#it brings a subconcious comfort to him

[villruu]

i am once again appearing in ur inbox bc my masky and hoodie in my system are obsessed with ur reblogs and takes. they agree tim could never live in the city and insist he'd slowly (SLOWLY) renovate a tiny shithole house in a state where you can see for like 30 miles bc its so flat. but he would get his meds personally from a pharmacy and not mail order bc trust issues

EXACTLY!!!!

It would be the most tiny and cramped house, like, anyone over 1.70m would be bumping into the doorways kind of tiny house. It's literally like a starter sims house, a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen merged with the couch and tv and Thats It. He has no tables, no chairs, just one big comfy couch and a two coffee tables (one for the tv, other for him to rest his legs on while watching tv)

Theres no way he could live in a city. Like, the only way i can see it it's a very very small city or town. lives on the outskirts of the town too. Like. I can only see him living in a city if he worked as a trucker (the ones who literally drive out of state and live in their trucks kind of trucker, not a local one).

Also yeah. Tim *does* feel like the type of guy who would drive over 5 hours on a weekend just to go to the nearest city to refill his meds. and You Know What? Absolutely valid of him.

[dumbbitchgalore]

John Price is the type of hold your hand no matter what you both are doing. It brings him comfort and gives him prove of your existance.

He'd hold your hand as you both walk through the farmer's markets on Saturday, watching the various stalls with their prodcuts on display. He'll pick up your favourite flowers, and stop at a stall for some coffee and scones all while holding onto your hand.

You're both watching the soccer on the sofa while you rest on top of him, your head on his chest. John will lazily fiddle with your fingers before interwining his fingers with yours.

Taking a bath together as John subconciously traces the contours of your body but at the end finds his way to your hand to hold it.

Cafe dates are a weekly thing when he is not on deployment. You'll both be sitting at a table sipping your drinks with your accompanying meal. You'll be talking, gushing over whatever piqued your interest that week while John continues to hold your hand, rubbing his calloused thumb over your knuckles as he smiles earnestly while giving you his full attention.

He'll also hold your hand when he comes home drunk from the pub and needs to take a shit. He'll shit on the toilet and hold your hand because he's scared a shark with jump out of the toilet bowel and bite his arse. So your job is to hold his hand while he shits and pull him off the toilet when the 'toilet shark' does attack.

[imwetforyourmom]

a fic about matt who cannot stop touching you bc ur his lifeline 😞😞🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

TOUCHY!MATT HEADCANNONS

A/N: I finished this in one sitting, say you’re proud of me

SFW

❀ Ever since you began dating Matt, you genuinly dont think you can remember a time where Matt wasnt touching you. His hands were always a gentle reminder that he loved you — or, that was at least how you thought of it.

❀ In public setting when he probably wasnt supposed to be touching you, he definitely was. The tip of his finger a gentle carress or nudge against anywhere on your body. Or, his knee against yours in a reasonably unnoticable act.

❀ Hugs were inevitable. When you’d just awakened? A hug. First time seeing him that day, or even the nth? A very long hug, with extra squeezes. Even at random points in the day, you wouldn’t be surprised with being suddenly hugged from behind, or, your front being squished into his. And, my gosh, hugs at night? Never ending. You’ve just barely gotten into bed and welcoming arms are already in your way.

“Cmon Matt, ill hug you in a sec, just scoot over.” You’d complain, your voice dreaded. But even with the ‘annoyance’ lacing your tone, you’d have a warm smile on your face and a light in your eyes that fluttered Matts heart with a skip of a beat.

❀ And when apart, you best believe Matt is blowing up your phone with how bad he misses you, claiming he cant survive without you, your touch is the only thing keeping him sane, how’s he expected to survive without you being side by side with him. He’s just spamming without shame.

❀ One of Matts escape is you. Anytime he’d touched you, his body would relax with ease, the tension from previous irration leaving his body and replacing it with pure comfort and adoration for you. Even you could feel when the stiffness in his shoulders would ease, relaxing as his arms enveloped your torso, his face deep in the crook of your neck. You were his escape in everything and anything.

“Hi,” his strained voice would brush against the shell of your ear. His arms tiredly wrapping around your body as he pulled you in him. Easing his back into the couch whilst you’re laid ontop his body, his back painfully relaxing, the calm he’d needed all day.

“Long day?” You’d mutter, laying your cheek against his collarbone, moving to interlock your hands beneath his back, locking his torso in your arms. Your lungs deflated with an exhale, your eyes fluttering shut, his own relaxation seeping from his body and into yours.

❀ His hands would subconciously float to the presence of your body, eager to just feel the comfort you’d bring him by just being there. His fingers would twirl your hair gently, his hand gently rubbing the small of your back. Even when nervous (majority of when he was nervous) he’d immediately go to find your body. Whether that be just putting his hand in the back of your pocket, holding your hand and running his pinky against the back of your hand while talking, or just a tiny gesture, but it still mattered to him.

NSFW

❀ His touchiness did not change in the bedroom. Maybe even intensified. His hands would run across your sides as he thrusted into you, pressing his fingertips into your waist when he hit an especially deep spot inside you.

❀ When I say intensified, I mean intensified. This kids hands never once leave your body, massaging into the skin, slapping the skin even, doing anything that involves touching you, is happening. Not once do his fingers falter from moving off you. His slender fingers pinch your nipples, rolling them between the other digits. Watching as your mouth drops open in pleasure.

❀ When eating you out, his palms rub into your inner thighs, keeping you both spread for him, and for his own stabilization. Your taste purely too exhilarating for him to stay down on earth. His eyes roll back as his tongue fucks into you, the plush of your thighs gripped into his palms, his fingertips digging into the skin.

❀ When you’re sucking him off, his hands tangle into your hair, fingers tangled at the roots, gripping when most needed. His hand cups your cheek as he stares down into your eyes, licking his teeth as he watches your drool dribble down your chin and boobs. He’d rest his hand at the back of your head, sweeping his thumb once, twice, as if bracing you before pushing your head down to take him further.

“Mmm, fuckk, just like that baby,” he’d moan, feeling as your throat closes sorely around his dick, your gag reflex kicking in. He’d throw his head back, his fingers still running and gripping at your hair. His adams apple bobbing with each guttural moan slipping.

TAGS

@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @ssilentzom @b2cute @graysturns @wh0resstuff @sturn-bugz @sunsetsturniolos @strniolo @sturnssmuts @simply-a-simper @stunza @meerkatzthings @joemamaaa42069 @sturniluvr @cindylcuwho @wurlibydominicfike @watercolorskyy @alyrasturnz @colorthecosmos444

@lovesturni0l0s @maryx2xx @mattsmad @dollyspsychoxo @riasturns

@starsturni @britishamerican11 @mattspinkshirt

@chrissturniolosworld @ariqolyx

@mels22lunchbox

@elas3

[mariahcarreyyy]

Congratulations on the 2k 💕💌

Can I plz ask for "I don't deserve you." "yes, you do." + Charles Leclerc, like the reader comforting him after a bad race or something

# prompt no.16, "i don't deserve you." // "yes, you do."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

To Charles, qualifying eighth meant failure.

But doing it in Suzuka only made the constant tug on his heart worse. You could hear it on his radio, see it when he shrugged off everyone's comforting touches and darted towards his driver's room, head bowed shamefully.

He could act like he wanted to be alone, but you've been there when Ferrari messed up his races too often to believe him. You give the media personnel you'd been talking to a tight-lipped smile before excusing yourself.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows furrow in concern when you see the bright red '16' etched on his door. The thin walls weren't a rumor; Charles' sniffles flowed through the cracks, and it made your blood run cold.

Three knocks—Charles' pitiful noises quiet down, but there's no clumsy shuffling to indicate him opening the door.

"Charlie?" You call out, your voice twinging in desperation. "It's me."

Three seconds later, Charles unlocks the door, leaving it ajar. It's his way of giving permission when his voice inevitably fails him every week. You take it as it is, stepping inside cautiously. One wrong move, and it would all go downhill.

His eyes are rimmed with crimson, glistening in the dimly lit room. His cheeks are wet, fresh tears overlapping the dried ones. His lips are wobbling, trying to contain the sob that would otherwise be wretched out of him.

You want to cry for him.

Despite the frequency at which you have to comfort Charles after a bad qualification or race, your movements are still hesitant. You stand in front of where he's sitting on his thin bed, nudging his thighs closer and clambering onto his lap.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, entangling your fingers into his hair, and the choked sob that leaves his throat makes you tighten your hold subconciously. "I'm sorry this happened. Here, especially."

He burrows his face into the crook of your neck. You can feel the uncontrollable tears trickle down your skin and stain your shirt; you couldn't care less. You wrap your hands around his neck and bring him in closer.

"I-It's so unfair," he murmurs into your skin, his voice shaky. The vibrations on your skin make you flinch slightly.

"I know," you sigh, because there's nothing else you could do.

Charles pulls away slightly, his arms still tightly wrapped around your waist but his head craned to meet your eyes. The look buried in him had you resisting the urge to walk out of the garage and scream at every Ferrari worker in the paddock. You softly cup his cheek instead.

"I don't deserve you," he breathes out, thick with sadness and realization.

You shake your head, your nose rubbing against his ticklishly. "Yes, you do."

"No," he sounds like he's made up his mind. If it matters, he doesn't show it, merely pulling you in closer, like you'd run away the moment his grip loosened. "I really don't."

[satoruxx]

Erm. The brain rot took over.

Does hybird!Toji's tail wag when he's near us?????? And does he let us touch/groom it considering its a rlly sensitive part and he trusts us??????????????

OK YUP YUP THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

(Your honour he gives my life)

YESSSS BRING FORTH THE BRAINROT NONNIE I'M HERE TO LISTEN :3333

tee hee yes it doessss !! toji's very subtle about it now, but it becomes more frequent once he gets comfy and actually starts falling for you !! there are a few moments in the past chapters where he will notice his tail slowly going back and forth, but refuses to acknowledge it bc wtf??? curse his animal body for betraying him like this.

but in the near future, he will allow himself the freedom to let it wag. especially if you're both joking around or he's trying to push your buttons, you bet he's subconciously doing it. it's just a sign that he's truly letting loose around you :(((

(that and he's quite literally obsessed with you and everything you do makes him so stupidly giddy.)

toji's so funny too because he will give you the most abrupt and grumpy responses and yet his tail is literally thumping against the ground... like bro who are you fooling??

