#cw heavy vent here

[socialc1imb]

I love art ! I’m not lying !

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Forgive me, forgive me. I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes.

You know I find it incredibly bewildering to see just how much kalki reflects myself in him like YEAH Duh of course he does, he’s my little guy it’s like his full time job. But at the same time he is a fully functional facet of my being and he is at the mercy of my whimsies, and whatever he discovers in his arduous journey of self realisation is ultimately a reflection of what I discover in the real world. It’s also incredibly funny because ffxiv lore for dark knights is really baked into the idea of (re)discovering yourself amongst the bloodshed and continuing to live and love and thrive despite the world working against us. who would have thought such a raw message could come from an mmorpg side quest about edgy emo boys of all places

also adamantite armour of fending i would lay down my LIFE for u

variant + phone bg version + ID below the cut

tch as if you guys are actually going to use artwork of my little guy as your phone background. i know. how dumb. let a girl dream. i should make an alternate version but it's of Fray and Myste

[START ID: A picture with a red background focusing on the character's bust that is placed to the left of the image's centre. He is coloured with a dark blue overlay, contrasting with the red background. He has brown skin, long black hair that falls over his shoulders, and is wearing blue and gold armour and earrings. He is looking at the viewer, right eye dark brown and the left an glowing unnatural red, with an expression that looks determined and angry and yet bitter and forlorn. In the foreground and on the right side of the piece, a miniature version of the character stands coloured in a light blue overlay and wearing the same blue and gold armour, looking as if he is glowing. He is facing towards the left of the piece, or perhaps at the character bust, his expression unreadable. Above the miniature character's head is the symbol representing the FFXIV dark knight, coloured in gold. END ID.]

[galaxywhump]

I'm really sorry for this but I could really use some cheering up tonight

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

just woke up immediately having the worst international women’s day ever

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tender Cuts

Gwayne comes home battered and beaten, and so you kiss his busted lip and tend to his wounds.

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions of injury/blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, softhours, typos, etc.

A/N: i cant help myself. the unholy unspeakable things i want to do to this man... and yet here i am offering you some fluff

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings

Gwayne watches the way I undo his armor. He sighs and straightens from his chair, turning to the vanity mirror, "I am uninjured."

"And so you say, yet on your lips therein lies the lie you offer, husband," I retort as I finally remove the final piece of steel upon his form.

I bend over as he sighs once more. His tired eyes remain on my face as I unbutton his top. He places his hands on his thighs as he spreads them, "I am not gravely injured."

I forfeit a response and continue to touch him with care, as not to accidentally cause his unexposed injuries any more irritation. By the time I have his top unbottoned, Gwyane removes it along with his undershirt before I can do so. He stands and takes my hands. His eyes are more awake now as he places my palms on his bare chest, "inspect me yourself if you distrust me so."

His tone pinches my heart. "It's not that I distrust you, love," I rub his shoulders, "it's just that you've grown numb to your pain, and I do not wish any ailment to sneak up on you."

Gwayne's eyes slowly shut as I rub his arms then caress the sides of his firm belly. "So?" he grumbles, "shall I rid myself of my pants?"

My expression perks, "you might as well."

He opens his eyes and furrows his brows.

"I will bathe you myself."

Gwayne does not protest, save perhaps for a few more sighs as he rids himself of his last articles of clothing and steps into the preprepared tub. I waste no time and drag a stool to the side, eager to get him clean. He melts into my touch as I scrub his skin.

I splash his arm a few times before moving onto his chest. The room is silent, apart for the sound of sloshing water. Gwayne's head feels heavy, I can tell. I rub his shoulders to encourage him to relax.

"You don't have to mother me, you know."

I tilt my head as I find one of the freckles on his sternum, "I am a mother. You should know, you were there when it happened."

"You mothered my children, not I." He rests his arms on the sides of the tub.

I lift my gaze. His eyes look heavy.

For a moment, my husband is not he, but a child abandoned. I look upon his tired face and recall the soft confessions he'd whispered as I laid in his arms, confessions of his loneliness, his longing. He recounted all the memories of his mother that remained with him. He vented out his hurt over his father who he grew without.

I knit my brows and put down the sponge in my hand, "do you not want my touch?"

He drops his head then grabs my wrist, "I do not want you to worry." Gwayne pushes closer to me. The water around him splashes. He leans on the rim by my side and kisses my pulse. He repeats softer, "I do not want you to worry."

I press my lips into a line and brush his hair back with my free hand, "oh, my love," I sigh, "unfortunately, I worry regardless."

He rests his head upon my hand when I caress his cheek. I comb my fingers through his hair as much as it will allow me in its matted state. He closes his eyes. I trace the shape of his nose with my palm.

Gwayne has never said it out loud, but I know that sometimes he feels undeserving of the attention I so freely shower him in. The wounds of his younger self that never quite healed make the affections he's so craved quite hard to take in.

"My sweet boy," I whisper, gently rubbing his lips, "let me do this for you."

His blue eyes slowly open. They are shrouded with red exhaustion. He finally relents, eyes closing again as he leans back and offers himself completely to me.

I decide to wash his hair for a change, and as I do so, I sing a folk song from the Reach. He rests his head on the tub, sinking slightly into the water as he allows himself to relax.

I only stop singing when he mutters something unintelligible. I lean towards him, "what was that, my love?"

His lips barely move, "thank you."

A soft smile finds me.

"I love you."

I immediately press my lips into his. I make sure to do so delicately, so not to disturb him or the cut on his lower lip. I look at his face for a few moments before pulling back, "I love you too."

I continue singing from where I left off.

[silkjade]

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF A PORCELAIN HEART

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: even the most resilient of hearts must shed its armor, and despite your efforts to appear strong, alhaitham still senses your distress ⤀ cw: gn!reader, your heart is referred to as 'she', insecurity issues, fear of vulnerability, hurt/comfort — ꒰ 1.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: this is a vent drabble, so reader is based on me. extremely self indulgent + selfship coded. ending edited 8.26.24, prev titled ‘still with hearts beating’

“tell me atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?” — darshana suresh

Although he prefers to keep his nose buried in a book, Alhaitham is still as perceptive as ever, taking note of all the minuscule changes in your demeanor, even whilst you don a mask to stifle your woes.

He sees it first in the wistful sighs scattered amongst your too calm breaths, in your crafted smile, too practiced to be natural, and the strained words that fall too heavily out your lips, each in a race to prove that everything is normal and fine — that any anomalous behavior might only be the ramifications of an exhausting day.

Your name rolls so naturally off his tongue, as he reaches out to you, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the bedroom and sleep away your swallowed emotions.

“Are you alright?”

He asks out of courtesy, but to him, the signs are clear as day: the sharp inhale and slow exhale as you rally to fabricate another facade, chin tilted just a smidge too high as you turn to face him, dull eyes glistening with the remnants of unshed tears, forced to retreat by the winged flutter of your lashes.

To him, the signs are clear as day that you are not, that you are only putting on a brave face, something which he finds odd within the threshold of your shared home.

“Just tired is all,” you reply, speaking in half truths. After all, it's exhausting trying to keep up appearances when all you wish to do, is to curl into yourself and rot into your bed.

You flash him a quick smile, small and devoid of warmth; a lame imposter to the very one he’s grown so terribly fond of.

He repeats your name, this time softer, brows knitted with equal parts skepticism and concern at your empty words. Empty words filled with even emptier spirit, he notes.

Nonchalant, rehearsed, refined — and yet, he can hear the melancholia that spills into your tone. see the downward twitch of your lead-laden lips and the watery shift of your eyes as you avert your gaze in self-consciousness.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, and you want to believe him, want to believe that you’re brave enough to lay down your defenses, that you can trust him to hold your porcelain heart in his hands without threat of endangerment.

You open your mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out as the words turn to bile in your throat. To swallow the bitter liquid, or to spit your heart out and lay it bare for him to see. For Alhaitham, who is more than just an Akademiya giant, but a cornerstone of Sumeru itself: brilliant and brave, kind in spite of his unconventional displays. The sun who shines by the heat of his own radiance.

His moon, he calls you. And yet the moon does not glow; the moon whose only light is a reflection of the sun.

You purse your lips, internally willing yourself to believe that these tears will not spill. It'd be egregious — like coughing up blood when you too have a reputation to uphold, a certain presence to be perceived. For even the moon, who shines by grace of borrowed light, is steadfast in its quiet elegance.

“It’s fine,” you insist, “really.” It’s heavy under the weight of your pride, but at least your heart is safe here in your chest, isolated and tucked away.

You push until he relents, relaxing his grip around your wrist. Good, you think, he's given up. But then why does it so painfully squeeze your heart in a way you cannot convey — like a hair-lined fracture upon your brittle bones.

But Alhaitham is no fool; he intends to prove he’d catch you before you can shatter, freeing your wrist, only so that he might pull you into his arms instead. There is no shortage to the vast infinity of words he can say, but matters of the heart have never been his forte… and so he hopes that his actions might speak more profoundly than his words.

The sudden impact blows your eyes wide with surprise, tears already threatening to spill from the solace of just his embrace. There are no sounds other than his steady heart and even breaths, no scent besides the faded woody fragrance of his cologne. It's safe here, cocooned in his arms, and you think that for a moment, perhaps everything is and will be fine.

You relax against him, basking in his warmth, as you rest into the crook of his neck, absentmindedly staring at the patterns on the floor.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, “but please don’t hide from me.”

Your hands, pressed flush against his chest, curl into themselves, relieved that he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. He does, however, feel that first crystalline droplet that slides freely down your cheeks, melting into the fabric of his clothes as more follow. Alhaitham runs his fingers through your hair, while his other hand hugs you by the small of your back, holding you ever closer. The occasional sob racks your body, silent and reluctant, but it’s a start.

A heart is a complex web of earnest emotions, floridly woven into secrets he cannot fault you for keeping locked away in a vault. Perhaps one day, you’d rely on him, let him in to share the burden. and if he should be so lucky, perhaps you'd deem him worthy to be your home, so that you might rest with him, without armor... but as for now, he’ll gladly cushion your fall, give you a soft place to land.

In the night’s dark embrace, the moon’s milky light paints patterns through the stained glass window of your bedroom, and behind you, your lover’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, holding you close beneath the blankets.

“… Alhaitham?” your voice is delicate, spun from silk amidst the quiet of the night.

“Hmm?” he peaks an eye open at the unfamiliar use of his full name.

“If I ask you something, do you promise to answer honestly?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.” The low vibrations of his tone tickles your skin as he replies with a kiss to your shoulder.

“Am I…,” you hesitate, voice wavering as you contemplate whether words whispered into the wind might write itself into stone. “Am I… enough for you?”

The seconds seem to stand still, as if all the world and even the sky itself, were holding its breath in bated anticipation.

Finally, a creak cuts through the silence as the bed shifts alongside Alhaitham, who now hovers over you, his body and arms trapping you in between. The intensity of his gaze prompts you to look away, but he reaches for your chin, holding you gently so that you have nowhere to look, save for his technicolored eyes.

Enough for him? Is that what you were upset about? What a shame, he thinks.

“If you could only see what I see,” he murmurs, with a kiss to your forehead. His moon, his stars, his entire night sky, who guides him in the dark.

“You're intelligent and intuitive,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and down your neck in between each word. “Beautiful and independent—sometimes too independent—but that just means you're strong. Capable of anything…”

Alhaitham glances up, only satisfied once the insecurity is dispelled from your features, and replaced by an absolute reassurance.

“…which I knew from the moment you made me fall completely in love with you."

He peppers your face with little kisses, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “Haitham…”

Alhaitham pauses at your first genuine smile of the night. “I mean every word — I love you because you're you. I know you like to pretend otherwise, but you have a gentle heart, and I only hope you'll deem me worthy of it one day.”

Guilt flashes in your eyes as you open your mouth to speak, but anything you had intended to say, is drowned in the depth of his kiss. A part of you wishes to stay like this forever so that you might melt into his embrace — he who loves you so dearly, he who hopes his true feelings are adequately translated into this kiss...

...but your heart sighs in understanding, finally calm as she's held afloat by the strength of his affection. It's familiar, it's safe, it's home.

And if not for the lack of air, Alhaitham knows he'd kiss you forever, irrational as it may be. Pulling away, he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead — another promise of his affirmation. “You don't have to say anything, I'm happy to wait. Just know you’re more than enough, just as you are. And no one should be able to take that away from you, so…”

He rolls back into bed, pulling you with him as he goes, so that you might drift to sleep with your head resting atop his chest, listening to the steady tune of his heart, as it sings to you in your dreams.

notes2: this was actually vrie therapeutic but i did not intend for it to get this long, and so i m a bit embarrassed (don’t perceive) however if u have made it this far, as always, thank u for reading ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[dollfacefantasy]

ddlg with chris!!!😫

who else need daddy chris rn 😔

chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, ddlg, p in v, cockwarming

tags: @nexysworld @d10nyx @pupthepokemonenthusiast

It’d been a hard day for you, and Chris knew it. He could tell from the second you got home. He could tell from the rhythm of your steps, the measure of your breaths, and the wistful look in your eyes when you stepped into the living room with him. Every theory he had was confirmed when he heard you call for him.

“Daddy?”

Your voice is soft and demure, how it sounds when you get in this mood. It’s muscle memory at this point, but it’s like two wires connect among the circuitry of his brain. He’s in a mood too now. The one that directly complements yours.

“C’mere, princess,” he calls in return and pats his lap, his arms already open and awaiting your arrival.

In seconds, your bag is on the floor against the wall and you’ve closed the distance between you two. Your ass finds its familiar perch on his thigh while the rest of you sinks into his broad, pillowy chest. He strokes your head and keeps you secure against the heat of his body.

“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs.

His palm intrinsically remembers the way it’s supposed to move up and down your spine. His leg bounces a few times just to remind you that he’s here, and he’s in control now. There’s nothing for you to worry about when daddy’s got you.

That glowing warmth begins to settle over your shoulders. Your stresses leak away from your brain, leaving it empty and swimming with nothing but your want for him.

“Tell daddy what’s got you down, sugar,” he says.

A lot of the time, once you had this go-ahead, everything would just pour out of you like a broken faucet, but not right now. You weren’t in the mood to vent right now. You were in the mood for daddy to make everything better.

“Too much goin’ on,” you say simply as you slot your face in the crook of his neck.

He hums with understanding and pulls you in even closer, like it was possible for the two of you to meld together.

“Too much going on?” he repeats, “They got my baby working too hard, huh?”

