#how to fix dripping faucet

[blissfulbathroom]

Mastering the Art of Fixing a Dripping Faucet: Your Ultimate Guide

When it comes to dealing with the pesky nuisance of a dripping faucet, we understand your frustration. That incessant, rhythmic drip not only wastes precious water but can also disrupt your peace of mind. In this comprehensive guide, we, the experts in plumbing and household maintenance, will empower you with the knowledge and skills to fix that dripping faucet like a pro.

The Irritating Symphony of a Dripping Faucet

A dripping faucet is not just a minor annoyance; it's a hidden source of water wastage that can significantly impact your utility bills and the environment. According to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), a single faucet dripping at a rate of one drop per second can waste over 3,000 gallons of water in a year! Moreover, the incessant sound can lead to sleepless nights and frayed nerves.

Tools of the Trade

Before we delve into the step-by-step process of fixing your dripping faucet, let's gather the essential tools and materials you'll need for this DIY plumbing endeavor. Having the right equipment on hand will make the task smoother and more efficient.

1. Adjustable Wrench

An adjustable wrench is your trusty companion for loosening and tightening various faucet components.

2. Replacement Parts

Depending on your faucet type, you may need replacement parts such as O-rings, washers, or cartridges. Make sure to identify your faucet model and purchase the necessary components.

3. Screwdrivers

Both flathead and Phillips screwdrivers are essential for removing screws and accessing hidden parts within the faucet.

4. Plumber's Tape

Also known as Teflon tape, plumber's tape is crucial for preventing leaks in threaded connections.

5. Bucket and Towels

Be prepared for some water spillage by having a bucket and towels nearby to catch and clean up any mess.

Identifying the Culprit

Understanding the anatomy of your faucet is the first step in resolving the issue. While there are various faucet types, most dripping faucets can be attributed to one of the following common culprits:

1. Worn-Out O-Rings

O-rings are small rubber gaskets that create a watertight seal within the faucet. Over time, they can deteriorate, leading to leaks.

2. Damaged Washers

Washers, located in the faucet handles, can wear down or become damaged, resulting in a constant drip.

3. Faulty Cartridge

Cartridges control the flow of water in modern faucets. If the cartridge is defective, it can cause leakage.

4. Corroded Valve Seat

A valve seat is the connection between the faucet and the spout. Corrosion in this area can lead to leaks.

The Fixing Process

Now that we've identified potential issues, it's time to roll up our sleeves and get to work. Follow these steps diligently to fix your dripping faucet:

Step 1: Turn Off the Water Supply

Before you begin, ensure that the water supply to the faucet is completely shut off. Look for shut-off valves under the sink or at the main water supply.

Step 2: Dismantle the Faucet

Using your adjustable wrench and screwdrivers, carefully dismantle the faucet. Be sure to keep track of the removed parts and their order to facilitate reassembly.

Step 3: Inspect and Replace Components

Examine the O-rings, washers, cartridge, and valve seat for signs of wear, damage, or corrosion. Replace any faulty components with the new ones you've gathered.

Step 4: Reassemble the Faucet

Reassemble the faucet in the reverse order of disassembly. Ensure that all parts fit snugly and securely.

Step 5: Turn On the Water Supply

Once the faucet is reassembled, slowly turn on the water supply to check for leaks. If there are no leaks, congratulations! You've successfully fixed your dripping faucet.

Preventative Maintenance

To avoid future faucet troubles, consider implementing regular preventative maintenance:

Periodically clean and lubricate the faucet to prevent mineral buildup.

Check for and address leaks promptly to prevent further damage.

Install water-saving aerators to reduce water wastage and save on utility bills.

By mastering these simple techniques, you can keep your faucets in optimal condition and enjoy a drip-free, peaceful home.

Conclusion

In this comprehensive guide, we've equipped you with the knowledge and skills to conquer the annoyance of a dripping faucet. By identifying the root causes and following our step-by-step fixing process, you can save water, money, and your sanity.

Looking for more tips on bathroom maintenance and fixtures? Check out these informative articles on BlissfulBathroom:

Easy Ways to Fix a Dripping Faucet: Dive deeper into faucet troubleshooting and repair techniques.

Is Your Bathroom Vanity High Quality?: Learn how to assess the quality of your bathroom vanity and make informed choices during renovations.

How to Clean Bathroom Taps: A Step-by-Step Guide: Discover a thorough guide to keeping your bathroom taps sparkling and functional.

Are Faucet Cartridges Universal?: Gain insights into faucet cartridges and whether they are interchangeable across different brands.

So, don't let that pesky drip continue to torment you. Take control and become a DIY plumbing pro. Fixing a dripping faucet is not just a household chore; it's a step towards a more sustainable and tranquil living environment.

A well-maintained faucet is a happy faucet.

[yuzuvrse]

yeah so i may be insane // cw nsft

thinking about grant curly with a saviour complex, who thinks he can save your fucked up ass. he's so kind and gentle — he's the perfect boyfriend, so tender in everything he does. but something inside of you is a little bit broken and curly just isn't scratching that itch for you, yknow?

surely you can't actually be loved. there's no way he sees all your disgusting flaws and loves you despite them. so you pull away, avoiding him more and more, and you end up going for his best friend jimmy zare.

jimmy, who's worse than you. jimmy, who you can pretend to save. jimmy, who's irreparably shattered and would very much like to break you too. you always liked a fixer upper, just not when you're the one being fixed.

and that's how curly catches you with jimmy's dick down your throat. the worst part? he gets hard.

thinking about curly who's seen jimmy get too close with unwilling girls too many times. he's never said anything before but when it comes to you? that's a different story. he's fully convinced jimmy forced you into this, you could tell him to his face that you slept with jimmy on purpose and he'll still say that jimmy is manipulating/coercing you into saying all this things.

you don't have to worry, baby, curly knows what that evil jimmy's been doing to you. it's okay, curly's here now. he'll replace all memory of jimmy with his touch instead.

thinking about how at this point curly is the one who's gaslighting/manipulating you into sleeping with him bc you could not give less of a fuck abt him. like yeah he's nice. he was a great boyfriend. he may have actually come devastatingly close to melting your heart and making you love him.

but you've nipped that in the bud and now your feelings for him have switched off, just like that. a bit like a leaky faucet, still dripping out tiny droplets of affection occasionally, like when he spreads your legs and asks, "where did jimmy touch you, baby? here? it's okay, daddy's got you now."

or maybe that's just lust. at this point you can't tell the difference.

[mintmatcha]

obsessed with kirishima in that new sero series ngl,,, if you ever want to or decide to write, i'd love to hear abt kirishima and reader hanging out- or just how they are with each other. how they became friends etc etc

anyways,,, how have u been miiiint how's it going ;w;

on her knees, his mom smoothed his hair down one day and told him he had to be friends with the girl across the hall. the city was still half built from after the war, his own cuts healed, yet pink.

"you're such a sweet boy," she mumbled, with a kiss on the forehead. "go be sweet."

and so, he was marched over, box of sweets in hand.

"i'm eijiro-" he uses his given name when you answer the door, instead of the family one labelled outside their door. "my mom made these for you."

You don't reach out to take the box. he's afraid you're about to back up and close the door when you shake your head.

"you d-didn't need to do that," you whisper, ducking away from eye contact. Oh, he thinks. That's why his mom sent him over here.

"it's cool!" He pushes the box forward and you gingerly take it, "My mom loves to do stuff like this."

You bow, just a dip of your head, and Kirishima gets a view into the apartment. It's smaller than his family's, with the living room right by the front door and the walls glossed with pink posters. There's a bookshelf packed with figurines and manga.

"whoa." Kirishima gapes. "your parents much really like anime."

"Oh, uh-" You shut the door a bit, trying to block his view. "I-it's just me. I like anime."

"Your parents let you decorate the apartment? That's so cool."

"no, it's just me." You still can't meet his eye. "My parents live out in the country side and it's too far away from my school."

It's not uncommon for students to get apartments near their high schools, but Kirishima thinks it's a strange choice for something as skittish as you. Living by yourself, in the middle of the city, while they rebuild it all: he doesn't know if he could do it.

"That genius school down the road?" Kirishima points in the (probably incorrect) direction. It's not UA, of course, but it's just as competitive to get in. "You gotta help me with math sometime-- I'm drowning."

For the first time, you smile.

"I am not a genius," you say. "But I can take a look."

-

Thursdays turn into tutoring sessions. You're a year behind him in school, but a year ahead of him in math, which makes you a tough grader. Kirishima thinks that you might actually be a genius sometimes. His mom pays you in warm meals, his dad irons your uniform for you when he has the time.

It fills the gap leaving the dorms left in his social life.

"don't you get lonely?" he asks one night, sitting in the middle of your apartment. the faucet leaks, a constant, drip, drip, drip, that your dad promises to fix the next time he can make the train ride over. "your friends from school never come over."

you've scribbled little Xs across your piece of scrap paper, each one tiny and dark, drawn with a shaking hand.

"yeah," you say, "it's okay. they're just busy, i guess."

[puckingeccedentesiast]

begging for quinn hughes and “How did you end up like this?” 😵‍💫

Quinn considered himself a tool-body. He was smart and good enough with his hands to fix little problems around both yours and his own respective apartments. A flat battery in a smoke detector, sorted. A leaky window sill, plugged up with silicone before anything could sneak in.

However, on a quaint, sunny Saturday afternoon Quinn went in a little too far over his head when it was decided he would tackle a small plumbing issue. A leaky faucet, which had been dripping in his kitchen.

Quinn very quickly recognised that he was in far over his head, or in this case his ankles as water flowed, ankle-deep around him. The faucet now turned waterfall was doing little but gushing into the overflowing sink and flooding Quinn’s kitchen. Sodden towels, buckets and makeshift damns were easily over run.

His situation was just plain comedy, a broken wrench in his hand, pipes floating around the kitchen in the miniature swimming pool and water leaking from places it definitely wasn’t meant to be leaking from.

The kitchen, now turned watery battle zone had pots and pans strewn around to stop the flooding, the YouTube video Quinn had been watching in which a few steps were absolutely missed.

When you swung open the door, seeing Quinn standing there like a dear in headlights you couldn’t help but let out a light scoff and smirk.

“Quinn, how did you end up like this?” You asked with mock seriousness, this situation was secretly highly amusing you.

Trying to play it cool Quinn looked back at you, absentmindedly flicking his wrist with the spanner in it, "Okay, so, I watched this video—twice, mind you—and I thought I had it under control. But apparently, there's, like, a valve... or maybe a nut? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I turned the wrong one, and—well—everything sort of... exploded?"

You stood there and couldn’t help burst into a fit of giggles as you very clearly remember Quinn stating, “No! Don’t call a plumber, I can handle this!” Reaching for your phone you capture some pictures for future blackmail you asked, “Need me to call that plumber now?”

Thank you for requesting my lovely Ivy! It made my day and I hope this lives up to your standards!

[sstormyskyess]

Self-Doubts

author's note: wanted to explore some of the insecurities these fellas would have to get a better feel for how to write them!

cw: hurt/comfort, body image issues, domestic situations, anxiety

word count: 1900+

TF-141 x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [body image]

♡ Ghost is aware that he’s an attractive man. He’s been told as much for most of his life and people tend to put themselves out there for him, so he’s always figured there must be something to him that causes it.

♡ But only he had seen the body under all the layers of black clothing he often covers himself with. His body is more scars than unblemished skin, an eternal reminder that he was beyond saving.

♡ That’s why, when you wormed your way into his lacerated heart, he was hesitant to undress around you. He didn’t want you to see the man underneath the shell of the impenetrable “Ghost,” the man that kept his trauma on a tight leash and hid away from his true self.

Simon shuffles forward further down the bathtub to let you settle in behind him, your thighs resting on his hips. His heart is pounding in his chest, as it often did when he was bare in front of you. Despite the warmth of the bath you’d run for the both of you, a shiver travels up his spine when your hands wrap around his chest.

“You still okay, Si?” You rest your cheek on his back, keeping your hands still over his stomach. All he gives you is a hum, so you prompt again, “I need words, hun.” He responds with a shallow nod and, with a slight shake in his voice, “I’m alright, love.” You nuzzle your cheek against his spine in response, a silent reminder that he’s here, with you.