(try calling him out for it and he will put you in a headlock.)

as for touching/grooming, honestly i don't think he would let you do it now. even once you guys are comfortable and shit i think he still has a lot of reservations about people touching him. and especially a part that is so sensitive and vulnerable... i think he'd rather take care of it himself y'know?? BUT once your relationship is in full swing??? oh babe touch him wherever you want he was always only yours anyway.

once you're dating him he quite literally will trust you with his entire being. wanna wear knives on your feet and walk all over him?? do it, he's laying down for you already.

i just think wolf!toji will always have that reserved stance with humans, and it takes the confirmation that you actually do love him and won't hurt him for him to finally allow you that privilege.

also i think a big thing for him would be the implications behind allowing you access to a part of him that is so vulnerable?? the idea makes his head spin... i think a lot of his reluctance also comes from embarassment bc god knows he does not want to lose his shit around you....

(and he will for sure.)

[malarign]

scars painted with kisses

contains: bf!Heeseung x fem!reader | genre: angst with comfort/fluff (?) | tw! reader has scars though their origin is not specified, please read at your own discretion | wc: 0,6

reblogs are highly appreciated!!!

author’s note: huge thank you to skits! @hotteoki for beta reading it for for me 🫶 loved your comments 🤭

The long-awaited autumn finally came, the first autumn you’re going to spend with your boyfriend, Heeseung. Even though it hasn’t been a long time since you started dating, it was long enough for you to stop wearing long sleeves, now displaying your scars fully, in their whole glory. You thought it could be your first step to appreciate them and the part of your story they contain, but the grief and sadness they hide only make your disgust grow.

The worst part was how much you wanted to talk to him about them. To share this part of your life with him, since he proved himself to be the most loving and gentle man you’d ever encountered, with whom you felt safest and who always showed you he’s there for you. Yet sometimes you wished he could be the one to bring this topic up; you could never seem to know how to start the conversation yourself.

You often wondered what he actually thinks of them. Does he think they’re ugly? Disgusting? Maybe completely different?

Even if he thought they were horrid he’s not the type of guy to say so. Right?

You finished preparing Heeseung’s meal by the time he finally came back from work, soaking wet fremont the heavy rain that enveloped your city.

“Hi baby,” he panted, after making his way to you. He placed a quick peck on your cheek and washed his hands. “Have I ever told you how awesome your cooking is?” he murmured, wrapping his hands around your waist, back-hugging you.

“Actually, plenty of times, though you haven’t tried it yet,” you chuckled, trying to hide the goosebumps his hot breath on your neck caused.

“But I can already tell how tasty it is, just by the smell.” His compliment made a blush creep on your cheek.

“Go get changed, your food is waiting,” you turned around to face him, first thing you noticed was his dreamy smile.

He slowly walked his way to the bathroom and came back in grey sweats and a white T-shirt, ready to eat.

“You’re not gonna eat with me?” he asked when you placed a plate in front of him and sat next to him with a mug of your favourite tea.

“I just ate, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he spoke and took a first bite. He quickly squeezed his eyes and fists. “Gosh, it’s delicious!”

“Don’t scare me like that, I thought something was wrong with it!”

You breathed a sigh of relief, placing your hand on your chest. You noticed how his eyes followed your hand movement, probably completely subconciously. You quickly hid your arms under the table, placing them on your knees, embarrassed not knowing why.

Silence engulfed both of you, as it waited impatiently who was going to break it.

“Y/n,” he finally called your name. You closed your eyes tight, knowing that the time to have that talk came. “Love, please look at me,” he gently asked and you slowly raised your gaze to his eyes.

They were just as gentle and loving as always. As if nothing had happened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He took your palm into his, just like he wanted to express his feelings better.

“You didn’t, Hee,” you quickly said. “It’s just…” You stopped for a moment, while he patiently waited. “They’re so ugly.”

“I don’t think they’re ugly,” he argued.

You looked at him again and noticed his hand, waiting for you to take it. With full strength you placed your arm in front of him, showing your skin painted with scars. Heeseung leaned in, placing soft and warm kisses on your forearm. When he was done showering that one part of your body that suffered the most with all the love he had for you, he firmly held it.

“They’re not ugly, Y/n. They’re not disgusting either. And most definitely they do not take away from who you are.”

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

taglist: (open) @nicholasluvbot, @en-chantedtomeetyou, @skzenhalove, @kpoprhia, @redm4ri, @yenqa, @heesitation, @edensgardenn

[wiliowisp]

The Act of Recovery ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.1k

Pairings ➻ Ominis Gaunt x gn!MC

Warnings ➻ injury, mention of childhood abuse, mention of death

Tags ➻ third person POV, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, tending to wounds, animagus!Ominis, a lil smoochin

A/N ➻ funnily enough this idea came from a dream i had where i smooched ominis. my subconcious got my back fr. it ended up being more plotty and angsty than i intended but im physically incapable of writing something without angst so here we are.

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

Ominis attends his late father's wake, finding his family abhorrent—as usual. He escapes in his animagus form, before running into poachers. Gravely wounded, he finds himself in the cottage of an old friend, and their familiarly gentle hands.

The morning was still, the chirping of various birds creating a sweet symphony beyond their window. The sky was daffodil-yellow and power-blue, the last vestiges of sunrise folding themselves behind the horizon. Beyond their kitchen window, a blue jay cried its song from their tree.

It was a quiet life. ‘The new fifth year,’ as they had been addressed for so long, managed to carve out a peaceful, safe home for themselves post-graduation. Death had found them at every corner when they were only fifteen, with that realization of its imminence, the want for simplicity became their only desire. They had been a hero, now they wanted to rest.

Of course, they could not avoid trouble forever. Sebastian had his way of bringing it to them, but never to the capacity which he did in his fifth year. He had been spared Azkaban, so he repented, spending tireless days in St. Mungos, soothing those struck by the same curses he used to wield. As in everything, he excelled as a healer and devoted his life to furthering research in that field. This did not stop him from causing trouble from time to time, reading things he shouldn’t, but he had learned to stop himself. He had grown.

At their table, they cradled the tea that was steaming away in their mug. The curls of water vapour caressed their matured face.

Ominis would be seeing his father off today. It was the wake, as he had explained in his owls, and despite loathing to see his family, he would attend to pay whatever respects he could muster within him. They fretted about him, alone in the nest of snakes.

However, the morning was still, the blue jay sang its stilted song. Everything would be okay.

Until it wasn’t.

Their front door smashed open, splinters careening across the floor as a pale shape hurtled through it. The animal dashed across the entirety of their cottage, slamming against the back wall in distress, before sliding across the floor into the kitchen, where its energy left it.

They immediately recognised the beast. Alabaster white fur, thick strong paws; an albino puma with milky, unseeing eyes.

“Ominis,” they gasped.

The puma hissed at them, baring its gleaming fangs. They then took in Ominis properly, across his white body, several gashes had torn into his fur, along his legs, face, and back. They stained his pristine coat a sickly red.

“Ominis, it's me—you’re okay,” they cooed. Ominis was still backed into their kitchen hissing and rearing as though he might strike.

They pressed forward, hands out in a soothing gesture, urging him to return to his senses. Slowly, Ominis became less hostile, clearly weak from the blood loss. His head thumped to the ground. They crouched, gently placing their fingers against his soft fur, soothing him with tentative strokes.

Ominis’ eyes closed, and a great breath left him. Gradually, his form shifted. The fur melted away to reveal pale skin. His great paws shrunk back into delicate fingers. Then, he was a man once more.

Ominis was unconscious and naked on their floor. The blue jay had gone quiet.

...

Ominis returned to consciousness in stages. He first felt gentle hands and soft brushes on his skin. Then, his nose deciphered the metallic tint of blood in the air. Next, he heard a velvety voice, chanting soothing mantras. He opened his eyes and—familiarly—saw nothing.

“You’re awake,” they said.

Ominis had slept for the remainder of the day. Now, dusk fell upon them and the steady crackle of the hearth could be heard.

Ominis tried to sit up, but his spine protested, as did the gashes along his body.

“Relax, you’re safe,” they breathed, “we’re in my cottage.”

Ominis returned to the pillows, exhaling. He brought a hand to his hair and tried to pull it through the knots. He didn’t want to burden them, he hadn’t even meant to come here, he was just hurt and scared.

“Did Marvolo—?”

“No, no, he didn’t,” Ominis finally spoke. “My family are a vile bunch but they are mostly bark and no bite. These were poachers.”

Ominis heard them sigh, but could discern nothing beyond that.

“My wand—”

“Yes, I have it here,” they found Ominis’ fingers and placed his wand in them. The room immediately became clear, the contours and shapes, the body of his friend beside him. “You were conscious enough to transfigure with your wand but must have forgotten your clothes,” they commented.

“Oh Merlin.” Ominis considered curling up and dying right there. “I’m sorry.”

They chuckled. “Your modesty is quite safe with me, Ominis,” he could sense their smile, “I put a blanket over you, I didn’t see anything.”

Ominis sat up properly then, his back protesting with the effort—there was sure to be an ugly bruise there. It was clear now that they had moved him to the sofa, where he was wrapped in said blanket.

Something cold pressed into his hand.

“Drink,” they said.

So he did.

“How was it?”

Ominis knew they weren’t asking about the water. The wake. A room filled with all the Gaunts—or what was left of them—and other families like leeches, offering empty condolences.

“My father was a horrible man,” he said.

There was a heavy silence.

“Yes, I know,” they replied.

“He was a horrible man,” Ominis said again, hoping it would turn his father in his grave, “he was.”

A warm hand came to his bare shoulder, rubbed circles into it. “I know.”

