go with his eyes. He doesn’t even think about looking at the lavender button up at the end of the rack- he’d learned over the years. Lavender and pastel colors, they were just as bad as pink, even if it was in the mens section, or gender neutral. Sometimes he worries about the light blues he tended to favor, but any blue was okay all the time, probably. They hadn’t made fun of him yet.

He’s looking through a pile of joggers when Nya calls out, “Zane!”

She catches his attention and Jay and Cole as well, holding up a white dress from the rack. It’s a beautiful summer dress, white straps lined with lace leading into a sweetheart neckline, eye closures down the center before it breaks into a delicate and flowy trumpet skirt, “Isn’t this pretty?” She asks, smiling encouragingly.

It is. If you had asked him what kind of dress he’d like to wear, he would be thinking of this dress while he told you none at all.

She’s making fun of him.

He wilts a little, drawing in on himself, and swallows past the painful lump in his throat, “I suppose.” He grits out.

“Hey, why not ask me?” Jay pipes up, “I’m your boyfriend.”

Nya jumps, as if Jay’s presence in the conversation was a surprise.

“It is pretty,” Cole comments, squinting at it from the tank tops he’d been pawing through, “Not really your style, though.”

Nya shakes her head and opens her mouth, “No, I-” She stalls, glancing at Zane- who’s looking increasingly upset, “I was thinking about trying something new...” she trails off.

Jay meanders over, “Well, you should probably get a different size. This is way too big.” He comments, looking it over.

“Yeah… right.” Nya says, and Zane slips away from them quietly.

-

When he gets back to his room, he sets his bags from the mall on the bed and starts to pull out his new clothes. Nya had let it go, in the end, and hadn’t teased him about his slip up after the dress thing, so the rest of the trip had been nice. They’d stopped at the food court for lunch and spent some time in the skateboard shop so kai could buy some new wheels, and then an hour and a half goofing around at the arcade before they’d called it a day.

Zane folded his new pants and tucked them into the dresser, reaching blindly into his bag while thinking about what to make for dinner.

All thoughts of food vanish from his head when he pulls out the pale pink skirt he’d been admiring.

He drops it and jerks his hands back to his chest, spinning around as if to catch Nya jump out from behind a potted plant and shout aha! Caught ya! ...but no one is there. He’s alone. He approaches the offending article of clothing cautiously, digging his receipt out from his bag while already certain he won’t see the skirt listed there. Nya must have bought it and slipped it in with his things, there’s no other explanation. It’s his size. Why? Is there a… a joke here? What is Zane not getting?

He should take it back to her and let her return it, probably. He picks it up and tosses it in the trashcan next to his desk instead, and puts away the rest of his clothes with hands he makes sure don’t shake. He doesn’t entertain the idea of trying it on. Pink and lavender weren’t allowed, skirts- skirts were worse. A pink skirt… he shakes his head, hanging up a new turtle neck, and leaves the skirt behind in the darkness of his room.

Nya sits up a little straighter when he comes into the living room, “How was… putting away your clothes?” She finishes clunky, fishing for his reaction to her prank.

“Fine.” He says without breaking stride, crossing into the kitchen and plucking his plain white apron up off the hook, sliding it over his head and getting to work.

Except, even as he chops onions and serves dinner and eats with his friends, even as they play video games and watch a movie, he can’t stop thinking about the skirt. It’s there, in the back of his mind- he’d always liked skirts, thought they were pretty and sweet. He used to dream about buying nice skirts and dresses when he could afford it, different kinds for different occasions like maxi dresses and pencil skirts, but this was before he knew it was silly and laughable. Before it was wrong.

When the night finally comes to a close, and he retires back to his room, he makes a bee line for his trashcan and delicately pulls the skirt out. He sets it on his bed and pats out the wrinkles, appreciating the craftsmanship.

He locks the door and undresses, sliding the skirt over his hips. He zips it in place and takes a step towards the mirror before he hesitates, throwing off his blue hoodie and digging up a tighter white turtleneck. It’s the closest thing he has to the outfit the mannequin was wearing that he’d liked so much. He smooths down the pleats, playing with the edge- something tight and uncomfortable in his chest loosens, and he breathes easier. It’s nice. It feels… like he always thought it would.

He steps in front of the mirror. He fiddles with the cuffs of his sweater, smiling at his reflection. He looked good, the skirt fits perfectly. He poses even though it makes him feel a little immature, striking several different stances, turning around to see all the angles. He’s got the perfect set of shoes to pair with this-

He stops halfway to his closet, standing in the middle of his room wearing a skirt he loves, reality rushing back.

He takes the skirt off, pulling on a pair of pajama pants, and folds it nice and neatly. He unlocks his door and walks across the monastery to Nyas bedroom, knocking politely. There’s a long pause before he can hear her footsteps on the hardwood. The door opens and she squints at the hallway light, blinking up groggily at Zane, “Huh?” She quips eloquently.

He holds the skirt out and drops it, she fumbles to catch it, “Return it.” he tells her, “I do not want it.”

She blinks, her sleep addled mind processing before it connects, “Zane,” She shakes her head, holding it out, “It’s yours, I saw you looking at it- it’s a nice skirt, it would look nice on you.”

He refrains from saying it does. He frowns hard, he doesn’t get it- she sounds so sincere, but he knows the rules, “I do not understand the joke. Am I supposed to wear this so you may laugh at me?”

Nya looks lost, “Laugh?”

“Like my pink apron.” He explains, huddling into himself, “Except this is worse.”

Understanding lights up her face with shame and sadness, “Zane… I-”

“Return it.” He insists, pushing the skirt back towards her, and then hesitates, “Please. Do not tell the others.”

He takes a step back and nods, turning away and bidding a hasty retreat. When he gets back to his room he stubbornly refuses to think about how freeing it was, how good it felt. He stamps down any longing as he crawls into bed, and falls asleep most certainly not filled with regret.

-

The following morning, Nya slinks into the kitchen as Zane and Kai are putting together breakfast looking like a kicked puppy. She keeps throwing inconspicuous sad eyes at Zane that he’s stubbornly refusing to acknowledge, but she thankfully doesn’t let the others catch on or else she might be forced to tell them what was bothering her.

After breakfast, she offers to help Zane with the dishes, and meets his “I do not require assistance,” With polite insistence, where she ends up washing as he dries and puts them away.

It isn’t until they’re nearly done that she organizes her thought’s enough to turn to him as he puts away the final stack of plates and says, “I think you should keep the skirt.”

He feels himself grow tense, closing the cupboard slowly before he looks at her, turning around to face her and scrutinizing her expression hard. He tries to dissect her intentions, tries to figure out why she’s saying this- he knew Nya had joined in on the teasing before, but he didn’t think she would push so hard. All his previous data suggests she doesn’t have a cruel streak like this in her, but she’s been keeping the joke going hard.

He entertains the idea that she really is being sincere, but that doesn’t make sense either, because there were rules. Zane had to figure them out fast when he was younger and newly exposed to the world- You have to make eye contact when conversing with people to be respectful, asking for explanations to jokes ruins the fun, and boys should never wear girl clothes. If you broke the rules, you were weird, and people laughed at you, and they made fun of you.

“No thank you.” He says stiffly, turning away and rinsing out the sink, “I do not like it.”

She looks miserable, “I’m sorry we laughed.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t respond, the conflicting information making his head hurt, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

-

A week later, the team has another rare day off. They’d set aside the day to go to the park, and Zane was looking forward to it. He’d spent the previous day in between patrols picking up ingredients to pack the perfect picnic. Cole throws open the door to the kitchen as Zane finishes packing up his basket, hauling a large cooler behind him.

“Hey frosty!” He greets, popping the lid on the cooler and fishing out waters and juice from the fridge, “Aren’t you gonna be hot dressed like that?” He comments.

Zane glances down at his jeans and t-shirt in comparison to Cole’s tanktop and shorts combo, “I am the master of Ice.” He points out, “I don’t get hot.”

Cole concedes his point with a dip of his head, “Speaking of master of ice, can I get a little help with keeping the drinks cool?”