Things were still for a while, the only sound being the leaky faucet you still needed to get fixed dripping into the bath. You quietly paw at his stomach and move slowly up his chest, tracing over his scars as you did. You halt before you start to kiss the scars on his shoulder blades, the ones that you’ve committed to memory.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you take hold of one of his hands, pulling it up far enough that you could see it over his shoulder. There was one big scar across his palm that he received in the times before he started wearing gloves to cover his calloused hands. You always came back to it; it was one of the most clear signifiers of his journey through his career, and you loved to appreciate anything and everything that showed you his path before meeting you.

He watches you regard the scar, able to see the face you always make when you admire his body like this. He smiled at the thought and some of the tension in his muscles left. He took your other hand and brought it up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles, returning the affection you so graciously gave him.

John “Soap” Mactavish [his future]

♡ Soap has been in his field of work for around eight years and he’s made his way through hell time and time again. He’s a skilled operator and with that comes many dangerous situations, often life or death.

♡ But really, he wants to make it far enough in life to retire and return to civilian society, far away from the turmoil that tainted him day and night, 24/7. The worst part is that he knows it’s unlikely he’ll make it that far.

♡ It got worse when he met you and you solidified in his mind that his true goal was making it to a calm life, free of gunfire, constant deployment, and all of the other struggles that came with a job like his.

“Aye. Love you too, mum.” Johnny hangs up the call and puts his phone on the coffee table with a sigh. His mom was calling to let him know that his sister was going to be having a baby shower in a month or so; his niece’s birth was just around the corner, expectedly two months from now.

Hearing about the lives of his family members makes him feel so selfish sometimes. He knows it’s silly and that he shouldn’t be worrying so much about it, but he just can’t seem to help it. Even when he knows you’re just a room away, making some dinner for the both of you, he can’t help but think about what life could be like were he living the life the rest of his family was. He gets up and looks over to the kitchen before making his way over.

You jump when you feel Johnny’s arms wrap around your waist. He buries his head against your neck and presses some soft kisses there. “Hi, baby. What do you need?” You smile and reach back to run your fingers through his messy overgrown mohawk, earning you a pleased hum. He rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you cooking, a warmth in his heart swelling at the domesticity. “Do you think we’d ever get married, dove?” He asks, rocking you two back and forth gently.

You blink, surprised by the sudden question. “I wouldn’t be opposed. You’re the best guy I could ever hope to be with the rest of my life.” Your smile widens as your mind wanders to the life you and Johnny could live together. Johnny’s soft, dreamy sigh brushes along your neck and it feels like his posture slumps forward just a bit in relief, your words soothing his stormy thoughts. “I’ll keep that in mind, bonnie.”

Standing there in the comfortable silence with you only solidified in his mind that he wanted to be there with you for the rest of his life. All he wanted to do in that moment and every moment after was take care of you, to make you feel safe.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [perfectionism]

♡ Gaz knows how important the role he plays is. His work furthered the safety of civilians the world round, and he knows he’s good at it.

♡ But along with knowing the importance of his work was a double-edged sword; he knew that if he ever faltered or failed his mission, people would die as a result. The screams of civilians echoed in his mind every few nights he tried settling in for bed, his mind much too overactive for his own good.

♡ Overworking himself was a consequence of his troubled thoughts. He would be lifting in the gym until his muscles gave out on him, firing in the range for hours into the night, running laps around the base, all to your dismay as you watched him work himself half to death.

Kyle’s lungs heave as he bends over with his hands on his knees. You had followed him when he got out of bed earlier tonight and he apologized profusely for waking you up. He’s been on the treadmill for an hour, going on an hour and a half. You stare at him, concerned out of your mind.  You’d long since stopped your own workout, the weights left on the rack and a bottle of water in hand.

This was the third time in the past week he’d subjected himself to this self-flagellating exercise schedule. You knew why; this past mission was quite the disaster. Too much destruction, too many civilian casualties, and an escaped terrorist was a perfect combination to make Kyle’s mind run wild with disappointment in himself. He was an empathetic individual and it always came back to bite him after missions like this.

You aren’t sure whether or not he noticed you in here with him, so when you got up to approach him you walked with purposeful steps, loud enough to alert him to your presence. His head perked up and he turned to look at you. He cursed under his breath after wiping his forehead with the towel slung over his shoulder and stepped off the treadmill.

“Sweetheart, I said you could go back to bed.” He frowned when he met your eyes, seeing the exhaustion in them but not realizing that you saw the same exhaustion in his. “Someone needed to drag you back once you eventually collapsed.” You mutter, looking away. You didn’t want to be frustrated with him; you knew that he couldn’t help it. But seeing him with his legs nearly buckling under his own weight hurt your heart. “I’m okay, I promise—”

He’s cut off by your sigh and you take him by the hand to drag him over to the nearest bench, sitting him down. “You’re not okay. I’m getting your stuff and we’re going back to bed.” You state matter-of-factly before walking off to do just that. He knew that you were miffed, but it still felt good to know you had his back.

John Price [his relationships]

♡ Price is a busy man; he’s the captain of a private task force, of course he was. His work basically consumed his entire life, with no room for much else.

♡ Friends and romantic partners were pie in the sky for him, and he sometimes wondered if he would be able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone outside of work. He had tried before and every time, it ended with things falling apart and him leaving someone broken hearted.

♡ His worries were quelled when you made friends with him and eventually entered a romantic relationship, but still, he was concerned with balancing his relationship with you and his relationship with his work. Sometimes, he wondered if he was even strong enough to pull both sides of himself together into one man.

John picks up the dinner plate that you made for him a few hours ago. It had gotten cold by now, the plastic cling wrap around the plate having settled over the food and sticking loosely to it. He sighs and peels it off, turning to the microwave to reheat the plate. He leans back against the counter and stares at the floor, his thoughts crowding every corner of his mind.

You were already in bed, sleeping soundly. At least he hoped. You had asked him a couple times to come to bed, but he insisted he needed to finish the mission reports he was writing. Every time he pulled this little maneuver, he thought back to every other time he condemned you to going to bed cold. The frown on his face deepens, imagining how you looked right now. Maybe you actually weren’t asleep and were still up waiting for him. The thought made him feel so guilty.

He doesn’t have to dwell on it much longer before he sees you sleepily wander into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing your eyes. John pushes himself off the counter and meets you halfway, resting his hands on your hips. “Head back to bed, doll. I’ll be there soon.” He mumbles the words into the top of your head before putting a kiss there. You shake your head and nuzzle deeper into his hold.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” He runs one of his hands up and down your spine, the other moving to the small of your back. You hold onto his shirt and take a peek up at him. “It’s okay.” You give him a small smile, trying to soothe his worries. He does so much and you know it was all for you, a fact that warms your heart.

“Come sit and eat your food, hon’.” He huffs a little laugh and nods, taking his plate out of the microwave and picking you up. You giggle and kiss his cheek, letting him carry you to the couch. You let him turn on the TV and settle you in his lap. “Were you dreaming, love?” He asks before starting to eat. Neither of you pay much attention to whatever’s on the screen after that, him listening intently to you recounting your dreams.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

A TROPICAL MISADVENTURE-DREW STARKEY

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 Drew and Y/N go on a tropical vacation, but nothing seems to go as planned.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Drew Starkey and Y/N had been dreaming about this tropical vacation for months. Between Drew’s busy filming schedule and Y/N’s demanding job, they were long overdue for some sun, sand, and relaxation. They had booked an all-inclusive resort on a tiny island paradise, complete with crystal-clear waters, lush palm trees, and endless cocktails.

“This is going to be perfect,” Y/N had said while packing her suitcase. “Just the two of us, no work, no stress. What could go wrong?”

Drew had grinned, tossing sunscreen and a book into his bag. “Exactly. We deserve this.”

Little did they know, those words would soon be put to the test.

Their first hiccup came as soon as they landed. The island was everything the brochure promised, stunning turquoise waters and soft white sand but the moment they stepped off the plane, a wall of humid heat smacked them in the face.

“Is it supposed to feel like a sauna?” Drew asked, adjusting his baseball cap.

Y/N laughed, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Welcome to paradise, babe.”

Things only got more interesting when their luggage didn’t arrive.

“It’s probably on the next flight,” the airline employee assured them with a polite smile. “Maybe tomorrow?”

With nothing but their carry ons, Drew and Y/N made their way to the resort. Drew’s mood soured further when they discovered the cab ride was more of an off road adventure, with the car bouncing over potholes and Y/N clutching Drew’s arm every time they hit a bump.

The resort looked picture-perfect in the photos, but reality was...different. Their room had a stunning ocean view, but the air conditioner was on the fritz, and there was a persistent drip drip drip coming from the bathroom faucet.

“Romantic, isn’t it?” Drew said dryly, leaning against the wall as Y/N examined the bathroom.

She shot him a look, trying to keep her spirits up. “It’s not the end of the world. Let’s just go to the beach and relax.”

The beach was beautiful, but relaxing proved to be a challenge. Drew’s idea of paradise involved lounging under an umbrella with a book, but Y/N wanted to snorkel. Drew reluctantly agreed, only to discover that snorkeling was not his strong suit.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked, laughing as Drew floundered in the water.

“Do I look okay?” he sputtered, yanking off his mask. “Saltwater just went up my nose!”

To make matters worse, a seagull swooped down and stole Y/N’s sandwich while they were drying off.

“I think this bird is out to get me,” Y/N grumbled, watching the seagull strut away with her lunch.

The next day, they decided to try paddleboarding. Drew, always up for a challenge, insisted it couldn’t be that hard. Five minutes in, he fell off the board, landing in the water with a dramatic splash.

“Stop laughing and help me!” he called to Y/N, who was doubled over on her board, tears streaming down her face.

After an exhausting morning, they booked a sunset catamaran cruise, hoping for a romantic evening. But as the boat set sail, dark clouds rolled in.

“Uh, is this normal?” Drew asked the captain, eyeing the choppy water.

“Just a little rain,” the captain said, grinning.

The “little rain” turned into a full blown tropical downpour, and they spent the ride huddled under a tarp with a group of equally drenched tourists.

“Most romantic trip ever,” Y/N quipped, shivering against Drew’s side.

By the third day, Drew and Y/N were sitting on the balcony of their room, sipping drinks and watching the rain fall. Their luggage had finally arrived, the air conditioning was fixed, and the dripping faucet had been silenced. But their plans of a perfect vacation had long since unraveled.

“This is not how I pictured this trip going,” Y/N admitted, curling up in her chair.

“Me neither,” Drew said, leaning back and stretching his legs. “But, you know, it’s kind of funny. I mean, we survived a bird attack, a rainstorm, and whatever that paddleboarding disaster was.”

Y/N laughed, her mood lifting. “It’s definitely memorable.”

“And hey,” Drew added, raising his glass, “we’ve still got each other. Even if paradise is a little...chaotic.”

They clinked glasses, smiling at each other.

On their last day, the rain cleared, and the sun returned in full force. Determined to make the most of their trip, Drew and Y/N decided to hike to a hidden waterfall they’d heard about from a local.

The hike was longer and steeper than they expected, and they got lost twice. But when they finally reached the waterfall, it was breathtaking.

Standing beneath the cascading water, Y/N turned to Drew, her face glowing with happiness. “This is it. This is the moment I’ll remember.”

Drew pulled her into a hug, his laughter echoing off the rocks. “Even better than the seagull incident?”

“Much better.”

As they stood there, drenched but exhilarated, they realized that the trip hadn’t gone as planned but maybe that was what made it so special.

[frxxxncx]

need to know - k. soonyoung

»boyfriend!¡kwon soonyoung x fem!¡reader.

»Summary: you just wanted to dance all night long, but the night had other plans for you.

»Tags: smut (MDNI), pet names, establish relationship, chocking, exhibitionistm, dirty talk (I suck at this, I’m not joking), degradation…?, sex in public, bulge kink kind of, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, it’s a little nasty at the end ngl, kinda mean dom!soonyoung, sub!reader.

»Words: 1.7k

note: This concept of Kwon Soonyoung makes me scream in my pillow every night. Need to know was my most played song in 2021.

note 2: Any typo or incoherence that you might find was completely intentional, it’s for the sake of learning about my mistakes.

Your pink mini-skirt danced gracefully with you, stroking your plump thighs softly, fabric barely covering your ass, chest moving slowly, contrasting with the voluptuous motions of your hips.