Ominis was crying, he realized absently. Hot tears slid from his eyes and down his sharp jaw. They ran over the cuts in his face and reignited the wound.

“But I couldn’t bear it,” he gasped, “I couldn’t be in that room with my brothers and sister—hear them talk about him like he was good. It was all lies and we knew it.”

A sob left him.

“We were re-writing him. Making up a story. I wanted to scream at them, shake them and tell them the truth. He was an abusive, disgusting man. He hated me. He wished I wasn’t born and yet—” the words fought against his throat, “and yet it didn’t make it any easier.”

Their friend pulled him into a hug, letting his head rest against their shoulder, letting him cry into it.

“You get one consolation. That one day he will be gone and you will be done with it. I should be relieved,” Ominis gritted.

“He was still your father,” they said.

Despite it all, he was. He raised Ominis, regardless of what that looked like. He raised his brothers, his sister. He brought them into the world, was all that remained after his mother passed. Ominis owed everything he had to him, the ugly, the good. Now he was dead. And it still hurt.

Ominis clutched them back, buried his head into the crook of their neck. He let himself cry as he hadn’t in so long, until it was all drained out of him. All the while, they rubbed soothing patterns into his bare skin, around the cuts that still stung.

Eventually, he wore himself out. His face was red and puffy, no doubt completely undignified, and he felt weak and tired. They pulled away from him, wiping his wet face with a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” they asserted, “but I need to treat your wounds Ominis.”

Ominis had almost forgotten. His gashes just seemed to reflect his stinging, beating heart, as though they were one of the same.

His friend raised their wand.

“They’re cursed—”

“I know, I already tried every healing spell Sebastian taught me before I realized. We’ll have to do this the muggle way.”

Their wand simply summoned over a first aid kit from the shelf, and Ominis stiffened slightly.

“This will hurt, won’t it.”

“A little, but it’s better than an infection.”

They retrieved a small phenol solution from the kit, with a spray cap—to disinfect. Some bandages were also brought out.

They began their work on his back, crouched on the floor while Ominis gritted his teeth each time they sprayed a cut with disinfectant. Gentle fingers wound bandaged around his midsection, their fingertips stroking lines around his body. The process was painful and slow, but entirely tender. No wound was left unattended, each treated with merciful care.

“Now, your face,” they said.

Ominis heard them rise, dragging a chair to face opposite him. Cool fingertips graced his hot skin.

As the minutes passed, his usually restrained affection for his friend only swelled. A sticky, saccharine feeling in his chest. Like his heart had grown twice its size and was trying to escape out of the gaps in his ribcage.

He had scarcely known such benevolence. The Gaunt household had no space for it, amongst the cruelty and mania they fostered. Only once he had left, wandered the labyrinthine halls of Hogwarts, had his child body been held. Sebastian was the first, but Sebastian was fire and molten heat, warm to the touch but known to burn just as quickly.

The ‘new fifth year’ as he had so ungraciously titled them, was entirely different. They were sunshine on a spring day, the soft breeze that would steal the sweat from your skin before warming it again in the next breath. They were coral pools and clear water, stick your hand in and see the light dance on your skin. When they touched him he didn’t burn. Nor freeze like the touch of his family. He was just the same, he was Ominis, being held. That was all they ever wanted him to be.

Now, dabbing antiseptic into the cuts on his face, he felt more himself than ever. The version of him entirely unencumbered by fear, by sight, by magic.

Their warm breath kissed his cheek and their fingers held his jaw in place.

He cupped their face, running his own fingers across the planes of their cheeks, mapping the expression, committing the texture to memory.

“Ominis—”

He kissed them.

Undemanding, chaste, not a capturing of lips so much as holding them. Pressing into them like a question, will you be yourself with me? You have only ever made me feel worthy.

He pulled away slowly, face inches from theirs.

They dived back in. Yes, yes I will. They were unafraid to capture his mouth, answer earnestly. Move their lips against his. Soft, always so tender. But hungry, parched, the savouring of a good meal.

Ominis met their fervour, letting his tongue slide along their bottom lip, feeling it open greedily for him. Their hand was placed on his waist, above the wound they had lovingly tended. Ominis wrapped his into their hair, feeling their scalp, pulling them closer—please, closer.

Minutes burned, time inconsequential as they found each other in the wet heat of their tongues. They pulled away from Ominis, and latched their mouth to his neck, tasting salt on the skin. Ominis tilted his head, allowing them to create more bruises on his skin. Bruises he wanted to never heal.

Then they stopped.

“You’re injured Omi,” they breathed.

Ominis’ brows pinched.

“We must stop,” they said, “you need to rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” Ominis protested.

“I don’t want you to either, but you must—to heal.”

Ominis heard the squeak of the floorboards, then the opening of a door. They left the room.

He began to panic. Was it too much? He had concealed his affection for them for so long that perhaps—perhaps they did not want it. Perhaps he was wrong.

They re-entered the room.

“I didn’t do this on a whim, you know,” he pleaded.

“I know.”

“Then why—"

“Today was your father’s wake. Not only that, you were gravely hurt. I know this wasn't an impulse, but regardless, you need to heal, you need to process today.”

“This wasn’t because of my father.”

A beat.

“I know,” they stated, “prove it to me. Stay the night tonight. In a week’s time, come back, and share dinner with me. Then we can try again.”

Soft clothes were pressed into his hands.

“I’ll wait for you," they whispered, "in the bedroom.”

Then they left.

Ominis sighed in relief. He ran his fingers over the nightclothes given to him, the silky fabric.

When he entered their bedroom, slipped into the sheets, and entangled their limbs. Wrapped his arm around their middle. He felt grateful to be Ominis Gaunt and no one else. Ominis Gaunt was the boy who met them, who fell in love, who has now tasted their sweet lips. He is not perfect, that he will never deny, but cocooned next to them, there is no scar he could bear that would not be lovingly tended to and kissed. There is no ugliness that would not be embraced.

He slept deeply and comfortably with this knowledge. Come daybreak, a blue jay sang its screeching song, not beautiful, not sonorous like its neighbours, but to the two inhabitants of that cottage, there was no better sound.

[c0smoshit]

Hun, I just saw your post about my request being posted earlier! Don't worry about it! Take all the time you need and I want you to enjoy it as much as you can! I know you'll do amazing, and it'll be worth the wait! I am so sorry Tymblr has been a bitch

Blue eyes ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Cloud's been having some horrific dreams lately

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!, fluff too, traumas, nightmares, slight harrasment from a drunk guy, visions, voices, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Sorry for the inactivity and tumblr being a bitch :(( But anyways, enjoy this mess 🫶😭

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 4.462

« Red »

The colour his mind pictured when he started hearing things, seeing them. His head spinned and hurt, closing his eyes tightly while strange voices filled his mind.

He didn't know where they came from or why they did it, but he was so tired of them.

At first it didn't happen really often, it all started when he stepped on that polluted city. It caused him such a weird and sad feeling, Midgar, the city that was supposed to be such an advance in technology, bringing fresh and huge mako reactors to create those little colorful pearls everyone seemed to want.

But it was all bullshit, they were destroying the planet, milking every mako drop out of it. It got to a point were people couldn't even see the daylight from the slums, greeted by hours and hours of darkness and emptiness.

His mind often circled around how lifeless the faces of the people were, matched with the depressing sight of the metallic buildings and playgrounds. The only natural light that beamed through the endless sandy paths were the children, bringing honest giggles and big jovial grins to the world.

How would it feel to be a kid again?

Nostalgia rested deep inside him, he mourned those years, when it all felt right and real.

Long walks along the little village with his mother, longer ones in the mountains by the back of his house.

Breathe clean air, sleeping with the sound of the air hitting the slope of the mountains with persistence.

His mother caressing his hair as he told her not to ruffle it up

"Learning" how to be a SOLDIER by himself.

He reminisces about his loneliness too, he constantly looked foward to what Tifa's friends were up to.

Although he didn't really fit with anyone on Nibelheim besides Tifa, he was happy and he had dreams. Dreams that were soon sliced by a huge Masamune.

No matter how hard his subconciousness, driven by the silhouette of SOLDIERS and Sephiroth, tried to tell him that those kids were inferior to him, they seemed to be so joyful and honestly happy.

And he just... was there.

Those were the happiest years he had ever looked back on, and now they just remained as memories.

But time appeared to exacerbate those imminent dark nights.

People would frequently put him as a companionless guy, one of many who enjoyed the silent strides of their own feet. And he was, he loved being alone, not with his mind.

He had become accustomed to being alone, he always had been a solitary person and that's all he knew.

His mind roved around his past, his memories, and he often found himself trying to decipher if they were real or just some images that this new voice had placed deeply inside his psyche.

Maybe that was the reason he actually likes spending time with the group, not really the fact that he got to be with them but the comfort of the voices being subdued by them. Even if it just lasted some hours.

Midgar had a dark aura around it that he only seemed to discern. And it got worse and worse, scarlet painted memories of the ones he couldn't protect.

He was tired, tired of it all.

Tired of fighting only to be compensated with grief and regret.

Tired of taking care of everyone, as cruel as it sounded.

Tired of seeing him everywhere, even on the safety of your arms.

The man, if he even deserved that name, who took his life away savagely, his dreams and his trust for him. The day he remembers the most, yet so vaguely, a chaos of blurred ( burnt ) out images inside his messed up brain.

The years had taken away decades of sanity that should still remain inside him.

And hundreds of hours of sleep too.

His body sometimes walked itself out of his makeshift appartment Tifa had lent him, governed by the need of "fresh" air. Nonetheless they were just mere excuses for the fear he felt, knowing that he had to sleep that night with his own thoughts.

He saw you once, streets painted with the caliginosity of the moon, you looked calm as you feet dragged you through the solid metal walls.

He pondered about going and talk to you, but he opted to just watch you fade away into the dead of night. Kind of creepy, he thought, but he didn't want to disturb your peace.

But the metal clank of his comically large sword, resting heavily on his back almost exposed him. Two confused glowing orbs looked around, trying to decipher what they just heard. However they eventually calmed themselves down and continued their enigmatic pace.

