#in what world would that be anything BUT terrifying??????

[partiallysame]

Price's lil wife and how Poly!141 began

Price knew the conversation was going to happen the second he saw the way his men looked at you and the blush it caused on your cheeks. Insatiable was always a word he’d use to describe his sweet wife, so you asking for his men to join in the bedroom was truly no surprise. John Price trusted the 141 with his life and it wasn’t a big jump to also trust them with his wife. The only thing that made him nervous was you getting too attached. They had a dangerous job and more often than not, soldiers don’t come back home. The thought of your face when he’d have to deliver the news to you that one of them was gone, terrified him. But what shook him to his core was him not returning to you. He printed out his letter of resignation everytime the thought crossed his mind but he’s yet to turn it in. However the idea of you having his men, a support system, people to love you the way he did if he were to ever not return to you was all the convincing he needed.

You and Price discussed how to talk to the 141 about what you wanted. You thought Price should bring it up with them and he thought it needed to come from you. Weeks of you trying to hint that you wanted them to fuck you failed. Lingering touches, bedroom eyes, innuendos, anything you could think of to get them to touch you without just coming out to say it and you were getting frustrated. Begging your husband to talk to his team. Safe to say he was reluctant. They are a team, yes, but they don’t talk about feelings and shit like that. What's he even supposed to say?  So it came out awkward and harsh and accusatory. The 141 sitting in Price’s truck on their way to their weekly dinner at your house and he just blurts out

“Do you wanna fuck my wife?” The chorus of “No captain” was immediate, the men panicking, clutching their pearls thinking Price was going to drive them off a cliff because, yes they did. It was all they thought about. You underneath each of them, moaning their names like they’ve heard you moan Price’s. 

“Oh.” Price let out a small sigh. “The Missus is going to be real disappointed then.” Wait what? No one knew how to respond. Thoughts racing about the last few months of you practically throwing yourself at them. They could have acted on that????? Why didn’t you tell them? 

“You wanna elaborate on that Cap’n?” Ghost broke the silence. 

“Nope. Gonna make the Missus do that” 

The second they entered your home, you knew they knew. Three sets of predatory eyes on you, but somehow also looking genuinely surprised. Price walked up to give you a small kiss on your lips before stepping behind you, hands on your waist. “Go ‘head tell ‘em what you want.” 

There you were picture of fucking perfection, sweetest look on your face as you tell them that you don’t like when they leave and how you want them to stay. How you want them to touch you. How you want to make them feel good, feel loved, both in and out of the bedroom. Each of their eyes darting from you to Price. This has to be a cruel fucking joke right. There’s no way he’d share his wife. But their captain is looking at you like you’re his whole world (because you are) and agreeing with everything you’re saying. You finished your speech, half scared the men would run from you, never to be seen again. They all just stood silent until Price added

“Want her taken care of when I’m not here.” To you that meant when he was away but they knew exactly what he meant. This was real. Price let go of you to push you towards the men standing in your living room.  “Our lil Missus eh? Like the sound of that”

Price's lil wife Masterlist

[causenessus]

comforting you. | bungou stray dogs

inc. chuuya, dazai, ranpo, odasaku

written is second pov (no gendered pronouns used)

"you deserve this." by men i trust

word count: 4.6k words

notes/warnings: separate scenarios for each bsd man and how they comfort you when you’re feeling down, giving you both love and realistic advice. i feel like i bounced between writing generalized headcanons and hyperspecific scenarios, so i’m sorry but i hope you enjoy this <3 each of you is deserving of so much love and patience <3 you deserve to be here <3 each pairing is in an established relationship. also (relevant for odasku’s scenario), the orphans are still alive. my writing my universe. i'm actually beastzai in another au where everyone lives and is happy and everything is okay. use of pet names "sweetheart" (chuuya scenario) "angel" (dazai scenario) and "love" (oda). general hurt/comfort drabbles :) lmk if I should add anything! i would NOT consider this proofread because I read it half-asleep at midnight trying to edit it so forgive me for any mistakes 🙏

special shoutouts to @dorotheasdiary + @aouzi for hyping me up/listening to my rambles abt this work!! sorry for the tag </3

chuuya.

sometimes the urge to give up became too strong. 

was it too much to ask time to stop for just one day? it seemed all your pleas to the sky were falling on deaf ears.

still, as all things do, you eventually lost the motivation to keep pushing forward on your own.

like a runner who trips upon a small pebble and can’t get back into their pace, slowly, slowly falling behind the others.

the one difference was that you had come to a complete stop. you'd never allowed yourself a break until you were completely burnt out; unable to move even a muscle.

you haven’t even made it out of bed the whole day. 

the room was starting to feel sick and stuffy with how long you’d laid in those sheets that no longer seemed to provide any comfort. rather, you felt like you were simply dirtying the sheets by continuing to lie there, purposeless, useless.

you barely had it in you to call out of work before drifting back into a mundane sleep that you continued to wake up and fall back into for the better half of the day. you hadn’t looked at your phone after sending a quick text to your manager, unprepared for whatever kind of passive-aggressive response they'd messaged back with because of your late notice. the unknown was too much right now, you couldn't focus on anyone you couldn't read but yourself. you didn’t want to be around friends, family, or people out on the street, where your mind would run rapid laps around itself, trying to figure out what everyone thought of you.

at work, it was the same; sizing yourself up to your coworkers, figuring out how well-liked you were— how replaceable you would be if one day you suddenly up and dropped, or, more likely in your mind, you annoyed everyone enough that they let you go. 

never really knowing what others thought terrified you. obviously it wasn't the norm despite living in a world filled with those gifted with abilities to be able to read another's mind but that didn’t mean your mind could simply let the anxieties go. your head always seemed to be buzzing, preoccupied with concerns about something.

which is why you had tried to block everything out, the moment you woke up this morning and every rustle of your legs tumbled in the sheets was too loud for your ears; a playlist of music on shuffle played softly from your phone nearby, giving your brain something mindless to focus on while you had your head pressed between pillows to deafen out the rest of the world.

you didn’t feel any better or any energized despite how much you had slept today, but at the very least, sleep often took you away from constantly having to listen to whatever your mind wanted to rave and overthink next.

'what time is it? have i even gotten up once today? i should at least walk around. clean up. i'll never be motivated to get out of bed like this—' there your head went, taking one simple question and turning it into spindles of chains to wrap around your throat.

but when you feel the mattress sink beside you, suddenly everything goes quiet. the sheets become just sheets again–not something you’re sinking into or dirtying. someone has opened the curtains, revealing an orange sunset outside, and something nice is playing from the speaker of your phone, you realize.

he is the only one who doesn’t make your head spin. he is your grounding anchor, the gravitational force keeping your feet planted on this earth, opening your eyes to the beauty of the world you couldn’t otherwise see due your own anxieties.

“you been here all day?” he must have snuck in without you even hearing him (which isn’t hard to believe, considering the cushions you’d just been pressing to both of your ears), even giving him enough time to change. chuuya’s hair is still in a loose ponytail and he wears that black choker around his neck as always, but he’s dressed in a white shirt and some sweatpants, his gloveless hands reaching out to rub circles in your back.

he’s bare with you, and that’s what you love most about him.

you’ve had you’re insecurities about not being good enough for him and anything else typical within a relationship, but he never leaves you wondering. he grabs your hand to keep you from floating away too far, getting lost in your own thoughts, often pulling you back into the moment, when you’re lying in bed with him on quiet nights, the sides of your faces only lit by a nearby warm bedside lamp. he’ll trace the side of your face, searching your eyes, asking, “where did you go?”

and you can’t always answer, but you know, every time he asks you this question, that at least you can tell him where you are now. you’re at home with him. 

and this moment is no different, with his calloused hands gliding up and down your back, and you only let out a small whine, shuffling closer to him as best as you can with how tangled you are up in his sheets.

“what’s wrong?” he asks softly, head tilting towards you slightly as you shimmy closer. “how can i help, sweetheart?”

you like how clear he is. how he always tells you what he’s thinking. he never leaves anything up to interpretation, always silencing your thoughts before they can make an assumption and run far with it.

while in the beginning of your relationship, it was hard to always voice what you needed, you came to realize with time that when chuuya asked you what he could do to help, it wasn’t him pressuring you to tell him what was wrong. it was simply how his head worked; he wanted you to be clear about what you needed. if that meant talking out your problems, he would listen. if that meant leaving you alone, he’d give you as much time as you needed (albeit probably checking in at some points just to make sure you didn’t need anything, it was just his nature to care for you). but all in all, he just needed you to talk to him. he would talk to you, you would talk to him. that's how miscommunication was prevented. your mind always felt so clear when you were around him because of how rationally he seemed to think of everything—all you had to do was follow his lead, and everything else came easily. things were never sugar-coated between the two of you, they were said plain and simple. (and with how charming he was, chuuya’s words often ended up being just as sweet as sugar anyway, not even needing to be wrapped up in some false front. when he said “i love you,” it was something clear. a fact, not something said just to appease you or mellow things out, he said it because he meant it).

and how refreshing it was, being lost in a sea of your own murky, unclear thoughts based off of assumptions upon assumptions, to be pulled from that ocean to the shoreline and be promised that the sun would rise again.

eventually, opening up to him became easier. even thought it sometimes took a few hours, you always ended up telling him what was on your mind and he waited patiently every time. he only ever listened unless you asked for more, and he never invalidated your feelings. trusting that he was just going to listen to you, it began to take even less time to prepare yourself to open up. it became as easy as taking a sip of water; something you had to do voluntarily, but was still needed, healing, and often refreshing.

the pitch of your voice slightly heightens as you hum a “yes” in response to his question, curling up closer to him, and his fingers have found their way into your hair, combing through it. “got tired of everything,” you whisper softly, resting your forehead against the side of his thigh, thankful for his contact.

“yeah? i’m sure you did, baby. you’re doing a lot. it’s good to take a break every now and then. anything in particular spur you to take the day off? there’s no shame in just deciding to take a rest day for the hell of it either, though,” he speaks as gently as his actions, shifting slightly on the bed so that you can rest more comfortably, your head now laying in his lap, and he brushes your hair out of your face as you look up at him and his pretty bangs framing his face as he leans down towards you.

you hum in thought at the question, searching your brain for the answer. was there something that had triggered you to break today? or was it just the build-up of it all? “not really anything in particular,” you shrug slightly, still admiring his golden-brown eyes, hooded and soft, gazing into your own, “just felt like everything came toppling down today. i’ve just been thinking too much about what others think of me. i don’t feel that important to the world, or my job. i’m easily replaceable–nothing special–and yet i have to keep fighting for this job. i have to fight to occupy space for myself in the world when i never even asked to be here in the first place. —and of course you make everything better but i mean–you know me. you’re good to me. you’re too good to me. and sometimes i can’t understand why you waste all of that goodness in you on me.” by the time you’re finished, he’s gently lifted your head out of his lap to lay down on his side next to you, continuing to face you the entire time. 

you finish your long-winded explanation of unreasonable worries, and he only stares into your face, and you begin to shift under his eyes uncomfortably. his head his propped up in his hands, and he wears a small smile on his face, eyes flicking every few moments to focus on a different part of your face. “...chuu?” you whisper his name quietly, and his smile only grows.