You felt aroused, only looking for your boyfriend's gaze from the bar counter, you were the one who proposed to go out to dance, but Soonyoung, even though he liked to dance was not in the mood to do it that day, but you were willing to make his cock raise proud, as if you had telekinesis.

You felt someone behind you, but you were certain that it wasn’t your boyfriend, you were going to get away from him but an evil thought crossed your filthy mind, you decided to use the disrespectful guy whom was gripping grossly tight your waist with his flagrant sticky and sweaty hands, you wanted to provoke your boyfriend, but his reaction was taking long that you expected and you were starting to get utterly disgusted by the stranger.

Still it was thrilling, you knew what was coming after this stunt you just made. The movements of your hips were exaggerated, while your hands were placed over the other guy. Gross.

It was extremely uncomfortable to feel the unfamiliar hands travel your body with that intimacy, but at the same time you shiver at the feel of Soonyoung's strong gaze over you. So he finally saw you.

The foreign hands disappeared, being replace for your boyfriend’s hot and heavy touch, you could hear clearly how Soonyoung shouted with rage “Fuck off”. A chill ran down your back, you knew perfectly what was coming and you were so fucking prepared for the consequences of your actions.

His hands were squeezing your waist so tightly, and you were sure the silhouette of his fingers was going to be engraved in your skin in a purplish color by tomorrow. His warm breath felt delicious over the back of your neck, body’s so close you could feel all of him pressed against you. Soonyoung tongue caressed your ear feeling the cold metal of your piercings.

“Did you like provoking me while grinding against that bastard like a fucking slut in heat?” He whispered, one of his hands getting to the hem of your pinky skirt, thighs clenching together at the familiar feeling striking your cunt, his digits travelled over your soft skin, and under your skirt, fingers stroking the fabric of your lingerie.

The darkness of the place played in your favour, no one seemed like they were able to see a thing, or maybe they were just enjoying the show, perhaps they were doing the same with their partners.

The rough palms of Soonyoung caressed your cunt over the silky fabric of your underwear, making you stutter in his arms, his left hand rested on your neck choking you slightly, enough to make you moan at the pressure, you could feel your slick starting soak the thin fabric of you lingerie, you were dripping like a faucet and you needed a plumber to help you fix the problem, most definitely.

His cold fingers sneaked inside your underwear, digits now dripping wet in your arousal, you shivered thrilled with his fingers now rubbing circles in your swollen and needy clit, your hips wouldn’t stop moving anxious due to the strokes that started to become faster and faster, putting more pressure in the delicate bud of nerves, his middle fingers travelled to your core, making his ways inside of you, your hands gripped his wrist tightly, retaining a guttural moan that was building up in your throat.

His ring finger joined inside, now both digits were playing in your warm embrace, rubbing into all the good spots inside of you, while his palm was fondling your clit, his fingers scissoring you, stretching your velvety walls. Your moans slipped from your mouth uncontrollably, and you were so glad that the music was so loud, otherwise everyone would notice how your boyfriend was finger fucking the life out of you.

“You pussy so cute and so wet for me, I can feel your cunt so deliciously tight around my fingers” he whispered in your ear, curling his fingers and tightening the grip in your neck “Come on, baby, beg me for it and I will give it to you” the kiss below your ear makes you gasp, breathing was starting to become difficult “Beg for me, just like the cockslut you are” a high pitch moan escape from you when his fingers stretched more inside of you, the burning feeling only making you wish for more.

“Please, please, I need you” you whine desperately, head pressed against his chest, arching your back and moving your hips, feeling the hard on in the base of your back.

“It turns you on, huh?” His hoarse voice behind you contrasted with he sensual music that was playing now, hand that was fingering you, now unzipping his pants hurriedly“I’m going to fuck you infront of all these people and you are soaking wet for it”

He lifted your skirt and moved your underwear to the side, you felt the fabric tear in your skin, and sighed at it, his cock was caressing your sticky folds, spreading all your juices on his shaft, sliding easily on your lips.

“God, you’re so ready for me” he purred, and without thinking twice he thrusted inside of you groaning satisfied after bottoming you out, a loud and guttural moan break from you, due to the force and the toughness of the thrust it kind of burned, but it burned so good that the coil that been building in your belly increased enormously.

“Ooh, baby, you’re so perfect, so good for me” Soonyoung’s dancer hips pistoned with an animalistic pace, biting your lips was starting to become a poor attempt to muffle some of your whimpers, even the wet and lewd sound was beginning to echo over the music in your ears.

Your velvety walls were clenching around Soonyoung’s dick, making him groan satisfied, the sound of his voice caressing your ears like honey, almost triggering your desired orgasm.

The pleasure filled your insides and your clit wouldn’t stop pulsating under Soonyoung insisting rubs, left hand gripping firmly your neck taking your breath away, the coil in you belly was so close to bursting, your hips trembling and colliding with his that wouldn’t stop pistoning into you, every thrust tougher than the other.

At some point, both of his hands rested on your belly, pressing not tight but just enough to make you see stars over your head like a pretty halo, his dick jammed inside of you and the pressure of his hands made you feel like your guts were being rearranged, everything was hot and narrow, your lips were bright red and glossy, you thought that tomorrow they would hurt so bad.

Soonyoung kept hammering into you, one hand pressing your stomach and the other taking your breath away once again, while his hips drilled into you fast and messy, your so desired orgasms stroke through you, body jerking forward as you howled in pleasure, while he kept grunting on the damp skin of your nape, and finally he let go of you neck. He plumped himself dry into you, painting your insides white.

And perhaps it was because you were on a public place or maybe it was the fact that your boyfriend just was exceptionally good at fucking you, but if he wasn’t holding you tight, you would be in the floor due to the overstimulation.

“Fuck, I think we need to go home” he said getting out of you slowly, hearing you whine in the process, now he was fixing his pants and holding tight onto you.

The words could get out of your mouth properly, you only remained clinging onto Soonyoung’s arm while his still warm cum travelled in the soft skin between your thighs, your cunt was sore, even then you could feel his dick inside of you, making you shudder, your legs were all wobbly and the sticky load was peeking from the edge of your skirt. Soonyoung felt bad about it and wiped it as much as he could with his hand, and then he fixed your underwear so his cum wouldn’t go anywhere.

You tried to walk while grabbing your boyfriend’s shirt tightly, but your legs just gave up and a mini scream came out when you felt like falling on your face.

“Sonnie, I can’t, my legs” you said, stuttering looking at your boyfriend with shining eyes because of the tears, still moaning quietly trying to stand still.

He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and a smirk, satisfied of having fucked you so well you couldn’t even walk, but still he felt a little -just a little- bad for you, maybe he was to rough, you liked it though.

Chuckling Soonyoung gave you one last look full of joy and breathed out surrendering.

“Come on, pretty, I’ll carry you” he said before lifting you into bridal style, making you feel as light as a feather. “When we get home, I’ll make us a warm bath and I’ll clean you up very well, it’s okay, honey?” He asked in a childish tone, making you laugh and nod at the same time.

Once you were outside the club, Soonyoung made sure to put you in the passenger seat carefully but still a gasp came out of you, he zipped your belt and closed your door, and then he went to his seat.

During the drive home, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit tense because of the sticky mess in between your legs, but still the light burn in your core felt quite pleasant making your cunt pulsate.

When you finally where in front of your house, you sighted “Next time instead of fucking in the middle of the dance floor, better drag me to the car and fuck my brains out here” the embarrassment was starting to kick in, the liquid confidence losing its effects.

Soonyoung looked at you with a crooked smile "why next time when I can do it right now?"

[cillianscumslutt]

Careless

Pairing: Johnathan Crane x F!Reader

Synopsis: You never listened to anyone, even when it came to being cautious. Johnathan made sure you were cautious after a night of drinking and carelessly leaving your door unlocked.

Warnings: NONCON, forcefulness,Forced entry,penetration, p in v, fingering, violence, mentions of blood, let me know if I missed any

(GIF is not mine)

Notes: REBLOG AND HEART, REBLOG AND HEART, REBLOG AND HEART

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

It was almost ironic the way you drunkenly sauntered around your apartment complex in your little angel costume. You shivered from the coldness of the October air ,and the constant ac running in the building certainly didn’t help either. But you went out with friends to a party and made the mistake of drinking a bit too much. And you decided to take the train home, alone.

Gotham was dangerous for anyone to be alone at night, but especially for pretty girls like you. Regardless of how many times or how many people would warn you against this, you wouldn’t listen. You never listened.

As you mumbled to yourself about the coldness kissing your skin whilst you unlocked the door of your rather cheap apartment, your neighbor's eyes followed you, watching closely through the peephole of his own apartment. Johnathan Crane was his name. A well known doctor at Arkham Asylum.

He had lived here a little over a year. It was a great disguise to test his theories and fear toxin. Nobody ever came to this part of Gotham, as it was the most dangerous. He hadn’t been expecting to find something or someone for that matter, as intriguing as his studies. But here you were.

As you opened the door to your apartment, you sighed heavily, slamming the door shut and not bothering to lock it since you were too tired. You were careless these days, a little too careless for Johnathan’s liking. What if someone were to come into your apartment while you slept and stole your most valuable possessions? Held you at gunpoint? Or worse yet, took advantage of you?

It was frustrating watching someone so young and new to adulthood be so incredibly stupid when it came to safety. But what was he to say? He observed you well enough to the point he knew you hated being told what to do. He certainly wasn’t going to attempt to make conversation by telling you to lock your door, since you wouldn’t listen and perhaps it would seem a bit creepy for your neighbor to be telling you this.

Over the past six months since you had moved in and Johnathan had started to find an odd fascination in watching you and everything you do, he hadn’t spoken even a word to you. You weren’t necessarily oblivious to your surroundings, but you chose to ignore them or the issues at hand as you did with any other problems in your life. That’s why maybe on this cold October night, Johnathan had decided he had enough of your carelessness and wanted to teach you a lesson.

—

You didn’t drink a lot but you certainly drank too much. Your head thumped a bit as you soaked in your tub, submerged by coconut scented bubbles, watching the leaky faucet drip continuously. No surprise it wasn’t fixed as you had only mentioned it to your landlord three separate times…

It was quiet for a moment, only the leaky faucet dripping and the water moving ever so slightly around you as you relaxed a bit. Your eyes fluttered closed; resting your back against the tiled wall of the tub. This short moment of relaxation didn’t last long as it sounded like the door was being slammed shut just outside the bathroom.

Your eyes snapped open in an instant, moving so quickly the water came in waves, crashing around you and out of the tub. You kept your mouth shut tightly, standing up cautiously before wrapping your towel around you. Bubbles from your bath clung to you, dropping to the floor as you obviously walked out of the bathroom.

“Hello?” You called out, clutching your towel to you. The rest of the house was dark, only the bathroom light was on as you were just there. No one answered, and nothing stirred. But the presence of a shadow could be felt instantly the second you stepped into your dark living room.

A silhouette sat on the sofa, drinking in the way your voice attempted to come out strong and unbothered but deep down, it knew you were scared. The caution in your footsteps said it all as you reached out for the light that was somewhere. The voice of the figure called out in a low, serious tone that was heard so clearly.

“Don’t turn on the light.” Just as quickly as he said it, he wanted to take it back as he had forgotten who he was speaking to. The girl who never listened. But luckily, you were a little further away from the light than you had anticipated.

Your head began to thump painfully as you searched desperately through the dark for the switch of the light before being pulled away. Icy cold hands grabbed you, pulling you into somewhat of an embrace. His arms secured you as his face went to the dampness of your neck from your bath. You smelled heavenly as he took a deep inhale, sinking his teeth into you harshly.

You whimpered, not knowing exactly what to do or say as the stranger held you there. Whoever they were, they smelled nice and had you not been in this predicament, you would’ve complimented them. Another whimper escaped your parted lips as the stranger drew a bit of blood.

He pulled away with a loud sigh, resting his forehead against yours, keeping a tight grip on you. Soft lips pecked at your ear as he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. You’re also so careless, silently inviting me in.” He chuckled a bit, pulling at your towel that you held so tightly in your hands.

“N-no…” you finally spoke, voice wavering with uncertainty and fear. Still your head pounded now with the beat of your racing heart at the feel of the strangers grip on your towel, pulling with a slight force.

