#finally got the energy to work on this again

[sylusonychinus]

Day 5 - Love and Babysitters (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Summary: What if the Love and deepspace characters turned into toddlers ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

a/n: i was inspired by the anime gakuen babysitters :3

Zayne – The Moody Nap Refuser

Zayne was the grumpiest little prince you had ever babysat. His two moods were dramatic sulking and pretending he wasn’t tired.

Hated nap time with a passion. The moment you mentioned it, he’d frown, cross his arms, and glare at you like you just betrayed him. “I don’t need naps. I’m big.”

If he got even a little sleepy, he’d start yawning, then immediately deny it. “I’m NOT tired. I’m just… thinking.” Thinking while rubbing his eyes and swaying on his feet.

You tried to read him a bedtime story to lull him to sleep, but he just kept dramatically groaning, “Ugh, this is boring,” while fighting to keep his eyes open.

He had a habit of curling up in random places when he finally gave in—on the couch, under the table, or even inside a laundry basket. But the moment you tucked him into bed? Instant protest. “I wasn’t sleeping! I was just—just resting my eyes!”

If you tried to leave after he finally dozed off, he’d grumble in his sleep, “Stay.” You were now trapped.

Zayne was a little ball of stubbornness who had one sworn enemy: nap time. The moment you mentioned the word, he crossed his arms, furrowed his brows, and glared at you as if you had just betrayed him. “I don’t need naps,” he huffed, yawning almost immediately after. When you pointed it out, he scowled. “That wasn’t a real yawn.” For the next hour, he dramatically threw himself on the couch, claiming he was just resting, while his eyelids drooped lower and lower. You tried reading him a bedtime story, but every few pages, he groaned, “This is so boring.” The irony? He was asleep before you even reached the end. You sighed in relief—only for him to grumble in his sleep, “Don’t go…” Congratulations. You were now trapped beneath a grumpy, napping Zayne.

Caleb – The Overly Curious Chaos Machine

Caleb was a walking question mark. If he wasn’t asking why, he was pressing buttons, poking things, or running at full speed toward potential disaster.

Everything was a mystery to be solved. “Why is the sky blue?” “Why do I have to eat vegetables?” “Why do you look so tired?” (Because of you, Caleb.)

He was obsessed with gadgets. If there was a button, he would press it. At one point, he almost turned off the Wi-Fi, which was arguably a worse disaster than spilling juice all over the couch.

His favorite pastime? Taking things apart. If you lost sight of him for five minutes, he was either dismantling a remote or trying to “fix” the toaster (which wasn’t broken in the first place).

The scariest moment was catching him trying to poke an electrical socket with a spoon. When you yanked him away in a panic, he just tilted his head and asked, “But what happens if I put it back?”

The only way to keep him still was handing him a puzzle or something mechanical to tinker with—but that only worked for ten minutes before he was off causing trouble again.

Caleb was a whirlwind of curiosity and boundless energy, a tiny scientist with no regard for safety or limits. The questions never stopped—“What’s that?” “Why?” “How does it work?”—and for every answer you gave, he immediately had three more. His fascination with technology meant that if he saw a button, he had to press it. You once caught him with the TV remote, clicking every button at once. “What happens if I press all of them?” he asked, eyes shining with anticipation. (No, Caleb. Please don’t.) Danger? He had no concept of it. If there was something to climb, he was already halfway up before you could stop him. “I’m testing gravity!” he declared moments before nearly toppling off a chair. He had a habit of getting into things he absolutely shouldn’t—like the time you found him unscrewing the batteries from a clock. When you asked what he was doing, he simply blinked at you and said, “I was fixing it.” The clock, of course, wasn’t even broken. Despite his chaotic nature, he had a love for building things—Legos, block towers, even pillow forts—but five minutes later, he’d knock them down just to see how they collapsed. And his love for words was just as intense. The moment he learned a new one, he had to use it. He overheard someone say “catastrophe” once and, for the rest of the day, everything became one. “Oh no, my juice spilled! This is a catastrophe!” he gasped dramatically. You sighed, rubbing your temples, wondering how you were going to survive babysitting him for the rest of the day.

Xavier – The Shy Clingy One

Tiny Xavier was the definition of a koala. He refused to let go of you, always staying within a two-foot radius.

Super shy. The first time you showed up to babysit, he hid behind the couch and peeked out every few minutes, deciding whether or not he trusted you.

Once he warmed up to you, he latched onto your leg and refused to let go. If you moved, he shuffled along with you like a tiny shadow.

Didn’t like loud noises—if someone dropped something, he’d flinch and look up at you with big, watery eyes like the world was ending.

If he was nervous, he’d grip onto the hem of your shirt and hide his face in it. When you asked what was wrong, he’d just mumble, “Too scary…”

But once he felt safe? Total sweetheart. He’d bring you random objects like little toys or stickers and say, “For you.” (Even if it was just a rock he found outside.)

If he fell asleep on your lap, congratulations. You were now permanently stuck because any slight movement would make him whimper in protest.

If Caleb was a walking hurricane, Xavier was your little shadow, never straying more than two feet away from you at any given time. The moment you arrived, he peered at you from behind the couch like a shy kitten, big eyes watching you with quiet caution. You knelt and waved, offering a soft greeting, but he only stared. After a full minute of silence, he finally mumbled, “…Hi,” his voice barely above a whisper. Once he warmed up to you, though, there was no escape. He clung to you like a second skin, gripping the hem of your shirt whenever you moved. If you sat down, he immediately climbed onto your lap, tucking himself against your chest as if that was where he belonged. Loud noises startled him, and if someone knocked too hard on the door, he buried his face in your sleeve, his small voice trembling. “Too scary…” he whispered, his little fingers curling into your shirt for comfort. At some point, the warmth and safety of being near you lulled him to sleep, his tiny body curled up against you mid-cuddle. It was absolutely adorable—but also an unexpected problem. The moment you even thought about shifting, he let out the softest, most pitiful whimper, making your heart clench. You sighed in defeat, leaning back into the couch, resigned to being his pillow for the foreseeable future.

Sylus – The Mini Rebel

Sylus was trouble with a capital T. If he was quiet, it meant he was up to something.

Had a mischievous streak a mile long. The second you turned your back, he was either climbing on something, hiding in a cabinet, or sneaking a snack he wasn’t supposed to have.

If you caught him doing something bad and asked, “Did you do this?” he’d just blink up at you with wide, innocent eyes and go, “…Nope.” (Even though his hands were covered in marker ink.)

He LIVED for hide-and-seek, but only when he was the one hiding. One time, you couldn’t find him for a solid twenty minutes—turns out, he had curled up inside a laundry basket and fallen asleep.

If you tried to scold him, he’d give you a cheeky grin and say, “But you love me, right?” How were you supposed to argue with that?!

The only way to bribe him into behaving was snacks. The kid had a bottomless stomach, and as soon as you offered food, he’d (temporarily) behave like a tiny angel.

Sylus was trouble—the kind with a mischievous grin and the speed of a ninja. If he was quiet, it was never a good sign. The first time you turned your back, you caught him halfway up the counter, smirking like he had just pulled off the greatest heist. “Sylus,” you warned, narrowing your eyes. He flashed you an innocent smile. “I’m not doing anything.” Then, before you could stop him, he leapt off like a tiny daredevil, landing with a victorious laugh. To him, everything was a game. If you told him not to touch something, it instantly became his life’s mission to do exactly that. When you caught him stuffing cookies into his mouth, he gave you the most innocent wide-eyed look, even as crumbs rained from his lips. “What cookies?” he mumbled, feigning confusion. Bath time was another battle entirely. He fought tooth and nail to avoid getting in, but the second he was in the water? He refused to get out. “Five more minutes,” he insisted, splashing playfully. Five minutes turned into twenty, and by the time you finally dragged him out, he was already planning his next great escape. The worst, though, was when he disappeared for a full twenty minutes, making you panic. You searched every room, every corner, dreading what kind of trouble he had gotten into—only to find him curled up in the closet, giggling to himself. “I wanted to see how long it’d take for you to find me,” he admitted proudly, as if this was some grand experiment. If he wasn’t so ridiculously cute, you might have throttled him.

Rafayel – The Mini Prince

Even as a toddler, Rafayel acted like he was born royalty. If something wasn’t to his liking, he’d sigh dramatically like he was carrying the weight of the world.

Picky about everything. He refused to eat anything green. If his juice wasn’t in the right cup, he’d just stare at it and say, “This is… unacceptable.”

If you gave him a snack that wasn’t his favorite, he’d politely push it back to you and say, “You can have it.” (Sir, just eat the crackers.)

Didn’t like getting dirty. If he got even a little bit of mud on his hands, he’d hold them out like he was personally offended. “Fix this.”

The drama. If he tripped and scraped his knee? “I fear this is the end for me.” If you brushed his hair wrong? “You’re ruining me.” (Raf, it’s just hair.)

Despite all his complaints, if you gave him a hug or ruffled his hair, he’d get all pouty and pretend he didn’t like it—but his ears would turn red, giving him away.

And then, there was Rafayel. Even as a toddler, he carried himself like a prince—dramatic sighs, picky eating, and a general air of someone who believed he was destined for greater things. While the others ran around causing chaos, he sat elegantly on the couch, watching it all unfold with a quiet, unimpressed expression, as if he were above such childish antics. When you handed him a cup of juice, he barely spared it a glance before sniffing, “This is… unacceptable.” You blinked at him. Sir, it’s literally apple juice. His standards extended to food as well; anything remotely “green” was immediately pushed aside with a solemn shake of his head. “I don’t like green things,” he declared, as though it were a deep-rooted personal tragedy. Getting him to play was its own battle. He didn’t do “messy” things, and the second his hands got even slightly dirty, he held them out to you with a look of pure distress. “Fix this,” he demanded, eyes pleading yet expectant, as if you were his personal attendant. But despite all his prim and proper habits, he wasn’t entirely immune to affection. When you ruffled his soft hair, he let out a quiet huff, scowling at you—but his ears turned the slightest shade of red, betraying the fact that, maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind it as much as he pretended to.

You deserved an award for surviving a day with these five chaotic toddlers. Between Zayne’s nap-time stubbornness, Caleb’s endless curiosity, Xavier’s clinginess, Sylus’s mischief, and Rafayel’s royal demands, you were EXHAUSTED.

…But when they all eventually fell asleep, curled up in little blankets, you had to admit—maybe they weren’t that bad. (Even if you weren’t signing up for babysitting duty again anytime soon.)

[f1fantasys]

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 4

Summary - events following that morning.

Warnings - smut, f! receiving oral, p in v sex, ANGST.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

''Mmm, yeah, got it'' he said, deep British accent coming through.

You winced at the hurt look in his eyes before he shook his head, a look of disgust thrown your way.

You wanted to react, almost justify yourself, but you held back.

Lando had no right to react like this. Why did he think it was okay when he did it, but not when you did? Still, it didn't make it easier being in this situation. You didn't sleep with Mitch to get a reaction from Lando. You slept with him because you were a vulnerable and emotional roller coaster and he happened to be there for you.

Time stood still for a couple of minutes, Lando's eyes turned shades darker, having an anger you'd never seen before, not at anyone else and certainly not towards you.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, you slammed the door closed on him. Not interested in what he had to say, no matter how wrong it felt to shut him out like this.

You turned towards Mitch who was still lying in bed, concern etched over his face as you leaned your body back, trembling at how the last few minutes unfolded.

''You okay?'' Mitch asked, climbing out of bed and working on wearing his clothes again.

You couldn't have reacted faster if you wanted to, because desperate to stop him, you lunged forward, stooping him from getting dressed.

''Stay? Please'' you whispered, afraid he'd say no. This probably wasn't a good idea but your body was craving a good fuck, and fortunately or unfortunately, Mitch was at your service, hopefully.

But he smiled, before his hands were on your thighs, lifting you up before practically throwing you on the bed.

Hovering above you, Mitch leaned down to feverishly kiss you, sloppy but slow, tongues battling each other while his hands roamed your body, ripping his t-shirt off of you.

You groaned at the feeling of his hot tongue lapping at your hardened nipples, gripping at his hair tightly in the hopes he'd give you more than that.

''Please, Mitch'' you begged.

He kept his eyes on yours as he moved his mouth lower down your torso, spreading your legs wide apart before finally giving your cunt the attention it craved.

''Fuck'' you hissed, fisting the bed sheets as his tongue devoured your pussy, bruising your clit because he was relentless, and not wasting time in thrusting two fingers through your hole.

''Yes, please, oh god'' you moaned, already feeling an impending orgasm, and with a few flicks on your clit, you were gushing all over his face, though he didn't slow down one bit.

''Need you, please'' you whined breathlessly, quickly following up with more moans.

''Know you got one more in you before I fuck you'' he said, his roughly morning voice turning you on even more.

''Hmm, want y-'' you were cut off quickly when Mitch added a third finger to the mix, each thrust brushing against your g-spot which had you let out a series of pornographic moans, and in no time another orgasm took over your body, your fluids oozing out of you as he licked you clean of every drop.

''Such a fucking good girl'' he praised you, bringing his lips up to yours for a peck before shoving his glistening fingers into your mouth.

You don't know where you got the sudden burst of energy from, but you somehow managed to flip your positions so you were now straddling him, but, before you could even make a move or comprehend what was happening, Mitch had lined his dick with your cunt before thrusting up harshly.

It took a few relentless thrusts from him for your brain to catch up to what was happening. ''Fuck, Mitch, condom!'' you all but yelled as he suddenly stopped his movements, slipping out of you with ease.

''Shit'' he hissed, as you quickly climbed off him and reached for the packet on his side table.

You ripped it open eagerly before sliding it down his thick shaft, quickly resuming your position, and sinking down on him again.

You moaned at the feeling, walls clenching almost painfully around him as you started a quick pace, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on to him sliding up and down his dick.

''That's it, fuck, so tight'' he mumbled, pulling you down for a dirty kiss and bring his hand up to pinch your clit.

''Fuck, Mitch'' you panted, another orgasm threatening to take over your body that already felt like jelly so Mitch had to meet your halfway, thrusting his hips into your brutally.

You were done for when he leaned forward and bit down on your nipples, rolling them between his lips before swirling his tongue around the buds. Your orgasm gushing through you as your body collapsed down onto his, as he picked up the pace, chasing his own high now.

Your mid blanked, body shaking, and before you knew it Mitch had swapped your positions, him now towering over you as he pounded in and out of your cunt. You could feel his dick start to twitch, the feeling of it sending your body over the edge again as you cried out his name, and it wasn't long after that he followed behind you, his hips jittering as he came inside the condom before letting all his weight fall on you.

A sheen of sweat had long covered both your bodies, and the cool air now that you came down from your high had you both shivering.

Eventually, Mitch pulled out, helped you clean up, and gave you a quick pep talk on how not to get your heart broken. It was all good humor but he cared about you, and you were just grateful he was there. You didn't know when next you'd see him, but you'd both agreed to keep in touch more often.

The flight back to Monaco had your mind spiraling. You wanted to hate Lando, be mad at him, but you couldn't. He'd become a constant in your life and now with everything going on, you don't know if you'd every recover from losing someone like him. He quickly became your world, neither you nor him realizing it.

The weeks that went by after were a blur. You felt like you were functioning on auto-pilot - just for the sake of it. More often that not, your Instagram was filled with new Lando and Magui pictures, the it couple at the moment.

A random Tuesday night there was a knock at your door. It was well past 12am, and when you opened the door all the air left your lungs.

Lando stood there, a Quadrant tracksuit and backwards cap. Looking sexy as fuck.

''Can we...talk?''

You let out your breath, tears already prickling your eyes because of the sensitive soul you were. You knew you'd have to face him at some point at the races, but right now you now you wished you had a bit more time to build up a few blocks to protect your heart.

''There really isn't anything to say...'' you said, not moving to let him in.

