#having a post take off is a blessing and a nightmare

[sungchanarcade]

aftercare w/ riize

this is my first post yayyy!! i'm marina and welcome to my blog! i'm happy ur here :)

shotaro

he would help with cleaning up, but only like… the bare minimum😭

if he was rough with you then he wouldn’t let you get out of bed and instead he’d bring back a towel and some water so you don’t have to move

whether it was intense or not though, he would always be so gentle when cleaning you up. has at least 12 different ways to ask “are you okay?” and you bet he uses all of them every time. he hates the idea of accidentally hurting you without realizing so he always checks in with you

speaking of checking in, he’s definitely asking for feedback after😭 but it’s always in the form of teasing. “you sounded so pretty screaming my name, do i really make you feel that good?” (he also asks questions just to fuel his ego)

has a thing for kissing your shoulder once he’s done and he needs to kiss your bare skin before getting you a clean shirt (that definitely belongs to him) or he’ll get pouty—once, you’d gotten dressed before he could get his kiss and he made you take off your shirt again😐

but despite all his sweetness, that is the extent of his cleanup. would rather die than change the sheets. if they’re actually unusable, he’s taking them off, covering his mattress with a blanket, and leaving everything else to deal with when you two wake up

euseok

SUCH a gentleman oh my god, he’d be a dream

probably rougher during sex but the second you’re finished it’s like a switch flips, suddenly he exists only to care for you and is prepared to travel to the ends of the earth to make you as comfortable as possible

if you shower, you won’t have to lift a finger, he’ll wash your hair for you and massage your shoulders. if you don’t, he’ll clean you up with a towel and rub lotion into your skin (it’s calming enough to send you to sleep more than once)

he feels like he can’t rest until he knows you’re feeling good, even if that means fighting his own tiredness to do so, which is both a blessing and a curse because he never lets you give him the same treatment unless you like… fight him over it (you’ve only won 2 times, once after he’d come back from traveling for two weeks so he was clingy and tired, and again on his birthday)

but he’s similar to shotaro in the sense that he is so so gentle when he touches you. i think he’d love to just constantly let his hands wander, fingertips brushing over your bare skin like he’s saying “i love you” with his hands

sungchan

this mf is passed the fuck out as soon as you’re done 😭

but i think it mostly comes from the fact that he tends to accidentally overexert himself during sex without realizing. poor baby doesn’t realize his stamina isn’t as high as he thinks it is

he likes making you cum at least twice every time, even if it means denying his own release until you’ve already finished, so he unintentionally overstimulates himself every time

crying in bed is probably common with him tbh (the thought of him feeling so good he’s literally in tears actually drives me insane)

cums so much. like so much. orgasm denial + massive cock (we all know it) = so so messy. cleaning up would probably be a nightmare, especially since he’ll be too fucked out to move, much less help, so sometimes you make him wear a condom for the sole reason that you don’t feel like putting yourself through cleaning him up by yourself

on the rare occasions when he doesn’t immediately fall asleep he would still be super tired after. the two of you would take a shower together and you’d have to wash his hair for him while he just holds you in his arms and tries not to fall asleep on your shoulder. he’d also be really clingy, but that’s a thought for another day

wonbin

pillow princess will be a pillow princess… this man is NOT moving

he would also want you to be the one to clean him off (princess treatment) but he won’t fall asleep. he likes to watch you and he always has so much love in his eyes that it almost makes it worth it to be in charge of cleaning up by yourself (almost)

but if you have to change the sheets after—he definitely loves messy sex—he will help you with that, you just have to give him at least 15 minutes before he even considers getting out of bed

he wouldn’t be exhausted after like sungchan, i think he’d recover after a bit of a break and then have enough energy to strip the sheets and start laundry, sometimes even make a snack or meal for the two of you, he just needs some time to regain energy

sometimes he’d cook something or take a bath together, but his favorite thing to do is always just getting back in bed and cuddling. the conversations y’all would have during late hours… he always makes sure you feel safe with him and is a very attentive listener, no matter how unimportant the topic of conversation might seem

seunghan

likes to care for you, but wants to be done as soon as possible

he falls somewhere between shotaro and eunseok when it comes to how much effort he’s putting in. he loves making you happy—he loves loving you—but he’s going to do just the necessary steps because he wants to lay back down with you as quickly as he can

another big post-sex cuddler, it’s necessary to him. he’s a very touchy person all the time, he’s always got an arm around you or hugging you from behind, and that energy amplifies whenever you two are alone so he can’t keep his hands off you for too long

totally gets distracted at least 4 times because “just one kiss” always leads to ending up back in bed tangled up in each other until you remind him that you still need to change the sheets. without that reminder he for sure would forget entirely and probably fall asleep

sohee

to him, aftercare is a two person event. but he sees it as less of a task to be completed and more as an extension of sex, like it’s a part of the whole experience for him

he gets very giggly, a lot of big smiles and cheek kisses. he loves washing your hair for you and gets so so happy when you return the favor. 

after your shower you always do each other’s skincare and it takes twice as long because he keeps stopping to kiss you (“your chapstick tastes better than mine”)he sees aftercare as something just as intimate as sex, just in a different atmosphere, so all his tender touches and soft words are just as special and give just as much effort (and boy does he deliver every. time.)

anton

another one who will take on all the work so you won’t have to move. any complaints will be silenced with a kiss (but just as you start getting into it he breaks away with a cheeky smile)

he really likes holding you

 he’ll hug you into his chest while you wait for the shower to warm up

he’ll stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist to rest his chin on your shoulder while watching you comb your hair

once you’re both back in bed best believe he is not letting you out of his arms and will start whining if you even try pulling away

i feel like he’d mess up your hair (just a little) when you’re in the middle of combing it out just to get a reaction out of you, but every time he’ll just cup your face and his smile is SO big and then it’s impossible to be mad anymore

[reiluvr]

Suguru's Morning Routine

hello! this is a new account, just cause i wanted to start somewhere new! requests are open and im still working on everything so...

i'll eventually make a masterlist, once i've posted at least 5 works or so.

this is pretty much 100% fluff even though i'm a hardcore angst girl. just starting off easy. uhhh there's suggestive words but no smut.

just suguru being head over heels for you and toru <3

It's the way Suguru has his alarms set for at least half an hour before the other two ring. He's so used to this routine that he doesn't even really need the alarm, his eyes already open and hands reaching for his phone to turn the alarm off in case it wakes you two up. He turns his body, a smile subconsciously falling onto his face as he observes the mess of your hair. He gently brushes a few strands away from your mouth, fingers tracing your features as he grins.

Once his ten minutes of admiring you are up, his body shifts, neck craning to admire Satoru on your other end. His heart flutters as he watches the constant rise and fall of Satoru's chest, finding solace in watching the "honored one" look so mundane. His smile only widens further as his eyes trail down to observe how your legs entangle with Satoru's, Suguru being the only somewhat normal sleeper. In the quiet of the room, a small giggle escapes him as he thinks back to the beginning of the relationship, how hard it had been to get a good amount of sleep between Satoru's limbs stretching across the entire bed and you're constant mumbling. Now it's only one of his countless favorite things about his two partners.

He alternates between both of you, waiting until the sun has fully risen to quietly get out of bed, humming a soft tune as he turns on the coffee maker, already pulling out countless items from the refrigerator. It was honestly a blessing that Satoru was loaded, because not only did he eat for a family of ten, all three people in the house had very different tastes, leading to grocery weekends being quite hectic. He places three cups on the counter, practically adding only a few drops off coffee to the first one as he drowns it in creamer and sugar cubes. He moves to the second, not even trying to fight the smile as he notices the small paw prints on the side of the mug. He had gotten accustomed to finding cat themed items all around the house once you had moved in. It had been a nightmare listening to Satoru whine constantly about how "those stupid cats mean more than we do, right?" He adds two sugar cubes to the cat themed cup, pouring the coffee and topping it off with whatever nut based milk they had bought that week. By the time he turns to the last cup, Satoru's poptarts have popped out the toaster, so he quickly places them on a plate while he heats up a pan to prepare his own eggs. He quickly pours coffee in his own cup, not bothering with sugar or cream as he takes a few sips, mixing granola into some strawberry yogurt. By the time breakfast is ready, he can already hear Satoru's soft whines from the bedroom, the man already having found something to complain about. He places the poptarts on one end of the desk, placing the granola in the middle, and the eggs on the other end. No one spoke about it, but everyone knew they had an assigned seat.

He takes his coffee with him, leaning against the door frame of their bedroom as he watches. Satoru seems to be clawing at the bedsheets, one hand digging into the bed as the other is wrapped tightly around the bedframe. You stand there, hair a mess and clothes all ruffled, clearly just having gotten up, with one of Satoru's ankle in you hands, desperately trying to pull him out of bed. Suguru rolls his eyes, you'd think after years of living together, they'd be over this dramatic scene every morning. He sighs, placing his cup on the dresser as he shuffles behind you, hands wrapping around your waist as you drop Satoru's leg in surprise.

"For once, could you two just wake up normally?"

He has to suppress his smile as he hears your own frustrated complaints, already talking his ear off first thing in the morning.

"I woke up and he was literally laying on me! So I push him off and he start whining and crying, you know how he is, he's all like "you don't love me" and "I'll just go die, I guess". And then! Suguru, you're not gonna believe this, actually, you will, cause Satoru still acts like he's 16. He pulls me back with him as he's like, "Hey ma". MA? WHY IS HE TRYING TO HAVE SEX FIRST THING IN THE MORNING??-"

Suguru does the only thing that he knows will shut you up, pressing his lips against your own as he silences you, Satoru cackling in the back as you push Suguru away, already on another rant about how you're living with two men who are horny 24/7. Of course, you're just kidding, already back in Suguru's hold a few minutes later, both of you just swaying in place while waiting for Satoru to finish washing his face. (He has a 24 step skin care routine.)

The three of you finally settle into your places, both you and Satoru digging into the prepared breakfast in front of you. Suguru sighs happily, watching as a bit of yogurt sticks to your nose, Satoru pointing it out. He watches as Satoru throws his head back in laughter as you try to wipe it off, only smudging it more. He holds back to urge to tell Satoru not to speak with his mouth full. He watches as you rub your nose red, somehow still missing the smudge. He watches as Satoru finally reaches over, using the edge of his sweater's sleeve, it's Suguru's sweater but he's already accepted he's never getting it back, to gently rub your face, getting rid of the mark. By the time he takes a bite of his own eggs, they're cold. He just smiles and continues eating, a cold breakfast being a small price to pay for enjoying his morning with his favorite people.

[onlystylesangels]

Silent Struggles

Anon: I might have a request … :) so what if harry found fem!Y/N’s pack of cigarettes and he didn’t know she smoked bc she never mentioned anything and he talks to her bc he’s concerned?/ Anon: H's girl seems to be acting off and he confronts her and it turns out she's been dealing with some depression and anxiety and she's been to scared to let anyone in or... reader seems to be going through something and hasn't told anyone about it and starts smoking cigarettes; dealing with her problems alone.

Warnings!!!: talks about anxiety, talks about depression, smoking, fluff, Harry being a supportive boyfriend, reader feeling insecure

A/N: Hello!!!! I know it's been a very long time since I have posted a new Harry writing. But here it is, lovies! I hope you enjoy this one. !!!***Before you read I want to start by saying that you are loved and you're precious to this world. I love you, yeah, you the lovely person that's reading this. I care about you and there are so many people around you that care for you too. Please if you're going through something, don't fight alone. Please tell someone what you're going through. Please be safe. -A <3

It happened as always. At night you would wake up from a nightmare, open the drawer from your nightstand and rummage for your new pack of cigarettes, the plastic wrapper still intact. You took two cigarettes out and grabbed your lighter. You walk into the balcony and start the fire. You inhale a sharp breath and let out the hollowing contents of nicotine. It felt nice. Feeling the nightly fresh air hit your exposed arms, goosebumps adorning your skin as you puff out smoke from your mouth. It happened as always, as a freshly new night routine. 

The next morning you woke up with the bitter taste of nicotine filling your senses and feeling a bit dizzy when you sat up from bed. You quickly grab your phone and look at the time. It was already 9am and you were positive that you were going to be running late to the local bookstore. 

So, you take a shower and put on clothes that may or may not have matched together to create a decent outfit, but fuck it. You were about to be late so you had to work with what you had. You quickly dashed to the kitchen and prepared a quick breakfast and made sure to message Harry. 

“Hi bubba! I’m heading out to work. I’ll see you later today, okay? Love you.”

“Sounds good, love. I love you too. Make sure to drink enough water!” 

Harry, always the caring type. You loved that about him. Having a person loving you for you and always making sure that you were doing okay was one of the blessings that you took for granted. If only it were that easy to show that same love to yourself.   

“Richie! Did you get a chance to call Davy? His favorite book just came in and he had first dibs on the book” You shout out to your coworker who always seems to be too busy to work as he is sitting at the back corner of the bookstore, scrolling through his phone. Pesky phones, fucking culprits of rotting out your brain.  

“Haven’t gotten a chance, Y/N. Why don’t you call ‘em?” Richie sends you a head nod and immediately looks down at his phone. Fucking twat.

You roll your eyes and walk towards the front desk and call Davy. But before you start pushing down the buttons on the phone you see someone come in.

“Hey Y/N! Has that book come in here yet?” The man of the hour. Davy, the active reader and loyal customer of the Blues Blues Bookstore. 

“Hey there, Davy. I was literally just about to call you. I got that book reserved here for you. Hold on.” 

You walk towards the back of the store and retrieve the book that had a bookmark with his name plastered on it. You walk towards the entrance and hand it to him. He quickly takes the book in his hands and begins turning the pages. 

“I love it! Thank you again, Y/N! Glad I got here as quickly as possible.” 

You turn towards the computer and begin typing away, clearing the book for Davy.

“My pleasure, Davy. Just make sure to always come back. You’re keeping us in business, remember?” You joke, making Davy laugh and giving you an eye roll.

“Yeah, yeah. I recommended some people to come by to the store. Not sure if they found their way in yet.”   

“Haven’t seen any new faces lately. I would ask Richie, but that twat doesn’t do anything here, so I guess no new customers.”

“Hmm, you should bring that up to Daya. I’m sure she’ll fire the guy.”

Firing Richie, tsk, that guy is literally family to Daya. Even if you tell her that Richie doesn’t do anything in the store she’ll find a way to defend him and tell you off. There is no way that you would ever start a conversation regarding firing Richie to Daya; she’ll never believe or listen to you. 

“We’ll see.” Is all you say as Davy puts his new book in his satchel.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.” Davy says as he starts walking towards the doors. “Oh, and tell that boyfriend of yours hi. I haven’t seen that English man in a while.” 

You smile at the thought of him bringing up Harry. 

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll tell him you said hi. See you Davy.” You wave goodbye to him as he does the same. 

During your break time you try to sneak in some time to smoke a cigarette and make sure that the door you come out from is shut tightly. You feel dumb for hiding your recent cigarette intake from people, but then again, people see you as the nicest and innocent person on earth. Yeah, sure. But you kept thinking about the deadline. Your personal deadline that you set yourself to meet someone at the law college that you have been researching on. 

For a couple of months now you’ve been thinking about applying to a local law college in your city and were afraid to continue the process. You continuously had non-pep talks about how you would be a terrible law student and that you may not make it to getting accepted into the college. This and telling anyone about it was just too much for you to handle. You didn't even tell Harry yet. You knew why you didn’t want to tell anyone; you didn’t want to burden them with your problems. Problems that you knew were affecting you mentally and emotionally. 

= = = 

After the break you couldn’t stop the thoughts running through your mind. The mere thought of reaching out to the law school representatives and going to that mandatory interview to see if you were worth being a candidate for their college was already too much to think about. And so you continue your work in the bookstore. Putting new books up on the shelves and welcoming customers into the bookstore. Parents accompanied with their children as you reach for the candy jar under the front desk to offer to the children. You liked your job at the bookstore, but you felt like you needed a change of scenery, especially after working there for four years. And the thought of leaving this job and trying something new frightened you.

A couple of minutes before you were off. There was a ding heard at the entryway.

“Sorry, we’re closed. You can come by tomorrow at-” You look up from the front desk and notice that it’s Harry. Carrying a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His hair started to grow from the buzz cut he got months ago. Gray trousers and loose fitting t-shirt that was starting to rip at the neckline. You told him to throw that shirt away but he always replied by saying that it was his lucky shirt. Did you believe him? Of course not, but if he claims it is his lucky shirt then it’s his lucky shirt.

“Harry!” You run towards him ignoring the stack of books that were in front of you that needed price tags. 

Harry smiles and hugs you back as he kisses your cheek. “Hi, my love.” You walk back a bit and finally take notice of the bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

“And these?” 

“Oh, I got ‘em for Richie. You know that marvelous coworker of yours,” He lies through his teeth, your eyes rolling at the mention of his name. He notices your change of mood and lifts your chin with his thumb. “Hey, lovie. I’m joking. These are for you. I saw them at the local flower shop and thought that you would like ‘em.” Your lips start curving into a smile and you give him a kiss on the lips.

“Thank you, Harry,” you smell the flowers and softly touch the flower petals, “They’re gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome, my love.” Harry follows you as you go towards the backroom. Retrieving your things and ready to call it a day at the bookstore. 

“Ready?” Harry asks you. You smile in response and immediately grab his hand as he leads you both to the exit. You lock the doors to the bookstore and leave walking hand-in-hand with Harry.