“sorry, got too caught up admiring your pretty face,” he apologizes, and there he goes again, being so honest it makes your heart squeeze sometimes. he shifts his position slightly, reaching out his free hand to intertwine his slender fingers with yours, gently pressing the pads of his fingertips against your own, playing with them. “well, first of all, don’t think of your life through the lens that you are now. you can’t control or read anyone else’s mind, and that’s okay. people make a lot of irrational decisions anyway, it’s impossible to predict what someone will do, so don’t worry about what they think. what makes how they perceive you or what they think more correct than what you feel? they could be totally wrong about something, and they are if they think you’re replaceable, or bad, or whatever. don’t make yourself smaller for anyone else. you’re so smart and thoughtful and if anyone makes you feel bad about who you are, i’ll talk shit back to them, alright?”

you nod at his words but don’t meet his attempt to lighten the mood, only shifting closer again, hiding your face in his chest, breathing in his scent. his hand is back on your head, keeping you close while combing through your hair. “i think you're perfect as you are, [y/n]. i wouldn't want you any other way. you're the only thing on my mind all the time and you’re all i think about—if you're worried about what goes through my mind. i'll always be here for you, i'll be right behind you even if the world is against you. all you need is me, i’d burn everything to the ground for you in a heartbeat."

dazai.

as a kid, you quickly learned not to fight back. 

others were allowed to be angry and lash out, but when you did the same, it was wrong wrong wrong.

when you were young, you learned that love was conditional.

there was no understanding when it came to your emotions. no matter the kind of day that you had you were still expected to always be kind and patient, and never yell back.

to be loved–or rather, to simply survive in this world, you had to be the smaller person; never expect someone to love you for who you are, but because they like that you’re agreeable, quiet, and passive. never expect anyone to care about how you feel, no matter how close of a friend they are.

and surely, you couldn’t expect any kind of empathy from a coworker.

but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, and you could feel the way your chest contracted, suffocating with you, every time you were the brunt of kunikida’s critiques. there was no middle between letting the man belittle you to a husk of your former self or the scariest option of all: say something and risk your dynamic with him worsening even more.

setting boundaries and speaking your mind had never been things that came easy to you, as admitting that something was wrong in your relationship with someone always seemed to leave a gaping hole in the relationship that would always be prevalent, at least to you. telling someone who seemed to be unaware of how unkind their words were “you’re hurting me” seemed to always make things awkward between you and the other party. they realized they could no longer throw you around and every time they left, you couldn't help but think you should've dealt with it and kept your mouth shut. 

so you smile and nod along to whatever kunikida’s ordering you to do next, fake laughing when he says something about how important the job is and to make sure you don’t fail, as if such an option was even possible. you had never messed up anything he asked you to do, and with how long he went on about the importance of the job, you never planned to. but his ending words always reminded you of how little your efforts seemed to matter to him. he would never trust you or see you as anything better than just a little office worker to dump work on.

your face drops as soon as the man turns his back to you, and you let out a quiet sigh before returning to the laptop in front of you before hands upon your shoulders scare you.

“caught you!” a voice pops up from behind you, making you exclaim, jumping in your seat, whipping your head around to see a familiar brown-haired man. he was always causing problems for kunikida and getting scolded, and yet he seemed to be able to take everything as a light-hearted joke. he came into work every day with a smile on his face and new ways to irritate kunikida, while you couldn’t see yourself ever returning to this office if that man yelled at you the way he yelled at the boy in front of you even once.

“dazai! you scared me,” your eyes follow him as he slides into the chair next to you, slightly rolling away from you with how he’d launched himself into the seat. “what did you…catch?” you ask, watching as he scoots closer back to you again, resting his cheek on a bandaged arm atop of the oak desk you both sit at.

“now, now. let's not try and act all innocent. why are you letting him talk to you like that if it hurts you?” he asks with a smile, while your face only pales, your heart completely freezing up the moment you hear the question you fear most. you have to tear your eyes away before he sees through you anymore, and you look down into your lap, where you’re picking at your fingers. if dazai noticed it, surely others did. had kunikida been able to read your face? had you offended him because you refused to communicate your true feelings with him? maybe you seemed like a stuck-up individual in his eyes if he could tell that you were faking with him, and you weren’t sure if him believing that lie or finding out the truth would be worse.

“well i…” you trail off when his fingers come into your line of sight, intertwining them with yours, stopping you from the bad habit.

“have i ever gotten upset with you for very understandably getting annoyed at my endless antics? have we ever disagreed on something we absolutely refused to resolve? no to both. but are humans creatures of imperfection by nature? have we all made mistakes? yes, and that’s why they’re able to forgive each other unless they’re insufferably stuck up. but don’t let your head turn kunikida into a monster he’s not. he’ll understand if you ask him to speak to you less directly, or with more belief in you. he’s giving you these jobs because he trusts you, you know. he just rambles on about the importance of them because that’s who he is. you know that, and you know him. you know he’ll work to treat others with the respect they deserve, you just have to tell him so first. but he’s not going to get mad at you,” your eyes flick up from where he’s running a thumb along your knuckles up to him, only to find him already looking at you with those warm hazel brown eyes of his. he’s right, and it feels nice to be seen and not bashed for your true feelings. instead, you're being understood. under his gaze, you no longer feel weak for how sensitive or emotional you may feel. he’s looking at you like you’re worth something, worth enough that you can fight for yourself, worth enough to deserve to be comfortable in your relationships, rather than used by those near you.

“thank you,” you mumble, and he’s pulled you close by the wheels of your own chair, your knees knocking as one of his hands reach up to caress the back of your neck, soothing you further as you continue to look at him.

his lips are still curved into a smile, not the trickster one he wears as he comes up with his next plot to harass kunikida, but a soft, genuine one, like he loves and cares about you, without you even asking anything of him. maybe this is what love is; being looked at and known, without even having to open your mouth.

“of course, angel,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against the back of your scalp, “bring it up while atsuhi or i are around if you want, we’ll help you explain how you feel. you’re not alone, you never were and you never have to be."

ranpo.

ranpo’s heightened abilities to observe, infer, and understand go far past anything related to his detective work. 

the first time he found you feeling down and wanted to comfort you, he defaulted to what he knows helps him feel better (i.e. sweet treats, dim lights, warm, quiet environments). the entire time, while his hand is on your back, rubbing it soothingly as you lean against him, soft cries muffled by the blanket he’s placed over you, his brain is running the entire time with what he can do best to support you; did you like what he brung you? do you prefer to isolate yourself or do you like the company when you’re feeling down? blankets or no blankets? do you want him to talk to you and try to provide a distraction or is just being there for you what you need? touch, or no touch?

ranpo is so attentive to your needs. whatever you want and is best for you, he will get you and do for you. he gives all thanks to fukuzawa, for helping him realize not everyone sees the world the way he does, all those years ago. since then, he’s learned to be more responsive, emotionally thoughtful, and soft-hearted in his responses if that’s that what you need. but if you want to hear logic and how he’s rationalizing out your situation, he can do that, too. again, he is completely willing to bend and shape himself to your needs. the only thing he will always push for is to be in a room with you when you’re feeling down, even if you don’t want company </3

he knows when you really need to be alone, but he doesn’t like to let you be on your own for too long. he’ll always be in the next room over if you need anything, quietly pacing the room, only worried and thinking of you and if he can do anything more for you. if you’re curled up in bed all night, he’ll eventually knock on the door to ask if he can sleep with you and keep you company. he wholeheartedly believes letting other people help you and be there for you helps, especially to prevent you from spiraling down any pits of despair or insecurity. he wants you to know how much he cares about you and your wellbeing, he wants to be there to hold you close, press gentle kisses to your head, and murmur promises that he’ll never ever leave you alone.

but if you say no to company, he is happy to sleep on the couch and will be up the moment you call his name if you need something or decide you do want company. he is there completely for you always and whenever, and all of it comes from a place of love. he’ll never push you to do anything or tell him anything you don’t want to, and he’ll try not to infer anything even if he knows he could use context clues to find out exactly what’s upsetting you. he knows you’ll tell him when you’re ready if you want to, and it’s never his job to be in your business. his only responsibility is to love you and make sure you know it <3

oda.

you’ve never been great at facing your own problems, and you’re even worse at facing others in your time of struggle. it feels impossible to rely upon anyone, no matter how close they are to you.

sakunosuke oda is a selfless man, always taking care of others, putting their wellbeing above his own. he took in five orphans despite knowing the increased risk to his own safety that would come with taking care of them, and he still chose to do it despite not having a place of his own to take care of them at. he gives half of his wage as one of the lowest-ranking members of the port mafia to the kids every time he receives his salary and he’s never once deviated from the habit.

you know he’d drop everything for you if you told him what was wrong, but you couldn’t do that to him. it didn’t feel that serious. and worst of all, telling him how you were feeling would only cause him to cut his job short and then he’d be standing there with you while you continued to wallow in misery; of course his presence would help you feel better, but it wouldn’t immediately solve everything.

it wasn’t worth it. was your justification as you slipped out of your shared apartment. it wasn’t worth telling someone else how you were feeling, because they couldn’t solve it. you couldn’t solve it. you couldn’t even figure out for yourself what was wrong. you had to make your existence worth it instead, then. the best way you found, to distract yourself from your feelings and make sure they remained pushed down, was by helping others. no one whose in need of help often asks how others are truly doing, and you like that about them.

you don’t tell him where you’re going. you have nothing to hide; you just don’t want to worry him. you’ll tell him if he asks, but for now, you’re on your own.

but what kind of partner would he be if he didn’t know you? if he hadn’t memorized and kissed every mole, freckle, and blemish adorning your body? he knew you better than you realized, although you could never fully accept the fact that he paid attention to you, remembered your likes and dislikes, and knew your habits and routines like the back of his hand, all just because he loves you.

and when he comes home from work to an empty house, searching for any traces of you, he’s not worried. he has an idea of where you are and he knows that all he needs to do is text you, if he's curious. and he doesn’t immediately push his assumptions onto you about why you might be out and where; he knows you can take care of yourself and that you’ll communicate your needs to him. so when he texts you, it's not that he's demanding that you come home or ot tell him your whereabouts. rather, his texts are just to let you know he cares and is waiting for you at home.

sakunosuke ♡ : i’m home, just wanted to let you know

sakunosuke ♡ : text me if you need anything. and be safe

if he sees that you haven’t at least read his message within an hour or if he just can't wait to see you when you get home, whenever that may be, he already knows where to find you nine times out of 10. he’ll text the owner of his favorite curry shop, asking him if he’s seen you while already on his way down to the restaurant.

it's usually where he can find you there when you’re feeling down; braiding sakura’s hair, folding their laundry, coloring with one of the boys, helping out downstairs in the kitchen, or wherever else you can find a place to keep yourself busy. he knows that you’re always like this when you’re upset, and if you won’t take the day off to take care of yourself, then he will do it for you happily and well. he won’t even try to pull you away from what you’re doing–he’ll simply sit down with you, grabbing his own colored pencil while making small talk with the kids, giving you a small smile when you realize he's come into the room. or suddenly he’s next to you, helping you carry and hang up laundry, or drying off the dishes you’re washing.

and then before you know it, you’re walking home with him, hand in hand, a plastic bag rustling in his free one. you’ve both stopped to get food on the way home, and once you make it there, he’s immediately sitting you down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “let me do everything, love.” he’ll help you out of your clothes into something more comfortable, holding your hair back while you wash your face and clean up, he’ll pull your chair out for you as you sit back down, and run a hand through your hair, keeping any stray strands out of your face as you eat. 

outside of the house, you can bury your feelings as much as you want to and work to please others, but at home with him, you’re the focus. you’re the one who’s honored and worshipped in the house. sakunosuke’s not letting you lift a finger if he can help it, and you can’t get away with continuing to ignore your feelings when his only desire is to help you.

and you’ll tell him what’s bothering you when you’re ready. he knows that after how long you both have been together. and so in the meantime, he’ll wait patiently, showering you with all the love in the world. ♡

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Drunk words, sober thoughts

A/N: Another entry for the amazing @elixirfromthestars ‘s Writing Challenge. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this!