“No? You say that but, if you didn’t want anyone in here…taking advantage of this body that you flaunt so shamelessly, you wouldn’t have been so stupid to not lock your door.”

And he was right. You knew that. But it was too late to admit that. Too late to fix your mistakes or even argue with him. Still your stubbornness made your pride too great to say anything.

With a harsh pull, your towel was taken from you, making you gasp as you attempted to reach out for it. You hear it hit the sofa, with a wet slap against the fabric from your lack of drying off before exiting the bathroom. Through all the anxiety and fear resting writhing the pit of your stomach, you swallowed it back a bit, glaring at the shadow of the stranger before you.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He chuckled as if it were truly funny to hear you speak so boldly. Once more he enveloped your body in a tight hold that you did attempt to get out of but he had you at an awkward angle, holding your arms behind your back as his cold fingers caressed your thigh.

“Don’t act so fearless now, baby. Nothing wrong with a little fear. Completely normal…fascinating you could say.”

His fingers without warning were shoved inside of you. Three at a time with no mercy nor prep. Another strangled noise left your lips in a mix of pleasure and pain. “I’ll scream!” You wanted, throwing your head back against the stranger's chest.

“Do it. You think someone will save you? This is Gotham. The slum of the fucking earth. Nobody cares, but you should’ve.”

And tears began to form, making your lip quiver. Your mind was battling with your body to not react to his touch, but ultimately lost. It’s biological response was too strong against his fingers, making you cum around them before he shoved them in your mouth.

“What a little fucking slut…huh? Dressed like an angel but you’re coming on my fingers like your pussy needed it so bad.” He said in your ear in a harsh whisper, making sure you cleaned his fingers.

“I hope you’re ready for my cock…your little attempts of bravery got me so hard. I can sense the anxiety you feel, being fucked and forced by a stranger. But you like that, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer, still attempting to keep what dignity you had to yourself. He roughly shoved you against the wall before you heard a zipper and clank of a belt unmistakably hitting the wooden floorboards. He parted your shaking legs, moving his fingers ever so slightly at the slick of your orgasm from before.

“No fight left, huh? If I would’ve known you would give up this easy, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”

It was shameful to hear him say this. To mock your silence as a weakness. You were treading carefully with your options, not wanting to die in this situation but also not wanting to go down without a fight. It wasn’t until he drew close, his erection poking at your bare ass as he leaned into your neck once more.

“I hope you’re on some sort of contraceptive because I’m not wasting a single fucking drop.”

You flung your head back hard, hurting your neck in the process as you were sure to hit him hard in the face, hearing the crack of his nose. His stance faltered a bit and you thought maybe you were in the clear to run before you were shoved against the wall once more. His hand entangled in your hair tightly, burning your scalp as he slammed your head against the wall repeatedly.

“You really are a stupid little fucking bitch, huh? I was going to be nice, try and let you enjoy this and be civil, but now I want you to see and feel everything.”

Even in the midst of all this, and the excruciating feeling of your headache that had now worsened from the blows of your head being hit off the wall, you didn’t know what he meant. What was everything? Whatever did he mean?

A cold spritz of something tasteless and odorless hit your face from the side. You started coughing, shaking your head a bit as you sneezed. His grip adjusted a bit as he continued to what you could only guess was removing his pants.

Your eyes began to blink rapidly, seeing shadows of things and creatures in the corners of your eyes. Every time your head turned, they moved. Taunting you with viscous laughter and quickening paces around your apartment.

“Mm, I can’t see it but I know your body is simply amazing.” He spoke out, reminding you of his presence as he pushed the head of his cock inside you. A small gasp left your lips, surprised at the sensation and confused and anxiety at the things that lurked in the dark.

They spoke in unison, shrieking and singing the saddest of cries as they moved past you. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. You were going to die. They were going to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“Please…” you cried quietly as he began to rut into you, complimenting you on the tightness of your warm , tight pussy around his cock.

“Mmm…please what? What is it?” He grunted, slapping your ass, making it echo throughout the spacious apartment.

“Don’t kill me. Don’t let them kill me…”

He said nothing, only continuing his assault on you as you lay limp between him and the wall. The only support you had was his hold on you that never seemed to falter. “I won’t kill you…I want you to remember this. I want you to think about my cock in you every time you think about leaving your door unlocked, every time you wear that tiny little fucking dress…you’ll remember this.”

He fucked you hard, at a brutal pace. It felt like hours until he groaned, pulling you as close to him as he could manage before coming inside of you. At this point your eyes were on the verge of closing and you were barely conscious as you slumped against him. He breathed heavily, pulling you up and dragging you to your bedroom.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

—-

It had been a few weeks since the night of your attack. You were now incredibly cautious, as anyone would be. You barely left now unless it was to go to work. Even then, you took time off. You thought it was all a terribly bad dream until the blood from his nose was evident on the floor.

You didn’t even attempt to reach out to the police. Gotham police were useless. They didn’t take calls like this. They were too concerned with finding the villain known as Scarecrow.

You stood alone in the elevator, holding your bag to your chest before someone else quickly entered with you, selecting the floor they needed. His piercing blue eyes looked over to you as he gave you a small smile. You return it, blushing a bit at how attractive this guy was.

“Are you going up as well?”

You only nodded, watching as the elevator doors closed. A small void of silence filled the elevator until he cleared his throat.

“How long have you lived here? You don’t seem like you should be in a place like this.” His voice was soft and professional as he adjusted his glasses, looking over at you curiously.

“Oh, just a few months. Not long really. How about you?”

“A little over a year now. Not exactly the best place, but a more isolated one, I assume. I’m in apartment 7B on the right side. So at least I’m not on the last floor.”

“7B? That’s the apartment right across from mine!” You smile in disbelief.

“Oh really? Wow, we’ll have to have wine together sometime, if you’re up for it of course.” He offered with that same small smile.

You felt your face heat up as the elevator stopped and you both walked together to your sides. You gave him a small nod.

“Sure, absolutely.”

As he spoke, walking past you just the slightest hint of his cologne filled your senses and you recognized it, oddly enough. He smelled so nice.

“Oh, you smell so good. Hope that isn’t weird to say, what is it? I feel like I’ve smelled that scent before.” You ask curiously, cutely tilting your head to the side as Johnathan holds his keys in his hand.

“Oh, thank you. I’m not sure. Was a Christmas present from my grandmother. I’ll let you know the next time I see you.” He winked, now fully facing you.

Suddenly you see a slight bruise under his glasses that connects from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his eye. Your mouth hung open a bit as everything came flooding back to realization.

Whoever they were, they smelled nice and had you not been in this predicament, you would’ve complimented them.

“See you around.” He said your name before disappearing into his apartment, leaving you alone in the hallway of the apartment building with your bag held securely to you as tears filled your eyes.

You shouldn’t have been so careless.

[callsign-rogueone]

lean on me

Sawyer Henrick + Ridoc Gamlyn Sawyer runs out of painkiller and drags himself, fully clothed, into an ice-cold shower in an attempt to take the edge off. It works, but once he sits down on the tile floor, he can’t get back up to turn the water off. Feeling that his rider is trapped there, freezing cold and dissociating, Sliseag reaches out to Aotrom, who sends Ridoc to the rescue. words: 3.2k 🏷️: trying something new, so be gentle with me pls, written before the release of Onyx Storm, set 2-ish weeks after the end of Iron Flame. nonsexual nudity, brief description of Sawyer’s injury site (Rid changing his bandages) but no blood or anything, mentions of nausea and skipping meals, the word puke is used exactly once, painkiller reliance, negative self-talk — Sawyer’s self esteem issues re: the injury and not bonding in his first year make an appearance, as well as Ridoc's guilt for letting things get this bad. this could be read either as platonic or as a ship fic, if you want. there’s mutual I love you’s in there, but nothing too romantical — and if you aren’t cuddling with your homies on the regular, wyd?

“Sliseag’s boy needs you.”

Ridoc is out his door and down the stairs in seconds, headed to the first-floor room they’d moved Sawyer into after he’d been discharged from the infirmary. The door is unlocked, the room empty, but he can hear water running in the bathroom right across the hall.

“Sawyer?”

No response. 

Then he sees a person sat against the wall under the spray of one of the faucets — unmistakably Sawyer, from their red-brown hair and pale skin. He’s still dressed. He hadn’t drawn the curtain, seemingly just turned the water on and sat down under it.

“Sy?” Ridoc tries again quietly, not wanting to startle him — nothing. He reaches up to turn the water off, and only then does Sawyer seem to notice his presence, looking up from his blank stare at the opposite wall.

His cheeks are wet, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes red and swollen from crying. His entire body is trembling — from pain or from the cold, Ridoc can’t tell. How long has he been sitting here?

Ridoc steps into the shower and kneels beside him. Water instantly soaks into the knees of his pants, but he’s used to the cold, being an ice wielder. Regardless, he isn’t focused on that right now, just on making sure Sawyer is okay.

Maybe okay isn’t the right word. There’s clearly something wrong if he’s in the shower fully clothed, and okay might be too lofty a goal for him these days after losing more than half a leg. 

Sawyer blinks a few times, coming back to reality and seeing the soft expression on Ridoc’s face — not pity, but genuine concern and love.

Sawyer had pushed him away for two weeks, pushed everyone away and insisted he’d be fine on his own, but Ridoc is here with him now. He was willing to climb in with him, to sit across from him in the cold water and guide him back into reality. He knew something was wrong, despite Sawyer’s reassurances that he was fine, and he sought him out in hopes of fixing it. 

“Hey,” Ridoc coaxes softly. “Talk to me.”

Sawyer can’t form words. Tears start to slip down his freckled cheeks, mixing with the cold shower water that’s still dripping from every inch of him. 

Ridoc moves closer, until he’s just inches away — hesitant, not wanting to cause him further pain. 

Sawyer closes the gap for him, letting his head drop against Ridoc’s shoulder as he continues to cry, quiet little sniffles that break Ridoc’s heart right in half.

“I know it hurts, Sy. I’m so sorry.”

He wraps the older boy in a hug, not minding the cold water that soaks from Sawyer’s clothes into his. His heart clenches as he realizes how thin Sawyer has gotten without the daily exercise, and without as much food — the healers had said something about the pain tonic reducing appetite and causing nausea, but the squad had been too relieved that he was still alive to properly focus on the instructions they’d been given. 

Ridoc can’t help but berate himself for letting it get this bad. He should have been more careful. He should have checked in on Sawyer more often, ignored the boy’s insistence that he’d be fine in his own room at Basgiath, and that the rest of the squad shouldn’t let him keep them grounded. 

Second squad had agreed without too much protest, knowing that the fight was far from over, and they needed as many trained riders as they could get.

Still, it shouldn’t have come to this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, bringing a hand up to smooth down his wet curls. “We should have been there for you earlier.”

Sawyer doesn’t respond, but his breathing has steadied, the sniffling quieted. He’s still shivering, leaning into Ridoc for warmth — he must have been sitting here for some time if he’s this cold. 

“Let’s get you dried off,” Ridoc coaxes. 

Sawyer nods against his shoulder, taking a breath to brace himself for the discomfort of standing again. 

Ridoc rises to his knees, then his feet, hooking his arms under Sawyer’s to help him up. Sawyer pushes up off the floor, a soft cry parting his lips as the movement sends a needle of pain up his spine.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Ridoc soothes, the only thing he can think to say at the moment. “Hold on to me, it’ll take the pressure off.”

Sawyer shifts his weight, making the five steps to the small bench more bearable. 

Ridoc finds a clean-enough towel on the counter, extending it to Sawyer. “Dry your hair if you can. I’m gonna find you some clean clothes, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Sawyer makes the slightest nod of understanding, back to his slow-blinking silence. 

Time has been reduced to the slow drip of water down his face. He doesn’t know how late it is, or how long he had sat in the shower. It’s dark out, but it’s January — it gets dark after four. 

Ridoc is back quickly. Sawyer still hasn’t dried his hair, so he takes the towel back from him, working it through the wet red curls gently. His hair has gotten long enough to cover the tops of his ears. Ridoc would offer to do something about it later, but he’s not sure Sawyer would trust him with the task. Rhi, maybe. 

“Arms up,” Ridoc coaxes.