Zane nods, waving a hand over the cooler and packing the drinks with snow and ice. Cole thanks him as Zane hefts up his basket, the two meeting the rest of their team on the deck of the bounty. Nya perks up as they come out on deck, and steps aside so the two can see their teammates.

Jay already looks overheated, miserably melting under the sun. Lloyd seems unbothered, dressed in a sleeveless hoodie and shorts. Kai basks in the sun, smiling brilliantly, wearing a t-shirt and…

Zanes processor stutters, “Are you wearing a skirt?” He asks neutrally, blinking down at Kai’s maroon pleats.

“Yeah,” Kai glances down at the fabric, “Nya gave it to me, it doesn’t fit her anymore. Isn’t it cute?”

Zane has no idea how to respond, so Cole beats him to it, “Looks good, dude, but how are we supposed to play frisbee?”

“I got shorts on underneath so I don't accidentally flash anyone.” Kai waves his hand dismissively, and no one else comments on the wrongness of the outfit.

Tentatively, Zane says, “You… like to wear skirts?”

Kai frowns, mistaking the hesitance for judgement, “Is that a problem for you?”

Zane looks away, “Not at all.” He says, confusion making his voice stiff, missing the way the others glance at his tone of voice disapprovingly.

They go to the park, and Zane can’t stop looking at Kais skirt. He finds himself frowning at the other man more than once, shaking the confusion out of his head and trying to ignore it. Did it… really not matter that Kai was wearing a skirt? Cole had complimented him, and Jay hadn’t said anything against it either. He finds himself not joining in on the frisbee game most of the time, focusing on getting the picnic set up to hide how he was too mixed up to focus on the sport. Soon enough, the others wrap up their game and join Zane on the blanket Nya had packed.

They eat and chat idly, and Kai sighs in content after he’s finished, sitting back, “That was amazing as always, Zane!”

Zane doesn’t look at him as he puts away his own half-eaten sandwich, “Thank you.” He says simply, lost in thought.

“Zane.” Jay says, and Zane glances up at him. He startles slightly at the way Jay is looking at him, pointedly disapproving, “Why are you being so weird about Kais skirt?”

“...Why aren’t you?” Zane asks genuinely, familiar hot shame crawling up his throat as his friends frown at him.

“Dude…” Kai mutters, clearly hurt, “Not cool.”

Shame, confusion, and guilt swallow Zane up for a long moment before it’s burned up by a flash of frustration. It didn’t make sense. They’d made fun of him years ago for his pink apron, laughed him out of the room and not bothered enough to see if he was alright afterwards because he broke the rules- he gets it, he wore the wrong clothes, it’s a funny joke… So why is Kai allowed it where Zane isn’t? Why is it funny when it’s Zane? Why does he get mocked while Kai gets defended? Defended when Zane hasn’t and wouldn’t ever make fun of him for his outfit-!

He stands up abruptly, “I’m going back to the bounty.” He announces before he turns on heel and all but runs from them.

“Zane!” Nya calls, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Let him go.” Cole says firmly, and Zane clenches his eyes shut as he boards the bounty.

His stomach churns with his tumultuous thoughts and he makes a bee line for the room they have in the bounty, crawling into his bunk bed and curling into a ball. He stares miserably at the wooden walls, thinking about too many different things.

He misses his pink apron.

He didn’t think it was funny when he saw Kai in that skirt. He thought he looked nice...

Why did they laugh at him?

-

He wakes up at the sound of quiet voices, disoriented for a moment- he didn’t remember falling asleep. He makes his way out of bed slowly, the room dark, and blinks against the harsh hallway light as he steps out of their bedroom. He rubs sleep out of his optics as they adjust to the change in atmosphere, making his way to the living room.

He stops in the doorway, looking in at his friends. Kai is still wearing his skirt, laying across the recliner sideways, his legs thrown over the edge. The others are in various states around the living room, laying on the couch or the floor asa movie plays unwatched on the TV screen, the quiet sounds what lured Zane here in the first place.

Zane’s stomach plummets as he remembers the hurt look on Kai’s face at lunch. He didn’t want to make Kai feel like he did, he didn’t want him to feel laughed at, “Kai?” He says from the doorway.

The room reacts to his voice, everyone immediately sitting up to peer at him. Jay's head poked over the back of the couch along with Coles, and Nya and Lloyd craned their heads around the couch from the floor.

“Hey, Zane…” Kai says, sitting properly in the chair.

“I want to apologize.” Zane says quietly, “I really have no issue with you wearing what you like. I am sorry I acted so oddly.”

Kai fiddles with the edge of the skirt, “It’s okay… I know.” He says just as soft, “I think we all owe you an apology too.”

Zane tilts his head in confusion, stepping into the room a little more.

Jay nods, “Yeah, Zane, we’re sorry.” He says sincerely, “We acted like total jerks about your apron.”

“My apron…” Zane’s eyes flicker to Nya, who ducks her head a little at how she obviously snitched.

“Nya told us what was bothering you, and we feel really bad about it.” Cole agrees, “We were stupid and mean. There’s nothing wrong with wearing pink.”

“Or skirts.” Kai pipes up, “I’m sorry we hurt you.”

“If you want to wear that stuff,” Lloyd adds, “No one will laugh.”

Zane blinks at the way his eyes water dangerously, looking down at the floor, “It is not… wrong?”

“No.” Kai says firmly, “We were wrong, not you. Wear what makes you happy, and we’ll be on your side.”

Zane swallows and thinks about how much he’d loved the pink skirt, how pretty he’d felt with it on, “I accept your apology.” He says with a small smile, “Thank you.”

Nya grins and with a wink says, “I think i have something that belongs to you, then.” She stands, “But first… group hug?”

Smiling, Zane holds up his arms, and the others converge on him. He hugs them back tightly, smile growing wider as he sighs happily. The frustration and hurt sliding off his shoulders makes him feel so light, and a barrier he hadn’t realized he’d raised falls to pieces.

He couldn’t wait for their next off day.

-

Which comes sooner than he expects. It’s rare to get out of patrol so often, but Lloyd insisted they make up for their slightly disasterous park trip only a few days later. Ninjago is thankfully not in terrible danger, so they decide to head to Mega Monster Amusement Park for the day- and Zane is half certain Sensei Wu allows it only because he’s craving funnel cake.

They’re supposed to leave soon, and Zane is nearly ready. He slips on a pair of white boots and laces them up, standing up and admiring his outfit in his mirror. He’s got on a loose white sweater tucked into the waistband of his pink skirt, and he adjusts it one last time before nodding in satisfaction, smiling genuinely at his reflection.

He does a little twirl because he can’t help himself before he throws open the door to his room and makes his way to the deck of the bounty, smiling as the skirt bounces and flows with every step.

He’s the last to arrive, the others all waiting for him. To his pleasant surprise, there’s no flash of anxiety as he trots over- they won’t laugh. He knows they won’t.

Nya lights up when she sees him, “Zane’s here!”

Zane happiness seems to be contagious, the others all perking up at the sight of him.

“You look really nice.” Kai compliments when he gets close, and Zane smiles so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Yeah, that’s a nice color on you.” Cole comments.

Jay nods in agreement, “Zane looks really good, yes! Can we go to the amusement park already?”

Zane laughs, bubbly and light, “Thank you all! Jay’s right, let us go have some fun.”

As they disembark the bounty, Zane makes eye contact with Nya, and smiles softly at her. She grins in return, bumping shoulders with him, and they catch up with the others.

[fishstyx]

“put the maid outfit on.”

featuring. sub!nagito komaeda x fem!reader

wc. 2.2k

genre. smut

tw. nsfw, penetration (pegging), orgasm denial/edging, praise kink, mild (mild!) toxic masculinity

synopsis. peg nagito 2021 + everyone’s favorite e-boy trend.

“You really think I look good in this..?” 

Your jaw slackens as Nagito materializes in the doorway, fingers fiddling with the hem of his skirt. His shoulders hunch over and his legs bend at the knee, but if he’s trying to make himself smaller, it does little to obscure your view. The costume fits him so well, corset detailing and silk satin bows lining his midriff, white ruffle trim splayed out against his wrists and thighs. Flouncy frills flare from his shoulders, jet puffed sleeves rounding out his sharper edges and broader sides. A pink flush creeps across his cheeks when you fail to respond, teeth locking his bottom lip in place like he’s trying to keep himself from saying anything more.