You reach your apartment and unlock the door to your little home. You walk in along with Harry and make your way to the sink and grab a vase under the sink cabinet. Harry watches you as you fill the vase with water and stick the flowers in it; he admires your acts and just leans his weight on the kitchen island and stares at you as if you were this beautiful undiscovered galaxy. 

You catch him staring and you get shy all of a sudden. You get a bit self-conscious, but then that feeling goes away when Harry walks towards you and cups your cheeks. 

“You’re so pretty, Y/N.” You feel your cheeks get hot and you quickly turn your head away from his gaze; not even hiding the smile that you had. Harry chuckles and swiftly turns your head back to his gaze. “Don’t hide from me, love. It’s just me.” Harry teases, the back of his hand smoothly running down your cheek. 

“You make me nervous, Harry.” You confess, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you making me shy.” 

Harry picks you up and walks towards the couch. He keeps you on his lap as you continue hiding away from him. You both have been dating for over a year and so you must’ve at least gotten used to all those times that Harry gets you all flustered, but you haven’t yet. It’s like falling in love with him for the first time. That’s how you feel right now. Your body is so close to his and his arms wrapped around your body as he just holds you. Appreciating your presence; he held you in strong arms as if he was afraid to let you go. And he was.

For the rest of the evening you both order takeout from two different restaurants because you were craving two of your favorite foods. Harry happily ordered from the two restaurants as he left you in an excited mess. Excited that you were finally going to eat those foods that you craved for so long. The food doesn’t take long for it to arrive at the apartment and so you and Harry eat on the couch and watch some movies to pass the time. You both joke around about the characters from the movie that you were both watching and made the night pleasant. 

As the night went along, you were laughing along with Harry and enjoying being in each other’s company. You wished you could be there on the couch all night, but you were starting to yawn and your eyes starting to droop from how sleepy you were. Harry noticed and turns off the tv and grabs your hand and leads you both to your bedroom. He lets you go into the bathroom first to start your night routine as he lies down on the bed scrolling on his phone. 

You walk out the bathroom and stand over the bed and lean down to meet Harry’s eyes. He plops his phone down on his stomach and you take this opportunity to kiss his pink lips. 

“Mm, I don’t want to shower anymore.” He whines in between kisses. You chuckle and grab both of his hands and try your best to lift your boyfriend up from the bed. Jeez, you weren’t an active gym-rat, but from just lifting up his body you felt like you did a whole workout.

“Damn, Harry.” You swipe a hand over your forehead. Harry laughed in response. 

“My bones are heavy, love.” He simply responds as he walks towards your dresser and opens up his designated drawer that has some of his clothes in it. “Be right back, lovie.” He looks behind him and sees you starting to make yourself comfortable on your side of the bed. 

“Don’t take too long.” You respond

“I’ll try not to.” He walks to the bathroom with a new pair of clothes hanging on his shoulder. He leaves the door open; the showerhead turning on.

A couple of minutes pass and Harry walks back into the bedroom; drying his hair as best as he could. It was easier for him to dry it now that it was shorter. You lift up the bed covers inviting him inside the warm cocoon. You both lie together, Harry spooned you from behind and as you brought one his arms up to your chest. You both fall asleep into a quiet slumber. 

But you wake up after a couple of hours. You didn’t even bother to check the time as you opened your eyes and slowly removed Harry’s arm from hugging your body. You sit up and walk towards your bedside drawer; already knowing your nightly routine. You grab the pack of cigarettes that were hidden under some of your favorite books and miscellaneous items that you kept forgetting to get rid of. You also get a lighter that was stashed inside your purse and go outside to the balcony.

The butt of the cigarette blazes to life as you take a breath in of the substance and slowly let a breath out. Your thoughts once again start to disappear with every intake of breath you take. It numbed them, made them disappear, but only temporarily. You knew that smoking was making your lungs get sore and your nose wrinkling still not getting used to the smell of the smoke, but you didn’t care at that moment. It numbed everything, it numbed your problems and it made everything feel-- better.

As you continued puffing out air of smoke you continued looking up at the sky, stars aligning the horizon randomly. With each puff of smoke you felt the anxiety slowly go away. You were almost down to the brim of the cigarette, so you could comfortably go back to sleep. Once you were about to inhale one last breath of nicotine you heard footsteps making its way towards the balcony. You freeze and hold the cigarette in your  fingers, bringing your hand to your side. 

“Y/n?” Harry says as he rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes. “What are you doing out here, it’s la-” He stops himself once he notices what’s in your hand. He looked confused, he didn’t know you smoked. 

“Harry.” You reply. The cigarette is still in between your fingers, burning away. 

“I- I didn’t know you smoke.” Harry begins slowly walking towards you, concern sketched in his eyes.

You look down at the cigarette that continues to burn away and you feel tears start welling up in your eyes. You bring the cigarette up in front of you and stomp it on the floor, watching as the smoke starts consuming your nose. Regret. Regret is what you were feeling as you turned to Harry’s presence, his demeanor causing you to feel like a deer in front of headlights. You’re sorry. Sorry that you never told him that you picked up smoking because of not having anything else to control your anxiety. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Harry runs to you and embraces you with all his might. “Oh love. Come here.” You snuggled into his embrace and began crying. You held onto his arms so tightly that you were clutching onto him afraid of him letting go. Letting you go.

“I was scared. I just wanted to help… myself.” You mutter.

Harry held you as he ran his hands down your back. He would occasionally massage your head. “I promise you baby, I am going to be here for as long as you want me to, then you can let me in and help you.” He held onto you tightly and he kissed the side of your face. Harry let you cry on his chest as he rubbed your back soothingly, trying best to comfort you.

“I just felt alone.”  

Harry steps back a bit and looks you in the face, concern written all over his green irises. He held your hand in his and met your eyes filled with tears.“You have me, darlin’.” Harry said, his fingers lightly brushing away the stranded tear on your cheek. “I’m right here, Y/N.” He reassures you. Bringing you close to his body again.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry.” You let out, Harry cupping your cheeks trying to calm your nerves. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You have nothin’ to apologize for, lovie.” He looks at your bloodshot eyes. Seeing you sad like this he felt broken. Broken that he didn’t know how to make you feel better, broken because he hated seeing you without a smile on your face. Broken that he wasn’t aware that you were hurting. “Is it okay if I ask what’s going on?” He said with a soft voice. 

“I– I just been sad and overthinking, okay.” You let out, your hands coming up to cover your face. You felt ashamed, as if a parent just witnessed the most disappointing act from their child. You hated feeling insecure in your own skin; you felt worse that it was Harry that was looking down at you with concern in his eyes and his body weight shifting to softly take your hands in his and seeing your face. 

“Hey, hey. Y/N, baby, you’re scaring me. What are you sad about,” Harry steps back a bit giving you room to speak and mostly giving himself self-control from forcing you to share what’s been making you sad. “Baby, I’m right here, okay. It’s just me.” 

You slowly turn your head away from his gaze and look at the sky. Your hands no longer covering your flushed face, but now twiddling with your shirt, Harry’s shirt. You feel bad that you now created droplets of tears on the collar of his favorite shirt. 

“I just have been dealing with a lot of negative thoughts and I just… sniffle… I didn’t want you to worry about me.” Your hands constantly were moving from your face down to your shirt. Harry catches your little antics and walks towards you, slowly, making sure that he has a good distance between you two before he starts again.

“Y/N. I had no idea that you were going through something. I had the feeling that you were acting a bit different, but never thought that something was affecting you,” He waits for your permission to come in closer and so he takes no time and has his hands cupping your cheeks. Tears staining your beautiful cheeks that he so dearly loved taking his time in kissing and feeling your soft skin against his ring-clad fingers. “I wished I knew you were going through something.” He confessed, sensing a feeling of regret that he felt for not seeing the signs of you feeling depressed and not being your energetic-self. Now as he looks back, he noticed your change of behavior. Being a bit more reserved, but still communicating with him which led him not sensing a shift of you. 

 “You always told me that it was your period messin’ with ya mood. I was so stupid to believe that. Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” 

It’s true. You shared to him that the past couple of months when he would suggest going out to shopping outlets and going out for dinner you would simply reply that you weren’t in the mood to go out in public. That your period was getting the best of you and drained your energy. It was true that you had bad days when you were on your period, but you made him believe that it was your menstrual cycle being the culprit of you feeling drained. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You cried out, his hands holding your head as he hugged your frame and landed kisses on your head. 

“It’s okay. I know now that you haven’t been feeling good. Jus’ let me help you, yeah?” Harry looks down at you, your eyes bloodshot as a soft smile creeps up on Harry’s lips. You follow suit and slowly mimic a smile back. 

Harry leads you back to the bedroom and lets you sit on the edge of the bed. “‘M going to start a bath for you. Is that okay?” 

You nod in agreement and he starts turning on the bath faucet, making sure that the water is warm enough to calm your body and hopefully make you feel a bit better. As he is sure that the water is at the right temperature he comes back to the bedroom where you are still sitting on the bed. He kneels in front of you and looks up at you, his hands running up and down your arms gently. 

“The water is almost ready for ya. I’m gonna get those bath bombs you like so much and light up some candles.” He says, reaching towards your head and landing a kiss on your forehead. You softly smile at his action and continue looking at his beautiful eyes that you could never get tired of looking at. 

He goes back to the bathroom and takes a blueberry muffin scented bath bomb and throws it inside the bathtub as he watches the water fizzle and quickly change into a dark blue hue. He then lights up a couple of candles and sets them on the sink cabinet.

He comes back to the bedroom and Harry motions for you to stand up and you do and follow behind him making your way to the bathroom. He’s about to leave you alone in the bathroom for you to get undressed, giving you privacy.

You quickly reach towards his hand and he stops from walking out the bathroom. He looks back at you waiting for you to say something. 

“Stay, please.” You mutter softly. His hand slowly intertwines with yours as he shuts the door behind him and walks towards you. Nodding in agreement as he follows suit and starts undressing. You motion for him to help you unclasp your bra and he quickly does it with ease. 

You step into the warm water and instantly feel the water relieving your tired muscles. You didn’t even realize how tense your muscles were. Harry then follows you and lands both feet on the warm bathtub. He lies down first and motions for you to lie down against his chest. You carefully situate your body close to his and feel his thick thighs wrap around your own legs, his arms wrapping around your mid area. Your breasts touching his forearms. Your skin sinking into the warm embrace of the scented water as you shiver, goosebumps trailing on your skin yet again from the cool air coming from the bathroom. Harry cups his hands into the water and brings it up to splash water on your chest and remaining skin that has yet to make contact with the warm water. You smile from his gentle mannerisms as you lean back into his chest, your head cradling on top of his chest. You look up at him as he smiles down at you, dimples on full display. 

Harry kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes and smile in response. His soft touches always make you feel relaxed.

“You want to talk ‘bout it?” Harry asked, his hands making small circles on your belly.  

“No. But I need to talk about it,” You reply, holding onto his free hand that’s holding onto the tub. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I have been thinking about going back to school. Law school.” You confess, playing with Harry’s fingers and tracing his knuckles.

“That’s exciting, love. I’m happy that you’re thinking about going back to school.” He soothes your belly some more. 

You turn your head just enough to catch his gaze. “Yeah, but I know how much you want to move in together. I want to move in together too, but law school isn’t cheap.” 

“We’ll figure it out together. I can always pick up extra shifts at the tattoo parlor and maybe sell some of my songs on the side.” Harry assures you. 

“But, I don’t want you working too hard for my sake. That’s one of the reasons why I was afraid to tell you this.” You turn your attention back to Harry’s freehand and continue tracing his knuckles. 

Harry catches this and softly tilts your head so he could see your eyes. “Hey, lovie. We’re in this together. If you have dreams of your own I will stand by you and help you achieve those dreams. We’re a team, yeah?” 

You smile up at him. Tears slowly start to blur your vision. You have always been like this. When new problems would arise you would shut-off, you wouldn’t tell anyone about what you were going through and it was hard for you to ask for help. You were that friend that always told people to reach out to you if they were going through something, but that’s the exact thing that you don’t do. Leaving yourself to fend for yourself; self-sabotaging yourself. 

You look away and land your hands on your knees, feeling tears starting to slide down your cheeks again. “I feel like such a loser. Why is this small thing bothering me so much?” You quietly say. 

Harry shifts his body just enough so he could see the state that you’re in. He moves a couple of your wet strands away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. “Hey, don’t call yourself that. You’re not a loser. You’re my beautiful girlfriend who's the strongest person I’ve ever known.” 

Pfft. “Strong?” You repeat, feeling an urge of disgust with yourself. 

“Hey, whatever you’re feeling, we’ll get through it together. You’re strong for sharing what you’re going through.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Harry.” You turn your head and stare at his eyes. Wanting to feel his lips against yours.

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses your shoulder and notices how your gaze looks at his lips. He meets your eyes and leans close to kiss your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his body closer to yours, feeling his body heat. Your arms run down his tattooed arm and leave his lips wishing for more as you start kissing his swallows on his chest. 

He brings your face close to his. “We’ll do this together, lovie. I promise.” He says through kisses, kissing every crevice of your face, making you smile from his facial hair tickling your skin. 

As you two finish up bathing and drying your bodies and changing into clean clothes; you started to feel better. You weren’t sure if it was because you finally told Harry what you were going through, or if it was because you had Harry with you being that only person to see you at your lowest and comforting you. You didn’t know, but you felt good.

You both get ready for bed. Harry finishes brushing his teeth and putting a serum on his face that you recommended him to try. You lay down on the bed waiting for Harry to walk into the bedroom. He discards his shirt and throws it somewhere in the bedroom. Thinking about that in the morning he’s going to be looking for that garment all morning. The thought of it makes you smile. 

Harry walks to the bed and lies down. He motions you to climb on him and you do as you carefully situate one of your legs to be between one his legs. You look at him to check if he looks comfortable.

“Is this okay?” You asked, he nods and slides a hand under your shirt, his hand running up and down your back. He kisses the crook of your neck. You lie your head on his chest and hear his heart beating in a steady rhythm. With the thumping of Harry’s heart you begin drifting off into sleep. 

“Goodnight, lovie.” Harry whispers to you. But you were already out. Harry takes it as a clue that you have already called it a night when you didn’t respond back. He smiles to himself and continues running his hands over your back, feeling your body relax to his soft touch.

That night was the first night that you felt good, happy even. You felt relieved, this was one of the first nights that you slept through the whole night. You didn’t wake up to a nightmare clouding your unconscious mind. You had Harry next to you, hugging your body, feeling his warm breath hit the crevices of your neck, feeling his arms wrapped around you as if you were his only safe haven.

The next day…

“You want me to be there with you while you fill out the college application?” Harry asks you as he takes a sip of his tea. 

You hold the mug of freshly brewed coffee and smell the vanilla hazelnut creamer and instantly making you melt. 

“You would do that?”

“Of course. I want to be in every step of the college process, if you let me.”

“I would love that, Harry.” You smile as you set down your mug. 

“Okay, my love,” Harry kisses the top of your head and whispers "I love you” to you. “I’m going to get something for us to eat. I’ll be right back.” He takes his wallet and spare keys into one hand and leans towards you where you sit in the kitchen island. “Kissy?” 

Kissy. A cute little phrase that you would both ask each other to ask for permission for a kiss. A phrase that started since you two were dating for five months. A little phrase that was childish, but you both didn’t care. It was cute. 

You smile up at him. As you took another sip of your coffee, then another one. Teasing Harry as a pout started to appear on his face. He then started blinking his eyes furiously making you stop drinking from your mug. He got you there.

“Kissy.” You lean over to him and kiss him. You cup his cheek and run your freehand into his hair. He moaned into your touch making you smile in response. 

“I’ll be back, yeah?” 

“Okay. I love you Harry.” 

“I love you.” 

He walks out the door with his spare keys being the only thing you hear as he makes his way down the corridor. Leaving you alone with your mug of coffee half-way filled in front of you. You walk to the living room and grab the laptop that was on top of the coffee table and bring it back to the kitchen island. You set it there and wait. You stare at the black screen of the laptop as your reflection looks back at you. You continue taking small sips of your coffee and wait until Harry comes back. 

////////

“Hey, darlin’ I got your favorite snacks and lunch from that Vietnamese restaurant you like.” Harry enters into the small apartment and takes you by surprise. You were reading a book that you always put off. He walked towards you and set the bags of food on the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Are you ready, lovie?” 

As time passed you completed the university application and stopped yourself to double check on every detail that you added on the application. You felt nervous, anxious about completing the whole college application process, but you knew that it was going to be worth it in the end. You were glad that you had Harry with you filling the application, because you wouldn’t have had the courage to fill it out on your own. You were happy that you were accompanied and had his support. Harry didn’t ignore the anxiety and the way that you would play with your fingers while filling out the online application. This was a lot for you and he understood that you needed a well-deserved break. 

“Hey baby, take a small break,” Harry grabs the laptop and closes it, but making sure that he saved the application before doing so. “Here, get some foodsies.” Harry passes you the large bowl filled with your favorite pho. 

You take a mouthful of the delicious seasoned soup and sigh as you feel the warmth of the soup comforting your body, leaving you in a relaxed state. “Thank you my love,” you take a napkin and wipe the corners of your mouth. “I missed pho so much.” 

Harry smiles in response as he takes a bite of his own pho. He sits closer to you as his knees touch yours. He gave you frequent glances as a way to know that you were eating well and keeping note of your reactions. You were comfortable which made him happy. 