Pairing: Logan x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ fluff. Drink responsibly kids.

Prompts used: 🥪 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Hugh Jackman/Logan Masterlist

Haze.

That was all your brain could comprehend. How you’d gotten yourself to this point was still obscure. But a rapidly diminishing rational part of your brain was sure your drink had been spiked.

It wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. Not at all. You were on a mission, albeit it was your first official one, it couldn't have gone any worse. The team carried out their respective tasks flawlessly while you - the rookie, were going to be in big trouble once they'd realized you had screwed up.

Deep down you were hoping Logan - your pretend husband for the evening would come and find you, rather rescue you. As you were cornered by a few men that were way too tall and burly to escape, you vaguely felt the comms from your ear been taken off, your limbs felt like jelly.

Were you being kidnapped? Where were your teammates? More importantly, where was Logan?

Any attempt to protest was silenced when they taped your mouth, taking you away from the banquet hall and towards a deserted alley. Before the men could shove you in their car, you felt their grip on you loosen, the familiar chink of metal claws being unleashed and a fight ensued.

It must've ended pretty quickly, or you were experiencing time gaps thanks to the drugs coursing through your bloodstream, but you felt a light but persistent tap against your cheek and a concerned looking Logan Howlett in your line of vision.

"Are you alright, bub? Y/N? Can you hear me?" he called, worry clear in his baritone.

"Mm?" You shook your head in a violent no, quickly realizing it was a bad move as your world shifted, making you dizzy.

You closed your eyes tight and tried to pull yourself together, failing to do so while Logan caught up with the rest of the team. They deciphered you'd had more than your fair share of alcohol given your state, and decided it was best to get you home. Logan had also picked up a smell that was definitely not your regular alcohol, probably the reason why you were so out of it, he'd realized. The team was concerned but probably not as much as the man before you.

A comforting mix of steady hands and a scent that was distinctly Logan enveloped you and lifted you off the ground and into a car.

"Ay! Look it's my husband!" You exclaimed loud enough to make Logan pull a face as he helped fasten your seatbelt.

“How are drunk are you?” He gave you a glance as the car pulled away from the venue, his brows furrowing when he saw you lean over to his side with a lazy grin on your face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“A lot, okay.”

With a firm grip on your shoulders, he made you lay back against the car, letting the back of his hand against your forehead that was slightly warm to touch. He was relieved to have found you before anything worse could happen, especially when your powers were compromised. Unbeknownst to you, Logan had developed some what of a soft spot for you. Not that he'd ever admit, but he found himself drawn to you more and more each passing day. For someone so seemingly fearless, he was terrified of confessing his feelings towards you.

It wasn't long until you found yourself in Logan's arms once again, this time with him carrying you up the school stairs towards your bedroom.

"I mean you could've carried us all the way across the threshold. Wait through the main door, did you—" You giggled mostly to yourself but with Logan and his sharp hearing, it was hard to ignore.

“Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?" He mused with a faint hint of a smile on his rugged features. Unable to stop his chuckle at your adorable little pout, he gently set you down to your bed, hovering above you for a minute too long.

“We can’t leave the bed now. The pillows have accepted us.” You sighed dreamily, patting the place next to you for Logan to join.

Under any other circumstances, it would’ve been impossible to resist your offer, but you weren’t the right state of mind, and Logan was nothing if not a perfect gentleman.

“Get some rest, kid. You’re in for one hell of a hangover tomorrow.” Logan let his thumb caress the soft skin of your cheek, his eyes mapping your beautiful features.

He’d already made a mental note to get proper meds for you to help get the drugs out of your system. Just as he was about to close the door behind him and leave, he heard you mumble something else. He would’ve let it go, but the words that came out of your mouth nearly made his heart stop.

“What was that, bub?”

“Love you, Logan..” you mumbled against your pillow, clutching one tightly to your chest as sleep took over finally.

“Love you too. More than you’d ever know.” He smiled, finally saying it out loud, albeit not to you directly, felt good. He walked happy knowing you probably shared the sentiment.

Like they said, drunk words, sober thoughts.

[heliosunny]

just read your yandere yomi work and I absolutely love it <3 would like to see some more eventually ! gokurakugai content is really scarce

Ikr, that's why I want to see more works from other authors. But here's one for ya

Yandere!Vampire Yomi x Doctor!Reader

The underground clinic reeked of blood and antiseptic. The patients that came here were the kind who couldn't afford a real doctor, or couldn't risk being seen by one.

Tonight was no different.

You had just finished stitching up a gang member’s stab wound when the door slammed open. A gust of cold night air swept through the room, snuffing out one of the candles. You barely had time to react before a figure stepped inside, dragging something, or someone, behind them.

Your grip tightened around your scalpel. "We're closed."

The intruder didn’t answer immediately. He shoved the half-conscious body onto a cot, his movements slow and deliberate. You barely caught a glimpse of sharp silver hair before his eyes—red, almost glowing, snapped to you.

"You’ll fix him." His voice was smooth, but there was no mistaking it for a request.

You frowned, moving cautiously toward the injured man. He was barely clinging to life, his throat torn open in a vicious wound that made your stomach churn.

It wasn’t a stab wound. It wasn’t even a slash. It was jagged, like something had ripped into him.

Your gaze flickered back to the man who brought him in. He didn’t seem concerned. If anything, he looked amused.

"You want him alive?" you asked, forcing your voice to stay even.

"Don’t care," he said lazily, sliding onto the edge of a counter like he had all the time in the world. "I just want to see what you do."

Who was this guy?

Still, you didn’t have the luxury of refusing. If this was some gang business, you didn’t want to get involved more than necessary. You moved quickly, grabbing supplies and getting to work. The man on the cot was barely responsive, but you were skilled, you could keep him alive if you worked fast enough.

The stranger watched.

Not just watched, studied you. His eyes trailed your movements, sharp and calculating, as if peeling apart every action, every breath you took. It was unsettling, but you ignored it, focusing on your work.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Finally, you tied off the last suture, wiping your bloody hands on a cloth. "He’ll live. Barely.

He gave you an applause.

You turned, scowling. "You find this funny?"

"No. I find you interesting."

He slid off the counter and took a step toward you. "What’s your name?"

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened. "No need to be scared, doc. I just came to repay a debt."

You barely had time to process the words before he moved—too fast, too inhuman. Cold fingers curled around your chin, tilting your head up as his red eyes bore into yours.

"You saved someone important to me" he murmured. "That means you just became important to me, too."

Your pulse spiked. "I don’t need your gratitude."

"Oh?" His lips curled at the edges. "That’s a shame. Because now I’ve decided—"

He leaned in, breath ghosting against your ear.

"You belong to me."

-----

The next morning, you tried to convince yourself that last night had been a fluke. A strange, terrifying encounter, but one that would pass. People came and went in the underground clinic all the time. That man, Yomi, would forget about you and move on.

You almost believed it.

Until you stepped outside.

The street was too quiet. Usually, the morning rush of the lower districts was loud with merchants, pickpockets, and gangs moving in the alleys. But today? Empty. As if the city itself was holding its breath.

Something was wrong.

Then, just as you turned the corner

“Oh, doc. There you are.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

Yomi leaned lazily against a wall, silver hair catching the morning light, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. It was like he had been waiting for you.

Your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. “What do you want?”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer at a leisurely pace. “Now, that’s a cold greeting. I thought we were acquainted now.”

You took a step back. He took another forward.

“Why are you here?”

His gaze flickered to the rooftops. A barely shift in his posture.

You turned sharply.

Two men lay sprawled across the alleyway. Unmoving. Blood pooled beneath their bodies, soaking into the cracks between the bricks.

You knew them. They were known for running extortion schemes—shaking down local businesses, especially ones that didn’t pay for protection.

Your protection.

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. “Did you just...?”

Yomi hummed, tilting his head in mock curiosity. “Did I what?”

Your mouth went dry. “They were just petty criminals.”

“Petty criminals” he repeated, amused. “Petty criminals who had your clinic marked for their next round of fun.”

“That’s not your problem.”

Yomi sighed, shaking his head like you were missing something obvious. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Before you could move, he was in front of you. You barely had time to react before his fingers curled around your wrist, his grip deceptively light.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, almost fondly. “That means I handle problems before they reach you.”

“You don’t own me.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “No? Then tell me, doc…”

He leaned in, lips close to your ear.

“Why do you look so afraid to walk away?”

You weren’t stupid. You knew that the moment you turned your back, he’d prove just how real his claim was. He’d already killed for you.

“Come on” Yomi murmured, his grip tightening slightly. “Let’s get breakfast. You’ll feel better after a warm meal.”

You had no choice but to follow.

-----

Yomi was clever. He didn’t drag you. He didn’t threaten you. He just smiled.

Led you through the streets at a casual pace, his grip on your wrist loose but present, as if daring you to pull away.

If you refused him, he wouldn’t get angry. He wouldn’t lash out.

He would simply remove whatever, or whoever stood in his way.

So you walked.

The city was waking up now, the eerie quiet fading into the usual morning bustle.

It felt so normal that you almost forgot who was beside you.

He guided you- gently, like a lover into a small teahouse at the edge of the district.

A woman behind the counter looked up, eyes widening at the sight of Yomi before she quickly turned and vanished into the back.

Fear. You saw it in her eyes.

Just who was he to make people react like that?

Yomi chose a table by the window, gesturing for you to sit. You hesitated a second too long.

His fingers brushed your lower back “Sit” he said, voice soft.

You sat.

A moment later, tea and a full meal appeared before you. Sliced meat over warm rice, crisp vegetables, and a perfectly golden egg.

Your stomach growled.

You cursed under your breath.

Yomi’s smirk was immediate. “Go on,” he murmured, resting his chin on his palm. “You need to keep your strength up.”

You picked up your chopsticks and took a bite.

Yomi watched you with amusement, swirling his tea before taking a slow sip. He hadn’t touched his food at all.

The silence stretched.

“Why are you doing this?” You finally set down your chopsticks.

He raised a brow. “What? Feeding you?”

“Following me” you snapped. “Acting like...like I’m yours.”

Yomi’s smile didn’t fade, but something in his eyes sharpened.

“You really don’t understand, do you?” he mused. “That’s alright. You’ll learn soon enough.”

Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table. “I don’t need you.”

Yomi chuckled. “No, doc. You don’t have a choice.”

He reached forward, plucking a stray grain of rice from the corner of your mouth with his hand.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he brought his finger to his lips, slowly, deliberately—before licking it off.

He grinned, fangs glinting in the morning light.

“Keep eating,” he murmured. “You’ll need your energy for later.”

For what?

You didn’t dare ask.

But something told you that whatever came next

It wouldn’t be pleasant.

-----

If Yomi wanted you to be afraid, he was going to be disappointed.

You weren’t a fool, you knew you had no real way of escaping him. But if he thought you were going to willingly play into whatever twisted game he had planned, he had another thing coming.

So you tested him.

Little things at first.

You let your chopsticks clatter against the plate a little too loudly. You wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your coat instead of the napkin he so graciously provided. You stared at him with barely concealed irritation.

None of it worked.

He took everything in stride, smirking at you like a cat watching a mouse throw a tantrum.

So you pushed further.

When he reached for your tea to refill it, you “accidentally” knocked the pot over, spilling hot liquid across his hand.

“Oops” you said flatly.

For the first time, Yomi’s smirk faltered.

It was brief, so brief you might have imagined it.

“Hah,” he chuckled, shaking the scalding tea from his fingers. “That one had a little bite to it, doc.”