He let out a sigh of relief he wasn't aware was holding, lowering the rapid gloved hand that tried to stop the movement of his sword from the handle.

Before he decided that he should leave you alone, something sparkled inside him, something was wrong.

He resumed his steps and before he even had a chance to think, some strange man approached you. Maybe you had a boyfriend he didn't know about?

That option was quickly discarded as your face scrunched up in disgust for a brief moment before you smiled at the man, telling him something. Something he didn't seem really excited about as he slurred some words out of his mouth while closing the distance between the both of you.

His forbearance soon emptied itself, he couldn't bear seeing you like this for another minute. He was aware you knew how to manage yourself in fights and this wouldn't be the first time your shin ended on some guy's crotch.

But everytime something like this occurs, you try to be as polite as you posibly can, not wanting the situation to escalate to a higher problem. Muttering some

"I'm fine thank you"

Your hands crossed in front of your chest, tugging tightly your own shirt as you tried to walk away. But the weird guy got even closer to you, smiling as if he was proud of winning a medal, trying to cage you into the wall.

"Aww cmon, I just wanna have some fun tonight"

His disgusting drunken reek filled your poor nostrils, god why couldn't he just walk away or something?

"You don't want to have some fun?"

You were forced to stop dead on your tracks as his hand launched itself, hitting the wall besides you, ending up at your eye level.

"Hey-"

Your eyes widened in horror as he came closer to your face, whispering something into your ear that your mind couldn't process, as the only thing that popped up instead was the image of your fist fitting so good into his cheekbone.

The hand that grabbed your waist was your last straw, but before you could land a decent blow into the man's face something stopped you. Well, rather someone.

Some signature light blonde locks followed by a stoic and quite angry expression appeared behind the guy, his thin lips parted, words fell out of them full of irritation.

"Mind your own bussiness, freak"

A scoff was heard but it was soon replaced by a leather sound, the yank of someone's jacket followed by the loud sound of a body hitting the ground.

The man quickly got himself up, dusting off his clothes and when he was ready to make some comments about the appearance of the one who had taken him down, he decided to shut his mouth as his eyes travelled to the weapon he was wearing.

That and his intimidating appearance, the moon casting it's light into his back so his face was dark enough not to reveal his features, but not his piercing mako eyes.

Eyes that stared down at him with the most disgusting look he had ever seen on anyone's face before.

And in spite of the fact that Cloud wasn't that intimidating like Barret could be, his actions made his whole facade darker. He wasn't a tall and beefy guy, but he was strong.

Just by one movement of his sword he could slice a motorbike in half, his dexterity with blades was what made him feared.

And yet he was also good in close battles, clear agility as he moved through both the battlefield and the hits that were thrown at him. That and his quick thinking and last minute dodges he offered too.

The man had already vanished into the rumbling engines that worked overnight, fused with the quiet chatter of the souls who worked late. You sighed out in harmony with his grip softening on the handle of his sword once again.

You had so many questions that needed to be answered right now, the louder one asking how come he was here tonight?

The night ended with him taking you back home, telling you that you should be more careful, gaining a frow of your brows and you saying something about how you could protect yourself.

And he knew that, he had seen you fight with him, taking down enemies that he was too slow to see. But he still wanted to take a look after you, make sure nobody harmed you in any ways.

He wanted to be there the way you were there for him.

« Blue »

The way his visions were tinted like, navy blue mixed with some undertones of green.

They were the worst part of all this madness he was enduring.

They caused him headaches and the feeling of disorientation, and he absolutely despised being lost. He didn't even know who he was or why he was here, his mind was the worst puzzle he had to ever go through.

However, that wasn't the darkest thing about it.

The visions felt so real, vivid images flashing through his mind like a high speed train, travelling through all his senses and flooding them.

He could see everything and no matter how hard he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, his own brain forced them open.

He could hear the cries and wailings for mercy, sometimes for help, his help.

He could touch, but everything was so far away yet so close to him.

He could taste the bitter-sweet savour of guilt.

The rancid smell of sadness.

The only sound that brought comfort to him, as it being a signal that he was still alive, ceased it's rythmic pumping. A looming mist spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, fueling his nerves.

He could sense that they either were years appart from his timeline or mere minutes away.

But the conclusions all ended up in the same alleyway, they were going to happen.

Something deep inside whispered into his pierced ear that he couldn't do anything about them, that they weren't just some visions inside his head.

And they frightened him, watching from an imaginary seat how his friends died, how the planet was destroyed, his face.

As a result from this, his head became a cage that no matter how hard he tried to break the iron bars with his naked hands, he was too weak to do so. He just wanted liberty.

That cage multiplied at least ten times the feeling of claustrophobia the aura of the city gave him.

"No!"

A heartrending cry ringed painfully through his ears, loud enough to make them feel as if they were about to bleed.

His eyes were closed but he didn't want them open either way, the ground felt cold even with his boots on.

"Please don't"

The agonizing voice didn't die down like he was waiting for, instead it increased it's volume, almost as if it wanted for him to look up and see what was going on.

And eventually, he did.

His eyes searched for the voice ( for you ), eyes falling on the hand that was clutching for dear life a metal structure.

He recognized the place right away, the lukewarm temperature envolving the gears and his body, the mustiness that filled up his nose. He was inside a reactor.

Faint lights gloomed upon his clothes as his feet dragged him through the grilles, his back felt empty. He didn't have the soothing weight of his weapon, feeling vulnerable to whoever wanted to fight him.

"Please, Cloud"

That did it for him, it was unmistakably you.

Your sweet and sometimes monotone tone was gone, blatantly swapped with a much more startled and uneasy one. Your hands were the only thing visible for him to see right now, the image of your body suspended in the air already present inside his brain.

He didn't know why but a memory of your hand touching his flooded his mind, he liked the softness of them, he wished he didn't had gloves on.

The more intense your cries became, the more he wanted to scream back at you, tell you that he was there, that you were going to be fine.

But nothing came out of his mouth

He kneeled down in front of you, finally able to see your face. But he didn't like the way you were sweating, how your eyes widened in horror as you looked back at him. He wanted to see your features soften, to hear your laugh, your voice telling him not to overwork himself.

The abyss consumed him, what seemed like miles and miles of hollowness and darkness bellow you.

Your left hand slipped off the edge with a yelp, you were slowly sinking down and he wasn't going to let you do so. His hand grabbed the one that was still gripping the platform, clutching it tightly.

He wouldn't let you slip off that easily.

Your quivering voice was the only sound that could deafen the roar of the engines around the both of you. Although you were visibly sweating, your hand felt cold under the thin layer of his black gloves.

An invisible rock attached to your feet by a thick rope made you feel heavier than before, gradually dragging you lower and lower from his grasp.

He couldn't even let out grunts or sighs out of his mouth, he wanted to tell you to hold on, just a bit more and you were going to be safe with him once again.

He tried to lift you up, but you didn't budge. His body tensed up and he was becoming more and more impatient.

By the time your hand finally gave up on him, he was laying face down on the ground, his feet stopping him from falling down with you.

"I'm sorry"

A tear slipped from your tired eyes, your body dissapearing into the void with the saddest smile he had ever seen on your face. He didn't want to ever see that expression again, he wanted you to smile brightly, not fade out lights with it.

And why were you apologizing? He should be the one to do so, he was unable to save you. You should be here with him now, enveloping your loving arms around him while you thanked him.

He felt his heart being crushed down, he wouldn't be able to feel you pat his shoulder in a reassuring way whenever he had to fight someone again, your hands dusting off his clothes after a long mission.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to kill someone.

But his mouth was sealed shut, his hands trembled but no tears seemed to stain his cheeks. His heart pumped harshly inside his chest and as if someone were tugging his hair, his head hurt.

And when he closed his eyes, they were opened again.

But he wasn't met with cramped, massive iron walls around him, he was met with his unfurnished blank wall.

Thank god, he thought.

His sheet was between his legs and the floor, a cotton waterfall on the side rail of the bed. His shirt was ridden up above his belly button, the moon was still up in the sky staring at him with a motionless facade. And he could've sworn it was mocking him.

He had sat up abruptly, letting out a screech he wanted to let out for a while now, reverberating from his chest and into the small room. He tried to calm his breathing, his hands clutched the matress bellow him.

His hair was messier than it usually was, he stared at the closed window and into the incessant lightless sky.

For the first time in his life he was pleased to see those streets again.

That took place about week ago and of course he didn't tell anyone. He didn't want to pile more stress and worry on the shoulders of the group.

On the outside, his demeanour didn't change a bit. Well, not for the ones who didn't know him.

His subtle tiredness and grumpiness was cristal clear for you to notice. His patience died down sooner than before and his irascibility when he was fighting someone was what exposed him.

And if his answers were dry and short they basically were nonexistent now.

But he had a thick skull and no matter how many times you asked him—

"Is everything alright?"

His head turned around to see you, a confused frown rested on his face. Had he done anything weird?

—he didn't seem to answer you.

He then shook his head and his hand, silently telling you that he was fine. But you stopped yourself before asking him a second time, you didn't want to be a nuisance either way.

You were walking next to him a few meters away from the group in front of you. They walked back to Seventh heaven, but you purposedly abandoned your talk to walk with Cloud instead.

And he didn't seem bothered by it, he appreciated the way you cared about him, but he couldn't tell you what was happening, not now.

He didn't dare to look at you, he knew if he did so, flashes of his prior dreams would engulf his mind.

Sooner or later he did, throbbing guilt crossed painfully his mind when he did so. He saw blue in your eyes.

An ocean emerged in front of his eyes, submerging your face and then your clothes, coalesced with a big meadow of beatiful grown grass that enveloped your features.

He could've found this view incredibly magestic if it wasn't for the fact that he knew what was about to happen.

He didn't- He couldn't take it anymore.

His skull appeared to be thicker inside his skin, crushing down his brain. His hands swiftly made contact with his forehead, eyes closed shut and avoiding to see anything.