The night went along well. You finished applying for the university and only waited to get a response back. A couple of weeks it would take before you would get a response. So you continued going to the bookstore and you were starting to share more things with Harry, something that you didn’t do before. You shared more about your past, your family. He knew about your parents and other closer family members, but you never went into depth with other important people that you grew up with back home. You were happy to share more of your life with Harry. 

You both spent more time with each other more often. If you called Harry that you were feeling down, Harry would drop what he was doing and quickly get to your apartment as fast as he could. If you were on your period and Harry knew about it he would stay the whole week to make sure that you were taking care of yourself and to obviously spoil you. Just because flowers were his favorite habit of showing you that he loved you and would randomly gift you little crochet stuffies from a local independent shop. He eventually got you so many that you were running out of spaces where to put them, but you loved every little crochet plushie, they were just so cute! 

The more time that you spent with Harry you hadn’t picked up a cigarette. After Harry found out that you were smoking to relieve what you were feeling he didn’t judge or tell you that you had to stop smoking. Instead, he didn’t mention it, but acknowledged that it was something that you picked up when you were feeling depressed. So, you were grateful that he was there with you along the way of you figuring out how to slowly stop smoking. 

Weeks later…

And so you waited two weeks. In those two weeks a lot happened. Harry was getting his stuff ready to officially move in with you. Nothing much happened, just helping Harry move in his boxes and get him situated in your now shared apartment. He was excited to start living with you and as he said it “Happy to wake up next to my lovie every mornin’.” You were ecstatic to live with Harry, and, well, he already was living in your apartment when he would stay some nights, but this was going to be different. You were going to wake up next to him every morning and being grumpy on Saturday mornings because Harry would wake you to go on morning runs. On a Saturday out of all days! But you were getting too used to him living in your shared space.

Later that week you received an acceptance letter from the university that you applied at. When Harry came to the apartment from work that same day you told him out of excitement. He hugged you tight and gave you so many kisses that overwhelmed you, but you didn’t care you were too happy. The following week you spent a whole week getting school supplies. Harry came along of course picking out the most random things that he swore that you would use in college. Who needs three white boards and two big packs of big sticky notes? You were content in getting one white board and one big sticky note pack just to make Harry feel better. 

“But you’re gonna need two of ‘em, lovie.” 

You chuckle at his antics, “Why two Harry? I just need one.” 

Harry stares down at the plastic covered white board in his hands. “Cause ya gonna need to jot down our date nights. You can’t fit everythin’ on one white board.” He reminds you.

“Bubba, one is enough.” 

You take the white board and pack of stickies with you along with some other supplies. Harry followed behind as he kept putting in colorful markers and journaling stickers in the cart. He definitely made that shopping trip amusing. And you loved every moment of it. 

Four years later…

You sat at every class lecture and followed along what the professors talked about. You were present, you were dedicated and it paid off. There were times where you had breakdowns because of the workload that law school brought to you and it was a lot to handle. The anxiety that was kept at bay was slowly creeping onto you during those troubling school semesters that were always heavy with coursework, but you always had Harry there to guide you through breathing techniques. It was a lot, but you were happy that you were pushing through those semesters for you, for your future and Harry’s. You were proud all those days that you showed up to class prepared to learn the material and to later take the bar exams.

Those four years really did pay off. Cap and gown on and a smile on your face as you waited for your name to be called on the intercom. You walked onto stage as you had the urge to cry, but you stopped yourself because you knew that this was your moment. You were ecstatic that you finally met your goal. Going to school and having Harry and your close family members with you during this long journey. Happy that you were no longer alone… well, you were never alone, but you finally knew what it felt to let people in, let people care about you and let them hear your struggles. You were no longer suffering in silence. You were now walking down the stage with a diploma in your hand, holding onto your biggest achievement and you were excited to see what the future held for you. You knew that whatever life would bring you, you would no longer fight it alone, because you had people and you were no longer going to struggle in silence.

[syoddeye]

more reading recs

because one post isn't enough. we are hashtag blessed with fic.

as requested, i've highlighted fics with noncon and/or dubcon elements in orange. beyond that, you are responsible for reading tags, warnings, and summaries.

pairings are indicated, although these may change or may not be established yet.

there is no method to this madness, no specific order. these are listed here as my brain remembered them.

i've checked all the links maybe three times, if they're broken, i blame tumblr's formatting.

without further ado...

Slasher Handler by @dragonnarrative-writes - Ghost x Reader

"Simon does serial killer things. What a rascal!" Another fantastically written Simon, with wonderful dashes of Gaz and Price. It's put the term 'romance knives' in my vocabulary. There are many quotable bits and moments that made my blood run cold with how normal the ~situation~ feels, but everything has to be experienced firsthand.

The Far Shore by @deadbranch - Soap x Reader

DB's fic collection is rich, and The Far Shore is no different. I fucking loved Pacific Rim, so when I saw her first mention a PR AU, I did imaginary backflips. DB's Readers are some of my favorites because of how complex and realistic they feel, and when combined with the visceral depth of the neural handshake AND Soap? Compelling. The dynamic between them is fascinating. I almost can't wait for it to be finished so I can go back and dissect it.

Falling into Place by @mortuarywriting

Morg's brought the first COD Isekai AU I've read, like a little treat, with A/B/O to boot. The first chapter hooked me and cracked me up. Their dialogue reads so well, it truly feels like I got sucked into the universe. The panicked ramblings, the over-explanation, the 'oh shit, we don't even have a shared cultural touchstone' moments. I cannot wait for more.

Carvings by @femalefemur - Price x Reader

Cyn's got this amazing thing going on called 'Top Quality Worms' where she takes me by the hand and leads me down a rabbit hole I didn't know I'd find so cozy. Carvings is one piece from her incredible list, featuring a bloody, possessive Captain Price. Somehow, out of this entire piece, Price snapping a pen really did it for me. Did someone say loss of control? Oh no, not my kryptonite!

Under Your Spell by @groguspicklejar - Gaz x Reader x Soap

This fic had me at the pairing tag. Lured me right in. No hope for me, and I'm not mad about it. The way Gaz and Soap play off of each other in Under Your Spell is spine-tingling in more ways than one. The definition of scaroused. Kelsi writes a wonderful Gaz. The first two paragraphs in part two, Split My Skin, describe him perfectly to me.

Chokehold by @ccrites - Soap x Reader

Chokehold is a chef's kiss read. Starts off as a cute and sweet gym read, and uh, well, it does get sweeter, in a way. Without spoiling anything, there is a brief cab ride that made me take a lap before things got really going for Reader. CC's Soap is a delightful tease that is tender all at the same time. I'd join his gym in a heartbeat.

Knight/Princess AU by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - Price x Reader

I've read and re-read this AU series a dozen times. It's so gd cute, I might need to see the dentist about how it's rotting my teeth. Seriously, it makes ME want to be a princess. Specifically Price's princess. Bear writes such a sweet and gruff Price, catch me holding a hand over my heart and just sighing. I'm also a big fan of multiple POVs and the insight into each character.

Martyr in the Making by @eilidh-eternal - Ghost x Reader

I had a tattoo touch-up the other day, and while waiting, I thought about this fic: the dream and nightmare of being tattooed by Simon and the rest of the 141. It's a dream for obvious reasons (probably unhealthy for me) and a nightmare because of, well, you'll have to read the story. Getting a tattoo can be such an intimate experience. You put yourself into someone's care and get something permanently etched onto your body. When Reader sits for Simon, you're right there with her, the two of you on an altar.

Liquid Smooth by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader

Bodyguard!Gaz save me, save me, bodyguard!Gaz. Ugh, Gaz is fucking incredible in every flavor, but there is something that hits different about the guy when he's flexing those 'VIP protection' skills. There are several tiny moments in Liquid Smooth that made me audibly whisper, "God, I wish that were me." If you have a conifer tree allergy, you might not be able to handle the god-tier pining. (I'll see myself out.)

pornstar!Gaz by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader

Gotta include the series that I drop everything for whenever I see an update. Another fantastic depiction of best man Kyle Gaz Garrick. The charm, the jealousy, the care...My personal favorite installments are Whispers and Threesomes.

plus size puppygirl!reader / Simon & Reader / Punishment by @secretsynthetic - Price x Reader x Ghost

Ghost gets his Captain a puppy, and Synth gives us a tasty Price x Reader x Ghost story. I've linked the intro and a Simon x Reader snippet, but my personal favorite is Punishment. Punishment is a deeper dive into Price the disciplinarian: "how the hell do i get a mutt like you to fuckin’ listen?" I'd gush about it, but again, this is another one to read and experience firsthand. One of my favorite recent explorations of a PriceGhost dynamic.

~~

i'll probably cobble another one of these together in may 2024. my fic backlog is something else. i blame it on all the massive talent. mwah.

[heys0ulmate]

veneration (this faith's got me high)

pairing: sofia falcone/gigante x f!reader

summary: sofia isn't the same anymore- but you've waited too long for her to care.

warnings: uhh .. unnegotiated/dubcon, gun usage, slight bondage, passing out, im sure im missing stuff, not proofread, major abuse of italics sorry lmao

word count: 4.6K

A/N: this is the first part of what i PLAN to be a series, tho im not sure when the next part(s) will be out. i legitimately havent published a fic in over a decade so im sorry that its like. poorly structured LOL. not much smut in this one sorry yall. title from holy by zolita btw. also this was posted prematurely by accident cus it was still in my drafts but oh well

〰️

You don't recognize the room you're in, but you feel no danger. All you feel is giddiness and bliss.

There's something warm next to you. Sofia.

Her red, pretty lips are moving, corners curled up slightly, but you can't hear her. You laugh despite the fact, because it feels right. The joy in your chest overwhelming.

She's closer, now. You're laughing hysterically, to the point of tears. It's getting hard to breathe.

Sofia cups your face. She looks scared, but you still can't hear what she's saying. You can't speak- all you can do is laugh and choke for air.

The room changes.

It's crowded.

You spot Sofia from across the galley.

Something in you tells you to run to her, as fast as you can, like you'll die if you don't. It's an all-consuming type of panic, the inability to breathe slowly creeping back.

You push past the crowd, but the more progress you make, the larger the room seems to grow.

The crowd parts, and you see her. She's leaving the room, hand in hand with her father. Her lips are parted in a scream that you still can't hear.

"Sofia!" You shriek, running as fast as you can now that the people have cleared a path.

You're inches away from Sofia and the grip her father has on her when you suddenly hear her voice loud and clear from behind you.

"She's not here anymore."

You bolt up from your bed, gasping for air and flailing under your blanket, desperately trying to wrestle it off.

It takes a minute to gather your bearings.

"Shit," you mutter to yourself, rubbing your eyes.

It shouldn't phase you. You can't remember a single night in the past ten goddamn years that you haven't woken up from a some sort of dream-turned nightmare about Sofia. But something about this one seemed to stick to you like summer heat, an uncomfortable, lingering sensation that seems to amplify the harder you try to ignore it.

"She's not here anymore."

It rings through your head like a catchy song as you stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water.

In the ten years since Sofia was taken from you, you haven't heard her voice even once. You weren't allowed visitation as a non-family member, and phone calls were prohibited for the same reason.

It was almost if the sanctions had carried over into your psyche, some form of cruel punishment that prevented you from hearing her even in your dreams.

At least you were able to see her at night.

You'd never grown used to the inevitable, debilitating dread that suffocated you each time you awoke, but you still looked forward to falling asleep each night, knowing it'd grant you a brief illusion of having Sofia by your side again.

"She's not here anymore."

You try not to think to hard about it, to instead appreciate the blessing of being graced with her voice, even if it was just subconscious. You tell yourself it's probably just a result of the weeks recent events; the flooding of Gotham city. The death of Carmine Falcone.

The impact of it all must have rattled you.

That's all.

But... you can't shake the nagging feeling that there was something more.

It's then that your phone rings on your bedside table. *BRRR*

You set your water cup down with a huff, shuffling your feet slowly towards your bedroom. You're in no rush to pick up. Who the fuck call at this time of night; and without warning?

In your experience, this meant one of two things: the call was your basic, run of the mill scam attempt, or a reporter who had found your number and was desperate for some kind of story. Not that you'd ever give them one, of course. Even when Sofia was still around, and your relationship was somewhat in the public eye, you never discussed anything with journalists of any kind.

After Sofia was sent to Arkham, the scrutiny on you had increased. You went from being the occasionally mentioned girlfriend of Carmine Falcone's daughter, to 'the woman who loved The Hangman.'

Generally, the public saw you as a pseudo-victim; someone who had been manipulated by The Hangman, paraded to maintain a false image, and used as a front to keep Sofia's cover. They didn't believe you when you claimed to have been with Sofia on three of the nights that those women were killed. "The poor girl- who knows what that woman subjected her to, to make her lie for her?"

The year following her arrest was the peak of your exposure. You were relentlessly assaulted with press whenever you went outside, and you had to change your cell phone number four times.

Everyone was dying for an inside scoop on what it was like to know The Hangman intimately.

By the second year, you were more comfortable leaving the house. You moved just outside of Gotham, and slowly, the pressure for statements and interviews died down the longer Sofia was away. You still get the occasional phone call, someone hoping that now that it's been 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 years, maybe you'd be willing to share your 'story.'

You'd hang up immediately every time, until you got to the point where you just stopped picking up.

*BRRRRR*

You approach your bedside table with every intention to hit the reject button, squinting at the brightness of your screen in the dark of your room.

That's when you see the caller ID.

*000*

You pause.

So far, every telemarketer, every scammer, reporter, and journalist, were listed as either Unknown Caller, or a string of numbers.

The only time you received calls with three digit numbers was when it was Alberto.

A part of you hesitates. Alberto does this, sometimes, though it's become more sparse over the years: he goes on a bender, gets too in his feelings, and calls from a nurner phone and leaves you a barrage of voice and text messages. It's always the same, with him going on coked-up rant about how he's going to get Sofia out one day and wrong everyone who wronged her.

Outside of that, though, Alberto never called. When Sofia was sent away, Alberto had begun simultaneously spiraling and attempting to survive and thrive in the Falcone family. Between the drugs and job, Alberto became a lot more isolated than he used to be. Any attempt on your part to reach out wasn't successful. He stopped responding from the number you'd had saved, keeping communication one-sided.

Still, every week, you texted him the same thing at the same time. Sunday, 9AM, an hour before you knew Sofia had visitation hours. Tell Sofia I love her, please.

You'd never get a response, but you never really expected to, either. You had no way of confirming if he was seeing your messages. The only way you knew Alberto still even thought of you or knew your number was with the increasingly infrequent, triple digit ID calls.

Either way, the occasional drug fueled messages always left you feeling even more depressed. Knowing Alberto was suffering just as much as you didn't bring any sort of comfort; it just reminded you of your own pain.

*BRRRRR*

Between the unease from your dream and timing of the call, though, every instinct in your body is telling you to pick up the phone.

Your hands tremble as you clumsily smash the answer button with your thumb, bringing the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" You wait with baited breath as you hear Alberto on the other side of the line. "...'Berto?" There's nothing but silence for a moment.

Then, you hear him clear his throat. "I, uh-" There's a pause, and a sniff. "I'm gettin' her out, [Y/N]."

You're heart pounds almost painfully. "Y-you mean-"

"Yeah," Alberto confirms with a disbelieving laugh, as if he can't wrap his own head around it. "Yeah," he says again, more firmly this time, confirming everything you've wanted, pleaded, prayed for, for ten years. "She's comin' home."

The news breaks two days later.

Two days of silence from Alberto after he dropped that fucking bomb on you.

You aren't sure if you're in shock, or if it literally hasn't quite hit you yet. Maybe it's because, despite a part of you accepting you'd never see her again, you always had faith in your heart that she'd come back to you. That naive hope kept you alive for ten years.

You aren't sure what to do with yourself, now. You've grown so accustomed to just... existing. Holding hope, with nothing to really do with it. This sort of feels likes that, but with more anticipation knowing what's to come.

Except, it doesn't.

She comes home, yes. You watch the reports about it, read the headlines, hear the outcries. But you don't see her. You don't hear from her, or Alberto, and you're resigned to waiting for one of them to reach out.

After a few days, you grew impatient. The anxiety you'd felt from waiting around had turned into a sort of panic, an all consuming need to make any attempt to quell your nerves.

Why hadn't you heard anything? Had something gone wrong? Did they forget?

You'd gone to the Falcone residence. It was fucking packed with news casters, journalists, rioters and spectators. It had taken you a while to shove your way through the mob, and when you had, you were turned away like everyone else.

You went back the next day, and the next, and the results were the same.

And then, Alberto dies.

You think the shock will return, but all you can think is Sofia, Sofia, Sofia. Your Sofia. Your girl, who must be hurting so tremendously right now, who you can't cradle and comfort.

It seems your deep seeded need to be by Sofia's side reignites some of your more rational thinking, though, and you consider your options.

The crowds of cameras and protesters should disperse by the time the sun goes down, you'd assume, giving you more of a shot to see her.

So, you decide to return to the Falcone's late that evening, when the moon has settled and the stars are at their brightest.

Despite the time, it seems the family is well awake, as all the lights can be seen as you walk up the driveway. You hear voices, though you're too far away to tell if they're shouts from behind the walls, or conversations outside.

Soon, two of the guards notice you approaching. "Hey!" One hollars, hoisting up his gun as he stalks towards you. "What are you doin' here? You got business with Luca?"

You should probably be more concerned about the possibility of being shot by a paranoid guard, but your adrenaline is pumping too hard to care.

"Uh- no, I'm- I don't," you stutter. "I wanna see Sofia."