You had hoped for a crack in his demeanor, some sign that you could actually get under his skin. Instead, he looked… amused.

Still, your petty victory was short-lived.

Because when he moved, it wasn’t to retaliate.

It was to stand up and leave the shop.

Had he actually given up?

Then you noticed the way he flexed his hand, the faint hint of red where the tea had burned him.

Guilt pricked at your chest before you could stop it.

Damn it.

You shoved back your chair and followed him outside. “Wait.”

Yomi paused but didn’t turn. “Yes?”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Let me bandage it.”

That got his attention. He turned his head slightly. Something in his eyes glowed with interest.

“You hurt me on purpose” he pointed out.

You crossed your arms. “And now I’m fixing it.”

For a moment, he just looked at you.

Then—he held out his hand.

You took it before you could second-guess yourself, pulling him toward a nearby alley for privacy. The streets were too crowded now, and the last thing you needed was an audience.

Digging into your bag, you pulled out a small roll of bandages. You had done this a thousand times before—clean, wrap, secure.

But as soon as your fingers brushed against his skin, you realized the redness was already fading.

Within seconds, his skin knitted itself back together, smooth and unblemished as if it had never been burned at all.

Your breath hitched. “What the hell—”

Yomi tilted his head, watching your reaction “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard. “That’s not normal.”

His lips curved. “Neither am I.”

You knew he was dangerous, but this? This was something else.

“You look surprised,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist. “Did you really think I’d be so… fragile?”

Your throat was dry. “Let go.”

Instead of answering, he lifted your hand—until your palm was level with his lips.

His tongue flicked out, tracing along the faint cut where you had nicked yourself earlier while treating his burn.

You jolted, a sharp gasp escaping before you could stop it.

Then—pain. The sharp, precise, piercing kind.

“Ah—!”

Fangs sank into your wrist, not deep enough to maim, but enough to send a shock of sensation straight through your body.

Yomi groaned softly against your wrist, his grip tightening just enough to keep you still.

“You taste better than I expected” he murmured against your skin. “Sweeter.”

Your knees nearly buckled. “Let—go—”

His fangs retracted, lips lingering against your pulse as if considering whether to take another bite.

Then—he sighed, releasing your wrist with an almost regretful expression.

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps.

Yomi licked the last trace of crimson from his lips and grinned.

“Now we’re even” he murmured.

You had to get away from him.

Before he decided you were his favorite meal.

You ran.

The second Yomi let go of your wrist, you twisted away, shoving him back with all your strength before bolting down the alley.

You didn’t care where you were going, only that you had to get away.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the city’s noise. Your legs burned as you weaved through narrow streets, turning blindly at every corner, hoping that you could lose him.

“Tsk.”

Before you could react, something cold snaked around your waist—an arm, firm and unyielding, yanking you back against a solid chest.

“That wasn’t very nice, doc” Yomi murmured against your ear.

Panic surged through you as you struggled, kicking and twisting in his grip. “Let go!”

He sighed, as if you were being difficult on purpose. “Did you really think you could run from me?”

You gasped as his grip tightened “You—”. You sucked in a breath, heart hammering. “You’re fast.”

Yomi laughed, the sound rich with amusement. “Of course I am.”

He knocked you out. One second, you were in the alley, the next, you were somewhere else entirely.

A rooftop.

You stumbled, barely catching yourself before you fell. Wind rushed past, carrying the scent of incense and distant food stalls. The city stretched below, too high to jump, too exposed to hide.

You turned to face him. “What do you want from me?”

Yomi regarded you with something almost fond, head tilted as if considering his next words.

“I already told you,” he said simply. “I want you.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Why?”

Yomi stepped closer, so you stepped back—but there was nowhere to go.

“Because,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, “you belong to me now.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t—”

“Shh.” His finger pressed lightly against your lips. “Don’t fight it, doc. You’ll only make this harder on yourself.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

His smile deepened. “Can’t I?”

Before you could move, his hand gripped your chin, gently, but with an unmistakable warning.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your lower lip. “And I take care of what’s mine.”

You trembled. “You’re insane.”

Yomi chuckled, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “Maybe.”

Then, his fangs grazed your throat.

“But you’re never leaving me, doc.”

You had run. You had fought.

And it still wasn’t enough.

Yomi had won.

And there was no way out.

[sleepy-aletheas]

i need to write about dragon-shifter neil.

just imagine: dragons need to hoard to stay happy and healthy, and little nathaniel never got that—not as a child where his dragon father only taught him how much a dragon should endure physically; not on the run, where he couldn't keep his name, let alone material possessions; and then he couldn't even keep his own mother that was closest to a treasure he could have (and even that wasn't allowed, always being punished for vulnerability, because mary was terrified it would get him killed being attached to anything, so she became his corrector that would rather see him sick than dead).

and now, a year stuck with a name he chose himself, he gets a chance to have a steady place to sleep in, have a schedule, be normal for once in his life; he can play the game that gave him the freedom to run with purpose beyond survival. it doesn't matter that it might be his last chance at living, that he might get captured, tortured, killed—he would die with a name he chose, with memories he made doing what he loved.

and then he gets to palmetto, becomes a fox, and he gains treasures no one punishes him for—from making friends, collecting their discarded items, being gifted clothes, receiving truths and promises and secrets, and having a choice in giving back as much as he receives...even at the expense of knowing he will die.

he becomes stronger, healthier, happier, and smiles in the face of death, because he will linger in the world a bit longer as a memory that became treasure for someone else.

(and then stuart saves him, and he can return to his hoard!! and be patched up by his treasures!!! and deal with the mafia that is tormenting his other treasures (kevin and jean)!!! because that's what he just gotta do with the second chance at life he got)

[kittynugg]

hi i wrote some stangst

words: 1,737

p.s: REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!! credit to my pal @empressofsamoyeds (soorry for the tag) for the idea! ALSO DO NOT TAG THIS AS SHIP CONTENT. THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU SHIP THEM.

Stan stepped out of the shower, shuddering as the cold air hit his skin. Like every other time he showered he was quick to towel himself off and get dressed in the first clothes he could get his hands on. So.. the clothes he’d been wearing for the past month, now? They smelled. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later.

The mirror was fogged up as he tied up his damp hair, but he could still see just enough of what he was doing to get it done. 

He stared at his blurry reflection. When he reached to wipe the condensation off of the surface he hesitated, his expression somehow going more blank than that numbness he’d been used to for years. That was.. Funny. He kinda looked like Ford with his hair up like that and the mirror all foggy.

No, he really looked like him.

That familiar empty feeling washed over him as he looked into the mirror, his brain filling in the blanks made by the distorted surface. A pair of glasses. A coat. The haunted look of a guy who’d seen things that shouldn’t even be possible in his eyes.

It took him a while to tear his attention away, maybe a couple of minutes, but once he did he rubbed the sting out of his eyes and left the bathroom. His “walk” had become more of a trudge in the past few weeks. He did whatever that was down the hall. Something about almost seeing his face made his feet even heavier, made the decision to get up that morning even more regrettable.

But it also gave him this weird resolve to keep going.

Maybe if he didn’t kill himself he could actually see that face. Alive, safe, maybe even happy. 

He kicked open the door to the office or study he was staying in, announcing in a sitcom-y voice, “honey, I’m home!” Then he put his hands on his hips with a distant grin. “Oh, wait! I don’t have a wife! Or a husband! I’m all alone and nobody fuckin’ loves me because the only person who ever did is god-knows-where!” An unhinged laugh bubbled up in his chest.

“..Anyway,” he flattened after finishing his manic display, then collapsed face-first into the couch he’d been ‘sleeping’ on. Nice couch. Felt like the only thing in the world that actually supported him. “But it’s an inanimate object,” Ford would say, not getting the joke. 

And then he’d say something like.. “You’re an inanimate object, nerd.” Then Ford would tell him that was wrong and that he wasn’t making any sense. Stan would just laugh at him.

Back in the real world, he shifted on the cushions to make himself comfortable. He knew just how bad the idea was. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get up. Right now, he just couldn’t force himself to care. Whenever he was up, he’d be up. Wasn’t like anything was waiting for him. Ford actually wasn’t on the other side of that portal, facing whatever it was that had him terrified enough to speak to him again. 

Everything was fine. Great, even! So great that he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He heaved a muffled sigh into the couch, knowing that if he pulled his face away from it now it’d be stained with tears. Now he was fucking crying.

Pa would tell him to man up and do something about it. When he tried, his arms wouldn’t move to push him up and his legs only shifted into a more comfortable position. The couch was warm. The basement was so, so cold.

Get up.

He tried again. This time he was too lazy to move at all.

Repeating the command didn’t work. Get up.

Just get up. You need to get up so you can work on the portal so you can get Ford back so you won’t have a reason to cry anymore. Come on, this is the first step. The first step is always the hardest. Up up up. Please.

Instead of listening, his body just sighed again. Then he folded his arms under his forehead to put some space between his face and the couch and shut his eyes.

----

Eventually, he found himself blearily waking up with half of his body hanging on the couch and the rest on the floor. The very first thing that caught his eye was the light from the window glinting against Ford’s glasses, abandoned on the table where he could be reminded of why he was still kicking every time he woke up.

He peeled himself off the hardwood floor with a grunt and stood there for a moment as his shitty excuse for a brain sputtered and revved like his car when he tried to start it. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later.

…

Ford. Right.

A hesitant hand reached toward the glasses, and he turned them in his hand. The lenses were smudged. Ford never let his glasses get smudged. Always crystal clear or it was like he didn’t have them at all, they had to be perfect. He wondered if Ford still carried a spare on him. If he didn’t.. Shit, Stan couldn’t even imagine that. Not just being sucked into whatever nightmare he was so worried about but having to deal with it blind.

The thought of Ford, his brother, of all the people on this Earth (or.. outside of it), going through that made him sick. Maybe he should eat sometime today. Slice of toast might settle his stomach down for a bit. 

He stared down at the spectacles in his hand and shook his head, then wiped them on his shirt. Lifting them up to the window shone enough light through the lenses for him to see that they were still smudged, just.. Spread around. His shirt was dirty.

Typical, he just made it worse. A look was cast around the room, nearly untouched in the month he’d been there.  “Just fuckin’ poetic,” he whispered to himself if only to test if he even had it in him to talk. “It’s just like my life.” His eyes narrowed at the glasses. “..In a way.”

Barely resisting the urge to throw the damn thing, he set the glasses back on the table and looked toward the door. He should get to work.

He picked up the glasses again, leaving the room with the gait of someone wading in cement. 

It was the same autopilot he’d been on for ages that led him back into the bathroom. When he slipped the glasses onto his face, his vision actually cleared a little. Maybe he should look into getting an eye test sometime. 

He put up a finger and spoke in his best Ford impression, “I may be a little bookworm, but I know what I’m talking about!” The sheer accuracy of the voice made him chuckle. He sounded just like him!

When he found himself staring at his reflection again, his other hand reached for the shower. The knob creaked as he turned it to the highest temperature and he watched absently as the mirror fogged up again.

Hair was up. Glasses were on.

They really were twins..

His shoulders drooped, and after a few seconds of careful consideration he spoke up. “Hey, Poindexter.” No, that wasn’t right. Say his name. “..Ford.” 

Another pause. Then he folded his arms behind his back and spoke in that impression again. “Stanley,” he greeted himself under his breath. Something about it, something about hearing Ford’s voice and– and almost seeing his face was..

It hurt.

But it felt good. The kind of hurt that he couldn’t help but reach for, like the burn of alcohol or a cigarette. Speaking of which, he was running out. He’d have to do something about that sooner or later. Not now. He was busy right now.