You nod to the leading questions, wanting to reach the destination.

“That’s not fair. You’re not made for thinking. That’s why you got a daddy,” he murmurs, his fingers coasting upwards to massage the base of your neck.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, drawing out the syllables, “Makes my head hurt.”

“Where’s it hurt, baby?” he asks.

“Here, here, here,” you say, pointing front and center on your forehead and then behind each of your ears.

He responds in kind and lands his lips on each spot. Each kiss is precise and tender. He makes a little “mwah” sound to really drive home the power of these.

“Feel any better? Or do you need a few more?” he asks, his lips already brushing your forehead while he speaks.

“Few more,” you answer without a second thought. You were never one to turn down kisses.

He gives you the few more, and your dangling feet begin swaying back and forth subconsciously. He notices in an instant, a small tell you were slipping deeper into a docile, malleable state of mind. He guides you back a bit and tilts your chin up, wanting to look into those eyes that’d be going glossy in no time.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I think daddy’s got an even better fix for this,” he says and smacks a kiss on your temple.

You look up at him curiously though you have an idea of what’s coming. The two of you had a familiar routine when it came to you feeling spread thin. He boosts you to your feet and tugs down your bottoms and panties, leaving you in just the t-shirt you’re wearing.

“Why don’t you grab your game, baby? Then you can come relax with daddy,” he instructs.

You nod and move to follow the directions. While you’re gone, Chris prepares himself for you. He lifts his hips and pushes his pants down to his ankles. His cock lays against the crease of his thigh, warm and heavy. Grabbing it, he gives it a few strokes to get it stiffened up. After all, nothing relaxed his sweet girl more than a few minutes on it.

You scurry back into the room, still pantless with your Nintendo in your hands. You head to him and stand between his legs. He turns you around by your hips and then guides you down onto his length.

“That’s a good girl,” he grunts as your heat engulfs him.

His head rests against the chair, and he lets out a shaky breath. You were so fucking tight and wet. Your pussy took the thickness of his cock like that was its purpose, and he couldn’t get enough.

Once you’re settled he pulls you towards him so your back is against his chest. You squirm a little to get comfortable, raising one of your feet to rest on his thigh. You settle in as if nothing is amiss. He watches over your shoulder as your game boots up. The little characters dance across the loading screen before you take control and start running around the map.

He relaxes too. His arms come to rest around your waist while his fingers rub your tummy gently.

“Look daddy. You like her dress?” you ask him as you show off the little outfit you’d dressed up the character in.

“Mhm. She’s pretty. Just like you,” he mumbles and kisses behind your ear.

You laugh a little and continue playing, showing him the different things you’d built in the game and mini tasks you had to complete.

To be honest, moments like these helped Chris relax too. His cock buried inside you as you sat there and brightened up the room. It was soothing, therapeutic even. You were dripping all over him, moving the little joysticks around as your slick dribbled over his balls.

He rubs your sides, the care he has for you seeping from his palms into the softness of your torso. Every so often, you’d move a bit to adjust yourself, and he would grit his teeth to resist the urge to thrust into your warmth. He manages to restrain himself though, knowing you just needed some time to relax before more stimulation.

Staying still for a while more, he allows you that. It’s only when he sees you beginning to stall in your game that he squeezes your hips and rolls his own as if he’s getting comfortable. You’d been trying to decide what you wanted to do next in your game, but the motion draws a whine from your throat, and you tilt your head back to look up at him.

He smiles at your sweet expression and drags one of his thumbs down your jawline. “What’re you looking at, hm?” he teases, “Is it daddy’s turn to play?”

You nod, and he rewards you with a peck to your lips. He hooks his large palms under your knees and folds your legs flush against the rest of your body. Your breath gets shakier as the elevated position lets his cock reach even deeper inside you.

You keep playing your games for a handful of thrusts, but the way he’s sliding in and out of you, hitting even the deepest of your sweet spots makes you put the handheld console aside. He nuzzles the side of your head.

“There we go. You feel a little better, baby?” he murmurs against your ear.

“Mhm,” you whimper. A soft, breathy moan leaves your throat as he pumps into you a little quicker. The pace was still nice and slow, supplying you with an even, steady stream of pleasure.

“Good girl,” he says, “You just let go, let daddy do all the work. Just let that pretty little head go empty.”

You nod lazily and turn your head to plant sloppy, weak kisses on his neck. He grunts at the feeling of your saliva coating his skin, digging his fingers into the dough of your legs. His hips continue rhythmically thrusting into your wanting hole. The feeling satisfies you like no other. You feel full and sated, like there’s nothing left on earth to long for. It makes it easier to turn your brain off.

“That’s my baby,” he coos, “My sweet little girl. Daddy’s here.”

Your noises are soft, cute mewls and delicate whines. Chris cherishes each one, savoring the way they drift to his ear and pull him further to release. He knows you’re getting closer too from the way you’re clamping down on him effortlessly. Every thrust massaged his thick shaft between your velvety walls. It never took much to make you cum when you were in this space.

He tilts his head down and steals your lips off his neck, connecting them with his own. Amidst the kiss, he feels your hips grinding forward a bit in an attempt to reciprocate his thrusts.

“So cute, princess,” he smiles against your lips.

You merely whimper in response and lean in for more kisses. He indulges you before pulling back and looking into your glazed eyes.

“You gonna cum soon?” he grunts.

“Yeah, daddy,” you whimper. Whines bubble from your lips at a higher frequency now and he ups his thrusts to match.

“Gotta use your manners first, babydoll. I know I’ve taught you how to ask for what you want,” he tells you.

A strangled breath comes from you and your eyes screw shut. You wanted to let it all go, but right now to your little mind, being a good girl was more important than fleeting pleasure.

“Can I please - mm - Can I finish, daddy? Pretty please?’ you ask, lips jutting out into a small pout.

He grins and squeezes your legs gently. “Perfect, angel. So polite,” he praises, “Yes, you can finish.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimper quickly before your back arches off his chest and you cum. You become impossibly tighter around his cock, and his moan accompanies yours as you gush around his length.

His arms fully support your weight as you lose yourself in the throes of release. He fucks up into you deep enough to hit the switch that keeps you a babbling, squirming mess against him. And now that he knows you’re over the edge and feeling good, he can let go himself. He feels the tightness of an impending orgasm and lets it snap.

He cums inside you, warm ropes of cum filling your insides. He knew you always craved that ultimate connection, that absolute claim on your body when you were feeling like this. So he provides that for you and drains himself in your cunt.

You start coming down from your high, melting back against his chest. His arms finally put your legs down and allow you to rest on his lap. He encircles them around you and holds you close while he peppers kisses on your cheek. His cock stays buried inside you. You needed a slow pull out, nothing jarring or sudden.

“Did that feel good, baby? Is your headache all gone?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you respond, “Feel a lot better.”

He smiles at the tender tone your voice takes on. Your eyes were drooping a bit too.

“Daddy always makes it better, yeah?” he asks.

You nod and smile, nestling your face against his neck.

“I think daddy’s gonna clean you up now and then put you down for a nap,” he says while rubbing the small of your back.

You nod again. He slowly pulls out of you and turns your body so he can scoop you up against his chest and stand with you in his arms. You nuzzle his neck before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Love you, daddy,” you murmur.

“Love you too, baby.”

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Holiday Blues - Wade Wilson x bunny mutant!Reader x Logan Howlett

A/N: *deep breath in; deep breath out* there are so many things about this fic that I despise. I want to put so many disclaimers about bad writing or sloppy endings or heavy angst. But I said I’d post it if there was interest so here we are. However, THIS IS NOT MY BEST WORK!!! I really just wrote it as a way to channel my anxiety, so if it’s shitty or just bad I won’t be surprised

No taglist for this one

Reader is vaguely implied to be ftm trans during one paragraph of the fic. But it also can be read as a cis male!Reader too

There are a lot of internalized feelings in this, some toxic masculinity, and other uncomfy things. Please read all the warnings and take them seriously before reading

Also, very important. While it’s never directly stated in the fic, I wrote this Reader based off my experiences with RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria). However, there’s a lot more going on with me than just that, so I do have to say this is only indicative of my experiences, not experiences with this as a whole. Other things may have crept in as well, simply by the nature of basing this off of me

CW: Reader is dating both Logan and Wade; Reader loves the holidays; Reader comes from a family with holiday traditions; Logan comes off as a bit rude, but it’s for reasons I don’t elaborate on; Reader is a bunny mutant; Reader is sensitive to rejection; Reader spirals fast in this; angst; anxiety; panic; hiding; Reader is hit with a lot of emotions all at once; negative thought spirals; internalized emotions; toxic masculinity moments; crying; humiliation; shame; guilt; Reader’s family is mentioned as a guilt trip; comfort seeking; more shame; there’s lots of shame in this one; prey instincts contributing to the negativity; hugging; comfort; problems are not addressed; Reader bounces back fast; Wade gets Reader’s brain; Wade has implied mental health issues as well; soft moments; quick ending; mild allusions to sexy things; god this reads so bad; okay, here are my disclaimers: bad writing, vent writing, fast-paced writing, sudden ending, and highly-charged emotional states from the Reader

1641 words

It’s no secret among your boyfriends that you love the holidays. Any chance you can get you’re constantly hanging up decorations, planning parties, and preparing food,

It’s some of the few times a year you truly come alive when doing something. It’s your time of the year. Holidays have always been your thing.

It’s tradition, from growing up in your burrow. Everyone would help out, making the holidays a time of family fun and chaos and celebration.

So when you come home to Wade decorating your apartment, you immediately want to help. You’ve barely taken off your sweater before you’re bouncing up to him. “What can I do?”

He gives you a grin, gesturing to the kitchen. “Ask Wolvie. He’s been baking all day.”

It both excites and confuses you. You’re not hosting any parties or going to an event today. So what’s going on?

Still, you head into the kitchen. Logan’s working on a pie, carefully making a beautiful lattice of crust on top.

You place a kiss on his cheek. “Can I help?”

“Ask Wade.”

His answer is short. Quick. To the point. Almost brusque even. You know he’s just concentrating, but it still makes you falter. “Um… alright.”

You head back to Wade, but he just gives you a shrug. “Sorry, handsome, but I think we got it.”

You stand there for a moment before nodding and heading into the bedroom.

You sit on the bed, staring at your hands. Normally, you’d just brush off their responses and find something else to do. But it’s the holidays. You’re supposed to be out there helping.

Their rejection of your help hurts more than you care to admit.

But it’s stupid. It’s just decorations and food. They’ve got it all covered.

You try to tell yourself that, but the hurt still wells up in your chest. You can feel it rising, making your breathing quicken. You grip one of your bunny ears, stroking it in an attempt to calm yourself down. It’s what Wade always does.

Maybe you did something to offend them? Or maybe they were trying to surprise you and you ruined it by coming home early?

You try to think of anything and everything as a reason for their dismissals. It has to be something. It has to be.

Anxiety spikes in your chest and you burrow under the covers. It feels comforting, like you’re back in your home warren for a moment. You curl into a ball, tucking your knees to your chest.

You count your breaths, struggling to slow the beat of your heart. But it’s no real use. The wave of emotions is already here. It crashes into you, drowning you in reasons why and what you did wrong. Over and over, your thoughts spiral.

Your eyes prickle, but you refuse to cry. The only thing worse than feeling like this is having Wade and Logan think you’re dumb for it. You’re a man. You can handle it.

You press your palms to your eyes, but the wetness still seeps out. You can handle it. You can handle it. You can handle it.

You don’t sob. Thankfully. You just cry in silence. Stuttered breaths in and out. In and out. It feels humiliating. You, crying while your boyfriends decorate.

You should be better than this. You should be better than this now. What would your family think if they saw you crying instead of celebrating?

That thought only adds to the shame in your chest and you scrunch up even tighter. You’re not some dumb flopsy bunny anymore. You’re a rabbit. A man. Crying is for flopsy bunnies.

The thoughts continue. Eventually, your silent crying turns to soft hiccups. Your tears dry up, leaving your eyes puffy and itchy.

You don’t get up until you hear the timer ringing in the kitchen. Logan’s pie is done. You can smell it. Apple. Your favorite.

Slowly, you uncurl yourself. You crawl out from beneath the blankets. You change into a pair of boxers and one of Wade’s sweaters. Your comfort outfit. You know it’ll be a tell that something’s wrong, but you need the safety of the fabric.

You open the door to the bedroom and shuffle out. No Wade. You hear him in the kitchen.

You take a moment to use the bathroom. To stare dully at your reflection in the mirror and splash water on your face to try and reduce the puffiness. It… sort of works.

Wade’s knock on the door has you startling. “Oh, bunny boy! Dinner’s ready!”

You flinch, curling into yourself a little. They’re gonna know you were crying. They’re gonna know you were upset over something so stupid. They’re gonna think you’re dumb.

You’re shaking as you open the door. You know it’s your prey instincts. Programmed to carry you away, to keep you safe from any harm. But that doesn’t make it feel any better.

Wade blinks at you as you emerge. His whole body seems to soften. “Hey… What’s wrong?”

He’s always so soft with you whenever you’re upset. Occasionally silly, but so soft. Sometimes you love it. Right now it just makes the pit of guilt in your chest bigger.

“Nothing…” you mumble.

He frowns, but pulls you into a hug. It helps. It loosens the ball of shame, slowly soothing it apart. You take a deep breath and hug him back.

“Everything alright?” Logan, from the kitchen doorway.

You think Wade gives him a look, or maybe he just picks up on the clothes you’re wearing. Either way, you’re enfolded in another set of arms.

“Hey, bunny. What’s wrong?” Logan’s often gentle too. It helps you relax the last bit of the way, the knot in your chest finally unraveling.

“Just… my brain…” You’re now more embarrassed than anything. Why would they think you’re dumb? They’ve always been understanding and loving, especially with you.

Wade strokes one of your bunny ears, the action immediately calming your frayed emotions. Bringing back your peace of mind. “Being a bully again, huh?”

You nod.

Logan rubs your back, his touch gentler than normal. “Was it something we said?”

Damn his perceptiveness. You were hoping to get out of this without an explanation.

You sigh and rest your forehead on Wade’s shoulder. “I just… I wanna help too…”

There’s a moment of silence, then Wade hums. “You can wrap the gift I got Wolvie. It was supposed to be a surprise, but it’s the last thing to do.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly your entire self perks up at the idea. You grin, already straightening up. “You mean it? I can help?”