He gave you pleading eyes, and eventually you stepped to the side, letting him walk in to your lounge.

There was a time where as soon as his foot was through the door, he's be kissing you senseless before throwing you over his shoulder, walking to your bedroom to fuck you like there was no tomorrow.

Not tonight though.

You sat at opposite ends of a couch.

Finally, he broke the silence with a chuckle, quoting you, and catching you off guard.

''There really isn't anything to say..yeah..easy for you to say, what with fucking Mitch so quickly''

''Lando seriously, grow the fuck up. How is it okay for you to move on, and not okay for me to?''

''Move on from what? We were nothing, it was just sex''

His words crushed your heart, but you held back your tears because he didn't deserve to see you like this.

''Yeah, exactly, it was just sex, so why is me fucking Mitch at the minute a problem? you said, voice like stone.

''You're over reacting'' he sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair.

''Am I? You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk''

He stayed silent.

''Like i said, i have nothing to say. You're the one who decided to stop...the sex, whatever..so why are you here?''

Lando's eyes found yours with a look you couldn't place, anger? hurt? pleading? you weren't sure.

''Lando'' you pressed, standing up, hoping he'd get the hint and leave because you were this close to breaking down.

''Magui's pregnant''

2 words.

2 words that threw you off. You body suddenly feeling like jelly, and not in a good way. Your mind went back to all the good times you had with him. How you more than often allowed yourself to picture an actual future with Lando because he always promised you the world and more. He tret you with such an intensity that wouldn't be there if you were regular fuck buddies. There was almost so much more with him. And it wasn't like you jumped straight into bed the first time you saw him. No. You'd become such close friends, who grew into a friends with benefits relationship. You'd respected him too much to only want him for a shag. And now he confirmed that it was just that. A good shag from time to time.

''What?'' you barely whispered, sitting down again, a few tears rolling down your cheek as your whole body heated up.

''Yeah...'' he said, before he got up, and without looking back at you, walked out of your apartment.

You sat there in shock, a wave of sadness washing over you as your body trembled. It was truly over. He was having a baby with someone else. You couldn't help but let a few sobs leave your body, your heart aching in a way you never thought possible. Also, what did he gain by telling you this and walking out on you?

As you went to bed that night, another thought crossed your mind and broke you even more. It had only been around 5 weeks since Lando said he was seeing Magui. Surely she couldn't already be pregnant, right?

Unless they got together while the two of you were still...

Another wreck of sobs took over. You'd never labelled whatever you had going on, and you never discussed exclusivity. You certainly hadn't gotten with anyone else, but now with everything going on, you felt like a fool. He was Lando Norris. Of course girls were throwing themselves at him, and would he really deny them all just because of you?

You didn't think so.

A/N - hope you all enjoyed this twist!! Let me know what you think.

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[luckyblackcatxiii]

It's been an age and a day since my last CoS NPC design but I finally found the energy and inspiration to sit down and get around to designing one again! She's become rather prominent in our game finally so it felt appropriate to tackle Mrs. Bookclub herself: Fiona Wachter!

Our DM described her as being a woman of control who wouldn't let a hair get out of place, so I committed to that line of thinking by making her look sharp and precise, especially when compared to Lydia Vallakovich (WHO I THOUGHT I POSTED UP ON HERE YEARS AGO BUT I GUESS? I DIDN'T??? Or the post got deleted idk, that works I need to re-vamp her and her family a little anyway).

While being a no-nonsense type, she is a noblewoman as well so while not sporting much frill, she still has enough decoration on her to announce her status (as well as her extended mourning for the loss of certain family members through her choice of blacks and mourning cap/veil). I kept being wishy-washy on which late Victorian decade I wanted her dress to lean towards--since our Vallaki leans towards that era aesthetically--but I'd say her tastes range between late 1870s to 1880s.

[marifilue]

Unraveled

Wordcount: 3.2K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GF!Mutant!Reader (no use of y/n)

Tags: Violence, blood, established relationship, fluff, language, mature content.

Oneshot: You find Logan’s overprotective side endearing most of the time, but it can also be downright infuriating too. If only you knew how much he cares.

Being indestructible was a privilege Logan had, but it didn't mean he was invulnerable. And when it came to him, no enemy ever hit harder than his own damn temper.

People on the X-mansion have always had something to say about it before you got together with him.

"You know what you’re getting into, right?”

“Logan’s got a temper. That man’s a ticking bomb.”

His anger simmers beneath the surface like a ticking bomb, just waiting for the right trigger. And honestly? You get it. If you’d lived as long as he has—seen what he’s seen, lost what he’s lost—you’d be just as grumpy and short-tempered too. What you can’t wrap your head around is how, after all these years, he still manages to be a good man, the good man.

For someone labeled as hotheaded, Logan has a level of self-control that never fails to leave you in awe. He never lets his emotions get the best of him—not when it comes to you.

He’s never snapped, never lost himself in front of you. He’s just Logan. Rough around the edges, a little too protective at times, but always sweet, always caring. You wouldn't even change a thing about him, you love every part of the package.

He's your man, your Logan.

You’ve fought alongside Logan on plenty of missions. With your ability to absorb kinetic energy and immaculate combat skills, Professor send you in the field often.

Logan, on the other hand, isn’t always thrilled about it. His overprotectiveness grates on your nerves—he acts like it’s his job to keep you safe, even though you’ve proven yourself more times than you can count. A few scratches are nothing, but to Logan, even the smallest bruise is unacceptable.

Tonight’s mission is no different. The Professor is sending you and Logan to investigate an underground mutant fight ring—captured mutants, forced to battle for entertainment, all for the amusement of some sick humans.

Logan is not happy about it. Not just because of what’s happening inside that ring, but because Charles is only sending the two of you. His reasoning? You and Logan are the most skilled in hand-to-hand combat in which he's not wrong, and all you need to do is pose as a fighter. The rest of the team will be outside, monitoring the situation and ready to move if things go south.

Logan doesn’t trust it. And, knowing him, he sure as hell doesn’t like you walking into that kind of danger.

As the two of you walked toward the place, Logan brought a cigar to his lips, rolling it between his fingers before biting down and sparking his lighter. The brief flicker of flame illuminated his face as he took a slow drag, the ember glowing at the tip. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the cold night air, his voice cutting through the haze, low and firm.

"Remember, get in line and—"

"Step back—bathroom emergency excuse. I will not stepped into the ring for any reason. Just navigate the waiting room, look for an escape route—I get it, Logan. You've been at this a dozen times."

You cut him off, irritation slipping into your voice before he can finish yet another rundown of the plan. What was supposed to be a simple fifteen-minute walk now feels insufferable with him constantly reminding you of your own damn mission.

Logan shot you a sideways glance, one brow raised as he held his cigar between his fingers. You didn’t even spare him a look, your steps heavier than necessary as you stomped ahead.

"I will—"

"You will look for that Jeffrey guy—aka the big boss. Try to make a reasonable deal; he’s usually hanging around the bar, enjoying the show. If it doesn’t work out, we step back and come up with another plan. No mess."

You cut him off again, finally glancing his way—just in time to catch that look on his face.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply before planting a hand on his hip in that all-too-familiar stance. He stopped in his tracks and called your name. Once. Then twice.

"What, Logan?" you sighed, though the edge in your voice wasn’t as sharp as you wanted it to be.

"Just watch your back, darlin’. That’s all I’m asking." With that, he stubbed out his cigar and flicked it away.

"I know. I can take care of myself," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking ahead.

Logan slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and followed, his heavy footsteps trailing close behind.

What did he say about not getting into the ring? Right. Don’t.

And yet, here you were.

In front of you stood a terrified little boy, no older than ten. His skin had a reptilian sheen, scales catching the light, his wide eyes darting around in panic. He was next up in the ring. His opponent? A grown mutant with his skin made of a rock—bigger, stronger, and with a look that said he wouldn’t hesitate to rip a kid apart.

How the fuck were you supposed to let that slide?

Your mind raced. There was no time to argue, no time to negotiate. You pushed the boy back, stepped onto his foot as a silent stay put, and took his place. You wouldn’t kill the guy—just cause a scene, throw everything into chaos, and run. That way, the kid lived, and hopefully, nobody got hurt.

Meanwhile, across the room, Logan leaned back in his seat, cigar resting between his fingers, his free hand drumming against the bar.

“So whaddya say, buddy? My boss is willing to offer up to three hundred grand. Tempting, ain’t it?” His voice was smooth, calculated—playing the part just enough to keep Jeffrey’s attention.

The obese middle-aged man took a slow sip of his drink, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Three hundred grand? I almost made that last year.” He chuckled.

“Almost, right?” Logan pressed. “I could push it to five hundred. That is, unless you’d rather—”

Something shifted in the air. The crowd roared, a deafening wave of cheers shaking the room. Logan barely processed it—until he caught a glimpse of the ring.

And you.

His words died in his throat. The second he saw you standing behind that cage, facing off against a man twice your size, his entire body went rigid.

“What?” Jeffrey prompted, waiting for Logan to finish.

But Logan was already out of his chair.

He stormed toward the ring, moving faster than anyone could stop him. The metal chain-link fence buzzed with electricity, flashing every time someone made contact with it.

“HEY! STOP THIS! THIS IS A MISTAKE!” His voice cut through the noise, rough and furious, his knuckles turned white.

Inside the ring, your ears rang from the cheers. Through the blinding lights, you barely made out Logan’s silhouette, one arm raised to shield your eyes.

Yup he's there, yelling and frustrated—oh, the look on his face.. He's pissed.

Sorry, babe.

Logan’s heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse roaring in his ears as he watched you square up against the rock-skinned mutant.

He didn’t give a damn about the deal anymore. Five hundred grand, a million—none of it mattered. Not when you were standing inside that ring. Not when you were about to get hit.

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw locking as Jeffrey chuckled beside him.

“Well, well,” Jeffrey mused, swirling his drink. “Isn't she a sight for sore eyes”

Logan didn’t answer, his eyes locked on you. Under different circumstances, he would’ve smirked, said hell yeah, you are a sight for sore eyes, and maybe even thrown in a proud that’s my girl. But right now? What the fuck are you doing?

Inside, you could practically feel the heat of his glare from across the room.

Your opponent shifted his weight, cracking his knuckles. “You sure about this, lady?” he asked, voice like grinding gravel. “I don’t hold back.”

You ignored him. Instead, you glanced at the crowd, the flashing lights, the electric fence humming behind you.

Then, you locked eyes with Logan.

He was furious.

Not just pissed—but furious.

The kind of anger that made his entire body tense, veins pulsing in his forearms, his stance screaming don’t test me.

Yeah, you were in trouble.

But right now, you had bigger things to worry about.

The bell rang.

The rock-skinned mutant lunged.

You dodged, barely missing a fist that would’ve knocked you flat. The crowd erupted in cheers, fists pounding against the metal barricades.

Logan’s claws twitched beneath his skin. His control teetered on a razor’s edge.

Jeffrey let out a slow whistle. “Gotta admit, she’s got guts. But guts won’t save her.”

That was it.

Logan moved.

Without a word, he reached back—grabbed Jeffrey by the collar—and slammed him face-first into the floor.

The crowd was too fixated on the fight to notice. But the bouncers? They noticed.

Logan barely spared them a glance. “Anyone touches me,” he growled, voice low and lethal, “they lose a hand.”

Nobody moved.

Good.

Because Logan had one thing on his mind—and that was getting you the hell out of that ring.

He turned back to the fight just in time to see your opponent land a hit.

Not a clean hit—you’d blocked most of it—but enough to send you skidding backward, your boots kicking up dust. A bruise was already forming around your left eye, a small cut near your eyebrow marking where his rock-hard fist had landed.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, hands tightening into fists. “End this fast.”

And you did.

You twisted on your heel, faking left before darting right. Your opponent fell for it, leaving his side wide open.

One hit.

That was all you needed.

You slammed your palm into his exposed ribs, absorbing the kinetic energy from his movements and sending it right back into him. The impact sent him flying, crashing against the cage with a crack. The electric fence buzzed—and he went limp.

The crowd lost their minds.

But Logan wasn’t cheering. He was already grabbing a steel chair.

With one brutal swing, he smashed it against the electric fence. Sparks flew, and the power box short-circuited, cutting the current.

Then, he climbed the cage.

People screamed. Guards scrambled. But before anyone could react, Logan had already dropped inside.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was in front of you, his hands gripping your arms, his voice rough and low.

“Y'alright?”

You blinked. “Yeah—”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Good.”

Then, in one swift motion, he scooped you up—actually picked you up—and threw you over his shoulder.

“Logan!” you hissed, squirming. “Put me down—”

“Not a damn chance.”

His grip was firm, unyielding. He stepped over your fallen opponent and marched toward the broken part of the cage.

By now, the entire place was in chaos. People running, guards shouting. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was getting you out.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo arrived at the scene in no time, tending to what was left of the cage fighter mutants. Logan? He didn’t even look back, just left the cleanup to the rest of the team.

At some point before boarding the Blackbird, he finally set you down without a word. He took a seat, arms crossed, staring out the window as the rest of the team and the rescued mutants filed in. You sat across from him, watching as he deliberately avoided your gaze. But at one point, you caught him looking—just for a second—before he turned away just as quickly.

Once the mission was settled and the rescued mutants were given guidance, you found yourself talking with the Professor. That was when you saw Logan walk past the room, heading for the exit. He probably hadn’t realized you were there, deep in conversation, but the way his shoulders were set, the way he moved with purpose, told you everything.

You excused yourself and followed.

He walked fast, straight out the door and toward a cabin tucked away in the backyard of the X-Mansion. You picked up your pace, but you didn’t call out to him—tonight had him on edge, and you weren’t sure he’d want to talk. You’d barely spoken to each other since the mission ended.

Logan disappeared inside, shutting the door behind him. You hesitated just outside, only for a muffled groan to catch your attention. You took a step closer. Then—a loud crash.

The hell?

Your fingers brushed the handle just as another heavy thud echoed from inside. That was enough. You pushed the door open.

Logan stood with his back to you, fist slamming into the concrete wall. A fresh crack splintered across the surface, blood smeared where his knuckles had connected. But even as the wounds stitched themselves back together, he didn’t stop.

The door creaked, and he stilled. Then he turned—eyes widening when he saw you.

Shit. When did you get here? How long had you been standing there?

“Logan…” Your voice was quiet.

“I… What are you doing here?” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I didn’t know you were there. I—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “You shouldn't be here—” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking exposed, like he’d been caught in something scandalous.

Your grip tightened on the doorknob. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question—you already knew the answer. He was frustrated, needed an outlet. And he thought no one would see.

Especially not you.

Logan turned to leave the cabin, brushing past you with no force but you weren’t letting him walk away that easily.

“Logan, just listen to me will you?!” You called after him, your voice sharp with frustration.

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense. Taking that as your chance, you stepped closer "There was a boy, god he was so scared. He's supposed to fight that big guy, I can't let that slide Infront of me, Lo.." You stepped in front of him—giving him space, but making sure he had to see and hear you.

“Come on, that boy was walking straight toward his grave. I had the power to stop it, so I did.” Your fingers fidgeted, nerves creeping in despite your resolve.

Arms crossed, he kept his gaze ahead for a moment before finally looking down at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. You held his gaze, refusing to waver.

“You would’ve done the same if you were in my position,” you said, firm but pleading.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but a scratch wouldn’t do a damn thing to me. You?” He trailed off. His jaw clenched. “Anything could’ve happened to you.” His voice was quieter now.

“But it didn’t. I’m alright, okay?. Even if it had, it’s not gonna be your fault. It isn't your job to protect everyone, Logan.”

The second the words left your mouth, you knew you’d messed up. His posture went rigid, his head tilting as if he couldn’t believe what you’d just said.

“But it is my job to protect you,” he shot back, voice rough, raw. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you—if I was right there and I let it happen. How the hell do you think I’d live with that?”