“I’m, uh..” his fingertips tapped together in a subconscious tic. “Still trying to get you back, Ford.” A smile spread across his face and he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’ve been reading your textbooks, yanno, it’s actually startin’ to make sense. It’s not as fancy and sophisticated as you had it but it’s something to show for all the work I’ve been puttin’ in..”

Arms made their way behind his back again and he straightened his posture a little. “My idiot brother, learning physics..” A wistful sigh from “Ford”. “And it only took the worst tragedy of your life to finally kickstart it.” His expression softened, and he moved to place his hand on a shoulder that wasn’t there. His fingers twitched. “You know I’m proud of you, right? Not everyone would go through this much effort for.. Anyone, really.”

He needed to hear that. From the real Ford. This was good enough for now.

“I know, yeah.. I just– I hope you’re still out there. If you’re dead, or.. worse, I don’t know what I’d do with myself, Ford. I don’t know what I’d fucking do, and–” he took in a sharp breath, running a hand down the side of his face. His nails dug into the skin. “And I’m really scared to think about it.”

Silence.

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “..I’m scared, Ford.” The glasses over his eyes and the fog fading from the mirror left him with nothing. Nothing. A reminder of just how little he had. That was it.

And Ford offered no response.

Tears dirtied the lenses of the glasses even more, so he took them off and swiped at his eyes. He set them on the rim of the sink. This was stupid. All of this was stupid. Why was he still here? Why was he still holding on?

His legs wobbled underneath him and he just.. sat on the floor and gave in. With a shaky breath, he gave his tears a moment to fall and murmured into his knees, “because you’re my brother.”

It took him a few minutes. Maybe half an hour. But eventually, Stan pushed himself up and retrieved Ford’s glasses. He rinsed them in the sink to clean the dried tears off of them and only stopped when they were spotless. Crystal clear. The way Ford liked them.

Turning to leave, he muttered, “Love you, bro.”

“I love you too, Stanley. I’m sorry for everything.”

..He already forgave him.

(note: might be a part two with ford if im feeling brave)

[etherealily]

bets // f.odair

Part 1 : Guilt

Part 2 : Art

[3/3] Long + also overdue.

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings : Cuss words, SFW but discretion advised, mature themes, hurt/comfort

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : Gasp in a tempest.

══════════════════ 🔹🔹🔹🔹═════════════════

There's a sort of domesticity to this that he despises.

Your features essentially flow under his fingers as he traces them, slowly, devotedly. And he doesn't know why.

He's just willed himself to stop in immaculate timing, because a couple of sharp knocks sound on the door.

You hear them, clearly, but you don't bother. He nudges you as gently as possible. "You hear that?"

"My niece and nephew. They know I nap in the afternoons. This is just to let me know they're home.", you inform, basically whine, before your face is in his chest, trying to get away from the fucking light.

He nods. "I gotta tell you something."

"Now?"

"Now."

He watches you groan, one eye closed as you sit up and try to adjust to the light, before you make grabbing hands for your clothes.

Great. Something to make the situation worse. Harsh reminders. So much for the last thing he'd do. But after you'd come from the market, he'd just... it seemed like doing anything else would just be stupid. Who wouldn't kiss you all over?

"Yeah?'

He's frozen. He's dying. He's terrified. He's never seen you mad, but he's sure that when it comes to your family, you'd wage wars.

"I talked to Snow about you."

"What?"

"I talked to him. I, uh, talked to him to get you out of this fake, um... agreement? Situation? I dunno."

You frown, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom to brush your teeth. "Get out of it?"

"Uh, yeah. Y'know. Come up with a breakup story that doesn't put me in a bad light and doesn't get you stone-pelted in the street."

"You want to get out of it?"

Your voice is quiet enough that he knows he's made a mistake, a huge, fucking mistake, and he hadn't even got to the worst part yet, the hey-so-I-used-you-and-now-you're-a-target part.

"You don't?"

"I-", you sigh, and he breaks. Shit. "I- no, yeah, no, I do.", you assure, nodding vehemently.

"If something's changed-" he'd be fucked. If something's changed, then he'd be completely fucked.

"No, I just, y'know, um.", you mumbled, spitting out your toothpaste. "It's like, me just being all... it's, uh, nothing."

"Wait, whoa, whoa, what do you mean?" No, no, no, please God, don't-

"That night was, like, my first time. So i just, uh, y'know? It's stupid, that's not how the world works, I know, it's-"

Jesus fucking Christ.

He'd taken your freedom, your life and your virginity.

"No, it's not stupid, you just- trust me, you don't want me."

"Why, because of what Snow makes you do?", you ask, softly, and he heavily regrets the lies he spewed to Snow about you. 'Didn't care'. Please. All you did was care. You gave way too many shits about him. "You know I care for you either way."

You're being very careful not to use the word 'love', and he respects it. You're hedging your bets and he's been there.

Kinda hates it, though, because if you did use it, then he'd have a clear plan - get you the fuck out of Panem.

"I- Y/N, you're so smart. You're so good.", he whispers, making his way over to your hands and lifting them, kind of like a barrier between you and him for what he's about to say. "You don't deserve me."

"Finnick--"

"Shut up for a second, baby, okay?", he mutters, kissing your palm. "Just listen."

He's not sure if he expected you to argue, but he sure as hell didn't expect you to comply.

The silence and your fucking eyes urge him to start. And he doesn't know where. His mind seems to desperately try to convince him otherwise, to convince him he could run away and build a boat with you somewhere, and you'd be none the wiser.

But he has to say this, because for all the absolutely evil shit he's been doing lately, he has to at least get an iota of redemption.

"I've been lying to you."

The words ring around the room, ricochet back to him and wrap around his neck like a noose. They wrap around your arms like handcuffs.

He's pretty sure he's stopped breathing.

When did he get this way?

When did he lose hope?

══════════════════ 🔹🔹🔹🔹═════════════════

ONE WEEK EARLIER

He didn't think he should start his birthday off with a lie. But sometimes, you don't have an option.

"It's not that I don't love her."

"Then what is it? Let me guess. You told her your whole sob story and she didn't care?"

He kinda wished that was true. "Yes." See? Lie.

"Shame. I really thought she was the one, y'know?", mused Snow, tapping Finnick's nose twice. If he could, he'd bite that fucking finger off.

But this was a political, mind war, not an actual, bloody one. Not yet, anyway.

"Yeah. Me, too."

"I had a whole thing planned. A whole storyline. She'd be the pathetic, yet down-to-earth, homely wife that let you do whatever you wanted around the Capitol because she loves you, and you'd be the hero-husband, who, no matter how many options you try, will always come back to the District 4 Girl. Poetic, right? Either way, you'd win."

Fucking hell. It disgusted him. Absolutely disgusted him. His whole life had been planned out by someone whose life should have ended ages ago.

"That sounds smart."

"I am a marketing genius, Finnick. A genius.", he declared, laughing as he wrapped a ringed hand around his shoulder and yanked him closer. Finnick grimaced and stiffened, and Snow reveled in it.

"It doesn't matter. Do whatever. Kill her, humiliate her, I don't care."

The thing is, Finnick had come to know Snow over the years. He loved brutal killings, only if they were a) fun, and b) profitable. Killing you would be neither, seeing as Finnick was now, in Snow's eyes, done with you.

He prayed that Snow wouldn't call his bluff.

"Well, I'll have to do that anyway."

What?

"Why?" The panic had begun to seep into his tone and Snow could sniff it out plainly. But he didn't care. Not anymore.

"You said you told her your whole sob story."

No, NO! Fuck!

"You realize, I can't let her live. Not after that."

He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. "She won't tell anyone."

"How do you know that? She got her fifteen minutes of fame and now she might want more."

"She's not like that and you know it. Don't... I still do love her, and- and she has a family. Don't kill her." Please.

Snow, infuriatingly, never smirked. His eyes forever reflected contemplation, concern, even care, but never malicious intent. So, when he uttered his next words, his face was rife with softness. "She is beautiful, though."

Finnick immediately assumed the closest position to groveling he could politically get - he stood right in front of Snow, looking up into his eyes with a desperation unmatched.

"No. No. I will work double time. I will do everything the Patrons want, just don't... no, not her."

"I thought you'd like a bit of revenge. So she can witness your sob story firsthand. Though, I might agree with her on the stance that it's a mutually beneficial system."

"Please, President Snow.", he tried again. "Not her."

Snow stroked his hair, softly. "My sweet Finnick. How you've grown. You won when you were a child. But you're a child no longer."

"It's not fair. She doesn't know anything about that life." He's close to crying.

"What? Sex? She's eighteen. She should. And it's not like she's a virgin, huh? Having been with you, you beautiful creature, you."

"She hasn't been with-", he sighed.

"Well then, maybe you should get her used to it."

He'd thought that'd be the last thing he'd ever do.

══════════════════ 🔹🔹🔹🔹═════════════════

PRESENT DAY

It's been an hour since you've spoken to him and he finds himself desperately trying to remember what your voice sounds like. He doesn't want to ask you to say something because he's scared you will.

But he has to. Because you're out of time. Because Snow's coming for you.

He's tilting his head as you sit there, watching the sky through the window.

"I'm extremely sorry."

"You said that already." Your voice. Your voice, your voice, your voice!

"I know, but--"

"Who the FUCK do you think you are?!" Good, the rage would help the adrenaline, because your survival instincts better fucking kick in.

"Please, jus--"

"Who the FUCK do you think you are, deciding that YOUR family was more IMPORTANT than mine?! WHO gave you that right? To drag me into your fucked up life and use me like a fucking commodity?!"

"HEY! I helped you, too, I tried to make up for it!

You scoff, almost laughing. "How? By training Faye badly and not finding her sponsors, basically killing her?! Or by dragging me into your fucked up world of cameras and makeup and President Snow's little reality show?! Or by sleeping with...", your voice trails off.

No. That look on your face. NO.

"No. No, no, Y/N, no--"

"Is that-- Jesus, is that why you slept with me?! You thought you could have leverage? Or you thought you'd be so brilliant that I'd forgive you?!"

"Y/N, no.", he replies, firmly, trying his damndest to be calm, because he knew you were itching for a reaction, something that would result in a way to express your rage. "No, that was real."

You stare back at him, arms crossed, and he repeats. Maybe you didn't hear him? "That was real."

"What, I'm supposed to suddenly believe you now?"

He groans, his hands running across his face. "Please. Please, I tried to get you out of it, I did! But he's... Snow is coming for you, and I've got to get you safe!"

"My family?"

"They have time. He won't touch them until he's sure you're in hiding and he needs to draw you out. That'll be a month, maybe."

"You are the worst human being on this planet, and I hope you know it."

"I do. I do. But--"

"But what? Hm? But you had a 'good reason'? But your family was in danger? I don't care!", you cry out, and he breaks. Like, genuinely. He's not sure he's standing. He feels like a pile of broken glass, and he can't even warn you not to step on him.

"I'm sorry. But you have to get over it quick, because--"

"What?"

Shit.

He stares up at you, in absolute agony. That doesn't bother you too much, though, because the agony wasn't incited by you. It was directed to you. His agony is regret.

"What the hell did you just say to me?"

Your voice is not a whisper, but it is not a yell, either. You want yourself heard, but by only him.

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't ask what you feel, I asked what you said."

"Please, don't make me say it again. I take it back."

"What did you just say?"

"I said... no, please, let's just move on from this-"

"Say it again or I'm leaving." That was a lie. Both of you know you're leaving either way.

"Please. Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I-", he sighs, ready to fall to his knees, but he knows you wouldn't like that, and he doesn't want to guilt you into forgiving him.