Logan chuckles while Wade matches your grin. “Absolutely, handsome! But first…”

He takes your hands and gives them a squeeze. “Let’s eat. You’ll feel much better once you have food in you. The surprise can wait for later.”

Logan agrees and you give in quickly.

Dinner goes by fast and soon you’re in the bedroom again, this time with a box and gift wrap in your hands. You focus on wrapping the present as Wade sits on the bed. Logan’s busy with food clean up, bustling away in the kitchen.

“We'll always love you,” Wade says, startling you from your task. You look up at him. “What?”

“Whatever your brain says while you’re upset. It’s not true.” He looks at you intently. “We love you.”

You swallow and look down. With anyone else, you’d protest. But you know him. You know him. He’s speaking more than just to comfort you right now.

“I love you too,” you say quietly. “Even on your bad days, I love you too.”

His shoulders relax but his gaze stays on you. He doesn’t say anything more though. He just watches you. It’s a little intimidating, but you let him.

You finish wrapping the box and place a nice big bow on the top. “Done.”

Wade smiles. His expression soft once more. It relieves a burden off your shoulders in some way. Some lingering guilt or whatever weighing you down.

You love him. He loves you. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know he gets your mind almost as well as you do. He struggles with his brain too.

You hold out the box to him, a silent acknowledgment of each other in the air. He takes it, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re adorable in my sweater, you know that?”

It pulls a laugh out of you, lightening the air. “Yeah. I know. Why do you think I wear it all the time?”

He smiles. “Careful, buns. You know how your sassiness gets me going.”

You roll your eyes and grin. “Yeah, yeah.”

You eye the wrapped box in his hands, a spark of curiosity in your mind. “What’s in there anyway? And what’re we celebrating in the first place?”

Wade smirks. “We’re celebrating us. And this?” He shakes the box a little. “This is for later. Consider it my gift to you and Wolvie.”

Celebrating us. The idea warms you like nothing else. Nothing else seems to matter except that. They planned a small thing just to celebrate you and them.

You lean in and kiss Wade. “Thank you. For all of it.”

He softens despite himself, his smile turning warm. “Hey, don’t thank me yet. Wolvie still hasn’t opened his gift yet. Thank me then.”

But he seems to understand. For a moment. Before he smacks your ass lightly and points towards the kitchen. “Let’s go, buns. The Readers and Wolvie can’t wait for the ending forever.”

You blink, but don’t question his words. He’ll explain eventually. For now, you’re just ready to enjoy some pie and find out what’s in Wade’s gift.

After all, knowing him, it’s probably something raunchy. And you could do with something a little stronger than cuddles.

[bambisnc]

lie with you [or, how riize comforts you when you're crying bc of a nightmare]

pairing : ot7 x reader! genre : implied hurt n subsequent comfort cw/tw : hugging + kisses + food mention + possibly swearing? wc : idk ,,

shotaro ,. ! - im a firm believer of taro heavy sleeper agenda - bro will be out like a log, no fire alarm is waking him up anytime soon D: - but! when you wake up because of the nightmare and end up moving a bit away from him as you process it - he knows. - he just somehow subconsciously knows that there's distance between you and just reaches out for your warmth and traps you in a big hug – all while he's snoring softly (in the CUTEST way ever) - ends up comforting you without even being conscious he's just skilled tm like that yk??

eunseok ,. ! - light sleeper!!!!! his happy burritos and cream pasta dreams stop the literal second he hears the slightest whimper out of you - mentally goes "who tf hurt my darling s/o." - when he finds out it's you crying bc of a nightmare i'm sorry but he might tease you (later ofc, when you've had enough time to heal from it bbg dw) - but rn he offers distractions in the form of bingeing cutesy animes (imagine you watch horimiya's toffee scene w him or any other anime romance cliche and he goes would u like me to do that to you. i'd pass awa y)

sungchan ,. ! - you may have to wake him up depending on how tired he is :/ - but as soon as he finds out, wraps you up in the comfiest + warmest clothes he can find and throws you over his shoulder like a potato sack/holds you in a princess carry -> depends entirely on which you prefer he can do both 💪 - takes you straight to his car (we're js gonna pretend he can drive for the sake of the hc my extensive research i.e. 15 mins on reddit led me nowhere ;-;) it's time for a midnight drive! - puts on you guys' shared playlist and takes you to a grocery store snack run followed by going to an open-ish place so you can watch the stars tgt :(

wonbin ,. ! - i think his waking up abilities are honed purely due to being w you (yk like what if you need him to hug you at like 3 am. and he's too busy passed out (dreaming of you) then what.) - feels you trembling and is lowkey upset that you didn't wake him up when you needed him :( - he gets that you might not want to face him tho, so simply presses his chest against your back and places soft kisses on your neck. probably drops in a couple "'m here for you love" "it'll be okay" "i love you so so much yk that right?" he's versatile w his sweet nothings like that :( <3

seunghan ,. ! - this guy scares me ngl /j - he probably knows you're having a nightmare before you know you're having a nightmare - wakes you up by shaking you gently, comforts you with many many many hugs as you're waking up - kisses your tears away .. (i'm so weak for him) - lays your head down on his lap and lets you vent to him just listening to you, dude's gentle presence alone is enough to calm you down - BUT ALSO. imagining him drawing you a warm bath and you ending up coercing him into wearing cutesy animal face masks w you :(((

sohee ,. ! - guy who must be facing his s/o while sleeping !! gets to know and wakes up immediately when you start crying - clings to you like a koala that's it that's the hc. has his head buried in your neck, hands tied so so tightly around your waist which greatly help to ground you - also probably cracks a couple of really cringey jokes something along the lines of "i'll be your silver knight, my princess" but says it w the softest, sweetest expression and in the sincerest, honey-like tone that you can't help but melting completely :( - when he feels you've calmed down enough prob also initiates a tickle fight sorry i don't make the rules acc to him you need to laugh after a bout of crying okay??

anton ,. ! - guy who must be facing his s/o while sleeping (2) except his ass is not waking up unless you physically shake him awake - you'd probably do that though bc what better way to comfort you from a nightmare than your half-asleep bf's soothing voice? - bro is probably so out of it that he just very eloquently goes "wh huh wha" or something of that sort - when he's coherent enough (not really) he would sort of kind of roll up on top of you forgetting his 6'1 stature - but on the positive side his weight over you is a lot like a really comfy blanket (that can kiss your forehead w the utmost gentleness) - if you ask nicely he'll even sing you a lil lullaby to help you get back to sleep <3

notes : THIS WAS FUN !! ppl who dont know my current bias try guessing based on this 🤭 + [m.list]

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Content (Ghost/Soap/Reader)

This work is a continuation of the relationship established in “Jealous (Gost/Soap/Reader)” it is continued in “Fulfill (Ghost/Soap/Reader)”

CW: threesome, polyamory, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunillingus, anal fingering, anal sex, discussion of sexual boundaries, biting, aftercare, safe sane and consensual, double penetration

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 2.3k

I’m writing this at work, forgive any formatting errors

A small pool of drool formed on my sweatpants. Glancing down at the man laying in my lap, I smiled. I ran my fingers through his hair, toying with his curls. He looked peaceful below me. His plush lips were parted, and his thick blonde eyelashes framed his closed eyes oh so nicely.

I turned to the Scot beside me. His blue eyes focused on the screen in front of us. It was some horror movie he’d begged us to watch.

“Johnny, could you get me another drink?” I asked, pouting my lip.

“‘S the big guy asleep?” He glanced down at Simon. I wordlessly nodded. “Course I can, doll.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. As he pulled away, he flashed me that smirk of his. I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face.

The cushions shifted as he rose. I shifted my focus back to the screen. A woman with dirt smeared across her face climbed through an air duct. Her panicked panting blended in with the ambience of the background.

Simon smacked his lips, nudging his face into my leg with a soft grunt. I smiled, twirling his blonde locks around my finger.

“Here you are,” Johnny said, passing me an opened can of beer. I took a swig of the drink, blue eyes watching me closely. He threw his arm over my shoulder and leaned in to press a swift kiss to my temple.

The air duct collapsed. With a large clatter, the pipe landed on the concrete floor. As the dust settled, the half-naked woman crawled out of the vent, chest heaving as she coughed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Johnny grinning brightly, teeth catching his bottom lip.

“Wait for it,” he said, squeezing my shoulder.

Suddenly the leg of the killer appeared in the corner of the screen, heavy footstep echoing through the warehouse. Screaming sounded over the speakers as the woman scrambled to stand.

“Can I ask you a question?” He turned to look at me. His leg was bouncing, heel tapping against the wood flooring.

“Of course, Johnny.” I gave him a reassuring smile, resting my unoccupied hand on his thigh.

“Do you think you could take both me and Simon?” His leg bounced even faster, blue eyes skimming my face for any reaction.

“I mean, the one time I tried anal, it hurt…a lot. I just don’t want you guys to hurt me.” I glanced down at the sleeping figure in my lap, taking another sip of my drink.

“It shouldn’t hurt, doll. I promise I’ll prep you good.” His large palm cupped my face, tilting my chin up to look at him. His thick brows furrowed, lips curling down into a frown. “I promise we’d take care of you.���

My stomach swirled with excitement. It wasn’t that our escapades were boring per se, if anything, they were the opposite. The prospect of having so much attention on me stirred something in my brain.

“Yeah, okay then. I’d do it.” I nodded. His eyes widened, lips curling into a smile. In an instant, his leg ceased its movement. He pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek.

Squelching echoed over the speakers, drawing both of our attention.

“Shit- we missed it.” He sighed.

-

Johnny pushed the door open. The three of us stumbled inside. With a thud, I tossed my purse onto the dining table. I gripped onto Simon’s arm as I kicked off my shoes. He glanced down at me, hand undoing his tie.

Simon leaned in, holding my face in his sweaty palm. His lips met mine with a bruising force. He groaned against my lips, thick brows furrowing as he pushed me toward the living room.

“I wanna fuck your ass,” he grunted. I pulled back, glancing at Johnny. His eyes were wide, flicking between me and the Brit.

“Do I have to…” my words droned on. Both men quirked an eyebrow, urging me to continue. “Douche?”

The two men looked at each other. Johnny parted his lips, as if he was about to speak, only to close them. Slowly, they turned their attention back to me.

“I don’t,” Simon shrugged, hands groping my ass.

“I do sometimes. It’s your choice, doll.” Johnny leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek. I leaned into Simon, pressing the side of my face against his toned chest. Looking up at Johnny, I nodded.

Images of the scenario flooded my mind, making my stomach flutter with excitement. Both men using me, splaying me open. Large hands on my body. Sweat dripping down my skin. It all seemed so enticing.

“Okay, let’s do it then.” I spoke softly, fingers toying with Simon’s suit jacket. Simon’s palms slid up my back, fingers wrapping around my waist. “The anal, not the…” I droned on.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Johnny added.

I pulled away just enough to look up at the blonde. His brown eyes scanned my flushed face for any sense of hesitancy. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to my height.

“Simon, I want you to fuck my ass.”

-

“So good f’ us,” Simon cooed, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I lifted my hips as Johnny tugged my underwear down my legs. Ghost hooked his hand underneath one of my knees, tugging my leg to my chest. I glanced at the man laying between my legs, and at the man beside me. My teeth caught my bottom lip, the taste of iron flooding my senses as I bit down.

“Are you okay with this?” Johnny asked, thumb stroking my inner thigh.

“Yeah,” I nodded. The scot shot Simon a quick glance before turning his attention back to me. He leaned in, licking a thick stripe up my cunt. I tilted my head back against the pillows. My plush lips parted as an unrestrained moan fell from my tongue.

His tongue flicked against my clit. I reached forward, sliding my fingers into his Mohawk. He groaned against my cunt as I tugged him forward. Simon popped the cap of the lube open. Johnny held his digits out. I watched as Simon spread a thick line over Johnny’s fingers. Johnny smirked against my cunt, tongue still laving over my clit.

I squeezed my eyes shut as his fingers circled my hole. Simon leaned in, cupping my cheek with his palm. His chapped lips pressed against my cheek and down my jaw, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses.

“You’re doing so good, lovie,” Simon cooed. I whined as Johnny pushed his finger past my entrance. He moaned against my cunt. A spark of pleasure rocketed up my spinal cord. My thighs twitched, hole clenching around his finger. He inched his digit forward, blue eyes watching as I swallowed his finger.

He pulled out, starting up at a slow pace. In and out. In and out.

“So tense,” Johnny mumbled against my cunt.

“Are you okay?” Simon asked, tilting my chin up with one of his thick fingers.

“Yeah, I’m just nervous.”

Johnny’s lips wrapped around my clit, sucking harshly on the bud. I whined, rocking my hips against his face. The tension in my core melted as he ate me out with fervor, mouth not leaving me for a second. His finger sped up, squelching with every knuckle-deep thrust.

“There we go. Add another, Johnny.” Simon said, slowly stroking his cock.

The brunette withdrew his fingers, only to add another digit. My vision grew unfocused as tension slowly pooled in my stomach. I buried my face in the crook of Simon’s neck, moaning against his collarbone.

“Feelin’ good, lovie?” Simon asked, fingers carding through my hair. I nodded, hot tears welling in my eyes. “Add another.”

I choked out a sob as another digit slid inside of me, stretching me out. My thighs quivered, nerve endings igniting with pleasure.

“Oh, fuck- I’m gonna cum,” I moaned, eyes locking onto the man between my legs. Johnny pulled back, bringing his unoccupied palm to my clit. His blue eyes locked onto my twitching cunt, teeth sinking into my inner thigh.

My jaw went slack, eyes painfully rolling to the back of my head. Hot tears streaked my flushed cheeks. I whined as I came undone on his fingers. I clenched around his fingers, vision going white. My skin tingled as jolts of electric pleasure washed over my limbs. I twitched, muscles tensing under his touch.

As he withdrew his fingers, I suddenly went limp in Simon’s arms. My sweaty chest heaved as I gasped for air. Johnny leaned in, gently brushing away strands of damp hair from my face. Simon pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

“Stay with them while I get water,” Simon said, shifting his weight on the mattress. The springs beneath us squeaked as he rose. Johnny tugged me into his embrace, arms wrapping around my back. His stubble rubbed against my neck as he trailed wet kisses along my skin. He whispered soft praises, fingers idly tracing patterns into my skin.

“Sit up for me,” Simon said, sitting down beside me. He grabbed my wrist, tugging me up. I took a hold of the water bottle in his hand and brought it to my lips. His thick fingers reached out, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Small sips,” Johnny said with a kiss to my cheek.