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Alright, let’s just calm down—”

“No.” He said your name, voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s not fine. You always do this. Always act like some goddamn saint, and I hate it. Hate how you care so damn much about everyone else’s life but your own.” He unfolded his arms, hands flexing at his sides. “Your life it’s.... fragile, alright?”

He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. “One day, you’re here. And the next… who fucking knows? That scares the shit outta me. Please, just—”

His voice wavered. He shook his head, frustrated at himself, at you, at everything.

“Just have a little survival instinct. For your own sake. For mine.”

Your breath hitched. You’d never seen this side of him before—not like this. Not so openly terrified.

Slowly, you reached for his arms, his hands still twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them. He was shaking. Gently, you guided one of his palms to your chest, right over your heartbeat.

“I’m still here, Logan,” you murmured. “Still beating.” You pressed his hand against your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm beneath his palm.

His gaze flickered from your hand to your eyes. His thumb brushed absently over your skin, like he needed to remind himself you were here. That nothing bad happened.

His arm slid up as his gaze caught on the bruise near your left eye and the cut on your brow. He brushed away the blood with careful fingers.

“I don’t like that,” he muttered.

“I know.”

After a beat, he exhaled, finally breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t get caught screwing shit. Nobody were supposed to see that.” His hand dropped back to his side, suddenly withdrawn, like he didn’t think he deserved to be standing this close to you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. You could see the way he was trying to distance himself again, convinced he wasn’t worthy of your love. But you weren’t about to let him pull away—not tonight. Not after everything.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” you teased, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, tiptoeing to reach him. “Didn’t see a thing.”

His body went stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure how to react, he felt like he didn't deserve your touch. But then, with a quiet exhale, he melted into you. His arms circled your waist, pulling you in.

“Careful what you’re gettin’ yourself into, darlin’,” he muttered against your neck, voice low, warning.

You grinned, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, close, the space between you nonexistent.

Then Logan did what he always did when words failed him.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say. His lips pressed against yours with a firm but aching tenderness, like he was trying to apologize and promise you the world all at once.

You melted into him, your hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Next time,” he murmured, “we do it my way.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, brushing your nose against his. “No promises, sweetheart.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Nah. You’re immortal, remember?”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Doesn’t mean I’m invincible.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. I’d hate to think I don’t have an effect on you.”

Logan let out a soft growl, pulling you flush against him. “Oh, you’ve got an effect on me, alright.”

And just like that, the tension from the night melted away—not forgotten, but softened by the simple truth of what you were to each other.

A team. A pair. A damn disaster waiting to happen.

And neither of you would have it any other way.

[lazy-active-me]

Another trend we have to see is the following, everything that is happening in the us now is trickling down to Europe… So just wait ten years and see all the little trumps in Europe… let’s hope we ain’t got Germany taking it too far again… Homelessness is going to be on the rise in Germany if things don’t change. Major cities with have the capacity to offer a lot of jobs also have the problem of record high rents and housing prices that don’t seem to fall. Which inevitably not only leads to more and more people ending up with a too low income, driving them into poverty or depending more and more on the state. If our economy does not change on a global level, it will not matter anyway, since we will see the wars occurring that we got warned about in school by some teachers… Since no country wants to ruin their economy in the short run over climate change wich will only impact them in the long run. Capitalism is a system which is working for certain developments, but not all. Climate change is not offering enough profit until our politics and economies are changing globally… and if that ain’t happening, we are just running into water wars, wars over land that is still usable for farming…

I am not saying I know the answer, but we all know sure as hell, what we are doing now ain’t it. Big companies are washing their conscience in how many jobs they are generating and oh how much of their money they invest in the environment. If you break it down though and put their real impact on waste production, energy use, resource use and co. In relation to what they make, how much they invest into their employees (categorize them btw for gods sake, so that we can see how much managers vs casual workers earn) and how much they put into actual projects that have a positive impact on the environment… I bet most of us will know that it will be off kilter… but well. Just me ranting about shit… and people will always say well that is how it works though… Well fucking know that it is how things are going right now. I don’t want an all liberal party to rule, neither an all out conservative… Man I want that people finally can put their ego to the side and work together. We are living on the same planet, breathing its air , drinking its water. We all have the same right on this world. Fucking cut the crap, we already are in a global economy, but we are still operating it on a broken system that has more holes in it than a Swiss cheese. Make taxes the same in all countries —> there ain’t no gains anymore for big players to move around since they pay the same everywhere —> get a global loan policy —> they can not move their factories in hopes of using cheap labor —> make a set of base cost for resources —> they can not move around anymore for getting things cheaper… — > Policies for using resources more efficiently —-> to avoid useless waste being shipped around the world and filling dumps —> this obviously means we have to take more care when designing shit, so that it lasts is efficient and can be repaired more easily. —> Repair before you get a new product… helps with the waste issues again… make borders open for anybody —> it is going to be chaotic for a while, but it will ultimately lead to a more densely populated world —> cities will grow —> since that is where the jobs are —> Environments where the situation is not good will move to others —> first there will be conflicts yes but having more people live in specific areas will lead to more space for nature to regain it’s health.

Environmental zones —- they are left to their own devices after a little help —> more diversity and more vegetation—> more co2 bound

There is so much that can already be done, but it does not give an economical edge that is big enough yet for people to commit. So we rather run the old system dry until it collapses, and don’t believe the big players will be hurt most… the privateers will have enough power to get out of it decently.

Source

[kiyzukiy]

Cat distribution system

Sypnosis: Life is hard as it is, so all we all wish for is some comfort in a furry friend. No one accounted for life playing funny tricks so what would happen if you find Caleb in a trash dumpster?

Tags: reader x Caleb, fluff, Cat!Caleb, crack?, funny (hopefully)

A/N: I got inspired by another fic I found on here with a similar flow. If anybody knows what I'm talking about please tag that person. I don't want to disregard any original ideas! >.<

As always, if I missed any tags please tell me.

Word count: 4.8k

I hope you enjoy <3

Divider by me

You groan as you stretch yourself out. Sitting too long is always such a hassle. Tired bones and you felt like your muscles have calcified. If you wouldn't have moved now someone could have mistaken you for a stone statue the way you were perched at your work desk and scrolled endlessly through files. 

Doesn't matter now though. The clock finally releasing you from your workload. Tomorrow was also a day and the files wouldn't suddenly grow legs and run away. No need to do overtime today. 

You rubbed your face. Trying to shake off your exhaustion and slowly blinking the dryness in your eyes away. One more stretch that let out a satisfying crack in your back and you stood up. Packing your things together and making sure that this time you also took your thermal mug with you. Waving your coworkers goodbye you made your way home. Head already in the clouds with your game. Planning your time out of doing your dailies and just admiring your favourite fictional man. A pity that they don’t build men like that in real life.

The chill evening air hitting your face made you shiver the first step you took outside. Cuddling up in your coat and wrapping your scarf up just a tad higher you began your track home. 

Fuck it's cold, you think to yourself. When would spring arrive and you didn't have to be out in this freezing weather anymore? Don't get me wrong, winter is something beautiful and when the snow hits the landscape it was akin to a fairy tale setting. The sunsets even more stunning with the low light and making everything glisten. Colours spreading over the horizon in deep violet and heartwarming orange. Frozen over roads just a bit slippery which made your way to work a small adventure when you played the game “do I land on my bum today or not?”. But enough was enough. 

You wanted the sun back in your days having had your fill with this gloomy grey cloudscape. Waking up when it was still dark out and going home when night greets you again was draining more of your energy than you liked to admit. What made matters worse wasn't even that it didn’t affect only you, but that the melancholic and cold atmosphere was spreading slowly over to the people around you. It was in the way minor inconveniences would grate the nerves of your colleagues or the small tick of the jaw of your boss. The forced smile in service people who normally would make it seem genuine. Point was: everyone was fed up and ready for the seasons to change. When was the last time you saw the sun actually? Was it last October? Two weeks ago? You don't remember anymore. Just- just a long time ago. Pretty sure. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but all you wanted was to feel the warmth again and getting your vitamin D in. 

A rustle next to you snapped you out of your self-pitying lament. Confused you turned your head to the right. Nothing. Just a dark alley. A car passed you by on your left, shortly illuminating a sliver of said alley. A dumpster could be made out but nothing exciting. You shrugged your shoulders and took one step, but another rustle stopped you once more. A sigh left you. Would you really go investigate? You swore this is how the stupid character out of a horror movie always died. This exact way but the curiosity in your mind and veins tried their very best to lure you into that alley to go look. One peak wouldn't hurt right? A man who wanted to drag you into it would have done it by now. There wouldn't be a more perfect chance than right now. The way you stood there like a fine lady in bewilderment. 

This is what you get when you forget the one time your headphones at home. If it would be any other day, you would have continued on. Having passed this particular alley countless times and in daylight it wouldn’t be as scary as it was in this instance. Hopping from one foot to the other, you were uncertain. Would you really? You also could just…leave. Never finding out and always wondering. Spending sleepless nights wondering what could have been in this very alley that made these rustling noises. Or you would forget about it as soon as tomorrow morning came. Maybe it was just the wind that blew over a leaf or bag. On the other hand this could be a cool story you could tell your friends about. Or you could get mugged. 

Alright fuck it. You go. Otherwise you would stand out here in the cold for the next ten minutes pondering about if this decision will have negative consequences on your life. 

Tentatively you took one step into the alley. Instantly your common sense kicked in and pressed adrenaline into your veins. My god, this is the way you would die. Mentally have written your testament and who you would leave behind what you took another step. 

“Hello?”, you asked hesitantly into the night. Frustrated with yourself you grunted. Naturally a serial killer would answer you out of the alley with “yes, behind this dark corner. I made sandwiches, you want one?”. 

You had half a mind just turning back around again, but as if on cue another rustle. This time followed with a bang out of the dumpster. You let out a breath of relief. Oh by the gods, it was just a stray animal…or was it? Nevertheless the strong grip of fear that held your breathing back let a bit loose and you made your way to the dumpster with sure steps. 

Your heart clenched in your chest at the thought that maybe an unlucky racoon got trapped in the dumpster and would meet an unsightly end in one of the waste disposal sites. Without a second thought you opened it and peered inside. Barely enough light from the street lights flooded one side of the dumpster and you saw- nothing. It was pitch black. Quickly you patted your pockets. First coat and then your pant pockets for your phone. One hand fished for it and rather clumsy you unlocked it to get to your flashlight. Now with your weapon of light you peered inside once more and this time you saw- trash. At first. A lot of it, nothing out of the ordinary for a dumpster in a lived in neighborhood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement and following it was your hand with your phone. 

“Naaww you poor guy. How did you end up in here?”, you cooed after you spotted a brown cat that had a completely black right arm. Its fluffy fur was completely damped and it looked very dirty. Also something you could expect of a stray cat. Slowly and cautiously you held out your hand to it as to not scare the cat away. 

“Come here. Let me help you”, you said in a low voice. The cat looked at you, then at your hand, rather unimpressed. In true cat manner it seemed like it wanted to say “I don't need your help puny little human”. You giggled. 

“Come on. I don't bite and as soon as you are out of the dumpster I leave you alone. What do you say?”, you tried to reason with the cat as if it could understand you. To your astonishment it acted like it did. Suspicious of your hand the cat sniffed it first. Deeming you not an immediate threat it rose up from its position and stepped closer to your hand and yourself. Slowly you dragged your hand to a spot where you could easily grab the cat and lift it out. 

“Alright buddy. I’m going to grab you now so don't make me regret it by scratching me”, you spoke more to yourself than the cat. You really didn't want to go to the next doctor and get a tetanus vaccine in. The cat still unimpressed with you followed your movement though. Securely you wrapped one hand around its ribcage and the other, after putting your phone away, beneath its hind paws and scooped it up and over the dumpster back on the ground. 

“There ya go”, you smiled down at the cat. “Didn’t even hurt.” 

The cat looked up at you and only then do you notice its blue eyes that really dipped into a deep violet. A splatter of yellowish green accompanied the irises. For such a beautiful cat to be a stray, you almost didn't believe it. 

Also, the cat didn't move. You fully expected it to dash away as soon as its paws were back on the ground but it just stood in front of you. Almost like it was waiting for something. 

“Go on now. Go home”, you crouched down and offered your hand again. “Or don't you have a home? Such a beautiful cat as yourself.” 

The cat once more went to your hand. Starting to purr as it rubbed its head against your hand. Demanding pats. 

“Yes”, you giggled. “Such a handsome cat. And friendly too. You must have a home, right?” 

The cat meowed as if it tried to answer you. Your heart broke a bit. For sure this handsome fellow had a home. As you absentmindedly patted the cat all over you looked around. You felt no collar around the cat’s neck and wondered who it could belong to. Thinking about what to do next, the cat started to rub itself around you. Bumping into you and almost pushing you out of balance. 

“Alright, alright”, you began patting it in earnest again. 

“So, how about I take you home with me for now and then just put up missing posters, hm? Is that a plan?”, you asked the cat. Meowing back at you, you took it as a yes to your plan. Inwardly you celebrated. The cat distribution system finally chose you! Maybe not for long but you now were in the possession of a new cuddly friend. You might not have anything at home but that could be easily fixed. This beautiful fellow also might not stick around for long but for however long you swore you would take the best care of him. Her? It? Right, you never ascertained which gender the cat had. Eh, whatever. As long as you didn't get attached to it and without much pain could give it away again, all was good. Right. Right? 

Future you will hate you for this decision. 

The cat stretched, walking around you once more and then pawing at your knees as if to beg to get picked up again. Opening your coat and scooping it up from the ground, you fulfilled the cat’s wishes. 

“My god. You are really friendly”, you mused to yourself and scratched the cat's head to which in return it purred even louder. 

Together you made your way out of the alley. The dumpster forgotten and your way home just a bit warmer. 

“Don’t run away, okay?”, you said softly to the cat before untangling it from your torso. On your track home it made itself very comfortable on you while you carried it. Its head often flitting from one place to another. You blamed the new height of perspective for the cat's behaviour. Couldn’t blame it, really. Imagine yourself getting hoisted up five times your own height and then carried around places that you never seen before. Now that would be an adventure. For the most part the breathing was calm so you didn’t worry that much. More surprised at the fact how the cat didn’t struggle once to get free. Just enjoying the free ride. 

Cat on the ground in front of the door of your apartment you dove one hand into your bag, trying to find your keys that you carelessly flung inside. With half an eye on the cat all the time. Not that it would decide in the last moment to make a run for it. Granted that it wouldn’t come far or could cats push open an apartment complex door? Probably not or the coincidence would just be big enough that one of your neighbors decided to go out in that exact moment as well. 

You shook your head off these thoughts. Cat was still on the ground and eyeing your door expectantly. Seemingly cat wasn’t even thinking about going anywhere but inside your apartment and here you were already thinking about all the different possible scenarios that would ensue when it ran away. Silly you. 

Key victoriously between your fingers you finally unlocked your home and cat dashed inside like the devil was after it. Puzzled you stood at your door for a bit. 

“Alright? Well…make yourself at home, I guess”, slowly trudging you went after it into your own four walls. Serotonin tingling your brain with the happiness that cat was very excited to explore its new home. 

Exhaustion slowly made itself apparent. Clawing at you and dragging your already tired body. Exhaustion and hunger but motivation wasn’t nowhere near you to make yourself food instantly. Cat on the other hand was curiously looking around. Taking in its new environment. Sniffing, patting around and jumping on shelves to get a better view. 

“Don’t throw it down, I swear to god”, you warned as you spotted cat near a vase with flowers inside. Body despite the sluggish feeling ready to jump to save the vase from its crashing end. Expertly the cat avoided the glass and danced around anything that was not stable. You let out a breath of relief. Automatically your body carried to your couch in the living room on which you rather unceremoniously slumped down on. Ah, finally home. 