You clench your jaw, and he clings onto you, pulling you closer to him as he kisses all over your face. You're about to break and he can see it. "I'm so sorry, I never meant to let it get this far."

"What am I supposed to do now? Hide?"

He tilts his head, nodding. 'I know a place. There's a rock formation, a cave, behind the waterfall. I've been fixing it up since I was sixteen. Y'know, in case I got old and wrinkly and the Capitol was done with me."

He really tries to ignore the hard set of your jaw and the way you snatched your wrist away from his hold as he snuck you out.

Yeah, he knew he fucked up, but for some reason, no matter what worst-case-scenarios you expect, reality is always, always worse.

══════════════════ 🔹🔹🔹🔹═════════════════

ONE WEEK LATER

Your hand clenches on the knife and you start up, before you're met with the sight of Finnick's hands, from behind the sheet of water covering the entrance to the cave. "Hey, hey, it's just me, it's just me."

After your hands stop clenching, it's your jaw's turn. You turn away from him and bury your face back in the pillow, pulling the slightly worn blanket back over you.

"Can you at least talk to me?"

You don't respond. You like Finnick, and you're not sure what words will come out of your mouth if you end up talking to him. Hurtful words, probably. Jesus, you don't even know how to be betrayed properly. You're still worried about hurting him. But then again, no one had exactly touched you the way he had. In more ways than one.

"Please? We have to go over our game plan, anyway."

"My family?"

"Yeah, in a month. You're not high-profile. So he's not too focused on you right now, so your family isn't being targeted. Yet."

"Yet."

He sighs, sinking down next to you, one knee elevated with an elbow on top of it. "Y/N."

"What?"

"You, uh...", he struggles, biting the inside of his cheek. "You are so much better than me in so many ways. You know that. And I know that. And I guess I'm just... I'm sorry, is what I'm trying to say. Sorry about Faye, sorry about the cameras, the makeup, the... the fact that I yelled at you the first night we met, I just... I'm not a good person. I know that."

"Did you reh--"

"Yes, I rehearsed that. The whole way up."

"Is anything in your life real? Or do you try to follow some script in every aspect of it?"

Whoa. He'd hoped you'd see his rehearsals as effort, not fabrication.

"Would it make you feel better if you got to hit me? Or something? Or... or, uh... stabbed me? I mean, y'know that's how Faye--"

Fuck. Fuck him and his stupid mouth that had an affinity towards his own motherfucking foot.

"You think I'm gonna stab you 'cause Faye got stabbed? An eye for an eye? You think I'm you? 'My family's in danger, so I'll put someone else's in danger, too!'"

Ouch.

He's never seen a bear in real life, but he's pretty sure him moving to grasp your hands against his chest so you can't move would be equivalent to poking one. But he does it anyway.

"Listen, you are the first thing I've cared about in a long time--"

"Besides yourself?"

"You think if I cared about myself, I'd be here?! You think if I cared about myself I'd be alive?! No, it's for my fuckin' family, and the next generation of tributes!"

You flinch, but he keeps going, shaking your wrists - and hence, you - as he continues. He's crazy. You could kick him any time, hell, you could even take him up on his offer and stab him, if you wanted to. He's crazy.

"And you... you just... you just got mixed up in it all, and it's fucking your fault that I gave a shit, and your fault that I fell in love with you, and it's your--" Okay, fuck. He's not as good as you at the hedging bets thing.

He can't really tell what the look on your face is, because he's too busy trying to look everywhere but.

The silence screams at both of you over and over until he paid attention to it.

"I can't handle you hating me."

It's said quietly, like an afterthought, like a gasp in a tempest. You wouldn't probably hear him if it wasn't for the fact that you were in an echoey goddamn cave.

"Tell me you don't hate me. Doesn't have to be true. I'm good at living in make-believe. Half the time, I'm on a tropical island, eating fresh fruit or sm'n."

He's rambling. He knows that. He's also acutely aware of your eyes. You're hesitant, and you're stalling. Or maybe his rambling is his form of stalling. What if you tell him the truth? Or worse, what if you actually lie, like he asked you to? Would that mean you cared enough, or didn't care at all? Fuck!

"I don't hate you, Finnick."

He'd have assumed you'd lied to get him to shut his trap, but the use of his name stupidly sprinkles hope into him. That sounded sincere.

"Really?"

"I'm just disappointed."

Oof.

"I figured after everything you told me, you'd value honesty and kindness above all else. If even you don't, then what do I expect from... well, anyone? Who do I trust?"

"No one. Seriously, don't trust anyone. Not completely, at least. And not anyone who's not me."

"Right, 'cause you're the pinnacle of trustworthiness."

"I could've just let Snow get you, you know? I could've just let it happen, because honest to god, Y/N, that was my plan! I was just about ready to abandon ship and then this stupid fucking- god! I started caring, like a fucking loser."

"That's the problem! I'd have understood if you left me in the dark, but what pisses me off is you gave enough shits to actually tell me, so why did you even...?"

He doesn't like this whole conversation. Feels like a figment of his imagination. Because, for one, you're making really good points, and he's at a loss, and that's never happened before because he's Finnick motherfucking Odair and people usually gush over him before they yell at him.

He lets go of your wrists, his hand immediately moving to your hair. His forehead presses against yours - this is the first time he's touched you in a week. "I don't need you to love me. You don't have to love me. You don't have to like me. You barely have to tolerate me. But you need to be serious when you tell me you don't hate me."

"I don't hate you!"

"Promise?" He's so pathetic, he's about to off himself.

You nod, and he kisses you. It seems like it's a script, to him, an actual script, not like bullshit they tell him to do at the Capitol, but this time, you respond in kind (why, he'll never know. Maybe you just needed a win.) , and suddenly you're co-author.

"I lied, y'know?"

"I know."

"No, not the big lie, I mean, I lied about not needing you to lov--'

"I know."

You're still hedging your bets.

And honestly? With the fact that you're kissing him while hiding in a cave from a psychopath president because he was too much of a pussy to stab him in the heart himself?

He gets it.

You know. That's until two days later when he can't find you anywhere. Not a lot of places to look in a tiny cave. So what the fuck? Where the fuck were you?

And then, his head tilts. There's a fucking white rose on your pillow.

Okay, maybe stabbing that psychotic motherfucker in the heart was long overdue.

He takes his camera. And then a gun he nicked from a Peacekeeper. What? He's hedging his bets.

[chilling-seavey]

Every Little Movement (pg10)

↳ Timeless: F1 Grid Masterlist

↳ Summary: France is working on developing aviation faster than humans can even comprehend the idea of flying. Pierre is eager to help in testing.

↳ Title Song: Every Little Movement by Lucy Isabelle Marsh (1910)

↳ Word Count: 0.6k

↳ Warnings: None

August 1910

“You are witnessing history, gentleman.”

Pierre’s shoulders instinctively squared at the declaration of the flight master. Standing in a lineup of a handful of like-minded men, he could already feel the anticipatory thudding of his heart in his chest and he still had two feet on the ground. 

“You have been selected as we believe you to be the most promising selection of France’s men. What you will experience here today is life changing but it is also incredibly dangerous. You must treat her delicately; become one with the vessel.”

The flight master’s words echoed in Pierre’s mind, swirling around with the thrilling realization that he was selected out of so many to take part in such an opportunity. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the row of Blériot XI monoplanes positioned behind the gentleman who was addressing them; their flight master for today, and, ultimately, one of the two designers of the stunning piece of machinery. 

Criss-crosses of wire held the wooden frame and canvas wingspan together in an artistic display of human engineering. The design had already made a successful trip across the English Channel the year prior and Pierre couldn’t help but let his mind wander to whether or not it could go farther. Imagine one day crossing the Atlantic by air. No, that was far too ambitious. That would never happen.

Pierre had yet to see a human in flight with his own eyes—neither had most of the world, really—and the concept that this frail aeroplane was going to take them into the sky was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Pierre wanted to get started…if only this gentleman would stop yapping. 

Soon, the men were ushered forward and crowded around one of the aeroplanes to take a peek at the engine and the apparatus inside, soaking in the thorough lesson from the designer. Pierre was in awe, taking all his self control not to reach in and touch the fragile equipment nestled in the front of the body, to follow the metal and wires out to the propeller that seemed to reflect the light from the sun. She was beautiful. 

When the volunteers were properly trained, they exchanged their bowler hats for flying caps and goggles. Pierre adjusted the leather cap over his hair and secured his goggles over the front of it. In his pants and sweater vest, he almost felt like a right engineer himself as he made his way to his assigned aeroplane. 

Sitting in the cockpit was a surreal feeling, situating his legs in the cramped seat and familiarizing himself with controls that were entirely unfamiliar. He rested his hands on the steering wheel, feeling the power under his grasp, the possibilities. It was the unbelievable proof of the power and capabilities of the human brain and Pierre had the privilege to test it. 

The sound of the aeroplane engines and propellers starting up echoed through the French countryside and dyed out the words of the flight master on the ground. Each of the volunteers were ushered towards the field to begin their takeoff. Pierre secured his goggles down over his eyes and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

The feeling of the wind on his face as he picked up speed over the trimmed grass was unlike anything Pierre had felt before. And, when his aeroplane lifted off the ground, the feeling of his stomach doing a somersault had him clutching tighter onto the wheel. He stayed focused on his task, following the instructions that he was given that were playing over in his head, keeping his impressive machine on track and upwards. 

Once he was sure he was settled and the aeroplane was gliding smoothly through the skies, Pierre took a breath. He glanced to the side to catch sight of the tiny dots of the flight crew on the ground, looking no larger than ants in his kitchen. In the distance, he swore he could see Paris along the horizon. The thrilled laugh that escaped him was taken by the wind.

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[itscoucouharry]

Rewritten Scars part 6- CEO Harry x Plus size reader smut

Warning: Smut

Ok so this is my very first time writing smut. Please be gentle 😂🙏 as always enjoy !!

Ever since you left Harry’s loft, his eyes were burned into your mind—deep, green, intense. They wouldn’t leave you. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see were those eyes, combined with the gravelly rasp of his voice that made it even harder to resist the pull he had over you. You wondered if he thought about you the same way—about the same wild fantasies that had invaded your thoughts for days now.

It wasn’t every day that your childhood bully turned into a sexy, powerful CEO who seemed desperate for you to see the man he had become. There were moments when you almost believed he had changed. He wasn’t the same arrogant, taunting boy who made you feel small. But then your heart and mind would take you back to those vulnerable years—the ones where he left you broken and bruised.

You tried to ignore it, tried to push it down, but the memories were still there—the relentless teasing, the sharp words, the moments where you felt your world had shattered around you. Those years weren’t easily forgotten, no matter how hard you tried.

It all felt like a storm of conflicting emotions, the anger, the rage, and the confusion. How could you be so furious with someone who was so clearly enamored with you now? Someone who was doing everything in his power to make your life at Styles Enterprises easier, to show you that he cared? Harry was nothing like the person you once knew, yet your heart didn’t seem ready to trust the change.

You found yourself torn, unsure of how to act when he was around. How could you stand before the man who had hurt you, yet somehow, wanted you now? The tension between you was suffocating. And even after the gala, after all the little moments of kindness he had shown you, it only became worse.

He was so sweet, attentive—nothing like the boy you once knew. He took time to learn about your likes and dislikes, made your workday easier, and every word that slipped from his lips seemed to cut through the walls you had spent years building. It left you confused, frustrated, and undeniably drawn to him.

It wasn’t just emotional. It was physical, too. Every time he smiled at you, every time his hand brushed against yours in passing, something inside you stirred. It was like a constant tension building up, but instead of being angry, it was turning into something else—something that burned and ached.