I tilted the bottle back, quenching my parched tongue.

“Nae chugging! I said sip.” Johnny frowned. I handed the bottle back to Simon with a long exhale. The two men glanced at each other, and then back at me.

“Do you want to keep going?” Simon asked. I nodded.

“Course I do.”

Johnny grinned, laying on his back. He curled two fingers.

“Come here, then.” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth. I swung one leg over his hip, straddling his waist. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, dragging his head through my slit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, hands gripping my hips tight. My eyelids fluttered close as I slowly sunk down on his length. A low groan rose from his chest as he pulled me down onto his length. I gripped the headboard, using it for leverage as I slowly rose. His hands guided my hips up and down on his cock.

“You ready for me?” Simon asked, squirting lube into his palm. I watched as he slowly stroked his cock, spreading the lube over his heated skin.

“Yeah, go slow at first.”

“Course I will.” He grunted, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips.

“Give me one too,” Johnny frowned. Sighing, the Brit leaned in and pressed his lips to Johnny.

“Happy?” He asked, moving to kneel behind me.

“Very.”

He settled his hand on my waist, fingers splaying over my stomach. His cockhead nudged my entrance. Squeezing my eyes shut, I whined as he pushed past the ring of tight muscle.

“Oh, fuck!” Johnny sputtered, “squeezing me-”

“Come on, open up f’ me.” Simon groaned, inching himself inside of me. The air was pulled from my burning lungs as he slowly pushed forward. Simon reached around, rubbing quick circles into my clit. I tossed my head back against his shoulder, panting out shallow breaths. His palm landed harshly on my cunt. I clenched around his cock, a desperate whine escaping from my chest.

“There you go,” he grunted as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, Si, I can feel you,” Johnny moaned.

I felt Johnnys cock twitch inside of me. My head spun, clit throbbing at the sensation of being split open. Sweaty palms groped every bit of flesh they could reach.

“Move, please-” I groaned, legs quivering beneath me. The two men slowly rocked their hips in and out of me. Tears brimmed in my eyes, my vision going unfocused.

Johnny’s hand landed on my ass, flesh blossoming with irritation. I whined, clenching around both men. Their groans reverberated around the small bedroom.

Simon grabbed my chin, tilting my head to the side. He pressed kisses against my sweaty skin, teeth grazing my pulse point. He bit down hard enough for blood droplets to rise to the surface of my skin.

“You like being stuffed with our cocks?” Simon grunted against my neck.

“Yes- fuck!” My head spun, limbs going limp in Simon’s hold. I fell forward into Johnny’s chest, drool spilling from my parted lips. Static washed over my body as I gushed around the two men. Both men grunted,

gripping my hips tighter as they fucked into my convulsing cunt.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ last like this,” Johnny moaned, wrapping his arms around my back. He bent his knees, rocking his hips up into me. Simon groaned, matching his pace with the Scot.

“Oh, fuck! I’m gonna cum,” Simon moaned, leaning forward. His sweaty palm soothed across my back as his hips grew erratic. Johnny whined, hips stilling inside of me as he came. Simon followed suit, fucking me through his orgasm, before slowly coming to a stop.

The two men panted, hands running over my sweaty body. Simon’s hands wrapped around my waist pulling me into his warm embrace. My eyelids fluttered open, taking in the brown eyes before me. His lips curled into a smile. Johnny was soon at my side, fingers brushing stray hairs from my face.

“Johnny, would you mind running a bath?” Simon asked, looking up at the Scot. The brunette leaned in, pressing his lips to Simon.

“Course.”

-

I leaned back against Johnny’s chest as he scrubbed my skin with a cloth. Simon sat opposite us, knees tucked to his chest.

“You sure you’re okay?” Simon asked again, fingers skimming up my thigh.

“Yes, Simon. You can stop asking.” I laughed, tilting my head back against Johnny’s shoulder. Simon’s brown eyes flicked toward Johnny.

Johnny’s chest heaved as he cleared his throat with a cough. I turned my head, looking up at the man. He folded his hands neatly in my lap, pursing his lips tightly.

“Would you…want to do this again?”

Masterlist

[winterrrnight]

rafe noticing how you usually hide your real emotions behind a pretty smile and an interactive personality… <3 a bsf!rafe cameron x gn!reader blurb <3 based off this cw: talks about bottling up emotions, venting, lower case is intentional, aaaand this is again super self indulgent :p for @zyafics because we had a little chat on this :) (love you bae 💗)

rafe loved to see your smile. he loved how you were always so sweet to everyone, always laughing, always making sure everyone around was doing okay, frequently checking up on them, and genuinely being a sweetheart.

but it didn’t go unnoticed when he one day saw you sitting all alone in the university library, your head resting in your hands as you looked… sad, your brows furrowed as if you’re thinking of something deeply, and you continued to scribble randomly over a page.

he contemplated going up to you or not, but the frown on your face was concerning considering he almost never saw you frown that way.

that day, he let it slide.

another few days later, he saw you again. you were sitting in the grassy lawn of your university with your back against a tree, your knees to your chest as you looked at nothing in particular. a similar frown was etched on your face and your brows were furrowed just like the last time, and it looked like you’re deep in thought.

this time though, he wasn’t going to let it slide.

he strided over to you, and you heard the crunchy footsteps and turned to see rafe approaching you. your lips were immediately pulled into a smile as he sat down next to you.

“what’s up?” you asked, smiling at him.

he shook his head. “nothing much, what are you doing here all alone?” he asked you.

“oh, nothing really,” you said, turning to look out at the outstretched lawn again. “just chillin’, had a heavy day of classes today,”

“alright,” he mumbled, but his gaze didn’t leave your face. he kept on studying you, and saw how quickly your face had changed from the frown to the smile.

“how’s everything else though?” he asked, cutting through the silence.

“all good,” you said, and that smile just didn’t seem to leave your face at all.

“you sure?” he pressed.

you turned to look at him. “yes rafe,” you rolled your eyes. “all’s well. why wouldn’t it be?”

he shrugged his shoulders, not breaking your eye contact as he looked into your eyes very carefully, hoping to catch a glimpse of something which you didn’t show. “just wonderin’, ’s all,” he muttered. “you just… you just look like you would want to talk about something. a lot, actually,”

“huh?” you hummed confusedly as your brows furrowed a bit – but it’s not the furrow you had when you were too deep in thought.

rafe sighed, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m just saying that if anything ever troubles you, absolutely anything, I’m here for you alright? I’m not one to force someone to open up right at the moment, but I can say from first hand experience that bottling things up never works; it just hurts more in the long run. so, I’m not forcing you to talk right now, but I’d suggest you do it sooner rather than later,” he exhaled as his gentle words settled in. “I know something’s bothering you, I can see it in your eyes… and I want you to stop doing that alright?”

he took in your current facial expression; your eyes were slightly wide, and the faintest amount of tears formed at your waterline. when he saw you weren’t saying anything, he knew he had hit the right spot.

“again,” he started, “I’m not forcing you to talk right now okay? and it doesn’t even necessarily have to be me who you talk to. it can be anyone you really trust. but I’m telling you that I’m one of the people who you can freely trust alright?” he smiled softly as he leaned in and gently kissed your forehead.

he took a glance at his watch before turning to look back at you. “I’ve got to run now, we’ve got some fancy family dinner I need to be home for,” he said softly. “but feel free to text me or call me okay?” he smiled, before getting up from the grass next to you and walking away, leaving you alone as tears slowly made their way down, realising you’ve been noticed in a way you never were.

— —

if you find yourself relating to this in any way, please know that help is always available, and that you never should have to think twice before talking about feelings and things that bother you to a loved one <3 take lovely care of yourself and prioritise your mental health as best as you can 💞

[monayen]

I love your stories! Perfect for feeding my bedtime delusions ♥️

Can I request something for ratman 3? Him & reader waiting out a threat in a too small hiding spot so they’re pressed against each other. The danger and close proximity make 3 noticeably excited…

Cramped | Ratman 3

➷ Paring - Ratman 3 x GN!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - dry humping, biting, very light description of violence, WHIMPERING

a/n - first ratman with a fic, isn't he special :-] ? sad state of affairs as i recently broke my phone (which i always write on) so i am now confined to my laptop. ignore any mistakes or formatting issues, i kept getting distracted trying to make a ranfren twitter. (i needed a phone number to do it D-:)

“Quiet, okay?” you whisper to the trembling ratman beside you, his forehead damp with fear as you guide him through narrow passageways.

Cramped spaces were second nature to you. Crawling between walls, squeezing through vents—it was how you’d survived since your formation. Open spaces were death traps, especially for vermin trying to get by in the confusing Ivory house.

Ratman 3 nods, his beady eyes darting nervously behind his round glasses as you move together, your bodies pushing through the tight crawl space.

“We need to bring something back this time,” you whisper, voice low and urgent. “I’m so sick of eating drywall.”

Behind you, his shaky voice follows. “I-I think it’s… fine, actually.” He mumbles, barely convincing even himself. You both know the truth. The shared bags of chips, warm beer, and crumbs of crackers disappear far too quickly in the nest. Rationing isn’t exactly an option for a group who can’t count.

Disputes over who should venture out into the Ivory’s pantry have become routine—bickering and rounds of makeshift card games determining the unlucky rat. This time, you and 3 drew the short straws. Though, you’re pretty sure Michael Jr. cheated.

The path weaves through chewn holes in the drywall and vents and pipes you two squeeze through. It'd be borderline claustrophobic for any other person, and it's even worse with how the blonde ratman clings behind you like a meat shield.

You glance back at your companion, his eyes wide and darting, every sound seeming to send a shiver through his scrawny frame. He's following behind, almost pushing against you in the narrow space.

“Keep it together,” you mutter, more to yourself than him. Ratman 3 gulps and shakes his head, “Let's just go back. I think I have a granola bar stashed away somewhere–”

You’re about to reply when heavy footsteps echo from the other side of the wall, cutting off whatever quip was on your tongue.

Ratman 3 freezes, chest heaving, his body trembling as he grabs your arm. You shoot him a warning look, silently pleading for silence. The footsteps are joined by multiple voices.

It’s the brothers that live here. The older one seems to be scolding the younger one, though you can't seem to piece together the context behind his words. You listen carefully as a deeper, gruffer voice says something short. Though it's enough that you both instantly recognize easily who it is, making your blood run cold. 

3 immediately panics, his flight instincts kicking in as he silently urges you two to leave. Your heart beats in your ears, but still you motion for him to stay put. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the tight space you're accustomed to suddenly pressing down with suffocating intensity. Claustrophobia creeps in, tightening your chest as the weight of the situation sinks deeper—you’re trapped. Any noise, any creaking movement, and you're sure they’ll hear.

Ratman 3 shifts nervously, pressing his body tightly against your figure as he tries to make himself as small as possible in the cramped space. 

“The catman will leave soon,” you whisper as softly as possible in an attempt to soothe him. But even in the dark between the walls, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked breaths.

You feel him shift again behind you, and you almost turn back to whisper for him to quit moving before you two get killed. That's when you notice a poking on your behind, and how shaky 3’s breathing really is against your neck.

“Are you fucking hard right now?” You say too softly, still concerned about being caught to let your baffled thoughts run out your mouth. 

Your words hang in the air as Ratman 3 freezes behind you, his body trembling even more than before. 

"I-I'm sorry!" he whispers, his voice cracking with panic. "I can't help it! It's just... being this close to you, in this tight space... It's..." He trails off, and you can almost sense the mix of embarrassment and excitement radiating off him.

Ratman 3's body tenses as he tries to suppress his arousal, but it's becoming more and more difficult for him to stay still. The confined space, the adrenaline rush from the potential danger, and the proximity all makes your heart beat faster and his dick harder. Both of you need to urgently relax, or you’ll be torn out the walls and have your guts spilled all over the floor.

Ratman 3's breath hitches as he grips your hips, his panting becoming more frantic. You can feel the contagious feverish sensation of his arousal pressing onto you, the friction of his pants rubbing against your own sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Ah," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't... I need..." His words trail off into a low moan as he holds up, the tight space tenfolding every sensation.

Pure heat radiates from his body, his breathing growing even more labored as he struggles to maintain any sort of composure. The poking sensation touching your ass is becoming more and more insistent, and you can sense the desperation for any type of relief on his flushed face.

Your own desire is growing, your body responding to the closeness and the danger of the situation. You lean forward, bracing yourself against the wall as you feel Ratman 3's hands sliding under your shirt, his fingers resting the curve of your waist and hips.

"We can't," you breathe, "They'll hear us."

But Ratman 3 seems beyond reason, his body mindlessly continuing to shift. He leans closer, his breath hot on your ear as he whispers, “Please,” his voice a desperate plea. “I’ll be good.”

His small movements grow more frantic, his pelvis grinding slightly for any sense of relief. The tight space amplifies every sensation, his arousal pressing insistently against you. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and you can hear the neediness in his voice as he whispers, "I can't stop, please don't stop me."

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice trembling with tension. You're acutely aware of the muffled sounds from beyond the drywall, and how even the slightest noise could expose you both. Despite the risk, you brace the wall, offering him more leverage, your heart racing as excitement pools in your empty stomach.

He takes up the welcoming position immediately, biting back a groan as his hips begin to roll off of yours. The rub of fabric makes 3 shudder, his head tipping back and almost hitting the wall behind him. His hand slides down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulls your hips against him. The pressure of his erection is too much to ignore, and you can feel your own arousal dampening between your legs.

You gasp softly as Ratman 3 speeds up against you, the friction getting rougher and rougher as pleasure waves through your body. He moves excitedly, taking in the softness of you cramped in front of him. He bucks his hips shamelessly, desperate and unrhythmic.

“Fuck," you exhale, your voice trembling slightly. You glance back just enough to catch the fog on his glasses, his beady eyes pinched as he nibbles on his lip to bite back too loud of moans. The smallest of whimpers still escape his mouth, his body tensing over and over again as he holds onto you. You press your cheek against the cool wall, trying to muffle the sounds of your own excitement as Ratman 3 continues to rut against you.

Ratman 3's breathing grows heavier, his movements becoming impossibly more erratic as he quickly chases his orgasm. You can feel the warmth of his body pressing against your back, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna come," he whimpers, his hips thrusting urgently against yours. You're about to shush him, but a touch on your chest surprises you. His clammy hand moves from your hip to under your shirt, groping and squeezing frantically. He leans forward, giving a final rut of his hips against your ass before his teeth sink into your shoulder to suppress any loud moan that was going to spill out of him.