Whispers and sometimes yells echoed through the dim alleyway, his knees bucking as he supported himself on the wall.

His eyes achingly opened up again, his hands grasped something that was too soft to be a stone wall, he saw your face.

"Please don't- Please don't go"

"to the reactor..."

Your soft voice with some hints of sleepiness reached his eardrums, was he dreaming?

A question he found himself asking a lot lately, not knowing how to discern between reality and a vision or a dream.

He hesitated to open his eyes once again, his headache had dissapeared but his eyelids felt heavier than before.

When was before?

He saw your face, but you weren't staring at him back. Subsequently your hands stroked his hair tenderly, a touch he would love to die for.

You were humming softly, his mother did that a lot when she was cleaning him up and tucking him before sleep.

He wanted to admire your beauty for just a little while, the moon stared at him once again, but this time he was the one who laughed at it.

Your soft skin, your hair released from the confines of your hair tie, your lips, your eyelashes that batted so cutely whenever you saw an animal, your nose.

You were from another dimension.

And he melted right away after you noticed that he was awake, your smile being the first thing that came into his vision. The loss of warmth on his blonde locks made him a bit mad.

That was when he noticed where he was laying on, your legs. Blood rushed to his cheeks, creating a slight blush on his pale skin. But he shrugged his thoughts fast enough for you not to notice his weakness.

He wished that whenever he had a nightmare or a crude vision your thighs would be there to craddle his head.

He didn't know why he was here but he didn't want to hear the answer too, he was more than happy to be there either way.

He knew he could speak right now, but he didn't have anything to say. Your hand falling down into his cheek followed with a kind look on your lips was what kept him silent.

And the words that fell from them were the only reason he was still fighting Shinra, fighting with you, for you, to hear them again and again.

He didn't demand poetic phrases for him to melt on spot, just by hearing the most simple reassuring worss fall from your lips was more than enough for him.

"I'm here for you "

He spent the rest of the night curled up like a ball on top of your legs, hearing your honeyed words deliciously filling his ears repeatedly.

He wouldn't tell you why he had passed out on top of you, why had he pushed you to the wall in front of the group as he anxiously warned you.

And he ceirtantly wouldn't tell you about how his dream of you walking alone in an alleyway was the reason his body walked itself out of his appartment.

The softness of your skin wasn't there anymore it was replaced by your cozy pillow, but it wasn't enough for him.

Dawn's first light entered through your closed window, hitting his face. He had slept without any worries for the first time in weeks, drowned in your touch.

He wanted to thank you, he only had spent a night with you and you had managed to clear his mind from any racing thoughts. His head craved for your touch, his arms and his hands too.

He looked down and he saw his usual clothes, but now they smelled like you.

But you weren't there, he looked around and he took advatange of the quiet dawn to see your room. It was the same size as his own one, but it was definitely prettier than his.

Clean sheets deliciously wrapped around his body that fell down onto his legs when he sat up on the bed, your bed. Cute posters and images about some cats, family and friends laying around on your desk or hanging on the wall.

He rubbed his somnolent eyes before getting off the bed with a swift move, laying on his feet. He noticed that they were lighter than before and when he looked down, he wasn't wearing his boots anymore. You had taken the time to take them off before getting him inside your bed, a small smile formed on his lips at the thought.

His head pekeed through your door as he opened it as quietly as he could, it was still pretty early so he didn't want to wake you up if you were still around.

Without the huge piece of metal behind his back he was pretty quiet, so he used that on his advantage.

His feet guided him until he reached what seemed to be like your living room, it was the same like your bedroom. It was a copy of his own one but much cozier.

But he didn't have time to look around like he did with your room, you were a much more pleasant sight to see. He walked silently until he was right next to your sleeping form.

The first thing that crossed his mind was how gorgerous you were like this, comfy and relaxed under the spell of sleepiness. Your rythmic slow-paced breaths, they reminded him of the sea.

However, he immediately felt bad for stealing your bed, he noticed the way you were curled up on the small couch, your back was probably going to kill you when you woke up.

So without any second thought, his left hand wrapped itself bellow your knees while his right one simultaneously enveloped your back. He gently lifted you up in his arms, your head lolling to the side until it met his shoulder, your temple resting next to his chest.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he sometimes daydreamed about carrying you like this, how would it feel. Your sweet "thank you"'s echoed inside his head when he lifted your harmed form after a cruel battle, your arms hugging his neck.

A few minutes passed and he thanked his hard training for being able to hold you like this for a long while.

Your body shivered, right, you didn't seem to have a spare blanket other than the one in your bed. So he pressed his body closer to yours, trying to warm you up.

He knows he's already called you pretty and gorgerous over ten times now, but god, he needed to remark it. And right now you looked as cute as those cats you seemed to love, unconciously hiding your face on his chest with a long sigh.

He marched back into your room and he noticed that his buster sword was resting on the right wall of the living room, next to his boots.

The more he noticed those little details, the more he wanted to hold you close to him.

But when he finally reached your room after an agonizing ( purposely ) slow pace, it was time for you to properly rest.

So he placed you on top of your mattress, heart fluttering when he saw your little stretch on the bed. He enveloped your body with your blanket, mimicking your pleasured smile when he did so.

If only time could stop right now

He closed the curtains so the light didn't disturb your well deserved sleep like it did to him and then he sat down next to your bed.

Thankful for having a cure for his illnesses.

[schizoidcel]

Well, it's my first time making a request besides using the translator for this, so I read that you make requests from TADC, this is the idea that's in my head.

What would happen if one of the characters started remembering little things about they life because of his reader's actions? (because he doesn't remember anything himself)

Ponmi, Ragatha and Jax (separately)

Something like example, the food that reader offered to Ponmi brings her a quick flash of that? something like that is the idea.

I like how you write by the way, good day!

# POMNI, RAGATHA & JAX (SEPERATELY) x READER WHO WAS THEIR S/O IN THE REAL WORLD (FLASHBACK EDITION) ☆

I WAS DEAD YALL SOZ just got out my eye operation I got a prosthetic now😭😭 Ngl it looks sick but uhm. It's so awkward LMFAO also my dog died while i was in the hospital.. 💁‍♀️

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

🤍 HEADCANONS !!

warnings :: Not proofread, will probably have mistakes cus I can like not see with my one fake eye

♪ POMNI ..

Pomni would get a flashback after you touch her a specific way

I feel like altough she enjoys it from time to time (Albeit only from you), Pomni is still sensitive to touch

So when you first attempted to comfort her, she SWORE she saw something flash before her eyes

She kinda got stunned after this happened

And you were confused .

Her eyes were in that blank white state

And you didn't know whether to be more concerned than before or not 😭

She quickly regained herself though

... And said "I saw something." subconciously

When you asked her what, she didn't know whather to tell you or not, but since you're you, she decided she might aswell

You were kinda confused by this, and didn't really know what to react with, so you just said:

"What if we were together in the real world too lol"

You now got urself an "out of the zone" Pomni for the next few days, congrats bestie!

♪ RAGATHA ..

Ragatha would get a flashback after you call her a nickname you using a nickname you always used to call her back in the real world

I feel like she wouldn't tell you immediately, though

She probably thinks she's going crazy or something, and if that's so, she dosen't want to make it worse by telling it to you which might make you worry

Though, if you were like BORDERLINE INSANE about escaping like Pomni she would be stuck with telling you asap or never telling you at all.

Ragatha thinks that since she thinks it's a memory from the outside world, you might want to hear it

But also it might make you more keen on getting outside which'll probably cause you to abstract.

Or it'll make you overthink like crazy

In the end, she'd probably wait till it happens again so she can tell you

♪ JAX ..

I feel like jax would get a quick flash after you play a prank on him back

He'd also be like. 🧍 for a second

"Jax? 😟" "🧍" "OH not sorry lol anyway"

I feel like he'd never tell you LMFAO

He feels like that if he ever told you, you'd either be really understanding or tease him for the rest of his digital life.

And he is NOT taking the risk

Look he trusts you, but you know how yall act around eachother

And Jax LOVES always having the upper hand

Even thinking about a scenario where he's just fucking around with you and all of a sudden you go:

"Lol didn't you zone out in public for 13 seconds and thought about how we apparently we were together in the real world?? Cheesy hoe"

It gives him shivers .

If he got it often enough to the point it's bothering him and making him think that he NEEDS to tell someone, he'll come to you though

Jax also thinks about how he probably thought too much back when it first happened

Because even after he told you about the "flashbacks", you didn't tease him about it.

Yet.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

I feel like this turned out kinda short... Whatevs 😭 Hope u like it!!

ׂૢ་༘࿐ Thank you for reading! ♡

[eldelasuerte]

B..ba..baffy..?