_____

How the fuck did he get here? One moment he was in the deepspace tunnel, conducting a new mission and the next he had four paws. Trash surrounded him, it was fucking dark too. He could make out the sound of cars passing by and people walking on the street. Where was he? To his own surprise he wasn’t that cold until he realised that he had fur as well and when he tried to speak only a meow came out. In no way in hell did he turn into a cat, did he? No. What? 

In his moment of utter disorientation, a lid opened and a beautiful face peered down to him. Down? Ah, right. The cat thing. 

Caleb watched you fumble for your phone only to be blinded the very next moment by the harsh light of a phone flashlight. It took several blinks to get his bearing again. You reached out your hand to him. Now this was getting ridiculous. “Poor guy”? “How did he end up here”? Sweetheart, that's what he should be asking. Who the fuck are you anyway and why did you open up this-? Where was he? Is this a trash dumpster? Oh his fucking gods. If he could sigh in annoyance, he would. 

Caleb eyed your hand suspiciously. The smart move would be to take it. Considering everything, he couldn’t get out of this dumpster alone and what could be worse is that, tomorrow the dumpster could be emptied. Nor did he trust humanity enough that another friendly soul would come and pick him up or at least get him out. You were his only shot right now, even if he didn’t want to admit it. So? He sniffed you. Creepy in his own mind but he was a cat now. The least he could do was to make it look convincing. 

You pulled your hand closer to yourself as if to lure him out of his corner. As if he wouldn’t just go to you willingly. How long would he need to put up with this act? Irritation flared up within him. This is so beneath him. 

Scratch you? Yeah, why not actually? Instead he let him get picked up gently. Now was not the time to bite the hand that was feeding him.

The moment was faster over than he could comprehend. Swoop- and he was back on the ground. Caleb looked around. Alright, an alley and- you. In your full glory. Black pants, hair tied up, thick scarf around your neck, an open hanging coat and warm looking boots. Beautiful, pretty and cozy looking. Not a threat. A quick scan and he was certain you carried no gun. Not his worst choice, he thought. 

Let's make a run for it. What do cats normally do to get pity? Humans usually die to pet them. Swallowing his pride he went to you. Did he like to get touched? Sensitive question. If it would be his childhood friend, he wouldn’t mind but a complete stranger? In this form no less? God, that needed willpower and he was already running low because of this situation. Please let this all be a dream and he would wake up in a few moments in Skyhaven. 

“A home?”, yeah in the arms of someone else but that was not here. Just where in heaven sake was he? Get this over with, woman and just take him with you. 

Please, he meowed. Inwardly he sighed. Good lord…

Mercy was shown and you actually picked him up. Giddy and a happy smile on your face you wrapped him up in your coat. It was warm and against his own doing he began to purr at the sensation. Okay so maybe this wasn’t as bad as he imagined. Distracted a bit and sleep pulling at him, he let himself enjoy this small reprieve for a bit. 

Lights flitted by behind his eyelids and he looked around. First fact? This is not Linkon nor Skyhaven. Second, he didn’t recognise anything. If this was in fact a dream, his subconsciousness was running wild today. The only thing grounding him was you. Your warmth, your soothing touch and your somewhat familiar scent that he confused with that of MC. It wasn’t as overwhelming or confusing when he could nuzzle up to you for now. Just shortly, only for a bit. To get his mind back on track, you know? 

The walk you both took, well- you took with him being carried, was not long lived. You said something but he didn’t pay any attention. Something something not running away something something. Where would he go anyway? For christ sake he was a cat right now. First thing he needs to get rid off anyway. Second thing was to get back home. Like home. Once more begging to the skies above that this was a dream. A very vivid one. Caleb couldn't decide if this was a nightmare or not. Was he maybe more exhausted than he wanted to admit? Did he have an accident on his expedition and was now in a coma? Please let it be just that. Maybe also just cognitive training done by Ever. What does he know? 

He heard keys jiggling, a soft clicking of a lock falling back and then a door opening. The ash-brown haired man…uh cat made a run for it. Into the apartment! He stopped in his tracks to get everything in. Analysing your furniture and layout. There was one floor length window that opened up to a small, cozy balcony. A couch in an open space that he guessed was your living room. With a TV mounted to the opposite side of the couch. A lengthy cupboard underneath. On it a few nick-nacks: a charger cable connected to a tablet, a switch console and a bunch of books. The couch itself was decorated with plushies and cushions rounded up with a throw blanket. Some of the walls accented by warm pastel colours to widen the otherwise small space. He peered down one corridor and made out two doors. Guessing one of them was a bathroom and the other your own. 

Caleb inspected your walls. The one on the far end and left of the couch was more bookshelf than wall. Filled up almost to the brim but he spotted also there nick-nacks in between. He jumped on the couch arm and continued on another shelf. Slowly getting closer to your kitchen area. Once more he heard you say something. Bla bla not throwing down something. He had half a mind to fuck with you, but again not the opportunity to bite the hand that feeds him. Curious what you meant in the first place he looked back and felt the vase against his body. God it was so weird to see his fluffy legs and a tail too. Dirt clung to the fur and he wondered what he did before he regained his consciousness in that dumpster. But better not test what it would take to make you throw him out back on the street. For all he could know, you could be the one with answers. If not, he could still leave. 

Rustling and then a dull thumb. Caleb once more looked back. You all but collapsed on your couch and let out a sigh. Tiredness was written all over your face. Your body practically radiated exhaustion. The ash-brown cat didn’t notice before but how could he? Way too immersed in his own problems. Nonetheless were you kind enough to pick him up. Brave enough to go into that spooky alley. Hell, he wouldn’t have. Not without a gun at least. You also were nice enough to carry him here. Not once complaining. If he dares to say, happy to have him with you. Just as warm as he was. Disregarding that he smelled like the trash he lay in.

Suddenly you moved, like you just remembered something important. As if possessed you scrambled up and reached for your tablet. Okay? 

Back to discovering your place he left you to your own devices. 

Noises sprung from your tablet. An interesting melody and a woman singing. Just what were you doing? Playing a game? Well, he was done looking at your kitchen that was, well what could be interesting about a kitchen? It was a kitchen. Jumping from the counter to your table and back on the ground he tapped over to you. One last jump on the couch right next to you. What he saw next made his breath hitch. 

There she was. His childhood friend. On the screen…with another guy? Did you just took pictures of her with another man? Who was he? Some dude with white hair and a pose slung around his childhood friend. They looked happy together. Frozen in time for the picture. What is going on? Did you know her? How could you do this? How- what? How did you take pictures of her? Switching her poses like that? But why did it look so much like a game? Like a 3D rendering of her? What was going on? 

But as soon as he needed to process what he saw, your fingers deftly moved over the screen and collected some rewards in an…event? What? Huh? 

“Is it a new bug? Why can’t I select Caleb?”, you mumbled to yourself. Completely oblivious to the distress ball that he was right now. To your own confusion you couldn’t do anything with Caleb in your game besides recalling the memories you have obtained of him. 

The head of just mentioned man reared. What was happening? Did you know him? What was this game? Who are you? What is happening?! 

Enough, he jumped on your tablet. 

“What the- ey!”, you exclaimed and he just meowed back. That's what he wanted to yell right now. What was going on?! Answer him! 

“You can’t just- get off!”, you giggled. Not taking his jumbling, confusing emotions and obvious distress seriously. 

Okay, different approach. He quickly needed a different approach. Before he could come up with anything you picked him up once more and placed him beside you. Damn him right now for being nothing but an eight pound raging ball of fur. Take him seriously, god damn it! Caleb began to meow again and cursed inside his thoughts. One paw on your tablet, but you giggled again. 

“What is it? You also want to play?”, you smiled at him, picked him up. Again. Woman, do it one more time and he is going to forget his rational part about him and would really bite you. He needed answers and not pats. Oh- okay. You placed him on your lap. The tablet on your knees so he could have a good view of it. 

“Should I explain it to you?”, you continued on and began showing him everything the game had to offer. Beginning with talking with four different men, battling wanderers in bounty hunting or abyssal chaos up to the “main story”, as you called it, until the memories you collected of said four men. Him included as the fifth. What? Without thinking he raised his paw on “falling for you” and selecting himself. Not half a fuck given that he gave himself away, that he was, in fact, not a cat. That's the whole point though, wasn't it? He was a man! Not a damn cat! He was stuck here. God knows where and you! You just playing with her life, with his! With his life like it was a game?! 

These were…all his, well some of them anyway, memories he had with MC. The childhood friend he tried to protect at all costs. Given that his methods weren’t always as pure as he wanted them to be but more often than not necessary. All splayed out for your eyes to see and…rekindle them? Watch them over and over? Relive them?

“Do you like him?”, you asked in a soft voice and he turned to look at you. Totally not caring that he, a cat, was patting on your tablet with human like intelligence. Were you that tired? Half asleep already? 

Like him? He was him! How could he tell you that? So that you would explain further. Maybe he could figure out this way how he got here. Wrecking his brain he tried to come up with anything. Fuck it. Fucking dip this cat shit. Even more so than he already has. How blaringly obvious did he need to be? For your rather slow mind to comprehend what he means. 

Trying to figure out how to show you, tell you or rather scream at you that this 3D rendering of him was he, he put a paw on his image and then on his furry body. As well as he could at least. Which in result was him patting his image then getting up, sitting on his hind legs and putting his paw on his torso area. Caleb begged to the skies above that you understood his message but to his dismay you looked at him puzzled. Oh his fucking gods…

Alright. Different approach. This was taking all of his patience and he barely had none. 

Once more he put one paw on his image that beneath showed a short video out of the perspective of what he only could guess was MC. He didn’t want to think too long about it. Focus. Again he raised his other paw and put it on his chest. This time though he meowed and looked at you imploringly. Please, please let this be enough so you put two and two together. But even he realised that this was rather far-fetched and if this same thing would happen to him, neither would he understand what a cat would try to tell him. 

“What is it? Why-”, and then you looked at the screen that froze over the memory. “Hm?”

Oh my god, did you understand? Please! 

You looked past his small frame and he could see the thoughts behind your eyes. Yes, yes, yes. Yeah, he was Caleb! Come on. Give him answers!

“Nah”, you giggled. Not knowing what you might have said he just nodded with his head. 

“His name is Caleb, should I call you that as well?”, you thought out loud and stroked down from his head to his back. 

No! Yes, his name was Caleb but no! God fucking damn it. Just how was he supposed to tell you that Caleb was well- him. He was Caleb. The same man, now a cat in this universe, that you saw on that screen. Distraught, he wrecked his brain. Unfortunate for him there was no book or briefing or training he could have done to prepare him for playing charades as a cat. “How weird would it be if I named you after a otome game video character?”, you sighed. “God, I must be very lonely to even be considering that.” Maybe, but not the point here, woman. You could question your terrible life choices another time but right now, he needed you to figure out his image riddle!

~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*~~~*~~~*.~~~*

Henlo, to everybody that made it all the way down here! I plan on making this a multi part story, so stay tunned! If anybody has some cat involved stuff and want to see it here, don't be too shy to tell me about it <3

Thank you for reading, beautiful soul

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o yelling at the kids out of frustration

Request: Hiii, Love your work 😌 I was wondering how do you think Seventeen will react/handle if their significant other was to take their frustrations out on the kids by yelling at them from being so overwhelmed from them not listening. If you choose to write thank you 😊

A/N: This is the only reaction I rewrote almost six times, each time writing up to half of the members before clicking delete. When I read the request, it really intrigued me, and I had a clear idea of what I wanted to write even before starting. But at that moment, I wasn’t in the right position to sit down and type, so I had to wait a couple of hours before I did. However, when I finally sat down, suddenly I couldn’t express what I was thinking in words. I wrote this so many times, and it was me who got frustrated over it, but I have no kids of my own to yell at, lol (guys, no, be nice to your kids if you have any, though you probably don’t), or even SVT. Anyway, some versions were detailed and broad, and some were brief, but in the end, I didn’t like any of them, and I feel so sad. I hope you still like this, anon :( I really tried my best!

Seungcheol: You’re feeling overwhelmed, your patience wearing thin, and the kids aren't listening to you. Before you know it, you're raising your voice, but Seungcheol gently steps in. He’d very calmly approach the situation, pulling you aside if necessary. “Hey, I know you’re really stressed, but yelling at the kids isn’t going to help. They’re just trying to get your attention. Let’s take a step back, breathe, and talk about what’s going on with me. I’m here, okay?” He would make sure to address the kids as well, asking them to give you some space while also reassuring them that everything’s okay.

Jeonghan: Jeonghan would probably be the most understanding, trying to comfort you, but he’d still encourage you to find a better way to cope. You’re about to snap, but Jeonghan pulls you into a quiet corner. He rests his hand on your shoulder and speaks softly, “I get it, you’re at your limit, but let’s not let our frustrations out like this. It’s okay to be overwhelmed, but the kids need guidance, not anger.” He would reassure you that it’s okay to ask for help and that the kids need to see a more measured response, even if things are difficult. With all of that, he leans in to give you a hug, grounding you before you face the kids again and soothe any of your lingering guilt.

Joshua: He'd would be very very concerned about how you’re feeling. Your voice cracks with frustration, and he steps in. He places a hand on your arm and gives you a gentle look, “Love, I know it’s been a tough day. Let’s try to handle this with patience. You know how much the kids look up to you, you're their mom and they’re probably not understanding the stress you’re under. Let’s take a breath and communicate calmly.” He talks to the kids next, speaking in a measured way and reassuring you that things will get better.

Jun: You feel the weight of everything crashing down, and before you know it, you’ve raised your voice. Jun, noticing the shift, comes up to you. He'd would be calm and thoughtful and likely approach the situation with understanding and grace. “I can see that you're feeling really overwhelmed, and it’s okay to admit that. But yelling at the kids won’t help them understand what’s going on. They don’t know how to process your stress, but it's okay .” He gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s take a moment, and then we’ll handle this together.”

Hoshi: Hoshi would make sure everyone is okay, even if he has to act as the mediator. The energy in the room is high, and you can feel yourself about to lose it. And you lose it. He quickly interjects to not let it escalate, “Whoa, hold on! I know you’re feeling all sorts of things, but yelling isn’t the way to go. The kids probably don’t get what’s happening. Let’s try to express ourselves better, yeah? I’ve got your back. Tell me if you want me to take over.” He then walks over to the kids, placing a hand on their small shoulders and silently telling them to listen to their mom while also reassuring them that everything will be okay. He’s ready to take over if needed.

Wonwoo: Wonwoo would likely stay quiet at first, observing the situation before speaking up in a reassuring manner. You can hear the tension in your voice as you yell but he still remains calm, stepping forward with. He gives you a moment to breathe before speaking, “I know you're stressed, and it’s okay to have those moments. But they need us to guide them, not scare them. Maybe we can talk to them calmly, so they can understand what you’re going through. You’re doing your best, and that’s enough.” His reassurance helps settle your nerves, and you find the strength to handle the situation with a bit more patience.

Woozi: Woozi would probably be more reserved and silent, letting you handle it but would speak up if he saw the situation escalating. The tension in the air is thick, and you’re about to raise your voice again, but he steps in this time, “I know you’re overwhelmed, but raising your voice like that isn’t going to make them listen more. Breathe. Calm down and talk to them with a little more patience.” He stands beside you, watching the kids quietly, making sure things don’t escalate further. He'd then would make sure that you step back and refocus.

Dokyeom: Kyeom would be more into diffusing the situation, probably getting the kids to calm down and apologizing on your behalf. “Hey hey, don’t stress! I know the kids are acting up, but we can handle this! Let’s explain what’s going on instead of raising our voices. They’ll listen, I promise.” He would bring a level of warmth to the situation, wanting to make you feel like you’re not alone.