Sawyer complies, allowing Ridoc to peel the soaked tunic off. It’s unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a quiet splat, replaced with a soft towel that Ridoc wraps around his shoulders.

“Alright. How do you want to do the pants?” Ridoc asks gently. “We’ve seen each other naked before, so I don’t care either way, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable — and I don’t want this to hurt.”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” Sawyer says distantly, the first words he’s spoken since Ridoc found him. His voice is a raw whisper, hoarse from disuse. “I can take them off myself if I have something to lean on. Putting new ones on is always harder.”

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready,” Ridoc offers quietly, holding out two hands. 

Sawyer wavers a bit as he stands, holding onto Ridoc’s right forearm with one hand as he finds his balance, then slowly starts pulling down one side of the waistband, then the other, until they drop to the floor, a wet heap of fabric around his remaining foot. 

Ridoc doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that sight, if it’ll ever stop feeling like a punch to the gut.

It’s not about you, he reminds himself. However uncomfortable and upset you are about this, Sawyer is probably ten times as much — it’s his body, his life that’s changed forever. 

Ridoc guides him back down onto the bench, kicking the soaked shorts aside, next to the shirt, and looks at Sawyer, trying to read the expression on his face. 

“Do you want a break, or…”

He shakes his head. “Pass me the shirt?”

Ridoc hands him the dry t-shirt he’d found in Sawyer’s room, one of the few clean garments he had left. He doesn’t ask if Sawyer wants help with this part — he gets the feeling that this is probably deeply embarrassing for him, and that he wants to do as much as he can on his own.

Sawyer tugs it over his head, easily putting his arms through the sleeves, and stepping through one leg of the boxers, pulling them up to his knee.

Ridoc extends an arm again, a silent indicator that he’s ready when Sawyer is. 

Sawyer takes another breath, gritting his teeth as he stands, but he seems more steady this time — putting more of his weight on Ridoc, trusting the other boy to hold him up as he dresses himself. 

Back down again. Sawyer takes a second to catch his breath, willing himself not to cry again.

“Shorts too, or…”

Sawyer shakes his head no. He doesn’t want to go through the up-and-down again, and he just wants to sleep. That’s all he’s really done this week, because sleep is the only place he’s comfortable — if you don’t count the nightmares, that is. 

“Okay. Can I look at the bandage?”

Sawyer nods, exhausted but knowing that the wrapping needs to be replaced; it’s soaked, the cotton gauze swollen with water. He definitely wasn’t supposed to bathe with it on, but he wasn’t really in his right mind when he’d dragged himself into the shower, just desperate for any sort of relief from the bone-deep ache and the shooting pains that keep coming whenever he moves.

Ridoc unwraps the dressing gently, keeping one hand on Sawyer’s other leg in an attempt at comfort, and bracing himself for the worst, but trying to maintain a neutral expression on his face. 

It’s not as bad as he’d thought. It doesn’t look infected, and the stitches are still holding the skin together in two intersecting, slightly-wavy lines. They’re probably ready to be removed — he’ll ask about that tomorrow morning, when he takes Sawyer to see the healers.

Ridoc tosses the wet bandages into the trash, reaching under the sink for the basic first aid kit that’s kept in every bathroom in the dorms. There’s enough gauze in there to make a passable re-creation of the neat dressing that had been on it before. It’ll only have to last the night, anyway; the healers will put on a new one in the morning. 

“Is that too tight?” Ridoc asks, looking up at him.

Sawyer shakes his head no, eyes still closed. He’s so tired, even after a day of doing hardly anything.

Ridoc stands, gathering the wet clothes and wringing them out over the sink. He’ll wash them tomorrow — Sawyer is running out of clean clothes, having been pretty much bedbound for the last two and a half weeks and unable to do his own laundry.

“You ready to get back in bed?” — A nod. — “Do you want your crutches, or do you want to lean on me?”

“You,” Sawyer says softly, blinking up at Ridoc. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

Ridoc pushes down the little swell of pride at Sawyer’s choice, draping the boy’s arm across his shoulders and hooking an arm around his waist to hoist him up. He lets Sawyer set the pace for the twenty-foot walk back to his new room, making sure that he’s well-supported. 

Thankfully, Sawyer had never warded his new room, so the door swings open easily, and Ridoc carefully deposits him on the edge of his bed, tossing the still-damp clothes in his laundry basket. 

Looking at the clock on his desk through bleary eyes, Sawyer can see that it’s sometime between ten and eleven. Ten thirty, maybe. A reasonable enough hour to go to sleep.

Ridoc should be going to bed soon, if he wants to get a decent amount of sleep before the standard six a.m. wakeup required of the cadets that hadn’t been permanently injured in the battle — everyone but Sawyer. 

He’s tired of being the exception. He should be out there training with them, not spending his days sleeping in an uncomfortable first-year bed.

Being back on the first floor for the third year in a row has broken him. 

Being in this room all day reminds him of his first first year, when he was one of the only cadets who hadn’t been chosen at Threshing, and thus couldn’t attend most of the classes that everyone else did — leaving him to spend the bigger half of six months entirely alone.

Every hour within these walls is another reminder of his failure. Death by a thousand cuts, or whatever they say. 

“Talk to me,” Ridoc says softly. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice cracking. If Ridoc doesn’t leave soon, if he doesn’t stop looking at him like that, all soft and concerned, Sawyer is going to cry again. The first time was humiliating enough.

Ridoc keeps pushing, deciding yes-or-no questions might be less overwhelming. “Do you want to eat something?”

Sawyer shakes his head no quickly — he definitely doesn’t want food. Even the idea of eating is enough to turn his stomach. At least Ridoc hadn’t seen him puke. 

“Okay. You should probably get some sleep, then.”

Sleep is good. Sleep will numb the pain for a while, and he’s so tired… probably because he’s hardly eaten since he moved out of the infirmary and the healers stopped forcing him to choke down three meals a day. 

That had been torture. 

Sawyer nods, starting to shuffle back from his seat on the edge of the bed. The bed is unmade, as it has been for the last week and a half, so he’s able to scoot under the duvet easily, pulling it up over himself with minimal discomfort.

Ridoc helps him get settled, draping him with an extra blanket, because Sawyer’s skin is still cold to the touch. He quickly pulls his eyes away from the space where Sawyer’s other leg should be, that’s now just flat, only blankets laid over the mattress.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, have Sli tell Aotrom, okay?”

Sawyer nods again, the soft cotton of his pillowcase making a whispering sound under his cheek.

Ridoc straightens the books on Sawyer's desk, picking up a few dirty clothing items that Sawyer had dropped — damn tremors caused by that extra-strength pain tonic that he’d been using around the clock — and hadn’t been able to bend down to reach, or even to kick toward the laundry basket. So on the floor they’ve remained, all week — until now.

Sawyer feels a spike of cold move through his chest, his pulse jumping at the thought of Ridoc leaving, telling him goodnight and disappearing for another two weeks.

“Rid?” he asks in a small voice.

The other boy perks up at the sound of his friend speaking. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to sleep over?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before Sawyer starts to take it back. “Obviously you don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice. The way it used to be, in Aretia.”

If Ridoc catches the panic in Sawyer’s voice, he doesn’t bring it up. “I thought you’d never admit it,” he says with a slow smile that Sawyer can hear, even with his eyes closed. “You miss me.”

It’s unclear if Sawyer can hear the thick guilt covered by Ridoc’s teasing. 

Of course he misses you, Ridoc thinks. You haven’t spoken to him in a week. He needed you, but he didn’t ask for help because he didn’t think you’d care. 

You’re a shitty friend.

“Should I steal some of Imogen’s black nail polish, or do you want to make popcorn and talk about cute boys?”

“Get the fuck out,” Sawyer snorts, and then regrets it immediately — What if Ridoc can’t tell that he’s joking? 

“Alright. GTFO-ing.”

Ridoc closes the door behind him quietly.

Sawyer squeezes his eyes shut, because he knows that if he opens them, the walls will start to press in on him. This room is the same size as the one he’d had in his parents’ home in Luceras, if not bigger, but after spending two weeks in it pretty much non-stop, it feels like a birdcage or a fish tank that he’d been shoved into.

That’s why he’d never warded the door. He already feels trapped here. If he becomes too weak to channel, he’d be trapped for real.

He hasn’t tried to use his signet, or any of the basic magic, since the battle. It’s unclear if he can, but Sli comes and goes in his mind, and that little red string had remained tied to his rib all through the surgery and his delirium afterward, never once fading or faltering, so he should still have access to it, but he might be too weak to do anything significant with it.

When he gets some of his energy back, he’ll try again. Maybe he can do something useful with it. They can park him in a chair and have him make weapons, more of the runed daggers. That way he’d be helping, instead of dragging everyone down. 

That’s exactly what he’d tried not to do, and look where it had landed him. 

Ridoc opens the door again after what’s probably fifteen minutes. He’s pajama-clad, his hair damp from the shower, with a pillow tucked under one arm and his duvet knotted around his shoulders like a cape.

“You came back,” Sawyer murmurs. He’s already half-asleep, his eyes closed and cheek smushed into his pillow. 

“Of course I did. It’s not every day that your adult male best friend asks you for a sleepover.”

Ridoc scoots the desk chair aside, making space for himself to lay down on the small rug there, untying the duvet-cape. 

Sawyer scoots himself over toward the other side of the bed, gritting his teeth. “The floor will fuck up your back. Get up here.”

“If you insist,” Ridoc replies with a grin. 

Sawyer would roll his eyes if it wasn’t such an effort to keep them open, about to jokingly retract his offer — only to wince at the feeling of the mattress shifting underneath him. 

Ridoc apologizes his way under the covers, trying not to jostle him too much. “I’d offer to rock-paper-scissors over who gets to be the little spoon, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

That gets a lazy laugh out of him, finally. 

Ridoc doesn’t think he’s seen Sawyer smile or laugh since before they left Aretia. They’d been in Battle Brief, and Ridoc had made a gods-awful pun around one of Brennan’s serious statements. It had nearly gotten the both of them kicked out of the auditorium from how hard they’d been laughing.

“Thank you for finding me,” Sawyer murmurs. “Probably would have died of hypothermia or something if you hadn’t.”

His hair is nearly dry now, the almost-ginger strands curling up in odd places. Ridoc reaches over to smooth a few of them down, but they spring back up after a few seconds. He keeps doing it anyway. 

“You can thank Sli for that, really. He told Aotrom to tell me that you needed help. He loves you, y’know. And he knows that none of this was your fault.” 

There’s a soft pause. “We all know that you’d be out there with us if you could. It isn’t the same without you, but until you’re healed and you can make yourself a super badass custom prosthetic and fly with us again, we’ll look out for each other. And I’ll help you with whatever you need — I’m really sorry for dropping the ball on that. I was a shitty friend, and there’s no excuse for it, really, but I’ll try my best to make it up to you.”

It’s a lot to process, and Sawyer is too tired to respond to all of it, but he’s able to sum it up in two mumbled words. “Love you.”

Ridoc smiles, moving his hand away from Sawyer’s hair. “I love you too, dude. Get some sleep.”

Later that night, when Sawyer rolls over and tucks himself into Ridoc’s arms, he doesn’t feel cold anymore, and the pain has dulled.

He decides that he wants pancakes for breakfast.

[vivimura]

Skibidi Toilet stared at the reflection in the mirror, his eyes red from crying. It had been a rough week, and it was only Tuesday. He had to make a decision he never thought he'd face. The room was silent, except for the occasional drip of the faucet echoing through the emptiness. It was a stark contrast to the usual laughter and banter that filled his house when LankyBox was around.

LankyBox, with his awkward charm and gaming prowess, had captured Skibidi's heart. But the cracks in their relationship had started to show when Skibidi realized that Lanky's 'gyatt' was at a mere level one. It was something he had tried to overlook, but in the hypercompetitive world of gaming, it was a glaring weakness. The lack of confidence in Lanky's voice when he played, the way he'd shrink away during raids - it all pointed to the same thing. No rizz.

Skibidi knew he had to face the music. He took a deep breath, wiped his tears, and opened his computer. His fingers hovered over the keys, composing a message in his mind before he finally started typing. "Hey Lanky, we need to talk." The words felt like lead as they materialized on the screen. He stared at them for what felt like an eternity before hitting send.