As the second guard approaches, you hear a soft chuckle. "Ah, yeah, I remember you," he drawls, before turning towards the other man. "Used to hang around Sofia," he explains to him, making the other relax his posture slightly.

"She's not available," the first one grunts, "probably won't be for a while."

Being turned down does little to deter you. "So she's here? Just, not available?" You ask hopefully. They don't get a chance to respond. "That's fine. I can wait."

You make a bold move to squeeze past them, speed walking over to the grand stair case in front of the house with purpose.

Behind you, the guards bicker. You don't hear what they say, outside of something about 'letting Ms. Falcone decide,' but based on the lack of pushback, you assume the one who remembered you was suggesting the other guard leave it be.

You're perfectly content to sit for as long as you need to. You've waited a decade for Sofia; you can wait a few hours- or even until the morning- to finally see her after all this time.

To your surprise, though, you only wait for about 45 minutes.

The front doors of the mansion swing open, and you hear the click of heels stomping down the steps.

"Fuckin' pricks," someone mutters, and you immediately recognize the voice.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you stand on shaky legs, and you can't turn around to face her fast enough. You almost lose you balance in the process, but catch yourself in time for Sofia to notice your presence.

She has a cigarette halfway to her lips as she stares at you, an unreadable expression on her face.

You blink.

She blinks.

"You're..." her voice sounds empty for a moment. Then she shakes her head a little, blinking hard a few times and huffing. "What are you doing here, [Y/N]?"

You open your mouth, but your brain is moving a mile a minute. Nothing comes out, and you just gape at her like a fish for a few moments. "Uhhhh..." you trail off dumbly, but you're too frozen to even feel stupid about it.

Sofia rolls her eyes. "Come on," she says as she resumes her walk past you, lighting up her cigarette as she does. "I'm not staying too far from here at the moment."

You practically trip over yourself in your rush to follow Sofia. It's a bit of a struggle to keep up with her pace, but you manage. The car is parked at the end of the driveway. A burly man is propped against the hood, and he moves around to the back door when he sees Sofia quickly approaching. He opens it for her with a quick acknowledgment as she slides in smoothly, and remains silent as you clumsily follow suit.

Sofia keeps her eyes fixed out the window as the man gets into the drivers seat. You can't help but stare at her, though, something akin to awe making it impossible to look away.

A few minutes into the drive, you see Sofia tentatively shift her eyes towards you. She looks on guard, as though unnerved by your eyes on her.

Still, she says nothing. Her gaze stays trained on the passing scenery for the remainder of the ride, like she's stubbornly making an effort to ignore your blatant staring.

Sofia hardly waits until the car is parked to unbuckle and hastily exist the vehicle once it's pulled in front of her building. You rush to get your door open, jogging a little to catch up to her.

You're paid no mind as Sofia struts inside and walks to the kitchen. It's almost like you're invisible, a silent, unseen witness.

Sofia moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, retrieving a glass and wine bottle that she pops open, pouring a sizeable amount. She takes a long, long sip, her head tilting back until the contents of her glass are almost completely gone.

Then, she sighs, her shoulders relaxing a bit as she embraces the warmth of the alcohol.

Finally, she looks at you, indifference written all over her face. "You didn't give me an answer earlier," she states simply.

You take a small step forward. "Sofia..." You blink hard, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions.

Sofia is looking at you. You see her. You hear her.

You take another step, and another, until your knees buckle in front of her. "Sofia," it's an almost reverant sound that makes Sofia inhale sharply.

She's so close.

You wrap your arms around her legs as you kneel before her, nuzzling against her thighs.

"Sofia," you say again, just as softly.

You can breathe again. After ten long, dreadful years, you finally feel like the air in your lungs is pure and real.

Sofia freezes. She's unsure of how to process this.

You're here. In front of her- willingly.

It feels wrong; you bowing before her when you have no idea who she is anymore.

"Cut it out," she mutters, lightly pushing your head away and taking a small step back.

You remain on your knees, looking up at her with half lidded eyes.

The adoration in them makes Sofia uncomfortable.

"Get off the floor," Sofia says, her tone indescribable. "You aren't an animal." She turns to top off her wine glass, takes a sip, and leaves the room.

It takes you a minute to gather yourself, but you slowly move towards the direction she headed in. You find her in a room down the hall, an open, office-adjacent space. She's sitting on a loveseat in the center of the room, staring blankly ahead as she sips away.

You pause in the doorway to observe her for a minute, wondering if she's aware that you've followed. You decide to let your presence be known, taking a few confident steps forward.

Sofia doesn't look at you when she speaks.

"Whatever you're here for," she starts, "you won't find."

"No," you find yourself saying. "No, Sofia, I..." you trail off as you come closer. "I... I just want you."

Sofia's jaw clenches. "You don't know what that means anymore," she spits, before taking another sip of her wine, attempting to grow the irrational anger brewing inside her.

There's a certain, panicked heat that comes over you then, feeling unheard and misunderstood. "No, no," you say hastily. "No, Sofia, please," you drop in front of her again. "Please, Sofia. I don't care what that- what that means. All I care about is you."

Sofia scoffs, her temper getting the best of her. She grips your hair without thinking, pulling your head off her lap to look up at her. "You want me to show you what it means?" She hisses, eyes wide and manic. "Okay. Take your clothes off."

You're momentarily stunned, not expecting Sofia's request. "What? Ah-!" Sofia yanks your hair again, gritting her teeth as she speaks. "Take off your fucking clothes," she repeats.

Her tone sends you into motion, and you scramble to remove your top. Sofia settles back against the couch as she watches you undress for her, keeping her features schooled.

Once you're bare, you shift on your knees a bit, unsure of what to do. Being naked in front of Sofia certainly isn't new, but, it's also been ten years since you've last been intimate with her. You never anticipated it happening again like... this. Sofia never acted this way with you in the last. Usually, she undressed you herself, slowly and with kisses on each inch of skin she revealed. She had been teasing, sure, but never so stern.

It stirred something in you that you couldn't place your finger on. All you know is, you certainly aren't complaining.

So, you stay still, not wanting to do anything without instruction lest Sofia decide she's no longer willing to entertain you. You bask in Sofia's predatory gaze, letting her drink in your exposed body.

Soon, though, you start to squrim a bit. It's not cold, per say, but the air was just brisk enough on your bare skin that you couldn't ignore the slight chill.

You shiver a little, and Sofia smirks.

"You cold?" She asks knowingly. Sofia keeps her eyes on you as she reaches for her wine glass, standing as she does.

You tense a little as she begins to stalk closer to you, a small sneer on her face.

She's behind you, now, but you don't dare to move your head, not even when you hear the clink of her wine glass on the ground. Instead, you stay still and complacent as Sofia picks up your discarded shirt and begins to wrap it around your wrists. You moan inadvertently at the feeling of her skin on yours, but Sofia takes a deep breath. She ignores the sound, instead making quick work of restraining your hands behind your back.

When she's done, Sofia picks her glass back up as she towers over you. There's a dark, empty look in her eye that sends a chill down your spine.

Sofia, of course, notices this.

She smirks. "Is that it? You chilly, sweetheart?" Her voice is patronizing and full of faux concern.

You're not sure if she wants an answer or not, but aren't given a chance to respond either way, Sofia suddenly splashing the remenants of the wine from her glass onto you.

You flinch, and gasp loudly at the cold sensation. You're hands instinctively move to rub at eyes in an attempt to clear your vision, but you find yourself tugging fruitlessly at the shirt Sofia had binded your wrists. The wine soaking your face and dampening your hair ends trickles down your body, erupting goosebumps in it's wake.

You're still blinking heavily in an attempt to normalize your seeing when hear a breathy cackle. You feel her pinch your jaw, a strong grip on you as she licks a filthy stripe up your face, lapping up the spilt wine. She releases you, the sound of footsteps echoing through the room as Sofia struts past you and towards the desk by the window. You can't see what she's retrieving, your eyesight blurry and unfocused.

By the time Sofia circles back, you've mostly regainedy your vision. You don't have any time to visually process what she has in her hand, though, as she wastes no time in forcing the barrel of her handgun past your parted, panting lips, and into your mouth.

"It's a terrible feeling. Isn't it?" The gun presses a little harder, and you cringe at the feeling of rough metal pressing against your tongue. "Nothing left to hide behind," Sofia drawls, her voice is surprisingly even, though her words feel weighted.

You blink up at her with an unnerving lack of fear.

Sofia bares on with a tilt of her head. "The guards at Arkham stripped us bare every morning," she states, and your heart clenches at the thought. "It was humiliating," Sofia continues, a subtle anger brewing in her voice with each punctuated annunciation, "being turned into a thing."

Sofia shoves the gun hard enough to make you gag, and presses forward until you're bending backwards. Sofia straddles you, her grip on the gun directing your movements. She has you sprawled on your back, hands twisted painfully under you, pressed between your spine and the hardwood floor.

Sofia lowers her face, her wild eyes inches from yours. "You think," she growls, "that I'm still who you knew?" She smiles, though there's no joy in it. "That I'm not just a thing?"

Apparently, it wasn't a rhetorically question, as Sofia yanks the gun out of your mouth.

You sputter for a second, before rushing to respond, "no," you gasp. "I- I don't expect you to- to be the same, Sofia, I don't." Your voice cracks a bit, and you pray that your eyes convey your earnesty. "I don't care that you- you don't feel like yourself, Sofia, if you feel different, now. I love you. I love you. I love you, Sofia," you insist, your voice soft.

Sofia regards you for a long minute, and you wait with abated breath to see how she'd react.

For a moment, you think she's heard you. Really heard, and believed you- believed in your unconditional love and devotion for her. There's a hopeful, but guarded look in her eye, something akin to a skittish street cat assessing if it should trust the hand reaching out to pet it. But, just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone.

Sofia's features go hard again, and she moves her face away, straightening her back and kneeling over you.

"You don't get it," she says- simply, quietly, almost as if to herself.

You part your lips to protest, but Sofia is quicker, and slaps her hand over your mouth. "Don't," she warns.

Sofia hates it. The way you don't even struggle under her; the way you just take it, like you understand what this means.

Why don't you get it? Do you really not understand what kind of horrors she was exposed to? What they did to her; what they turned her into?

It pisses her off.

How dare you, how dare you, prance back into her life, expecting her to be untouched by the hell that was Arkham?

Do you think she's naive? That she'd truly believe, after all this time, you'd still want her? Want her for who she actually is now?

You don't even fucking know her anymore.

Fuck.

It infuriates her for so many reasons that she refuses to acknowledge right now.

Instead, she let's herself embrace the unbridled rage that's always threatening to erupt inside her.

"Alright!" She exclaims, a Cheshire Cat grin spreading across her face. "You love me?" She taunts. "You think you want me?"

She shoves herself off of you to pull her underwear down her legs. You're heart thuds as she slips off her fur coat and hikes up her dress. Sofia easily drops back down, straddling your face and gripping your hair with one hand. "Show me, then." With that, she lowers herself completely, smothering your face in her cunt.

Your primal instincts kick in, then, and you press forward, your tongue eagerly swiping through her folds.

Jesus fuck, you think somewhere in the back of your mind. Finally, finally, finally.

You hadn't realized how much you craved the taste of Sofia until this very moment. It feels like you're starving, like you haven't eaten in ten goddamn years, and Sofia is the first meal you've been granted.

Your ministrations are messy and desperate. You can hardly think straight, overwhelmed by the taste and scent and feel of Sofia. All you do is lick and suck and moan, embracing the pure bliss you feel. The rapidly decreasing supply of oxygen in your lungs is easy to ignore when you finally have the privilege of pleasuring Sofia again.

Sofia's eyebrows furrow. You won't struggle under her. You won't look up with panicked eyes, even as she deprives you of air, even as she suffocates you.

You don't get it.

Sofia narrows her eyes and her hips buck forward. It's almost violent, the way she fucks your face, riding harder and harder. She grunts softly, losing inhibition as she watches her slickness spread all over your face.

Still, you only whine as though you're the one being pleasured.

Why don't you fucking get it.

Sofia tightens her grip in your hair, pushing your face impossibly closer against her cunt as she feels her climax approaching. She's panting harshly through her noise, controlling the means threatening to spill out of her.

Just then, your eyes slugglishly blink open and lock with hers. It's clear that you're moments away from passing out, and Sofia can only stare down at the dazed look in your eyes.

Still, there's no fear there. There's nothing but adoration.

Your eyes roll back, and your eyelids flutter shut. Sofia's breath hitches as your body goes limp under her.

It's then that she cums, her body tensing and jerking. A ragged moan escapes her as she grinds and grinds against you, using your unconscious body to draw the waves of pleasure out.

Sofia slumps off of you, sitting by your side as she recovers from the exertion. She just sits for a while, until her breathing regulates, and she gathers the courage to look over at you.

You're still passed out, but the slight rise and fall of your chest tells Sofia you are, in fact, alive.

It doesn't do much to relieve Sofia- not when there's a sick, familiar feeling of dread forming in the pit of her stomach.

No.

Sofia squeezes her eyes shut.

This isn't supposed to matter.

This doesn't mean anything.

Sofia stands, and smooths out her dress. She can't afford to have regrets; to have... things that make her question herself.

That's not her anymore.

Sofia takes a deep breath.

She squares her shoulders, and doesn't spare you a second glance as she forces herself to leave the room.

[derangedanomaly]

I saw your new post and I was like 'hmm, interesting' can you write about the bad sans a few more of your choice reacting to their Fem S/O who was Overly blessed?, Like She was literally God's favorite in most things

And every time someone is going to hurt her lightning strikes them or something else happens and she just shrugged like she's used to that, bonus if she's absolutely beautiful and she's being flirt with regularly resulting in half of these people being fried or Almost killed by the God's

I love this request lmao.

Thank you anon! Hope you enjoy! :D

Masterlist

BAD SANSES X OVERLY BLESSED S/O

(Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Horror, Error)

NIGHTMARE:

Oh, he will absolutely HATE YOU. (Not for long though. 😉)

You tried flirting with him the first time y'all met, and that was basically the kick-starter for him to hate you. He tried to kill you after your flirting attempt, but got immediately striked with lightning.💀

He literally can't stand you. From your breathtaking beauty, your smoothness all the way to your flirtiness!! (<- his words, not mine 🤷‍♀️)

The gods hate him too. So SO much. It's actually wild.

He literally can't believe the amount of bullshit you've gotten away from. Like, what do you mean you've 'accidentaly' killed someone?! And- excuse me- but did you just say that you ROBBED A STORE ONCE?! Bro is flabbergasted.

Doesn't want anything to do with you. You're just a stupid pest only in his way!! So why's he itching to be in your presence now?

He's so frustrated that it's actually really weird... That's the king of DARKNESS, negativity, and here he is, craving after a little touch from this mortal.

You're actually not part of the Bad Sanses. But you are part of the Star Sanses, which should make Nightmare feel good. He knows he should feel better! But he feels so much fucking worse...

After many fights between the Star Sanses, (which now includes you too), he finds himself subconsciously chasing after you.

Normally, he goes after Dream in fights, but now... His target changed. And he's not slick either. Everybody fucking noticed! And you know who noticed it right away? Yes, that's right, Dream.

I swear, your fights just includes you two flirting with each other while tussling. The Gods don't even notice how flirty you guys are, when you're saying stuff like: "I wish you'd wipe that stupid smirk off of your face, it's annoying." "You want me so bad.." "SHUT THE FUCK UP"

Nightmare doesn't know it yet, but he's slowly falling for you the more y'all are away from each other. Maybe you return his feelings back?

KILLER:

"Mamma Mia... that's one hell of a woman...." I swear, Killer's in love with you from the first time he saw you. And it wasn't because of your looks nor your flirtiness! The first time he saw you, you literally killed someone on the spot because he tried to take your food. (The God's are back at it again 💀)

Listen, Killer's NOT the shy type. That's for sure. But right now, he felt more shier than ever before. You were just so ethereal to him..

He went up to you and greeted you. Safe to say that y'all clicked together right away! Maybe.. you also fell for him from the first sight? (THE ZING FROM HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA CONFIRMED??!)

The Gods for sure striked him at least 3 times. Until you had something to say about it. The Gods stopped attacking Killer so much after they saw that you genuinely loved him back.

You two have a little flirting competition every now and then. (You always win)

He's at awe when you tell him all the crimes you've gotten away from. Cause, like, since when??!

He doesn't like it that you're a part of the Star Sanses.. "your love is not meant to be" (He's just being dramatic. As always.)

He can't help but sneak off with you when there's a fight between the Bad and Star Sanses. He just wants to be with you. And I don't mean that as only spend time with you. Nah...he WANTS you!

He actually confesses to you, he says that he loves you and that he can't help but yearn for you. Now comes the question...will you accept his confession?

DUST:

Oh baby, oh BROTHER. He's so annoyed with you. He doesn't like it much when people are as outgoing as you..

Listen, the Gods don't have much an opinion on him.. but they WILL fry him at least 5 times until getting used to seeing him around you.

While Dust doesn't like you much, you in turn LOVE him. You're flirting with him almost all the time. Which rewards you with a very blushy Dust that quickly teleports away. (Not before giving you a side eye. 💀)

Don't worry, he will also start to slowly fall for you the more y'all are conversing. (You fell first but he fell harder >>>>)

Wants for you to prove to him you did those things that you're saying you got away with. Just to fuck with you 💀

His mouth literally dropped open when he finds out you, in fact, was telling the truth. I mean, you did just get out of a store with a shitload of money in your hands.