“I think you look great in it!” 

You clasp your hands together in an attempt to ward off your trance and he cracks a smile in spite of himself, relief washing over his features—but your next words have him standing stick straight. “It makes me feel like I should dress you up more often.” 

Suddenly his brows are threaded with vexation, Mary Janes clacking across the floorboards as he makes his way towards you.

“Please don’t joke about that. Even I take some pride in my manhood,” he pouts, somewhat unconvincingly. “But as long as you’re holding to your end of the deal—“

“And whatever deal could you be talking about?” you ask ever so sweetly, lashes batting away all too knowingly. He stiffens at your feigned ignorance, legs knocking together when you tilt your head pointedly. 

“...You know what deal.” 

Nagito averts his gaze, though unable to escape your own, hands clutching at the lacy material as he sucks in a sharp breath. “The deal we made… where I put this outfit on…” You wait patiently, silent stare urging him to finish the sentence.  “...and you pound my unworthy hole into oblivion.”

“Oh? And what exactly am I going to pound you with?”

However fake your play-pretend innocence, the curiosity in your eyes is very much real, blazing with the vehement desire to hear him say it aloud. The remaining shred of his so-called dignity is slashed to pieces, the hopefulness in your voice too compelling to defy.

“My favorite toy. Please, mess me up with it.” Nagito eyes you nervously, expecting rejection or derision or snide, heart fluttering when he gets only an warm smile in return. “The dildo that I can’t live without. I want it—I need it so bad it hurts,” he continues in a near whisper, but it’s good enough for you. You pull him in immediately, your chin nestling itself in the crook of his neck as your lips come to rest at the shell of his ear.

“Such a good boy, using your words so properly.” He shudders against you as you trace the fabric where it lies snug against his waist, mesmerized by the words of encouragement that spill from your lips. 

“I’m gonna make you see stars.”

Nagito practically bursts with anticipation as you snake your fingers up his skirt, unmoving from the spot where you pushed him onto the bed. With bated breath he lets you kiss up his inner thighs—lets you because normally he wants to do all the work, wants to be your little joyride fuck toy, wants you squirming under his touch. It’s all he can do just to watch, cock already twitching from how good it feels, how utterly starved he’s been of hands besides his own between his legs.

You push at his thighs, pressing them far apart for easy access, chaste kisses becoming damp squeezes as you traverse up the length. A silent smirk tugs at your lips as he throws his head back, the tent beneath his apron growing taller by the second. You palm it instinctively, rubbing circles through the fabric and inviting blood to his sensitive member.

But it’s more of a distraction than anything else, your other hand uncapping the bottle of lube with skill, lathering itself up with ease. Nagito pays it no mind, instead drinking in how you fondle him with eerie similarity to the most despicable of his favorite fantasies. So when a lone finger begins to circle at his entrance, he reels with an unexpected jolt, back arched like a cat. You waste no time in sinking a digit inside, sinful groans following one after another.

And then you’re pumping him with two fingers, swirling them in tandem and scissoring them apart a knuckle deep, then another. He’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the maddening urge to move on his own, to just take the reins and ram you inside of him. He’s already coursing with the need for something more substantial, and it’s obvious that he’s ready to take additional girth.

“Used to me already?” you ask, more statement than question. Nagito hesitates before nodding, sheepishness written into the slow bob of his head. “You’ve been playing with this lonely hole behind my back, haven’t you?” But he can’t bring himself to confirm or deny it, the way he peers back at you answer enough.

You reach for the harness in turn, untangling the heaps of straps right before him, his dildo of choice following soon after. You snap the towering thing into place with a satisfying click, swaying your hips as you guide the thigh straps to their final resting place. The fit is snug, belt of the strap just about digging into your flesh—but not quite—and you turn your back to add the finishing touches.

You’re dripping with lube when you face him again, glossy slick accentuating every vein, every bulge that graces your makeshift cock. You chuckle at the way his legs are spread already, the way he’s waiting on you with a look that says take me now, hold me down and fuck me silly.

But he’s ahead of himself as usual, and it’s inevitable that he chokes back a whimper when you disappear inside of him. He gives the prospect of pain no heed, silently pleading for you to move, and you click your tongue in distaste.

“Breathe,” you command, waiting for him to loosen. Green eyes shift expectantly from the strap-on to your own, an exasperated whine starting to form at his lips, but he knows his place and does as you say.

Nagito complies with the rise and fall of his chest, evidenced by the soft sway of a centerpiece bow. His muscles begin to relax even as you’re splitting him in two, and you angle your hips up in preparation. The tip of your silicone cock has barely brushed against his sensitive gland, yet it already has him quivering, hungry for more.

It’s in the middle of a deep breath when you finally deem him ready, doubling back before bucking into that same spot that has his jaw dropping and his eyes squeezing shut. A shaky exhale stutters from his wide-open mouth and he melts into a panting mess as you find your pace.

“Good boy. Such a good boy, making all that noise for me,” you repeat, chant-like words a melody to his ears.

“Y-you really think so?” he struggles to get out, little mewls escaping him even as he speaks. “Even when I’m… being so… selfish?”

“Shh, don’t say things like that. I feel it too, baby boy,” you’re quick to say—and you’re not lying, far from it in fact. The hilt of the dildo rocks against your clit each time your hips meet, the pulsating pressure tempting you to plunge even deeper. And with the face that he’s making, all reddened cheeks and parted lips, how could you not?

You’re snapping into him now, reveling in the challenge posed by the sheer length of his choice toy. It’s hard work with the way he clamps around you, but the tingle it shoots up your spine and the squelch it sends to your ears are well worth the effort. The marvelous stretch draws a throaty “f-fuuuuck” out of him, the god-sent sensation making him throb all the more.

But with every plunge you take, you’re met with the bounce of his pretty pink cockhead, a rebounding reminder of what you’ve left unattended. His neglected shaft looms in stark contrast to his black and white garb, breath hitching when you finally decide to wrap around it. Your movements are painfully slow to begin with, building up the pressure before picking up in speed, and he keens his dissatisfaction until you’re jerking him off to the same brutal rhythm of your rolling hips.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” he cries, locks of hair cascading past his pleated headband as you press into a spot so sweet he thinks he just might come undone; but you have other plans in mind. Your movements slow before coming to a lurching halt, the absence of stimulation quick to dampen the mood.

“Good boys cum when they’re told to,” you say, but the explanation does little to appease him. A look of disappointment leaps to his face, his lips pursed in dismay—or perhaps it’s betrayal.

He looks so disheveled like this, staring at your open palm like maybe his wordless begging can coax you back into stroking him. Hazy eyes glaze over, tufts of hair spilling every which way as he sits himself up, but you aren’t done with him yet.

It’s simple to redirect his movement, his weak limbs no match for your own as you turn him over so he’s kneeling on the bed. He tries to look back but you push him down by the neck, hiking his skirt up as you position yourself behind him. His ass is raised in the air without so much as being told, and you align with his fluttering hole before breaking him in again.

You were right to make him wait; he’s shaking in excitement now, tense with amplified arousal as his knees buckle underneath you. Bottoming out is so much easier like this, your pistons devoured whole and spat back out with each and every thrust. You draw back slowly only to bury yourself once more, repeating the motion until his moaning runs incoherent, completely wracked with shivering pleasure. You can’t tell if he’s humping the mattress, grinding against you, or both, but he’s reaching his climax again and the both of you know it.

“Can I finish now? Pretty please?” Nagito asks, so strained and so breathily that you nearly miss it. “Please, it hurts so good, please please please, I’m head over heels for your cock!”

The thought of stopping again is too cruel for you to give even a moment’s consideration, so you pin his wrist against his back and collect a fistful of hair in your hand before leaning in to award him with the magic words:

“Go ahead, then. Cum for me.”