The minutes ticked by like hours. The anticipation was unbearable. Finally, a notification popped up. Lanky had seen the message. Skibidi's heart raced as he waited for a response. The seconds stretched into minutes, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the chat bubble flickered to life. "What's up, Skib?"

Skibidi's fingers trembled as he began to type. "I don't think we're… compatible anymore. I need someone with more… presence in the game." The words stung as he wrote them, but he knew he had to be honest. Lanky's silence was deafening, and Skibidi felt the weight of his words hanging in the digital void. He waited, his eyes glued to the screen.

After what felt like an eternity, Lanky responded, "What do you mean?" His avatar's expression was a blend of confusion and sadness. Skibidi's chest tightened, but he couldn't take it back now. "I need someone who can keep up with me, Lanky. Someone who doesn't hold me back with your low level gyatt." The words felt like a betrayal, but he had to be firm.

Lanky went offline without another word, leaving Skibidi to face the cold reality of his decision. The house was eerily quiet, and Skibidi couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake. He tossed and turned in bed that night, plagued by thoughts of Lanky's hurt expression and the hollowness of their once vibrant relationship.

The next morning, Lanky was gone. His side of the bed was cold, and his gaming chair sat empty. Skibidi felt a pang of regret, but he pushed it aside, telling himself he'd done what was best for both of them. He went about his day, trying to focus on work and friends, but every time he looked at his gaming setup, the void was glaring.

That evening, Lanky returned home, his eyes puffy from crying. He'd spent the day scouring the internet for answers to his gyatt woes, determined to prove himself. He had bookmarked countless articles and YouTube tutorials titled "How to Level Up Your Gyatt in Record Time," avoiding the clickbait promises of overnight transformations. He sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding eye contact.

"Lanky," Skibidi began tentatively, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Lanky looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and determination. "I know," he said, his voice small. "But I want to change. I want to be someone you can be proud of in the game."

The next week, Lanky threw himself into training. He watched videos, read blogs, and even signed up for an online gyatt boot camp. The house was a blur of energy drinks and furious typing as Lanky competed in the World Gyatt Olympics, an intense digital competition where contestants battled to push each other out of the virtual ring using their charm and wit.

Days turned into weeks, and Skibidi could see the change in Lanky. He was more confident, his laughter grew louder, and there was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before. The WGO finals approached, and Lanky's dedication paid off. He found himself in the final round, his heart racing as the virtual lights shone down on him. The contestants were all skilled, but Lanky had something extra—desperation, hope, and a love that fueled his every move.

The match was intense. Lanky's avatar, once a noobish representation of himself, had morphed into a force to be reckoned with. His quips were sharper, his strategies more refined. And then it happened—Lanky pushed the last player out of the ring with a flourish of digital finesse. The chat exploded with congratulatory emojis and cheers, and there it was, the gold gyatt medal appearing around his avatar's neck.

Skibidi watched from the sidelines, his heart swelling with pride. He couldn't believe it. Lanky had done it. He'd gone from a level one to a champion. The TV broadcasted the final moments of Lanky's victory, and as the camera zoomed in on his triumphant face, Skibidi felt a pang of regret. He had underestimated Lanky, and in doing so, had hurt the person he cared about the most. He knew he had to make amends.

The crowd in the arena roared as Lanky's victory was announced. Skibidi's phone buzzed with notifications—messages from friends and viewers alike, praising Lanky's performance. But it was the one from Lanky that made his heart skip a beat: "I did it for us, Skib. Can we talk?"

Skibidi took a deep breath and typed back, "I'm watching you right now, Lanky. You're amazing. Let's talk when you get home."

The anticipation was palpable as Skibidi waited for Lanky to return. He had so much to say, so much to apologize for. When Lanky finally walked through the door, clutching his gold gyatt medal, Skibidi was there, ready to listen, to understand, and hopefully, to make things right.

[plethora-of-imagines]

Self Care

AN: First fic of the year! As was voted by the people a fic focusing on one of the Masters! Delgado!Master, one of my clear favorites!

The basic concept for this fic as exsisted since 2021, but other than a few smaller details and the vague idea of comfort it is almost unrecognizable!

Word Count: 2025 (hehe fun word count for the first fic of the year)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, dissociation, injured!reader, unintentional self-harm (health wise, not physical), nudity, non-sexual intamacy

Description: You've had a rough day, and the Master has decided that you need to be taken care of.

You were uncomfortable.

Panting in the entrance to the Master’s TARDIS. Struggling to breathe instead of inhaling the water dripping down your face. Clothing soaked, creating a puddle below your feet as it dripped onto the floor. Leg aching. The water mixed with blood to create a stinging pain from the jagged cut you had obtained while escaping the danger you had managed to stumble- literally- into.

You were physically and emotionally exhausted.

The groaning and wheezing of dematerialization only served to make you slump further.

Minutes of silence passed as you failed to work up the energy to move. Unable to jump in surprise when warm fingers tilted your face as a clear “tsk” was let out by the unharmed and only slightly damp man in front of you.

“You’re ice cold, my dear. We need to get you warmed up.”

Unable to focus your gaze on him, drifting in your painful dissociation.

A quiet, “hmm,” was the only response you could muster up. Dizzy when your body began to move unexpectedly.

The Master’s arms wrapped securely around you, bringing a distant sense of comfort. Clinging to him once set down as he attempted to pull away. The feeling of safety being pried away from your hands, fingers unable to continue gripping onto the clammy fabric being yanked away.

A hurt, distressed animal. That’s what your whine sounded like to your own ears.

Weakly bating at the hands that were undressing you. Not wanting them to remove the clothing that your mind swore was keeping you warm. Clothing equaled warmth, right? The room was shaking, no wait, that was your body. Pinned down by a weight as something pressed against your skin. Squealing as pain flooded your mind. Begging with useless words for it to stop. Pain- now your only companion, your unwanted lover. SIlent sobs wracking your body as the pain slowly abandoned you along with the little warmth that had remained against your skin. Nonsensical sounds reaching your ears and adding to the confusion that wrapped itself around your head- a noose that only seemed to tighten.

The warm scent of vanilla flooding your nose eventually broke through your hazy mind. The ability to focus slowly returning, like the slow drip of the faucet next to you. No matter how many times the Master tried to fix it, it always needed to be kept in the oddest of positions to be fully shut off. Weighted down limbs struggled to grasp and move the knob enough to halt it.

Your attempts were aided by his hand, resting overtop of yours. The small bottle in his hands being unceremoniously left on the counter nearby.

“If your mind has managed to return to the present time, I would like to hold your attention for a moment, my dear.”

Leaning carefully into the bare chest in front of you, the double heart beat soothing the racing of your own heart.

“Why are we naked?”

You could feel the smile in his words.

“Our clothes were rather soaked, and your sensitive human constitution is simply too prone to illness to allow you to remain in those waterlogged things.”

“And this means that you also had to strip down,” you slowly teased back after a lengthy pause.

“Naturally,” he smoothly replied with an inflection as smooth as butter. “Now are you going to continue to question my desires to share a bath to warm you up, or may I get on with drawing it for us.”

“Oh by all means, proceed.”

The wince as you shifted and pulled at the gash on your leg didn’t go unnoticed.

“Of course we will have to deal with that pesky injury first.”

“Please.”

A tiny glass jar was being opened in his hands just a few moments later. Tiny glowing fireflies bursting out into the room. Reminding you of the meteor shower the two of you had gone to see months ago. They remained suspended like stars, slowly drifting down over the two of you. Scrunching your nose when the first one landed on your open wound.

As if a hive mind, the rest of the little glowing lights followed suit. Swarming around your leg. A tingling sensation overtaking your nerves. An uncontrollable giggle bursting forth.

“What-”

“I have found having a small supply of nanobots to be helpful for cases like this.”

It was only a few minutes later that your giggles were able to subside, smooth skin being left behind where the gash had previously taken residence. The nanobots collecting together back into the small jar after tickling the rest of your skin briefly. Like little kisses against your skin.

Remaining where you were, watching as the Master filled the large bathtub with hot water, and some of the liquid from the bottle from earlier that he had picked back up. The gentle sound of running water the only noise in the quiet bathroom. The smell of vanilla growing more potent with the mountain of bubbles that formed near the tap.

Positioning himself between your legs, his beard tickled your cheek as your face was cradled against his. The difference in temperature between your still cold skin and his almost burning. His hands trailing along your body, rubbing warmth into you as he kissed you deeply. He cupped your hands between his own for a while, letting his forehead rest against yours. The steam slowly filled the room until you were certain that the mirror must be fogged up behind you.

“I will be just a moment, my dear. If you would not mind turning off the tap once the bath is full.”

Humming an affirmative as he released you to leave the bathroom. Focusing on the bathtub once more you watched as the bubbles threatened to overflow out onto the floor. Hopping down from your perch on the counter onto slightly unsteady feet, you pushed the bubbles around so that they could remain within the tub.

Feeling much better from the warmth already, you knew that you would have to sleep more tonight. Teeth picking at your cracked lips as you contemplated how to get the best rest while still being awake before the Master would start to do anything interesting without you.

The purposeful creaking of the door made you realize how you were harassing your lip, quickly releasing it to avoid the Master seeing. He set down a wooden bath tray filled with snacks on the floor next to you. Making your stomach growl in hunger, as you realized how hungry you were. Yet you didn’t dare to grab anything from the tray, at least not yet. Turning the tap off the Master slowly entered the water, bubbles clinging to his skin. Strong arms helped to steady you as you climbed in after him. Settling against his chest with a satisfied sigh. With one hand he lifted up the tray to settle across the width of the tub. Thankful for the heat that could be blamed for the blush that grew across your face at the show of his strength.

Those strong arms pulled you firmly against his chest, not allowing you to move a millimeter out of his embrace. It was then that you noticed that every bottle of product, soap, and all the washcloths were securely out of your reach. The only thing that you could reach was the spread he had brought for the two of you.

It was an impressive sight to see. An artfully arranged mix of fruits, cheeses,and surprisingly crackers. Those would leave crumbs in the bathwater no matter how careful you were eating them, which you knew the Master despised. The only sweets on the tray were the natural sugars that could be found in the alien fruits he had provided. While you would enjoy the added sweetness you knew that they were nourishing too. Filled with vitamins and antioxidants in their sweet and just slightly sour grape-like taste.

Fully submitting to the Master's desire to care for you, popping one of the bite sized fruits into your mouth, savoring the taste. Gathering cheese on a cracker next you brought it to the Master's mouth. He would hopefully at least indulge you by partaking in what he had provided you. He gently kissed your temple before accepting your offered food. Taking a bite and doing his best to ignore the crumbs it made. Without any words you could tell that he wanted you to have the rest of the offered snack. You obliged. Silently understanding his promise to partake in the offered platter, in his own time. 

Knowing that he was likely to bring food to your lips more often than his own. It was something you had learned to accept- his desire to provide for you. Your acceptance of his care warming both of his hearts.

Contentedly sighing as the Master began to absentmindedly trace patterns along your stomach. Twitching every so often when his fingers ghosted over sensitive skin. The comfortable silence lasted for several minutes while you lightly picked at the small feast provided. Once your hands stilled, no longer reaching for something from the tray, the Master took over. Lifting more food to your lips, taking something for himself only after he had fed you at least three things first.

“After an ordeal such as today, you should be pampered, my dear.”

Still chewing you looked up at him, furrowing your brow at his stern expression.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he scolded. “I have been planning to force you to allow me to care for you properly for weeks now. I have noticed you failing to take proper care of yourself.”

Swallowing heavily before answering, “I do take care of myself, Master.”

“Oh is that so? Tell me then when was the last time you ate a full meal?”

Your silence was its own answer.

“No? How about a full night of rest?”

At the continued lack of response, he pressed another piece of fruit against your thinly pressed lips. The silence as you chewed- both on the fruit and what he had said- was oppressive.

Still considering his words he continued while starting to slowly wash your skin with feather light touches.

“I know that you are only human, my dear. There is no need for you to push yourself to keep up with me all the time. Of course I am partly to blame for not reminding you of this prior to today. You were hurt due to my carelessness, something I refuse to allow to happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” 

The apology was choked out as you struggled to contain your emotions.

“As I said, you are only human, my dear. I should have anticipated your good intentioned attempt to adhere to a Time Lord schedule when I took you on as my traveling companion. We will break this silly little habit soon enough.”