He was about to ask you how you did it so quickly, but he was interrupted with loud sirens. Welp, looks like you're busted. He smirks at you, as if saying that he was right with you not getting away with it- until you did the most shocking thing ever. You flirted your way out of the prison by flirting with the police officers.

And this right here, was the exact moment when Dust found out he loves you. He gave the officers the hardest glare. He was FUMING. At last, he couldn't take it as his Gaster Blasters appeared and killed the humans. 💀

Becomes miserable when you join the Star Sanses. Damn..and right after he found his feelings for you :(

You both still sneak off from your respective groups to see each other.

Dust keeps comparing your situation to Romeo and Juliet, except no one's dying. He has the biggest genuine smile on his face as he says this.. he's so cute istg..

HORROR:

He just tilts his head whenever he sees you "kill off" people you flirt with. (The Gods are at fault here yet again.)

He approaches you, without a word, looking at you in silence. You both just stare into each other's eyes. It's...kinda awkward from another point of view.

Oh.my.god. THE GODS (and you) FIND HIM SO SWEET WHEN THE FIRST THING HE DOES IS GIVE YOU FLOWERS 😭😭 (some of them are ripped, but that's fine. //Bro ate them//)

He immediately becomes ok in The God's eyes. (The amount of times the Gods strikes him/fried him: 0)

BRO'S WINNING

The best part of it all, is that it was all done subconsciously. He just saw these flowers, thought they were pretty, so he tried to eat them, but then he saw you and thought that they'd fit better with a pretty woman like you.

You try flirting with him, but he either doesn't get your flirting, or he doesn't acknowledge it.

He likes listening to your crime list. He always lays down on your lap whenever you tell him these stories.

He doesn't want you to be a part of the Star Sanses, he wants you with him!! So he'll just kidnap you in the middle of the night. 🤷‍♀️ (And he does that so casually too 😭)

He always compliments you, whenever he can. You're just so pretty in his eyes. 😭

Horror tends to avoid talking much, as it takes him a little longer, but he'll try to talk to you more than the others :) (My HC)

ERROR:

This dofus is so amazed. He knows that you're probably the Gods favorite right away.

He's interested...I guess.

He tries to be sneaky as he creeps up behind you, and greets you. (He's just shy.. I mean- a beautiful girl like YOU? And in his territory?? He doesn't bring much people there 💀)

The God's immediately striked him btw.

Fortunately, you find him quite fun to be around. But the Gods don't like him much.

It becomes kinda difficult talking with him, when the Gods just fry him right away.

You quickly become frustrated, and try to let them somehow know that you LIKE him and want to be around him. So...you become the MOST FLIRTIEST MF THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN.

Error just becomes a blushing mess at your ministrations. "*Some flirty line*" "O-Oh- Uhm..thanks?" He doesn't even know how to respond to them.

But after awhile, it was a success and he doesn't get fried anymore! (The Gods probably became too tired of him to care, or they finally took a hint.)

Error doesn't mind the flirting much, (because he loves you) but please- for the LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY- Don't touch him. You'll immediately lose his trust if you touch him. (His Haphephobia)

Actually kinda thrives in the fact that you're a member of the Star Sanses. He's just a sucker for "prohibited love".

It also doesn't bother him much, because he's not actually an official member of the Bad Sanses. He rejected Nightmare's invite, but sometimes comes to their side if he's needed or he's just bored 🤷‍♀️

He makes sure that you're safe during battles. Even if you're on the other team.

Wants to hear EVERY bad thing you've done. (It...gets him kinda- going? I guess. He just finds that attractive.)

[fauustic]

don't cry, my treasure.

soft miguel o'hara x gender-neutral reader drabble

had to write this and get it out of my brain before i post my miguel series..

summary: you accidentally stir miguel awake while you're dealing with insomnia, he decides to take care of you. fluff. comfort.

warnings: brief mentions of previous injuries (fighting crime is serious business!!), just miguel being a silly little thing.. i love sleepy miguel sm.

words: 3k

Sleep came in waves, pushing against the lid of your eyes and taking you away in its current just to spit you back out into reality.

You were always tired, you've realized as you stretched your aching bones and rubbed your swollen cheek– spider suit catching your eye as it was thrown haphazardly on your bedside chair like an afterthought. 

And nightmares, nightmares kept you up like a stalker always two steps behind– waiting, preying on your frazzled mind like a parasite constantly leeching off your sanity. So here you were, grasping at the sleeveless sleep-shirt as it clamped onto your sweat-sleek stomach like a second skin.

Shallow breaths escaped from your trembling lips like you were just dumped into a pool of ice-cold water, spider senses lit aflame with the abrupt, irrational fear stabbed through your heart.

You tried to stay quiet, you didn't want to be any more of a burden when you knew how much your lover struggled through insomniac nights as well– he had just gotten back from countless hours stove away in his dim and dark lab after a few days of power naps and caffeine. Miguel was downright exhausted, snores meeting your ears whenever you'd wake up from a dark turn in the dreams you do have.

But this time was different, as you shied away from his back that you were latched onto like a koala. Your skin peeled off his, and if you were with anyone else you would have thought it was gross. But Miguel loves closeness, the affection you just can't help but give and he takes and takes like a starved man. His muscles on his shoulders rolled and neck cracked as Miguel stirred, a breathy little groan hissing past the fangs he unknowingly had on full display when he shifted on his back– scarlet gaze screwed shut as his hands reached towards your usual spot on your shared bed. The pads of his fingers melted into your hip, little claws kissing the unveiled flesh from the lack of control he had over himself from still ebbing away the sleep hazing his mind.

Your name rolled off his tongue like a blessing, raspy and a bit puzzled; "Everythin' alright?" Miguel slurred, face barely leaving the pillow as his tied-back hair came askew; the little tendrils, that usually would never see the lines on his forehead, brushing against his eyebrow and curling ever so slightly. Call you love-struck, but you swear the curl shaped a little heart. "Miss you so close already," he huffed into the domestic atmosphere, thumb swirling imaginary shapes into the canvas of your skin.

With every month passing by, the intimacy came easier; Miguel's thoughts came and went in the bubble of security you brought him. The clinginess you never would have expected from the man who has the Spider Society at his beck and call rivalled the mimicry of a grizzly bear secretly being a very soft teddy bear. And with you, he was nothing less than a man who acted as if every drop of love you had for him was his last.

It took a long time for him to open up his heart for you to create space for yourself, but as you leaned back into his space to cup your palm into the angle of his jaw– everything felt worth it. Like you belonged here.

"Bad dream." Was all you said, kissing the ridge of his nose like Miguel was the most fragile thing in the world. And he practically became putty in your hands, eyes fluttering open accompanying a subtle frown. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, sharp canine peeking through the plush of his lips. Though he looked like he had just woken from hibernation, his features glazed with gentle understanding.

"That's no good," He murmured into your touch like a prayer, sitting up until the duvet pooled in his lap. Miguel hogged most of the bed unintentionally with his almost seven-foot self, the height that had many opposed to him on their knees in angst, but when he sat up and leaned towards your form like a magnet– Miguel was nothing more than a man who worshipped you. "Déjame cuidarte, ¿de acuerdo? (Let me take care of you, okay?)"

Before you even had the mind to protest, he pulled forward until his lips met the damp hair curled against the back of your neck. "Migs, you need rest–" you began but to no avail, he was already adjusting his boxers and shuffling towards your bathroom with a slumped posture. It had your stomach churn with butterflies even after all these months, the sweetness he's learned all over again despite the trauma he's endured leaking into your daily life and becoming something you absolutely adored about him.

Silence enveloped the apartment amidst the sleepy fumbling from within the washroom, flashes of vibrancy peering into the curtains you had against the windows that took up the wall closest to the busiest flow of air traffic. A memory was brought to mind as you peeked through the fabric, met with the city of stars and man-made comets passing by the skyscraper your home is within.

Funnily enough, you had wanted to live in the underground district of Nueva York, finding yourself more enraptured by the architecture that hid machinery and structures that kept the top afloat. But that was before you met Miguel and was thrown into the ring of being a part of the Spider Society– so you just made Miguel come along with your weekly trips to the landmarks hidden away.

"C'mere, muñeco." The fallen angel on your mind interrupted the delicate quiet of your home, calling through the cracked door after a moment of the water running, warmth seeping into the bedroom and tickling the flesh peeking out from your loose-sleepwear. 

When you pushed through the threshold and granted with the presence of Miguel bent over the tub and testing the temperature of the water mumbling to himself, you were already in the process of ripping off your shirt– but you couldn't help but stutter to a halt in a flustered mess when he turned his attention to you– glasses framing his sleepy eyes like a weapon within itself. Breath hitched and sweat coating your palms in lovesick anxiety, you fumbled into the dim light of the washroom.

Clumsily, you bumped your hip into the counter as your shirt finally came off, an uncharacteristic yelp coming from you and surely you expected to meet the cold tile floor until a pair of hands settled on the curves of your hips– claws indenting on the skin barely above his boxers holding into your figure for dear life. 

"Easy now, mi sirenita." Miguel practically cooed into your ear, kissing the shell of it before trailing down the column of your neck– nibbling into the blemished canvas of your clavicle. A faint bite mark etched your skin like oil paint, muddied with purple and red hues. Just as it was fading away, Miguel's lips grazed the dent with admiration before settling his blunt canines into the desired point and biting down. You gasped breathily, heat pooling your cheeks and your knees threatening to give out.

The unspoken desire of his want to care for you was written in your hips when Miguel caressed into where you had hurt yourself from your clumsiness, yet his lack of self restraint was symbolized through the bite just below your neck– very rarely absent without the pierce-marks of fangs. But he wanted to be delicate with you tonight, treat you as one of his most prized possessions when he truly just loved you a little too much. 

Pushing him away with the palm of your hand on his chest, a gentle scold resting on your tired expression like an empty threat. "Ew, Migs. That's too cheesy." You whined, allowing him to slip the briefs from your body before taking your hand in his and leading you to the tub. You sunk down into the sudsy, bubbling water with a splash that had him sighly fondly. Drips of bubbles coated his frames and before he had the chance to wipe them off, your hands wrapped around his neck just to tug him closer to the edge of the tub.

Miguel furrowed his brows at your antics as you kissed his cheek, his hands finding purchase on the edge so he didn't take the risk of slipping into the bubbly water. The thought makes you giggle as his fingers cup the angle of your jaw, calculated and a bit sorrowful. Miguel hated seeing you hurt, so knowing that your miscalculations in a mission with him had a right hook land on your 'good side,' he felt as if he had failed you. Didn't change the fact he pummelled the pesky little anomaly in your honor – but you didn’t miss the misty eyes he held so sadly for you as he patched up your bleeding nose. 

And here he was, kissing the corner of your lips with so much delicacy that you could almost cry.

A faint whimper left his lips as they grazed the sudden wetness dripping down your cheeks, the sleepy look in his eye blanketed with haste concern as he checked your body for any other sores inflicted from the bad feud– and as Miguel’s kisses were met with bubbles and blemished skin, he whispered against your flesh like a saint worshipping their holiness. “No llores, tesoro, por favor no llores.. (Don’t cry, treasure, please don’t cry) Hate seeing that look on your face, can’t stand it.” He breathed into your neck, any care about getting wet was out the window of your apartment when a strangled choke erupted from your throat like a hiccup.

“Just missed you,” You admitted as you shifted into the water that submerged your legs, leaning into his warmth as close as you could. A sniffle had Miguel folding into your damp hair, his own tied-back curls kissing your forehead.

Miguel shuddered, the stoicism he was able to keep up in your presence throughout the daylight behind black sunglasses and a subtle pout in the rare moments where he leaves his lab crumbled the moment he heard you express your craving for him. “I.. missed you too. Shock, I missed you too–” Miguel breathed into your lips, his face angled towards you in a way that ruined everyone else for you. His lashes drooped addictively as you let out a stifled giggle at his lingo he’s never been able to shake. 

“Come join me,” you murmur as you escape his space and instead sink lower into the bathtub. You swear he practically whined, his fang peeking just slightly into your view as Miguel’s face scrunched into displeasure. His bottom lip rolled against the pointy canine, something he was always a bit self-conscious of– but with you it was like he never needed to think that he was anything different.

“You know last time– I could barely even fit in the damn thing,” He complained yet he still stripped off his loose sweatpants nonetheless, shameless as his free hand, middle finger specifically, pushed his frames up with a steadiness that proved alone he was the leader of such a "pretentious" society. Had you mentioned the thought aloud, Miguel's signature frown and deadpan stare would have replaced that sweet look in his eye in an instant. So you just smiled and opened your arms in a warm welcome.

Miguel grunted in response, faux annoyance coating his tone when you could depict the subtle curl of his lips– he was always more than content with himself whenever he was able to get as close to you as possible. You scooted forward to allow some kind of space for him, and soon enough his chest was used as a pillow for the back of your head and your hims were encompassed by his legs, feet dangling from the tub because he was right; Miguel’s stature was never fit any anything deemed for the average person. And Miguel was anything but normal, and he hated himself for that.

You could hear the mumbles of curses that slipped from his tongue when he slipped further into the bubbly water, shoulders hunched and arms resting on the cusp of the tub. It was a tight fit, your back nestled into the heat of his abdomen as his chin rested on the top of your head– and by the way Miguel shifted and oozed with insecurity you could tell your wishes he so easily obliged was backfiring from his poisoned trauma. From the mirror in the washroom, you could see the scrunch of his nose as he laid his glasses aside, atop the lid of the toilet just beside where you two sat intertwined.

Reaching back, you found his hands and clutched onto them as if he was a fading star, gentleness contrasting the explosion rumbling in his throat as his thoughts laced with venom swarmed his very being. It reminded you of the first glances you got of him when you first was recruited to the society, a downcast stare always miles underneath the horizon and a frown that never left his face. But as your fingers found comfort within his bruised knuckles, washing away the tainted sin the moment you brought the bruises to your lips and left fluttering touches– Miguel melted into your bared soul like a stray desperate for love and affection.

To you, you were his food. He feasted on what you gave, that warm feeling that curled into his ribcage and soothed his aching heart and whatever else is rotted in that dark imprisonment. Miguel took and took and took, nestled into your physicality as you ceaselessly gave and gave and gave.

But for you, all you needed to see his eyes blink into reality, grounded by what he was so depraved of growing up. Miguel’s tension left his cheeks, softening as you intertwined your hand into his and the other brushing against the fat of his thigh– squeezing reassuringly. Like a switch was turned on, Miguel devolved into a puddle around you as a huff of relief caressed the shell of your ear.

Miguel’s shins kicked up water, splashing your nose and drenching your nostrils with the scent of bubblegum. And you laughed heartily as his chin met your shoulder– nibbling so softly as if he was chewing the stress from his mind. His arms that once rested on the edge wrapped around the underneath of your arms, cupping your waist before he finally settled his hands on the core of your stomach. His deep breaths filled the silence of the bathroom, and you could practically hear snores before you broke the sweet quietness.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured into his cheek when you turned towards the chin digging into your shoulder and then you feathered your lips onto the bone of his cheek, “such a pretty thing. My sweet thing.” Praise rolled off that sleepy ooze of warmth inside your heart, and when you felt Miguel shift and his mouth that once formed an “o” contort into an upside down close-lipped smile, you knew you hit gold.

He shook his head in disbelief, breath meeting the nestle of your neck when his cheeks lit aflame and sputtered in broken Spanish. A whimper rumbled against your bare skin, and soon enough purring vibrated your back like a cat knowing it’s being spoken to. “Sabes, eres... eres increíble. Too much, you’re too much. Christ.”

Bubbles popped around the two of you, the lights set on the lowest option so Miguel didn’t develop on one those terrible migraines that pounced the moment he was at his most vulnerable: a rare dinner date he had reserved, making out in the luminescence of his lab’s technological panels, the first time you had spent the night at his own apartment before you had moved in together.

You hummed as he begrudgingly separated his hands from you, only to lather the shampoo you love in between his fingers and starting on your scalp. He was too tender with you tonight, but you needed this treatment more than anything. Your love for him leaked from your pores and intermingled with his muscles, relaxing the both of you without even needing to say anything. But you felt the urge to tell him, to tell him everything on your mind that very moment. Yet, sleep was a fickle thing and you were exhausted, so you only huffed out a whisper before submitting to the skilled massage on your muscles.

“Love you, honey.” You breathed into the domesticity of it all, his claws peeking from the pads of his fingers just the way Miguel knew you liked against your scalp. The purring in his chest only increased tenfold, scooting closer to your back if that was even possible. The both of you hold these memories close to your intertwined hearts, knowing you only had so much time together outside of your shared second lives. You haven’t been able to reassure your feelings for him in quite a few days, and despite not needing to really say your affections aloud– Miguel preferred physicality anyways, you still caught on that vocalizing your feelings for the other had you running laps around his mind every minute and every hour of the day.

He only kissed the back of your head, just upon the mole you didn’t know you had. Without a word, the sudsy kisses trailed further down until it met where your spine began, and he bit down just faintly. 

“I’m so glad I found you,” He murmured into the soap pooling down your shoulders, soft but echoing around in the walls of the bathroom like a promise, a truth that will forever hold its meaning. Within this city of stars, the only celestial he had eyes on were you.

“Te amo, mi tesoro. Te amo mucho, cuidaré de ti para siempre (I will take care of you forever).”

[sentience-if]

Play Demo

You do not know who you are.  

Your memories only go five years back, to when you woke up in a subterranean tunnel system with nothing but a name. Now you reside in the Holy City, capital of a post-apocalyptic world ruled by a faction called the Religious.  