You slam into him as he rides through the peak of his bliss, squirming in wretched ecstasy as he collapses under his own weight. You can only imagine what kind of expression he’s making with his head face-first in the bedsheets, the kinds of shapes his mouth is forming when you pull his hair back like this. Violent spasms render Nagito otherwise immobile, unable to move of his own accord. He’s going completely slack, quivers shorting until you wonder if he passed out from the aftershock.

It comes as a surprise when you notice him barely holding on, eyelids threatening to shut close when you pull him into your arms. He looks like a cheap whore in that kitschy uniform of his, thick white cum smeared all over the black fabric. Beads of drool streak his chin but he’s too fucked-out to notice, let alone care.

“You did so well for me,” you whisper as Nagito nuzzles into your chest, drowsy and spent. I don’t deserve this at all, he thinks, a dull echo reverberating in the back of his mind.

“I’m so proud of you,” you coo as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Proud of what? My greediness? My utter uselessness?

But he’s too exhausted to fight your praises, self-doubt dwindling away to nothing as you hum your approval. He snuggles against your palm without even realizing it, subconscious of his mind chasing after contact with your bare skin. In his docile state, you can’t help but to hold him close, intimate proximity sating the needs of which he’s too adamant to admit aloud.

But all good things must come to an end, and eventually, your adrenaline dies down, too. You feel as though you’re a husk of yourself, curling up beside him and letting the fatigue tide you over. As much as you’d love to watch your symbol of hope fall asleep, your eyelids feel so, so heavy now, and you expend the last of your energy on little kitten kisses that trail up his temple and dot down his nose. Your collective consciousness fades away until all that’s left is the syncing of your breath, a singular flow of air where you lay wrapped around one another.

He’ll never admit just how good it felt to be pampered this way, but you’ll never regret taking care of him.

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Frankie's Favorite Part

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: A little bit of body issues, cunnilingus, self-voyeurism, light spanking, PiV sex, use of butt plug, attempted anal, anal pain, also please never go ass to pussy or you're going to get an infection, wash that dick or use a rubber, unprotected sex.

Summary: Frankie loves your butt and you want to take that love to the next level but Frankie is a big boy. That's all. Smut but also soft!Frankie.

A/N: Inspired by my day of thinking about Frankie's butt. I *will* write that fic, too, this just came (heh) to me easier.

Getting undressed for a shower, you’re inspecting your body in the full-size mirror in the bedroom. It’s become a habit, a way for you to practice looking at yourself neutrally, without judgment: this is the flesh I walk around in, it looks a certain way and it doesn’t matter if that way is conventionally beautiful and sexy or not, it is a functioning body that so far has carried me through life without fail.

When you’re in your panties only, you see Frankie enter the room behind you. He comes to an immediate stop in the doorway to take you in.

“Hi,” you smile before you return your attention to the mirror and pull down your panties, bending over a little as you do so. Frankie knows about your ritual and supports you in your effort to appreciate yourself for what you are, and you have been together long enough for you not to be shy in the nude before him. It’s comfortable and familiar, and when you lift your gaze from your own reflection and see him in the mirror behind you, there’s something in his eyes that starts off a flutter deep within your belly.

“Hi yourself,” he replies in a low voice. “I know I’m not supposed to objectify you when you’re doing your self-care thing – “ he gestures towards you and the mirror “ – but fuck, baby… you have such a sweet ass.”

You have to laugh at his simple male pleasures and Frankie misinterprets it as you brushing it off.

“I’m serious!” he protests and you shake his head at him in the mirror.

“I know,” you smirk, pleased with the attention. “It’s just such a guy thing to say.”

“Obviously your personality is my favorite part of you,” he quickly compensates. You roll your eyes to show him that you don’t believe him for a second. He smiles a little, his gaze dropping down from yours.

“Okay. Your butt. You have such an amazing butt.”

You wiggle your ass a little and Frankie’s eyes literally widen as he sees your buttocks move. In a few strides he’s with you, tall frame crowding you from behind, big hands covering your butt cheeks.

“I would’ve thought boobs,” you remark and he immediately releases your ass, hands coming around you to cup your breasts. “Guys always go crazy for boobs.”

He tweaks your nipples and you enjoy the slight tightening in them when they pucker against his fingers. Your heart skips a beat.

“They’re amazing, too,” he confesses. “It’s hard to choose, really, but there’s just something about your butt that gets me every time I see it. It’s so big and juicy compared to mine.”

His hands slide back to your ass, pinching it in appreciation.

“Mine’s so pathetic,” he adds ruefully.

“Nuh-uh, your butt is so cute!” you protest, turning around and slapping your hands to his sweatpant-covered little behind. “Small but powerful buns of steel.”

“I’d prefer a big, bouncy butt. Like Santi’s,” Frankie complains, then frowns, looking down at you. “You seen Santi’s butt?”

“Um, hell yes I’ve seen it,” you scoff, “I’m not blind! It’s practically all over the place. Not my thing. I like cute little butts that can be used as a goddamn dinner table.”

He chuckles and dips down to kiss you.

“This relationship isn’t big enough for two bouncy asses and I’m glad you’re the one who has it.” He’s grabbing you by said bouncy ass, jamming you into him, and you wrap your arms around his neck and go for one of those deep, long kisses that you know get him riled up. And he is immediately ready to drown into you.

“Gorgeous girl,” he gasps when you both need to resurface for air. “You’re not gonna take that shower just yet.”

“I thought so,” you murmur as you start trailing kisses down his jaw and neck. He stops you by taking a light but firm hold of your neck and pulling your lips away from his skin.

“To bed,” he tells you, a sharpness to his otherwise deep, velvety voice. As you turn around to climb into bed, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, caressing and claiming as he peppers your neck with sucking kisses and small bites. You’re heavy with want by now, the fire of your lust always quick to light when it comes to Frankie and his touch. The bulge pressing against your ass tells you that he’s just as turned on.

“On your hands and knees, baby.”

You obey and as soon as you’ve assumed the position, Frankie dips down to kiss one of your ass cheeks, hand fondling the other.

“Just love your ass,” he murmurs and gives you a little bite as he pinches the fat. You hum low in your throat as your pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation. You yelp when Frankie gives you a small smack.

“Love to see that ass bounce,” he goes on. “Can I?”

“Yes, baby, make it bounce,” you tell him breathlessly as you wait for the next slap. It comes right away but it’s not as sharp as you know it could be. It’s not like when he spanks you, when every impact makes you cry out, he just smacks you enough to make the fat of your buttocks move. He takes breaks only to squeeze and knead your flesh with strong hands, and distribute kisses and bites down your butt cheeks.

You’re enjoying his service like a cat basking in the sun, knowing he’s navigating slowly but steadily towards your exposed and by now drenched pussy, and when he places a first, teasing lick on your wet folds, you let out a low hum.

“Look so good, smell so good,” he murmurs before another tentative, light swirl of his tongue.

“Frankie…” you beg in a low moan, then hiss when he bites your thigh. Your leg twitches, not quite a kick but not far from it, and he smacks you again, a little harder this time, a strangled moan escaping you. He soothes the sting with his callused palm softly stroking you.

“Behave, you wild little filly.” You hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not the one who put you near my legs and told you to tease me,” you point out, a little dazed from your arousal and dying for him to release you from the shackles of anticipation. “Please, Frankie…”

“All right, but only because you’re asking so nicely.”

You feel the mattress shift as he makes himself comfortable before taking a firm hold of the back of your thighs, just below your buttocks. You feel his breath against your folds for a split second, then his tongue and lips.

“Fuck, baby…” you keen as he begins to employ his skills, tricks and all. Once upon a time you may have been self-conscious about having him eat you out in this position, with your asshole so close to his face, but not anymore. It’s hot, it’s filthy, and he’s so good at what he does. Squeezing your ass, he works his tongue into you, licking and suckling and nibbling with his lips, attacking your clit mercilessly, drawing moan after loud moan from you. When you start to quicken and your legs want to press close, he applies some force to keep your thighs apart. You find yourself on your forearms, chest down and hands grabbing onto the duvet as the pleasure intensifies along with the wet smacks of his lips, making you run your mouth.