You tried to resist, tried to remind yourself that he hadn’t earned your trust. But his charm, his efforts, his presence—it was all slowly wearing you down, leaving you more sexually frustrated than you ever thought possible. You couldn’t stop wondering how he would feel, how his lips would taste, how those strong hands would feel on your skin, and how different everything was now—how everything felt like it was on the edge of something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But the truth was, you were already deep into it. Harry had a way of making you want him, even if it terrified you.

So, you did what you always did when you didn’t know how to deal with your feelings—you threw yourself into work. It was a habit you had perfected since school, diving headfirst into assignments, projects, anything to distract you from the weight of your emotions. You had to stay busy to keep from confronting that feeling of overwhelming sadness that always crept up on you when you least expected it. You didn’t know how to deal with the vulnerability, especially when it came to him.

You arrived at the office at 9:30 a.m., determined to stay focused. The plan was simple: submit documents, make the finishing touches on your project, and forget about the powerful CEO who seemed to have taken up too much space in your mind.

But somehow, hours slipped by. It wasn’t until you glanced at the clock that you realized it was almost noon. You had spent the last couple of hours lost in work, but your thoughts kept drifting, no matter how hard you tried to focus. It was like your brain wouldn’t let go of Harry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

And then, as if fate couldn’t make this any harder, he walked in.

Harry entered with a quiet confidence, two cups of coffee in hand. You watched as he approached, and your breath hitched at the sight of him—perfectly put together, as always, but there was something different in the way he looked at you today. He didn’t say anything at first. He just handed you one of the cups with a small, knowing smile.

“Remembered your order,” he said casually, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“How did you know I was here?” you mumbled, lifting the cup to your lips. The coffee was freshly brewed, scorching hot, and it felt like a bit of comfort.

“I know your vice,” he replied smoothly, his voice low and teasing. “I also know it’s working. Especially since the office is quiet today.”

You sighed inwardly, trying to ignore how his voice sent a flutter through you. And then, that damn smirk—that smirk—the one that drove you crazy, the one that made your knees weak.

It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing. The way he looked at you, the confidence radiating off him, all of it made something stir inside you. You could feel it—your body betraying you, responding to him in ways that left you frustrated and confused.

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, trying to regain some composure. But Harry’s grin only widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

And if you were being honest with yourself, the thought that crossed your mind was dangerous. Because all you wanted to do in that moment was kiss him, maybe more. You couldn’t stop the thought, and the way he stood there, so close, only made the desire grow.

“Maybe,” Harry said, his voice a little softer now, leaning just a little closer. “But I think you secretly like it.”

You froze, caught in that moment of tension. Part of you wanted to deny it, wanted to pull away from him and hold onto your dignity, but the other part—the one that had been stirred by his smirk, his presence—was aching to give in.

Completely on impulse, you cupped the sides of Harry’s face, pulling him closer, your hands trembling as you stared into his eyes. You didn’t know what had come over you. All you could focus on was the desperate urge to taste the very lips that had given you hell throughout your childhood—those same lips that had been part of your past torment, now looking at you with such intense desire.

It was hard to stop yourself, especially when Harry was looking at you just as hungrily. His eyes were dark with want, his breath shallow, the veins in his neck and forehead taut, and it only made the heat in your chest grow stronger. You could feel the pull between you—magnetic, unavoidable—and you couldn’t fight it any longer. The tension snapped as you closed the space between you and kissed him.

But the kiss wasn’t anything like you expected. You had imagined it would be desperate, messy—full of pent-up frustration. But what you got was something far gentler. It was soft, almost tender, and for a moment, it felt like an apology. As if Harry was telling you everything he couldn’t say with words��I’m sorry for the past, for everything I’ve done to you. His kiss was his plea for your forgiveness, for you to see the man he had become, not the one who had hurt you.

His lips moved in perfect sync with yours, the rhythm of the kiss almost therapeutic, and before you realized it, his hands were at your waist, tracing circles on your belly. It felt like he was soothing something deep inside you, erasing the insecurities you’d held onto for so long. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he was worshiping you in the way you had always longed for.

It was the same body that once made you feel ashamed, the same belly that had been the subject of so many of your childhood fears. But now, in Harry’s hands, it felt like something he wanted—like it was a part of him, something he desired, rather than something he would criticize.

You ran your hands down his chest, wanting to feel more of him. The suit jacket felt like an obstacle you needed to remove. You pulled at it, trying to get closer, but then, in a sudden moment of clarity, you froze.

You pulled away, your chest rising and falling with the quickness of your breath. Harry’s eyes snapped open in surprise, but when he saw the vulnerability in your expression, the concern in his gaze was immediate.

“Is this okay?” His voice was soft, laced with tenderness. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” His words were gentle, almost like a balm for your soul, and it hit you harder than you expected.

You shook your head, your eyes brimming with tears you hadn’t realized were threatening to spill. “I want to do this with you,” you whispered, your voice small and fragile, “I just don’t know how you’d feel about seeing my body.”

Harry’s heart broke at the admission. He could feel the weight of your insecurity, and it cut him deeper than any of the mistakes he’d made in the past. This hesitation—it was his doing. His fault that you doubted yourself, that you couldn’t see how beautiful you were, inside and out. How could he have ever made you feel this way?

He gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I know I’ve convinced you otherwise with what I’ve done in the past,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret, “but if you want to let me see you… if you want to let me love every part of you, I’ll be honored, baby. Truly.”

There was no rush in his words, no pressure—just pure sincerity. He wasn’t asking for anything. He was giving you the space to decide, letting you know that no matter what, he was here for you, all of you.

You closed your eyes, taking in his words, and felt a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t expected. Maybe this wasn’t about your body, about what you had or didn’t have—it was about trust, about letting go of the shame and allowing someone to love you, truly love you, for everything you were.

And Harry? He was ready to prove to you that he saw you—every part of you—and that he wanted all of it.

You both went back into it as if it never stopped. The desire building up with every kiss and touch that’s shared. His hands move up to your shirt. Tugging at the bottom as if he’s asking to take it off. You raise your arms, still hesitating.

As he removes your cute pink blouse, he can’t help but keep his eyes on your chest. You can’t help but keep your arms crossed in front of your stomach.

You were afraid of him being completely turned off. Afraid of him looking at you with this disgusted glare.

But when you look at his face, he looks even more hungry than before. His hand goes for your arms slowly removing them from your stomach.

“Don’t do that baby.. don’t hide yourself from me. You’re so beautiful. There’s no shame here.”

You couldn’t help but look down as your top half is fully visible to him. The small strawberry bumps on your skin. The stretch marks on the sides of your hips. Your belly hanging a little over your casual jeans you opted for today.

“My god, you’re so beautiful.” He mutters as he spreads kisses all over your breasts and stomach. Kisses on your stretch marks. Kisses on your belly.

You start feeling a bit more confident as you reach forward, unbuttoning his white button down. Along with his help, you finally remove it slowly moving your hands down his shoulders.

“It’s okay to touch me baby” he says as he engulfs you into another hungry kiss with more tongue this time.

With his confirmation, you run your hands down his chest as his hands are working his way down to your jeans.

You can’t help but shudder when his hand meets the button. Your fear starting to creep in again.

“I’d love to see, if you let me”

You fall back into his embrace as he unbuttons your jeans and you lift up your hips so he can get them off. This piece of clothing is the last barrier you have. The last wall that was being broken down.

As he removes the pants off your legs, he leaves a trail of kisses as he moves down. You let out a small moan. To which Harry would do anything to hear again.

“So perfect, fuck baby”

Now you’re fully undressed except for the pink thong you have on. Harry licks his lips at the sight of your pussy through it.

“Already soaking for me pretty?” He taunts, his hand finally rubbing your clit through the pink fabric.

“Mhmm. Please…more” you barely make out clearly. His hand making you feel ways you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. He obliges your request as his hands move in your panties.

“Mmm. So pretty when you moan for me baby.” Harry is fully hard now. He’s been ready to show you just how much of a man he’s become. Since the night at the gala, all he can think about is pleasuring you.

Pleasing you. Making up for his past doings and mistakes. Making up for lost time. Making you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Harry decides he’s had enough and takes off your panties. He looks up at you as his head starts to disappear between your thighs.

You’re a bit taken aback at first. Never thinking that he’s wanted you this much. Until he kisses your inner thighs right next to where you need him most.

You moan fully as his tongue comes in contact with your pussy. He moans along with you when he tastes you.

“Taste so fucking good baby. Gonna have me in between these sexy thighs all night.” You moan at his words. Such dirty words that feel so fucking good.

After years of not feeling pretty enough to have a man worship you like this. You can’t help but have this surge of confidence and excitement as he’s making you closer and closer with every flick of his tongue.

As he’s flicking your clit faster with his tongue, you gasp and grab his hair to which he lets out an animalistic groan. Letting you know that he wants you to keep tugging at his hair.

The office that seemed quiet before was now full of moans and sounds of pleasure.

“I’m so fucking close daddy please keep going” you moan out. In the most porn-star like way that makes Harry’s cock twitch. Along with the fact you called him daddy. He just couldn’t get enough.

He inserts a finger inside of you as he continues flicking and sucking on your clit. That familiar feeling in the pit of your belly starts to build up as you moan louder and louder. Signaling your orgasm.

Harry is more than happy to make you finish on his face. As your hips start to twitch and move his hands keep them down. This simple gesture making your orgasm all the better.

“Oh my fucking god.” You let out. Harry chuckles as he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on him. Which makes you ready for him to fuck you into oblivion.

“Get on top?” Harry asks with a small smile. You stop in your tracks as you’ve never been on top before with anyone.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you” you say low.

“You’re not going to hurt me. This is all I’ve wanted. I’ll do the work. Just get on top baby.”

As you carefully hoist yourself on top of him. His arms find their way to your ass as he aligns his cock along with your pussy.

You both let out a loud moan as he slips in. The feeling of fullness entering you. The feeling of your warm, wet pussy around him—is something he wishes he would’ve felt a long time ago.

You both stay still in the moment. Fully enjoying this feeling. Harry’s hands find the sides of your face as he looks into your soul.

“Can’t believe I missed out on this. You’re doing so good for me baby.” He grunts out, teeth clenched.

“You can move now daddy” signaling you were ready for him to fuck you.

Harry starts off slow, kissing you with every stroke. Hands finding his way to your breasts and playing with your nipples. Earning a pretty moan out of you.

Harry wants to hear you moan forever. He’s sure of it.

Then his arms wrap around you as he bucks up his hips and starts going faster. Both of you are panting and moaning with every pump into you.

You’re sure no man has ever made you feel this good. No man had ever taken the time to get to know your body and know the ways to make you cum.

He goes even faster and harder with every moan and scream you let out. The sound of grunts and skin slapping in the luxurious office.

You’re getting close and can feel he is too.

“So fucking pretty riding me like this baby. Look at these tits bouncing in my face. That ass bouncing on my cock.” His words leave you a bigger mess than before. Fully panting as you work your way up and down. Feeling way more confident than when you first started.

“Never let any man tell you how to feel about your body. That goes for me or any man.” For some reason, this brings you closer and closer to finishing right on his cock.

As his grunts become more and more frequent, so does your clenching. The both of you wrapped up in each other as you’re coming closer to the edge.

All it takes is for him to find your clit between your sweaty bodies and you’re coming undone. Releasing everything you got, as he does the same. Hips now bucking up as he came deep inside of you.

After riding out your orgasms, you’re not so quick to move off of each other. Him inside of your warmth. Still leaving trails of kisses on your face and lips. You can’t help but feel a rush of emotion.