(I'm so srry if I'm like spamming ur asks but I hope u don't mind)

Nah I'm open for asks ☺️ you're fine dude dw 🫶

Oohh I love this concept but it hits different for baffy

Bear with me

Daffy might not be exactly soft but he IS more open than bugs

On everything lol

This Is why Daffy is a rock, hes way better at managin his emotions than bugs

AND also why you could pair Daffy with any other character without resulting on him feeling wattered down

At their core all looney Tunes have a soft heart, thats what looney Tunes are about, about portraying intense emotions in a humorous light AND also anarchy lol, theres no situation that has no silly side

Baffy hits different because bugs and Daffy BOTH navigate violence separate and together

But whereas Daffy has to more often take the L bugs has to ALWAYS win (most of the Time)

Whereas Daffy is able to lose and still gets to keep his core intact

Bugs prudence, wit and stoickish (when used right hilarious) nature Is the thing that separates him from other characters

This is what makes modern bugs who he is, and while both parts (bugs and Daffy) are to blame on their eggshellish relationship bugs fault is this facade that keeps him from being authentic and forming a true connection to Daffy

And we could excuse it with hipothetically saying that if bugs, used to being the "bigger person" were to put his fear to vulnerability aside and actually reciprocate Daffys affection in a decent attentive way a partner does Daffy would still choose himself over it

BUT Heres my hc with Daffy, hes emotionally intelligent

he knows bugs well enough because theyve both been on the same situations, he knows how bugs responds to feeling cornered, he knows the facade, so when bugs does this thing of acting nonchalant he calls him on his bullshit, he knows bugs biggest pet peeve is his unability to let things go, he's obssesive and just as intense as he is and his efforts are not to bring the softness but the intensity out him, and bugs just wont give in because he cannot let Daffy get a rise out of him, that would mean he wins and bugs cant loose

Thats why theyre like that, they like eachother authentically

Daffy is constantly (alledgely subconciously) looking for the part of himself that he recognizes in bugs (bugs started as a copy of Daffy) but if bugs gives up on his facade, not only loses what makes him unique but also bc of the misscomunication usually present in their relationship, could be thinking on losing Daffys attention

Even tho Daffy is open and better at managin his emotions, he still has a looong way to go to be comfortable with normal affection even moreso with bugs

BUT theyre both also naturally sweet, this is where their passion comes from, so theres still hope for them, the thing with them is just how well balanced their dysfunctional relationship is, like you could think bugs Is the most "mature" but is actually Daffy who Is better at managin emotions as a normal individual, also the one whos open for the other one to be himself Is just bugs has layers and layers of repression for being put against the eraser so many times

And despite everything you cant really say bugs doesnt accept Daffy for who he is, he has limits with him, which yes make Daffy be better but heck you could say he is aware of his emotional walls that Daffy wants to tear down and this Is the reason he spoils him so much lol

theyre both soft with eachother in a way the other needs

Theyre both selfish in a way that doesnt help the relationship

[psychesetra]

til death reunites us

notes: if you've read my past oneshots, which i have. failed to edit. woops. lucien is surnaturel! setra is still setra, dw

tw: suicide, poison, mentions of death, implication of assault if you squint, hallucinations, murder

* • + • *

lucien cannot wait to return to his wife. or rather, maybe her voice never left, and it only beckoned him closer to death.

ever since she's died, he's always heard a whisper in his ear. often, its advice led to his next kill and another body mutilated and buried under a house meant for two.

(he says, thinks -- no, pretends it's meant for two. but when she hasn't been home in two years and her dresses have grown dusty perhaps he was always meant to live alone.)

but he thinks he's finally been pushed to snap, as he stares at his wife's grave.

setra caelia hartifelt.

1908-1931.

she was twenty-three when he'd found her in that god-awful place, once blue eyes turned into some irritating imitation of the color, more gray than blue, dead than alive.

he carries the last batch of sunflowers he will bring to her. he grew them himself.

he lays them down gently, a contrast to how he handles nearly anything else, even the corpses he's buried. it's midnight, though, and no person will see him with his guard down.

somewhere in his subconcious, he remembers when she had first mentioned sunflowers.

"they mean loyalty and adoration," she had murmured. "it would be nice to have those buried with me. it would mean someone had loved me that much."

he loved her that much. he wishes he had loved her more.

he had pleaded for so long that night. begged for her to speak to him, to get up and to ask where she was because she couldn't see without the glasses he couldn't find in the alley. wishes he could've bought her another ring, married her again, because that night he'd found her without anything but herself and blood.

why couldn't he have nice things?

he contemplates this for a reason he doesn't know. after all, he is to die tonight. that in itself is perhaps the only mercy god has granted him in the past two years, that he will reunite with his love in death.

(but he knows. he is going to hell. not to heaven, where she surely resides.)

there is another, stranger, deadlier plant in his other hand.

trumpet-shaped purple flowers and dark berries that will be the last thing he will taste.

belladonna. beautiful lady, he thinks.

he is in no way blaming his death on his wife -- but her own demise is now the reason for his. he cannot survive knowing both the death of his mother and his sweet darling were because he was too late to save them to the cruelty of the world around them.

so it is fitting that he will die to a flower named as what his wife is to him.

he doesn't try and eat it yet, though -- he decides to stay for now. stay at his wife's grave. maybe if he stays long enough, he will feel her embrace one last time, even if her body is six foot below where he stands.

maybe if he stays for long enough he'll feel even a bit of remorse. though, he thinks it can't happen.

lucien had killed twenty-three people as of august 5th, 1933. one disgusting, foul, vile man for every year his wife lived.

he would've killed more, for the years she had lost, but something had settled in him.

some odd feeling that told him it was enough. that it was time to rest alongside the woman he had promised his life to.

so just as he had done nearly every night for the past two years, he visited her grave. stayed for a while, pondered things he thought he would never think of.

he runs a hand through his hair, before taking off his glasses. he can give himself comfort in the fact they will not hurt him when he inevitably falls to the ground as he dies.

again gently, he plucks the berries from the belladonna. one by one, he sets them down on the thin grass besides him. one by one, he swallows each.

soon, his head starts to feel heavy with pain. he's glad he did this at midnight -- his eyes can't seem to handle the moonlight cast across the grave in front of him.

speaking of that, he staggers, losing balance and holding onto said grave -- he feels a little guilty, that he may damage it.

he feels he needs water, his throat feels incredibly dry.

as he predicts, he does eventually fall over, a weak, strangled noise slipping out when he does. he reaches out to where his wife is buried.

he can't even reach the stone marking her name.

he's starting to see things. is that his mother in the trees? has she come to take him to hell? can angels even bring demons to their afterlife?

his head continues pounding, the ache settling in his bones, staying as he finally, finally starts to die.

he hears a faint whisper again. her voice.

with the last of his strength, he murmurs, a strained, tortured smile on his face,

"it seems death will reunite us rather than do us part."

* • + • *

later, when the graveyard's groundkeeper finds his body, his eyes are just as gray as his wife's were on august fifth, 1931.

[erissdoesart]

hi, wanted to pop in as a Venom-liker who brainrots on AUs made up in my own mind and share one in my head

woe, platonic omegaverse be upon ye

and Ash boy!

SO because the novel world and modern world are different worlds we can fuck with this concept

such as the omegaverse being non-existant, at best a fictional trope in the novel's world

but Ash's world wasn't as lucky, humans and hybrids alike suffer an additional layer of instincts piled ontop of every other set of instincts they already have, oh boy!

Vibe Check!! Soot lost his wife, his kids, and has been forced into enemy territory, contact and the service of another enemy right before Ash punted his soul out the body

Ash is very fucking aware of this eventually after transmigrating, and he could manage bottling his human and elytrian instincts even with how his instincts mourn his death, old life and (not his) hatchlings that never were

That would be if brother didn't also have omega instincts to deal with which in the worst way recognize Soot's loss of a wife and kids as Ash's loss of a partner and nestlings

Oh, and piled with the fact that the few friendships Wilbur Ash had are long gone, making for the loss of the few friends he was comfortable scenting with, and scenting is a social activity nessecey for health, and you have An Even More Unhealthy Omega

Also with the lack of people with any of the three dynamics thus scents those dynamics produced, Ash is #unnerved as he can't read people like before and major social elements such as scents, pheromones, and noises unique to dynamics and seperate from hybrids and humans is completely lost to everyone but him

So now on top of being on edge 24/7, Ash is bordering shock, health complications of his dynamic and other needs being neglected, and oh yeah don't omegas have heats??

Depends on how we treat heats, like does Ash start not having heats for this period of time due to how bad his health is, or does his heats become worse than a healthy heat should be, nuking his higher thought with a lethal fever as he keens and his scent begs for anyone with a dynamic to bring him into their pack so he can feel safe

and what would be more interesting is how people react to Wilbur's dynamic without any context of Dynamics

"Like what's with the new perfume he's wearing and where did he get it, what message is he trying to convey to the Empire or others?

non-snake noises and reactions are kind of odd too"

Now imagine if depsite the lack of dynamics, the messages pheromones conveyed still reached people?

Theseus can just-- tell that Wilby's a good man and really just wants to cuddle and ruffle his hair (scenting the nestling, baby needs it) ((indignant techno and dadza noises))

Meanwhile Techno, Philza and the staff can't explain the way their shoulders locks, how they subtly still and are suddenly a wee more paranoid around Duke Soot, but Snake are devious things and it must be their gut instinct knowing such deep down

(no bitches, Ash is an omega scared of everyone and you inherently social pack animals are reacting to his scared-pheromones subconciously treating them as a warning from a fellow human/hybrid that there's danger near by)

(Techno reacts the worst to Wilbur's scared pheromones because Wilbur instinctually reacts the worst to his maybe-future-killer's presence making those meetings the times where Wilbur and those around him are the most paranoid)

brain melted lol

idk how to connect these but after the Dark SBI'ing and all that the castle would end up in a whole new schedule where whenever it's Wilbur heat time the entire place is on strict lockdown because biologically mandated fevers demanding cuddles will do that to the Royal Family's instincts

no pressure on asnweing this ask btw, especially if the omegaverse isn't your thing or you know nothing about it

Ngl idk how to respond

My main problem is, this is such a fun idea? I could see myself enjoying it, heck, enjoyed reading this!

But how in the fresh hell one would go about conflict resolution here

I'm baffled and dismayed. Good au anon, good au

And thanks for enjoying my work!

[friedfriedchicken]

Hello fellow WFC Breaksounder may I please ask for your head-canons of them 🙏

OHHH YOU GOT IT BESTIE- I'm writing a fic right now but I'm in writer's block so this is gonna be fun letsgooo

Gonna keep this fluffy because I'm in a fluffy mood (<- person who just posted an angsty fic)

I wrote a ton of like- story points- so I'm stuffing it under a read more because uhhhh that's long whoops

Headcanons on how they met because I'm a yapperrrr and I've barely had anyone to yap to about them <3

Soundwave and Breakdown first met during the war. It was by chance that Megatron brought both of them on the train-station-thingy mission but he needed a trusted officer and a good soldier who wound't yap (WFC Breakdown is a yapper but he wouldn't dare say anything that would get him on Megatron's bad side.)

Their first encounter stuck with Soundwave. He's not sure why but something irritating about Breakdown made him smile, or whatever equivalent he had.