“Yes, baby, please, s’good, I’m so close…!”

He grunts and his fingers dig into the pliable flesh of your thighs, his effort to make you cum renewed. And you cum, strongly, blindingly, a gasped cry stifled against the mattress as your legs shake and Frankie bruises your thighs with his fingers. You ride it out against his mouth before he finally lets go of you. He kisses your buttocks, wiping himself off of them, before sitting up straight and pulling you up, crashing you against his chest.

“You make me so fucking hard, pretty girl,” he groans into your ear before biting it, hands on your hips as he grinds his pelvis against you. You throw your arms above and back, catching his head and raking your fingers through his thick locks.

“I need you in me, Frankie,” you whimper, shuddering at the feel of the hard outline of his cock in his pants and his rough kisses on your neck and shoulder.

“You’ll have me,” he promises before pushing you down onto your hands and getting off the bed to strip. “I want you from behind so I can see your sweet ass all the time, baby.”

“Let’s use the mirror,” you suggest immediately, having expected doggy. You want him to see your face when he fucks you. You turn onto your side and look back at him, smiling wickedly.

“Fuck, baby, I love you so much.” He hurries with his pants and almost loses his balance in his eagerness to get rid of them. You giggle at him and he leans over you to give you another smack on your ass before going to the full length mirror and moving the it so it’s facing the bed.

“And the plug,” you add, and you swear you can see him twitch.

“You sure?”

“Wouldn’t fucking ask you if I wasn’t, would I?”

“Atta girl,” he grins at you and when he returns to bed, he’s bringing with him the diamond butt plug and the lube. You’re back on all fours by the time he’s behind you again.

“You let me know how you’re doing, okay, sweetheart?” he asks you, his face serious in the mirror. You smile reassuringly.

“Of course.”

He works you open with his thumb at first and when he’s certain you can take that without problems, he lubes up the plug and starts to work it against your tight ring of muscles. Relaxing and breathing calmly, you open up for the stainless steel toy and once the head is in, the rest just glides after.

“Talk to me,” Frankie asks you, his voice tight. You release the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“It’s good. I’m good. I… fuck, Frankie, I need you to fuck me.”

Palming your ass with one hand, he uses the other to align himself with your slick opening. When he pushes inside it’s like a spear shooting through your body, splitting you in two. He always feel so much bigger, sharper, harder from behind, especially when you’re not warmed up. It’s intoxicatingly sensual, the pleasure bordering on pain, and the heightened sensation of being filled up that the plug brings.

“Fuck,” is all you can manage between clenched teeth and a moan.

“So good,” Frankie praises you, staying still in you, allowing you to adjust for a moment. “You’re so good to me, baby, so tight.” He caresses your ass cheeks gently. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You realize you’ve been hanging your head down in your focus to take him, and lift your gaze, meeting his eyes in the mirror by the bed. He’s watching you intently, a concentration-induced frown on his handsome face, his plump lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs. “Your ass looks so fucking sexy with that little diamond in your hole.” You moan at his praise just as he raises his hand and brings it down on your ass. You flinch and gasp, then moan when he forces his hips against you, reaching impossibly deep before retreating slowly, almost dragging himself out before sliding in again. Your eyes fall shut and you stick your ass out and drop the belly to accentuate your hips and bottom for him.

Frankie curses low and grabs you by the soft flesh of your hips, picking up the pace. Every crash against you gives the plug a knock into you and it short circuits your brain. You throw your head up and push your chest forward as much as you can to display the swing of your breasts. Staring at Frankie in the mirror, you can tell he’s loving it: his dark gaze is alternating between your face and your tits as he moves in you with slow deliberation. You shift a little and he hits your spot, making your breath stutter.

“Baby,” you ask in a whine, “go shallow. And harder.”

He complies immediately and you let go of the bedspread with one hand, reaching between your legs instead to rub your clit. Frankie’s hitting your spot over and over and it takes you no time to build up that delectable pressure again, the one you know will tear you apart. You moans your encouragements to Frankie, eyes falling shut as you climb, pussy squeezing his cock in anticipation, fingers working your clit, breath coming in short puffs.

“Fuck, Frankie…” you wail, your toes curling. Frankie grunts, and slips out of you. You both curse in frustration simultaneously and you almost sob at the loss of stimulation against your g-spot. He finds you again and thrusts in – and that one thrust is your undoing. You release your juices over his cock and your pussy pulsates together with your throbbing clit as the climax ravages you. Frankie continues to fuck you, the obscene, squishy sound louder than your moans, and then he lets himself fall over you, pressing you down onto your stomach. He takes a short break to reposition himself, his knees on either side of your legs pushing your thighs together and locking them in, his hands coming to your lower back. Without letting you come down from your orgasm he sets a furious pace, fucking deep into your quivering pussy. The changed position and angle makes the plug feel bigger, your ass tighter.

“Look at me, baby,” he huffs, squeezing your flesh harshly, “look at me when I fuck you.”

You force your eyes open and prop your chin up so that you can see him in the mirror. His face is the definition of determination and adoration alike as he worships your post-orgasm features in the mirror, beads of sweat forming on his forehead from the effort of proning you.

“So tight,” he groans breathlessly, “fuck, baby, you’re feel so good…”

You whimper something encouraging when a thought forms in your sex-crazed brain.

“Frankie…” you gasp, “stop, stop!”

He stills immediately although you can feel the restless energy radiate from every one of his taut muscles.

“You okay?” he inquires and you get up on your forearms.

“Wanna to fuck my ass?”

You can literally see him gulp.

“Baby… we tried that, but I was just hurting you.”

You remember the experience. Frankie is well-endowed and despite lubrication and warm-up, you just couldn’t take him, no matter how much you wanted to.

But you want to try again, and you tell him that.

“Just get the lube, and we’ll go slow.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder and he draws a deep, shaking breath.

“Fuck. You’re… you’re incredible. Okay.” He kisses your skin softly before pulling out and carefully prying out the plug. You grab a pillow and place it underneath your pelvis for elevation as Frankie works some lube onto your hole with his thumb, then onto himself.

“You ready?” He keeps your face under observation in the mirror and you nod.

“Ready.”

He’s big. So big. Despite the plug and the lube it feels like trying to get the cap of a baseball bat into your ass. You relax, will yourself into being spacious, accessible, breathe calmly and fight the urge to panic as he inches into you.

“Okay?” He checks in with you and you manage to smile.

“Yeah.”

It’s painful, red hot and searing, this intrusion into your rectum. No matter how much you want to give this to him, to be completely filled up by him, it does seem like you’re not going to be able to. But you frown in concentration and don’t stop him. You want it so bad, you just have to give it one more minute.

“I’m hurting you.” Frankie’s voice is alarmed. You realize that you’re grimacing and that he sees everything in the mirror.

“I’m good, don’t stop.”

“No, I – “

“Just stay still!” you bark, your voice not as steely as you wanted it to be. You take a couple of breaths, try to relax your face to show Frankie that you’re fine. Relax, relax. All is good. You can take him.

“A little more,” you ask him tightly and he caresses your buttock with one hand as the other guides him. Pain shoots through you and you whimper.

“Baby – “

“I’m fine!”

“The head is in.”

You stifle a sob at the announcement. That’s further than last time, you couldn’t even take the head that time. And you’re so full, so filled, there is no fucking way you’re going to be able to take the rest. But the head is in.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” Frankie’s voice is equal amounts worry and arousal. A look at his face tells you he’s as high-strung as he can be.

“I… it’s so big. I’m trying to breathe through it.”

“We can stop. We should stop.”

“No, just give me one more minute.” You’re loath to give up but no matter how much you try, it doesn’t get easier. It just hurts. You keep thinking one more breath but eventually, you have to cut your losses.

“Out,” you moan, tears of failure burning in your eyes. Just as gently as he inches in, Frankie eases out of you. Pulling the pillow from under you before collapsing down, you hide your face in your hands, unexpectedly emotional about the experience.

Frankie kisses his way up from your lower back to your shoulder before settling against you, one arm around your waist.

“You okay?” he murmurs, nuzzling your hair. You swallow hard and force yourself to meet his concerned eyes, hoping you don’t look too broken.