You almost gasp too loudly, but you catch yourself and clench your jaw to choke back the sound. Ratman 3 lets out a strangled whimper against your shoulder, his body tensing as he buries his face into your skin. He quickly comes into his pants, fully pressed onto your ass as his cock twitches and pulses, riding out his orgasm. You purse slightly, feeling the warmth of his release soaking through and staining your clothes.

Ratman 3 slumps against you, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his climax. You can feel his heart racing, matching the pounding of your own as you both struggle to catch your breath.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the smallest creak of the walls around you. You hold your breath, coming back to the reality of how dangerous of a spot you are right now. 

You listen for any sign of the family, anxiety tugging at your gut as you wait for any sign that both your presences have been discovered. But the voices have moved on, their footsteps fading into the distance as they go down the hall.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief, turning around to face Ratman 3 with the little space you have. Ratman 3 lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the darkness. There's a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction in his gaze, and you can't help but smirk at the sight.

He shifts slightly, wincing at the sticky mess in his pants. His eyes dart down to the stain on the fabric, and his face flushes an even deeper shade of crimson.

“I, um... I guess I made a bit of a mess,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze in embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your clothes.”

You shrug, trying to downplay the rush of adrenaline in your chest. “Don’t worry; at least we weren’t caught.”

Ratman 3 nods, quickly wiping his brow and smoothing down his rumpled shirt. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself, then stammers, “S-So… you wanna… uh, share that granola bar?”

[leggerefiore]

cw: fluff, short drabble

pairing: Lear/Reader

“This is too much…” were the only words that could leave your lips as you entered your lodgings. Gifts sat sprawled around the room. All things of which were things you had once expressed an interest in, no matter how minor it was. You picked up the closest item, a stuffed toy of some kind, and sighed. It was little mystery of whom had the means and finances to do such a thing here on Pasio.

You had captured the attention of a certain prince thanks to your hat, apparently. This made him despise you – until he did not. Apparently you, alongside many others, made him recall the importance of friendship and bonds. This naturally meant you had his eyes more than most other trainers on the island. A champion could be standing directly in front of him, but as long as you were nearby, his gaze would fall onto you as he vented his frustration about whatever thing was on his mind or fell into some strange combination of an insult and compliment. But, recently, it was clear his feelings had shifted into something else. Lavish gifts and invites were appearing with heavy frequency. It was not exactly difficult to figure out what this correlated to – Especially when he seemed frustrated whenever anyone else held your attention for too long in his presence or if someone interrupted your time with him.

In fact, he had been seemingly inviting you over to his home quite frequently as well. He seemed insistent on spending alone time with you. It was often just existing in the same space together, as there was only so much two people could discuss when they saw each other often. However, it appeared your one declination of a hang-out had resulted in an overload of gifts. Lear was certainly something else. He had not even properly asked you out, but everyone around essentially assumed that you two had started dating. Even Rachel had been giving you some dirty looks. Though, granted, you had not exactly said yes to this. But… You would not exactly say no to it, either. There was something simply adorable about the prince and his inability to do anything normally.

You squeezed the plush toy and sighed. At this rate, you felt he would announce a marriage before you had even been asked to date him. Really, you could imagine it now… He would make some grand announcement before a gathered crowd about a royal wedding, while you stood none the wiser among them. Then, he would demand you join him on stage before giving out further details. You shuddered at the thought. He often did things with little forethought, you felt. Though, you wondered how he would feel if you did not want to be royalty or failed to want to move to his home region some time in the future. It would be an unfortunate reality that if you did marry him, that you would become royalty.

Lying on your bed, you gazed out the window. Well, he was still just a prince as it stood, but his succession was to follow his victory – against you – at the next PML. It was only a matter of time before that happened, too.

~

“Lear, we need to talk,” you caught his attention as you wandered the villa, having been searching for him. He stopped in his tracks to allow his uncovered gaze to fall onto you. Purple eyes stared almost through you in that moment. He nodded. You let out a sigh. “Uh, what are we?” you decided to first establish that before going any further. His gaze became strange.

“… Romantically involved? I thought it was clear that I was courting you,” he replied, “I'm generous, certainly, but I don't treat everyone as I do you, I hope you realise.” Ah, the usual accidental insult in his words. You sighed. Well, you were right. He just assumed you two were dating. Stepping closer to him, you caught his hand. He did not flinch nor really gaze a reaction more than a cock of his head. It seemed that he was truly convinced that you two had plainly been dating.

“… Okay… So,” you pondered how to say this, “… Uh, you're not planning any insane public announcements, are you?”

“… Not particularly. I think it is fairly obvious to anyone that we are involved,” he deadpanned and grasped your hand back, “… Unless you are asking that I do so, of which I have no opposition.” You swallowed. The last thing you needed was him smugly informing those visiting Pasio that he was dating you. The very thought was embarrassing enough to make your heart race.

“I'm not,” you clarified, “… Please stop getting me so many gifts, I'm running out of room for them.” He blinked in surprise.

“… Then move in with me,” he said simply.

You were almost tempted to take him up on that offer. But, instead, you just leaned in and gave him a kiss. Which, to your shock, he returned without any of the expected complaints.

He did take that as a yes, however. You had to stop him from actually moving you in.

[latexb0n3z]

Unrequited Love, Lots Of Blow, and a Visit From Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

CW; self-harm, sexual mentions, drug use, mental illness yadayadayada.

This was kind of a vent in some weird way. Crashed out earlier and had to write something to cope.

Logan woke up to the sound of something(s) shattering. Again.

“Goddammit, Wade,” he muttered, dragging himself off the couch. It wasn’t even 8 AM, and his roommate was already tearing through the place like a tornado.

Roommate. Logan still wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened. Wade had been crashing at his place “just for a few days” six months ago, and somehow, he’d never left. Logan had considered kicking him out more times than he could count, but something about the mercenary’s manic energy—and the raw, broken humanity underneath it—kept him from following through.

Logan pushed open the door to Wade’s bedroom, which looked like a war zone. Clothes, weapons, and takeout containers were scattered everywhere, and Wade stood in the middle of it, panting, holding the remnants of a lamp in his hand.

“Morning, sunshine,” Logan grunted. “What’s this about?”

Wade didn’t look at him. His face was bare, his scars catching the dim morning light. “It was an ugly lamp anyway.” The more Logan looked, the more was wrong. There was blood, literally everywhere. The bathroom mirror was broken, glass and MORE blood everywhere— the living room was a disheveled mess, a broken bottle of Jack, and a shattered cup like Wade had just grabbed the first thing that was near.

Logan crossed his arms. “You gonna tell me what’s really going on, or should I start charging you for broken furniture?”

Wade flinched, then dropped the lamp base to the floor with a clatter. “What’s the point, huh? You don’t care.”

Logan frowned. “You think I’d let you live here if I didn’t care?”

Wade laughed, sharp and bitter. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Logan. You let me stay because you feel sorry for me. Big, bad Wolverine, taking pity on the ugly stray.” He gestured to himself. “Well, guess what? I don’t need your charity! I’ll leave— and like you said, it’s ‘God’s best joke that I can’t die’ and it’s on all of us!” Even though dying is all he wished he could do.

Logan stepped forward, his voice low and steady. “This about the girl?”

That did it. Wade’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Oh, so you did notice. Good for you, Sherlock.” He took a shaky breath, his words spilling out in a torrent. “Yeah, it’s about her- and everything else- and- and, It’s about how you’ve been all smiles and soft eyes around her. How you go out on these little dates, come home smelling like flowers and happiness or whatever the hell normal people do!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You jealous?”

Wade barked out a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “Oh, I’m so jealous, Logan. Not because I want her or anything—God, no. I’m jealous because she’s… she’s normal. She’s pretty, and soft, and someone you could actually care about.”

His voice cracked, and his hands clenched into fists. “Not like me. Not like this.” He gestured to his scarred face, his mismatched, worn-down body. “You could never like something like me, right, Logan?”

Logan stared at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was silent except for Wade’s heavy breathing, his manic pacing, his sniffles.

“You done?” Logan finally asked.

Wade blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said, are you done?” Logan stepped closer, his voice gruff but calm. “Because if you’re waiting for me to tell you you’re wrong, I’m not gonna do it.”

Wade’s face crumpled, but Logan kept going.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Wade. You’re loud, and messy, and half the time, I don’t know whether to strangle you or buy you a drink.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t let you stay here because I feel sorry for you. I let you stay because you’re worth putting up with.”

Wade looked up, his eyes glassy. “You’re just saying that to make me stop crying and breaking things!”

Logan snorted. “Trust me, I’m not the type to say things I don’t mean. And I don’t give a damn what you look like.”

Wade swallowed hard, his hands shaking. “I don’t believe you.”

Logan grabbed him by the shoulders, his grip firm but not unkind. “Then believe this: If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here. Got it?”

Wade nodded slowly, his breath hitching.

“Good,” Logan said, letting go and stepping back. “Now clean this mess up before I start charging you for rent.”

But Wade didn’t move and inch. He just looked down at the floor, and cried and cried. He just stood there, vulnerable, without any quips or witty comments to defend himself. Logan thought it was a pain in the ass, but he was still himself— empathetic no matter just how much he wanted to just tell the son of a bitch to get out.

“Wade?” He was sort of at a loss for words. Wade having outbursts wasn’t anything new— but just… standing there, crying. That was a sight to behold. His expression dropped,

“You have no idea, Logan.”

“You think you’re special, bub? I’ve been alive for two-hundred fucking years. I saw the invention of machine guns for one. You have no fucking clue what ideas I have, Wade.”

Wade finally looked up at him, his milky, yellowed eyes glazed over.

“Do you think I’m hideous?”

“What? I just said I don’t give a shit what you look like.”

“That wasn’t my question. I didn’t ask if you cared- I asked if I’m hideous.”

Logan gave him a once over. Wade already had the answer made up in his mind regardless of what Logan said.

He didn’t think Wade was hideous, but he wasn’t attracted to him by any means.

“Okay, Wade! Yes, fine, you’re hideous— that’s what you wanna hear right?! Seems like you’ve already made up your damn mind about the answer.”

Wade gave a half smile, and then just turned on his heel and left, slamming the door so hard it made the whole apartment vibrate.

—

And then weeks passed, and Wade never returned. He’d left all his things there, and Logan considered throwing them out after a while. He’d even left his mask on the couch, which Wade never left without.

Annie was her name, the girl. Soft, brown eyes and strawberry blonde hair, and a round face full of freckles. She wore blouses and skirts, and wedges with white little bows on top.

And Logan liked her. Loved her even. Fell for her harder than he’d wanted to. At first their relationship was casual— cute little dates that made Logan feel normal. And the best part— she was a mutant too. It was nothing impressive, mild telekinetic abilities. She could lift small objects from across the room and shut doors without touching them.

She was peaceful, and domestic and a soft body to lay on. He felt safe with her. She’d spend nights at his place since Wade had left- cooked food for him and let him rest his head on her lap while he stroked his head. Things had gotten serious between them in the weeks Wade had been gone.

They had hot, passionate, electrifying sex- made each other laugh so hard they cried and kissed- and then had more sex. Logan would take her against the counter, in the bathroom, on the couch, in the bedroom. Parts of their lives mingled together. Some of his stuff stayed at her place, and parts of her lived at Logan’s. It was unlike anything he’d had in a long long time.

Meanwhile Wade had been doing as much blow as possible and fucking off. Logan wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard from him. Nobody had. He was torturing himself. He knew he couldn’t die, but he could feel pain. One night he’d played Russian roulette with himself off so much coke it would kill a normal human. He savored what intoxication he could get from alcohol for a couple minutes before the joy was killed by his healing factor.

He’d shoot himself in the head, blow his brains out only to come right back with only half the memories. He’d slit his own throat to choke and watch his ever replenishing blood gush out. He’d cut his fingers off one by one after each line, only to watch them grow back after a couple of hours.

He hadn’t showered in weeks, and smelled like death, blood and straight ass. He didn’t change his clothes, didn’t speak to anyone. Just restarted the same routine he did when Vanessa died. Trying to kill himself but never really dying.

Oh how he missed her. He wondered what she would say to him now, what she would think of who he was. He wondered if she’d be horrified seeing him, or if she’d have loved him anyway. He’d escaped the Weapon X program only to find out from Weasel that she’d been shot and robbed while hooking after he’d disappeared.

He’d had a couple years to reconcile with that… only to fall in love with Logan. What a fucking idiot he was, right?

Unrequited— though he knew Logan had considered him… sort of a friend.

Wade knew he was a pain in the ass, and pissed himself off too most of the time.

It didn’t matter though. He was hundreds of miles away from his life now, taking his shit show all the way to New York City, in the good old United States of America.

—

The New York alley smelled like garbage and rain, a mixture Wade found oddly comforting. The dumpster beneath him was cold and sticky in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about, but it didn’t matter. He was home. Or something like it.

He lay flat on his back, arms spread out like he was trying to make a snow angel on the grimy metal surface. His mask was half-pulled up, just enough to let him belt out an off-key rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart.

“There’s nothing I can dooooo… a total eclipppse of the heaaaart!” he howled, his voice echoing through the narrow alley.

Somewhere nearby, a rat squeaked in protest.

“You’ve got an audience,” came a voice from above.

Wade froze mid-note, craning his neck back to see a familiar figure hanging upside down by a thin strand of webbing. The bright red-and-blue suit was unmistakable.

“Spidey!” Wade gasped, sitting up so fast he nearly fell off the dumpster. He was hopped up on cocaine, meth, angel dust, anything he’d managed to get his hands on tonight. “My second-favorite insect-themed hero! What brings you to my garbage palace?”

Spider-Man tilted his head, his mask’s lenses narrowing. “You’re laying on a dumpster and singing power ballads. Should I be concerned, or is this just a Tuesday for you?”

“Wednesday, actually,” Wade corrected, wagging a finger. “And I’m celebrating my triumphant return to the Big Apple! Came here with nothing but a bag of cash and a dream. And maybe some mild emotional baggage. But mostly the cash.”

Spider-Man flipped down to the ground, landing lightly. “I’m pretty sure that was illegal cash.”

“What isn’t, these days?” Wade said, waving him off. “Besides, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Unless you count your ears.”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “You’re avoiding the question. Why are you really here, Wade?”

Wade leaned back against the dumpster, sighing dramatically. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a tale as old as time. Boy meets mutant, mutant moves in, mutant gets jealous of said boy’s weirdly functional romantic life and flees to New York to sulk in an alley and reevaluate his choices.”