Mingyu: Mingyu, while normally a calm cutie guy, would probably be a bit stern but not too harsh. You’ve had enough, and Mingyu can sense it but he’d want you to see the bigger picture. “Look, I get that it’s tough, but yelling like that doesn’t help anyone. They’re just kids, and they’re not trying to make things harder. Let’s talk through it, alright?” He then takes charge of the situation with the kids, making sure they understand the importance of listening, giving you a chance to calm down and regain your composure.

Minghao: He would stay calm and focused, probably taking you aside to ask if there’s anything you need to talk about. He’d also be really good at reading the room and knowing when to intervene. “You’re overwhelmed, I know. But yelling won’t fix it. Let’s breathe and figure out how to handle this together. You don’t have to carry it all on your own. Just share with me.” Hao would offer you comfort, knowing that you might need a moment to decompress and think before re-engaging with the kids.

Seungkwan: I think Seungkwan would be a bit more dramatic in his response, but he’d want you to feel supported and that's exactly what you need at that moment. “Okay, okay! I know it’s frustrating, but yelling isn’t going to solve anything! Let’s calm down and talk to them but please don't yell. You’ve got this, I believe in you.” After his little speech, he might try to make you laugh, easing the tension and reminding you to keep things in perspective.

Vernon: Vernon would likely take a more non-confrontational approach, trying to lighten the mood but also bringing it back to the importance of communication knowing the situation needs to be calmed down. “I get that things are tough, but yelling doesn’t help. You’ve been so patient so far, so let’s just cool down and figure this out, okay?” He'd would keep it simple and straight to the point, focused on calming the situation down without any added pressure.

Dino: Dino might try to diffuse the tension but he’d still understand the importance of addressing the issue. “Woah, that was a little intense...let’s all take a breather, okay? We don’t want the kids to get scared. We can fix this. Let’s just talk it out!” He moves toward the kids, making sure they understand what it is to listen and take things easy while also offering you a chance to relax for a moment.

[cherrriesinthespring]

72 with dom!spencer pls 😫

again, tried to be inclusive!!

warnings: spanking, punishment, talk of later punishment and a belt but not shown, teasing, marks left on the reader. use of daddy!!

-----------------

a dinner party at rossi's mansion, the third one you'd been to since getting with spencer. you knew his coworkers pretty well, not only based on his perfect descriptions of each, but also you're friends with a few.

earlier that night, spencer had teased you relentlessly as you got ready. it started when you were in the mirror, styling your hair. he came up behind you, whispering in the low tone he knows you love "can't wait to pull on this later.."

you weren't used to him having such an interest in dirty talk, he was never one for it unless you were the one guiding him through something you begged for. one thing is though, he loves seeing you flustered.

slipping on your outfit, he came over again, as you perfected the last touches. "I've watched you put this on so I can figure out how long it'll take to get it off" that rendered you speechless.

you begged him to touch you, he refused. your asks got more and more simple, a kiss on the lips, on the cheek, a hug?! none of it. so you decided to make it impossible for him not to touch you, no matter what kind of touch it was.

the party began, you didn't drink all that much, neither did spencer. one glass of champagne loosened you up enough to put your plan into action. sauntering over to derek, you asked him to dance, why would he deny you?

spencer eyed both of you from across the garden, his hands dangerously close to your hips. the touch wasn't particularly intimate, but enough to set spencer off. derek seemed to notice the way spencer watched closely, fidgeting, his hands gripping his glass so hard it could've broke.

he doesn't say anything though he ignores it when spencer comes up behind you, murmuring something about "need to talk to you" biting back a smirk, you let go of derek and follow spencer inside, his steps are calculated, eager, he knows what he wants and he's going to get it.

once you two are tucked in a guest room, far off from any of the main lounge rooms (just to be safe) he scoffs at the innocent batting of lashes.

"what do you think you're doing, Y/N?" hes agitated, pulling his tie off as he speaks, reaching for his top button. your head tilts, acting all sweet and normal once again, voice light and airy.

"what do you mean?" that spurs him on further. he comes close, lips connecting with yours, his hand wrapping around your neck, practically dwarfing it.

"strip off your bottom half. lay down, ass up. now." as soon as he's finished you begin stripping off like he said, you know he won't ask again. you're also finally relieved you're getting touched.

you strip, he pushes you down over the mattress, your fave buries into the white fabric, it almost reminds you of a hotel bed. the sheets smell better than a hotel bed though, and you know it's rossi's place. it's probably cleaner than a-

'SLAP' and a moan erupts from you. you choke on the breath you attempt to take in and he smirks. another one, he can see the curve of your ass changing colours, the marks visible.

"please- FUCK, fuck- I'm sorry.. I'll be good, daddy i swear!" you're loud, but it's no worry, the party is out back. another loud slap echoes through the room and you hear it before you feel it. you're practically soaked, trying to rut your hips against the bed to feel something, it doesn't work.

"I'm going easy on you, you should be getting the belt right now " his hands play with the plush fat of your ass, squeezing and grabbing at what he can. another two slaps across marked skin and he pulls you up by the hair, smirking at the mess between your thighs.

"we're going back out there, keep your hands to yourself, and no more champagne. we need you to be sober for when we get home, eat too, you'll need the energy" you know he means it.

he's gentle as he slips your outfit back on, and can't help roughly shoving you against the wall to make out with you a little before intertwining your hands. you walk out with a smile on your face, as promised, you fill your plate and opt for soft drinks.

[midnight-mourning]

Valentine's Night

Hi @baby-bloos!! I was your secret valentine for dca pickup! Wrote a little something cozy and fluffy for you, hope you enjoy ^^

Word Count: 1226

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

You turn your car off, waiting a moment before resting your head against the steering wheel with a sigh. Today was… tough. 

Despite working at your current job for over half a year now, you were still adjusting. It wasn't childcare—food service, what you could find—and you felt entirely out of your element. But, it paid the bills, and the bills certainly needed paid. 

It was just a shame the hours were so long, you hated leaving your bots alone like that for so long. They arguably had a lot more adjusting to do than you, while you'd lost your job, they'd lost pretty much everything. Their home, their friends, and their job too. All of it in one fell swoop. 

It was why when they asked how things were going and the likes you kept up a smile and just simply said they were fine. They deserved rest, a life free of worries after everything. It was your job to give that to them.

After another few moments resting, you sit up, heading inside finally.

Another downside to this job, you didn't get holidays off. In particular, Valentine's was one of the most egregious of examples. 

You'd been hoping to spend all day with the two, showing them how much you cared, how much they meant to you. But instead, you spent the day serving customers, couples and otherwise alike. You were just getting home, the daylight already long since faded.

Now, after such a long day, you were exhausted, and you felt awful, because you had no energy left to give them. You argued that they wouldn't mind, they knew you loved them, but it still ate away at you inside. So, your plan was to make it up to them tenfold tomorrow. 

You crack your back as you walk up your front step, opening your front door a moment later. A nice warm shower and then cuddling in bed sounded heavenly right now—

A mouth-watering smell hits you then, the door shutting behind you with a quiet thud. 

Blinking, you take in the atmosphere of your house and how different it is compared to how you left it at the crack of dawn this morning. 

The entire house is covered in Valentine's decorations, on the walls and hanging up above. Warm string lights are hung up, as opposed to the harsh usual lighting. There's music softly playing from somewhere—the living room maybe—and of course, the smell of food cooking that has your stomach growling. 

You're still standing there dumbfounded, when Sun suddenly appears to your right, coming from the kitchen. 

"Ah! There you are sunshine, how was your day?" 

He's not wearing his usual attire. Instead, a pink apron with red cursive script covers his front, and underneath you spy—is that a suit? How in the world did they manage to find one their size and buy it? You shake your head, in his arms is a mixing bowl, and he gestures to you with the wooden spoon he holds. 

"Oh, poor thing, you look exhausted. Not to worry! Your bath should be ready for you by now. Go wash up, dinner will be ready when you are." With that, he goes back to mixing, disappearing into the kitchen again. 

You take in what he says for a moment, not entirely comprehending. Only for him to pop back out the doorway with a chuckle. "Oh, and happy Valentine's, love."

In slight disbelief, you head upstairs, sure enough finding that a warm bath is waiting for you. There's a sweet, rosy scent to the steamy air, and sure enough, there's petals floating in the water. 

There's a towel already laid out, along with cozy pajamas you don't remember buying.

You nearly weep in anticipation, and quickly undress to enjoy the water before it grows cold. You savor your time in the bath, stress melting away instantly. You'd stay there for hours, but it seems they've got a lot planned tonight, and you're starving. 

So, you finish up and head downstairs. The kitchen is empty, spotless, no sign of anything having occurred in the space. A testament to how much they've improved since the first time they tried cooking. 

You find them in the living room, specifically Moon. He's still wearing that silly apron, which you now realize has 'Kiss the Cook' written on it. He looks up as you enter the room. 

"Ah, Star. I apologize, I'm still setting things up." He adjusts the candles on the coffee table, folding his hands in front of him once he's done. 

You take note of the spread, all your favorites, and a glass of wine waiting for you. 

Just as you're about to comment on it, Moon raises a hand, taking off his apron and folding it up. He then turns, looking for something behind the couch edge. When he spins around again, there's a box of chocolates and a bouquet in his hands. 

"Happy Valentine's, Starlight." He chuckles at your surprised expression. 

Your hand comes up to your mouth, touched. "Moon, you guys, this is... so lovely. How did you find the time for this? Weren't you babysitting all day?"

"We have our ways." He nods his head to the side. "Nila helped as well."

You glance over and find your grey and white kitty is sitting on her cat tree, a heart-themed bowtie around her neck. 

"Awwww." You hurry over and pet her, cooing and fawning over her accessory. Turning to Moon after a moment. "I have to say, I feel a bit underdressed in comparison."

Moon tsks. "Nonsense. This is all for you, we figured you'd enjoy comfort over anything else."

"Well, you'd be right." You take a few steps closer to close the gap between the two of you, hands reaching to wrap around him into a hug, looking up at him with a grin. "And I appreciate it very, very much."

He hums, leaning down to meet you. "Really now?"

"Mhm."

You press a kiss to his smile, only pulling away when he does. 

"Your dinner is going to get cold." He warns. 

You sigh. "I guess that's not far off. Alright, we'll get back to that later then I suppose."

"We will."

Dinner is amazing, as expected. You exchanged conversation and laughter between bites, both Sun and Moon. Afterwards, you snuggle up onto the couch together, your wine in one hand and chocolates in your lap. 

A sappy movie plays on the tv as you snuggle up against your favorite bot, no, favorite persons in the whole world. Nila is resting beside you, purring quietly and you don't know how it could get better than this. 

"Sunshine."

You hum, looking up to the yellow bot currently holding you. "Yeah, Sun?"

"I was wondering, well, we were wondering, if we could continue where we left off. If that's alright?" As he speaks, his fingers dance up your arm, up to cup your chin and tilt it up towards him. 

It takes you a moment, but then it clicks. A smirk spreads across your lips. "You don't say? You won't hear me complaining, that's for sure."

His rays spin once, then closes the gap between you in a sweet, delicate kiss.

You have to say, for a not so great Valentine's Day, it's the perfect Valentine's Night.

💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

I hope you enjoyed Bloos! I was excited to get to be your secret giftee again hehe, had much fun making a little cozy thingy with a bit of r&r <333

Adding the tag list since it's writing stuff

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Where I Need to Be

The house was silent.

Too silent.

Marshall stepped inside, his bag slipping from his shoulder to the floor with a dull thud. He expected to hear the sound of little feet running toward him, a high-pitched "Daddy!" cutting through the air. Expected to see you standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, pretending to be mad before giving in and letting him wrap you up in his arms.

But there was nothing.

No toys scattered across the floor. No half-eaten snacks left on the counter. No signs of life at all.

His stomach twisted. He already knew.

Grabbing his phone, he dialed your number.

Straight to voicemail.

He tried again.

Voicemail.

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

For the next two hours, he called. Texted. Left voicemails, each one sounding more desperate than the last. But you weren’t answering.

He had fucked up. Again.

Missed his flight. Missed his daughter’s school event. Got caught up in work, told himself he’d make the next one—but there was no next one. You had told him that last time.

And now you were gone.

Jaw tight, he pulled up his banking app, scrolling through recent transactions. His pulse quickened when he saw it—a charge from a hotel downtown.

Without thinking twice, he grabbed his keys and left.

The woman at the front desk barely looked up at first, too busy scrolling through her phone. But when she did, her eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, straightening up. “You’re—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cut her off, leaning on the counter. “Look, I need to find my wife. She checked in earlier, took my kids with her.”

Her face shifted, uncomfortable. “Sir, I can’t give out guest information—”

“I get it,” he said quickly, forcing a half-smirk, the kind that had gotten him out of trouble more times than he could count. “Privacy rules and all that. But I’m not some psycho. I’m their husband. Their dad. I just—I need to fix this.”

She hesitated, glancing around as if checking for a manager. Then, with a sigh, she turned to her computer. “You didn’t hear this from me,” she muttered, typing something in. “Room 214.”

Relief flooded him. “You’re a lifesaver.”

She snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get me fired.”

He was already heading for the elevator.

Marshall stood outside the door, fist hovering over it. For the first time in hours, he hesitated.

He had spent the whole drive over convincing himself he could fix this, that all he had to do was say the right thing. That he’d walk in, pull you close, tell you he was sorry, and everything would be okay.

But now?

Now, standing in front of the door you had shut him out of, he wasn’t so sure.

Still, he knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, firmer this time.

Then, finally, the door cracked open, and there you were.

You looked exhausted. Hair pulled back, dark circles under your eyes, arms crossed so tight across your chest it was like you were holding yourself together.

"You have some nerve," you muttered.

Marshall swallowed hard. "Baby, I—"

"Don't baby me."

That was when he knew.

The breath left his lungs. His chest tightened. You had been mad at him before, pissed off, even screamed at him a few times—but you had never said that.

Never cut him off like that, never shut him out so completely.

"Shit," he breathed, running a hand over his face. "I—I know I fucked up. I know, okay? But please, just—just let me talk to you."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Talk to me? Now you wanna talk? Where the hell was this energy when your daughter was looking out into that crowd, searching for you?"

His throat tightened. "I know," he rasped. "I know, and I hate myself for it. But you gotta believe me, I wanted to be there. I got caught up with work, I lost track of time—"

"Do you hear yourself?" you snapped. "That’s the same bullshit excuse every time, Marshall. ‘I wanted to be there, I lost track of time.’ And what, I’m just supposed to keep pretending that’s enough? That a fucking sorry is enough?"

He felt like he was drowning. Like no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t lose you.

"I don’t wanna keep doing this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw. "I don’t wanna keep letting you down, keep letting them down. I just—I need a chance to fix this."

You stared at him for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Please," he murmured.

You exhaled, shaking your head before stepping aside just enough for him to walk in.

And just like that, he knew—he still had a chance.

The hotel room was dim, the only light coming from the bathroom nightlight and the faint glow of the television playing some kids' show on mute. It was eerily quiet, except for the soft breathing of your daughters as they slept in the queen-sized bed, tangled up in blankets.

Marshall stood just inside the door, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, eyes scanning the room. It felt surreal—coming home to an empty house, chasing you down across the city, and now standing here like an outsider in his own family.

You closed the door behind him, crossing your arms as you leaned against it. "You wanted to be here?" you muttered. "Here you are. But you’re not just answering to me, Marshall. You’re answering to them."

His stomach twisted. He had expected that. Dreaded it. He could take your anger—he deserved it. But facing his daughters after breaking yet another promise? That was a different kind of hell.

You sighed and walked past him toward the bed, gently shaking your eldest awake. "Baby, wake up," you whispered.

She stirred, her little face scrunching up before her eyes fluttered open. "Mommy?" she murmured sleepily. Then she saw him.

Marshall braced himself.

Her eyes widened, blinking a few times like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Then, her tiny face hardened. "You weren’t there."

The words hit him harder than any punch he’d ever taken.