“I wanted you to have that,” you tell him quietly. “But I just can’t, it’s too much.”

“My beautiful girl,” he sighs, pressing his lips to yours before kissing the tip of your nose and then your cheeks and eyebrows. “You don’t have to do anything for me. Just you being with me makes me the luckiest, happiest man in the world.”

“But – “

“No buts,” he interrupts you softly, his hand sliding down to your ass. “Except your butt, of course, which I’ll always love, whether I get to fuck it or not.”

You have to giggle. “You’re so romantic, Francisco.”

“You know it.”

“What I know is that you haven’t finished yet…” You meet his lips with yours and kiss him deeply as your hand seeks him out between the two of you. Stroking him, you swallow his moans as he grips your ass harder.

“How do you want to finish?” you ask in a hoarse whisper against his scruffy cheek.

“In your tight little pussy, with you on top,” he replies quickly. “Reverse.”

“Your wish is my command.”

You rearrange yourselves, Frankie lying down with a pillow underneath his head so he can still see you in the mirror and you straddling him in reverse cowgirl. Slowly, you inch onto him, sheathing him in your quivering pussy, relishing his helpless moan.

“I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he warns you, “you take me so well, I’m not gonna be able to hold onto it.”

“That’s okay, baby,” you coo breathless as you lean forward a little, offering him a juicy view of your ass and both your holes as you move up and down his shaft. “Just enjoy the ride, I’ve got you.”

He grabs your ass when you start to bounce on his cock and you meet his stare in the mirror, his mouth agape, helpless surrender shining in his eyes that dart from your face to your ass and back again. You rely on your legs and core to keep up the work and cup your breasts and pull your nipples. The strangled sound Frankie makes plucks at the right strings deep within you and you lower one hand to tease your clit, maybe you’ll be able to cum one more time.

“So tight when you do that,” he growls, “baby, fuck!” You start to grind down on him, finding your spot and staying on it, frantically riding him towards your release and his, egged on by his shouting your name when he spurts hot cum deep inside you, his throat bared and his hands holding onto your hips like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him anchored to this world. You ride on through his climax towards your own, hitting your spot again and again until you’re thrown up into the sky with the fireworks, your eyes falling shut but the light show still going on the inside of your eyelids.

Frankie pulls you down next to him and gathers you in his arms, picks up all the loose parts of you and puts you back together with a simple, breathless kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles and you respond in kind, an exhausted smile on your lips as your eyes flutter open and his soft features come into focus.

“You’re so amazing,” he adds before kissing your lips sweetly.

“Mmm… you are.”

“No, you.”

You giggle at the adorable bullshit and kiss him again, enjoying the taste of yourself on him.

“Every part of you is amazing,” Frankie murmurs into your mouth. “Not just your butt. All of you.”

“Okay, message received.” You blush a little at his gushing.

“I’m serious. You’re just… the best. All of you, not just your body.”

“Thank you. I think you are the best. All of you.”

He smiles softly and pulls you into a hug. And you know you’ll stay there forever because his embrace might just be your favorite part of him.

[littleviolence2016]

inspired by @b1mb1b00

1) i would rather not say

2) 7-10

3) i dont have one but would like one - i know when i get one despite me wanting one its gonna be really hard for me to open up because im not the best at being vulnerable and thats like the most vulnerable thing i can do - leave someone in charge of my inner child - i have 2 partners but i never like brought it up to them ya know like 1 is aware of what cgl is the other absolutely no idea & i dont wanna ruin our dynamic

4) build a bear workshop & mcdonalds - i love stuffies and wanna see how they’re made and be part of it itll be so sick & mcdonalds has the best chicken nuggets and fries fight me about it im right yeah they aren’t dino shaped but i can get over it they are the best AND i get a free toy and there’s no catch its great - another would be chuck-e-cheese i wanted to spend my birthday there again but haven’t had the money to i love games alot and maybe i can finally win something at the top of the prize wall even big me would want a chuck-e-cheese date okay i love games and pizza id always prefer chuck-e-cheese over dave and busters

5) i only have sippy cups & stuffed animals & toys - i would like more when i live in a bigger space i dont really need much because im a bigger boy but id like mostly food stuff like plates spoons i like the spoons with the plastic handles alot they have to be teaspoons cuz tablespoons are the devil they attack the senses in my mouth in a /neg way it’s awful who would do that to help regress maybe some of the handles spoons can be cute i dont want the bowl part plastic though thats also evil to me personally and i like the bath tablets that make the bath colors too and shower crayons i want those and blankets i love thoses and yeah i want more things when its safe

6) i dont know i dont think so i am into petplay tho does that count?

7) not that much different than big me i guess you can say even MORE childish than i already am (ik thats not the best word cuz they’re a child duh) i guess more baby like - like playful, bratty, causes problems on purpose im more quiet than big me but i also don’t have anyone i trust enough to talk to in that state so im mainly going based on my alters which i don’t say much

8) coloring because drawing frustrates me when it doesn’t go on the paper right

9) i don’t know that many 😿 i just met @adorableblindemo and they r real sweet

10) it depends - most times it’s voluntary but in really high stress situations i can regress usually then i tend to get mute like nonverbal i have select mutism and also other stuff its just scary

11) yeah thats what i would consider my voluntary is most of the time because i dont have a space that would allow me to even think about regressing fully

12) no

13) mac & cheese, cereal, chocolate milk/hot chocolate but if its hot chocolate it has to he more warm than hot because im a punk

14) love them adore then need to protect them

15) not really im usually rejected so i just don’t anymore i actively avoid it even

16) idk really i’ve never been called like pet names ive vibed with just nicknames

17) kids shows & having things in my mouth

18) no because i don’t really have a safe space so i always need to b on like high alert to switch back into big mode asap

19) its so hard to find like a side that i vibe with all i see is the stereotypical stuff (younger/baby regressers who r and super pastelly & like preferred not alternative baby things and have baby gear like diapers and pacis) i dont see that many middle regressiors or ones who like alternative pop culture things

20) i can’t find that many for fandoms im in but the ones i do i really do like i wanna make a masterpost one day mainly for myself cuz i wish i could find them easier its like i gotta dig for content

21) very - im real sensitive the air could blow the wrong way and im jumping

22) i mostly indulge in rpf so i don’t have anyone fictional per say just blorbos from bandom and select tv shows

23) no different than my room now really i wanna beanbag

24) ive never realky tried it before it looks fun but im kinda shy

25) i want my childhood/innocence back it was taken too soon i wanna nurture that side of me when things were simpler and protect it not have to think about how hard things are now and how i can’t really get help for it because i simply cant afford it

26) yes mainly my comfort artists (mainly mcr & waterparks atm)

27) no i don’t have a cg i tried making a chore chart that i printed from a blog on here but forgot about it a few weeks in

28) like i said in #7

29) ive been told i had the potential to be and i think so because when im big i do tend to be more protective, parental, nurturing and just overall alpha like

30) i dont know what to say rly but hey if you like the content i post lets be friends i’ll try not to bite

[wh6res]

johnny — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you feel. the farther you are, the colder.

synopsis. johnny had always preferred you in winter clothes, anyway. you can say it makes his job a lot easier.

warnings. tread cautiously. smut, swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of smoking, mentions of stalking, violence, implied kidnapping near the end, johnny's a lil delusional, implied slutshaming

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

inspired by red.

in a world where finding one’s soulmate is a big hot and cold game, having sex for the heck of it proves to be a challenge. who’d be willing to take off their clothes when you literally feel negative degrees because your soulmate lives on the other side of the world?

but it’s weird, really. some people don’t have their soulmates living in another country. some people lucked out and have their soulmate living just across the street, or next to their house, and probably didn’t need all those winter clothes that other people wear.

johnny had eventually developed an unspoken rule to only get with the ones who are bundled up in their ‘lil jackets and parkas, running the other way from people who show more skin. he isn’t a masochist, why’d he want to spend time with someone who’s close to meeting their soulmate?