“Should I expect a meal plan and a bedtime in the future,” pushing away your heavy emotions with an attempt to tease.

“Hmm perhaps if my reminders alone are not enough,” he dryly teased back. “Now let me finish taking care of you tonight.”

Lazing away in the warm water as he finished cleaning up the both of you, and continued to prompt you to eat more. The rougher texture of the towel as he dried you off made you squirm. Water still dripped down his chest, getting caught in the slightly curled hair that covered his chest. Unable to follow the water further down the path of his body by the towel wrapped around his hips. Standing side by side as he helped you with your nightly routine. Resting against him as he guided you from the bathroom to the bedroom. Lifting your feet enough to help him slide clothing onto your body. The silky smooth feeling was heavenly against your skin. It enveloped you almost as well as the blanket that he soon was tucking around your bodies. Nuzzling into him while he settled in with a book.

“Stay with me,” you asked in a weak whisper.

“I have no plans otherwise, my dear. Rest now.”

[mintyys-blog]

Avengers x housekeeper! reader: slippery floors

WARNINGS: none

You had worked at the Avengers compound for months now, quietly doing your job, making sure everything ran smoothly behind the scenes. While the heroes fought their battles and saved the world, you made sure their home stayed in one piece. Mopping the floors, fixing the broken faucets, and occasionally fixing up their rooms after they’d lived in them like they were in the middle of an intense battle—even when they weren’t.

It was a thankless job. At least, that’s how you saw it on most days. After all, the Avengers were busy, and who had time to thank the person who made sure their living spaces were clean? Not that you minded. You enjoyed the peace and quiet. It was rare to find a place where you could be alone, doing something you knew was essential without the noise of battle or team meetings.

But sometimes, just sometimes, it would get under your skin.

You were just about finished. The last swipe of your mop had glided across the floor, the polished tiles gleaming under the fluorescent lights. It was one of those rare moments when everything was perfect. The hallway was spotless—just the way you liked it. The smell of the cleaning supplies lingered in the air, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself a small, quiet smile. It felt like an accomplishment, especially after spending hours on your feet, making sure everything was immaculate.

And then, of course, the Avengers had to ruin it.

You heard them before you saw them. The unmistakable sound of heavy boots and loud voices grew nearer, echoing down the hall. Your stomach twisted a little, but you forced yourself to breathe. They were heroes. You reminded yourself of that, as if it would make the irritation simmering in your veins go away. It wouldn’t.

You knew what was coming.

They had just come back from a mission, their boots soaked in mud, and you could already see the tracks forming across the floor, the very floor you had just cleaned. The tracks slowly grew larger as they marched by, oblivious to the mess they were making. You tried not to let it get to you, even though you could feel the frustration bubbling up inside.

They were heroes. It was fine.

But it wasn’t.

The injustice of it all burned in your chest. Why couldn’t they just take a second to wipe their feet? It wasn’t that hard, was it? You sighed to yourself, grabbing the wet floor sign from the janitor’s closet. You’d seen it happen enough times to know that they’d ignore the sign if it was already there, but when they slipped and fell… oh, that would be different. You’d get some small measure of satisfaction from that.

As you walked back into the hallway, you placed the sign down with exaggerated care, eyeing the muddy trail stretching across the polished floor.

You paused, watching them come down the hallway, oblivious to the sign you had just placed. Tony was first. He strutted down the hall with his usual cocky confidence, smiling and laughing with Steve, Natasha, and the others. You watched his boots hit the wet floor, his steps not slowing, not even a second of hesitation.

Then, in an instant, his feet slipped out from under him. It was almost slow motion. His arms flailed in the air for a fraction of a second before gravity won out, and Tony Stark was on his back, sprawled across the slippery floor.

You couldn’t help it. The smug smile tugged at your lips.

“Oops,” you muttered, voice dripping with faux innocence as you casually placed the wet floor sign down in front of Tony, as if you had just forgotten to do it earlier. You stepped back, letting the moment linger. It felt oddly satisfying.

Tony groaned from the floor, glancing at the sign, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion. “Really?” he grumbled, trying to push himself up. “Couldn’t you have put this down earlier?”

You pretended to think for a moment, crossing your arms and tapping your chin. “Hmm… guess I just forgot,” you said with a little shrug, turning your back on him without a second glance.

You could hear the others chuckling as they helped Tony to his feet. Steve looked over at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nice one,” he called after you, his tone amused.

You didn’t respond, but you felt that smug satisfaction creeping through you, warm and content. You had spent hours cleaning, and all it had taken was a few seconds of their carelessness to make it all feel worth it.

They were heroes, sure, but sometimes, even they needed a little reminder that not everything revolved around them. And as you walked away, the faint sound of Tony cursing softly behind you only made you walk a little taller. You might have been the one cleaning up their mess, but at that moment, you felt like you had won.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

☾ Wild Horses ☽

☾ Pairing: boyfriend!bang chan x reader

☾ Genre: angst & fluff all stirred up in a pot

☾ Summary: Your boyfriend comforts you when your depression sneaks up on you during a night out with friends.

☾ Word Count: 924

☾ Warnings: themes of depression/mental illness and the feelings that can come along with them

☾ A/N: I wrote this because having depression has led to a lot of loneliness for me lately and I needed some comfort. I hope that by sharing this someone else having similar thoughts/feelings to mine might find a little comfort too 🖤

☾ "No sweeping exits or offstage lines could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind and wild horses couldn't drag me away" - The Sundays, Wild Horses

People can’t imagine what you go through. It’s not a case of bad nerves or run-of-the-mill sadness. Too often you’ve found yourself sitting alone wishing that you could find the words to make them understand that depression is so much more than that. Depression is a parasite that’s wormed its way into your brain wholly consuming you.

The consumption’s gradual sometimes, ravenous at others, but exhausting all the same, stealing little bits of you that you aren’t quite sure how to get back. Everyone says, “I hope you feel better. Hang in there. Keep your chin up” but it’s not simple. And maybe they mean well, maybe that’s all they can say because they don’t know how to fix it, but it only makes you feel lonelier.

The thing is, you’ve never wanted anyone to fix it. You don’t need bandaids to cover the bullet holes in your heart. You just want someone to hold your hand through the pain. It’s why the tiniest flame ignites in the darkness that haunts you when the kind, comfort of Chan’s mahogany eyes lock onto yours, honing in on the most vulnerable parts of you.

“I know sometimes you feel like you have to pretend you’re okay,” he says, the warmth of his palms shielding your cheeks from the autumn breeze, “But you don’t have to do that with me. I’m here for you no matter what. You know that, yeah?” You nod, sucking back tears as you notice the small group of late-night partiers crossing over to your side of the street.

With your back to the wall of a closed restaurant not too far from the club you just left, it’s impossible not to be nervous about the faces that pass you by. Even with Chan somewhat obscuring the view, your stomach churns at the possibility that people might see you falling apart like this. “Hey, look at me” Chan whispers, using the sleeve of his black hoodie to catch the tears that drip down your cheeks like water from a leaky faucet.

The gentle act brings your attention back to him. He cracks a tight-lipped smile, happy to have you back with him. “Don’t worry about them. Come here.” He takes you into his arms, offering you his shoulder to rest your head on. You accept the invitation, nuzzling against him to bathe in the comfort and safety that comes with his embrace. There’s a woodsy scent to his cologne that feels like stargazing by a campfire at night. It puts you at ease. Everything about him does.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your night” you sniffle, playing with one of the strings that dangles from his hood. Tucking his hands under your jacket, he massages your lower back, soothing the tension coiled around your spine. “Baby, you could never ruin my night. The guys were too busy drinking to notice anything and even if they did, who cares? You’re what matters to me.” The emotion in his voice leaves no doubt that he means it wholeheartedly.

You are what matters most to him in this moment and the next. It means nothing to him that a night out at some club had to be cut short because the mask you put on to conceal your pain had begun to crumble, the synthetic laughter and forced smiles becoming too much to maintain. Chan gets it, hiding behind a mask with a happy face painted on it, he does it sometimes too but he doesn't want that for you. He’d rather be out here with you baring this beautiful, teary-eyed face of yours than in there where you feel the need to hide.

“I just,” you take a deep breath, slightly trembling at the truth about to roll off your tongue, “I’m afraid I’ll scare you away one day.” “Scare me? Do I look like I scare easily?” he asks, putting on a brave face the way that a child might. It gets a weak giggle out of you, even at times like this he knows how to get to you in the best way. “No, but I know there are times when things get really dark for me and I can get so lost in it...” He kisses you on the nose, a cute little wet one that turns icy when the wind blows across your face.

“As long as I’m here, and I always will be, you’ll never get lost in it,” he promises, “I know I can’t drag you out of it but you can always call me and I’ll come running in after you.” You need time. A second or two, maybe even a minute, to take in what’s been said. He gives it to you, patiently rocking you in his arms as he lets you process it in silence. A year into your relationship and it still feels strange to be loved in the moments where you feel most broken.

Chest to chest, his heart beats in sync with yours, reminding you that, even in the absence of words, you're cared for. “Where’d you come from?” you ask, fingers tracing the contour of his jaw. “Sydney. Don’t tell me you’re just noticing the accent” he teases, summoning his best pouty face for extra effect. He gets another giggle out of you, still faint with an air of sadness but he’ll take it.

Chan hugs you tighter, kissing your fingertips. “I love you” he whispers. You close your eyes, letting the world around you fade away and your insecurities with it. “Love you too.”

[seasidefallenangel]

drain. (kanata yatonokami)

The kitchen faucet is leaking. 

It drips at the same pace for seconds, minutes, hours. You know this, and Kanata knows, and Nayuta as well, but the two act as if it doesn’t matter. They’re talking to one another about something you don’t really understand nor care to, not when the faucet is leaking. Your eyes follow every drop, and your hand tremors in tandem with it. They’re talking, they’re laughing, they’re happy. They’re happy. Even with that stupid faucet, they’re happy. 

Jealousy isn’t the right word, because if you were to tell Kanata you were jealous of him in any way, shape, or form, he’d either be insulted or disgusted - or maybe a mixture of both. He’d see it as patronizing, he’d think you’re making fun of him, because how are you jealous of the guy who has nothing but Nayuta - (and you, but you’re not really sure you’re something to be happy about having at all.)

The faucet leaks and the drop is so loud in your ears that it covers the jovial laugh of Nayuta. You don’t hate him - far from it in fact. He reads Kanata better than you can, a translator of sorts for the few moments you can’t really read in between the lines of your boyfriend’s words. He gives good fashion tips, he knows a lot of underrated hang-out spots that he shows you, subtly hinting that his twin would enjoy it if you took Kanata on a date there, he tells you about cozmez’s childhood when Kanata is reluctant to. “I think you’re good for him,” Nayuta said to you one night. The two of you were on the couch in their apartment. Kanata had gone to pick up dinner, leaving you with his twin. Your skin crawls at Nayuta’s statement because you know he’s not a liar, which means he’s just stupid enough to believe his own words.

The faucet was leaking then too.

“Thanks,” comes your noncommittal mumble, not even bothering to look up from your phone when you answer him. Part of you feels guilty because Nayuta is, despite everything, a very sweet boy. He deserves better than your bitter responses, and his brother deserves better than you as a whole. 

His eyes narrow and he sighs, absentmindedly sketching something on his notebook. The pencil scratches as he continues to speak, “Quit being so mopey. He wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t like you.” And well, he has a point. Kanata’s not a fan of lying, preferring to rip the band-aid off before the wound has even finished healing.

The faucet leaks and the sound reverberates through the walls. You feel your heart sinking with every drop, waiting for the flood to come coursing through. The present rings to the front of your mind once more as Kanata nudges you, quirking an eyebrow up at your silence. You didn’t even notice Nayuta leave, presumably to go meet up with Shiki. Normally you’d join in on the twins banter, but you can’t even pretend like the idea doesn’t make your lunch start to build up in your throat. 

“Your faucet is leaking,” you say quietly, eyes glancing at the water that falls. His gaze follows yours before his face shifts into confusion. You could tell he thought that if that was the reason you were so quiet, it was weird at the best and stupid at the worst - and he probably had a point. 