"I know," he said softly, crouching down to her level. "I know, baby. And I’m so, so sorry."

She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes before crossing her arms—so much like you it made his chest ache. "You promised, Daddy."

The lump in his throat grew. "I did. And I broke that promise. I messed up. But I swear to you, I wanted to be there."

"Then why weren’t you?"

Silence.

He could feel your eyes on him, waiting.

He exhaled, rubbing his face before looking back at his daughter. "Because I put work first when I shouldn’t have. Because I thought I had more time, and I didn’t. And that was wrong."

She stared at him, searching his face like she was deciding whether or not to believe him. "Are you gonna do it again?"

Marshall shook his head. "No. I mean it, baby. I never wanna see you sad because of me again."

There was another beat of silence before she finally sighed. Then, slowly, she reached out and hugged him.

He wrapped his arms around her small frame, holding on tighter than he probably should have. "I love you so much," he murmured.

"Love you too," she mumbled against his hoodie.

When she pulled back, she yawned and snuggled back under the blankets, already half-asleep again.

Marshall sat there for a moment, shoulders heavy, heart still aching—but lighter than it had been before.

Then, he turned to look at you.

Your arms were still crossed, but your face had softened just the tiniest bit. You nodded toward the door. "We need to talk."

Yeah. He figured as much.

Standing up, he followed you out of the room, preparing for the second round of hell he had to face tonight.

And this time, there was no easy way out.

The hotel room door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet tension in the air was suffocating. You stood with your arms still crossed, your jaw tight, eyes sharp as they locked onto him.

Marshall felt like a damn kid about to get scolded—but this wasn’t some petty fight. This was everything.

"You got her to forgive you," you said, voice low but laced with exhaustion. "That was the easy part."

He swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "I know."

Your fingers tapped against your arm, your posture stiff. "Do you?" you challenged. "Because, Marshall, I don’t think you do."

"I do," he said quickly. "Baby—"

"Don’t baby me."

That shut him up.

His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Just like earlier, when you first said it, that phrase landed like a punch to the gut. Because that was when he knew it wasn’t just a fight. Wasn’t just frustration.

You were done.

"You always do this," you went on, voice shaking slightly, but you pushed through it. "Always." "You break a promise, you come crawling back, you say the right things, and for some reason, I keep letting myself believe it’s gonna be different."

Marshall clenched his jaw, staring down at the floor. He hated this feeling—being the one who made you look at him like that.

"Do you even know what it’s like to sit there, making up excuses for you?" you demanded. "To watch our daughter’s face when she realizes her dad isn’t showing up again?"

"I hate myself for it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good."

That one hurt. But he didn’t blame you.

Silence stretched between you, thick and unbearable.

Then, you sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. "I packed up our kids and left, Marshall. That’s how bad it got. Do you understand that?"

He nodded, eyes still on the floor. "Yeah."

"No, I don’t think you do." Your voice cracked slightly, but you caught it before it turned into something else. "I was done waiting for you to realize we deserve better than this. I deserve better than this."

His head snapped up, panic flickering in his expression. "Are you saying—?"

"I don’t know what I’m saying," you interrupted, and that uncertainty was almost worse. "But I know I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep holding this family together by myself while you act like we’ll always be here, waiting for you to get your shit together."

Marshall felt like he was losing his grip on everything, like he was standing on a cliff’s edge and the ground was crumbling beneath him.

"You can’t just say the right words this time," you said, voice softer now but still firm. "I need you to show me. Because if you don’t…" You trailed off, shaking your head.

He didn’t need you to finish that sentence. The unspoken words were loud enough.

He took a shaky breath, nodding. "I’ll show you."

You studied him, searching his face for any sign of bullshit. Then, finally, you exhaled and turned toward the door. "We’re staying here tonight."

He nodded again, accepting that much. He had no right to argue.

As you reached for the handle, you paused. "Goodnight, Marshall."

Not baby. Not babe. Just his name.

And as he stood there, watching you walk away from him, he realized just how much it hurt to hear it.

---

It had been a week.

Seven days of waking up in a stiff hotel bed, of cartoons playing too early in the morning, of pretending you weren’t checking your phone every few minutes, expecting—wanting—to see a text from him.

Seven days of your daughters asking when they were going home.

"Mommy, I don’t like it here," your youngest mumbled, curling into your side as the three of you sat on the bed, watching a movie none of you were really paying attention to.

Your oldest sat up a little. "Yeah, me neither. Can we go home now?"

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "Not yet, baby."

"But why?" she pressed, her brows furrowing. "Daddy said he was sorry."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. How were you supposed to explain this to them? That it wasn’t just about sorry—that it was about trust, about breaking the same promises over and over?

That even though you missed him, even though every part of you wanted to see him, you weren’t sure if you were ready yet?

Your youngest reached for your hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around yours. "But, Mommy," she said, her little voice gentle, "we forgive people we love."

Your breath caught in your throat.

She looked up at you with those big, innocent eyes—the same eyes she had gotten from her father. "Especially when they say sorry and mean it."

You glanced over at your oldest, and even though she was trying to act tough, you could see it in her face too. She missed him.

And God, so did you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You weren’t ready—but maybe you never would be. Maybe you’d sit here, night after night, waiting for some perfect moment to feel safe going back. But life didn’t work like that.

Love didn’t work like that.

You kissed your youngest’s forehead and nodded. "Okay," you whispered. "Let’s go home."

Their faces lit up, and for the first time in a week, you felt the smallest bit of relief.

Now, you just had to face Marshall again. And that? That was the part you weren’t sure you were ready for.

---

Pulling into the driveway felt strange—like stepping back into a life you weren’t sure still fit. The house was exactly how you left it, but something about it felt different. Or maybe you were different.

As soon as you put the car in park, your daughters scrambled out, their excitement impossible to contain. The front door swung open before they even reached it.

"Daddy!"

Marshall barely had time to brace himself before they launched into his arms. He let out a quiet grunt, stumbling back slightly, but the look on his face made your heart clench. Relief. Love. Like he had been waiting for this moment since the second you left.

"You’re home," he murmured against their hair, squeezing them tight. "God, I missed you two."

You stood by the car, gripping the handle a little too hard as you watched them.

They weren’t the only ones he had missed.

When his eyes finally lifted to meet yours, something in your chest tightened. He looked… rough.

His hoodie was wrinkled, like he had been living in it. His jaw was covered in scruff, dark circles sat heavy under his eyes, and his hair was a mess—like he had barely run his hands through it, let alone thought about actually fixing it.

But what really hit you was inside the house.

The couch.

The blankets piled on it, the pillow dented from where he’d obviously been sleeping.

He hadn’t been in your bed.

And suddenly, you couldn’t look at him.

You turned, grabbing bags from the car, and headed inside without a word.

Later that evening, after the girls had settled in and were playing in the other room, you found Marshall in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a half-empty bottle of water in his hands.

You hesitated, fingers tightening on the back of one of the dining chairs. "You haven’t been sleeping in our bed."

His grip on the bottle tensed. He exhaled slowly, staring down at the floor. "Couldn’t," he admitted.

"Why?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Because you weren’t there."

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

"I tried the first night," he said, voice quieter now, raw in a way you weren’t used to hearing. "Laid down, closed my eyes… but it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too empty." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Figured if I was gonna be miserable, I might as well do it on the couch where I deserve to be."

Your nails dug into the wood of the chair.

You had spent all week angry—furious, even. But now, standing here, looking at him, all you felt was exhaustion.

"You think I wanted to leave?" you asked softly.

He finally looked at you, something breaking in his expression. "No," he whispered. "I think I gave you no other choice."

You swallowed hard, gripping the chair like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Because he was right.

And you weren’t sure what scared you more—that he knew it, or that for the first time, he actually meant it when he said he wanted to change.

---

You told yourself you were fine.

You went through the motions—washed your face, brushed your teeth, changed into pajamas—like everything was normal. Like Marshall wasn’t just down the hall, sleeping on the damn couch because you weren’t ready to let things go yet.

Because you were still mad.

And you should be mad.

He had broken another promise. He had let you and the girls down. Just because he looked like hell, just because he said the right words this time, didn’t mean everything was magically fixed.

So why did you feel like you were the one being punished?

You crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin, staring at the ceiling. The sheets smelled like home, like him, and that made it worse.

This bed had never felt too big before.

You turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

You flipped onto your other side. Pulled the blanket higher. Stretched out. Curled up.

Nothing helped.

Your body ached for something—someone—you were trying so hard to deny yourself.

You could picture him, just down the hall, curled up uncomfortably on the couch, trying to give you space. You hated that. Hated that he was here but not here.

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you threw the blanket off and slipped out of bed. Your feet carried you down the hall before your brain could catch up.

The TV was on, casting a soft glow over the living room. Marshall was curled up on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting on his stomach. His hoodie had slipped slightly, revealing his bare forearm, and you noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly in his sleep.

You should go back to bed. You should not be doing this.

But you stepped closer anyway.

"Marshall," you whispered, reaching out to shake his shoulder gently.

He stirred, brow furrowing before his eyes fluttered open. When they landed on you, confusion flickered across his tired face. "You okay?" His voice was rough from sleep.

No. You weren’t.

You swallowed hard. "I can’t sleep."

He blinked at you for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Come to bed."

His brows lifted slightly, and he hesitated, like he thought this might be some kind of trick. "You sure?"

You weren’t. Not even a little. But you needed him.

So instead of answering, you reached for his hand and tugged.

Marshall let out a breath, then slowly sat up. He didn’t say anything as he followed you down the hall, back to the room that had felt unbearably empty all night.

When you slipped under the covers, he hesitated just for a second before climbing in beside you, careful, like he didn’t want to overstep.

But the second he was close enough, your body moved on instinct. You turned toward him, pressing your face into his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

His arms wrapped around you instantly. Like they belonged there. Like they always had.

His lips pressed against the top of your head. "I’m so sorry," he whispered.

Your fingers curled tighter into his hoodie. "I know," you murmured.

And for the first time in a week, you finally slept.

---

It was 2 am when you woke up.

You didn’t know if you were still mad.

You should be, right?

The anger had been so sharp, so heavy when you first left. Even when you came home, it sat there in your chest, reminding you of every time he had broken a promise, every time he had made you feel like second place to everything else in his life.

But now?

Now, wrapped up in his arms, his slow, steady breaths warming the top of your head, the anger felt… dulled. Muted. Like it had been smothered by the quiet comfort of this.

Of him.

You told yourself you weren’t going to do this. That you weren’t going to let him back in so easily. That making up with him couldn’t be as simple as crawling into bed and letting him hold you like nothing had happened.

But as you lay there, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your cheek, you weren’t sure if you cared anymore.

All you knew was that it had been a week without this, without him, and you had felt every single second of it.

Marshall shifted slightly, his arms tightening around you, like some part of him was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. His lips pressed against your forehead, barely more than a ghost of a touch, but enough to make your chest ache.

You sighed, pressing your face deeper into his chest.

"Still mad at me?" His voice was low, raspy with sleep, hesitant.

You exhaled slowly. "I don’t know," you admitted.

He was quiet for a moment, his hand smoothing absentmindedly up and down your back. "That’s fair."

And it was.

You should still be mad. Maybe you were. Maybe it would hit you again in the morning, that frustration, that hurt.

But right now, with his warmth surrounding you, the weight of his arm draped over you like a shield from the rest of the world, all you felt was safe.

You hadn’t meant to start thinking about it. You wanted to just enjoy the safety of your husband's arms.

You had wanted to just lay there, wrapped in Marshall’s arms, pretending—at least for tonight—that everything was okay. That things hadn’t changed. That you hadn’t changed.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And the more you let them settle in, the more they made sense.

It wasn’t just about him missing the flight. It wasn’t just about another broken promise. It was about all the little things that had been slipping through the cracks long before that.

Because deep down, you had known.

You had felt it.

The way he didn’t hold you like he used to. The way his kisses had become something absentminded, routine, instead of the kind that stole your breath. The way he was always just a little distracted, a little distant.

You had noticed. You had ignored it.

But when it came to the girls? That was where you drew the line.

You could accept that maybe things weren’t the same between you and him. Maybe you had let yourself believe that was just how things went after so many years. But when it started touching them—when they started feeling the distance, the absence—that was when it became unforgivable.

"Jesus," you muttered under your breath, shifting slightly against his chest.

Marshall let out a quiet, sleepy huff. "I can hear you thinking."

You let out a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly.

You hesitated for a long moment, staring at the faint outline of his shoulder in the dark. But he had been honest with you. Maybe you owed him the same.

So you whispered, "I think I knew."

His arms tightened slightly around you. "Knew what?"

"That you weren’t holding me the same anymore," you admitted. "That you didn’t kiss me the same anymore." You swallowed hard, trying to find the words. "But I still wanted you to treat the girls the same way you always had."

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

The silence stretched so long that you almost regretted saying it. Almost started to pull away.

But then—

His arms tensed.

And in one smooth motion, he rolled, shifting you beneath him, his weight pressing you into the mattress before you could catch your breath.

Your heart jumped.

He stared down at you, his face barely visible in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. But you could feel it—the way something in him had cracked, broken wide open.

"Marshall—"

And then his lips crashed into yours.

This wasn’t habit. This wasn’t routine.

This was desperate.

Like he had been starving for you. Like he had been holding back for years, and the dam had finally burst.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers instinctively tangling into his hoodie. He pressed closer, deepening the kiss, pouring every unspoken word into it, every apology, every regret.

His hands framed your face, tilting your head up, and God, this was what you had been missing.

This was the way he used to kiss you.

Like he needed you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face.

"You’re right," he murmured, voice rough. "I stopped holding you the way I should’ve. I stopped kissing you the way I should’ve." His thumb brushed over your cheek. "But I never stopped loving you."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Instead, you pulled him down again, kissing him just as desperately, hoping he could feel it—

That you knew.

That maybe, just maybe, you were finally getting back to where you belonged.

You both were breathless, caught in the haze of what had just happened, and neither of you seemed to know exactly how to go forward.

Marshall’s chest rose and fell rapidly against yours as he held himself over you, eyes dark with something you hadn’t seen in years. It was like he was looking at you for the first time in a long time. Like maybe all the time he had spent fighting his own feelings was finally catching up to him—and you.

Your lips were swollen from his kiss, the taste of him still lingering. Your heart hammered in your chest, a rush of emotions flooding through you that you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long.

But as you lay there, still tangled in the sheets, something gnawed at you.

You had kissed him like that again—like you used to—and it felt right, but now, you needed to understand why. You needed to know why it had gotten this far, why things had gotten so strained between you two.

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his jawline. Marshall froze, his breath hitching as his eyes met yours, but you were already speaking, your voice soft yet firm. "Why, Marshall? Why did you stop?"

He swallowed, his eyes flicking down to your lips before he glanced away, as if the truth was too heavy to bear. There was something in the way he pulled away, just a little, as if to put distance between himself and the intensity of the moment.

He finally exhaled and shifted, pushing himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a strange vulnerability that you hadn't seen in a long time. “I didn’t want to pressure you," he admitted quietly. "I knew you were juggling everything—two kids, the house, your job... and I figured you didn’t need me putting my shit on top of that." His gaze turned distant for a moment, and when he looked back at you, his voice cracked just a little. “I didn’t want to be the guy who just added more weight to your shoulders.”

You stared at him, feeling the sting of his words hit you harder than expected. You bit your lip and took a breath. “But I wanted it,” you said softly, your hand lifting to touch his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, as if to remind him that you were still here, still with him. “I wanted your pressure, Marshall. I wanted you to want me... like you used to. Not just as the mom of our kids. Not just someone who takes care of everything. I wanted to be the woman you desired. The one you needed.”

Marshall’s gaze softened, and his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the guilt he carried for not realizing this sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was barely a whisper.

You shook your head slowly, feeling the weight of everything you had kept locked inside. "I don’t know," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I thought maybe if I just did everything right—if I took care of everything—you’d see me as that woman again. But... I wasn’t being her, was I?"