it hadn’t been two years when johnny met you in the brick alleyway of a local bar near the university, in the shortest, skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen. he tried to stop himself, oh, he truly did, but your cat-like grace and alluring eyes threw him off his game completely. one bottle of cheap beer led to another, exchanging whispers led to kissing, and kissing led to… well, in your mattress.

sure, the springs digging against his back as you rode him like a fucking horse hurt but it has a charm to it. with the pain and pleasure mixing into something so blinding that it was the best sex he’s had for years.

it was only after he'd cummed for the 5th time with you that night and had called it a day, did he realize that you haven’t met your soulmate nor were you feeling any closer to meeting ‘the one’ despite not wearing a jacket in the least.

you don’t know the relief that surged through johnny’s veins when you said…

“what? soulmate? i haven’t met them yet. wait a minute—you thought because of what i’m wearing, my soulmate’s close?” johnny felt a little stupid as you laughed, tugging the bedsheets higher up against your chest. “people i fucked always ask me that but nah, nothing can stop me from wanting to wear something that makes me feel confident.”

there’s something about you that johnny suh cannot pinpoint. it was that annoying feeling of having the words at the tip of your tongue yet being unable to say them. maybe it was the way you talked? the way you acted? or just the charisma you seem to exude so effortlessly? johnny would rather die than admit to anyone that you got him wrapped around your pretty little nimble fingers with just the bat of an eyelash.

he felt like utter shit for literally walking out on you as abruptly as he did (screw drunk taeyong for getting into bar fights again) but at least you guys exchanged numbers and talked about all that needed to be talked about.

when johnny went out that night to try out local bars outside the uni, he never thought he'd be coming back home, sober and satiated, with a new booty call.

the arrangement went on a few more times. and by few, johnny meant a hefty few, considering you saw each other more than his ten fingers can count and had always alternated between his place and yours. although due to taeyong being a constant nuisance (“i’m not just going to fucking move my gaming nights just so you can get your dick bounced, suh!”) he was always at your place, instead.

not that either of you minded. johnny had to sneak in and out of the university because you lived off the campus grounds but it’s well worth it. anyone will do anything for a taste of heaven, right?

not that you were an angel by any means but johnny discovers your moans turn whinier when he addresses you as such. it makes his cock throb with want, hearing you lose yourself underneath or on top of him as he used you to get off.

“isn’t that right, angel? come on tell me how much you love me fucking you. this is what you live for isn’t it?” johnny hisses, leaning forward, his chest touching your back as he railed you from behind.

you were way too lost in the pleasure to even answer him properly. you just felt so full, the slight curve of his cock aiding him to hit all the right places whenever he ruts his hips forward. he doesn’t even need to use his hands on you and johnny revels at how amazingly responsive you are.

all he can hear is you and boy was it enough to get him off. from your moans, to the clapping, to the lewd squelching sounds, to the springs of the mattress poking your front. everything is leading up to that moment you’re both chasing, that searing pleasure of climaxing.

when he feels you getting closer, he flips you onto your back, wanting to see your face twisted in sheer ecstasy when he makes you cum.

“johnny!” you scream when he hauls your legs over his shoulder, hitting impossibly deeper, grazing the walls of your cervix. “shit, shit, shit—i’m going to—”

he halts all movements.

the answering whine he got from you made him quickly wrap a hand around your throat, the other gripping your hips so hard you just know it’ll leave a nasty bruise the next morning. “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart. go on—you live for my cock, don’t you?”

“johnny, come on—ah!” he cuts you off with a pointed look, the hard thrust rendering you speechless as he wraps his hand just a wee bit tighter around your neck.

“what did i say about whiny angels, hmm?” he leans down to your ear, puffing his hot breath with every word he spoke and drawing more beads of sweat on the side of your face. “go on, love, don’t be shy. i know you love my cock but i don’t tolerate you ignoring my questions.”

well, you’re fucked—figuratively—as you fail to remember whatever question he asked you only seconds ago.

you squeeze your eyes shut when he starts moving in the slowest pace possible, teasing you and making you work for it. as if your dilemma is written clear on your face, johnny coos, tilting his head. “what… is my angel having trouble?”

the surprised moan you let out when he gives another hard thrust sends shivers down his spine. he revels at your scrunched up face, both from the pleasure and wracking your brain frantically for whatever johnny wants because you sure as hell know that he’ll keep this pace up just to torture you.

“johnny,” you plead, nuzzling your face by his forearm propped beside your head. but one look at his face and you know he won’t drop it no matter how much you plead and beg for you to finish. “i didn’t—didn’t hear what you asked—”

“that’s just too bad, now, is it?” you squirm underneath him with one particular hard thrust, your head nearly hitting the wall behind the mattress.

“please… re—repeat the question? i promise i’ll do anything! you know i will! i’m—i’m your angel, right? i’ll do anything! just—”

“fuck the question,” he gasps, feeling you clenching around him as he gives in to the pleasure he wants to feel. screw pretenses. “that’s good enough.”

he started yet again his brutal pace, stopping only after you finished so he could pull out, ropes of his essence painting your naked stomach.

johnny doesn’t immediately slump next to you, reaching forward to the box of tissues lying on the floor next to the mattress so he can clean you up. he knows your heart flutters when he takes care of you after, that’s why he does it always, without fail. he can feel your hammering heart as he wiped away all of his sticky cum off your torso.

both of you are shivering underneath the thin blanket. with the nature of the soulmate rules plus the busted heater in your apartment, being naked as the day you were born is quite a bad idea unless you want to suffer from hypothermia.

“want a cig?”

johnny chuckles, putting an arm up to support his head. “you always ask me that and i’ll always say the same thing. i—”

“don’t smoke.” you finish his sentence, your giggle rings akin to that of a little girl as you click the lighter, angling your head so the cigarette butt will reach the small flame.

“those things’ll kill you,” johnny mumbles, eyeing a discolored portion of the ceiling.

you snort, tempted to blow the smoke directly to his face but you know what happened before—angry sex with johnny suh borders more on pain than pleasure… but masochists are made to love the pain, aren’t they?

johnny bolts upright in a coughing fit, the springs of the mattress groaning in agony with the sudden movement. only after he’s composed himself again after that small blast of smoke you blew towards him did he start glaring at you. yet his annoyance dissipates the moment he sees the eagerness and mischief swirling in your eyes.

“you’re gonna fucking pay for that.”

johnny doesn’t like thinking that he’s growing attached. what the heck is taeyong even saying? feelings make everything messy and the last thing johnny wants to do is mess up whatever the fuck you guys have—not friends, not lovers, just smack dab in the middle.

so why is he so affected by the sudden infrequency of your texts? you used to reply within seconds after johnny asks if he can come over, now it takes you hours and more often than not johnny has already taken care of the problem himself by the time you replied.

and your texting style has gradually started to change, as well. gone are the days you’d humor him when he gives poorly disguised sexual innuendos for the fun of it. when johnny does end up coming over, you’re still as noisy and whiny as a bitch in heat but… there’s something off with everything. 

with you.

johnny’s just concerned. can he not feel that way? concern doesn’t automatically equal to any romantic feelings whatsoever, right?

“are you okay?” he asks, never the type to beat around the bush with someone. he tries to force out a chuckle, afraid whatever he said sounded a tad too serious. “i mean, i don’t know. is there something wrong—”

“i met him.”

“who?”

one look in your eyes and johnny knew you were pertaining to your soulmate.

he dashes over to you in a heartbeat, running his hands down your arms but before he can even reach your hands, you’ve hissed and pushed him away. “you’re hands are freezing, johnny!”

it was only a moment, seconds of touching you yet he can feel you weren’t as cold as you used to and it only meant one thing.

johnny’s smart enough to know he wasn’t your soulmate because if it was, you would’ve gotten warmer from the day you two met—but no, you were as cold as him, and had excused fucking each other as a means of sharing body heat. but even if that was the case, you both have made the agreement to still see or fuck around each other even after meeting your own respective soulmates.

jesus christ, you were the one who brought the issue up! and now… now what’s this bullshit he’s hearing from you?