After a near-death experience at the hands of a crazed angel, you're suddenly thrust into a building conspiracy surrounding a corpse-worshiping cult, divinely mad saints, and something buried far, far beneath the earth.  

To top it all off, you're being plagued by nightmares you can't explain, as well as your rapidly returning memories.  

Or… someone's memories, anyway.

Features  

Choose your first name, gender, and appearance.

Customize your character's personality, including their opinions on magic and the Religious.

Make choices that affect the plot, other characters, and even your own sanity.

Unravel the history of the Religious and the apocalypse they claim to have brought the world back from

Characters (descriptions here)

The Mercenary: Val (nb/m/f)

A hired blade with a chaotic streak, as well as the closest thing you have to a friend. Easy-going and unpredictable, Val is usually the one to get you into trouble, but is always there to get you out of it.

The Handmaiden: Klaus Kirkhall (m)

A high-ranking member of the Religious. Klaus is pragmatic with a dry sense of humor, but takes his responsibilities deeply seriously. You get the intense feeling he know something - many things - that you don't.  

The Priestess: Ira Auclair (nb)

A priestess working in the lower districts of the Holy City, extremely devout and deeply interested in the history and lore of the Religious. They spend their time searching archives to fuel their (slightly blasphemous) theories.  

The Spy: Kat Saxon (f)

Claims to be a priestess, but is barely trying to hide the fact that she's clearly anything but. Her merciless stare and unshakeable confidence dare anyone to call out her suspect nature.  

The Muscle: Dane/Dana Constantine (m/f)

An officer of the Blessed Guard, working directly under Klaus. Constantine is quick to anger, and is an absolute brick wall when challenged. While deeply loyal, Constantine isn't afraid to give their employer a piece of their mind.

The Saint: Guinefort (nb)

world's soggiest beyblade

Poly Options: Val/Klaus and Ira/Constantine

Content warnings: violence, blood, heavy religious themes

[catboydogma]

hard to hold/cold to touch

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

codywan week 2024 day 2 prompts, sol edition: aro/ace codywan, beating rival suitors off with a stick

notes: title from doctor blind by emily haines & the soft skeleton. guys i'm not behind ok. everyone else is just so far ahead. but i am perfectly on schedule. ok? ok.

wc: 1,785

cross-posted to ao3

His General had a problem.

Well, no. Cody had to rephrase that, even in his head:

His General had many problems. The problem in this instance was that some fool of an ambassador was laying tentacles on his person.

“Sir,” Cody said, stepping out from behind a pillar. Largely ornamental. But it might provide cover if one of the upper balconies became a hot spot. This hall was full of ornamental corners. It would have been a tactical nightmare to take. But to defend—even if the “defending” here was done for the sake of one body and not the entire building—it was a blessing in disguise. In hideous crown molding disguise.

“Ah, Commander,” the General said, betrayed only by the tightness at the corners of his eyes and the tense register of his voice. “Ambassador A’orusk was just remarking on the fine fighting condition of our battalion. I must say, it is all due to the rigorous training regimen Commander Cody has—”

“You’ll need to step back from General Kenobi, Ambassador.” Cody turned to fix the Ambassador with a gimlet-eyed stare. “Security mandate.”

Ambassador A’orusk let out a delicate, faint “ah” and let their tentacles slither off Kenobi’s shoulders and upper arm. Cody had read the briefing. A bold overture on the Ambassador’s part, projecting their interest so blatantly. Any other might have been flattered. Kenobi had been making a good showing of it, at any rate. Now that there was a witness—Cody—the good Ambassador’s honeyed gestures fell flat, and they made their excuses shortly before moving away to… more fruitful endeavors.

“My thanks, Cody,” Kenobi said under his breath, leaning in towards Cody and smoothing his hands over his front. This close, Cody could just make out a whiff of Kenobi’s aftershave: amber. Cloves. A hint of bergamot. The familiar smell made something loose and warm take up in Cody’s chest. Something that felt treacherously like unconditional trust.

“Not a problem, General,” Cody said blandly. “Can’t have the Separatists make off with the goods before we’ve even gotten to the good part of the evening.”

Kenobi snorted and his eyes crinkled at the corners as his moustache twitched with good humor. “Astute as ever. What in the galaxy would I ever do without you?”

Cody checked his vambrace discreetly for incoming messages. The only part of his armor he’d been allowed to keep had been this—for the built-in comm. “I expect you’d muddle along without me somehow.”

“You underestimate yourself, my Commander,” Obi-Wan said. It didn’t quite feel like a rebuke.

“Maybe so,” Cody allowed. He’d long since learned to pick his battle carefully when it came to Obi-Wan. The man liked to argue—for fun. He enjoyed it. It was like a sporting event to him.

Cody was coming to realize that this was not an isolated occurrence. His General was an attractive man. The problem wasn’t that Cody knew this. This was not a Cody problem. It was not an issue that Cody, by and large, had ever been worried about. No. The problem was that the entire rest of the galaxy did. Which made it Cody’s problem in an entirely different way. Worse, it made it a Cody-and-Kenobi problem.

The next attempt upon Kenobi’s person came from an unexpected front. They were bound for a brief resupply on Triple-Zero when an invitation to some money laundering… ah, no, the term to politicians was fundraising… gala in the Senate rotunda. Naturally, this meant that Cody and a squad of Ghost’s finest accompanied the General. Not even here was free of dangers. Evidently.

Kenobi showed him around the rotunda and then around the arch-ceilinged hall the gala would take place in. Cody noted each red flag and ostentatious exit with a gimlet eye. Kenobi was giving him the side eye that meant his General was onto him, but Cody was fine with that. He’d seen how uncomfortable Kenobi could get when someone seemed intent on getting into his Temple-issue pants, even as beige as they were. Cody had his back, if nothing else. An impressive 83% of all assassinations occurred where the mark was most comfortable: at home. In the middle of a trusted routine. In the privy. Daily morning jog. Etcetera. Kenobi wasn’t comfortable in the Senate but he was most comfortable on Coruscant.

Ergo: this was the best time and optimal place to have Kenobi assassinated. Or something. Cody gave the skylights set high into the ceiling a look of deep misgivings.

“You’re plotting,” Kenobi murmured out of the side of his mouth. He managed to make it look like a gracious smile from the front.

“You’re plotting,” Cody replied. “I’m securing a perimeter.”

Only three busybodies tried their luck before the rest got the message: a handsy Pantoran aide that made Kenobi turn a delicate shade of oyster white before Cody firmly removed them from the vicinity. A tall Bith that liked to stand much too close to people who were clearly occupied with other matters was summarily dispatched to another side of the room. Sly fucking Moore, of all the people, attempted to get much too close to Cody’s General—despite the polite and subtle backpedaling Kenobi was hastily executing.

“That could have gone better,” Kenobi murmured as he watched Moore storm away.

Cody might have orchestrated a little accident with a Senator carrying a too-full glass of something viscous and lurid pink.

“You should try putting a bag over your head,” Cody said blandly. He accepted a plate of little shrimp creatures in a citrus reduction and ran a discreet scanner over it before handing it off to Kenobi.

“Doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d think it might,” Kenobi said mournfully. “You should try some, Cody.”

And then he held a shrimp creature out to Cody pinched between thumb and forefinger. A howl of laughter from the peanut gallery—blessedly silent up until now—split his earpiece. Cody winced and looked over Obi-Wan’s shoulder to where Gregor was consumed by a violent fit of coughing.

“Of course, sir.” Cody leaned forward an inch and took the shrimp in one bite. The tart pop of citrus complimented the fresh and light texture of the… thing. There was a little crunch of tiny eyes as he bit down. “Very… nice.”

“I thought so as well.” Kenobi nodded as if confirming a hypothesis and passed the now-empty tray back to a silent serving droid.

It wasn’t until they got back to the Negotiator that Kenobi confessed. They were taking off early enough the next morning that the both of them had deemed it unnecessary work to bunk either in the Temple or on-planet barracks, respectively. The lartie was nearly empty—Gregor had taken his boys to 79’s and no one else was out this late and wanting to take a transport back up to the venator. Cody didn’t envy his Captain the hangover he was about to be working through.

“I’m grateful to you,” Kenobi said, staring off through the tiny viewport that washed the planet surface out in shades of blue and slate.

Cody rocked from his heels to the balls of his feet and back. Kenobi would have to elaborate a little more than that.

“I didn’t quite cotton on to what you were doing until a few tens ago,” Kenobi continued.

Hm. That was… unexpected. Cody frowned in thought. He hadn’t started doing an official security detail until tonight. Oh, it wasn’t like he’d leave his General unsupervised in the middle of a hotbed or something. But Jedi were “free” “spirits.” Whatever that meant. Outside of meaning that Kenobi liked to hare off with little to no warning on a sheer whim. And he hadn’t exactly run the official thing past Kenobi until last night.

“But even as long as it took me to realize, I, I hope you know how very much I appreciate it.” Kenobi cleared his throat and folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe. Cody nearly barked at him to put a hand on the grab bar that was there for that very purpose. Nearly.

“Comes with the territory, sir,” Cody said slowly. He thought he knew what his Jedi was talking about. But the mind of Kenobi was a strange and labyrinthine thing.

“Well, you have always excelled in going above and beyond.” The look Kenobi sent him was warm with fondness. “I know I never said anything about… my discomfort of, ah… certain kinds of relationships and advances. It must seem strange, after you met Satine, and the sort of… carrying on I do with a few of our adversaries.”

Yes, the flirting. Cody’s mind slowly started to churn into a higher gear as he stared at the wall of the lartie. “Flirting’s one thing, sir,” he finally said. “And I wouldn’t presume to know what sort of relationships… that all’s your business.” And… it was safe enough to admit in the privacy of his own mind. Perhaps they were kindred spirits, in that way.

“I appreciate your perspective on the matter.” Kenobi closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to relax. The stress of the evening sloughed off his shoulders and fell to the floor. Cody could practically see his spine straightening and his spirits lifting. “I only wish more beings shared your sentiments. Ah, I suppose one might say that I open myself up to that kind of attention by virtue of being such a public figure. But expectations… can be so terribly twisted. But there’s a kind of distance inherent in… you know, I’m not sure I’m making much sense.”

“We must both be more tired than we’re letting on,” Cody said drily. He certain felt dead on his feet, and all he’d done this evening was follow Kenobi around and insert himself between wannabe suitors and his General. Sometimes bodily. “I think I understand what you mean, sir.” There was a difference between the kinds of relationships one chose, the kind of dynamic that was forged and strengthened over time, as opposed to expectations and roles forced upon you by others or an outside perspective. For such an insightful man, Kenobi really did struggle with putting his feelings into words sometimes.

Other times, he just didn’t talk about them at all.

“Yes, that must be it,” Kenobi said, voice quiet. He leaned his shoulder against Cody’s. The heat of his body could be felt clear through the Jedi robes and through Cody’s own dress grays. Cody leaned back into the touch and finally let that thought—that elusive feeling—the thing almost like a half-remembered dream of unconditional, unwavering trust and safety—sink through him and fill his chest.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

[rillils]

post fall bucky having a fear of heights?? ive always thought that he'd be afraid of heights, like he wasnt afraid of it at all before his fall, go ask steve. but after falling?? he tries to hide it from steve, how scared he is.. and steve, bless his poor soul, he blames himself for not realizing sooner, he thinks he shouldve known, he couldnt possibly have. hes always seen bucky as this brave courage man, and bucky didnt want to ruin steve's image of him worse than he already think he did. and oh my fucking god

THE POST PLANE CRASH STEVE BEING AFRAID OF TIGHT SPACES?? BECAUSE IT BRINGS HIM BACK TO FEELING THE COLD SEEP IN THROUGH HIS VERY BONES WHILE HE GETS CRUSHED BY ALL THE WATER, ICE, AND DEBRIS?? DONT GET ME STARTED OH MY GOD

HONEY I FEEL LIKE YOUR LEVEL OF CRUELTY TOWARDS ME SPECIFICALLY IS REACHING DANGEROUS LEVELS HERE

but I get it, I getchu hon, sometimes we just gotta put the blorbos in a Situation™, that's how we roll.

but holy shit 😭😭😭

I mean god, Bucky-

imagine how tough it must be for him, every time they're on a mission, 'cause he's first and foremost a sniper, isn't he? and for him, that often involves perching on the roof of really high buildings, and keeping as still as possible for as long as necessary - and above all, keeping a steady hand, because what is a sniper supposed to be if not precise and lethal and reliable?

and factor in all the other possible contingencies, too! like having to bolt if he's spotted by the enemy, and having to climb back down in a rush. or helping chase after the bad guys from rooftop to rooftop. or when, god forbid, they have to jump out of a plane and parachute themselves to a certain site.

it's an absolute nightmare for Bucky, but he just keeps trying to tough it out, right? grit his teeth, push through even when his flesh palm is clammy with sweat, even when his stomach is churning and his legs feel like jelly, even when his hands start shaking despite his best efforts to hold them still. it's scary and mortifying all at once, and he can't bring himself to say anything about it to anyone, especially to Steve. because he knows Steve would try to suggest he take it easy and stay behind, while Steve himself is out there risking his neck, and the very notion makes Bucky feel sick.

so he's just desperately hanging in there, right?

until something happens. he's dizzy, his hands are shaking too bad, he flubs a shot, Steve almost gets killed because of it. Bucky snaps. this is the last straw. he's done.

I mean, imagine how it must tear. him. apart. how horribly it must hurt him to admit to himself that he can't go on like this anymore. because on the one hand, fuck it all to hell, he's supposed to be by Steve's side! watch his six, protect him, make sure he makes it home in one piece! it's what Bucky's been doing ever since they were kids, it's a fundamental part of who he is! to even imagine letting Steve walk into a fight alone - no, not 'alone', without Bucky - is unthinkable. it's like denying himself a basic need. like denying who Bucky is, what he feels he was born to do, a biological imperative.

but. on the other hand, the thought of putting Steve in danger, of Steve getting hurt (or worse) because Bucky couldn't do his job properly, is even more unbearable.

Steve counts on him, trusts him with his life - as he should be able to do, if they're going to be a team - but how can Bucky allow that anymore, now that he can't even trust himself? how can he be what Steve needs, if he's going to let him down when Steve needs him the most? how would he ever forgive himself if something happened to Steve because of him?

he barely holds himself together until they get home, and then he just, he breaks down. stumbles over to the couch, crumples in on himself, trembling, pale like a ghost, taking in big gulps of air like he'll drown otherwise. telling a worried Steve, who's crouching next to him in a heartbeat, "I can't do this anymore".

now Steve, he had noticed that something was off for a while now, and Bucky's words just confirm what he already suspected. he thinks, of course Bucky's sick of this, of course he doesn't want to fight anymore - god knows he's got plenty of reasons to want to leave all this shit behind.

Steve could never imagine what the actual issue is, here - not until he's trying to tell Bucky that it's his right to retire if that's what he wants, that of course Steve supports him, and Bucky interrupts him to confess, in between sobs, where exactly the problem lies, and how he fears he's no longer fit to accompany Steve on missions, 'cause he'd risk becoming a liability rather than backup.

CUE A WHOLE SHITTON OF FEELS because fuck, how long has Bucky been feeling this way, and how did Steve not realize it sooner, and the way Steve's face twists with guilt when he wonders where this fear of heights might come from, and gives himself the most obvious amd most fucking heartbreaking answer, and Bucky can tell that he's hurting and blaming himself and they're just BOTH hurting and blaming themselves and hfgskfjskks HONEY WE'RE SPEEDRUNNING THROUGH ALL THE STAGES OF GRIEF HERE HELP

no, but. they're gonna have an honest conversation about this, okay? painful, yes, but also liberating. they're going to air out some of that hurt, and actually let it heal out in the open for once.

I figure there's gonna be lots of bargaining first, on both parts, like Bucky arguing that he could still fight, just maybe stick to the ground instead, and Steve telling him that he doesn't have to, and really he'd be happier knowing that Bucky's safe at home and not forcing himself into dangerous situations, and Bucky grumbling 'cause oh how the tables have turned, and just, you know, trying to find a way to compromise.

I think, maybe this is how Steve first starts to really, genuinely consider retiring, himself. like, not just picturing it in a distant, wistful way, oh wouldn't it be nice if we could do that, etc - but really, really entertaining the idea. letting himself plan it out. talking about it with Bucky, even with Sam and Nat, giving himself the chance to consider another kind of life. after all, there are plenty of battles to fight in the world, and not all of them require fists and guns, right? and if he can fight those battles too alongside Bucky, then so much the better 💖

CLAUSTROPHOBIC STEVE THOUGH OMG

somehow the first thing that comes to mind is that one scene from CATWS, when he and Nat find Zola's computerized ass and he blows up the building, and they're stuck in a tiny hole under all the rubble until Steve gets them both out. I CAN PICTURE ONLY TOO VIVIDLY HOW FUCKING SCARY THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN FOR HIM, OH MY GOD

as somebody who shares that kind of phobia, may I submit to you one of the most obvious, most mundane monsters he might face: ELEVATORS. especially of the narrow, non-see through kind, where you're literally locked inside a metal box until it releases you from that torment. IF IT DOES. like honey the anxiety is real af okay

in the spirit of putting the blorbos in a Situation™, please picture them both in an old-fashioned elevator.