Spider-Man blinked. “Okay, wow. That’s… more personal than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the Deadpool Show.” Wade gestured broadly at himself. “We like to keep things raw and unscripted. Keeps the audience engaged.”

Spider-Man crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know we don’t… vibe exactly, but you seem like you’re going through something. Do you need help?”

Wade laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “Oh, Spidey, my sweet, built like a gymnast summer child. I’m beyond help. I’m like a car that’s been totaled, set on fire, and then run over by a tank. But thanks for asking.”

“You’re not that bad,” Spider-Man said, though his tone was hesitant.

“Aw, you think I’m redeemable,” Wade said, clutching his chest. “You’re adorable! Like a little web-slinging therapist.”

“Seriously, Wade. You don’t have to do… this,” Spider-Man said, gesturing to the dumpster and the alley. “Whatever’s going on, there’s got to be a better way to deal with it than running away and singing ‘80s ballads in the rain.”

“It wasn’t raining when I got here,” Wade pointed out. “But, fine, I’ll bite. What do you suggest, Dr. Spidey?”

Spider-Man hummed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe talk to the person you’re running from instead of hiding out here. Have an actual conversation.”

Wade snorted. “You think I’m the ‘talking about my feelings’ type? Adorable. Really, top marks for optimism. I already tried- got blood all over the poor guys’ apartment and broke his mirror… Oh- you know Wolverine- Wolvie- Logan? Yeah he’s alive again and I haaaave itttt bad, Spidey.”

Spider-Man sighed. “Wolverine… like? Like… The X-men’s Wolverine? He died! How the hell is he alive again?— wait, don’t tell me he came from a different universe or something.”

Wade tilted his head, clicked his tongue and made finger guns, “Ding Ding Ding! That’s exactly right.” He dropped his hands but remained looking up, studying Spider-Man for a long moment. “You’re way too good for this city, you know that? It’s like watching a Disney protagonist in Gotham.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Spider-Man said dryly.

Wade slid off the dumpster, landing with a flourish. “Fine. You win. I absolutely cannot go back to Canada anytime soon but— I will try to stop doing massive amounts of narcotics and cutting off my limbs are even though they just regrow.”

“You’re really a strange guy, you know that, Wade?”

“Yes— quite intimately actually. Very large part of the reason I’m torturing myself out here in the good old United States of America.”

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Quit your sulking, grab my hand.”

Wade raised a… well… what would be his eyebrow if he had any, but said, “Fuck it,” and took his hand.

Suddenly, he was suspended in the air, wind whipping past his ears as they swung through the towering skyline of New York. Wade let out a loud, exaggerated scream. “OH MY FUCK, SPIDEY, THIS IS THE CLOSEST I’VE BEEN TO FLYING SINCE THAT TIME I STRAPPED FIREWORKS TO MY BACKPACK!”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Spider-Man shouted back, his voice barely audible over the rush of the wind.

“BECAUSE I’M AN ICON OF CHAOS!” Wade cackled, twisting his body mid-swing to strike a pose, one hand outstretched dramatically. “LOOK AT ME! I’M PETER PAN BUT WITH MORE TRAUMA!”

Spider-Man groaned. “Do you ever stop talking?!”

“Do you ever stop being an uptight boy scout?” Wade shot back.

Spider-Man didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead twisting midair and flinging a web to the next building. The sudden shift sent Wade swinging wildly, his legs flailing.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Wade yelled, clutching Spider-Man’s arm like a terrified cat. “Careful there, Spandex Man! Some of us are delicate flowers who bruise easily!”

“You literally can’t die,” Spider-Man said, exasperated.

“Emotionally, Spidey!” Wade quipped. “Emotionally!”

Spider-Man sighed, expertly landing on a rooftop and depositing Wade less-than-gently on the gravel.

Wade sprawled out on his back, catching his breath. “That was either the most fun I’ve ever had, or I’m having a stroke. Maybe both.”

Spider-Man stood over him, hands on his hips. “You’re impossible.”

“Ha! Logan says that too!” Wade sat up, pulling his mask back down. “So, what’s the plan, boss? You didn’t just web-nap me for a heart-to-heart, did you?”

Spider-Man crossed his arms. “I didn’t exactly plan this. But you’re clearly in a mood, and I figured some fresh air might knock some sense into you.”

“Aw,” Wade cooed, “you do care about me! Admit it. I’m growing on you, like a sexy barnacle.”

“Don’t push it.”

Wade leaned back on his hands, glancing out at the city below. The lights of New York twinkled like stars, and for a rare moment, he was quiet.

“…It’s kind of nice up here,” he said after a beat.

Spider-Man sat down beside him, still keeping a cautious distance. “Yeah. It is.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the noise of the city far below fading into the background.

Finally, Wade broke the silence. “You ever feel like you’re just… too much? Like you’re this big, messy disaster that everyone tolerates but no one really wants around?”

Spider-Man glanced at him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. “I think a lot of people feel like that sometimes., and trust me, you’re definitely a disaster. But… you don’t have to be.”

Wade turned to him, his tone light but his voice just a little too tight. “Wow, Spidey, you’re really laying on the compliments tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” He said, sarcastically.

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Okay, and we’re back to that.” He blushed under his mask, a bit bashful. Everything was an innuendo to Wade somehow.

“Hey,” Wade said, nudging him with his elbow. “Thanks for this. The swing, the chat, the unsolicited life advice… it’s nice to know someone’s got my back, even if you are a dork in pajamas.”

Spider-Man smirked under his mask. “Anytime, Wade. Just… try not to end up sulking on a dumpster again, okay?”

“What a sweetie pie you are, Peter.”

“How the hell do you know my name? It’s not like yours is a secret… but I thought I was doing a good job at this secret identity thing…”

“I’m a mercenary, I know everything even if I don’t want to.”

Peter huffed. “That’s not an answer but… okay, Wade.”

Wade huffed and then tried to push his luck.

“I don’t suppose your kindness extends past swinging… like- a place to-“

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come onnnnn! I thought you were all about being helpful.”

“Hey- I’m all for giving a little support but how do I know you won’t just break my stuff too?”

“One night?”

Peter bit his bottom lip under his mask in thought.

“Ugh, you’re such an ass. Give you an inch and it turns into a mile.”

Wade just stared at him, expecting.

“Fine! One night and then you’re back to whatever you have been doing.”

[nikkento-writes]

Chapter 1 - About Love

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

cw: 2nd person POV, angst, heartbreak, explicit language

Summary: You finally make it to paradise, though you can’t help but put yourself through hell by constantly remembering your break-up from two months ago. Everything around you reminds you about your ex, about couples, about love. And you hate it.

Author's Note: Here it is! The very first chapter of the series that’s been heavy on my mind for almost a year. This is basically background and setup, no mention of Nanami in this chapter, but he’ll be making his appearance in the next, so stay tuned :) I kept the location unspecific so that I could have my own liberties with it, but for reference, I’m drawing most of my inspiration from Boracay in the Philippines. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

It’s a warm spring evening on the first week of April when it happens. You open the windows to let in the refreshing breeze now that it’s finally starting to cool down. Your cheeks are sticky from the day’s heat and the brisk air of night is a relief on your skin.  

Jun arrives later than usual tonight, nearly midnight when the familiar jingle of keys rings from the other side of the door. Half of the dinner you prepared earlier sits cold in the fridge, though you expect to eat it yourself as leftovers for tomorrow. This is the typical routine nowadays. He grabs food with his colleagues while they work overtime together, and yet, you make a plate for him out of habit. By the time he returns home, you’d already be in bed, half asleep, awaiting his comforting presence beside you. He’d give you a kiss on the forehead, calling your name softly, the smile on his face apparent in his tone. In the past two weeks, however, he’s gone straight to sleep. No kiss, no greeting. Nothing but the weight of his body sinking into the space inches from you. 

The signs are all there, clear as day. Still, you don’t see it coming. Or maybe you’re pretending you don’t. 

You’re waiting for him on the couch when he comes in through the door, eyes tired, tie already loose around his collar. He slips out of his shoes before looking up, surprised to see you. He says your name quietly, and you don’t realize how much you miss hearing it in his voice until now. 

“Welcome home.” It sounds weird coming out of your mouth, feels even weirder. Like you’re greeting an acquaintance coming back to their hometown after a long while. Except this is your boyfriend of five years who you live with. 

His expression is one you’ve never seen before. Jun has always been calm, cool, and collective. Whatever face he’s currently wearing is the opposite of that. Brows tight, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff. You chalk it up to stress; he’s been working diligently almost every night for over a month. Deadlines, urgent reports, training the new employee. It’s been endless. 

He takes slow steps towards you, sitting beside you on the couch, sighing deeply, taking your hand in his. You scooch closer to him, ready to listen and comfort him while he vents, totally unsuspecting of what is going to come next. 

“We need to talk.”

You wake up abruptly, gasping for breath. The turbulence on the plane must have rattled you awake, though you’re more convinced it was because of your bad dream. More like a bad memory you can’t stop thinking about, even in your sleep. You flex your fingers, skin tingling as you remember the odd sensation of your hand in Jun’s as he broke up with you that night two months ago. In that moment, it felt like an outer body experience, where you were watching yourself getting your heart broken and there was nothing you could do about it. The seat beside you, which should be occupied by him, is empty. Though you’re surrounded by other passengers on this tiny, stuffy plane, you’re alone. Completely and utterly alone.

You knew this trip was a bad idea.

It takes you a couple of seconds to reorient yourself on your whereabouts. A quick glance around and you’re reminded that you’re on-route to an island getaway, which is getting paid for by your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself. How did it end up this way? You close your eyes once again, another thirty minutes till your arrival, replaying the events of that night in your head.

“I think I have feelings for somebody else,” Jun confesses to you, staring down at his lap, too ashamed to meet your gaze.

You sit there, stunned. Is this some sort of horrible prank he’s pulling on you? This can’t really be happening, can it? After nearly five years together?

“You’re cheating on me?” You don’t mean to accuse him, it comes out on instinct, all of your worst insecurities revealing themselves. 

He shakes his head. “No. Well…not technically.” When you’re prepared to start yelling at him about bullshit technicalities, he quickly adds, “I haven’t acted on it. Nothing has happened between us. But…but I like her. And I don’t think I can keep ignoring these feelings any longer.”

You’re surprised at yourself that you aren’t already crying. Calmly, albeit voice trembling slightly, you ask, “Who is she?”

After a deep, intentional breath, he answers. “It’s Mai.”

The new employee. The coworker. The woman he was tasked to train when she started at their company a month ago. His underling who calls him or texts him before and after business hours. The reason he’d rather work than come home to you. Mai and Jun. This has to be some kind of cruel, sick joke.

Deep down, deep deep down in a place that you buried for the sake of your own sanity, you saw it coming. The distance between you and him had already existed and ever since he met her, it’s become too far to reach. You’re too slow to catch up with him. 

He continues to hold your hand, the once-familiar touch foreign on your skin now, a total stranger. There’s tightness in your throat as you fight the tears that are surely coming. “What…what did I do wrong?”

At this, he finally looks at you, as if he’s fighting them back too. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. I think…” he pauses, struggling to get the words out. “I think we’re not right for each other.” It’s a hard truth to swallow, but you do, understanding that there is merit to what he’s saying. Something’s been missing, some sort of spark or flame to keep the fire burning. The two of you got along fine, making the most out of it. You were content, enough to keep each other around. Until now, apparently. 

You use your free hand to wipe your cheeks, soaking wet from continuous tears streaming down your face. “I wanted it to work out.” You did. You even planned a summer vacation in hopes of reigniting that flame, that passion. Was it never strong enough to begin with? 

“I know you did. I did too, for a while. But then I met Mai and -” He stops himself, giving you a tentative glance, realizing that he probably shouldn’t talk about his newfound love while the wound is very, very new.

“What?” You want him to continue, tell you what is that Mai and he have that you and he don’t. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It’s different. It’s something I’ve never felt before.”

It stings. It more than stings, it straight up hurts. A stab in the back, right into your heart. Things were fine, absolutely and totally fine. Was that the problem? It was only ever just fine? 

“What can we do differently? What can I do differently?” You’re panicking now, pleading with him if there’s any way you can salvage this

He doesn’t respond right away, choosing his words carefully. When he does, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The final blow. “I don’t think I can ever get there with you.”

With that, you’re certain that there’s nothing else that can be done. You take your hand from underneath his, using both your sleeves to wipe your face, the tears unable to stop flowing. He remains seated, only the sounds of your sobs filling the tense silence. Through your sniffles, you manage to say, “I don’t want to start over again.” Having to build another relationship from the ground up terrifies you. It took almost five years for you and Jun to do that, only to have it crumble into dust right before your feet. At this rate, you’ll be alone for the rest of your life. Just the thought of it has you bawling harder. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, burying his face in his hands. “This is unfair to you, I know that. But this is better for the both of us.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you already found someone else.”  You don’t hold back on the spite now. You know it’s venomous as soon as it leaves your mouth, but considering the current situation, you don’t feel too guilty about it. 

“You’ll find someone too.” He wraps a tentative arm around your shoulders in an attempt to console you. You don’t bother shrugging him off, savoring this little bit of intimacy for the last time. “And when you do, he’s going to change everything you know about love.”