Megatron, being old friends with Soundwave, could tell that his Intelligence Officer was comfortable and let his old-self peak through. Whether it was concious or subconcious, that's for Primus to decide. Breakdown really enjoyed being brought into this weird friendgroup for like, 6 hours, or something.

Breakdown and Soundwave wouldn't cross paths again until Breakdown and Knock Out were summoned to the Nemesis.

By this point, Breakdown has mostly gotten over his anxiety, being the character we know him as in Prime, which Soundwave found odd. Soundwave never bothered to keep close tabs on Breakdown because what problems would he cause anyways? Not enough to be a threat, that's for sure.

Anyways, they don't say much to eachother, they're just two Decepticons on the same ship.

That is, until Breakdown was taken by M.E.C.H. and dissected.

Soundwave suffered a similar, even more grevious injury, during the height of the war and felt like he had to help the wounded bot. Also Knock Out was out racing because who knew Jasper, Nevada had such great street races!?

So that put Soundwave in the position to patch Breakdown up. Breakdown was scared at first (who wouldn't be when Megatron's right hand bot is staring you down?) but when he figured out what Soundwave was doing, accepted the help.

Soundwave is a smart 'con and like any good doctor, started to observe Breakdown to make sure his body adjusted to the patch job. It's during this that Soundwave began to feel some odd emotions. Not the same irritations but, something else. He couldn't describe it but he wanted to know more about the blue-grey truck.

Breakdown took notice of Soundwave's sudden attention and took this as a sign to start opening up to the silent bot. Breakdown, as always, was a yapper and liked to befriend the Vehicons onboard the Nemesis because all the other officers were less than friendly or Knock Out. Talking to the same guy over and over again can get boring, as much as you like them.

Knock Out became suspicious of Soundwave but quickly deduced what was going on and started to play matchmaker between his friend and the Intelligence Officer.

And normal relationship headcanons because I am obsessed with these two

Their love language is gift-giving and acts of service. Breakdown has an interest in Earth with how different it is from Cybertron and likes to bring back little presents for Soundwave. Soundwave returns the love by grooming Breakdown, as taught by Knock Out lol. You can tell the two just had a date when Breakdown looks extra shiny and/or Soundwave is trying to adapt some Earth tech into the Nemesis' systems.

Soundwave doesn't like to leave the Nemesis because standing on Earth makes him feel cramped and lost so the pair don't often go on dates outside of the ship but when they do, Breakdown tries to find places similar to Cybertron to comfort Soundwave. They've been to a few drive-in theaters, courtesy of Knock Out, of course.

Sometimes Soundwave sends Laserbeak out on missions with Breakdown for "insurance" but in reality, Laserbeak is also in on the pairing-up. Laserbeak also likes to take pictures of Breakdown just for Soundwave along with actively making sure the Decepticons have footage of whatever's going on just incase something happens.

Megatron absolutely can not fathom why Soundwave had suddenly become interested in Breakdown. The warlord suspects that Soundwave misses the gladiatorial arena and is trying to scope out a new rival to re-enact the old days with so Megatron is a little worried he might have infighting among his soldiers. As long as Soundwave is functioning, Megatron won't step in but, y'know. He hopes it's nothing bad.

Starscream is oblivious to the on-goings behind him.

Airachnid also takes notice in the pair's chemistry but says nothing. It's not her place to talk and she wouldn't gain anything if she did besides look like a crazy conspiracy theorist.

Dreadwing sees Breakdown's and Soundwave's closeness but never thinks too deep into it until after Breakdown's death.

The Autobots never find out about Soundwave and Breakdown's courting.

Both Soundwave and Breakdown come to think their love for the other is one-sided until Knock Out has to break the glass between them. He's very blunt and even a little rude about it but he's just so fed up with them dancing around eachother and never with eachother that he just had to burst in. Laserbeak doesn't react well to this and gets embarrassed on Soundwave's behalf. They all sort out their emotions later and things go smoothly.

Breakdown hoped to fix his broken eye after the war ends but goes back on that thought when he realizes that he'd much rather match Soundwave. Maybe he can get a visor like Soundwave's to cover his missing eye!

Soundwave wanted to finally retire after the war but he starts opening himself up to other possibilities after starting a relationship with Breakdown. He'd be fine doing anything as long as it's with his partner and minicon.

When she's bored, Miko will start making up nonsense lore for the Decepticons to get the Autobots' attention. Her favorite is suggesting that Breakdown and Soundwave have a fairytale Shakespearean tragedy K-drama-esque romance going on between them and it really peeves a majority of Team Prime. Hence why it's her favorite nonsense lore. Even Agent Fowler gets heavily confused and concerned for Miko's well-being.

[skztea]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Fun Imagine: Y/N insists that Connected is not about WiFi and Redlights is not about being just a cute song, how will Chan respond to his lover’s questions?

note: just a short drabble for V day! It was requested by a friend of mine who loves Chan so i guess i’ll spread the love to everyone? enjoy! @bangchanbabygirlx 🌚🌚

The journey to the restaurant that Chan booked is filled with comfortable silence and if not, soft hums coming from both of you while a common song that you both like are playing.

When connected started playing, a question that you had for the longest time popped into your mind and you decided to ask your lover. “Babe, why would you say that connected is about wifi? I’m pretty sure it isnt”, tapping your fingers lightly against the window, you felt your hand gently squeezed by your partner. “Honey, connected, is definitely about wifi, why wouldnt you trust me hmm?”

Replying patiently, he reached out to squeeze your cheeks a little while chuckling when you pouted at his gesture. “I don’t think it’s as innocent as you declared though…then what about redlights? is redlights about the redlight greenlight game?”

Questioning your lover again, the ambience started to tense up as you heard him scoffed. Keeping silent for a good 15 seconds, he stopped the car by the roadside before answering your question.

“My dear y/n, then what do you think connected and redlights is about?”

Gulping your saliva as you see your partner’s iris darkens, you subconciously licked your lip while you brainstormed for an answer. “Uhh i think connected and redlights have something in common, and that is…”

“That is….?”

“That is…” your voice trailed off as you heard your heart beating faster and louder when your partner pinned you against the car window.

“Tell me baby, what do you think, it is?” lowering an octave in his voice, his hands started wondering around your thighs and waist.

“That is about a man being obsessed over a girl and want to possess and want to you know… do that with her?”

“Do you want to find out the correct answer, baby girl?” His burning gaze ghosted across your face as he gently brushed the tip of his fingers against your lower lips, you started to wonder if you could even have the dinner now.

“Yes…” you breathed against his face that is inches away from yours, earning a smirk from him.

“Shall we u-turn and go back home? I can show you the answer right away, hmm?” Lightly growling while tugging at his necktie, he seem to be ready for a show instead of the dinner that he agreed to bring you upon.

“So it’s not about wifi…” you muttered as you watch your man swarvely making a u-turn back.

-> Heyyo! It’s valentines day and i hope everyone had a great date or at least have a great dinner with your family and friends❣️ This drabble is requested by my friend for fun and i just thought that there maybe people here who like it as well! Am still busy with submissions so ill just drop this one here first ><

m.list II | a.bout

© skztea — all rights reserved. No plagarising, editing, claiming as own without permission.

[fact-anonymous]

I'm an introject of a historical figure who was, undeniably, on the wrong side of history. I've mostly accepted that my source was an awful person, & don't feel too bad about it. The only thing that gets to me still is how I can't be open about myself as an introject. I'm too nervous about how others will perceive me. I know many people who say they accept introjects "of all sources", even "problematic" ones. But I'm scared that, even if they won't admit it, there's a limit to how "problematic" my source can be before they start to disrespect me & my system. I fear that people will accuse me and/or my headmates of sympathizing with my source or his beliefs, as if all introjects are formed out of adoration, or because their sources bring comfort to the system. I formed because my system was exposed to information about my source while we were stressed due to new responsibilities. Our brain felt we needed someone new to cope with all of the new stuff we had to due, felt it would be easier to copy something than to make someone from scratch... and now here I am. But of course, people won't assume that. They'll assume someone in the system must like my source, why else would an introject form? And I shouldn't have to prove that that's not the case, I shouldn't have to explain my formation to someone to avoid accusations of sympathy with my source. What caused me to split should be my business & my business only.

It's not just the fear of what others will assume from me that's keeping me from being open, though, it's also the fact that my existence will make people uncomfortable. I've accepted that that's not something I can change, that there will always be people made uncomfortable by me, and they have just as much a right to be uncomfortable as I do to exist. But how I wish it wasn't the case! How I wish I could just say who my source is without having to worry if I'm making those around me uncomfortable! But it's too much of a risk in most spaces. Maybe some all Fact- spaces will be fine with me, but I still worry that others will be uncomfortable, even if they don't mention it to me. Of course, I want to believe that everyone does & should have a right to be open about who they are, but I feel as though I'm an exception.

The most specific I've ever benn about my source with anyone outside of the system is saying that my source is "a historical figure who was a bad person". Once I sent an ask to an ask/submission run introject themed blog (not saying who, I don't want anyone angry at them for this. They didn't mean anything by it, I'm sure.) in which I mentioned that my source was a bad person. They deleted the ask, and then made a post about "how bad they felt for fictives of villians, how hard it must be, poor you, but I accept you!, e.t.c. e.t.c." I had mentioned how my source was a bad person in a lighthearted manner, and I felt my tone demonstrated that I am no longer bothered by this fact. So what's with the pitying? And why did they assume that I'm a fictive? Is it just because fictives tned to be more common (or at least more visible) than factives? Or worse, is it because they didn't want to accept that the person sending them asks had a source whose actions have effected real people, not just fictional characters? Do they, even if it's just subconciously, see introjects (or, if we're being more specific, factives) as their sources, and assume that I must have, at some point, shared morals with my source? I ended up sending in a second ask clarifying: My source is a real person, & denying that he was wrong is irresponsible & just plain wrong, so I had to learn to accept it, which I have. Other than the ask I'm currently typing, that's the only time I've been that open about my source. And I fear that if I had to explain myself after only mentioning that my source was a bad person, how much more will I have to explain if I say how exactly he was bad? If I mention him by name? If I use my real first name, his first name, in the same place I mention anything about my source, & someone figures out who I am?