Steve hasn't mentioned his fear to Bucky, he's just been lucky so far, so he didn't have to bring it up. but the stupid thing is so slow, and the space inside is so small, and sure, Steve never minded being in Bucky's close proximity, but he can't stop thinking about getting the fuck out of there asap.

at some point the fucking thing stops, and oh good god they're stuck inside, and it's gonna take a while for help to come.

and Bucky, sweet, horny, unsuspecting Bucky, just makes a little joke about knowing just how they could pass the time until then, wink wink. he crowds Steve back against the already narrow wall, starts sucking languid kisses into Steve's neck-- and Steve's frozen, breathing in quick shallow breaths that could be mistaken for gasps of pleasure, holding onto Bucky with an iron grip because he can feel himself spiraling into panic, heart racing wildly, eyes darting from wall to wall like he can see them rapidly closing in on him, suffocating him, squeezing him in--

and it takes a moment for Bucky to realize what's really going on, but when he pulls back and sees Steve so terrified, hyperventilating and about ten seconds away from passing out, he switches into Protective Boyfriend mode like *snaps fingers*

he's like, "sweetheart, what's wrong?", and the second Steve gasps "out, I need to get outta here, now", Bucky springs into action and pries the elevator's door open with his bare hands, helping Steve climb out (the next floor was already into view) and following suit.

of course they're gonna talk about it (and realize that they should maybe stop hiding their respective fears from each other), and from then on... yep, they stick to stairs <3

[paranoidginger]

Mann or Machine

A post-Spy's Disguise Engiespy angst fic (For real though, please go watch Spy's Disguise by Fortress Films on YouTube if you have not! This takes place after that short movie, and has references to Emesis Blue as well!)

Tw: Minor Gore, Violence, and Body Horror

At first, the change between human and machine was a blessing, a self-taught command that gave him the upper hand and made him feel nearly immortal. After the sawmill incident, all of that changed, however. The changes became unpredictable, uncontrollable... The intersecting of man and metal was never meant to be, it was an error in the program of a broken disguise kit. It had broken the moment it hit the first sentry, and the rest, as they say, is history.

At first, it had felt like a superpower, something to flaunt and embrace; Now, however, it felt more like a curse. After the nightmares, and seeing the video that doctor Fritz Ludwig had taken while in his care, it was clear that it was an ailment, as opposed to anything else... He and the engineer that kept him company had lost contact with the doctor not long after the incident, both dismissed from their faction of Builders League United and left to make themselves as normal lives as they could, without any aid from the company.

The pair had moved onto land that the Engineer already had in his possession, a small ranch, fairly isolated, but close enough to a nearby town to get regular groceries and whatever tinkering supplies the engineer could have possibly wanted. It was safe there... But all the same, Spy struggled with himself, unable to properly regulate and prevent the unwanted shifts between man and machine. PTSD... That's what Doctor Ludwig had called it... Post traumatic stress disorder... It wasn't surprising, after what he had gone through...

Spy sat quietly, his mind buzzing as he tried to read a book. He was on high alert, by himself in the little ranch house he shared with his dearest Engineer... They hadn't always gotten along, some days were better than others, but they had been able to bond as colleagues, then as comrades, and now... Perhaps they were more. He was all alone, poor Pierre DuPont, left to his own devices as he waited for Hal to return from the store.

He saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye as his arm raised, as if by reflex, rotating barrels taking over and spraying shots towards what the machine in the back of his mind deemed a potential intruder. He hadn't heard whenever the engineer had opened the door and came inside, bags of fresh groceries in hand as he made his way to the kitchen, interrupted by the sudden spray of bullets. The wall beside him was marred with bullet holes, all but one having missed their target.

"D'aw shit-" The man muttered quietly, hissing as he lightly touched the blossoming wound in his side. "T-that's my fault... I didn't mean to spook ya, darlin'..." He exhaled a shaky laugh, carefully setting the bags of groceries down beside him as he pressed his hand to the bloodied hole in his side.

The Spy scrambled to his feet, unable to force his arm back to normal as he dropped the book he had been holding, rushing to the other man as he wobbled slightly on his feet. This wasn't supposed to happen...

"No! Non, please... Mon dieu... I didn't mean to-"

"Shhh..." He cut the Spy off, not allowing another word from the taller man "It's okay, I've had worse. One bullet ain't gonna put me in the ground." He looked up at the spy, watching as the other man continued to panic. Gently, he patted the other man's cheek, grabbing his shoulder gently after a moment "Look at me, Pierre, I'm gonna be fine. I'm gonna go get myself patched up, you take care of these here groceries, alright? I'll be ok, I promise." Hal gave a small smile, sighing gently as he made his way to the bathroom to patch himself up, making sure to be loud enough for the other man to be able to hear him as the Spy got to work, carefully putting away the groceries as he fought to push his guilt and worries down.

That night was quiet, Pierre having eventually corrected his arm once again with his Engineer's help. They sat on the couch together, Hal's arm wrapped gently around the other man's shoulders as they watched a movie together, the Spy eventually falling asleep at his side.

Pierre's sleep was plagued with nightmares, memories of Hal 'dying' playing back in his mind, followed by the fresh scene of him shot and bloodied by the Spy's own hands. He met the machine again... A twisted mirror version of himself, a robot with his face... It had been peaceful that first time, but now, it came at him, aiming for the jugular.

Hal was jostled awake by the seizing, jerky movements of his unconscious partner, bits of him swapping in and out of humanity, his head tipped back slightly as his mouth began to froth. Quickly, the engineer grabbed hold of Pierre, hugging him gently as he carefully moved him down onto the floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way as he fumbled to grab a small flashlight off of the wooden surface.

"Shit- shit, goddamn it-" He straddled the Spy as he continued to seize and twitch on the floor, gently opening one of the other man's eyes and shining the light into the dilated pupil, wincing slightly as it failed to react. Metallic barrels took over both forearms, rotating back and forth with jerky, clicking movement.

"Come on, damn it! Wake up!" The engineer grabbed the front of the other man's shirt, wincing at the pain in his side as he attempted to wake him up, shaking him slightly. "Come on!" He shouted through his teeth, his eyes beginning to water slightly as he knelt over Pierre's seizing body.

After a moment, his arms returned to normal, the seizure seeming to finally come to an end. Quietly, Hal watched, hesitating for a moment before gently cupping the side of the Spy's face, watching as his chest rose and fell with his breaths. Pierre shuddered slightly, his eyes opening just a bit before Hal was forced to yank his hand away, the familiar rocket barrels of a sentry closing around the man's head, the rise and fall of his chest becoming shallow and frantic as he awoke.

Pierre let out a muffled, mechanical scream, grabbing and clawing at what had once been his face. Quickly, the Engineer moved off of him, hissing slightly in pain as he hoisted the other man into a sitting position, grabbing one of his hands and hugging him gently as he traced his thumb over the other's palm.

"Breathe! I need ya to breathe for me!" Hal called gently, worry evident in his tone as he held the other man close, preventing him from scratching and clawing at the metal that now covered his face. It took some time, but eventually, the Spy's breathing returned mostly to normal.

The rocket launcher that had replaced his face lifted once again, pulling away from his head with the mechanical arm that had placed it there to begin with, tucking back down into the motor that had protruded from his back, which slowly retracted inside of him, leaving the surface of his back no different than any other man's...

"There you go... There you are, darlin'... I've got you..." The Engineer spoke softly gently cupping the other man's cheek for a moment before the spy slipped his hands beneath Hal's arms, pulling him closer and hiding his face in the crook of the smaller man's neck, shaking as small sobs wracked his thin frame. "It's gonna be alright, sunshine..." Hal's voice was soft and gentle as he held the other man close, beginning to rub his back slightly as he just sat there, doing his best to comfort Pierre.

The next incident was nearly a week after Pierre had shot Hal by accident. Another late night, another bad dream... He thought he would be fine... He had woken up, just like he had so many times before.

The Spy made his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake his sleeping partner, turning the water on and running his hands beneath it, splashing his face slightly before looking at himself in the mirror... His eyes were blue again... They weren't supposed to be blue... There was a metallic clink as his arm hit the edge of the sink, feeling too heavy to hold up as it shifted once again to the multi-barreled machine gun that he couldn't keep from happening, his other arm following suit. It hurt this time... Why was it hurting? It had never hurt before.

He took a couple of steps back, his breaths catching in his throat as he began to run, stumbling slightly as he made it to his room... Their room... After everything, he couldn't find it in him to sleep alone... He had shut the door.. He bumped it with his shoulder before ramming it harder, pain radiating through the contact points as began to shout.

"Wake up! Hal please-" His legs gave out beneath him, the motor on his back popping out once again, and that horrible metal arm forcing the launcher barrels back over his head, muffling his cries for help as the rest of his body folded in on itself, leaving a sentry once again in his place.

Congratulations, you made it to the end! I'm leaving it up to the readers to help me decide whether I want to leave it as a one shot, or if I should give this another chapter! Feel free to vote below!!

Part 2

[starl3ght]

//~Simon Riley hcs~//

A/N: Alr first post🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️ I’ll be doing a lottttt more. So, requests are open so ask anything, but please do read my request rules. I’m gonna do more hcs on task force 141 and more characters first then one shots. Maybe even series😳 Enjoy this🫶✨

contains: fluff, angst??, sex, mentions of anxiety, trauma, abuse, nightmares

- When you met he was a bit clueless how to process his feelings for you. And he was also clueless that you were in love with him

- Physical affection wasn’t immediate right away. You took time with him because you wanted him to be comfortable

- When you do hug him for the first time he froze in place. He had to process what was happening. He felt relief that he had someone in his life and held you close

- The mask stayed on for a while but when he felt comfortable he took it off. You were shocked he let you see his face. But he feels safe with you

- Helping him put the black paint on his eyes? Hell yes

- You sit on his lap while you apply the paint gently around his eyes. Playfully, he might get some paint and smudge your cheek while you giggle

- His heart melts at your laugh

- arguments oh how it breaks both your hearts. He will never yell though. He’ll walk off because he doesn’t want to hurt you

- You both apologize for your wrongs while you hold each other

- Oh he makes you coffee in the morning. Because I said so and he does seem like the type for me to just bring you a cup of coffee and you watch tv together or something

- He loves how interested you are in your hobbies. Just something about seeing you happy gives him the motive to do the same.

- Whether it’s reading, drawing, or collecting stuff, he loves how excited you are and vows to always protect you.

- When he does make love to you? It’s the best thing ever.

- I don’t see him having knife kinks or BDSM because if it could hurt you he wouldn’t do it.

- Just regular sex. If he’s stressed and you’re there in front of him…prepare to wash the sheets

- When you do have some soft sex, it’s beautiful. He focuses on your pleasure and experience. You both love each other and I’m gonna say, he prefers giving. He can take your core into his mouth with his hands wrapped around your thighs and your shaking form. He always makes you see stars

- The aftercare tho✨ Falling asleep being held to his chest or he takes your exhausted form into the bath. He makes sure to take care of you well

-When he does tell you his story and about what his father did, oh how it breaks your heart

- He was sitting on the carpet floor and you were on the couch behind him holding him and caressing his head while he told you.

- you pushed strands of hair behind his ears and told him you would love him always and how you’d be there for him.

- that was probably a breaking point for him and he let out some tears while he hugged your waist with his face in your chest while you kissed his head and held him

- You comfort him when he has some sort of nightmares or episodes.

- Just hearing his hyperventilating while he’s asleep is sad. You gently shake him awake and whisper his name as to not make it worse. Or just talking to him softly while he’s having a nightmare to stir him back to sleep peacefully

“Shh Simon, it’s alright honey…open your eyes for me”

- When he does wake up he looks for your face immediately and hugs you so tight. You coax him back to bed and you keep him close until he falls asleep again

- He has a polaroid picture of you smiling and takes it with him when he’s out of the country

- And god bless his soul because when Soap finds it he will not shut the hell up with questions about you

“That your lass Ghost?”

“Walk away mate…walk the fuck away and out of my face”

- Soap’s probably gonna tell the rest of 141 and ask who you are and if they know you

- Gaz wonders too but keeps it to himself. Price will tell Soap to mind his own business

-Johnny better sleep with one eye open now

- He brings you back some souvenirs. Like a ring, necklace or bracelet. Anything you might be interested in

- When he comes back exhausted during the night you have his food ready and he quickly takes a shower before heading to bed.

- he probably flops onto the bed in his black boxers and you’re at the door smiling at him. You just kiss his cheek and whisper goodnight and you get into bed with him or go into the living room to do something else to pass time

- I don’t think you go out for dates much. You just stay home spending time together or you do go out sometimes but for walking around in parks or going to the store maybe

- Overall you relationship isn’t SO normal. But it’s something alright <3

[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's Stranger Things Masterlist

Please note - I am just posting this masterlist to get it out of my drafts - I worked on it when I was working on the fic listed below, and then I completely randomly lost interest in it, and this has been sitting in my drafts for months ever since. And I love the formatting and style of this masterlist and I don't want to accidentally lose it by accidentally deleting the draft - and I am gonna need this masterlist at some point. So I'm posting it.

Coming "Soon":

Nasty - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. You hesitate to tell Eddie your true sexual desires, fearing that he'll be turned off. But when he finds out - he is more turned on than ever. (3,000 words.)

Note: The rest of these link off to AO3 (which is the bulk of them unfortunately) - but at some point, I hope to have them edited and posted to Tumblr.

Sugar, We're Goin' Down - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader x Eddie Munson. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Eddie hasn't gotten laid in months, so when he walks in on you and Steve (and neither of you seem to notice), he has just enough sexual frustration built up that he can’t bring himself to look away. He discovers quite a few things about Steve, and you. And himself. (12,700 words.)

Eat Me Up Alive - Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Fem!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Eddie is a very annoying person. And when he goes too far, you push back. Turns out - he likes it. Loves it, actually. (11,200 words.)

I'm Still Standing - Nancy Wheeler x Fem Disabled/Chronically Ill Reader. Friends to Lovers. Angst, Smut, (very slight Fluff). Hurt and Comfort. You start having horrible waking nightmares, but you don't want to worry your best friend Nancy by telling her. She's already occupied trying to chase down a trans-dimensional killer wizard, and you are convinced that the two aren't possibly related. (37,800 words.)

Bless This Mess - ADHD!Eddie Munson x Fem!Thick!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut and Fluff. Eddie accidentally forgets the two of you have a date planned. Rather than getting mad at him, you let him make it up to you. (5,700 words.)

Always Yours - Steve Harrington x Fem!Pregnant!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Fluff and Smut. Steve tells you about his 'six lil nuggets' dream, and you let him know that he's actually a lot closer to it than he thought. (2,500 words.)

Obey Your Master - Eddie Munson x Fem!Autistic!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut (and some Fluff). You are taking care of Eddie while his wounds from the Upside Down are healing. And when you offer to help 'take care' of him in other ways, he's convinced that he survived to live just for this exact moment. (11,200 words.)

Fix You - Eddie Munson x Fem!Mute!Powered!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Fix-It Fic. Hurt and Comfort. Most of your life, all you knew was darkness. Eddie was the one light in all of it. And you refused to lose him. (5,300 words.)

Drowning In You - Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Smut (slight Emotional Angst). Working with Billy at Hawkins Pool forced you to be around him. But forgetting part of your mandatory uniform at home and being harassed by random men because of it forced you to truly confront your feelings for him. (22,100 words.)

You Shook Me All Night Long - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Smut and Fluff. Steve never really saw you. Until one day, when you stood out as the hottest babe he had ever seen. And on that day, he just happened to be wearing the dorkiest outfit ever and stuttering over himself to impress you. Somehow, it worked. (45,000 words.)

Daisy Fields (Companion to You Shook Me All Night Long) - Steve Harrington x Fem!Thick!Reader. Established Relationship, Family Fluff. Some Smut, Fluff. You and Steve happily pursue your life together, more than thankful for the silly little ice cream shop that brought the two of you together. (20,600 words.)

(This last one, I don't really like. I wrote it a long time ago, and it doesn't really go with my current style. But perhaps somebody seeing this masterlist can get some reading enjoyment out of it. It's just very unlikely to be re-posted on Tumblr.)

Monstrous - Steve Harrington x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Angst and Fluff. Steve finds out your big secret, and you are surprised when he doesn't hate you for it. (5,200 words.)