“... Usually does. ‘S not that big of a deal anyhow. Just ignore it.” His voice gets quieter towards the end, like the state of their apartment is something to be embarrassed of, like you’re judging him for it. You’re not, but you don’t think you could explain your reasoning for being so upset by the faucet. Your finger taps on the table, slowly speeding up the longer your mind lingers. “You should probably get it fixed.” 

Confusion changes to annoyance. “I just said it doesn’t matter. Does it bother you that much?” It’s phrased like a snarky comment, but you can tell there’s something underlying there. If it really did bother you for some reason, if it made you upset, then he’d get it situated to appease you. 

Well, you think it’s underlying. Maybe he is actually mad, maybe he can’t stand you. 

The faucet leaks, and you’re rotting away inside. Because the faucet leaks but the twins don’t care, the twins have each other, they’re never alone, so much so that the leaking faucet doesn’t even matter to them. They don’t even notice it. 

“It’s broken, Kanata.” The crack in your voice is piercing as the tears start welling in your eyes, and you feel pathetic. Who are you to cry in front of Kanata, the boy who had the world drag him to its core and he managed to claw his way to the surface? The faucet drops grow louder when he leans towards you, worry written on his features. It’s subtle in a way that makes you want to scream. 

The chair scrapes as you shoot up from the table and over to the sink, hands gripping the rusty metal. Kanata follows behind, bewildered and hesitant because you’re not making any sense and you know it, but you can’t explain it. Because the sentence, “your family loves you so much that the small issues don’t matter” is stupid in theory, but brings you back to the same old place - the one where the faucet leaking was your fault, where the car door wide open in the rain was because of your incompetence, the dog not being fed, the light left on, the minor inconveniences that shouldn’t mean anything turned into screaming matches where your throat bled ; the house that wasn’t a home, but a building filled with strangers to one another, a stark absence of love. 

A hand slowly reaches towards your wrist, bony fingers wrapping around it and tugging gently. Your vice grip on the faucet fails to loosen as the mantra of, “it’s broken, it’s broken,” falls from your lips without much thought. 

“Cut it out,” he says gently. It’s not the scathing irritation you expected to hear, but rather a concerned request. You think you’d prefer the anger.

He pulls one more, and your hands let it go as you turn to face him with your head hung low. He’s no stranger to trap reactions and trauma which makes this hurt more, because now you’re sure he has an idea of what’s going on inside of you. It’s the worst scenario possible for him to see you as you are. 

Your nails dig into your palms and you ignore the liquid rising to coat your fingers, head tilting up to give him a false smile as the metallic scent of blood begins to overwhelm your smell. “Sorry.” Your voice sounds foreign and strange. “I’m fine now.”

His eye twitches and his mouth curls into a frown. You want him to scream at you and to kick you out and tell you to go away forever, because at least the pain of being alone will cover the agony of childhood clutching your throat. But he does none of that - and instead does something decidedly worse. 

“Maybe I hide shit sometimes, but I’m trying to be more honest with you. You’re not gonna do the same thing for me?” The hurt in his voice is hidden by false exasperation. You want to grasp him tight, so tight it hurts him and he can never abandon you and fill him with endless words of love. You want to push him away, disappear without a trace like he never met you so he could live without the weight of your burdens pulling him down. 

One sniffle, two, before your head leans against his chest and the silent sobs overtake you. He grows stiff for a moment and you can see it in your head, when he pulls away and berates you, but the scene changes when he slowly wraps his arms around you. There’s a small hint of discomfort in his hug - an act so unfamiliar to him - but the part that gnaws at you is how good it feels to be held by him. 

It doesn’t make sense, it never will, and to put all your anxieties into words seems impossible. But there’s no denying the love that seeps from his touch, and it’s as constriction as it is freeing. It’s scary to be known but even more terrifying to be concealed, and if Kanata is willing to subject himself to the shattered lifeform that is you, then maybe, just maybe, you can let him slip through the cracks.

[yeuheart]

Eleventh Hour

Synopsis: He’s too late and you’re gone | Featured: Hiori Yo, Nagi Seishiro, Itoshi Sae | CW: very heavy angst, death, blood, gun, car crash, | Notes: This will be in parts! Tried to put some foreshadowing. | Tags: @hiorisgf | Part: 1.....

Itoshi Sae

The steady slow drops of water coming from the faucet starts to make him even more annoyed since you had walked out the door just a moment ago, the reason being from the heated argument you both had. It was stupid or rather he describes it as "immature", and it might be seeing as it’s about the same issue for the third time this month. it wasn’t like you both weren’t doing what you could to fix it, one was just going back to old habits by accident. He turns his head to look at the clock on the stove which reads an admittedly late hour, one that most would refuse to be outside without the comfort of another. He’s starting to worry about you being outside even if it’s only been a minute that passed. Not willing to drown in possibilities, he grabs a few things and heads out to look for you.

As he came out of the building he saw you standing there in front of the road trying to calm yourself down. But before he could accomplish what he wanted yet another albeit small argument erupted making you run across the street out of impulse. He noticed the car coming towards you at abnormal speeds, and he knew he wouldn’t reach you in time but he attempted to do so anyway in hopes there would be the slightest chance something would happen. But before he could reach you the car beat him to it, making him flinch as he closed his eyes. He waited a few seconds before opening them slowly and walked towards the stopped car and saw your body that had just stopped rolling, he ran towards you and hoisted you up in his arms not caring about the blood beginning to soak through his clothes and stain his hands. A string of apologies and promises fell from his mouth as heavy tears started forming that he couldn’t stop. A sudden ringing in his ears started to form as he closed his eyes only to open them and find you staring at him unwounded in his arms asking if he was okay, everything was white besides the both of you being in color. He was confused and terrified after having seen your badly wounded body but he decided that this feels better than seeing that as he answers your question and continues to indulge you. Before he could continue he could hear a faint drop of water falling from somewhere as he looks around and it was only then when he blinks that he was back to reality, it was blurry but he could see one of the EMTs trying to hoist him up as a drop of water falls in his mouth at the same time the faucet drips its last drop until it stops. He only looks to the side noticing the other EMTs putting you in the ambulance with one of them running up to the one hoisting him up.

Nagi Seishiro

He’s frustrated as he tries desperately to make his way through the halls of the hospital but every time he thinks he’s found the correct room it ends up being off a number. It feels like a maze at this point, one that he can’t escape. He’s getting more anxious by the second because of how he can’t find the room you’re in, he’s practically fidgeting with the buttons on his phone as he walks.

Just as he passes some rooms he starts to feel a headache coming in but he pays no mind to it only wanting to be by your side. But it starts to get excessive to the point he has to stop and hold his head. He’s stopped in front of an occupied room as he scrunches his face up in discomfort, but he’s suddenly bumped into as he opens his eyes. The person who bumped into him was a doctor who was just about to rush into the room in front of him, he apologizes just as he notices a few doctors running into the room, the long beep sound making its presence louder as he looks inside and notices a familiar face, it’s you. He runs into the room pushing the doctors away as tears fill his eyes, making it to your bed he kneels holding your hand as it becomes soaked in his tears. He's been told countless times to get out of the room by the doctors and one even manages to physically push him out as they lock the door, he's left crying and banging on the door begging them to open it for him. He's only then let in when the doctors have seemingly failed to bring you back. Passer bys can only hear the choked sobs coming from him as he starts to argue with the doctors to keep trying to bring you back.

Hiori Yo

The hospital room is quiet aside from the anchored beeping of the monitor that reads your EKG. He reeks of blood, not his but yours, it was all from putting pressure on your wound. This only happened because of an accidental misfire of a gun that was supposed to hit somebody else but the guy was intoxicated and wasn’t able to fire correctly and ended up shooting you instead. If only he had held a conversation with you for a minute or two more before parting ways then things would have had a different outcome. But it’s too late as now you’re tied up in white that hurts his brain as time goes on.

He’s holding your left hand as if pleading with your heart to not give up just yet, the smell of dried blood from his hands transferring to yours as he tries to stabilize his trembling hands with yours. He closes his eyes in an attempt to wake up from this dream he thinks he’s in but before he can open his eyes in disappointment a long-paced beep sound beats him to it, the hand he’s holding now starting to fall limp. He tries to fight back tears that threaten to spill from his cyan eyes but fails to do so as he presses the call button on the remote next to him alerting the nurse of your death. The next thing he knew the room was filled with doctors and nurses he didn't care to guess their specialties only softly begging them to bring you back as he was led out of the room by a nurse, she tells them that they'll do whatever it takes. But 20 minutes that seemed like hours to him have ended and then he's allowed back into the room as the doctors explain to him that they did everything they could, but before another could speak he asks them to leave you two to which the doctors silently leave the room without many words. He's then left there as he takes in your image for the last time before he says goodbye.

[divine-misfortune]

"don't you dare fuckin' come, because if you do, i'll come, too." - MountainDew ♡♡

It was like being hidden under the draping arms of a willow tree the way Dew's hair fell over his shoulders. Safe and concealed from the world behind that pale curtain, it's where Mountain falls apart. Where he's allowed to drift aimlessly in a warm, vacant, state.

His thoughts are a million miles away. Concerns even further, Dew made sure of that - it was the main reason he had the earth ghoul folded up under him. The weight of the world was a heavy burden to shoulder, and it weighed him down like cement but Dew came along to give him permission to float with firm hands and an edged tone. Unraveled him from the bramble of his own mind with a patience that made it so easy to fall.

And Mountain was grateful.

Grateful for the way Dew pushed his knees up to his shoulders, how his eyes never seemed to stray, that he fucked into him hard enough to keep every worry buried under the mounds of cotton filling his skull.

He had to force his eyes to focus on the ghoul poised above him and even then the only thing he could seem to fix his gaze on was the kiss bruised red of his lips. Mountain reached for him, to be sure Dew, as ethereal as he was, was real. His thumb dragged over his lower lip and Dew wasted no time kissing the rough pad of his finger, earning a breathy giggle from him.

"Take me so good baby, got so wet and I haven't even touched your cock..."

Mountain lifted his head and whimpered at the sight of himself laying hard against his belly. Neglected, the tip was an angry shade of red as it leaked like a fucking faucet into the lines on his stomach. A mess it he couldn't make himself care about.

"You like dripping on daddy's cock?"

His breath hitched. Hand flying to clamp over his mouth before a shameful moan could spill out but with a particularly rough thrust, enough to jolt his entire body, Mountain couldn't muffle it. Perfectly wanton. Dew grinned.

"Know you do, can tell...Fuck, you get so messy, just like Rain does. He's so good for me, but you're my good boy, right?"

Mountain nodded as the color bloomed like roses in his cheeks.

"Say it."

"I-" His voice warbled. It's the first time Dew's told him to speak in hours, and Mountain was entirely content to be the docile pet Dew liked him to be. He could've easily forgotten he had a voice to begin with. His tongue was heavy and formed .the words clumsily. "I'm your good boy."

Dew groaned as he pressed back into the velvety warmth that was the earth ghoul. No matter how much prep, Mountain was always tight. Like his body just wanted to pull Dew in and keep him forever.

"Feed yourself to me."

He could feel the splotchy flush creeping deeper into his skin, claiming him in embarrassment, as he swirled two fingers through the small puddle of pre gathering in the crease of his hip. Hot and sticky. Dew's lips parted automatically to take his offering. Watching his fingers disappear in his mouth made him dizzy, but it was nothing compared to the feeling that washed over him at the first flick of that clever tongue. Mountain felt his cock practically jump, something flipping in his gut.

Dew let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl as he sucked each finger clean. He pressed forward, forcing those thick digits damn near down his own throat.

"Oh fuck-" The fire ghoul breathed as he pulled off with a little pop, leaving Mountain glistening with his spit. "You even taste good for me too, sweet like honey."

"Daddy," he whined too far under to feel the typical shame he might have on any other occasion. No room to be shy when Dew had put smoke where something as trivial as humiliation once was. "Harder, harder, I can feel it I'm-"

Nails pressed into the back of his thighs. Dew's sweet smile turned cold, stern. It made him feel small.

"Don't you dare fucking cum," he punctuated his sentence, his warning, his command, with a thrust that hit home. The head of his cock bumped and dragged against that sweet spot that made Mountain's jaw go slack and his eyes roll back. It didn't help him stay away from the edge whatsoever. "Because if you do, I'll cum too, and I'm not fucking done with you. Still smart enough to remember your own name, daddy hasn't fucked you stupid yet."