Your tears fully coming down now. He cups your cheek as he rubs the back of your head with his thumb.

“You are everything. No matter what it takes. No matter how long it takes. I’m gonna show you that you’re everything to me. Don’t ever hide your body from me. Don’t hide your feelings from me. I want every part of you. Even the ones you don’t think are pretty.”

And just like that. The weight of his past doings start to diminish. You don’t say much but kiss him in return. Getting lost in his love and adoration for you. Feeling freed from your insecurities. Feeling free from the shame you felt all of those years.

[gingerteafairy]

𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬

𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

Your story with Jonathan began with the classic forbidden cliché: a psychiatrist falling for his patient. You didn't know you were being analyzed since you met him in the lab, but as he took notes on your characteristics, he began to fall for your complexity, your twisted way of being. He constantly showered you with gifts and specific compliments that he knew would get to you, keeping you attached to him. Despite being manipulative, Jonathan is unstable and needy, relying on you far more than you rely on him. He’s clingy, possessive, and jealous, often interrupting your routine just to pull you into a room and inhale your scent, soon convincing you to move into his apartment so he could continue his addiction.

𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬: 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

Neil is definitely unconventional. You would have a deep and consistent relationship with him for a while, where you were Neil’s first choice to show a new film. Though he was a devoted cinephile, he would never belittle you for your movie choices, even submitting to watching silly mainstream films like Camp Rock, which he affectionately dubbed a "C-rank movie," a typical pun. Though he never formally asked you to be his girlfriend, he would cry in the middle of the night at the thought that one day you might leave him for some hot brainless gym blonde.

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Miller is quiet, to the point of being terrifying in how mysterious he is, but he notices every tiny detail about you. At some point, you stopped asking him about what he did, and he was grateful for that, comforting you with a “don’t worry, leave the problems to me.” Despite all the pampering and affection, Lenny saw you as a strong woman, someone who couldn't be broken by any jewel, and that was incredibly important to him in order for you to be his. His bodyguards would watch you 24/7, with the exception of the bathroom and dressing up time, which was strictly off-limits.

𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫: 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝

Vulnerable, almost pathetic in some ways, forced to marry you by his father, the condition to inherit the company being that he would start a family. Being an emotional person, Robert would soon fall in love with you through your time together, learning that not everything could be solved with money. Still, he’d irritate you to no end, giving you $1,000 “to clear your head somewhere.” He would regret it later and buy you something to try to make up for it. Small steps.

𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐧𝐞𝐫: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭��𝐝

Jackson Rippner is dominant to the core, naturally drawn to a submissive girl, whether innocent or entirely attracted to that kind of thing. Being with him felt like walking a tightrope, a thrill for someone addicted to adrenaline. Public displays of affection and embarrassing situations in public places were common, as he used his charm to escape countless situations. Yet, inside his sick mind, he felt something human for you, attaching it to some cannibal analogy to not relate to simply love. It was too committed for him.

𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐨: 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥

Raymond keeps track of everything, including friendships, where he keeps track even more due to their frivolous nature. Every encounter is calculated. With you, however, it seemed different—rare moments, of course—and he would dare to spend a few more hours in your company, talking about stress and sharing some human warmth in this messed-up, superficial world.

𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡: 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Jonathan Breech is a case apart. He would treat you as the reason for his life, as you gave him a reason to live after his father’s death. At times, he would catch himself saying self-deprecating things in front of you, but you would quickly reprimand him. He would be upset if you said anything bad about yourself since he saw you as perfect in every way. After the near-death experience, he would want to live life on the edge with you, getting into situations that were sometimes dangerous. That was the most fun part.

[hcfiles]

HE WAS SOLD OUT! His looks remind me of the Joker's face: Terrifying! There's no doubt! I am right about a few things, whether you like it or not!

He signed a deal thinking it would be one more normal PR stunt. But, somebody was smarter and took advantage of the plot to discredit and humiliate him by promoting a sl*t. It seems he was actually deceived and trapped, but is ashamed to let people know.

I don't really know what the real thing is between these two, but one thing I'm sure: Someone wanted to give him a lesson, to bend and break him down, like trying to scrub what they see as his arrogance, on his face. This is clear on his expressions.

This woman really didn't bring anything new, except for trying to show a ring. She continues looking at the camera from bottom to top, while lowering her head as an animal ready to attack, and shaking her shoulders as if offering herself. No one will take her seriously, but as a tramp.

No way he would get involved with the type and less, announce it to the world, for this woman is obviously a disaster. Lame, tacky, with no elegance, not a bit of class, a redneck and promiscuous, she would never be more than an out-of-sight (unknown) night stand. But, daddy had the money, she had a dream and there was a famous escort on sale who was easy to deceive.

I can't see a single person believing this woman could be his girlfriend/wife nor that she could make it in Hollywood, for she doesn't have what it takes. So, the closer solution to try to fulfill her dream was to please her by buying her a famous muppet-escort to take her to red carpets.

That's her free pass to Hollywood. She has no chance to be more than the girlfriend/wife, but that's OK with her, as long as she shows somewhere to appear, and her name is on tabloids linked to his.

The initial intention of who planned this? Try to sell her as a VP or executive producer in the Industry, for maybe, the contract was of a partnership expecting that this fake VP or exec. producer would support and promote him as a producer (don't ask me why they thought she would help), but it was impossible. Because of the woman's rep and slutty image, no one believed that fallacy nor took her seriously.

The other option was to sell her as his girlfriend/wife. But this is a deal for life. And, he was not only trapped, but screwed as a man and even as a professional for eternity. Now, we know how he arranges big roles: He sells himself in exchange. Where is the so called dignity he talks about?

And, based on this settlement, it's clear there was never an intention from him to get seriously involved with a woman. Otherwise, he wouldn't commit to that circus. So, up to now, my guess is he's gay.

This PR was an accurate dart on his vanity and dignity. It destroys the dignified-man image and the man's credibility he took years trying to sell, because this PR goes against everything he sold us up to now. It is clearly (and intentionally) an attempt to destroy the persona he took years creating with the intention to hide the real Henry Cavill someone wanted to expose and humiliate.

At this last event, IT IS CLEAR, ON HIS FACE, he's not happy in love and in life and it's clear how he's upset and obligated to be staging this plot. His expressions show he knows the reactions he will have from this and how this will affect his "dignity".

Now, more than ever, I believe he's NOT the straight gent bachelor he tried to sell. Maybe, there's more about this guy that could make his fans very disappointed, something he's trying to hide. Using the words of Corey, unfortunately, he refuses to expose himself to "the light of day", preferring the dark side of the Force.

Looking at him, you can clearly see he will need surgical procedures soon, for his eyelids have fallen completely, probably for many crying nights regretting, for being forced to do something against his nature. He looks as if being pushed to a situation he wasn't expecting, didn't want and that destroys him from the inside out.

But, why is he being forced? What is it so horrible that we can't know and that has been used so this circus goes on?

[cairafea]

stupid dungeon meshi au where laios is an unexplainable eldritch monster thing that constantly eats anything he can get his hands on. everyone in the party treats him like a slightly disorderly raccoon. everyone outside the party gets a fastpass to heaven from just seeing him.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Howdy, Syn! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve got a fun little ask for you:

If you’ve got some spare time on your hands, I was wondering if there was a little (non-spoilery) detail in—well, any of your stories, I’m obsessed with all of them—that you really enjoy but don’t think anyone’s picked up on yet. If there is, I’d love to hear any ramblings on it 👀

Have a good one!

This ask is ages old but I’m working on chipping away at my backlog little by little. Since I’m in a pez dispenser debris kick right now, let’s look at that.

I honest to God can’t remember if I’ve discussed this before, so sorry if it’s redundant, but one of the main points of pez dispenser debris is that the conflict is Man v. Self to the exclusion of all else.

Like, to an extent, there’s a secondary conflict of Man v. Society, but that 1) primarily (but not entirely) exists in Izuku’s past and 2) feeds into the Man v. Self conflict by being the primary driver behind both Izukus’ actions.

I decided to eschew any kind of genuine conflict between Izuku and the people in his life because I didn’t for a second want the narrative to get confused by considerations about whether it was safe to have told his loved ones about his past.

I very easily could have chosen to explore a plot line where the people around him feel betrayed or question him. At the very least, Mirio could have had a moment of “what the fuck, man, I’ve spent my whole career being looked down on as the world’s Quirkless hero and you didn’t think to fucking mention you grew up Quirkless?”

Close to the entire class has been vulnerable with him. Todoroki told him about being abused his entire childhood. He knows about Uraraka’s financial traumas. Iida nearly killed that guy the one time. Kirishima made him look at that suspicious bump in the unfortunate place.

These are kids who have spent the past three years in the trenches together. They’ve been in actual, life or death scenarios since the age of 14-15, and the only thing that they could count on was each other. And then here they are, at the very end of it all, and they find out that the guy they’ve been trusting with their back the whole time seemingly didn’t trust them enough to tell them a single detail of his life before they met him.

They could have been a little more conflicted about the revelation. At the very least, they could have questioned deeper how their friend went from 0 Quirks to a suspicious amount of Quirks when they spent their entire time at school with Guy Whose Entire Thing Is Transferring Quirks And Like. Trying to Murder Kids Who Are Specifically Them took personal issue with every single field trip they’ve ever had.

But every single outside POV is like “obviously we can trust him. It’s Midoriya. Anywho I will now be questioning my own character because he can’t be the problem so it must be me.”

If I explored plot points like that, it would have divided the conflict’s attention between Man v. Self and Man v. Man. The plot would have to devote time and focus to resolving Izuku’s issues with his loved ones and regaining their trust, and that would have detracted from a major theme of this fic, which is that this wasn’t about not trusting the people around him. He didn’t tell them because of an internalized issue.

Midoriya trusted his friends with his life. This wasn’t about fear of them rejecting him because he grew up Quirkless. The conflict is with himself.

I also eliminated sources of external conflict by having it all come out to the entire class all at once. I didn’t want to waste plot resources on what Izuku would naturally do in this situation, which is try to hide the little shit by all means necessary and quarantine his very existence. There would be too much time and energy wasted on slowly revealing the truth to select members of the class one by one.

And don’t get me wrong, that could have been an interesting plot—it just wasn’t the one I wanted to write.

This fic is about having to grapple with the part of yourself that is still hurt and angry about it. The part that cannot process the past to the point where you fear it endangers your future. You want your trauma to just go away and not exist anymore, because things are better so it means you shouldn’t have to be them anymore.

The older Izuku wants the younger one to be gone. He wants him to, at the very least, stop talking about what happened in the past and accept the future for how it is, because he doesn’t want to lose what he’s gained. But in doing so he mirrors the denial of self his younger counterpart is being far more explicit about.

Because both versions of Izuku are refusing to believe the other is them.

Young Izuku is doing it in a very literal way. That guy ain’t me. He killed and replaced me. There is absolutely no way I am him. He refuses to accept that there is any version of him who could become like his older self.

But the older Izuku is doing the same thing, just in a less literal sense. Hes almost acting like his old self is somehow legitimately a distinct entity. He slips and says it to Aizawa—stop looking at me like I’m him. The older Izuku wants to just bulldoze over his past and pretend like it doesn’t belong to him, but it just doesn’t work that way.

That’s the conflict I wanted to capture for this fic. Just this absolute refusal to reconcile your past and your future because to do so would require processing the trauma you’ve been through. And so I cauterized off all other sources of conflict, because they’d just detract from what needed to be center stage.

[vigilskeep]

i need to wynnepost. somebody has to

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[lilacerull0]