You almost scoff at him, the anger within you beginning to erupt in your chest. What does he know about love? What do you even know about love? Love means never being alone, always having a warm, familiar body to wake up next to. You loved Jun because he fulfilled that for you. Is there more to it than that? If there is, and Jun isn’t the one who can show you that, is there anybody else who can?

~~~

So, what’s the quickest way to remedy a broken heart?

Doctors recommend a healthy diet and exercise, which is medically correct, for all intents and purposes. Your old next-door neighbor’s five-year-old kid offered a hug and a bandage to make the “boo-boo” go away, and that did make you feel better, even if just for a fleeting moment. Your parents tell you that only time will heal all wounds, that you’ll have to continue living your life as best as you can until you’re normal again. And sure, deep down, you know they’re right. But it’s already been two months and you’re still hurting. Time is moving so slowly, so painfully that you can’t stand waiting any longer for any of this suffering to end. So, you follow your best friend’s advice instead, who convinces you that this stupid vacation is exactly what you need to help you get through this. Especially because your ex, the cause of your heartbreak to begin with, is the one paying for it. After two flights, one on a bigger plane with barely any turbulence, then the other on a smaller one that had tons, you’re finally on the last leg of your journey, a boat heading straight to a beautiful island paradise.

The sun beats down on this scorching June day, your bare shoulders hot under its rays. The brim of your hat ripples in the wind as the boat flies through the choppy waters, nearing your final destination after a long and tiring travel day. The ocean is just as stunning as you expect, a perfect canvas painted with the most serene shades of blue, a vision that pictures will never do justice. You close your eyes, taking deep whiffs of the salty sea, remembering the conversation you had with Jun convincing you to go through with this.

“It seems pointless for me to go anymore.” You sit crossed-leg beside the drawer in your bedroom, neatly folding your clothes into the biggest suitcase you have. It’s been two weeks since the breakup. You’ve been moving in overdrive, distracting yourself from wallowing in the misery of your heartbreak. The job you initially dismissed two months ago came to the forefront of your mind. When you heard about it from a colleague of yours, you immediately disregarded it, not interested in relocating. You knew long distance with Jun would be difficult, impossible. Now, it’s the exact opportunity you were looking for: a fresh start, somewhere new, somewhere not here.

Jun’s inside the closet, helping you pack your clothes. “All the deposits are non-refundable. Plus, you spent a lot of time planning the itinerary. It’s a waste if neither of us go.” He’s referring to the vacation the two of you booked earlier in the year to celebrate your five-year anniversary. Too much time and too much money spent, all for nothing.  

“Then why don’t you and Mai go?” you snap at him, trying to contain your constantly teetering temper. 

He doesn’t respond right away, ruminating on his guilt while he continues to slide your blouses off of hangers. “It wouldn’t be right if we went.”

“None of this is fucking right, Jun. You think you can just pay for a vacation to make the pain go away?” Oops. Guess you couldn’t really control it this time. 

Again, he takes a moment to formulate a response. “Look, I know I’m an asshole and you probably hate my guts, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel really fucking guilty about this. And I know that this isn’t going to solve anything, and it won’t make what I did any less horrible. But I don’t know what else to do, okay? I just need to do something for you. Please.”

The shame he’s harboring is obvious. Despite all that’s happened, you can never truly hate him. If you were in his shoes, maybe you’d do the same. If the greatest chance at love fell before your feet, who’s to say you’d be any different from Jun? He just found it first, therefore, he’s the “bad guy”. But maybe it’s better for both your sakes to be free of a relationship that was only ever going to be “just fine.” 

Still, nobody can expect you to be understanding about it. At least not now, while it’s only two-weeks fresh.

It’s your turn to carefully contemplate your decision regarding this damn vacation. The idea of being alone, no matter how gorgeous the destination is, sounds awful. You don’t trust yourself to appreciate it enough while you’re all messed up in the head.  

You clear out the bottom drawer before replying, “I’ll think about it.” You pause, then add, “And for the record, I don’t hate you.”  

Jun doesn’t say anything else, but you can sense the ease in tension, at least for the time-being.  

The two of you continue to work in silence. Halfway through the top drawer, you comment, “If I do go, I hope you know that I’ll be taking full advantage of everything there, since you’re paying for it all.”

He laughs, a hearty, genuine one, and it tugs at your heartstrings just the slightest bit. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

~~~

As you approach the dock, the white sands are even more blinding than they were from a distance, shimmering like diamond dust against the solar beams of the bright sun. The other tourists surrounding you already have their phones out, capturing this first glimpse into paradise with shared excitement.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” You turn to see an older woman beside you, grinning. “Is it your first time here?”

You swallow nervously, almost forgetting how to speak properly after having not spoken the entire day. “Yes it is.” It’s an answer to both her questions.

“My partner and I used to come here every year,” she continues, scooting closer to you to overcome the sound of the motor. “It’s a wonderful island. The food is fantastic and the beaches are superb. The softest sand you’ll ever feel on your feet. You’ll never want to leave. We got engaged here, then married here. It’s a very special place.”

You nod along with her, listening to her heartfelt story about love, ignoring your own bitterness towards it. Her eyes light up, reminiscing on all the wonderful memories she shared with the love of her life here in paradise. You can’t help but be envious of this stranger.

Glancing behind her, you notice she’s alone. Without thinking, you ask, “Is your partner here?”, expecting her to reply that they’re in the bathroom or on a different part of the boat taking pictures. That’s when you notice the small urn she holds in her lap and your heart sinks to your stomach. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see – ”

She laughs, waving her hand at you. “Of course you couldn’t have known, no need to apologize.” 

Mortified, you mumble out another apology, staring down at the urn. “I’m…I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Her smile grows wider, her kind gaze twinkling like the ocean surrounding you. “Thank you. But don’t feel so sad for me, my dear. I get to spend one last time in our favorite place with my sweetheart. What’s there to be sad about?”

The boat slows to a stop, a crewmate tugging at the ropes to dock it properly. In the background, the captain cheerfully announces your arrival. It’s met with claps and cheers from your fellow vacationers who hurry out of their seats to be the first ones released into paradise. The woman rests a gentle hand on your shoulder as she stands up, readjusting the urn between her arm and hip. “You’ve got a long, wonderful life ahead of you, my dear. Enjoy it while you still can.”

You bite your lip, holding back the tears welling in your eyes. All you can do is nod at her and give her your best smile in response, trying to contain the outpour of emotions stirring inside you as you watch her shuffle her way to follow the others.