[necrotic-nephilim]

fic masterlist

all of my fics on ao3 exist in this series on ao3, but they're also collected here if you'd like a quick view of what i've written. i write anonymously on ao3 for various reasons explained here! i also have a couple of shorter, less polished fics on tumblr, usually just written for fun. always read the tags and warnings! <3

fics on ao3

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine - JayTim, extreme dubcon, emetophilia, blood kink, dead dove: do not eat

an inch away from more than friends - CassTim, very mild dubcon, soft dom!Cass, fluff, praise kink

your dream turned into a nightmare when i crawled inside it - DickTim, extremely dark, necrophilia kink, noncon, vampire!Dick, dead dove: do not eat

we would sell anything just to buy who we're not - JayTim, lobotomy, blood & gore, PWP, dead dove: do not eat

you're just an echo of the way you used to be (when i'm with you i miss you the most) - JayDick, porn with feelings, identity porn, assumed hallucination, dead dove: do do not eat

be happy, be horny, be bursting with rage - DamiDick, fluff, crack, thirst posts, one-sided feelings

(maybe it's a blessing in disguise) i see my reflection in your eyes - JayTim, PWP, cannibalism as a metaphor for love

Omega Dick Week 2024 Masterlist - assorted pairings

i caught feelings no concealing // there is no way that he doesn't know - DickTim, PWP, Tim's unternet suit, praise kink

you cut so deep (but i always loved you deeper) - JayTim, PWP, blood play, pain play, dead dove: do not eat

i must confess to you // i want to possess you - JayTim, PWP, mean dirty talk, rough sex

i've been living six feet down (baby i'm alive right now) - JayTim, PWP, fucking during the Titans Tower Incident

is it too much to ask to be kind (i could use a little sympathy and not discipline) - JayCass, blood and gore, LoA AU, PWP, dead dove: do not eat

i'm pretty sure that all of this is my fault (i'm the one who kissed you first and took my clothes off) - BruSteph & JaySteph, PWP, vanilla sex that is still dead dove: do not eat

fics on tumblr

BruDick and JayTim both getting caught, crack fic

CassTerry pegging, PWP

Whump Dialogue Prompt Masterlist

JayTim, “So, like… Do you want to fuck me up or do you want to fuck me?” ficlet

while you're welcome to send me a prompt, please understand my inbox is usually at least 40 asks deep at any given time. i'd *love* to hear your ideas/thoughts and "yes and" with you, but know that sometimes i might write a fic, and sometimes i might just write an extended headcanon/concept. and if i do write a fic, it can take me anywhere from a day to a month to get to. thank you for your patience and kindness <3

[mir4inotes]

soon i’m gonna wake up, someone’s gonna bring me ‘round // kndz hurt/comfort

(kunikida-centric!!!!!!!)

originally posted 19 aug 2023

tw: self-harm, references to a suicide attempt, vomiting

read on ao3! / 3.4k words

—————————————————————————————

Kunikida hadn’t slept well in weeks. He still made a decent effort to go to bed at the same time every night, hoping something would change. But each time he turned the light off, said good night to Dazai and succumbed to the darkness, he was kept awake.

At first, when he was hopeful and convinced he only needed time to recover from recent events, he tried breathing. He’d lay there, eyes lidded, breathing in for four and out for eight in endless rounds until the fact he still wasn’t asleep raised his heart rate far too much. That initial night, he had simply laid on his back, restraining himself from flopping over onto either side so as not to disturb his partner. And if he had gotten sleep that night, it was certainly more than he’d be getting in the nights to come.

Once Kunikida realized he wouldn’t be able to get any shuteye from simply breathing and meditating, he’d asked Yosano for any ideas. She’d risen an eyebrow at the fact that Kunikida, the man who everyone assumed got a perfect eight hours every night without fail, needed medicine to sleep, then promptly wrote up a prescription for a bit of melatonin for him to take before bed. Wonderful.

After a lighthearted joke from Dazai about how Kunikida now needed drugs to sleep and was therefore getting old, Kunikida took the recommended amount and went to bed, skeptical yet hopeful.

And then he woke up to sunlight on his face, birdsong, and Dazai’s drool-smothered cheek on his chest, and he couldn’t have felt more relieved. His sleeping problem had finally been fixed, and now he could focus on getting his life back together piece by piece.

Except, not even a week later, Kunikida began having nightmares.

What had started as a physical inability to sleep had now morphed into a general dislike of it. He’d dread getting ready for bed, unable to know if he’d be blessed with a deep, uninterrupted sleep or tormented with an unsettling dream. And when he finally settled beneath the covers and waited for Dazai’s soft, pug-like snores to begin, he always fought off sleep for as long as he could until the melatonin knocked him out.

Kunikida wouldn’t have a nightmare nightly, but he almost wished he did. The feeble guessing game he had to play at got old quickly after he’d woken up shaking from his only bad dream in seven days.

The dreams themselves were nothing remarkable. For the most part, they were an amalgamation of the ones he’d suffered from a few months earlier, before the whole Decay of the Angel plot took place: blurry, muffled versions of the people he’d failed to save over the years, hostages locked in a cage while he was forced to stare and do nothing until they were long gone, among countless other scenarios that would already be muddied by the time Kunikida got up and brushed his teeth. They left a sour, unpleasant twist in his gut, but besides that, they were able to be swept aside and forgotten about with a bit of breathing.

Until, one seemingly inconspicuous night, Kunikida experienced a vivid, full-on nightmare that seemed to last for hours. And instead of showing him scenes he was bitterly familiar with, it was something new entirely.

He was sitting in the ward where Jouno had taunted him about joining the hunting dogs, but it was as if he was seeing through a thick, choking veil of smoke. He could hardly see the other end of the tiny room. His notebook laid torn in half on the cot, just as it had all those weeks ago. His thoughts swam; he wasn’t expecting to see this place ever again.

Of course, his arms weren’t working. He had hands and fingers, but he was unable to move them, met with a blank wall of resistance whenever he tried. They were mangled, sticking out at odd angles that shouldn’t be possible, and they hurt.

Outside of the window, Kunikida could hear nothing but chaos. Bloodcurdling screams, rapid gunfire, helicopters. He tried to move his neck, but it remained in place as if held there by an iron vice. His gaze was locked on his destroyed notebook in his lap. He even thought he could smell Jouno’s pear, sickeningly sweet to the point it was nauseating. His lungs were filled with smoke at that point, not that he was breathing in the first place.

Kunikida felt sweat dripping from his forehead as the noise from outside only grew in volume. Even his own heartbeat had moved to his skull, a constant, thumping bass drum that just. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up.

The room was gray, then white, then black, then back to gray. Kunikida saw someone clawing at the door with their hand over their mouth out of the corner of his eye. He hunched over, trying to block them out, but winced as the metal handcuffs scraped against his disfigured fingers.

Handcuffs? Those weren’t there before.

At that point, Kunikida thought his eardrums would burst from just how loud everything was. He brought his hands to his ears, pressing them against the side of his head so hard he thought he’d end up squeezing his own brains out. The cold handcuff chain dangled against his neck, and he swallowed against it. His throat was terribly dry.

Without needing to think about it, Kunikida brought his hands past his ears and behind his head, steadying the chain against the vulnerable skin of his neck. One last desperate, strangled wail reverberated through his entire being like a gong, and he yanked on the chain, tugging it against his neck until the room went black again.

//

Kunikida jolted upright in his shared bed, sputtering and gasping for breath. His hands instantly flew to his neck, almost expecting the resistance of the handcuff chain as he did. After confirming that no, he hadn’t actually choked himself to death, the grip on his neck relaxed, but only slightly.

His hands had returned. He lowered them from his head, holding them out in front of him. He couldn’t keep them still.

The sight of his own two hands, functioning and whole, made Kunikida feel sick. A horrendous wave of nausea swept through him, and he almost gagged right there in his bed.

He could hardly remember what had happened between heaving himself up out of bed (nearly tripping over discarded clothing as he did) and sinking to his knees in front of the toilet, already coughing up bile as soon as his legs hit the ground. His head was pounding too hard for him to care.

He stayed there, miserably slumped on the bathroom floor, resting his forehead on his arms on top of the toilet seat. He wondered briefly if Dazai would come find him, almost wanted him to, then decided he really didn’t want his partner to find him in such a state.

Not that this hadn’t happened before, Kunikida being sick in front of Dazai. On rare nights when he attempted to keep up with the rate at which Dazai tossed drinks back, he’d usually find himself retching in the bathroom (or worse, the kitchen sink) with Dazai drunkenly comforting him, slurring his words while combing his fingers through Kunikida’s hair.

The memory of those nights alone made Kunikida gag again. He’d been trying his best up until now to be as quiet as one can in such a situation, yet he unwittingly let out a low groan as his stomach began cramping up again.

His wrists brushed against each other as he shifted his arms around. He heaved again. He shouldn’t have those hands back. Those damned hands that were meaningless if they couldn’t save every person they attempted to help. Kunikida’s nails dug into his pale wrists.

They shouldn’t be there.

He’s screaming, Dazai’s arms wrapped tightly around him, tugging him away from the glass wall

The skin on his wrists began to sting.

Rokuzo’s in front of him, stumbling, neat entry wounds patterned on his chest

He staggered to his feet, ran the tap water over his dirty, quivering fingers and watched the blood swirl down the drain. He left his wrists alone.

He’s being forced to the ground, vision blurry and ears ringing. There’s blood in his eyes, but he doesn’t feel a thing. He only gazes at the ceiling through lidded eyes as he hears the muffled voices above him.

Kunikida leaned forward on his forearms, resting against the sink now. Nothing was being improved by the breathing techniques he swore by; each gasp for air felt like a fishhook being drawn up through his throat. His wrists burned.

And then, of course, there was a timid knock at the door. Not that Dazai needed to, considering the door had never been shut in the first place. Kunikida cringed as Dazai’s light footsteps reached his side.

Kunikida didn’t speak, or move. He stayed still with his head hung, letting his hands dangle above the sink. Dazai slowly reached for Kunikida’s bloody wrists, turning them over with icy fingers. Kunikida let him.

He also let Dazai rinse them clean, until there were only small, red crescent moons dotting his skin, and he let Dazai wrap his favorite brand of bandages around his wrists, just as Kunikida had so often done for him.

Then Dazai plopped himself onto the bathroom floor while tossing a dirty hand towel up into the sink. “Sit” was all he said as he patted the space in front of him.

Meanwhile, all Kunikida wanted was to drag himself back to bed. His breathing had managed to steady itself as Dazai worked earlier, but the rest of his body ached from exhaustion. He felt horrible enough having woken up Dazai, he wasn’t about to subject him to a pity party on top of it all.

Dazai tapped the floor again, looking up at him. Kunikida opened his mouth to reply, to say he was going to try going back to sleep, but a sudden surge of nausea crept up on him instead.

And so he was back on the floor. He was vomiting for the second time, though most of it ended up being dry heaving. Kunikida heard Dazai shuffling over to him, his hands sliding to their usual comfort spots: one hand brushing his hair away from his face, the other slowly rubbing circles into his upper back.

Kunikida would lean against Dazai in between gagging and coughing fits, his throat too sore to say anything. Dazai would murmur gentle comfort against his ear, quietly reassuring him that he was doing well, it’d be over soon.

Dazai particularly took note of the fact that Kunikida made no attempts to push him away. Every other time he’d taken care of Kunikida in times like this, he’d try making some blabbering excuse (as he was typically blackout drunk) that he could take care of himself, or that Dazai was suffocating him.

Now, however, Kunikida slumped against Dazai once his coughing and heaving had ceased. He shut his eyes and let his head settle against Dazai’s chest, curling into him sideways. He didn’t say a word.

Dazai instinctively wrapped his arms around Kunikida’s frail, shivering frame. This sort of thing had began happening nearly every evening since the Decay of the Angel situation; Dazai would let Kunikida rest against him just before they went to bed, neither of them saying anything. Occasionally, that would be how they fell asleep, too. Dazai would wake up some mornings to Kunikida coiled around Dazai’s lanky figure, an arm flung over his torso like some sort of rope.

It was endearing, sure, but the action was bittersweet, too.

Dazai combed his fingers through Kunikida’s hair as they sat there. The hair between his fingers was Kunikida’s usual dirty blond, except when Dazai peered a little too closely he could make out tiny rivulets of gray as they caught the light. It seemed like the jokes Dazai had made only months earlier about Kunikida going gray young were coming to fruition after all. Dazai looped a few strands around his finger and pretended the flashes of gray were due to his lack of sleep and nothing more, and that they would be gone by the time morning came.

Kunikida shifting his neck a bit brought Dazai’s attention back. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding Kunikida for; the only thing that clued him in to how much time might have passed was how the bathroom light had started flickering. That only happened after at least 45 minutes-or-so of it being turned on.

“Kunikida,” Dazai started, lips brushing past Kunikida’s hair. “Do you want to talk about anything?” His voice was hardly above a whisper.

Kunikida took in a deep breath before shaking his head. “It’s late,” he mumbled before tucking his head in even tighter against Dazai’s chest. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” He hoped Dazai hadn’t noticed the unavoidable crack in his voice that so often punctured his words now.

Dazai only hummed in response, continuing to idly play with Kunikida’s hair. A few moments went by before he spoke up again, sitting up a bit more as he did.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kunikida didn’t look up. “…What?”

It wasn’t until after an eerily long pause when Dazai opened his mouth once more, and asked in an impossibly languid voice:

“You’ve thought about suicide, haven’t you?”

He’s being forced to the ground, vision blurry and ears ringing.

Kunikida didn’t move. Faint, blurry snippets of those moments when he was recovering from the explosion trickled through his memory like ice water.

There’s blood in his eyes, but he doesn’t feel a thing.

His mouth went dry. He could still feel Dazai’s heartbeat thumping against his side, yet he still felt himself falling away from him all the same. Kunikida wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to steady his grip or let himself be lost.

Yes, he had thought about it. He had turned it over in his mind repeatedly while sitting in that bed as if it were as natural as breathing. For at the time, his world as he knew it was gone. The agency. His coworkers. His partner. His ideals. There was nothing left except for the searing reminders of everyone he had failed to save.

“Easy, Kunikida. Breathe.” Dazai gently tapped Kunikida on the back.

Each time Kunikida inhaled it felt like the air was being chased out of him again. He knew he was shaking, knew he was gripping Dazai’s leg with too much force, but with one sentence, all the memories he had been trying to suppress out of shame were being unearthed one by one.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Kunikida muttered finally. His fingers began to knot themselves in his tangled hair. “I had nothing. There was nothing…” He cut himself off with a muffled sob.

Dazai’s heart stuttered as he felt that slow drip of realization dawning. The question had been assuming Kunikida had only thought about it. A person required a very specific mindset in order to turn those intrusive thoughts into a reality. Quite honestly, Dazai didn’t believe Kunikida had it in him to attempt anything.

Why didn’t he believe that?

As Kunikida’s body began melting even further against Dazai, his voice nothing but unintelligible sobbing and whimpering, Dazai could feel the slow drip becoming a waterfall.

Sure, the Kunikida of a mere few months ago wouldn’t have let himself go so far. Even if the thought had crossed his mind, he wouldn’t have succumbed so easily, especially not with the ideals he held himself to so strictly.

But now, the Kunikida who left his clothes scattered on the floor, who showed up to work a few minutes later than usual, who isolated himself from his coworkers and who hardly even ate three meals a day anymore; thinking about this Kunikida in such a situation suddenly became a lot more believable.

“I didn’t think you were alive.”

Dazai twitched as he was brought out of his own thoughts by Kunikida’s thick, hoarse voice. His fingers were digging into Dazai’s thigh so much it almost hurt. He considered saying something, except he didn’t want to tip Kunikida over the edge again on accident; he didn’t know what he could or couldn’t say anymore.

Kunikida took in a shaky, unsteady breath, and when he spoke again he sounded like he was seconds away from collapsing into another fit of tears.

“I thought they might have killed you…” he paused and took a breath at that, “when the terrorist accusations came out.” His breathing picked up again, but he didn’t stop speaking.

Dazai only kept holding him, since it was the only thing he knew wouldn’t set his partner off again.

Kunikida always complained about how cold Dazai’s skin was, but now he clung onto him as if that iciness was the one thing that could cool his very core.

“Eventually, the only thing i could think of doing was—“ Kunikida hiccuped, his breathing now just as erratic as it had been when Dazai first entered the bathroom. “…was slamming my head against that wall until it was over.”

And then all Dazai could hear was a desperate string of apologies, suppressed by Kunikida’s own arms as he hid his face from view.

At that point, all Dazai thought to do was wait until Kunikida managed to calm himself down. Even if he did speak, what would he say? It wasn’t as if suicide was some foreign topic to him, it was very much the opposite. But somehow, when it came to discussing it with the one person he never would have thought to consider it, the person he planned to spend the foreseeable future with, it put a knot in his throat.

So, for now, Dazai only gently swayed from side to side, returning to his routine of pressing circles against Kunikida’s back. Kunikida had let his arms fall in front of him, where Dazai decided to lace his fingers between one of Kunikida’s hands, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of his partner’s palm as he fought to get his breathing under control.

Even through everything else going through Dazai’s mind, there was a tiny voice at the back of his head criticizing Kunikida’s method for being too painful, too messy.

And that is why he kept his mouth shut.

//

The bedsheets had been sucked of all warmth by the time the pair returned. Kunikida noted through puffy eyes how his side of the bed has clearly been tossed around with panicked hands, whereas Dazai’s side looked more like he’d slid out much more gracefully. He bit back the rising swell of guilt for the nth time that night, and clambered back into bed.

As soon as Dazai wriggled back under the sheets, he pressed his chest against Kunikida’s back and tossed an arm over his waist. His breath felt warm and soothing against the back of Kunikida’s neck.

“i know you’re beating yourself up over waking me, so stop,” Dazai whispered in the gentlest tone he could muster. He wasn’t a very gentle person after all; unless he was with Kunikida, that is. Even then, he could struggle to get his voice to sound calm enough.

Kunikida sighed heavily, all energy drained. Dazai was right, as he often was. He could read Kunikida so easily.

“You aren’t upset?” Kunikida mumbled, shifting his legs slightly.

“No.” Dazai’s fingers slid up to Kunikida’s chest, pressing against his skin so he could feel his heart beating. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmured, burrowing his face into the crook of Kunikida’s neck.

Kunikida briefly thought about getting up to fetch some water, both to soothe his sore throat and to rid the lingering bitterness from his tongue, but he decided against it so as not to disturb Dazai for the second time that night. Dazai’s leg had slithered its way between Kunikida’s own two, anyway.

Gradually, with Dazai’s gentle snoring as background noise, Kunikida found his eyes growing heavy. Relief at Dazai’s words had spread throughout his body, although he wasn’t sure how long it would last.

Dazai shuffled a little closer to him, then, and Kunikida sullenly decided he’d deal with any remaining thoughts in the morning.

No, it wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly some of the best sleep Kunikida had gotten in weeks.