I'm sure there are people out there who I can be open around. But I believe it's too risky for me to find them. If I try finding people irl, & they don't accept me & decide to tell others, it can effect my life. If I try finding people online, & they don't accept me, they can screenshot it & there will always be a record. Hell, even if they don't take a screenshot there will likely always be a record on some server somewhere.

I don't know how to end this... essay? ...confession? It feels too personal to be an essay, but too long to be a confession, and I don't know what else it would be. Tag it as you see fit, I suppose.

-Blue

hi, Blue, thank you for your patience. accepting yourself is the first step to being comfortable with your existence, and i'm proud of you, happy for you, for doing it 💙

i understand, even if i can't relate, that it's difficult to show yourself in factive/plural spaces when your source has done atrocities. it's valid and really reasonable, imo, to be nervous about it. i'm sorry to hear that people haven't been accepting to you. that even "problematic" spaces haven't respected you. it's not fair that your sheer existence is so risky to show, and I wish it was easier. ;_;

They deleted the ask, and then made a post about "how bad they felt for fictives of villians, how hard it must be, poor you, but I accept you!, e.t.c. e.t.c." And why did they assume that I'm a fictive? Is it just because fictives tned to be more common (or at least more visible) than factives?

as for that blog thing. i don't understand why people use "introject" only for fictives, as if factives don't exist. and yeah, they're more visible, for sure. but people still shouldn't assume that introject always equals fictive.

Or worse, is it because they didn't want to accept that the person sending them asks had a source whose actions have effected real people, not just fictional characters? Do they, even if it's just subconciously, see introjects (or, if we're being more specific, factives) as their sources, and assume that I must have, at some point, shared morals with my source? I ended up sending in a second ask clarifying: My source is a real person, & denying that he was wrong is irresponsible & just plain wrong, so I had to learn to accept it, which I have.

It could be. and a lot of people think it is, i think it might be the effect of capitalism (and stereotypes). where consuming media defines your identity and morality. it manifests in people saying "you're a bad person if you buy from amazon" "you're immoral if you like villains" or "you can't be gay because you don't listen to music that white american gay people like". so they always see introjection as based on media/source consumption, and consumption is based on interest/fandom/comfort, and thus based on support. because that's the stereotypes of plurals - "hyperfixation means introjection". which is NOT true for so many systems!

(we don't split as we're walk-ins, but know you are not alone. a lot of us don't come here based on fandom/interest/comfort... hell, some don't even come from consumption of the associated sources - as in, the brain doesn't know the media/person. we're just here. some of us even make the brain extremely uncomfortable.)

also,, a lot of people have this thing about shame. that we have to be ashamed for existing, have to beat ourselves up for our source's actions to be a Good Factive. but that is a very unfair thing to enforce. you shouldn't have to be ashamed for yourself or be pitied or patronized for your identity. i think it's good that you've accepted yourself and the fact that your source has been harmful to others 💙

They'll assume someone in the system must like my source, why else would an introject form? And I shouldn't have to prove that that's not the case, I shouldn't have to explain my formation to someone to avoid accusations of sympathy with my source. What caused me to split should be my business & my business only.

you are right. introjects do NOT only from from likes/interests/fandom/comfort/support. you are, and do not have to be, like your source morality-wise. your system's morality isn't like them. and you should NOT have to justify your existence and explain why you split. no one else but you is entitled to that info, and i'm glad you know that.

i hope this helps a little. also, I suggest @problematicfactive - they might be able to assist you more on this topic.

all the best, Blue, and please take care of yourself. know that you and your system deserve respect, no matter what.

-mod espresso

[thegiantworld]

Kane's Element - Chapter 3

(WARNING for language, rough handling, vore mentions, etc)

-

Although Aliyah wasn't quite comfortable with Kane's size change, him laying on his stomach made it slightly better. Kane would never tell her that he did that to purposefully make himself smaller for her while still being bigger. He secretly likes being this size... Just like the night before, it put perspective into how small and fragile the teenage girl in front of him truely was. Not just to him, but to the entire outside world.

"I-Is everything okay?" Aliyah asked quietly, snapping the huge Naga out of his thoughts. His mismatched eyes focused down at her, seeing her legs crossed and her dull green eyes look over his features.

"I'm fine. I should be asking you the same question, little snack." He teased, moving one of his hands behind her to scoot her closer to his face which he could tell she didn't exactly care for. She tried to dig her booted heels into the cave floor to stop her from scooting but it was no use.

"I-I.. Well.. I keep wondering.." Aliyah stuttered, fidgetting with her hair as she subconciously twirled a piece around her finger. Kane rolled his eyes as she stuttered, a little annoyed that she couldn't just say what she wanted straight up.

"Go on?" He pressed, yawning in the process which showed her his fanged mouth. His teeth were sharp and surprisingly white for him living in a cave.

"Well... Do you really eat people like the stories? I haven't exactly seen you act on anything you've threatened yet." She pondered before putting her hand over her mouth, thinking she was foolish for even asking. What was she thinking? She might as well have invited him to swallow her whole.

With this, Kane felt his mouth start to water, even though his instincts said otherwise. He has never had second thoughts about gulping someone down before now. What the hell made her so special?

"I have.. And not to mention, I did happen to endulge in you after you passed out. So you didn't see it." Kane snickered to himself and smirked, picking her up by her waist in one hand ever so gently as to not squeeze her too hard while he sat up. Hearing this, Aliyah couldn't tell if he was joking or serious... He ate her? She should be dead if that was a case. So he couldn't have, right?

Shaking her head as she refused to believe him, Aliyah looked up into his eyes rather bravely for once.

"That's not true. You're just lying or joking around." She claimed out loud. But to this comment, Kane raised a brow and an even bigger smirk grew onto his face, bringing her closer to his face to inspect her.

"And what makes you think that, hm?" He teased and pressed, finding it a little funny that he finally confessed and Aliyah didn't even believe his story.

"B-Because I'm here, aren't I? I'm not dead or hurt or anything!" She confidently pointed at him, not even realizing she was digging a hole for herself in the process.  But when she saw Kane's smirk grow and his eyes grow a mischevious glint to them, she snapped herself out of her confident state.

"Oh, so you think that I can't eat you without causing harm? I very well could cause harm if I so desire." He teased, chuckled a little as he spoke, seeing her brave face wash away as he held her in his hand tighter.

But just as soon as it faded, it came back, Aliyah looking right into his eyes and crossed her arms over her chest while raising a brow.

"So if you did eat me the other night, and you're so sure you could cause harm.. Why didn't you, hm?" This sentence made Kane pause. He opened his mouth to say something before shutting it again, seeing her checkmate win over his thought process.

He finally growled in frusration and put her down on the cold stone floor. He himself couldn't even answer her question. He didn't even know why he couldn't bring himself to harm the teenager. Sighing, he ran a clawed hand through his hair to move it from his face, leaning against the den wall with his arms now crossed.

Aliyah watched in a bit of curiousity. She didn't understand him just as much as he didn't understand her. Looking up at his face, she could see he was visibly distraught within his own mind, most likely thinking on what she said earlier.

She finally rolled her eyes and tried to hoast herself up onto his tail before the human slipped. Yelping, she braced for her body to slam onto stone but instead, she opened her eyes to find Kane's palm had quickly caught her.

"Can you please stop being so reckless, Aliyah?" He asked, sounding like a gruff concerned father at this point. Aliyah looked up at him as he gently placed her down on his tail, where she was trying to find herself previously.

"T-Thank you.. Kane." She mumbled, watching him perk up slightly at the sound of her using his name. He didn't think she even remembered.

"Yeah, well.. You can make it up to me by helping me find some food for tonight." Kane scoffed, pinching the back of her crop top and placing her on his shoulder as he slithered out of the cave.

Sniffing the air slightly, Kane could tell a storm was on the way, as the air was filled with the scent of rain and dark clouds rolled towards their location.

But he stopped watching as soon as he felt Aliyah's small form on his freckled shoulder nervously fidgeting.  Glancing over at her, Kane saw a nervous expression plastered on her face as she looked up at the dark clouds.

"Let me guess, you're scared of storms?" He chuckled, thinking it was funny that a little rain could ever scare someone like her. Someone who claimed to be unafraid of him.

Aliyah opened her mouth to speak but before she could get anything out, a small rumble from the sky made her whimper and bury her face into Kane's neck. He paused at this and quickly realized she actually was deathly afraid, feeling bad for joking before.

"Okay.. Let's just try to go find something really fast. That sound okay?" He asked in a soft tone. This was the first time Aliyah had ever heard Kane use this tone. It was gentle and seemed to be a pass at trying to comfort the human. It surprised her but all she could do was nod and bury her face once again, trying to hide from the outside world.

Kane raised his right hand up to his left shoulder, trying to shield the small girl from either falling, from the storm, or from hearing the thunder rolling towards them as he slithered on through the forest that surrounded them.

Quickly, he was able to pick some apples, oranges, and berries, being extra gentle as to not squish any on accident as he quickly headed for the den once more.

Once inside, he set the variety of fruits down next to the huge pile of furs before gently picking her up off his shoulder by her waist. In doing so, a crack of lightning and a loud thunder rumble sent Aliyah into panic mode momentarily, holding onto his hand tightly and yelping.

Kane saw and sighed, thinking before lifting her up to his nose, nuzzling her against it ever so gently. Aliyah felt and untensed slightly, putting a hand on his nose hesitantly. This cause a low vibration sound to erupt from the creature, making her freeze and blink a few times. Was he purring? Looking at him, his eyes were closed and he continued to gently nuzzle into her, trying his best to take her mind off the storm that was outside the cave.

It worked rather well until an even bigger crack and rumble came to be, snapping Aliyah back into panic, making her hug his nose rather tightly.

Opening his eyes to see her tightly closing her own against him, feeling her shaking a little, Kane thought to himself as his mouth began to water...

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