Marshall closed his eyes, his chest tightening as he took a breath. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No... I didn’t see it. I couldn’t see it through everything else.”

You bit your lip, your emotions swirling inside of you. "But you don’t have to carry everything alone, Marshall. We’re a team, remember? We’re in this together. I wanted to be there with you, not just for you... not just as the mom."

He looked down at you, his hand coming to gently cradle your face. "God, I’ve been so fucking blind," he muttered. "I didn’t even realize how much I was holding back, thinking I was protecting you by staying distant." His hand trailed down your neck, fingers pressing softly against your skin, as if to reestablish the connection between you. "I’m sorry. I... I’m so sorry."

You shook your head, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "You never have to apologize for wanting me, Marshall. You never have to apologize for wanting us to be more than just parents."

He leaned down then, his forehead resting against yours. His breath mingled with yours, soft and steady. "I promise you, I won’t hold back anymore," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ll always be the woman I want, first and foremost. Not just the mom... you."

Your heart thudded in your chest, a sense of relief washing over you, but the knot in your stomach remained—this wasn’t something that would be fixed in one night. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like you might actually be able to breathe again. Like the weight was being lifted.

You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how everything would play out. But in that moment, as you lay beneath him, arms wrapped around each other, you felt like you were finally getting back to what you both had been missing.

And that was enough—for now.

[silcobrainrot]

Blink Once For Yes, Twice For No - Chapter One

Words: 5,027

Summary: In the year following the cannery explosion, Jinx struggles with her nightmares making her relive the trauma over and over. Silco should feel triumphant after killing his worst enemy and taking control of the underground, but his dreams are no kinder to him than hers. And then an old affliction he thought he outgrew long ago resurfaces to make sleeping a living hell.

AKA Silco learns how to be a parent to a troubled child while dealing with (denying) his own problems AKA subjecting Silco to the horrors of sleep paralysis.

Thank you so much @avicides and @aulwil for betaing this for me. I couldnt have gotten it where it is without you 💜💜

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63015346/

He anticipated Vander’s adopted strays coming to his rescue. He prepared for them to get Vander out of his restraints, maybe even find a way out of that room. He wanted them to show up. His plans depended on the destruction of Vander’s reputation as a brave and heroic figure. Murdered by a rival makes Vander a martyr. Fleeing the Underground to protect his precious children at the first threat of violence from Piltover, however, makes Vander a coward, and not a worthy leader.

He never thought himself capable of killing children for the cause. It still sounds antithetical to the entire mission. But the stagnation these specific children cost Zaun, how they liquified Vander’s spine and made him betray their movement—their entire city—something had to give. They would secure Vander’s martyrdom, so they had to die with him.

He didn’t quite anticipate the strength of the pink-haired one. So much of the Vander he used to know alive in her furious eyes, armed with Vander’s old gloves to drive the point home. The sight brought bile to his throat, rage and malice seething in his gut. Both at her loyalty to Vander, and at her squandered potential under Vander’s traitorous pacifism.

And he definitely did not anticipate them showing up with bombs.

One of Deckard’s group mentioned the smallest one threw a dud grenade at him, so perhaps he should have prepared for something, but a flash-bang or a nail bomb didn't obliterate his entire factory. That explosion was energy on a scale he’d never seen before. He watched Sevika’s arm vaporize, a fate meant for him had she not pushed him out of the blast. At the time, he thought the little brats blew the place up on purpose, some sort of last resort plan for their rescue mission that backfired on them.

Vander didn’t escape, at least. Years of envisioning his revenge, the context always different, but the actions always the same: killing his former brother with the knife that saved him from a watery grave. He plunged the blade clean through a kidney and the bastard still managed to wrap a fist around his throat. Again. Then a shot to the gut, aiming for the same spot he stabbed to escape the river. Vander’s immense grip around his throat weakening, his body slumping and strength failing as he bled out, until someone as feeble as Silco could push him off a ledge.

The factory exploded several times over—Silco’s entire Shimmer supply along with it—and it seemed the only victory he managed in this entire operation still pulled one last stunt by consuming a vial of Shimmer and saving the damn kid. The last one standing. Well, second to last.

Silco walked the perimeter of what remained of the cannery to see how far Vander got, his victory soured and mood ruined. He found some satisfaction in the fact that consuming Shimmer didn’t heal Vander’s wounds. He knew its healing properties firsthand, but it can’t cure a mortal wound. He aimed well with the knife and vanquished his enemy.

He expected the pink-haired child to stay with him, mourn over the dead body with that sentimentality Vander always peddled, even at his best. There was a child with the body when he found it, but not the one that laid waste to most of his crew. The youngest. The final loose end. Crumpled over on the ground and sobbing with her entire body, backlit by fire in the freezing rain.

All four of the strays needed to die for him to destroy Vander’s reputation, but as his hand clenched the blade in preparation to take another life, an instinct he knew better than to ignore implored him to stay his hand. Hide the knife. Find the sister, first, the greater threat. This scrawny little thing has nowhere to go and no fight in her at all, so should stay put long enough for him to kill her sister and come back.

How wrong of him to assume something so frail and broken had no fight in her. The frenzy in the gray eyes that looked up at him, tears and snot indistinguishable from the rain running down her face. Chest heaving, teeth bared in feral desperation, she tackled him with every ounce of strength in her. Knocking him—him—on his ass in the wet and mud, the knife clattering out of his hand somewhere behind them.

The move stunned him still and speechless, his breath coming hard and heavy as they skidded to a stop. He expected her to reach for the weapon after disarming him—she attacked him, after all. Or to try biting him, at least. His mind raced with the possibilities and how best to defend himself against an opponent with nothing to lose but her life. He, of all people, should know how fierce the fire burns in the weakest and most burdened of Zaun’s children.

Lanky arms wrapped around his torso and squeezed him tight, her head pressed into him like she wanted to bury it inside his ribs. She didn’t bite, she didn’t attack, she didn’t reach for the knife. She settled herself between his legs, against his chest, around his back, and lamented the loss of a sister. A sacred bond forsaken with such malice over a single accident.

He looked at the corpse of the man he once called his brother. Then at the child who, in that moment, was as lost and afraid as him the day that brother tried to kill him. His body survived, but it took him months… years, really… to recover, and he had to do it alone. He felt no remorse for killing her caretaker, but the pain of abandonment by the only family you had in the world…

Well. He of all people should know.

He gathered the blubbering mess of limbs into his arms, rested his head against hers, and spoke the words he’d spent so many nights yearning for someone, anyone, to tell him all those years ago. A promise he would come to uphold every day for the girl he’d someday call his baby blue.

“It’s okay.”

When he brought her home, she slept like the dead for two consecutive days. He checked on her several times out of concern she’d succumbed to the grief. Not dead, but exhausted from bearing the weight of it all.

He later learned her birth parents died during the Day of Ash, and that she and her sister witnessed the carnage by sneaking out. Vander, as the only survivor on Zaun’s side, took them in and abandoned all his ideals to shelter them. Made a feeble “deal” with Piltover’s sheriff for “peace” in the Underground, the control of which belonged to the Enforcers, not to Vander. Peace built on a temporary agreement to keep each to their own, which Vander has no way of holding them accountable for breaking. He calls it peace, but handing your oppressors the leash to your collar accomplishes nothing. Security theater, nothing more. The peace treaty will end when Vander dies, and when the curtain rises, nothing will have changed, and might have even gotten worse.

For his part, Silco expected some annoying dreams. Unpleasant, even. Stories born of stress and fatigue that laugh in the face of attempts at “sleeping it off.” His dream life seldom provides a reprieve from the harrows of his waking life, but they’re not nightmares. Stress dreams, sometimes stressful memories, nothing more. Not nightmares.

The night following the cannery incident, he dreamed of the day Vander tried drowning him in the Pilt. Of Vander’s towering shadow above him, flickering from Silco thrashing for his life. Of the only breaths he managed through the fists clamped around his throat filling his lungs more and more with toxic water. Of the agonizing, indescribable pain of chemicals burning and disintegrating live flesh, open nerves, the delicate membranes of his eye.

The phantom pain of his eye stripping apart layer by layer woke him. His emotional mind told him to run to the bathroom and inspect it, find his syringe to inject more Shimmer to stop the inflammation, but he resisted such folly. A dream, nothing more. His mind processing everything that happened: his revenge, and vanquishing the largest obstacle in the way of Zaun’s independence in one fell swoop. Closure has funny ways of settling in.

About a month after the incident, he dreamed of the events leading up to the explosion. When the bomb went off, Sevika didn’t reach him in time, and it vaporized him instead of her arm. He jolted awake out of that one and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Only a stress dream, no need for such drama. He fell back to sleep without a problem, but the flashes of blue and white on the backs of his eyelid tried keeping him awake.

His dreams left him alone after that. Mild stories or nights with no dreams at all. Closure procured, or so he thought.

The first time Jinx had a nightmare in his care, barely two months after taking her in, she screamed loud enough to wake him. A blood-curdling, adrenaline-spiking scream, the kind no one can fake. A sound impossible to make outside of true mortal peril. He leaped out of his bed, armed with the dagger he keeps under his pillow to burst through her bedroom door.

No intruders. Only a bawling Jinx, curled up with her legs underneath her and covering her head. The door opening didn’t make her look up. She may not have even heard it over the power of her sobbing.

“Jinx,” Silco called, “what is it? What happened?”

She didn’t look up. He heard her trying to regain control over her frantic breathing, but the shakes wouldn’t yield. All of this was still so new. He was still learning her. Unsure what he could do, he sat on her bed, setting the knife on her nightstand. She likes physical touch; would she want that right now? Should he touch her or wait for her to ask? What if she panicked? He didn’t want to cause her any more distress.

While his hand wavered, Jinx’s eye poked out from under her face, still buried in her blankets. She crawled into his lap, stuck her face in the dip between his thighs, crossed her arms over her head on his leg, and continued crying. For several minutes, he rested his hand on her back, rubbing it sometimes, but not wanting to do too much. In time, her sobs lost their intensity, her small body stopped shaking, and she could pick up her head. Her first words to him hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she said through another heave of her chest. She turned her head up to look at him. “I-I’m s-sorry I woke you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “I was only worried something happened. Are you alright?”

“I-I-I—” more involuntary snaps of her diaphragm before she could explain, “it was a bad dream. Just a stupid dream. I’m fine. I’m sorry I made you worried for no reason. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t ‘no reason,’ you had a nightmare,” he said. “That’s a good reason. You’ve been through a lot. There’s no shame in it. Adults have bad dreams sometimes, too.”

Sniffling, she shifted to lie in the fetal position so she could see him better, with her head still in his lap. The cuff of her sleeve wiped her nose. Oh, the indignity of bawling your eyes out. “Really?”

“Really. Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to, but if you want to, I’d like to listen.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I…it was…it was my fault. All of it was my fault.”

He cradled her head with one hand so he could wipe her tears away with his thumb. “What was your fault?”

She leaned in to the touch. “I… I blew up the factory. It was my monkey bomb. I killed everyone… except Vi. She left me because I killed them. Mylo and Claggor and Vander. I fell off the building when the bomb went off, but I saw them all dead in my dream, all crushed and bloody. Their ghosts found my dream and they turned into monsters and they screamed and screamed and screamed at me because it was my fault and dying hurt and they were so mad.” Fresh tears wet her face. “They wouldn’t let me wake up, they kept playing it over and over like it was a picture show. I tried to scream so many times but nothing came out. Then I woke up. I guess I finally got a scream out, if you heard it. Sorry.”

He meditated on her words before responding, steady and calm. “You didn’t kill Vander. He survived the blast with only a few scratches. I killed him. I stabbed him twice with the knife I stole from him when he tried to drown me. You remember me telling you about that?” She nodded, so he continued. “He drank a vial of Shimmer to hold on for a little longer, long enough to get Vi out,”—he couldn’t help sneering her name—“before it exploded again, but he died because of the wounds I gave him.” He chuckled. “That was a very impressive bomb. You have a talent for gadgetry.”

“They never work, they only mess everything up,” she grumbled, defeat in her voice. “I put some magicky exploding crystals in that one, that’s the only reason it worked. Now I’m back to them not working.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I never want to see those things again.”

“Fixable in time,” he assured her, “on both accounts. We’ll find you some resources and see where they’re going wrong. They won’t mess everything up when they work. And they will work.”

She turned to lie flat on her back, still using his thighs as a headrest, hands drawn up over her chest. He moved his hand to rest on the top of her head. No pressure, no petting, only a comforting presence. She wiped the last of her tears off her face. “I don’t wanna go back to sleep. They’re gonna come back, I know it. I see them when I’m awake sometimes, too.”

He filed that one away under crucial information and considered the rest of what she said for a few moments. Compared it to everything else he knew about her thus far, and reflected on what he felt comfortable with, or not. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

Her eyes widened. “You—?” No other words got through.

He offered a reassuring smile. “I know my way around monsters. I make them, and I control them. Those ghosts won’t dare haunt you while I’m here.”

Silence. Locked eyes. He relaxed his entire body, softened his expression, and offered a reserved smile. His fingers rubbed faint lines into her hair, the smallest gesture with a featherlight touch she may not have even felt. Her eyes stayed wide, scanning his face. Looking for a catch in his words, perhaps. Or a lie.

“Why do you have an eye patch? You look like a pirate,” she said. She gives him whiplash sometimes with how fast her thoughts can switch between vastly unrelated topics.

He forgot he had it on. He doesn’t feel it on his face anymore when he wears it at night, so acclimatized to its presence. He chuckled. “I can’t close this eye. I have to cover it when I sleep, in case I end up on my side.”

She seemed satisfied with the answer. Sitting up, Jinx crawled to the other side of the bed and slipped under the blankets. And Silco processed what his offer required him to do. In truth, he’d never shared a bed with someone before, much less a child.

After hesitating for a few beats, he folded the blankets open enough to settle under them, pulling them up to where she had positioned them on herself. She turned to face him, so he turned to face her, glad she chose the side of the bed that put him on his left so he could meet her eyes.

“And why are your pajamas so fancy? They look like topsider pajamas.”

He beat down his surly reaction. If anyone else compared him to a Piltovan, he’d end their miserable life. “I like being comfortable,” he answered, calm and simple, and offered her his arm.

She pinched the shiny red sleeve between her fingers. Her lips formed an “O” and she took it in a fist. “What is it? It’s so soft.”

“It’s silk. Have you heard of it?” He asked. She shook her head. “It comes from spiders, or caterpillars. People collect the silk they make and make clothes with it. It takes a long time, and is very painstaking, so silk clothes are expensive.”

Her transfixed countenance meant it possible she heard none of that. She kept her eyes focused on her fingers, still rubbing his sleeve.

“None in the Underground have the resources to make it, or the coin to afford it, with things as they are now,” he continued. “I’d like to see that change. We all deserve the same luxuries the topsiders enjoy, if we want them. I want us to have the choice.” He smiled. “Would you like your own?”

That got her attention. Wide, excited eyes met his again. “Yes! Can mine have little monkeys on them, or sharks or something? Yours are kinda boring.”

The ease with which his smile widened surprised him. “I can’t guarantee it, but I’ll ask.”

She drifted off not long after, and he stayed awake to watch her sleep. Both to make sure another nightmare wouldn’t strike, and to contemplate the smile still lingering in his face muscles. Genuine, involuntary smiles and humor doesn’t happen to him. Nor did he make a habit of offing comfort and emotional support to others, but his interactions with her always felt like second nature. Thinking without thinking.

Humming in his throat, he snipped himself free of the web of thoughts trying to ensnare him. He forced his body to relax, adjusted his position on her pillows, and studied her again. An unknown intuition compelled him to tuck the blankets tighter around her. The way she nestled into it did… something… created a pinch in his chest. The first spark of connection between two hearts damaged by betrayal, beating as one through the night as they enjoyed the solace of not sleeping alone.