This trip was a bad fucking idea.

~~~

Your resort is easy to find once you make it off the sand, which are indeed the softest you’ve ever felt. There are plenty of signs and staff to help you navigate to Crystal Shores, the open-concept lobby flourishing with all types of flora native to the island. A staff member immediately greets you, offering you a cold glass of citrus water and a fresh hibiscus lei, which she hangs around your neck. “Checking in?” You nod and she smiles brightly, waving you towards the front desk. “We’re looking forward to having you! Enjoy your stay at the Crystal Shores!”

Thanking her, you roll your luggage in the direction she points you to. A clerk with a nametag showing “Jasmine” helps you, a kind smile across her face. “Welcome to Crystal Shores. May I have your first and last name, please?”

You give it to her on instinct, but then you backtrack, remembering that the reservation is not actually under your name. “Sorry, it’s actually under my – ” You stop yourself from saying “boyfriend”, because it’s a simple fact now. Jun is no longer your boyfriend. Instead, you state his full name, cheeks warm from embarrassment as you take a sip of your water, cool to your lips.

She types diligently, still grinning while she looks at her computer screen. “Ah, here it is. Seventh floor, room 703, the honeymoon suite with a beachside view.”

You almost choke on your water. “Honeymoon suite?”

“Yes! It is our understanding that the two of you are here to celebrate your five-year anniversary. Congratulations! We took the liberty of upgrading your original room, free of charge. Will he be needing a key as well?”

You consider your options here. Telling the truth would be humiliating, but lying would be so much worse, especially since you’ll be staying here for the next five days. Making up excuses for why Jun isn’t here would only make you feel more pathetic. So, you decide to be honest, in an attempt to save whatever dignity you have left (which isn’t much). “Actually, Jun and I are no longer together, so he will not be needing a key. It’s just going to be me.”

The smile on Jasmine’s falters the slightly bit, her eyes widening at the uncomfortable confession, though she maintains her professional demeanor. “I see. Well, we are very, very happy to have you here with us.” She quickly averts her gaze, focusing back on the screen, typing something vigorously onto her keyboard.

“He dumped me because he fell for his coworker. But he was probably out of love with me already.” You can’t help yourself from continuing, the words spilling out of you like vomit. “To be fair, I stopped trying too. I could have done more, should have done more. I just didn’t think I needed to. That’s why I’m here. All alone.”

The typing stops. In a quieter voice, she mumbles, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, oddly relieved. “Anyway, thank you for the free upgrade. What’s the difference between a regular suite and the honeymoon suite?”

“The beds are bigger, you���ll have a larger bathtub, and the view is unbeatable. But…” she shoots you a furtive glance, almost guilty. “I should warn you. Since we were under the impression that you’d be celebrating your anniversary, our hotel staff decorated it as such.” No matter how hard you try to escape from it, you’ll always be reminded of your relationship with Jun. It was ridiculous for you to think you could avoid it here of all places, an island practically dedicated to couples. “I’m so sorry,” Jasmine apologizes again, passing you the card key to your room. “If you don’t mind waiting, I can have the staff go in there and dump out all the decorations.”

“No, you really don’t have to do that,” you insist, taking the key and sliding it into your pocket. “I’m sure I can handle it.” You give her a half-grin, truly appreciating her efforts, nonetheless. “Thank you, Jasmine.”

“We really hope you enjoy your stay here at the Crystal Shores.” She looks at you, genuine concern on her face. “Anything you need, please let us know. Don’t ever hesitate to ask, okay?”

You give her one last nod before making your way towards the elevators, heading up the seventh floor to see the honeymoon suite you’re calling home the next few days, ironically enough. On the walk down the hallway towards Room 703, you grow increasingly anxious for whatever is waiting to greet you inside. How bad can it be?

“Fuck me,” you curse to yourself, already regretting the refusal of Jasmine’s suggestion to remove the atrocity the kind staff decided to surprise you with (to no fault of their own).

There’s no denying that the room itself is stunning. The curtains are pushed wide open to reveal the balcony, where you have a perfect view of the sparking sand and sea. Sunlight streams in, emitting a radiant glow inside. The interior décor is modern and simple to accentuate the sensational vision outside. In a word, it’s breathtaking. And you wish you weren’t in such a sorry state to truly appreciate it for what it is: paradise.

Unfortunately, your focus immediately goes to the chaos laid out for you on the ginormous king-sized bed. Two white linen towels expertly shaped into a swan couple kissing, their beaks and neck conveniently making a heart. Scattered beneath them are dozens and dozens of red rose-petals, forming another, even more obnoxious, heart. As if the swans are swimming in their own little sea of love. Yuck.

That’s not all. The television is on, the home screen displaying a “Happy Anniversary!” message addressed to you and Jun specifically. At the kitchenette, there’s a bucket full of ice and a bottle of champagne, along with two champagne flutes, free-of-charge and courtesy of the staff who left a note wishing you “a lifetime of happiness!” Next to it is some sort of hospitality basket overflowing with treats and goodies: dried mangos sourced locally, dark chocolate made from the island’s own cacao beans, specialty snacks exclusive to this country. Again, free-of-charge with another special note from the staff hoping to “fuel your appetite for love!” The tub in the bathroom is filled almost to the brim, rose petals and tea lights still aflame floating on the surface, two sets of robes hanging on the wall beside it. Everything here is all perfectly laid out for a lovely couple celebrating five years together. And yet, here you are, all alone.

After taking it all in for a few minutes, you retrieve your phone from your bag, requesting a video chat with Kim, the person who somehow managed to convince you to do this.

One ring in, she answers, already in her pajamas, getting ready to sleep in her own time zone. “Thank god. I haven’t heard from you all day. I was starting to get worried.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to call until now,” you explain, giving her a weak grin.

Kim knows better than anyone the struggles you’ve been dealing with the past two months. Your best friend encouraged you to go on this trip, hoping it’d aid you in your journey of moving on. While she always tries to look at the bright side of things, she also understands that some days are much harder for you that others, today being one of them. So when she’s asks, “Are you…okay?”, she’s hesitant, gauging what type of “okay” you are. The type of okay where’s you’ll be able to sleep tonight or the type of okay where she’ll have to talk you through it while you spiral into a pit of depression.

Luckily for the both of you, you’re leaning more towards the former. “I’m here, so that’s progress. Right?”

She smiles reassuringly. “It is. How is it?”

You walk over to the balcony, sliding the door open. A cool breeze sweeps through and you take in a deep breath, filling your lungs with the fresh paradise air. “It’s honestly amazing. This view is insane.”

You switch the camera on your phone to show her. “Wow!” she exclaims, as you pan slowly across the horizon. “How’s the rest of your room?”

“It’s great. Except for the fact that it looks like cupid threw up in here.”

The thrill in her voice is impossible to ignore. “Oh, I’ve got to see this.”

You give her a tour of the room, explaining the situation about the free room upgrade and how you unloaded your trauma on poor Jasmine. She breaks into a fit of giggles upon seeing the bed. “You never stood a chance,” she jokes, enjoying this too much.

“That’s not even the worst part. Look.”

You show her the TV displaying the personalized message for you and Jun. She groans, “Oh god.”

“Pretty bad, huh?” you remark, flipping the camera back to your face.

“Well, not considering your current predicament, this is all really, really nice, actually.”

Of course, she’s right. It’s not the staff’s fault for going above and beyond to make a couple’s anniversary special. The only reason you detest all of this so much is because you’re no longer a part of couple. Because you’ve become a grump to anything and everything to do about love. You’re letting all your inner turmoil get the best of you. This is supposed to be an escape, a place where you can forget. It’s your own fault for associating every single thing back to Jun, back to your failed relationship, back to love. You’re only making it harder for yourself to move on.

You sigh, nothing to say in rebuttal. “Yeah, it is really nice. I just wish I was in a better headspace to appreciate it the way it deserves.”

She sits up from her bed, her voice soft and comforting. “All you have to do is turn off the TV, throw away the rose petals, and blow out the candles. Then voila, the honeymoon suites becomes a single-and-ready-to-mingle suite. You’re in the most gorgeous room with the most gorgeous view on the most gorgeous island. You’ve also got a whole bottle of champagne and all these delicious snacks. Maybe you can find some vacation friends to share them with.”

You chuckle, already feeling better from Kim’s pep talk. “I don’t think anyone is going to want to hang out with a wreck like me.”

“You’re on vacation. Leave all your moping alone for a few days and go buck wild! You can do whatever you want and be whoever you want. Go out there and test the waters! Get a little wet! Maybe really wet, if you know what I mean.” She raises her brows at you, smirking.

You dismiss her suggestion. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“But a vacation boyfriend sounds perfect for you! No commitment, no strings attached. Only fun. It’ll be good for you.”

You consider her idea seriously. No commitment, no strings attached. Only fun. You can’t remember the last time you kissed Jun, let alone the last time you had sex with him. Surely, you’re pent up, though you don’t really pay attention to it since you’re too busy being all gloomy. And like Kim said, you’re on vacation. You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want. If that means pretending not to be a woman scorned, so be it. Maybe this will be good for you.

“You’re right. I’ll think about it,” you tell her, smiling. “I wish you were with me. We’d have an absolute blast here.”

“You know I would be if dumb Phil wasn’t born this weekend.” In the background, you hear her husband yell out a, “Hey!” from a distance. “He says hi by the way!” Kim adds, ignoring him.

You laugh. “Tell him I say hi too. Anyways, I’ll let you go. I know it’s late there. The sun sets in an hour so maybe I’ll wash up and watch it from my balcony before dinner.”

“Sounds like a great idea. And I take it back. You don’t have to throw all the petals away. A romantic bath isn’t only for couples, you know. But you should definitely turn off that TV.”

After bidding her a loving farewell, you do just as she advises, shutting off the television to make that message disappear. You unfold the swans back to their original towel form and use your arm to sweep the petals into the trash bin. There’s nothing you can do about the complementary snacks and beverages they so graciously provided you, so you leave them alone, collecting the notes to tuck into one of the empty drawers of the kitchenette.

Grimy after a long day of travel by foot, plane, and boat, you decide to take full advantage of the prepared bath, which is luckily still warm. You blow out a most of the candles, leaving a few to enjoy for yourself, placing them on the surrounding rim. The tepid water is soothing on your skin as you submerge yourself, scooping up the rose petals to feel their velvety texture in your hands. You lather yourself with lavender-scented soap, inhaling the calming aroma through your nostrils, doing your best to relax.

You enjoy it until the water is cold and your skin is supple. Extinguishing the last of the tea lights, you drain the tub and carefully step out, slipping into a pair of slippers before wrapping yourself in one of the robes hanging nearby. You stare at yourself in the mirror, inspecting your reflection thoroughly. You force a smile and it doesn’t look quite right, doesn’t look real. Will you ever be able to feel like yourself again? Will you ever go back to being happy?

Still in your robe, you grab your sunglasses from your purse and you walk out on the balcony, just in time for sunset. Leaning on the railing, you listen to the waves crashing on the shore below you, squinting your eyes at the small specks of people sitting on the sand. It’s tranquil out here, nothing like where you used to live with Jun in the city, nothing like the new city you moved into a week ago. That’s the majesty about this place. It’s like another world, making it easier to separate from reality.

Little-by-little, you watch the sun descend into the horizon, gold being dipped in blue, until it’s gone. And regardless of everything that’s happening in your life, everything that’s happening in the world, there’s no denying how glorious this sight is. Nothing can take away from the beauty of what you just witnessed. It’s glorious enough to give you just the faintest sign of hope that things will get better and you catch yourself smiling.

Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

[compendiumofdecay]

shrill. tenko shimura (t.shigaraki) (x reader)

NSFW. 18+. MDNI. DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. emetophobia warning! major trigger warnings (listed below)!

cw: post-war tomura, uses tenko as his name again, canon non-complaint (fuck canon i'll write the ending), trauma, physical disabilities, mental impairment, vomiting, graphic depictions of violence, graphic description of illness, blood, panic attack, complex ptsd, abuse mentioned, suicidal ideation, intrusive thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms, age regression due to trauma, hurt/comfort trope

...

the hall light flickers with an intensity akin to rising heartbeats. sweat glistens on tenko's head in beads, dripping softly onto the linoleum tiles in the bathroom. he's shivering, it's so fucking cold here- too fucking cold. but he can't move, he's stuck here like a caught fly as waves of nausea overtake him.

the sun is coming up brightly in the small vented window, its painful to feel it beating down on his pale skin. he's too scared to move a muscle though, any shifting of his body will send him lurching into the ceramic bowl again. it hurts.

you didn't notice him even getting out of bed. it was during the earlier hours of the night, so he made sure to slink silently from under the thick duvet and pad off to the bathroom slowly, though his body was begging him to hurry faster. not again, not again, fuck.

it had been a year since the war ended. four months since he'd finally been rehabilitated completely, though he still had to see specialists and therapists and psychiatrists weekly, still had to deal with well-visits and physical and quirk therapy, still had to watch everyone who tried to kill him make it big on TV. he hated it. he hated being doted on, being studied like a foreign chemical, forced through interviews and trials and reports. most of all, he hated how you looked at him now. hated the way your eyes softened a little too much every time he spoke, hated how you'd remind him to take his meds of help him carry things, how you'd hand him his cane or urged him to use the chair. god, he hated it all so much, and had nowhere to even put that hate to use anymore. instead, it nestled into the empty pit inside of him left behind after all-for-one's death, the unfamiliar and disturbing chill of grief and silence. something he hadn't felt since he was a young child. he hated how juvenile he felt.

the nightmares never stopped. even with the medication and the therapy, they remained a constant abhorrent stick in his mind. flashes of blood and viscera coating his body, his hands warm with death. the smell of burning flesh, gunpowder, rot. it oozed through the wrinkles in his brain like the passage of time, the memories coiling around him like a pit of snakes.

the worst part was the screaming. the cries of mothers and children as they were torn apart. students and heroes alike mourning mid-battle. it was the kind of violence that turned legends to ghosts, forever haunting tenko's mind and staining it eternally. he couldn't forget. he wasn't supposed to forget. no, no. he wasn't allowed to forget.

remember all of it. forever.

every night he'd wake in a cold sweat, bile burning in the back of his throat, sweat sticking him to the crisp linen. tears overtaking his body, the feeling of the hot wetness rolling down his cheeks reminding him of the splattering guts against his skin. it all felt the same, burning and sticky and uncomfortable. not his. not his blood to spill, not his tears to cry.

some nights you'd wake to the sound of him sobbing, of holding back pained screams in his sleep, and it'd urge you to hold him, to wipe his face dry and open the windows, even in the dead of winter. the cold air would soothe him some, combined with your cascading touch down his sore arms and legs, heavy with the ache of being rebuilt. other nights you'd shoot up in a panic to muffled gags and retches, knowing there'd be no way to help him now except with a hair tie and time.

it was rare you didn't wake, actually- but lately, the nights had been a bit easier, tenko would sleep through most of the night with nothing more than a short panic. it was something that could be easily settled with a bear-hug and slow sips of water. he was getting better, and it soothed a part of you.

life was especially difficult now. before, and you'd never admit this to him in a million years- but before, he had nurses and doctors to help aid him when he was sick, or struggling. but since he'd returned home, life was exponentially harder for the both of you. you knew he'd never forgive himself if you'd admitted that some days, it was hard. but you knew he already knew it anyways, and it killed you. you loved him so much, the miracle of him returning home with nothing more than a few crutches was a godsend in every aspect. sure, the mobility aids were a learning curve for you both, but you worked with them. he was getting used to the cane, he no longer rejected the kinesiology tape or the braces, and he had finally started to let you push his wheelchair around on his bad days. hell, sometimes he even would ask for help eating, when before, he'd let himself go hungry before even considering it.

so tonight, you slept. you slept deeper than you had in months, not even the loudest alarm could wake you now. it was as if all the stress, anxiety, fear had left your body as you laid down with him that night, holding your love close against you, feeling his heartbeat on your own chest. it lulled you off in seconds, and even he couldn't resist closing his eyes after a few minutes, comforted by your soft breaths and warm skin.

it was so god-damned bright. bright and cold, and empty. the land stretched for miles beyond sight, but the ground was pure-white beneath his crooked toes and dirty soles. he was naked, walking for eternity across this crisp path leading to nowhere.

a voice from behind him urges him to turn around. no, commands him.

"my son."

tenko's feet picked up the pace, his body flailing as he ran, feeling as if he was treading water. he couldn't run- he was stationary. being pulled to the ground like a magnet.

"face me, tomura." the voice commanded him again.

"im not tomura, that's not my name" tenko tried to argue, but no words escaped him. he slammed his eyes shut, squeezing them as tightly together as he could. but it didn't work. all-for-one towered above him now, his broken and shattered body dripping with an unknown substance as he brough his mottled hands to his face. he picked at the skin around his temples, down to his jaw, slowly peeling his face back. he threw the skin to the ground, staining the pure-white ground with a wet shuck, revealing himself to tenko. his face was smeared around, teeth and hair and eyes arranged randomly on the surface of flesh, like a tumor. his voice slowed and deepened, slurring around as he cried, a hideous wail the echoed through the land.

"what have you done to me? why have you betrayed me, my son?" his voice bellowed through heavy, wet sighs. it sounded multiplied, like a choir, the words carrying with various resonance and distortion.

tenko couldn't speak. his mouth felt gummy, like it'd been tarred shut, he couldn't even scream. "help" he thought over and over, to no one at all. "help me".

all-for-one's face began to slop off in chunks, the meat piling at tenko's feet, spraying across his skin. the cries amplified, until it had become a shrill, piercing ring that rattled tenko's ears, his head swelling with pressure. he tried to scream again, to no avail. the noise pierced into his brain, sending tendrils of darkness to enter his vision through eyes slammed shut, a throbbing ache thumping horrifically to the tempo of the wailing. he was enshrouded in the nothingness, unable to move or see or scream...

he woke with a guttural groan, a trapped scream almost. you laid in the bed, coiled around a pillow, still sleeping soundly. he smiled gently to himself, desperate to remind himself it was just a nightmare. a nightmare, that's all. but his body twisted still, his insides churning with an unbearable, feverish heat. he took a slow, deep breath in, doing his best to slip off the bed and onto the floor. he took small steps, not bothering for his cane, swaying as his stomach reeled. he swallowed the rising bile hurriedly as he cracked the door open, slipping out of the room and shutting the door fast enough to stumble into the bathroom with shaky legs and quivering belches.

lurching for the toilet, he heaved and retched, emptying the contents of his stomach rapidly, salty tears stinging his already burning face. fuck, it stings. but a part of him took comfort in the sickening release, like it was siphoning the darkness out of him. he had explained it to you once, after a particularly difficult night, that it felt like he was bloodletting, releasing the past from his tired body and sweating the fever away. you had denied it, discouraging him from making peace with it and handing him an anti-nausea pill.

you didn't like how sick he always was. you despised it, even. he was already so frail, so thin and willowy, the thought of him spending his nights hugging a toilet bowl and being happy about it made you ache with disdain. it wasn't something you could argue with him, but fuck man, it was like you were watching him fade every day that passed.

you had done your best with feeding him, overloading his body with nutrients and vitamins, making him drink green smoothies and wellness shots, handing him calorie-mates throughout the day, encouraging him to eat with his favorite foods and drinks. you even learned how to make ohagi* for him, but even with a stomach full of the BRAT diet and Zofran, he would drain himself dry.

he felt the resentment for it, too. but he was too tired to try and stop it. he knew you didn't and couldn't understand him deeply enough, no matter how badly it hurt the both of you. he couldn't make it stop. the nightmares, the vomiting, the crying, the screams...he couldn't stop any of it.

his body crashed over with a wave of exhaustion, and he let his body fall completely to the floor, slumping onto the cool tile, the contact against his burning skin shocking him a bit. he was too scared now to move, already worried he woke you previously with the sounds of him vomiting. he squeezed his eyes shut, the action feeling pointless since the nightmare, but to his surprise it was dark and calm inside. he shuddered, the tears knocking from his eyelids onto the floor gently, cascading down his face with soft, shaky sobs. all of this is pointless. everything hurts, nothing matters. i should have died. i wasn't meant to live. i miss my grandma. i miss mon. i miss mommy, and hana, and grandpa. the thoughts ran rampant through his shattered mind, repeating over and over in his head with the same piercing voice he heard in his nightmare. the war should have killed me, this isn't worth it. i'm not worth it, they deserve to live better. i hate myself. i hate this. it hurts, god it fucking hurts, i wish i had died.

you wake slowly, stretching out and turning over to find tenko gone from bed. fuck, you spring up, where is he?

you slip out of bed and find his cane still propped against the nightstand, his wheelchair sat in the corner of the bedroom. he must've walked. how long has he been gone for? fuck, i feel so bad. you open the door and tread down the hallway with featherlight steps, nervous to scare or shock him. the hall light was on, the bathroom door closed. you reach out for the door, bracing yourself for the impact of another night-terror from him.

you find him laid out on the ground, curled into a fetal position, the scent of sick hanging heavily in the bathroom. you shake off the pang of disgust as you crouch to meet him, placing a hand softly but deliberately to his back, alerting him of your presence.

"tenko? baby, are you alright?"

your voice feels distant to him at first, like he's hearing it through a wall or dome. he blinks away the film of tears and props himself on his arms, shaking slightly.

"i'm okay, sorry. nightmare again." he cracks out, but his eyes are bloodshot, his lips cracked and bleeding. you take him into your arms, holding him and brushing the strands of sticky hair out of his face. he sits rigid for a while, before his voice cracks, and in the softest voice, he cries out.

"i hate being sick".

suddenly, he breaks, falling into your shoulder, gripping onto you as tight as he can. he sobs thickly, staining your shirt with tears. your own eyes well up, feeling that burn in your throat as you rock with him, shushing him through your own bout of cries.

"it's okay, ko. i know" you repeat to him, pressing your lips to his head, kissing his soft white hair. you comb through it with your fingers as he bawls, letting him feel it.

as your fingers drag through the tendrils, you notice something. through tears, you tell him, "your hair is growing".

it doesn't seem to phase him until you repeat yourself, this time adding; "it's black".

he grabs at his head with a panicked look, eyes wide as he pulls from you. "what?"

"your hair baby, its growing in black!" you laugh through swallowed cries, and reach for the little cosmetic mirror on the counter. you start pulling his hair back gently to show him, handing the little mirror to him. his roots, a very small sliver of length, are a deep, rich black.

"my...my family had black hair". he sniffles, wiping his face with the back of his hand. you smile at him with a quivering lip, kissing his forehead. he hiccups as his crying slows, the fervent episode finally lulling. he nods and sets the mirror down, shaking still.

for some reason, it made you feel at ease. as if the growth of his hair was a sign that maybe, finally, he'd started to heal even a bit. and no, it wasn't going to be perfect. it was going to be like this, for a very long time. maybe even forever. it was hard. the grief was indescribable, you were mourning someone who stood right in front of you. the man you fell in love with, tomura shigaraki, had died. in his wake, he left tenko shimura. but not only did you have to get used to him and get to know him, so did he. and as long as you were together...it might not be as hard.

"we should get a puppy".

...

*a/n: 1. ohagi (botamochi) is a traditional japanese confectionary made with glutinous rice and a layer of red bean paste. it's typically consumed in the autumn and spring months; in autumn it is called ohagi because the color of the paste resembles the color of the "hagi" flower that blooms in japan's autumnal months, in the spring, it is called botamochi named after the peony flower that blossoms in spring. (source) 2. ohagi is shown as tenko's favorite food in mha volume 24, chapter 234: destruction sense.