“i can’t—can’t do this anymore, john,” you say firmly as you stand across the room, far away from him. hugging yourself as if you were the one breaking and not johnny. “we’d be hurting other people—”

“but you said—”

“i know what i said,” you snap, piercing eyes heatedly finding his. “i was stupid back then, i thought i can keep this up but—the guilt, johnny. you don’t know how guilty i fucking feel!”

“guilty?” he asks incredulously, taken aback of the implications of that one word.

you being guilty meant you’ve already met and have probably spent a reasonable amount of time with your soulmate (so that’s what you’ve been doing for the duration of you not talking to him). you being guilty meant you’re not exactly the proudest with whatever relationship you have with johnny and had probably kept your little midnight rendezvous with him a secret to your soulmate. you being guilty meant the sex you had only an hour ago was meant to be a goodbye of sorts, if the apologetic look you’re shooting him is anything to go by.

“look,” he’s never heard you sound so defeated before. “it was great, okay? the time i had with you, sex and aftercare and pillowtalk—all that shit. it was great but we both know it’s going to end eventua—”

“is the sex that good?”

“excuse me?”

“oh, i see,” johnny says condescendingly, a tone he’s never used when talking to you before but you’re leaving him with no choice. “he’s bigger, is that it? that has to be it. i wouldn’t put it past you, anyway—”

the slap you gave him only served to make his cock twitch under his sweatpants.

“leave.”

staring isn’t a crime. what can a pair of eyes do? it may be sharp like a knife and heavy like a gun in one’s hands but other than that can it physically do any harm? the answer’s simple—no, it fucking can’t. this is why johnny, for the life of him, can’t fathom as to why and what taeyong is so pressed about. johnny never thought him as a nagger, but his friend has transformed into an overgrown bat hovering behind his shoulders as if he’s some kid in need of monitoring.

“you call her a slut and now you’re being a stalker. wow, john, how utterly irresistible you’ve become.” taeyong looks so unfazed by johnny’s sharp eyes that the taller male’s fingers twitched in annoyance.

“i’m not stalking her!” he hisses under his breath, elbowing taeyong’s ribs only to curse when his bone hits the plethora of enamel pins stuck on his friend’s leather jacket. “and i didn’t call her a slut, either. get your facts straight.”

“but you implied it didn’t you?”

before johnny can even growl out a response, taeyong has quickly slipped into the bodies dancing in the middle of the bar.

so what if you were here? so what if this is the same bar you guys met? johnny’s not here for you. fuck, no. he’s here because this bar is closest to the uni and he isn’t in the mood to walk farther than a few blocks.

but no matter how much he claims otherwise, actions have always rang louder than words and johnny knows he’s creating a fool out of himself every time his eyes stray a little too far left and onto your figure, sitting next to a guy whose arm is wrapped around your waist like a vice.

but that’s not the interesting part—johnny wonders why your soulmate has another girl pressed up on his left.

oh, that’s your soulmate alright. judging by how you’d fan yourself fruitlessly with your hands, judging by how you’d cradle the glass filled with cheap beer and ice in hopes of the cold remedying your dried up palms.

but what sold you out? it’s how your eyes met his from way across the room. he knows you enough to see the apprehension and shock in your face only to quickly school it into indifference. the moment you glanced between him and that shitty soulmate of yours, he knows you’ll come crawling back into his arms—it’d only be a matter of time.

and not even hours later johnny’s phone rang and he stared down at your caller id with a sense of pride and sick entertainment rushing through his veins.

he knew he won, he just knew he did.

“and what does the angel need in such an hour?”

funny how you kicked him out of your apartment and now you’re ringing up his cell on the exact time you used to meet each other when you fucked around.

you’ve always been someone he can’t read, someone he can’t understand. may it be your logic, or your actions, or the words you say but it was all part of the appeal. a mystery johnny can’t help but want to unfold. when you called, the last thing he had ever expected was to hear you half-crying and half-moaning out his name like a mantra. he hears the sharp slick sounds and your shaky breath and knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

johnny isn’t a cruel person. it’d be mean of him to not give in when you had asked him so nicely.

“i’ll be there in five, angel.”

you wind back to each other for numerous times even after that night. you yourself always in the same predicament of being high as a fucking cloud, and johnny constantly getting flashbacks of the first few weeks he had with you.

but the way you treated each other has long passed the blurry lines of unspoken boundaries. you just felt so warm lying between his arms that he can’t help but tuck you in tighter, running fingers through your hair as you slept like a baby next to him and not on your soulmate’s bed.

johnny thought he’d won after you came back to him. how foolish of him to think that winning had something to do with this when it had everything to do with the small sparks of desire eating away at his insides—the desire to have you all for himself.

johnny scowls when you ask him to be quiet while in the middle of sex just because your soulmate called. johnny scowls when you refuse to meet up with him because you already have “plans” with your soulmate. johnny scowls when he smells a faint cologne that doesn’t belong to him on the whole of your apartment.

you yawn, subconsciously trying to shrug off johnny’s arms from your body in your sleep as you turned your back on him.

but want to know what johnny hates the most? what leaves a taste so bitter in his tongue that his whole day becomes a whole fucking mess? you trying to push him away… only to throw yourself back right into his arms.

how confusing can you be? how much more of the awful migraines will you let johnny endure? you’re driving him up the wall, pushing him to the edges of his sanity and the frustration only serves to add fuel to the fire.

what was so great about your soulmate that you can’t leave the bastard for good? johnny’s not stupid, he’s seen hickies countless of times to know that some purple marks on your skin are more than that—those weren’t hickies, they’re bruises. and god knows how much johnny hurts inside when you flinch away from him when all he wanted to do was pick away a fallen eyelash on your cheek.

he needed to save you, to snatch you away from the horrors of tartarus to worship you like a goddess again. and when he mulled everything over and over and over in his head, he only came up with one thing.

johnny perks up when he feels the phone vibrating on his lap, your caller id flashing in the dark room as he gamed on his pc. he eyes the phone in the corner of his eyes, contemplating the choices he will make. it’s not that he doesn’t know it’s wrong, but he needs you to wake the fuck up and you were taking too little too long for his taste.

his ringtone is deafening in the quiet room, he watches it vibrate against the table for a few more seconds until it stops. you have one missed phone call/, it says on his notifications.

the screen turns black.

he makes his move.

“what took you so long?” you whine, eyes red and seeing everything in a kaleidoscope as you stumble towards the door in a haste to get to johnny. you hear him strut through the door, shutting it close before hearing the soft pads of his shoes hitting the floor when he toes them off.

“i had to run errands, angel.”

with your hazy mind, you don’t detect the scratchiness of his voice. it’s as if he screamed his heart out until his own voice started to feel like knives against his throat every time he spoke. you were too high, too stoned, that you thought he sounded like melted chocolate, the drugs fucking up your whole system.

you giggle, folding in on yourself as you slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall with your knees tucked under your chin. “what kind of errands?”

“want me to show you?”

you were giggling when you signed your death wish. “yes, please!”

when he leans down, you didn’t smell the metallic scent that seemed to cling onto his clothes, didn’t see the splotches of red that ruined his favorite white shirt, didn’t taste his inhumanity when he leaned down to capture your lips into a heated kiss.

everything is under a thick layer of guise when you look down high up from cloud nine. but if only your feet had been anchored to the ground, maybe you would’ve seen everything as it was—would’ve seen the bat as it comes swinging down the back of your head after he’d pulled away. not enough to kill, just enough to knock you out. the clock starts from there.

johnny needed to be efficient, quick on his feet, as he incapacitated you with enough cable ties and darted around your apartment to shove everything in his duffel bag.

he mumbles to himself as he slots you inside the modest clothes he bought—he’s seen your closet enough to know that there wasn’t enough clothes that can keep you warm, so instead, he made you wear his own.

“this isn’t my fault,” johnny says under his breath as if trying to convince himself. “she forced my hand. forced me to do it. this is her fault.”

with all your big talk of able to withstand the coldness from when you had yet to meet your soulmate, he knew you won’t be able to handle the freezing heights brought by the temperature now that he left your soulmate to rot in a ditch.

this isn’t my fault. this isn’t my fault. this isn’t my fault.