Her nightmare repeated itself a couple of nights later. He ran to her with the same urgency on the chance something else made her scream. To his relief, only another nightmare, one that had her hugging her legs with her head tucked under her arms this time. He sat on her bed and let her come to him again. She put herself in his lap, and he rubbed her upper back while she rode out the panic. When the sobs subsided, she stayed in his lap but didn’t speak. She hid her face from him so he couldn’t see it pinching in humiliation.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I’ll never think any lesser of you for having nightmares.”

She shifted so she could see him. “Vi wouldn’t be having nightmares,” she said, dejected. “She was always the strong one. I’ve always been the weak one.” Her fists clenched in frustration. “I don’t want to be this weak anymore. I’m not useful to you if I’m weak.”

He recognized her explosive potential even before she told him about the cannery bomb. Her tinkering and crude diagrams littered her bedroom and spilled into the living room. He had no need to fashion her into a weapon: she chose that path for herself. Nonetheless, her words twisted a knot in his chest, squeezed around his heart. “You’re not weak. You’ve been through a lot. And you aren’t a tool to me. You’re not a thing to be used.”

She sniffled. “What am I?”

He pondered a moment, looking for the right words. “Resilient,” he said. “When I look at you, I see a force of nature that will, in time, lay waste to any challenge the world throws at you.” Smiling, he rested a hand on the top of her head. “You won’t be a child forever. You will grow, you will learn, and you will prove everyone who doubted you wrong. I’m looking forward to watching you come into your own.”

Silent tears still escaped down her cheeks, but the smile she returned him reached her eyes. Not for the first time, it struck him how beautiful she was. Her eyes projected her entire soul for him, raw and vulnerable and so much stronger than she would let herself believe.

Her gaze moved off of him into the room behind him. She lost her smile when she met his eyes again, her brows and the corners of her eyes pinched. They flicked out and back one more time.

He had an idea of what she saw behind him. Rubbing her hair with his fingers, the words flowed out of his mouth without thought or resistance. “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

Her face relaxed. “With you? Like, in your room?”

“Yes.” He slept fine in her bed last time. They both fit comfortably on it. And the mattress deserved its price tag, but he prefers sleeping in his own bed. He doesn’t want her to have to share a room with her ghosts when she could stay in his.

He offered his hand. She placed hers in it, crawled to the edge of the bed, and threw her legs over to stand. Her hand stayed in his on the way to his bedroom. Opening the door, he gestured for her to enter so he could close it behind them and turned on the lights.

“Wow, your bed is huge,” she said. "What do you need all that space for?”

He chuckled. “Because I wanted it.”

“Yeah but why?” she asked as she started to poke around. She inspected all the paintings, books, and trinkets on the shelves and dressers; opened drawers and the closet.

Her back to him made her miss his smirk. “Why not?”

He sat on the bed while she satisfied her curiosity. The snooping didn’t bother him; he had nothing to hide from her. He couldn’t imagine letting anyone else into this room, let alone allowing them to invade his privacy like this. That should bother him—he won't get close to anyone ever again—but try as he might, he can't bring himself to care. Keeping her calm and comfortable benefits them both.

The blankets stayed tossed back from when he bolted out of bed to check on her. He pushed them away to slide back in, leaving room for her to join him when she was ready. She still thought of herself as an intruder in his life, and he never wanted to pressure her. Invite her in, stay patient, and let her come to him at her own pace. He didn’t know what to call their relationship yet, or how to say where it might go, but he knew for certain he would never force anything on her. He would get however close she wanted them to get, and no further.

Her finger rested below her bottom lip as she finished looking around. When their eyes met, the curiosity in hers drained to uncertainty. He smiled and settled in, smoothing the open sheets next to him. She stood with her arms shielding her chest for six heart-wrenching seconds before permitting herself to crawl in with him. Turning down the light, he helped draw the blankets up around her. He left them a candle flame’s worth of light to talk away some of her anxious energy.

“Vi used to do this for me,” she said, tone unreadable, “if I ever had a bad dream, or if we were playing monsters and I got scared. I’m supposed to be old enough not to be so scared anymore.”

“Fear doesn’t go away as you get older,” he said. “You get better at doing things while afraid.”

She settled deeper into her pillow. “Did you have bad dreams when you were my age?”

“All the time.”

Her eyes widened. He knew she wouldn’t expect that answer. He kept his face soft, not letting the smugness show.

“What were they about?”

“The mines, usually.”

“You worked in the mines?”

He hummed in assent. “From the day I was strong enough to use the picks until the major collapse that closed most of them down. I used to have dreams about getting lost down there, or stuck in the crevasses they had me scout, or caught in a collapse.”

“Did it ever happen?”

“Not to me, but to many of us. Between the gasses and the cave-ins, we lost people so often we avoided getting too well acquainted.”

“You lost friends down there?” She asked. He nodded. “Did you see them in your dreams?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “It’s been a while. Most of what I remember was getting trapped down there alone. I still had to go back to work in them the next day, and I was more likely to have an accident if I was tired, so I learned how to go back to sleep even if I was afraid.” He added for her benefit, “I don’t recall ever having two in the same night.”

The shadows around them stirred with echoes of monsters long abandoned. An old friend never quite forgotten, but left where it belonged: buried under the rubble in the tunnels. The formless thing that used to sit on his chest and hold him prisoner between wakefulness and sleep. With his mind alert and his eyes active, but the rest of his body rigid and immune to his commands to move. Sometimes it brought the walls down around them, which spooked him awake.

He thought of it like a game, back then, for the sake of his sanity. A trickster that shook up his dreams on occasion, and made them more lifelike than necessary. Too lifelike to call a dream, really; more like a hallucination, yet his body remained paralyzed, as if still asleep. He spent more nights than he’d care to admit terrified of the demon returning to mock him as it held him down.

She sighed and drew the blankets tighter around herself. “I hate that it plays over and over. And then sometimes they change the details. Things that didn’t really happen that makes it even worse. Like the explosion ripped them apart instead of crushing them.” Tears tickled at her waterlines. “You died in the explosion tonight. Everyone did. It killed everyone and I was alone. No one found me in the rain after because there was no one left to find me.”

Compulsions tugged on the tendons in his arm, urging him to cup her face or pull her closer; to reach out to her, somehow. When he refrained, the tension migrated to squeeze his heart. “You aren’t alone. And I don’t want you to feel that way. If you’re ever scared, and having me with you would help, then I want to be here for you.”

Her eyes shone with the war raging behind them, the yearning for acceptance at odds with the schema of being a burden. “Really?”

“Really. If you’re scared, let yourself in here and stay with me. We can talk if you want, but I won’t ask, and we’ll just go to sleep.”

She scooted closer to him, now almost nose-to-nose on the pillows. Her eyes scanned his face as she processed his words. “When you were my age and you had a bad dream, did you have anyone to stay with you?”

He wondered how long it would take her to get there. She never let their topics stay focused on her, and took every opportunity to ask about his life before meeting her. Warm but sincere, he breathed a simple, sincere, ���no.”

She nuzzled into his chest, molding herself against him and slipping her arm under his in a loose embrace. “I would have stayed with you.”

He could only hum an assent through the shock and fog in his mind. His heart pounded against his ribs, the dizzying pulse in his skull churning his stomach. He willed his body to relax—he didn’t want her to think she’d done anything wrong or that he didn’t want her to touch him.

It shakes him to his core every time she does because…well, he can’t remember a time anyone wanted to touch him.

He draped his arm around her, resting his hand on the mattress behind her to return the hug without overstepping. Would his hand on her back be overstepping? It might. He doesn’t want to push her.

Her breathing slowed, and all the tension keeping her so snug against him released. He adjusted his position in slow, delicate movements until they slotted together comfortably. Part of him wanted to stay awake all night to watch her, to wake her if he saw a nightmare playing on her face, or to make sure the ghosts hiding in her bedroom didn’t follow her in here. The sentimentality of a younger man he left for dead a long, long time ago trying to wake up, and bringing the past with it.

Whispers in low tones stirred the shadows again, their chilling weight tickling at his muscles in all their favorite places. He denied the trickster’s eyes the right to manifest. The scent of Jinx’s hair and the fluttering of her heart against his chest carried him into a warm, dreamless sleep.

[heartz4levi]

AUGHHH more till PLEASE.. i cant stop thinking about his hands/fingers..

you see, i got that midas touch !

☆ thinking abt till's hands . . .

☆ till (alnst) ,, gn reader . . dom!till ,, sub!reader ,, till is using his hands on reader (interpret that however you want) ,, mirror sex (sort of) ,, edging (reader receiving) ,, light choking (reader receiving) ,, slightly needy, whipped till(??) ,, a little bit of manhandling at the end i guess (reader receiving).

till can't take his eyes off of you. it's as if he's hypnotized, gaze endlessly raking over your entire form in the mirror's reflection while his hand continues its motions, never seeming to tire out.

maybe it's the sight of you falling apart from his fingers alone that keeps him going, that prevents his wrist from aching. maybe it's the sounds that tumble past your lips and bounce off the walls, sending several rushes of dopamine right to his inner works.

"ah—fuck—" your head leans back against till's shoulder upon feeling your nth orgasm of the night approaching, an almost instinctive reaction to the up and coming anticipated wave of bliss that'll wash over you.

except it disappears. your eyes snap open, immediately drifting down to see that till had pulled his hands away, leaving your chest heaving with frustration.

"why do you have to make things complicated?" till asks, brows furrowing lightly in reaction to the mess that coats his fingers. it's not enough. he wants more — he knows you want more too, but.. "i told you not to look away."

his other hand, the one that had been holding onto your side long enough to leave crescent shaped imprints from how his nails have been digging into your skin slightly, moves to wrap around your neck. he doesn't grip it too tightly, but the hold is firm enough for him to straighten your head, forcing you to look straight ahead. in the mirror, at your fucked—out face and the sticky mess coating your lower region.

"you look so good like this, don't you think?" till rasps out, not making any moves to lead you to that temporary yet euphoric height of pleasure for what would not be the first time tonight. in response, you nod. but you don't really know what you just agreed to, being too far gone to let many things procces in your mind. you're just agreeing in hopes that that's the best thing to do, and that till will resume his ministrations as soon as possible.

"then don't look away again," despite the hazy sensation engulfing your senses, it was surprisingly easy to pick up the whiny hint laced in till's tone. something he would have definitely gotten teased for, if you weren't desperately wishing that he would make you cum all over his fingers again.

the lack of a verbal response or any general reaction isn't taken negatively by till. instead, he continues — "this version of you.. i love it. you know i do. and i love being the only one to see it, but i want you to see it too."

"till—" you gasp. "i get it, just quit teasing me."

till was about to correct you, say that he isn't teasing you. he decides against doing so, humming in acknowledgement before finally, finally touching you again. he doesn't start off slow, the sheer roughness and vigor of his movements causes your body to jolt, unintentionally leaning into his touch.

it doesn't take long before you feel yourself being pushed over the edge, panting and whining while trying your hardest to not tear your gaze away from your bare form. your bare form that till is still eyeing persistently, watching each and every little move that you make, wether it be the way you arch your back off of his chest or the not—so—subtle grinding of your hips into his hand.

feeling yourself go limp in his arms, you close your eyes and try to regain at least a little bit more energy, considering how much of it seemed to drain with all of those consecutive orgasms.

a startled grunt is forced out of you the moment your chest hits the surface below you with a light thud. reopening your eyes, till's silhouette catches your eye in the mirror's reflection, curiously watching as he shifts around before realizing — he's done with making you come undone on his fingers, but now he wants to be inside of you in a different way.

[thewholekittyandkaboodle]

"...The traveler is right." someone finally said.

"This was far too great a burden for one person, especially when she was put into this position so suddenly. "

"That's true...I was so caught up worrying about my loved ones I never thought about how much work she had to do to help everyone. I'd be falling apart if I was in her shoes...I'm so sorry Head Housemaiden!"

"I think we can all take on some of the healing duties from now on."

"The injured are going to need all the help they can get..."

It seems you got through to them. But the concerns for the project would have to wait it seems. You and Mirabelle needed to get to the hills as soon as possible.

"Okay." Mirabelle answered you. Steading her previous state of panic by taking your hand.

"Thank you again Craig. Let's go! We have to hurry!"

When you finally arrived, you saw that saddnesses were everywhere. Both citizens and defenders were scattered around trying to defend themselves and Dormont against the beasts. Your scattered thoughts were interrupted by a shadow suddenly towering over you. By the time you turned to see what it was it was too late.

"Look out!"

You and Mirabelle were shielded from a devastating rock blast.

Your protector was barely left standing after that attack.

"Captain Isabeau!" Mirabelle cried as she rushed to his side.

"Don't worry, this is nothing!" said the apparent Isabeau of this world.

"B-But..."

"It's a rock type, it'd hurt you a lot worse if you got hit by it..."

Mirabelle clasped her hands and created a healing force of energy. With Mirabelle busy healing the weakened captain it was up to you to strike the first blow against the saddness.

"Careful when you attack it!" Isabeau warned. 

"One of its heads is fake! Find the real one and hit it as hard as you can before it strikes again!"

(You've got to figure out which head is the real one. Just remember, what does a real face do when it's sad?)

Begin

(Optional background music)

You awake in a void pitched lightless surrounded by bright stars and astral bodies. Your body feels like mush, but it's quite weightless as you drift through the empty space. You hear a voice.

"…Oh!" "Oh ho ho, hello there!" "It seems you've come a long way from home haven't you?" "Hmm…What to do about this?" "I'm afraid I can't send you back to your own world in the shape I am right now." "…" "…Perhaps this could be just what this world needs." "But, if something were to go wrong-" "-This could very well destroy the space time continuum…" "But that probably won't happen! And anyways, it seems like there's no choice but to get outside help in this situation." "Alright now listen carefully, if you please." "You are about to be sent to a world a bit different than your own." "Don't worry it's quite similar to your own in a lot of ways, but…" "Well, I guess you will just have to see for yourself." "Before that though, why don't you get yourself reoriented a little bit?" "Why not start by…" "…Telling me a bit about yourself?"

(Here's where you choose your character. If you are playing an OC either leave a description in reblog or comments or tag the character sheet of the character you want to rp as. Same is true for an AU version of a canon character.)

[timetravelwitch]

Rex showing favoritism towards Emmet?

What? Nooooo, he would never

[seryonn]

Prompto from ffxv ♡

[possiblyfunny]

I forgot how to make posts, but don’t worry guys, I���m still alive-

Ghostly Assistance

Heyyy! I finally drew Leaf! (Plus a slight Aster redesign-) This took way too long, and I apologize for the delay and the overall messiness. She had been sitting in my drawing program as a sketch for two months 😅 but with the Flashbacks up starting in Missing Numbers, I finally got the will to finish it!

Leaf Aoyama belongs to @creatively-cosmic. They have a blog called @themissingnumbers, which you should check out, like—right now.

[Sketch + Extras below the cut!]

Here’s the cover of the book, if you wanted that- (I know it’s crap but I’m tired)

[And for those who are curious, some notes about the art:

-The book is Aster’s. He’s read the book cover to cover well over 25 times. It’s his favorite book on flowers, but he’s more than happy to lend it to someone who wants to learn about flora.

-The content of the art (because there was intended to be a background that got scrapped-) is that Aster was showing Leaf around his secret garden deep in the woods, guiding her so that she wouldn’t get lost and showing her the different flowers and such. (That’s why she has the book-)

-You know how in some video games, you can press a button and whatever special companion you have will show up to give you a hint? (Ex: Navi, Fi, Rotom, Olivia, etc) That’s what Aster is doing right now. Whenever Leaf had a question—he had the answers.

-And if you’re wondering—Yes. Aster did make her a flower crown afterwards. And Yes, he thinks she looks very beautiful with flowers in her hair.]